#can’t knock the hustle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 9 days

Text

Newsflash

Charles Leclerc x reporter!Reader

Summary: after two years as a paddock correspondent, you’re convinced that Charles Leclerc hates your guts for no apparent reason … but maybe everything is not what it seems

“Wake up, Y/N. It’s race day!”

Your colleague, Natalie, bursts into your hotel room without knocking, as usual. You groan and pull the covers over your head, not ready to face the chaos that is sure to ensue in the paddock.

“Come on, sleepyhead! We have to be at the track by seven this morning for pre-race meetings,” Natalie says, yanking the duvet off you.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” You grumble, slowly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”

“5:30. Which reminds me, I need coffee,” Natalie says, already headed for the door. “Meet me in the lobby in 20!”

You spend the next 19 minutes hastily getting ready — putting on minimal makeup, throwing on your favorite jumpsuit, and frantically gathering up notes and gear for the day. You take one last glance in the mirror, trying to smooth down your bedhead, before resigning to just throw a cap on over the mess.

Hustling down to the lobby, there’s a rush of personnel all around — mechanics, engineers, PR reps, and media darting about with coffees and laptops and headsets already in place. You spot Natalie nursing a large black coffee and beeline over.

“Ready to do this?” She asks with a grin.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply with a shrug. The truth is, the nerves are already bubbling up in your stomach. You love your job as an F1 reporter for Sky Sports, but the pressure and scrutiny is immense.

The two of you pile into a car with the rest of the broadcast crew and head to the track. On the ride, you glance over your meticulous notes on the teams and drivers one more time, paying special attention to Ferrari.

Ever since you started covering F1 two years ago, one driver has basically refused to give you the time of day — Charles Leclerc.

For some reason, whenever you are around, he bolts in the opposite direction. When you have attempted interviews, he literally turns and speedwalks away without a word. Other drivers will chat with you, joke around, and give thoughtful answers to questions.

But Charles? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

You can’t figure out why he hates you so much. You’ve scoured your past comments and coverage looking for anything that could have offended him, but come up empty.

Is it something personal against you? Were you mean to him in a past life or something? It hurts, to be honest. You try to stay professional, but his obvious disdain for you still stings.

Sighing, you put your notes away as the car pulls into the paddock. It’s going to be a long day.

After hair, makeup, mic checks, and a final meeting, it’s nearly time for the broadcast to go live as cars start lining up on the grid. Nerves buzzing, you watch Charles warm up with his performance coach across the pit lane, headphones in and clearly in the zone. As always, he walks right past you without a flicker of acknowledgment.

Your heart twinges, but you swiftly push the hurt aside. It’s showtime.

The next few hours are a blur of rushed interviews, sound bites, stats flashing across screens, and organized chaos. After the race finally ends, there are more interviews, podium ceremonies, and press conferences to wade through before you can take a breath.

“Man, that was brutal!” Natalie huffs as the two of you finally plop down in chairs in the media room later that afternoon. She cracks open a Red Bull and takes a long drink. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply half-heartedly. The truth is, you’re drained — physically and mentally. And of course, the interaction with Charles, or lack thereof, is weighing heavy.

“Why do you let that pompous twerp get under your skin so much?” Natalie says with a frown, seeming to read your mind. “He’s a rude, stuck up jerk who isn’t worth the energy. Forget about him.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I just … I don’t know, I never did anything to the guy, and it still stings.”

Just then, the door to the media room swings open, and Charles himself strides in. You inadvertently tense up as he approaches the couch, looking calm and confident in his usual Ferrari polo, and folds himself down between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, who rounded out the rest of the podium.

Here we go again, you think with an internal eye roll. Just gotta get this over with.

“Hello,” Charles says with an easy grin as he settles into his seat, “What have you got for us today?” Various reporters immediately start firing off questions, undoubtedly looking to get a headline from the race winner.

You gather your courage, take a breath, and call out “Charles, Y/N with Sky Sports here. Can you walk me through your thought process behind that daring pass on Lando in Turn 12?”

To your shock, the second Charles hears your voice, his whole demeanor shifts. He seems to freeze, shoulders hunching slightly, grin dropping from his face as his cheeks instantly flush deep red. He looks panicked almost, eyes darting around the room, before landing briefly on you.

“Uhh … b-bathroom. Need to go. Bye.”

And with that, he leaps up from the couch and practically sprints out of the room.

A stunned silence falls over the space as everyone stares, stunned, at the empty space he left. You feel your stomach drop through the floor, tears of embarrassment and humiliation prickling at your eyes.

What did you do wrong? Now he’s made a total spectacle, running away from you in front of your peers. Mortified, you shakily stand up, chair clanging backwards, and rush from the room as well. Needing air, you bolt outside until you find a secluded spot out back of the paddock, leaning against a wall as the tears flow freely.

“Hey, hey … what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The soft, concerned male voice startles you, and you gasp looking up. There stands Charles, looking alarmed and guilty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Please don’t cry!” He moves closer, though still keeps his distance.

You blink rapidly, beyond confused. “What … what are you doing out here? I’m clearly the last person you want to be around.”

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is really hard for me to admit but … I like you. As in, I have the biggest crush on you. That’s why I get so flustered and basically black out anytime you talk to me. It’s pathetic, I know.”

Your jaw actually drops open in disbelief. “You … what? You like me? Is this a joke?”

“No! No, I swear, it’s the truth,” he says, face turning red again. “I know I come across like a total jerk, I just freeze up around you because honestly? You’re just so stunning and brilliant, and I get unbelievably shy and nervous. The words won’t come out. It’s like an out of body experience! I chicken out and run away like an idiot every time.”

You stare at him, trying to process this. All this time, all the hurt and embarrassment … it was just because he developed a crush?

“I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I know it must seem like I despise you. The truth is, you make me feel like a stuttering teenager with my first crush again,” Charles continues, looking at you beseechingly. “I understand if you think I’m a total tool, and I have a lot of work to do to make this up to you. But I swear, I really do like you, Y/N.”

At this, his face splits into a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as relief washes over you.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! You appraise him, really looking at him for the first time. From his twinkling green eyes to his adorable dimples to the lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead, he’s unbelievably charming.

You shake your head, smile growing. “So this whole time, you’ve just been acting like an awkward schoolboy instead of giving me any indication of your true feelings?”

Charles laughs self-consciously. “Embarrassing, I know. Look, I promise I’ll do better-”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for,” you say, crossing your arms and giving Charles a playful but pointed look. “All the grief and heartache you’ve put me through the last two years? This calls for serious groveling, mister.”

Charles immediately drops to one knee dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, apple of my eye. I am but a humble driver, unworthy of your affection. But if you would do me the extraordinary honor of allowing me to court you properly, I vow to spend every day showing you how enchanted I am by your wit, your beauty, and your strength.”

You can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top chivalrous display. “Oh get up, you goofball!” You grab his hand and pull him back to his feet. “I’m just teasing. Well, partially teasing. I do expect you to apologize to me properly. Take me to dinner or something.”

Charles visibly brightens. “Dinner? Really? Yes, absolutely! In fact, let me take you right now. We’ll go to that little trattoria down the road. You deserve to be wined and dined for putting up with me.”

You consider this for a moment, taking in his eager, handsome face. The truth is, despite his past behavior, you find yourself captivated by Charles now that you understand what was really going on. His confidence, talent, and intensity are wildly attractive. And the way he’s looking at you now, with softness and admiration in his eyes .... it sends tingles down your spine.

“Alright, lead the way, hot shot,” you say with a wink.

Charles’ grin stretches even wider, if possible. “After you,” he gestures forward with a flourish, then falls into step beside you as you head towards the exit.

“I really am sorry for being such an idiot around you,” Charles says quietly after a moment of walking in comfortable silence. “The way I’ve acted was totally unacceptable. You deserve so much better.”

You glance over at his earnest expression and feel a little pang in your chest. “It’s okay, really. I get it now. Just think how close we could have been this whole time though if you’d just … I don’t know, talked to me like a normal human being!”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Oof, so true. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t write me off ages ago as a complete lost cause. Clearly you’re far more patient and forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yes, I really am,” you agree teasingly, giving his arm a playful shove. You both laugh as you reach the paddock exit and emerge out onto the bustling street, taking in the energy of the crowd.

You jokingly elbow Charles’ side. “Still though, as dashingly handsome as you may be, don’t think you’re completely off the hook! I expect to be wooed and romanced properly going forward. No more running off scared like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“It’s a deal,” Charles says easily, looking thrilled. “Romance and wooing, coming right up.”

Reaching the charming little restaurant, Charles opens the door for you with a sweeping bow. You grin and step inside. Somehow, you have the feeling this is going to be the start of a wonderful evening.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of you, getting to know each other properly over a delicious meal with the slight chill of the evening settling in around you.

And you can’t wait.

***

The next few race weekends are a whirlwind as Charles seems to do a complete 180 in his behavior towards you.

Gone is the shy, nervous wreck who could barely look you in the eye. Instead, he goes full-steam in the opposite direction, seeking you out constantly and showering you with attention.

It starts the following week after Friday practice. You’re standing in the paddock scribbling notes when you sense someone approaching. Looking up, you see Charles striding over, helmet in hand, usual calm confidence exuding from him.

“Ah, Y/N, just the reporter I was looking for,” he says with a warm grin, sidling up beside you. “Walk with me?”

Flustered by his forwardness but flattered, you quickly nod. “Uh, sure!”

Charles immediately links his arm casually through yours and starts leading you away down the paddock, journalists and crew members glancing over with raised eyebrows. You catch Natalie’s eye and she mouths “WTF?” at you with a stunned look. You just give a tiny shrug, feeling your face heat up.

“So tell me, what did you think of my lap times today?” Charles asks once you’re a few paces away from the crowd.

You blink, surprised he’s looking for actual feedback. You decide to give an honest assessment. “Well, I think you were sliding the rear end quite a bit too much through Sector 2 and losing time. The car didn’t look fully settled-”

“Brilliant analysis as always, Y/N. I knew I could count on you to give it to me straight,” Charles interrupts with a respectful nod. You feel yourself preen slightly at his praise. “Some changes to differential settings should sort that out, I think.”

He then launches into a surprisingly technical explanation of his plans to adjust the setup. You find yourself nodding along, captivated, as he outlines the various weight transfer issues and how he aims to mitigate them.

He’s speaking to you like a true engineer, not just a reporter. You realize with a jolt that he’s never gone into this level of detail with you before in any interviews.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a bit here, aren’t I?” Charles says sheepishly when he pauses. “I don’t want to bore you with too much technical detail. But you just have such a good eye and ask such insightful questions, I find myself wanting to really dive into this side of racing with you.”

He gives your arm a soft squeeze. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other observations or advice. I trust your analysis completely.”

Before you can properly respond, the two of you round a corner only to nearly walk directly into Sergio Perez, who’s heading the opposite direction. He does a comical double take at seeing the two of you arm-in-arm together.

“Ah, hello Checo!” Charles says breezily, not releasing you or missing a beat. Sergio looks hilariously confused.

“Uh … hello?” is all he manages before Charles is steering you onwards.

“See you around, mate,” he tosses over his shoulder with a wink.

You glance back to see Sergio frozen in place, staring after you both looking utterly bewildered.

The weekend continues in this vein, with Charles constantly pulling you aside to chat at length about setups, strategies, even asking your opinion on development directions for next year’s car.

He treats you with the utmost seriousness and respect, like you’re one of his most trusted advisors. It’s shocking and flattering after the cold-shoulder treatment for so long.

Whenever the broadcast crew has a break, Charles inevitably finds you and whisks you off to look at telemetry data together (which sends a poor PR officer chasing after the two of you with an NDA after the first time Charles decides to pull you into the garage) or watch video, going into painstaking detail to get your thoughts.

By Sunday, it’s become a bit of a running joke among the team, with people exchanging amused glances whenever Charles appears to disappear with you once again.

“There goes Loverboy Sharl, dragging poor Y/N off yet again to pore over spreadsheets and onboard footage,” Natalie jokes with an eye roll during a break, making the crew laugh. “How does that man ever find time to, you know, actually race?”

You shoot her a heatless glare, though you have to admit — as sweet as it is having Charles’ undivided attention, as a reporter the over-accessibility is becoming a touch much.

When the race concludes later that afternoon, Charles immediately finds you amid the chaos of the media scrum.

“Y/N!” He beams down at you, still sweaty and in his racing suit with the top half unzipped. “Come take a look at the race data with me? I want to walk through my lap times and tire deg, see if we can spot any areas to improve ...”

“Actually, I’m sort of totally swamped right now,” you gesture at the sea of people around you. “But maybe later?”

His face falls slightly. “Oh. Well I suppose I did already monopolize a lot of your time this weekend. No rest for the media?”

He gives you a lopsided smile but there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You feel a little stab of guilt.

“Tell you what though,” he continues, brightening again. “Come find me later before we fly out. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” You ask with a raised brow. “What does that mean?”

“Ah ah ah, no hints!” Charles laughs, wagging a finger. “Just trust me. Don’t leave without seeing me first, okay?”

With that, he leans in and unexpectedly gives you a swift peck on the cheek. You freeze, eyes going wide, feeling your face flame. Pulling back, Charles winks cheekily at you before turning and sauntering off.

Dazed, you lift a hand to touch the spot he kissed, feeling the heat radiating from your cheek. Did he really just … right out in the open like that … with the cameras recording live?

Glancing around, you see Natalie and a few other crew members staring with mouths agape. Toto Wolff is even giving you an amused look as he walks past, one eyebrow arched knowingly. Utterly mortified, you duck your head down and hurry off to find a quiet corner to collect yourself.

The next race sees the flirting and PDA ramp up even higher. Charles can’t seem to resist finding any excuse to drape an arm around your waist, stroke your arm, or playfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Every interaction has an undercurrent of flirtation and innuendo. And the cheek kisses become almost routine, pressed on you in front of other drivers, team bosses, cameramen, you name it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” You finally say in flustered exasperation after he ambushes you with a very public, lingering kiss on the cheek in the paddock one day. You struggle to sound annoyed, but a pleased grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you say it.

“Sorry, ma chérie, I just can’t seem to resist around you,” Charles replies, absolutely zero shame in his voice or demeanor. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than to start making out right here in front of everyone!”

You gasp and slap his arm, scandalized, as he just throws his head back and laughs heartily.

Meanwhile, the double-takes and stunned looks from everyone around just keep coming. Even the normally straight-faced Fred Vasseur can’t seem to hold back smug grins whenever he sees the two of you getting cozy.

“Go on and get a room already, you two!” He finally chuckles one day as Charles passes by in the paddock with his usual arm draped around your waist.

“Don’t tempt me!” Charles quips back without missing a beat, giving you a roguish wink.

Soon, literally everyone in the paddock and broadcast team is aware of and commenting on the developing romance between you and Charles.

He makes no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

“Honestly, I think they’re the most nauseatingly adorable couple I’ve ever seen,” Jenson Button jokes to the rest of the broadcast team one evening as they all watch Charles throw his arm around you yet again and plant a smacking kiss on your temple.

“The honeymoon phase never ends with those two,” Natalie agrees in a wry tone, rolling her eyes. “It’s like they’re a pair of horny teenagers making out behind the bleachers.”

You just shake your head with a bashful smile and accept the good-natured ribbing. The truth is, despite Charles’ very public displays of affection causing some embarrassment and teasing from your colleagues, you find it hard to truly mind.

There’s an earnestness and joy in his demeanor whenever he’s with you that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him so openly happy and carefree as these past few weeks. Gone is the tightly wound, intense competitor. In his place is a warm, playful soul who can’t help but let his delight in your company shine through.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his romantic attentions flattering and thrilling. The way his gaze smolders when his eyes meet yours, the tingle of electricity you feel whenever his hand brushes yours, the butterflies that erupt in your stomach when his lips graze your cheek — it all makes you deliriously giddy, like a lovesick teenager yourself.

So you endure the good-natured eye rolls from Natalie and jokes from the broadcast crew with an easy smile. Because the truth is, you’ve realized how deeply you’ve fallen for Charles in return.

“You’ve got me utterly love drunk, you charming fool,” you murmur against his chest one evening.

The two of you are tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles’ back against the wall with his arms wrapped around you as you stand embraced, soaking in a few stolen moments of intimacy together.

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles replies easily, resting his chin on your head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this madness.” He pauses, absentmindedly stroking your back. “Honestly, I half expected you to get sick of me hanging around all the time by now.”

You pull back to meet his warm green eyes. “Are you kidding? I love having you around. I still have to pinch myself that you actually want to be with me after the way you treated me for so long!”

A flicker of regret passes across Charles’ features. “I truly am sorry for being such an ass before, Y/N. I hope with time you can forgive me.”

“Already forgiven,” you assure him softly. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Relief blossoms on his face and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Thank you, ma belle. For being the most patient and kind woman on earth.”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed as his breath tickles your skin. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I do possess some super-human tolerance for broody and aloof superstar drivers with commitment issues.”

Charles chuckles at that and you can feel the rumble of it against your body. “Lucky for me then, or I would still be utterly lost.”

His mouth finds yours then, soft and intoxicating. You melt into the kiss, savoring his warmth, his scent, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along your jaw. All semblance of poise escapes you when you’re pressed against Charles like this. He never fails to make your head spin and body thrum with want.

A polite cough from nearby causes you to break apart abruptly. You blink, dazed, to see Natalie standing with an eyebrow arched sky high.

“Hey lovebirds,” she says in a wry tone. “Sorry to disturb the sunset groping, but they’re calling for final broadcast checks in 10.”

Face flaming, you duck your head and extract yourself from Charles’ embrace. He just shoots Natalie a cheeky grin, entirely unabashed.

“Better get going then,” Charles says cheerfully, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Wouldn’t want you to be late because of me … again.” He winks.

Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Oh I’m sure that would be a first. See you in 10, Y/N.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the pits. You glance up at Charles shyly.

“I should … uh ...” You gesture vaguely.

“Yes, yes of course,” Charles says, squeezing your hands affectionately. “Work calls. Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting around the next corner to steal more kisses as soon as you’re free.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. “Go on then, you impossible man! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heart fluttering, you watch him saunter off before heading for the pits yourself, still feeling delightfully dazed.

This is really your life now. Surrounded by racing, the thrill of competition, the roar of engines … and consumed by budding love every time Charles Leclerc is near.

As far as dream jobs go, you think with a lovestruck smile, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

2K notes · View notes

webanglikethat · 19 days

Text

JOE ALWYN THEY CAN NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU

Joe alwyn is smart. idc. on her birthday, the first she spent without him and a day everyone would be following his every action and step, he posted about Gaza. this week, when he’s trending because of her again, what does he do? he talks about Gaza again. his consistent focus on Gaza despite the distractions of these trending topics and rumors and “she said he said” surrounding yk-who-and-what to me just demonstrates his genuine commitment to raising awareness. (he also comes from a long family line of people who are pro-🍉 btw!!) and doing it when he knows his every single move is being watched closely? a king. it just truly is a testament to his intelligence and integrity, regardless of whatever you may think of him. even though swifties like to joke about his career, saying he’s got nothing going on, he’s out here risking it all to raise awareness. so many actors in Hollywood are in their multimillionaire homes and shaking. and he is here. can’t knock that hustle. his integrity does indeed make her seem small. the smallest woman who ever lived, dare I say.

also: he’s a better man than me for sure because I’d be out here writing a 200k word document on blondie but he uses his platform for good !!!

fun fact: I got dts on twt for defending him but he is here once again proving them wrong 🥰

#Joe alwyn #taylor swift #your integrity makes me seem small #Taylor you when??#He has a smaller career than her but he’s risking it #Taylor can’t?? Insane.

315 notes · View notes

petertingle-yipyip · 20 days

Text

DONT BE A FOOL - MATT MURDOCK

Pairing: matt x wife!reader

Word Count: 2, 156

Summary: After a very tense argument about a misused name, your apologetic husband ends up getting looped in by your students.

//follow-up to three empty words but can probably be read on its own//

The next morning, you refused to dilly dally your morning routine. Your shower was quick, your hair and makeup remained simple. Even your outfit was more or less the first thing you grabbed from your closet. You gathered all of your papers - which you hadn’t gotten around to grading the night before - and your laptop before Matt’s alarm had even gone off.

You skipped making breakfast, deciding to stop at a coffee shop on the way to work instead, and hustled out the door. You ignored the still sleeping figure of Elektra on your couch even though your brain wanted to soak her with cold water and kick her out. You did slam the door on your way out but that was just to satisfy your own anger.

You walked into your classroom and let out a loud sigh as you dropped into your deskchair. You were thankful to be out of the house, in your own space for the time being. As you began grading the papers and piling them according to the hours, your mind wandered back to the night before. You wondered if Elektra would be out of your apartment when you got back. You wondered if Matt would tell Foggy and Karen that you two got into a fight last night. You then found yourself wondering if Matt was actually going to go to work that morning.

You realized you were staring blankly at the student’s worksheet in front of you so you shook the thoughts and focused on the daunting stacks before you.

Most of the hours were business as usual. Your normal rowdy students were a bit extra, but that might’ve been due to your already grated nerves more than their own behaviors. It wasn’t until the hour before lunch that you found some of your students more huddled and secretive than usual.

“What are you doing in the corner?” You called, peaking over your computer at the small group. “There’s, what, five minutes till the bell?”

“Mrs. Murdock, what’s your husband’s name?” One of the girls, Liv, asked with an innocent expression. The same one she gave you when she explained her lacking assignments.

“Matthew.” You titled down your screen to see them better. “Why?”

“What does he do again?”

“Lawyer. Why?”

“Is he handsome?” Another girl, Nicole, asked with wiggling eyebrows.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes at your middle schoolers.

“Yes, very.” You smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.”

“And if he’s a lawyer, he’s gotta be smart, right?”

“Again, very. He went to Columbia.”

“So like… Is he why you’re so sad today?” Blake, the only boy in the group, chimed in with a nonchalant shrug.

“Guys.” You frowned slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I’m not sad. Me and Mr. Murdock are fine. We’re happily married. And you should be worried about your own relationship drama, not mine.”

“So you admit there’s drama?” Nicole countered quickly.

“Between Blake and Emmy? Yes.” You nodded and Emmy’s jaw dropped while her friends poked her teasingly. “Between me and Mr. Murdock, no.”

“Mhmm.. So why is the photo face down?”

“What?”

“The photo by your computer.” She came across the room and lifted the frame near your laptop that was in fact, face down. “You told us on the first day that this was one your favorite photos and you have it on it’s face… There’s drama, Mrs. Murdock.”

“You’re very observant, Nicole. Thank you.” You said flatly as you took the frame from her hands and set it in it’s rightful position. “I must’ve knocked it over when I was trying to find you and Liv’s missing portfolio project.” “You can’t deflect, Mrs. M.” Liv added from across the room. “It’s all over your face.”

“Y’know what.” You announced, standing from your desk. “The bell rings in less than two minutes. You guys can all go to lunch early.”

A chorus of questions arose while you heard the door being pushed open.

“They can’t write you all up.” You shrugged and dropped back in your chair while the meddling group made their way into the hall.

The girls continued to whisper to themselves and glanced back at you, to which you shooed them away. When you were finally alone in your classroom, you let out a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over your eyes.

Usually, you adored having open communication with your students because that meant they trusted you. But at the same time, that meant they felt entitled to know your life story whether you like it or not. The bell echoed in your ears so you spun your chair to the small fridge under your desk that held your lunch.

You clicked play on a playlist from your laptop and began eating your lunch, typing away to enter in grades. You knew you should just do nothing, scroll mindlessly on your social medias instead or maybe even call Foggy to ensure Matt made it to work, but the busy work for your eyes, head, and hands felt better. Plus, you weren’t exactly sure what you would’ve said that could’ve gotten your question answered without being a dead giveaway. So you kept working instead.

“MRS. MURDOCK!” Liv nearly yelled as she burst through your door, maybe halfway through the lunch hour. “OHMYGODYOULLNEVERBELIEVE-”

“Liv!” You said in shock, nearly dropping your water bottle. “What is going on? Is everything okay?”

“Look at this!” She hurried across and showed you her phone screen. Oddly enough, it was a photo of the back of a man exiting a taxi. What stood out to you was the white cane in his hand.

“It’s a guy getting out a cab.” You tried to reason, gently pushing her phone away. “That’s what you ran in here to tell me?”

“But he’s blind!”

“So it seems.”

“Don’t you know what this means?” She insisted with a small stomp.

You simply shrugged and raised your brows.

“It’s Mr. Murdock! He came to apologize!”

“Liv, I appreciate your concern for my marriage but we’re fine, okay? It’s not like he and I are heading towards a divorce. We’re just in a bit of an argument. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ve never seen you so…” She gestured vaguely to you.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now go back to your lunch, please. I have to finish these.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Mrs. M, just-”

“Liv, boundaries, please.”

“Just listen!”

“No.” You said firmly. “Go back to your lunch.”

She huffed slightly but retreated to the door. As she was heading out, she nearly ran into one of the monitors.

“Sorry to intrude, Y/N.” The monitor said as she popped her head in. “I have a visitor for you.”

“Another one of my kids being a problem?” You sighed and wheeled yourself a bit further from your desk. “Send ‘em in. They can sit in the corner till next class.”

“Actually, I think you’ll be glad to see this one.” She smiled knowingly and reached for something outside the doorframe.

Before you could voice another question, she ushered Matt through the door. He said his usual thanks for being guided and the monitor gave you an approving nod and thumbs up. She mouthed a very not subtle ‘He’s very handsome’. You smiled awkwardly in agreement but once the door closed, you rolled your eyes and went back to your gradebook.

“Could’ve called.” You said simply.

“I didn’t think you would answer.” Matt replied honestly.

“Probably wouldn’t have… Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I couldn’t focus.”

You heard the clicks of him folding his cane as he wandered around your classroom. You peaked up to watch him manueaver the desks with such ease that for a split second, you forgot he was blind. You watched him run his fingers along the bulletin board you had on one wall, leading into the standards and other required signage you had up.

“Did she leave?” You asked and returned to your prior task. You knew if you watched him for too long, he’d know and he’d show you that stupid lopsided smirk that he did.

“She was still pretty weak when I left.” He said and there was a slight sadness in his voice. Though if someone asked if it was for Elektra or your argument, you wouldn’t have been able to say. “But I did ask Stick to find somewhere else to take her to recover if she can’t leave on her own by the time someone gets home.”

“Chivalrous.” You made a face behind your computer screen. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to tell me that.”

He sighed slightly and you mumbled a short complaint to yourself before scooting away from your desk and spinning in your chair to face him, just as he appeared at your side. You folded your hands over your stomach and leaned back in your chair, giving an exaggerated sigh and nod for him to talk.

“Y/N, last night, I said something I shouldn’t have.” He began carefully, as if he was following a carefully rehearsed speech. For all you knew, he had rehearsed it with Foggy that morning before he showed up. “I let Stick push me and I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“But she shouldn’t be the first thing, right?” You said softly with a small shrug. “Stick shouldn’t be able to push you into saying that, whether you meant it or not.”

“You’re right.” He admitted and your brows went up slightly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You are the only woman that I want to be with. I married you, without any hesitation. I never had second thoughts or second thoughts or anything. You, Y/N Murdock, have my heart.”

You nodded slowly but said nothing as you stood. You crossed your arms and looked up at him, him offering a hopeful expression in return. You broke into a small smile and nudged him with your shoulder before moving past him. He followed you almost instantly and you took him to the wall on the other side of your desk near the window.

“The kids started calling this the Sweetheart’s Spotlight.” You said quietly with a small smile. “They keep a polaroid camera in one of the cubbies and every Friday, they rearrange the couples in order of their favorites… They made me put a photo of us on here, too.”

“Where do we rank?” He smiled slightly.

“We’ve been number one since it started.” You laughed. “They tell me that you’re the best by default since I’m their favorite teacher.”

“Lucky me.”

“You know I’m still upset, right?” You said carefully when the air was too light between you two.

“I know.” He nodded. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“But I also don’t want to hold onto this fight. So here’s an idea. Elektra’s out of the apartment today. You two finish whatever crusade you’re on. You make sure you don’t get yourself killed. She leaves New York and it’s all put to bed.”

“Consider it done.” He nodded. “And I know better than to get myself killed. I’ve got it too good to die.”

“Yeah because then I’m a widow and there’s not much life insurance to cash in on.” You joked as the lunch bell rang.

“I should get going.” He nodded before gently taking your hand. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too.” You said softly as your students started filing in.

“OHMYGOD.” One of your students yelled and you closed your eyes tightly, quietly groaning in embarrassment. “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?”

“Yes, Luna.” You said, feeling the blush across your cheeks. “This is Mr. Murdock and he’s leaving.”

You pulled Matt towards the door as he laughed. Your kids yelled questions that you tried to ignore until Matt stopped, pulling you to stop with him.

“It’s career week!” One of the boys yelled. More so a demand.

“I’m aware, Jack.” You nodded. “What does that have to do with this?”

“He’s not here to talk to us about lawyers?” The boy’s head cocked as he asked his question.

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” Matt grinned and you groaned again. “Let’s give Mrs. Murdock a break, right?”

“You’re so dead.” You threatened quietly with a laugh before heading back to your chair.

“Okay, kids.” You announced. “He’s blind and can’t write. I’m not getting up. Take your own notes and keep your questions relevant to his career, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murdock.” They all answered.

“All yours, Mr. Murdock.” You gestured before returning to grading and the personal questions started flying.

“How did you guys meet?!”

“What’s her favorite color?!”

“Did you see the wall?!” “He can’t see!”

“Are they always this rowdy?” He asked you with a slight laugh.

“You’re new and exciting.” You shrugged. “Take it as a compliment.”

354 notes · View notes

notroosterbradshaw · 1 year

Text

Stay the Night

here’s some old-school Bucky in Wakanda smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are. Hope you enjoy x

18+, smut, fluff. It's just you and Bucky in Wakanda while the team is away. He tends to his flock, you wish he tended to you.

“Today is the literal meaning of ‘hotter than Hades’,” you announced as you collapsed less than gracefully on a broken tree log as Bucky Barnes shot you a look over his shoulder, sweat protruding from every pore in his tanned, muscular form, a tendril of long, dark hair falling into his glassy blue eyes from the loose ponytail behind his head.

Jesus, a man should never look that damn good, you thought, fanning yourself with your shirt, the material sticking to your drenched skin. Thank god the heat hid your blush.

“Bored?” he asked, scooping up a hay bail and loosening it for the goats he tended to munch on.

“Radio silence,” you replied. “I kind of feel like I’m in the way of the locals when I can’t contact the team. I haven’t heard from Nat, Sam or Steve in a few days. I am pretty useless at times like this.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, pointing at the water bottle you had parked beside you. “You brought water. I assume that’s why you’re out here in the midday sun,” he teased as you tossed it to him and he caught it easily with his right hand, twisting the cap off and guzzling the cool refreshment.

Every movement was pure sex, you sighed quietly as his throat bobbed, water falling from the creases of his lips and down his chin. Life seemed much fairer before Bucky Barnes.

“Thanks, Buck,” you rolled your eyes as he finished the bottle easily, crushing it in his palm and laughing at you, walking back to hand it to you.

“No, no,” he nudged your boot with his. “Thank you,” he went back to stacking and distributing hay as you said a quiet goodbye and told him you’d see him later.

You hated when the team was away.

While you’d made some friends in Wakanda, you were still finding your way and mostly felt in the way of working alongside the Wakandan defence and communications teams. They used a lot more sophisticated tech than Stark had ever provided you and you’d never admit it out loud, the tech was somewhat confusing at times, thanks to its gross advancement over what you were used to.

You’d always be thankful for T’Challa and his family for taking you into the palace grounds, a necessity, T’Challa explained. It was beyond amazing and his lovely mother, Ramonda, fussed over you to ensure you were comfortable at all times. It was nice to feel so welcome, but so lonely without your family.

Steve, Nat and Sam had left days ago. Wanda and Vis were off the radar (lie, you knew they were having some kind of rendezvous in Europe and had no intentions of interrupting whatever was or had developed between them).

That left Bucky.

After he’d been woken from cryo, Shuri had run every test known to man on him to assist in the removal of the trigger words, he’d gratefully taken up residence away from the hustle and bustle of the wondrous city and hauled his ass out to the farmlands, simply requesting the peace, privacy and quiet. For the first time in over 100 years, he was able to be his own man without fear of retribution. Sure, the dark memories flickered occasionally, but the words would never hurt him again.

He enjoyed the serenity in the sounds of nature, with the exception of an iPod that Sam had gifted to get him up to speed on more modern music than the 1940’s bops Bucky was more accustomed to –

You sighed, hearing the knock at the door, interrupting the reverie of mindless TV. It was late, too late for guests. After dinner, you’d showered and retired to your PJ’s – your threadbare, well-worn Yankees shirt (your first souvenir of New York City when SHIELD moved you there years earlier regardless of your disinterest in baseball) and loose PJ pants. “Coming,” you replied, pushing yourself up to open the door, surprised to see Bucky on the other side - cleaned up, void of sweat and dust in lazy sweat pants and a white t-shirt. A casual Bucky Barnes. This new development was not helping your crush. Not in the slightest. “Hey. You lost?” you teased lightly.

He showed you a bottle of Glenfidditch and you chuckled a little, moving from the way to let him in. Closing the door behind him, you leaned back against it, a little confused about his visit as Bucky simply didn’t visit anyone aside from Steve or Shuri. You only visited Bucky occasionally to make sure he wasn’t segregating himself, but he did usually prefer his own company when Steve wasn’t around.

“Got ice?” he asked, going to the kitchenette for a couple of tumblers.

“I don’t actually – if I’m going to drink aged whiskey, I’ll be doing it properly.”

“Ooh,” Bucky cooed, a small grin growing on his lips. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Blame Steve – a few years back when we all moved to the Tower… fuck, just after Ultron maybe? Steve brought out a bottle of this stuff and I’ve been a convert ever since. He said you guys would destroy bottles together.”

“Well, he did. I would drink responsibly though I didn’t know at the time I could put them back as well as Steve could with the serum running through my veins,” he said, bringing the glasses to the coffee table, cracking the top and pouring you each a glass. “Are you gonna join me or hang out by the door?”

“Sorry,” your face flushed as you skittered over and sat at the other end of the couch. He handed you a glass and gave you gentle ‘cheers’ before you sat in silence for a while, enjoying the smooth amber liquid. “…Bucky, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I dunno – you seemed a bit forlorn today. Thought I’d try and be a friend,” he shrugged. “You’ve been pretty accommodating to me since we got here. I guess I could repay the favour even if you’re only checking in on me for Steve. And you’ve got air conditioning,” he tossed in the joke to try and lighten the mood.

“Steve didn’t ask me to keep tabs on you,” you admitted.

“Oh,” Bucky said, sipping his whiskey and easing back on the couch. “Do you like it out here?”

You chewed your lip, dropping your eyes to the glass. “I mean, it’s a hellova lot better than being shipped out to The Raft,” you admitted as he stifled a chuckle.

“True.”

“If I’m going to be on the run for associating with the team, it might as well be in one of the most securest places on the planet.”

“You chose well,” Bucky agreed.

“Would have been stupid for me not to take it. I owe T’Challa, and Steve, a lot.”

“They’re good men.”

“Absolutely.”

Silence overtook the room again though there was no discomfort with it.

“Thanks for havin’ a drink with me,” Bucky said as he polished off his glass. “It’s getting late,” he got to his feet.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said with a gentle shrug, collecting his tumbler.

“You’re not imposing. It’s nice to have the company, to be honest,” you confessed.

“'Nother glass then?”

“Definitely,” you said, hoping not to appear too eager. Bucky gave a small nod and poured again.

“I know I’m not much of a talker,” he told you as you sat and cradled your glass close to your chest.

“I just enjoy the company regardless of noise levels,” you shrugged. “It’s different when the team is here, but when they aren’t…”

“When they aren’t?” he pressed.

“I have too much time with my thoughts.”

He raised a glass. “I hear that.”

Your glass joined his. “Why are you in the farmlands then and not in the palace?”

He nodded slowly as you hoped you hadn’t overstepped the mark. Blame the first glass of booze – less than tipsy you would never ask such a question. “Just tryin’ to earn my keep – least I can do since T’Challa is harbouring an international war criminal, assassin, murderer – ”

You gave a gentle laugh. “He’s not harbouring you.”

“Protecting me then,” Bucky corrected himself.

“Maybe protecting you,” you admitted, agreeing.

You both continued a polite conversation, mostly about Steve and the team before you both started dozing at your respective ends of the couch. “I should really head out now,” Bucky said.

“Stay, it’s a million degrees out there.”

He gave you an incredulous look that told you he knew what you were saying, but staying was still a terrible idea. Suddenly overwhelmed, you realised it completely sounded like a blatant invite for sex. It wasn’t, you thought. Was it?

Trying telling your libido that.

“If you stay on your side of the bed, Bucky, and I stay on mine, we won’t have any issues,” you try to regain your composure.

“Are you completely sure?” he looked about as convinced as you thought you were.

“My God, it’s sleep,” you told him. “I would never deny you, of all people, Bucky, sleep.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“It’s far too hot to stay out there overnight. Enjoy a night’s sleep in the air con,” you joked. “If you enjoy sleeping in comfy climates, hey, you might even move in here.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

You blinked a few times, not catching his tease. “Yeah, like here, the palace.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

“Oh, you thought in here. With me,” you barked a laugh, getting off the couch and heading for the bed, Bucky following a safe distance away. You stifled your discomfort with snark, “Oh, darling,” you leaned forward to cup Bucky’s stubbly chin. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“Oh darlin’, don’t fall for me so quickly. It’ll only end in heartbreak,” he mocked in return. You laughed incredulously, thinking to yourself, ‘too fuckin’ late, buddy’ and moving to your side of the King bed and pulling the pillows towards yourself.

“If you’re truly concerned, here. Build a pillow wall with me. Put that hay bailin’ practice to good use.”

He sighed with a gentle smile, he was thoroughly enjoying this cheeky banter you’d suddenly worked into your conversation and helped you build the Great Wall of pillows.

“Perfect,” you said, fixing the last pillow in place.

“That is an impressive pillow wall,” Bucky concluded, stifling a laugh. “Failsafe.”

“Make yourself comfy,” you told him, laying back as he pulled off his soft cotton t-shirt and folded it, placing it neatly on the bedside table next to him, a habit he’d picked up in military training in the 40s and never really lost it, no matter what control he was under, you imagined.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you. “It is a lot nicer inside than out.”

“Told you,” you replied with a chuckle, raising a fist to him over the wall.

“What is that?” he chucked.

“My knuckles? You’ve never knocked ‘knuckles’ with someone? A fist bump?”

He laughed louder. “No, I’ve never fist-bumped.”

“Then hit my knuckles with yours,” you instructed as Bucky did as he was told. Still confused for a second, his hand met yours gently before opening and clutching your wrist in his warm, rough-skinned hand and bringing your open hand to his lips. The rules of the pillow wall were suddenly crumbling before you. Destroyed so easily.

“You need to behave,” you told him, suddenly very nervous.

“I’m finding it so hard. We’re here and I know it’s not just me that is feeling this, sugar,” he continued kissing to your wrist and moving towards your inner elbow as he got to his knees. Your body betrayed you as goose pimples shot up and down your spine and you found yourself sitting up opposite him. “All I wanna do is compromise this pillow wall.”

You could cut the tension in the cool room with a knife as your eyes burned into his. Chewing his lip, he made no secret of his intentions as he licked his mouth and walloped the pillow wall away.

Suddenly there was no divide and you were looking at each like they were your last meals. “Can I kiss you?” he asked shyly.

“If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you,” you retorted as he skimmed across the sheets to you and pulled your body flush to his. He sunk his fingers into your hair and pulled your face to his, leaving a small kiss on your waiting lips.

“Is that okay?” he asked, almost afraid.

“More,” you demanded as a reply. There was nothing forgiving about it – you were suddenly craving him – his mouth, his touch, his body, his scent and he was surrounding you in a way no other person had before.

He moved back a little. “One minute – I gotta explain…” he breathed gently. “This is kind of my first time being intimate in a long time. I know this,” he looked at his left shoulder, ashamed. “I know it’s not sexy. And if you don’t want to be with me because of it - ”

You grasped his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours and kissed him lightly. “Believe me when I say I do not care, Bucky. I know you do but I need you to know, this changes nothing for me.”

“I’ve imagined this so many times with you, pleasing you and now we’re here, I just…” his soft Brooklyn accent rumbled. “I just imagined it as me. The old me.”

Your head spun – he felt the same way? Jesus Christ, assassin school taught him surely how to fool you into believing he barely knew you existed.

“Well, I only know this, Bucky – I’m pretty crazy about you.”

His eyes flickered. Maybe it was emotion, you weren’t sure.

“You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

This time, he blushed.

“So maybe, you should just lay back,” you said, helping guide him to do so, his head settling amongst the remains of the disastrous pillow wall and you kissed him, he moaned just loud enough to hear. “And we have a good time, okay?”

He nodded, nervously. “Okay.”

“Now, relax,” you said, unsure where your confidence was coming from but you knew he needed you to lead him and you were going to treat him right. He deserved this – you, and all of you. All for him.

You ungracefully tossed the sheets from the bed, they’d just be getting in the way and crawled towards Bucky’s feet, grabbing the loose elasticised ankles and pulling at them, the sweats he wore drawn from his slender hips, descending his powerful thighs and calves before you disregarded them all together, leaving him solely in boxer briefs. Calvin Klein, how so very rude.

And dear, if your mouth didn’t water at the surprise he poorly hid in them.

Kissing his ankle and working your lips up the inside of his legs, tickling behind his knee, he shuddered. He shuddered hard. “Fuck,” he muttered. You smiled against his skin, lips moving again, your hands massaging his powerful thighs. Stopping at his waist, you crept onto his lap and pulled away your shirt. Bucky sighed, his hand reaching out to touch you. You leaned closer to him as his arm skirted around you, pulling your body flush to his to kiss you, your tongue tracing his full lips as he enthusiastically opened his mouth for your tongues to meet. His hand scalded your skin as he groped at you lightly, cascaded your side and tangled into your hair, deepening the kiss as his hips started to move beneath your body, his cock needing the friction.

You paused and raised a finger to him. He raised a confused eyebrow as you scampered off him to lose your sweats, no panties underneath. You didn’t let him get a good, long look at you before you moved to rid him of his boxers, hard cock free and you gave him a few encouraging pumps, his eyes rolling back. “Sweet Jesus,” he begged for mercy. “Please.”

“Please?” you raised a teasing eyebrow and sat on your knees between his muscular thighs. He was asking you to go down on him. You’d never felt so willing before to please a man as you were for to do for Bucky.

“Please,” he tried again as you could see this man didn’t need to be teased, he just needed to be wanted. Adored. Loved.

“Okay. Okay, now you sit back, Barnes. And you let me take care of the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he tucked his arm behind his head, licking his lips as you took him in your palms before an encouraging kiss to the head and taking him into your mouth. “Dear God,” he managed to say through groans. His hand found your hair again, pushing your hair from your face to see what he thought was the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen work over his body. “Baby, that is so good. So hot,” he encouraged, clutching roughly but not enough to hurt, just enough to spur you on. You continued your ministrations for a few minutes more before he guided you away from him, gasping. “Baby, stop. I’ll come.”

You blinked at him. “That’s okay,” you promised. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

He grinned at you. “I’m sure you can. But I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he admitted shyly.

“Oh,” you gave a gentle nod. “I thought I was doing something wrong.”

He shook his head, alarmed. “God, no. You were a little too good at what you were doing,” he reassured you. “Get up here,” he pulled you to his face to meet him for a lingering kiss. “You could kill a man with that mouth.”

“I doubt that,” you got suddenly shy, burying your blushing face in his neck as he guided your face back to his.

“Don’t get bashful now, sweetheart,” he gazed at you like you were about the best damn thing he’d ever seen. You didn’t know how or why, but the look turned you on more than any act prior to right then. You just wanted to make him happy, release him, and feel him come apart under your hands. “I have an admission to make, and fuck, I hope this doesn’t come across as shitty…” he said quietly.

“What’s that?” you asked, suddenly feeling very exposed regardless of you lack of clothing.

“Uhh… I don’t know, logistically, how I make this work without you on toppa me, baby. I’m sorry, I don’t want to crush you if something goes wrong,” he looked as though he wanted the bed to eat him whole.

And why, you don’t know. But his admission gave you the confidence you didn’t expect. “Is this you suggesting I ride you?” you gave a small giggle as he chewed his lip.

“Lil’ bit, yeah. I know that sounds so goddamn selfish – ”

“Giving me the power over you makes you selfish?”

“Well, it takes away a fair amount of effort,” he reasoned. “And you know, I wanna show you what I can do…” his voice trailed off, timidly.

And suddenly you understood. This wasn’t just about a missing limb – this was the pain and terror from all those years ago. The raw, never-ending trauma of Bucky’s initial testing, falling from the train in the Alps. Losing his arm seemed so minute in all of it. Years of physical and mental abuse, and psychological torment at the hands of HYDRA, of the Soviets, whoever was the highest bidder for The Winter Soldier.

This was touch, connection, feeling wanted and adored – oh, how needed to Bucky understand how much you wanted to be the person to help him.

You tutted him and inhaled, gently cupping his cheek, choosing compassion. “Relax, handsome, lay back and enjoy,” you instructed as he nodded slightly and wrapped his scorching hand around your ribs. It was such a simple act, but it turned you on so much. It felt possessive, wanted. “I want to make you feel so fucking good – will you let me?”

You don’t know why you asked, but you knew you needed to hear him tell you he wanted this too. “Yes,” he nodded shyly. “Hell yes.”

“Okay,” you leaned down to kiss him, reached between your bodies and in your warm hands, adjusted your body on his. Viewing Bucky as he felt you sheath your body around his was as good as it could ever get – his plumb lips drawn into his gleaming white teeth, his bright blue eyes hidden behind his long lashes. Giving him some time to adjust, just like you were to his size encouraged you as he lightly raised his hips in hopes for you to move. “You good?” you asked again.

“Better than, amazing,” he told you, gripping your hip and your body slowly started to move above him. “Jesus Christ,” he uttered, raising his eyes to look at you.

Taking his hand and linking your fingers as you relaxed and stopped trying to ensure his good time (it appeared ensured) and sinking into feeling so good yourself, you moved your hips more, craving Bucky deeper, hoping to find that elusive little spot to make you explode.

“Touch yourself?” he pleaded quietly. “Please, sugar?”

Appeasing him happily, he watched your free hand creep down your body and open yourself up to where your bodies met, your fingers putting on a show as you toyed with yourself just for his dark, lust-filled eyes. Your body tightened under the pressure and Bucky’s pleasured grunts and curses was certainly on the rise. His hand relinquished yours as he clutched onto your ass, forcing you rougher into him, his tempo speeding up and urging you to do the same from the friction his body caused yours.

“God, you feel so good. So wet, so warm,” he muttered, his breathing deepening as his hips haphazardly fired into you. “Are you close?” he asked desperately. You were, you so fucking were, you realised, his simple question bringing you even closer. You nodded as you pressed harder against your clit, desperate for your own release and of course, his.

He needs this, you reminded yourself. You needed this. “Fuck, yes,” you replied as he used his abs to sit up, suddenly so much deeper into you as you looked at each other face to face, chest to chest and Bucky kissed you. He kissed you with those beautiful lips and a tongue that knew exactly how you wanted to be kissed as he moaned into your mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist and took a nipple into your mouth as you started to come – that was the move, the special way to push you over the edge. Realising this, Bucky grinned and looked at you, using those pearly whites to chew lightly and you were coming. Coming so hard that you felt like you might have seen stars as he let out a litany of curses and came hard too.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Bucky breathed, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back, taking your body down with him, keeping you wrapped in his embrace and softening inside you. Bucky Barnes liked to cuddle, you realised.

“Holy shit,” you managed to say as you tried to settle your breathing. “That was fantastic.”

“Really?” he asked bashfully. He looked you in the eye and begged you weren’t lying to him. You nodded and tenderly kissed him. “Good,” he gave a small, shy smile and suddenly appeared so boyish. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have the thank me,” you told him. “Trust me, I’m just glad you stayed.”

“Fuck, me too,” he laughed. “Me too.”

Hearing your phone beep, you shot up through the heaviness across your chest and halted you. Bucky’s body subdued you – the body heat he exhumed was hot and stifling. He groaned, pulling you back down to him.

“They’ll call back,” he muttered. “Sleep.”

“It’s the team,” you whispered back. He breathed heavily, reaching out for the phone for you reluctantly and putting it in your hands. Relief washed through you. The team, including Wanda and Vis, were returning to Wakanda imminently. “Did you sleep okay?”

Yawning, Bucky slightly freed you from his grasp. “You weren’t wrong about sleeping comfortably – I mean, I don’t deserve to, but it was the most relaxing sleep I’ve had in years.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Bucky. Truly.”

He soothingly kissed your naked shoulder. “Thank you for last night.”

“I just hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“So much,” he breathed against your skin, rolling you to your back and lightly pining your body under his. You loved the feel of his weight on your body. You would come to crave it. Addicted and all in less than 12 hours. You’d fallen so hard, so fast. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you couldn’t lie. Bucky’s body was made for a multitude of sins and loving on a woman? The top. He kissed each eyelid that fluttered closed under his touch, the tip of your nose, his mouth travelling through your throat to your décolletage. “Behave…” you teased, your fingers lacing into his long, dark, loose waves.

He laughed into your skin. “Okay,” he nudged your knees apart, his hips meeting yours. He felt as if he was flying – he’d never imagined the confidence he felt, that you’d given to him. Or how you could have destroyed it by rejecting him. The power you had over him was stifling. That was a hellova lot scarier than what was to eventually come.

“What did I say?”

“You told me to behave.”

“And what did you do?”

“The exact opposite,” he admitted. “I just can’t seem to keep my mitts offa you. You’ve opened the floodgates, sugar. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again.”

Your phone beeping incessantly now, you found yourself in a world where only you and Bucky ceased to exist. The rest of the world could wait another hour.

#make me regret posting this 😬#bucky with the good hair #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky angst #white wolf #notroosterbradshaw #reposting from another life #if this bombs I’m deleting it

1K notes · View notes

simpforrooster · 2 months

Text

i love when you call me pete.

pete ‘maverick’ mitchell x f!reader

t/w: mentions of an age gap, some smooching. drunk!maverick

summary: maverick almost drunkenly tells reader how he feels about her

a/n: lowercase intended! wrote this on my phone and have autocaps off xD two fics in one day!!!

maverick laughs as jake, one hand over his own eyes, takes aim at the dart board.

jake hits a bullseye. mav pulls out his wallet, and reluctantly hands jake a folded bill. your eyes roll at the captain’s stupidity. jake never misses a bullseye.

the guys surely hustled the poor man. mav’s hand falls on jake’s shoulder as he finishes off his beer.

“how long are you gonna stare at him?” phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“i am not staring,” you counter, knowing full well that you are indeed staring.

not that you could help it. the man may be twice your age, but he’s hot. even phoenix, happily engaged to bob, gets her an eye full of the elder captain.

you wipe down the bar in front of phoenix and hand her another lemon drop. tucking the rag in your back belt loop, you turn to hand another regular their drink.

ever since penny hired you, you’ve managed to take care of the bar almost as good as she does. she lets you take on the slower days of the week alone, and the two of you manage the weekend crowds together.

once everyone has been taken care of, you turn your attention back to your friend. you catch her admiring her ring. she looks up at you with a grin.

“sorry,” she shrugs. you shake your head.

“no indeed. i’d be gawking at that rock all day if it was mine.”

“you know you said that entire sentence looking at him and not me, right.”

you startle. she’s right. you’d basically been undressing maverick with your eyes. imagining your left hand heavy with a ring.

“you’re impossible,” she laughs.

your heart picks up its pace as maverick saunters, or better yet, sways up to the bar.

“four more, please. on my tab, babe.” maverick holds up five fingers, a giant grin on his face.

babe?

you lean over the bar and lay his thumb back against his palm. “that’s four.”

maverick looks down at you and then back to his hand. a chuckle falls languidly from his lips. “you’re right.”

phoenix raises a brow at you, out of sight from mav, who is looking at you like you’re his center of gravity.

“have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?” maverick says, still holding up those four fingers. the comment turns your insides into jelly.

“are you drunk, pete?” you ask him. there’s no way he’d be saying any of this if he were sober.

his hand falls to the bar top and his eyes fall closed. he stands there a moment, gathering himself, you assume.

his eyes open, those blue irises almost knocking you off your feet with how intense they look at you.

“i may be drunk, but that doesn’t mean i’m lying about you being gorgeous.”

phoenix grins at you over his shoulder, maverick completely oblivious to her.

no, he’s definitely only noticing you. every moved you’ve made, he’s tracked it. well, as well as he can given that he’s shitfaced.

maverick shrugs a shoulder. “maybe sober me is just nervous to tell you that.”

“pete,” you breathe. “you’re a naval aviator. there’s no way i make you nervous.”

“god, i love how you say my name,” he admits. before he can say anything else, jake and rooster appear at his side.

“come on, pops, we’ll get you home.” the men each take an arm, seeing as maverick can hardly remain upright.

he tries to shake them off. “i can’t go until i ask y/n out.”

your hand comes up to your mouth, your heart picking up pace again.

“let’s try tomorrow, mav,” rooster murmurs to his godfather. maverick vehemently shakes his head.

“no. i have to tell her now. i have to tell her i—,”

“oh no you don’t,” jake says, forcing maverick away from the bar. “you will not finish that sentence until you’re sober. she doesn’t deserve a drunk admission.”

rooster shoots you an apologetic look, handing you his card to close out the three of their tabs. you move on autopilot. punching in the men’s names, clicking on them, swiping the card, repeat. you hesitate on pete’s account. god, he did have a lot to drink.

that’s all that was. drunken words. he won’t remember any of this in the morning.

once the men are out the bar and pete is loaded in the back of the bronco, you turn to phoenix.

“what the fuck?” she screeches.

“i told them not to let him approach her with as far gone as he was,” bob comments, saddling up in the barstool next to his fiancé.

“what are you talking about, bob?” you ask.

bob shares a look with phoenix.

“you’re nuts if you’ve never seen the way he looks at you.”

“please don’t get my hopes up, bob,” you tell the bar, already fearful of those hopes plummeting once maverick comes to his senses and takes everything that just happened back.

you close out the remaining people at the bar. phoenix and bob hang around with you, walking you to your car once you’ve got the hard deck locked up.

the dagger squad take turns staying with you when you have a closing shift. they’re more protective of you than a set of new parents.

you hug your friends goodbye and drive to your apartment.

the next morning, your doorbell wakes you up with a start.

literally rolling out of the bed, you hit the floor tangled in your sheets. the doorbell chimes again. searching for a pair of pants, dread fills you as the doorbell rings once again.

what could be so urgent at..7 am?!

your mind runs through every possibility.

the doorbells chimes for a forth time just as you throw the door open, shrieking, “what?!”

pete mitchell stands on your stoop. he looks like hell. the two of you stare at one another, while pete grips the flowers he’s holding with a death grip.

you open the door wider, silently inviting him in. he follows you to the kitchen and settles at your island. the silence in the room thickens as you set to work making coffee. you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“listen, y/n,” maverick starts, but you cut him off, sharply holding up a finger. you fish two mugs from your cabinet. you fill his mug to the brim, spooning two teaspoons of sugar in it. you fix yourself a little coffee with your creamer. setting the coffee in front of him, you step back and lean against the counter across him.

waving your hand, you tell him to proceed.

“i’m so sorry about last night,” he says, finally laying the flowers down. he runs his hands down the front of his jeans, wiping away the sweat.

“if you’re about to take it all back, i really don’t want to hear it, mav,” you tell him.

“mav..” he repeats to himself, looking at your counter top. “last night you called me pete.” he brings his eyes to yours.

you stare at him. okay, he remembers that.

“i don’t want to take any of it back, y/n.”

your breath catches at the back of your throat.

“i want to apologize,” he continues. “you didn’t deserve a drunken admission. i was being cowardly. because believe it or not, you’re ten times scarier than an f-18.”

when you say nothing, he keeps on.

“i know how to handle an f-18. i know what makes it work, how to get it back on track. i know that plan inside and out.” he takes a breath. “i don’t know how to navigate this. you.”

“me?”

“you. god, y/n. you have the ability to wreck me to my core. and i have so terrified to admit my feelings to you.”

“come on, pete, you can’t mean that,” you tell him, folding in on yourself.

“of course i do. the guys told me talking to you drunk was a bad idea. i thought i could handle it, but you just looked so gorgeous, i couldn’t help it.”

you are fully aware of how you looked last night during that fiasco. and gorgeous surely wasn’t it. not with your tank top and cut offs. and you know your hair had to be a mess. it always was at the end of a shift.

maverick rises from his stool. coming around the kitchen island, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking terrified as he walks over to you.

“i am sorry i tried to do this shitfaced,” he whispers, a breathe away from you. “tell me i didn’t ruin anything.”

he’s never stood this close to you, and it’s doing odd things to your heart.

“you didn’t ruin anything, pete,” you tell him. his eyes drop down to your mouth, silently asking permission. you nod, not trusting your voice to not betray how much you want this.

maverick pins you to the counter, his hands on either side of you, holding his weight off you. you speed him up by balling your hand in his shirt and pulling him down to you.

maverick grins as his mouth meets yours, falling back into his normal self. you can fill the confidence flowing through him as his hands move from the counter to your body.

his expert hands fall exactly where you need them. he deepens the kiss, his tongue running along your bottom lip. opening up to him, he pulls you tight against his body.

“fuck,” he breathes against your lips.

“tell me about it,” you murmur.

he plants tantalizing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“pete,” you moan. he tightens his hold in response.

“i love it when you call me pete,” he says, returning his kisses to your mouth.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell imagine #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick fanfic #maverick imagine #maverick x reader

250 notes · View notes

coupsie-daisies · 15 days

Text

Kinktober '23: Bondage | Boo Seungkwan

Pairing: Camboy!Boo Seungkwan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), roommates to lovers, Camboy AU

Summary: Seungkwan is a camboy and after months of trying, he invites you, his best friend, to help him spice up one of his streams

WC: 5.8k

Warnings: Pet names (pretty girl, pretty, baby), fingering, unprotected sex (be smart), light bondage, some voyeurism and exhibitionism aspects, prominent sub space, spanking, multiple orgasms (fem receiving), Seungkwan is such a soft dom in this but he doesn't take any shit

A/N: Yall I know it's been a long time but I refuse to give up and honestly?? I kinda ate with this one. If you like it, please check out my commission and donation links, drop a comment or a reblog, it would be appreciated!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Living with Seungkwan was nice. He had friends over sometimes, and they could get a little loud sometimes, but they were always polite towards you, and they really did try not to cause problems for you. Seungkwan himself was a good friend, someone you knew you could rely on to handle the grocery trips when you were busy, or to keep the dishes done up. He was a shoulder you could lean on, which might have something to do with the two of you meeting during what was, objectively speaking, your worst year of college.

Maybe the best thing about Seungkwan was that no matter how much he would tease you, he never judged your decisions, and you never judged his. It was easy for the two of you to mind your own business. So it was a bit of a surprise when he came bursting into your room after a couple sharp knocks. He didn’t wait for an answer, and you were grateful that you were actually wearing pants this time.

“Hey, quick question. Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asked. You looked up at where he was standing just inside your doorway.

“Hello to you too, Kwannie,” You said, sitting up in bed and stretching your arms over your head. You didn’t catch the way his eyes flicked down to the sliver of your stomach that exposed itself. “You should really learn to knock. I could have been busy. Or, like, changing or something.”

“Y/N,” He whined, jutting out his bottom lip into a dramatic pout. You whined back before huffing.

“Relax, relax. I’m sorry. No, I’m not doing anything tomorrow night. Why?”

He moved to flop onto the end of your bed.

“Okay, so you know how I do streams, right?” He asked. You nodded, remembering how awkward the conversation had been when he’d explained it, how nervous he was to tell you that he had a side hustle as a camboy. You, however, hadn’t thought anything much about it, which you could tell helped ease his mind. It never mattered to you what he did in his free time, especially when his pocket money bought you little treats from everywhere he went. Besides, anyone as hot as Seungkwan would be a fool not to profit off of their looks in one way or another.

“Mhm,” You hardly looked up from your phone, just enough to urge him to continue talking.

“So…I had an idea for how to change it up this week but I need help.” He said. That had you putting your phone down. What exactly was he asking of you?

“Look, if we’re going to a sex store, you’re paying.” You said. You watched a faded pink crawl up his neck, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I wasn’t gonna suggest that. I think I have everything I need for now. It’s just a weird request, so you can’t freak out on me. I’m warning you!”

“Consider me warned,” You motioned for him to carry on.

“Would you want to join me for the stream? Like…let me touch you or whatever?”

You lost any semblance of coherent thoughts at his question. Sure, you knew that Seungkwan masturbated for strangers on the internet, and you knew he’d offhandedly mentioned how people would be interested in seeing him with a partner, but you knew he’d never wanted to share something like that with anyone he didn’t trust inside and out. More than freaking you out, the invitation flattered you (and maybe sparked a heat low in your stomach). He trusted you enough to invite you into his most vulnerable space.

Unfortunately, your silence on the matter did nothing but make him nervous.

“You can just say no, I’m not gonna be mad.” He said, moving to get up. You frowned, reaching to catch his hand and stop him before he got too far.

“I wasn’t gonna say no. I was just thinking is all.” You said with a shrug. “I know you wanna make your undying fans happy, but I don’t want you to bring me into this unless it’s something you’re absolutely sure about.”

Your sincerity seemed to catch him off guard, but he shook it quickly except for the curling warmth rising in his chest.

‘I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a couple months. Didn’t know how to without making it…weird.”

“It’s us, Kwan, aren’t things always weird?” You teased him. You watched the way the tension washed out of him, the way his shoulders relaxed, and you found yourself relaxing with him.

A little over twenty-four hours had passed when you found yourself stepping into Seungkwan’s bedroom. It was odd, and the nerves were beginning to settle in your stomach. It’s not like you were some fresh and pure virgin, and if there was anyone that you trusted to fuck you on camera in front of dozens - if not hundreds - of people, it was Seungkwan. But now you were about to have your entire body on display, about to hand over the reins and let him do as he saw fit for the people watching him. The people watching you.

“You can make yourself comfortable,” He said, motioning towards his bed. You’d been inside his room plenty of times, and maybe you’d taken a peek at his streams once or twice, just to see what exactly it was he did, but this felt different. You knew what this room looked like from almost every angle, but seeing it like this in person and not through the tiny screen of your phone was new. The purple LED lights set the mood, washing his room in a cool glow that made the entire place feel like it was moving in slow motion.

You perched on the end of his bed, watching the ease with which he moved around, the confidence in his stride. It wasn’t unfamiliar, this version of him where he took up space and commanded a room, but the context added something in it that sent ripples through the pool of arousal settling into your stomach. He sat in his desk chair, adjusting his set up and bobbing his head to the quiet music that he had playing in the background. You admired the way that the dim lighting washed over him, casting shadows against his already stunning features and making him that much harder to look away from.

“Did you hear me?” He asked. You blinked the lust out of your eyes and gave him an apologetic smile instead of an answer. “If you’re nervous you can say so. We don’t have to do this.”

He could see through you without even trying. Damn him and his observant nature.

“I’m fine, seriously. I want to do this with you. New experiences or whatever, right?” You rolled your neck in a slow circle, letting your shoulders lift up and drop back, stretching the nerves out of your muscles and forcing yourself to relax. This wasn’t you, you weren’t generally so uptight. “What was it you were saying?”

“The set up over here will have the stream on it. If you’re worried about what people will see, you can check it on this one.” He nodded towards one of the screens in question, then pointed to the next one. “That one will have the chat on it.”

You nodded along, listening to him explain the set up and showing you what the viewers would see, it was exactly what you’d expected it to be, nothing too intimidating. Still, you were grateful for his explanations and reassurance.

“And you’re just gonna…fuck me?” You asked, not entirely sure what to expect. You’d discussed your limits, established a safeword for if you needed out. You’d talked about what you were into, what you’d never tried before, going to extents that made you squirm. By this point, you were pretty sure that Seungkwan knew your sexual preferences better than any partner you’d ever had in the past.

Seungkwan laughed, and the sound seemed into your bones, washing away the last of your worries. That was your Seungkwan, you were safe in his hands.

“Not right away. Gonna talk to the chat, touch you, get everyone all worked up. You don’t have to say anything, just follow my lead. Listen to my voice. Let me make you feel good. The teasing is half the fun, it’s the part they always like the most.”

He was speaking so casually, but the certainty in his voice was doing something to you. You nodded, trying to picture how things were going to happen. Where would he touch you? Would he be able to find all the places that made you squirm or would he be too preoccupied with his chit-chat?

“Then I’ll do what we talked about. Play with you, make sure you feel good. It really is about you this time around.”

This time around. It implied he’d bring you back, put on another show with you, maybe a bit more selfishly. One that was about him next time. You remembered how he’d explained that his fans wanted to see how he’d take care of a partner, presumably to imagine it was them. That was fine by you, and if you held a little piece of something special with Seungkwan, well, that was nobody’s business but your own.

He went through the process of getting the stream ready, and you say quietly, watching him slip into his element. It reminded you of when he’d host get-togethers for your friends, how careful he was to make sure that everything was perfect so nobody had to worry about a thing. You wondered if he’d do the same thing when he was playing with you.

“Camera on in one minute.” He said, moving so he was propped against his pillows, guiding you to sit between his legs. You did as he said, pressing your back to his front and leaning your head back into his shoulder, nervous eyes trained on the screen where the two of you were sitting. It gave a perfect view of the two of you, his arms wrapped around you, hands settling against your lower stomach, and his fingers tracing against the waistband of your pants.

The viewers started rolling in just after the stream started, dedicated viewers who expected him just like clockwork. They greeted him with nothing but adoration and excitement, and Seungkwan greeted them back, calling some of them by name and thanking them for their tips on the last steam, insisting that he’d put on a good show again, that he’d work hard to meet their standards.

You really weren’t paying too much attention to what he was saying, just listening to that smooth cadence of his voice and feeling the way his hands brushed down over your exposed thighs, thumbs tracing the line of the shorts you’d put on for this. His hands were warm and smooth, kneading at the flesh of your thighs and dragging his dull nails against the insides of them. You wondered if he noticed the way your body was melting into him with each pass of his palms against your skin.

After several minutes of focusing on nothing but the heat thrumming in your stomach, you found yourself fighting the urge to wiggle, and then he was riding his hands higher, stroking up your sies and pushing your shirt out of the way so that he could slip underneath, caressing your sids, along your stomach, swirling shapes that blended in with the dips of his voice as he spoke to the camera.

You’d very nearly forgotten the viewers, so focused in on the way that Seungkwan was familiarizing himself with your body. Nobody had ever taken this much time to touch you without even taking off your shirt. You had a fleeting thought that maybe you’d have to worry about that eventually, about him being able to take you apart and put you back together better than anyone else you knew. That thought, however, slipped through your fingers when his hands moved up to cup your breasts over your bra. The touch made your back arch involuntarily, chasing more pressure, more skin on skin contact, more anything because that simply wasn’t cutting it.

He laughed, voice swirling in your head and fogging it up enough that you didn’t even have time to be insecure when he pulled your shirt off and cast it aside. You opened your eyes, the glaring image of the two of you catching your attention, and the red light staring back at your nearly bare torso. You chewed on your lip, and Seungkwan dipped closer so that the mic wouldn’t pick up his voice.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You nodded slowly, and his lips ghosted over the weak spot just below your ear. Your breath hitched when he flicked his tongue over it, waiting until your muscles gave out on you to suckle on it, drawing the tiniest whine from you. Then he huffed out a chuckle against the shell of your ear. “Good. I’m not done with you yet.”

His voice was dark, heady, and you were spinning in the abyss of it. The room felt like it was tilting at an odd angle, your stomach flip flopping and your body being held up only by the arm he had wrapped around you again, keeping you steady against him while he teased the curve of your cleavage above your bra.

“Yeah, she’s never been on camera before,” He said, voice no longer aimed towards you, but back at the audience that was becoming more and more antsy to have his attention back. You remembered then that people were watching you, watching the way that the slightest touch from him had you pressing your thighs together for a sliver of friction. “I know, she’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

A warmth crept into your cheeks at the easy praise, words spilling out as if you weren’t even there. It shouldn’t have turned you on the way that it did, but you couldn’t deny the wetness dampening your panties as his fingers dipped under the cups of your bra, tugging them down slowly enough for you to stop him if you wanted. You didn’t want to. So he pulled the fabric down under your breasts and let his hands idly knead at them. He wasn’t chasing your pleasure the way that you were, just taking his time touching you as his eyes scanned the chat screen. The praise, the requests for him to strip with you, the ones asking to see more of you.

You didn't notice it in your state, so focused on his touch that you weren’t even looking at him on the screen, but a sort of heated jealousy flickered across his face. He didn’t mind sharing you with his audience, that’s what had gotten you into his bed in the first place, but he didn’t like the idea of letting them take over, letting them make you feel good instead while he just followed their orders.

His fingers got harsher, brushing against your nipples before pinching them between his fingertips and rolling them. You whined, back arching to ease some of the sharp pain, and he bit back a devastated sound at how pretty you sounded. For him.

His eyes returned to the screen, reading the comments as they rushed by, thanking people for the tips rolling in as he continued to pinch and tweak your sensitive buds. He tugged and twisted, flicked at them until you were nearly panting, legs desperately pressing together as if that would make you less of a worked up mess.

“Stay still,” He mumbled sharply, easing up on his torment and instead kneading your breasts in large, warm palms as if to soothe the sting of arousal that he’d caused.

He continued like that, hands suddenly gentle and much more patient than you could stand. You whimpered after a few moments of his attention straying front ou, your hand finding his wrist and guiding it with feather light touches towards the waistband of your shorts. He laughed.

“Need something, baby?” He asked. The name was new, and it only sent your mind spiraling further into depraved desperation.

“Need you. Please?” You said, and it was quiet enough that you weren’t even sure if it could be heard through the stream. The only reassurance that your begging was noticed was the influx of pinging as more and more money rolled in.

“Need me? Im right here, pretty girl. What could you need?” He taunted, and you huffed.

“Need you to touch me. Wanna cum,” You said, the world around you fading out completely as you gave him exactly what he was looking for. He seemed satisfied, nudging you to sit up straighter so that he could pull his shirt off and discard it. Then he was pulling you back, pressing your bare skin to his, radiating warmth that had you melting, your skin burning with want, and need, and pure molten lava at that point.

Once you were settled back, he pushed your shorts out of his way, guiding them down your soft thighs so you could kick them off, leaving you just in the flimsiest, cutest pair of panties that you owned. The scrap of fabric barely covered you to begin with, and it was nearly transparent with your wetness, stuck to your folds. Seungkwan reached down, hooking your legs over his so he could hold you open for everyone to see, his fingers tracing your exposed thighs and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You tried not to fold the moment you got his attention, you really did, but it was easier said than down when his touch skirted along the edge of your panties, so horribly close to your pussy that it made your hips back and your voice come out as a trembling whimper.

“Can you guys see how wet she is?” He asked, his voice dripping pure charm that only served to make your hold leak a little more. Then his fingers were pressing your panties against you, dragging them against your slicked clit in slow, torturous circles. You nearly sobbed, eyes opening to look up at him. The face that he looked breathtaking even from this angle was cruel, downright killer.

“She’s soaked already. You know, I knew she’d like being watched but I think she likes it almost as much as I do,” He laughed, and you huffed in protest, but he didn’t stop his touch regardless. “How many times do you think we can make her cum? Two? Three?”

You couldn’t bite your tongue this time, a scoff slipping out as your frustration built enough to sting between your thighs.

“Haven’t even proved you could make me cum once. How could they know how many times? Maybe one of them should just fuck me instead. Bet they’d be nice to me.” You snapped. You realized your mistake the moment you spoke. Seungkwan’s fingers stilled, his other hand coming up to grasp at your waist, tugging you hard enough that you couldn’t even consider not giving in. He guided you to flip over, settling you over his lap.

“Is that how you talk to me?” He asked, tugging your panties down to expose the curve of your ass to the cool air of his room. You shook your head harshly, trying to mumble out apologies, but only managing a series of pouty whines and please that he didn’t seem interested in listening to. “I didn’t fucking think so. I know you have manners, let’s make sure you use them next time.”

His hand came down, harsh and stinging against one side of your ass, your hips jolting and scrambling to escape the pain. He pulled them back into place, kneading your ass cheek beneath his palm.

“What do you say?” He asked. You buried your face in your arm, turning just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m sorry, baby, please,” You whimpered. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Oh, you promise?” He taunted. You didn’t have a chance to answer before he was spanking you again. This time it was less hard, but followed by two more just as quickly. You yelped, kicking your feet up helplessly to try and protect your backside. He just pushed them down, taking a moment to rub at the abused flesh before giving you one more. You sniffled, though there weren’t any tears, just a pathetic thrum of humiliation and arousal washing over you.

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, nuzzling into his thigh and leaving a soft kiss there as if it would take away from your misbehavior.

“Thank you pretty girl. Did so well for me.” He praised, tipping your head up and leaning down to kiss you. The feeling took you by surprise, the softness of his lips against yours wasn’t something that had gone unimagined, but it was better in real life, and so vastly opposite his harsh discipline from moments before. Nevertheless, it was chaste, and his eyes were still dark when he pulled away.

“I think you deserve a reward for being so good. Used your manners and everything.” He brushed his fingers down the curve of your jaw, gentle and adoring, then his eyes flicked up towards the camera. “What do you think? Is it time for a reward?”

His voice was sweet, and you wiggled your hips, half hoping that it would sway the viewers to your side and coax him into making you cum. Your pussy was throbbing with the need to be touched, to be spread open and stretched out, and the feeling was beginning to become uncomfortable.

He hummed, not speaking as he read the comments, just carefully focusing on the scroll of words that you weren’t in the headspace to make out. Then he was knocking your thighs apart, keeping you laid out there over his lap, and sliding his fingers down to your needy cunt. He spread your wetness along your lower lips, coating his skin in it before stopping to flick them harshly along your clit, back and forth at such a pace that you wanted to close your thighs. The only thing keeping them open was his forearm laid against one of them and the awkward position that he had you laid in.

You bit back a desperate whine as your orgasm crashed into you surprisingly fast, your body writhing in his lap as he continued to work you through it, rubbing fast circles against your clit and leaving your walls to clench and flutter, unsatisfyingly empty. The orgasm did nothing but make you more desperate for him.

“Please,” You whined as you came down from it, need burning hot and heavy in your lower stomach. He smiled, using his clean hand to stroke your hair away from your face. “Wanna feel you inside,”

He groaned, although it was nearly closer to a whine, wordlessly complaining about your impatience, and the effect it was having on him, and how it was no doubt ruining his carefully thought out plans for the stream. He pouted, bottom lip jutting out at the camera as he read the influx of comments.

“Aish,” He hissed under his breath. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

You processed that he was talking to his viewers as he maneuvered you off of his lap so he could stand up. The bulge in his pants was obvious, the outline of his cock showing against the soft fabric. He didn’t do anything about it though, pulling you carefully to sit up instead, your back turned to the camera and you perched up on your knees. He pulled a spool of dark blue rope from his bedside drawer, moving your arms behind your back and carefully wrapping your wrists, trying your forearms together and giving them a tug. You hummed out a sound at the feeling, the slightest strain tugging in your shoulders and the rope rubbing against your arms leaving you with even more lava rushing through your veins.

He tipped your head up, making you look at him and silently questioning if you were comfortable enough. You nodded ever so slightly, looking up at your roommate with the widest lust blown eyes as if that would make him speed this whole ordeal up. You knew better though, knew he wouldn’t go easy on you. Especially not when you had an entire crowd to entertain.

“Needy little whore. Cute,” He hummed, pulling you around so that your back was facing him, your profiles to the camera. He pulled you back by your upper arm, catching you steadily against his chest when your balance gave way to his force. He reached around you, turning your chin up to catch your lips in a fast, messy kiss. It was all tongue, and saliva, and the taste of him as he practically devoured your mouth.

His hands roamed down your front, tracing your curves, down your stomach, before finally finding their way to your dripping core. He pulled your legs open wider, not caring about the little whimper that you let out in response to losing your balance again. After all, he had no intentions of letting you fall, and maybe you had a habit of forgetting how strong he was until he was keeping you upright with a single arm around you.

Two of his fingers slid through your folds, spreading them open for a third to tease against your hungry hole, sliding in slowly before sliding right back out and continuing to tease you. You were too breathless to complain, his lips leaving yours and dripping wet kisses down your neck and shoulder, then back up again, nipping at your earlobe before sucking what you were sure would be a very bold mark at the crook of your neck.

Then two of his fingers were filling you up, and your body threatened to fall forward, your legs trying to snap shut around his hand but in no position to do so. So instead he continued working you open, fingers fucking into you with the lewdest sound, pushing your wetness out and letting it run down his hand as he worked you open for him. You could feel his impatience in the way that he worked a third finger inside along with the first two, the sting earning a broken moan from you. It didn’t last, turning into a burning need for more, more, more. That’s all you could think about, greedy little whore. Just for him.

It took you a considerable moment to realize that he was the one whispering those words to you as he stuffed you full of his fingers, your mind getting lost somewhere along the way and focusing entirely on the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his bare chest pressed to your back, and your arms trapped between the two of you, and the beads of sweat slipping down your collarbone. You swore you could feel everything all at once and process none of it at all.

When he pulled his fingers out of you, you let out what could only be called a sob of devastation, and he laughed, easing you down so your weight was resting on your front, balanced carefully on your shoulder with your cheek pressed into the bed. You looked over at him as best as you could, watching him shuck off his pants and underwear so the both of you were completely naked. You could only just see the way his hand wrapped around his cock, fingers smearing your slick arousal onto his length as he tugged it slowly. He looked so pretty, the softly sculpted muscles of his stomach tensing, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he tried to get himself impossibly harder. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel his eyes fixated on the clenching of your pussy, the way you were leaking all over your thighs for him.

“Baby, please fuck me. Been waiting for so long, just…please.” You huffed, wiggling your hips back towards him, and you caught a momentary glimpse of his eyes clouding over as he watched you. His free hand came to knead one of your ass cheeks, spreading you open and taking in the way your hole was begging for him. He cursed under his breath, muttering something to the camera that you didn’t hear – and, quite frankly, didn’t give a shit about.

“Alright, pretty, just hold tight.”

Seungkwan guided his cock to tap against your folds a few times, then pressing into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He wasn’t terribly long, but he was thick enough that it brought the sting of tears as he filled you up. Your hands grasped at the air, not entirely able to grab anything but each other, which you did. Your back ached, burying your face deeper into his bedding to try and muffle the fucked out cry that left your lips as his cock dragged the length of your g-spot. Your stomach flipped and tightened as his hips stilled, pressed harshly against your ass. His hands were gripping your hips like a lifeline, surely leaving bruises in the shape of his fingertips, pulling you back into him so he could hit just a little deeper inside of you.

You weren’t given an opportunity to find words before he was puling out of you and sliding home again, harder this time, a little faster, until his pace was set and his hips were meeting yours hard enough that you just knew your ass was turning pink. The only sounds in the room were the slick slide of his cock inside of you, the skin on skin of his hips meeting your backside, and the downright shattered moans that you were letting out with each of his thrusts, the sound stunted and jumpy as he fucked you dumb.

Seungkwan grabbed your bound arms, pulling you up onto your knees and using your shoulder as leverage to drag you back into him. Your entire body shuddered at the new angle, head dropping forward and mouth hanging open as drool pooled at the corner of your lips. Somehow, despite knowing what it was he did, it had never occurred to you that maybe Seungkwan was an absolute sex god.

The hand on your shoulder slipped around, fingers splaying prettily against your throat, not choking you but simply letting you know that he was there, that he could, and you groaned a string of curses as you lost all sense of space and time. The only thing that existed was him, his body, the way it was connecting with yours. Just the two of you and the breathless grunts that he let out against your neck.

“Gonna cum,” You warned him, your fingers managing to drag against his stomach as he fucked into you, and the next thing you knew your vision was bursting with white, and Seungkwan was growling as you came around him, squeezing him so tight that he could hardly even fuck you through it.

Your ears were ringing, and it felt a little like you were on a boat when he laid you down on your front again, pulling out to shoot his load onto the insides of your thighs, marking your skin with his seed and stroking himself through it. He was panting then, the first thing that you could process, and you listened to that sound alone, ignoring the slightly off putting feeling of his cum running down your legs. You just nuzzled deeper into his blankets, finally processing that he’d laid you down.

You faintly heard him say his goodbyes, thanking everyone for their gifts and promising to bring you back again soon if you were interested. It registered slowly that you’d been streaming with him that entire time, that you’d experienced the most earth shattering orgasm of your life in front of who knows how many people. But it didn’t matter, you couldn’t care. Not when he sat down beside you, the camera off, and reached down to stroke your hair away from your sweat-dampened face. You blinked up at him, a sleepy smile curling onto your face.

“How do you feel, pretty thing?” He asked, carefully freeing your arms and rolling you to lay on his back. He took his time to massage each arm from wrist to shoulder and back again, making sure that your circulation was okay, mostly since he was pretty well convinced that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you lost feeling in them completely.

“Good. Really good,” You told him, eyes heavy again, so you gave in and closed them.

“Good, I’m glad. You did so well, let me take such good care of you. But you gotta stay with me while I get you cleaned up, okay? You can do that right? Just stay with Kwannie,”

You hummed, your heart skipping in your chest. Kwannie, your Kwannie. You curled closer to him, cheek pressed against his still bare thigh, and he chuckled, reaching down to brush your cheek.

“Can you stay here while I go get a towel to clean you up? Then you can nap and we’ll shower later.”

You nodded thoughtlessly, and he took that as his sign to get up. When he did, however, you reached out to grab his wrist, and he turned as fast as humanly possible to look at you, eyes clouded over with worry.

“Are you gonna nap with me?” You asked, voice so tiny and heavy with sleep that he swore his heart might melt.

“Yeah pretty, I’ll sleep too. Just let me clean us up, okay?” He asked, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you nodded obediently, not even trying to move a muscle and settle under the blankets. He disappeared from his room for a moment, grabbing a wet cloth and cleaning himself. A few minutes later he returned, finding you sound asleep, his pillow pulled up against your chest and your face squished into it.

Seungkwan looked at you, naked and surely chilly in his bed, but so entirely relaxed after sleeping with him, and the warmth that bloomed in his chest made him question if the two of you were ever really just friends to begin with.

123 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Hello lovely! I LOVED your Sirius x coquette reader and was wondering if you could do an Eddie Munson x coquette reader as well! 👀

Hi sweetheart, thank you for requesting!

cw: smutty implications (?)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 968 words

You’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, as if Eddie can’t feel your entire body quivering as you press yourself close to his side.

“Ethically, I don’t think I can let you go on like this,” he says. “You’ve gotta take my jacket, baby.”

“I appreciate the offer,” your reply is a well-rehearsed line, “but I’m fine, thank you.”

“Yeah, you seem great. You’re shaking like a chihuahua.”

“Your jacket,” you chitter, “wouldn’t go with my outfit. We’re almost there anyway.”

You’re several blocks away, but you grip his arm and speed up your steps, and Eddie follows. He doesn’t see what’s so wrong with his jean jacket. At least it’s thick. The wind has to be going right through that little cardigan of yours and he knows the floral tights, while adorable, aren’t helping. You’re practically jogging by the time you get to the bar. Eddie ushers you in, and you release a great shudder.

“Christ, it’s freezing out there. Since when did Hawkins enter the ice age?”

Eddie rubs your arms through your sweater, steering you both out of the way of traffic entering and exiting the bar. “It’s winter, genius. What did you think was going to happen?”

“My cardigan was good enough yesterday,” you mutter. Then shake your head, seemingly making the conscious decision to perk up. “Anyway, it’s fine. How long do you have before you go on?”

He grins, sheepish. “Actually, we’re a little late. I should get back there as soon as I get you set up.”

Your eyes flare and your mouth forms a pretty O. “You should go! I can set myself up.”

“Are you sure?” He glances towards the stage. He can see his bandmates moving around in the back. “I can at least get you a seat and a drink.”

“Go,” you insist, shoving him (lovingly, he hopes) away from you. “I’ll be fine.”

Eddie knows better than to try to argue with you; your cutesy, innocent appearance does not translate to a lack of backbone. He finds his bandmates backstage, weathers the slew of ensuing slander and complaints about his tardiness, and a short time later he’s leading them onstage.

The meager crowd shouts and stomps at their arrival, mostly friends of friends and a few groupies they’ve picked up at other gigs. Eddie grins and soaks in the energy, but his eyes are elsewhere.

It’s not hard to spot you. He’ll always think you look out of place in a joint like this. You’ve found a barstool and are sitting with your legs crossed primly in those dainty fucking tights, a bright spot amidst the sea (or, if Eddie’s beng realistic, small lake. Smattering of ponds.) of dark clothing around you. Everyone, including Eddie, has a beer in hand, but somehow you’ve managed to sweet-talk the bartender into making you what appears to be a shirley temple. You pop a cherry in your mouth, curving your lips around it to pluck out the stem and sending Eddie a wink. He reads it as Knock ‘em dead, hot stuff. (You’ve never specifically called him hot stuff before, but he can imagine it if he likes.)

You don’t flinch like you used to at the first booming chord. You’re not a mosher and don’t go to join the crowd, but Eddie catches you bobbing your head and tapping your foot as you sip from your straw. He plays his fucking heart out, thinking about tearing those tights off you (he knows you’ll never let him, you like them too much) and putting his mouth on all the spots where you spritz perfume. When you lock eyes, you give him a smile like you can read his thoughts.

Playing to a crowd like this, being up on a stage, this is the shit Eddie lives for—and it’s not over soon enough.

He packs up their equipment in record time, hustling over to the bar. You squeak as he wraps his arm around your waist, swooping you off your seat.

“Hey,” you say, tilting your head back to see him. You sound endearingly breathless. “I saved you some cherries.”

“Yes! That’s my girl.” He opens his mouth, letting you place it inside and closing his teeth so you pull the stem out for him. You do it willingly, but a flush spreads across your cheeks. “Thanks, sweet thing.”

“No problem,” you reply, not quite able to look at him.

Eddie repents, curling a finger under your chin to tilt your head up and giving you a smile that says Okay, I’ll stop playing for now.

You return his smile, relieved. “Want more? The bartender gave me a bunch extra, so.”

He reverses course instantly.

“What a fucking flirt.” He peers around you, eyeing the not-hideous twenty-something passing out beers behind the bar. “He thinks he’s gonna steal my girl.”

“I doubt it,” you laugh. “I told him my boyfriend’s in the band.”

Eddie grins, fiendish. “Good.” He gets in close, making his voice sweet and smooth as honey. “I’ve been thinking. You got some pretty panties under that getup, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widen a second before you scrunch them shut, dropping your head to his chest. You say something into his shirt.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

You look up, grimacing. “You know I do,” you mumble.

A low laugh rumbles through Eddie’s chest. “Just wanted to check,” he says, immensely entertained by the agitated coloring of your face. “I think it’s time we hit the road, baby. Y’ready?”

You hum, picking up your bag and grabbing a cherry for the road. Despite your show of reluctance, there’s a bit of pep in your step as you start towards the exit.

Eddie shrugs off his bulky jean jacket, dropping it on your shoulders. “You’re gonna need that.”

173 notes · View notes

mafaldaknows · 4 months

Note

Reaction to the kiss: Whatever, attention whores gonna kiss.

Timmy deserves Slurpee because she said no to him taking a photo with Selena, a former co-worker of his. Publicly dissing a former coworker you might work with again is not cool. Can’t wait for him to make an appearance on the next season of her family reality show.

Hello, Anon:

As I commented on a previous post, the Golden Globes is essentially the Hollywood equivalent of the holiday office party. Though the atmosphere is festive, light-hearted, and convivial, it’s also formal, in a professional setting, with the expectation of proper decorum and behavior by all attendees. It’s also an opportunity to mingle with colleagues, to schmooze with industry insiders who one may not normally have access to, to work the room.

Perhaps had he been allowed to work the room by his keeper, he might also have had a chance to read the room, too. But no such luck.

Speaking of luck… too bad so sad. Can’t have it all, I suppose. #karma

Given that Selena Gomez is a colleague of Timothée Chalamet, her request for a bit of his time and attention at a professional industry event was not unreasonable. It seems that the meter is running and it’s on Ms. Plastic Fantastic’s dime.

I’m sure he has reasons for having forgotten his typical professionalism and his manners. Many, many reasons.

Can’t knock the hustle 🤑✨🕺✨💵💰💵🫠

📸: mafaldaknows | 9.30.2023

BTW: I am getting more mileage than I ever anticipated out of this photo shot randomly at 1am somewhere along the Pennsylvania Turnpike after the Hozier show in Philadelphia.

The Universe has sense of irony.

Thanks for your comment. 😆🙄🤷🏻‍♀️😏🙃

#hello anon #wth is this #meter’s running #on her dime #plastic fantastic #golden globes 2024 #unprofessional #where are your manners #everyone has a price #can’t knock the hustle #work the room #read the room #hollywood #office party #don’t make #faustian bargains #with grifters and liars

30 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 7 months

Text

Bloodstream

vampire!eddie x supernatural!fem!reader

from the Death Becomes Us au

18+ONLY, smut, period sex, (f) receiving oral while on their period, unprotected p in v, wet dream, blood, the pet name 'sweetheart', drinking blood.

wc: 3.4k

Reader in Death Becomes Us is also supernatural and has some physical scars that are mentioned in this. Eddie is her neighbor in a trailer park filled with vampires, in a town where vampires are basically a tourist attraction. Bits of these things are mentioned, but this can easily be enjoyed as a stand-alone.

ALSO, this is pure smut that does not progress the story one bit 😂 So, if you'd rather skip it, you won't miss any crucial information.

I've had several requests for vampire!eddie smut and, even more specifically, vampire!eddie with a reader who is on their period, and so this was born. I've had this sitting finished for so long, I wasn't sure I would post it.

You hadn’t realized you’d drifted off to sleep on the sofa in front of an episode of The Twilight Zone until a knock at the door made your adrenaline race into action. It was a dark, moonless night, and the only illumination in your trailer was from the television, a string of tiny pumpkin lights along the window, and a flickering candle on the counter in the kitchen.

The time on the VCR said 11:46 and you got to your feet with caution, figuring it had to be a vampire at the door—you just weren’t sure which one.

“It’s me. Eddie,” his voice was a mumble out on the porch.

The sound made your heart stutter.

“What do you want?” You asked, pausing with your hand on the doorknob so you could look out the peephole. He was standing back a ways, hands in his pockets, elbows out, and a black shirt unbuttoned down his chest. He looked particularly dressed up, as if he’d been hustling the unsuspecting wealthy widows down at the country club.

You watched him smirk at your question. “Can’t a neighbor come by and say hi? I saw your TV was on.”

You gave a quick glance down at what you were wearing, making sure you were decent, but also to make sure you didn’t have crumbs all over you from the dry cereal you were eating earlier.

“I haven’t seen you around all week,” you got flustered after you said it, not wanting it to sound like you were waiting around for him and counting the minutes.

“Yeah,” he gave his lips a generous lick, wetting them until they were shiny. “You realized I was gone? Does that mean you missed me?.”

There was no formal understanding or commitment between the two of you, but also, there was something unspoken that compelled you to worry about him when you didn’t see the whites of his eyes for a few days.

You opened the door and inclined your head, motioning for him to come in, and moved back so he could step in off the porch. You’d already invited him in once, and unless you rescinded that invite, he could technically come in whenever he wanted.

He waltzed in like he owned the place, picking up small things as he went to inspect them, looking around as if trying to catch you in the act of doing something. You were just about to offer him some of the NuBlood you had in your cabinet in the event of a vampire guest when he stopped abruptly and took a long, violent inhale, and held the breath in his puffed out chest.

His eyes narrowed on you and began to darken. He sniffed the air again, and then his eyelids fluttered a bit as if he’d caught a whiff of heaven. The tip of his tongue shot out from between his ejected fangs.

“It’s that time of the month huh?” He asked it very casually, like a doctor might, and at first you wondered what he was referring to, but then you felt a sudden wetness in your underwear and a pang from your uterus.

“You can smell it?” You asked, stepping away. “I didn’t even realize that I—”

“You just started,” he told you in the same matter-of-fact way, turning on his heel. He walked over to the vanilla sugar candle, hoping it would mask the scent so that his cock wouldn’t come to attention right there in your trailer because his mouth was already watering. “Maybe I should come back another time,” he gripped the side of the counter so hard, he almost broke a piece of it off.

“Um, it’s okay, just, well, give me a second to—” you were about to walk by him on the way to the bathroom when his arm shot out as a barrier, catching you at your chest.

“No, stay,” he whispered. When your eyes met, you wondered if he was using that glamouring technique on you to make you do whatever he wanted, but then you remembered that you were impervious to vampire powers.

He took a step, closing the distance. You could see his abnormally slow heartbeat under the cold, pale, tattooed landscape of his throat. He tilted his chin up an inch as if exposing it more for you, watching with attentive eyes as you drank in the curve from his jaw to his neck, to the collar of his shirt.

“Like what you see?” Cocky and bold as ever, but this time, he was really asking. He really wanted to know.

You ignored his question, searching his face. “Why haven’t we ever kissed before?”

He choked at that abrupt outburst and attempted to smirk, but then cleared his throat. “Would you like to change that, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you stepped so that your leg was touching his, and his plump pink lips parted, eyelids drooping, anticipating your next move. Eddie opened himself up to you, pulling his shoulder blades back so that you could have his chest and throat, accepting whatever offer you had in mind.

"You're so cold," you mused, and then you were moving in, putting your warm mouth to his throat, relishing the smooth, cool flesh on your lips. You flicked your tongue out to make him groan a little, his hands moving to dig his fingers into your hips. He smelled like Ivory bar soap and fresh earth and vanilla musk, with those soft, nicotine undertones.

“I might be on the verge of melting,” he slid one hand between your legs and the damp heat that was building there. You nipped at his cool skin, sucking it through your teeth, while your hands worked up his ribs to find his nipples with your thumbs.

“I was wondering when you’d finally take advantage of me,” he offered a low chuckle. The laugh had a bit of nervousness in it, though, and his voice cracked at the end.

You could feel the vibration from his sound, licking a stripe up until you found his chin. He dropped his head, catching your mouth with his, and there was nothing practiced or cautious about the kiss—it was messy and desperate, and his ringed fingers found a home between your legs, making you moan.

The blood was seeping through your clothes, and for sure there was a stain through the material of your sweats by now.

“Your smell is making my mouth water,” he broke free from the kiss to put his forehead to yours, but his fingers continued moving in circles on the right spot. You blinked up to find that his eyes were closed. “It’s probably not a good idea for me to be here right now," he bit out, reluctantly.

But he didn’t move, and you curled your thumbs into his belt loops to catch him if he tried. He rolled his forehead back and forth across yours, making your noses brush while the pads of his fingers applied more pressure.

“Have you ever—” you trailed off, words catching in your throat as his hand breach the elastic of your bottoms. “---done this while someone was on their—-”

Eddie paused with his fingers on the skin of your lower belly, making their way down. He pulled his head back to get a read on your facial expression, but you were one of the few people in the world that was a mystery to him. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Won’t it be…messy?”

“I like messy,” and then he chomped his teeth, biting the air between the two of you, before moving in to find your lips again, cupping the side of your face with his hand. His mouth did not close in on yours fully, but the tip of his tongue came out to catch your top lip.

You were up against the kitchen counter now, and you latched onto Eddie’s strong arm, encouraging his hand further down. You gave a muffled cry into his mouth when the pads of his fingers found the wetness seeping through your underwear.

It was too wet to be pure arousal, and just then the coppery tang scent hit the air, making Eddie suck in a sharp breath. “Blood from the uterus lining is some of the sweetest there is,” he growled the words, bypassing your underwear so that he could dip a finger down through your folds, rings clicking together. You pulled down on his arm like a lever until one of his fingers was sinking inside of you, making you gasp. Your walls clenched him, and you begged for another finger, “more,” so he obliged.

“The way you’re gripping around me—fuck,” Eddie said against your lips.

Your knees trembled as he fucked his fingers in you a few times, twisting them, curling them in deep, and then he started to pull out, slowly.

His eyes were pure black when his lids flicked open; tips of his fangs peeking out from between parted lips.

He brought his fingers up into view, and they were glistening with your crimson gift, dripping down his knuckles, and he admired the sight. You wondered what he would do, at first, but then you watched those digits disappear deep into his mouth, lips sealing around them at the base.

He swallowed a few times, and then sucked each one individually, cleaning up the drips on his hand with a greedy, quick tongue. When he was done, there were signs of his feast in the corners of his mouth, and in the shadowy flicker from the candle flame, it looked like he’d just devoured something smothered in barbeque sauce.

“You taste so good,” he breathed, forehead on yours again, his hands making fists in the material of your sweats, arm muscles tense, using all of his willpower not to rip them from your body. His tongue lashed out, tip beckoning in little curls, and you met the need with your own, tasting yourself on him.

It didn’t take long for you to be on the sofa in the living room with your sweats off and Eddie kneeling between your spread legs; a multitude of scars from ankles to hips on full display. He looked up at you first, eyes a pure, marble black, and you nodded, scooting hips forward so he could push your legs further apart.

A bit of tinted drool shone at the edge of his chin as his mouth found the mound of your arousal over your underwear, licking and sucking over the fabric, tasting you, nipping with his teeth. His tongue flattened out and dragged long and hard up your slit, making you cry out under your breath.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, sucking your bottom lip in through your teeth. Your pussy was literally aching for him, throbbing under the weight of his licks.

You had a hungry vampire between your legs, and he could snap your leg off at the hip like a twig if he wanted to. He could bite down on your femoral artery and drain you without breaking a sweat.

Your menstrual juices were painting his chin when he sat back to pull your underwear off and get rid of the final barrier, staring up at you as he did so. You sat forward, and he thought maybe you were going to push him off, but you held his head with both of your hands, guiding him in. “I want to cum in your mouth.”

His head lowered without pause, with the tremble of a grin on his soft lips, and he kissed your cunt first before you felt his tongue sink into your hole. Low moans were coming from deep in his chest as he fed, taking generous swallows. You rocked your hips up against his face and held his head there, whining when he moved his mouth up to roll his tongue in circles over your clit.

“Oh god, Eddie, oh fuck,” you shuddered.

He’d been starving for you for so long, not only for your blood, but for your scent, your pheromones, your taste. He wanted to kiss you from the inside out, he wanted to swallow you whole again and again, and still have you left over. He wanted you to know his secrets, to see the darkness in him and not be afraid.

You pushed his mouth off of you, for a second, to find that he was panting and pussy drunk, and you could see your reflection in his two black pools. You ran your thumb down his lips, catching the mess, and then pushed the thumb into his mouth, and he moaned, closing his eyes to suck it clean, one sharp fang dragging along your flesh.

You locked eyes with him, jaw going slack, and he dropped back down again to draw a few deliberate licks through your folds, fingers digging into your thighs.

With a gust of determination, he decided to switch the position. Eddie went to his back, flat on the ground, and pulled you with him so that you were on your knees above his head, straddling his shoulders.

Staring up at your pussy, he buried two of his fingers into you again and muttered, “god, you’re so fucking beautiful open wide for me like this.” He watched your hole spread out as a drip of blood rolled down his palm.

“Sit down,” he murmured, removing his fingers so that you whimpered, clenching on nothing. “Sit all the way down, pull all your weight on me, sweetheart.”

He coaxed you where he wanted you, his strong hands firm at your hips. You went down until you could feel his nose nestled at your clit and then his tongue darted inside of you with supernatural force. He fed on you for a few seconds, and then he was sucking at your bundle of nerves again, humming as he did so.

“Eddie! That’s—I’m so close,” you rolled your hips and grabbed some of his hair in your fist, making him mumble with pleasure. You braced your other hand on the ground at his shoulder to anchor yourself, even though you knew he had the strength to hold you. You were all but suffocating him now, bucking against his face.

Eddie could feel your sweet bud under his tongue get hard and he knew you were close. His cock twitched in anticipation, leaking arousal in his jeans.

“I’m gonna cum…fuck, I’m cumming!” It was then that the velvet walls began to crash around you, and your hole rippled at his chin. You arched back and released into his mouth, losing control. Between the cum and the blood, you felt like he owned a part of you know—you’d given him a potent cocktail that no one else would ever know the pleasure of.

He didn’t want anyone else to know the pleasure of it.

He let out a sound that was part man, part beast, and pulled the cheeks of your ass apart so that he could retrieve every drop from your slit, slurping as he did so. He drank while you came back to earth, trembling, moving your core back and forth over his face.

You went to crawl off, to move away and give him some air, but he locked you in place. “I’m not done,” his voice was muffled. You giggled at the sound of his lips smacking, but then you quivered at the way he continued to lap at your slit .

Once his grip loosened, you moved to get off of him completely, but he coaxed you back to sit on his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

When he lifted his head up, his chocolate eyes were human again, his pale skin smeared with blood; down his chin, across his cheeks, even the tip of his nose. He bit down on his bottom lip and sucked it through to catch some of the excess, giving a contented sigh.

You reached behind you to feel the outline of his cock straining in his denim.

“Yeah?” He asked, searching your face as he moved to undo his belt buckle. “You want that?”

You nodded, at a loss for words at what was happening. Once you heard his jeans unzip, you sent your hand down to breach the elastic of his boxers, salivating when you found the wet tip. “Can I?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie reach down over your legs to push his jeans down further, releasing the thick, hard length. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He lifted his head to watch you line his cock up with your dripping hole, and when you began to ease down, your warm, wet walls contracted around the head and Eddie hissed. Your mouth opened as you sank, needing the way he stretched you out to the point that it was almost painful.

You gasped as you bottomed out, meeting his hooded gaze.

“You know, you can have this whenever you want,” he breathed. “This is all yours.”

“All mine? No one else’s?” You were riding him now, teasing him at the tip with a few muscle clenches before dropping all the way down again.

You lowered your torso so that your bodies were pressed together and Eddie bucked up into you deep and slow a few times.

Your lips were an inch or two away from his, and you watched his eyes go black again as another hunger seized him. “Tell me,” you pushed. “Tell me that you belong to me now,” you purred.

Somehow, you could feel another orgasm mounting when the smell of your blood on his lips crowded your senses.

He slotted one hand at your jaw, thumb cradling your ear, and with the other, he coaxed your hips down to take him deeper, and his thrusts snapped up to meet you.

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispered it around a hard swallow, just before your mouth came crashing down, tasting yourself on him, wanting to inhale his words so they could feed you in a different way. There were tears building for some reason, and you blinked your eyes open to meet his gaze, to see if he was emotional too.

And then, you woke up.

It took you a full minute to adjust to the harsh, unwelcome morning light as you became aware of the full sun exposure of your bedroom.

You coughed a few times, feeling the wind get literally knocked out of you when you realized the truth of the situation.

You’d had too many vampire Eddie sex dreams to count at that point, ever since you’d ingested his blood that night after you were attacked, but this one in particular left your heart heavy and your pussy aching.

Normally, you’d have to reach for your vibrator to finish yourself off when you woke up from the throes of one of those wet dreams, but this time, you only felt sad, and the desire for pleasure was gone as soon as you adjusted to reality.

You hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the tv, Eddie had never come knocking, and the two of you had never so much as kissed. You also had not caught a glimpse of him in over a week, since he’d taken you to visit Sacrament, the vampire bar in The Upside Down. You’d seen a different car at his place a few times, probably just popping in to take care of his cat, but other than that—nothing.

You wondered where he went at night, and you wondered if he ever thought of you.

In real life, you wanted nothing to do with him, but these vampire-blood induced dreams were really starting to mess with the integrity of your resolve.

Also, you realized that you’d just started your period.

You stood wearily from your bedside and carried the remnants of a familiar disappointment with you to the bathroom, and then the kitchen, angling for some coffee to make it better. You poured water into the Brewmaster you found at a thrift store and flipped it on to percolate while you went to water your one plant in the window.

Your eyes lifted groggily to look outside as you hydrated your potted friend and noticed that Eddie’s GTO was parked out front of his place. The blackout curtains to his trailer were all pulled shut so tight, you couldn’t get a glimpse inside, so at least you knew he was home.

Suddenly, you were flooded with a sexually frustrated irritation that made you curse his name into the void.

Part 7

#vampire!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson smut #period sex #tw: blood #vampire sex #Death Becomes Us #True blood au #vampire eddie munson #Spotify

285 notes · View notes

somekindofpoet · 1 year

Note

Hear me out. I low key think that Vada would form a fear of thunderstorms after what happened at school. So when she goes to call R, who happens to be her crush, she hears knocking on her window. It’s R and they’re holding a bag of snacks and movies. They knew that Vada hated thunderstorms since the last time they talked.

Just overall fluff with lots of cuddles and corny flirting on both ends. Vada is smol and needs to be protected. Even if she will throw a Big Gulp at someone if she needs to 💀.

Since we’re on a Vada kick, have this adorable fluff.

The crashing of thunder rouses you from the short sleep you’d fallen into. You squint at your clock. It’s only 10, you’d been asleep for an hour.

A flash lights up the night sky, drawing your attention to your window. Bright fingers of electricity race across the black sky, and the rumbling that woke you follows it soon after. You admire it, blinking bleary eyes at the raging storm, appreciating the way the rain falls in fat droplets against your window.

Another clap of thunder brings your mind to Vada. She would be terrified right now, you think, remembering how she blushed when she told you she was afraid of lightning. It makes your heart clench, to think of her alone, hiding under her blankets, shaking.

You can’t bear the thought of it.

You roll out of bed and tiptoe down to your kitchen, careful not to wake your sleeping family. You gather the essentials; a bag of smart food cheddar popcorn, a bag of reeces pieces (your favorite) and a bag of sour patch kids (Vadas favorite), leftover from your last movie night. You snag two cans of root beer, throw your loot in a backpack, and sneak out the back door.

Luckily, Vada only lives a block away, so you’re only half drenched, instead of soaked through like a wet dog when you throw your bike down in her driveway.

Another crackle of lightning pierces the sky, so you hustle to Vada’s window and knock softly. You hear a yelp from inside and a thump. She probably fell off her bed, ever the graceful one, Vada was. You can see her figure creep into view, the moonlight hitting her hair and cheeks as she nears the window. With an awkward smile, you wave at her, pointing to her window lock. she squints, trying to see you more clearly.

You probably look something close to a horror movie murderer, standing in the rain with your hood pulled over your head at her window, but she smiles when she recognizes you. It sends a battalion of butterflies charging through your stomach.

She slides her window open and you hand her your bag before hauling yourself over the threshold and flopping inside. You stand, comically dusting your soaked arms off before grinning at her. She laughs through her nose, shaking her head at you.

“What’re you doing here?” She asks, her voice just above a whisper.

You shut the window, saving her bench from the torrent of rain outside.

“I came to watch movies with you,” you gesture to your backpack, “laptop and snacks are in there.”

She looks confused, her brows furrowed. Thunder cracks outside and she flinches, closing her eyes and sucking in air between her teeth.

You take the bag from her and walk it to her bed, unzipping it and turning back to her, “I know you hate thunderstorms, so I thought I’d keep you company until it passes.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening as she understands. You catch the little smile that pulls at the corner of her mouth, and the butterflies conduct all out warfare inside of you.

Your eyes follow her as she goes into her closet, and comes back out, throwing a pair of sweats and a tshirt at you.

“Put these on. You didn’t have like a rainproof jacket or something?”

You shrug, “I was kind of in a hurry.”

She jumps on the bed and takes your laptop, opening it to Netflix and choosing a movie while you change. You toss your clothes into a sopping pile under the window and crawl into bed with her, your shoulders brushing. She leans into you, just slightly, but enough for you to notice.

Butterflies, sound the cavalry charge!

She picks a comedy. It’s stupid, but you enjoy it because it makes her laugh. Halfway through the movie, the storm outside worsens, lightning striking every few minutes and wind screaming outside the window. Vada jumps and inches closer to you every time the skies crack open.

Eventually you stop pretending to not notice and open your arm to her, offering her a closer spot to your chest. She smiles as takes it without hesitating, tucking herself under your arm and into your side. After a short time, her head droops onto your chest, her breathing evening out. The storm keeps clashing outside, but she stops flinching at every strike.

She mumbles in her sleep, her fingers twitching over your shirt. You close the laptop when the movie ends and slide down the bed, letting her stay cuddled into you. You close your eyes, deciding you’ll get up when it stops raining and bike home. For now, you figure it’s the chivalrous thing to do to let her sleep.

The butterflies are victorious another day.

#vada x reader #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #drabble #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader

562 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Not What You Expected - A Joel Miller Story

dad!Joel x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

They're still acclimating to life with baby Miller, a far cry from how they first met.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst-ish, mostly fluff tho

a/n | another installation in the Unexpected Expectings universe after much request! This can certainly be read as a standalone, but it's much more fun alongside the other pieces in this world :)

..........................

“She just spit up on me again, didn’t she?”

“Just a little. Here, I’ll get it.” Ellie huffs while she steps behind the girl to wipe off her shoulder where Libby just dribbled her breakfast. Perhaps not surprisingly, Ellie has been as hands on as she can be with her little sister, helping out at bath times, feeding her, reading to her. But she draws the line at changing diapers.

She sighs, stepping out from behind Ellie and leaning against the crib to take in the sight of her gently bouncing Libby in her arms, making ridiculous faces at her wide-eyed little sister and murmuring nonsense.

“You’re pretty cute, huh, Libs? That must come from your mom’s side because it sure as shit doesn’t come from Joel.” She can’t help but laugh at Ellie’s little jab, but, having just come into the doorway to the nursery, Joel seems to feel a bit differently, clearing his throat as he frowns at the girl.

“Kid, I’d rather that one’s first word isn’t some kind of swear, huh? Watch yourself.” It’s obviously lighthearted as Joel’s lips crook into half a grin and he shuffles over to Ellie to gently take Libby from her arms. Even after ten months, she’s still not over the sight of Joel Miller with a baby, with their baby, perched on his hip, his broad palm cupping her back. Ellie doesn’t seem over it either, snorting as she watches Joel rock side to side.

“Easy, killer. Gonna knock someone out with the blinding ray of sunshine you’ve turned into.” Joel scowls over the top of Libby’s head at Ellie who has dissolved into laughter, glancing over at his woman to see that she is also giggling. Not wanting to be left out, Libby lets out a shriek, bouncing her tiny fist against Joel’s cheek. He’s quick to smack kisses to her little fingers, grumbling as he does it.

“You three are gonna kill me, goddamn.”

“With the way you two talk, Libby’s gonna be swearing like a sailor before she can even walk.” Both Joel and Ellie grin at her exasperated look, Ellie sidling up next to her to swing her arm over her shoulder.

“You’re no better. Heard you let out a few choice words in the kitchen the other day when you dropped her bottle.” She huffs at Ellie’s smug look, nudging into her side.

“Alright, alright, kid. Don’t you have a shift starting soon?” Ellie glances at her watch, sighing.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Ellie.” Both she and Joel gripe at her words. Ellie just shrugs, already hustling out of the nursery to get to the stables. With the sound of the front door closing, they look at each other, shaking their heads. Some things never change.

Joel sighs, moving over to the rocking chair and sitting down with a groan as he shifts Libby to cradle her in his arms. She slips behind the chair to lean with her palms on his shoulders, smiling down at their girl who’s quickly dozing in her dad’s hold. She lays a kiss to his temple, and Joel cranes his neck to look at her questioningly.

“What was that for?” She shrugs, grinning crookedly at him.

“Nothing, my ray of sunshine.” She tries to quiet her laughs, not wanting to startle Libby awake, while Joel scowls at her teasing.

“Hey, ain’t the only one softening up, darlin.” She raises a brow at him and he smirks.

“Still remember when I met you. Practically feral, woman. Now look at you. Being all sweet. Wearing my clothes.” She scoffs as she thumbs the collar of the flannel, his flannel, that she’s wearing.

“Oh this? I just wear this whenever I think Libby’s gonna spit up. Better yours than mine, Miller.” He huffs at that as she snickers. She squeezes his shoulder as she continues.

“I may have softened a little. But if I’m remembering that day we met correctly, I did nearly kill you, so you better watch it, sunshine.” Joel chuckles lightly, still gently rocking their girl who is completely out now.

“Mm, I remember alright. Was pissed as hell at the time. But I can say this now – was the hottest thing I ever saw.” They both laugh, their minds now swirling with the memory.

With ten years come and gone, they can both still remember the day they met, clear as anything. Oh, how things have changed.

…

Boston QZ, 2016

He’s exhausted. Another day on burn detail, another day hustling pills to soldiers. The only bright spot, if you could call it that, is the deal he’s working on with Bill and Frank. He and Tess had managed to get their hands on a generator in one of the old apartment buildings, taking it apart to transport to Bill and Frank who had been having some trouble with their own. In return, Joel and Tess had been promised new guns, and ammo, something hard to come by unless you were with FEDRA or those damn fireflies. They’re planning to go in two days. Until then, he’s been keeping the parts under the floorboards in their apartment, so when he gets back to their place that night, Tess still out on some work detail, and lifts the boards to find the parts gone, Joel’s mind reels.

Racking his brain for any possible reason the parts could be moved, he lets out a quiet curse in frustration. He comes up with nothing and the word thief starts to blare through his mind like an alarm. His fingers rest on the hilt of the knife he keeps tucked in his belt as his eyes scan over the apartment. He tries not to let out a chuckle when he sees it. The closet by the door. He and Tess always left it open, didn’t keep anything in it. It’s closed firmly now. Got him.

He moves gingerly over to the closet, drawing out his knife as his hand settles on the doorknob. Before he can swing it open, however, someone is bursting out, knocking him to the ground, his knife skittering across the floor. He can’t get a good look at him as they tumble on the ground, hands at each other’s necks as they roll for dominance. He manages to pin the other man to the ground, but is shocked into stillness by what he sees. He is a she. She sneers at him, a toothy grin.

“Not what you expected, huh, Miller?” Before he can pick his jaw up off the floor, she’s kneeing him hard in the groin, effectively toppling him over as she pins him with her hands around his neck. He grabs at her hands, but she’s strong, stronger than she looks, pressing hard into the sides of his throat and making him gasp for air. He has seen her before, on a few work details, but he had no idea she had this kind of fight in her. It’s all he can do to choke out his question.

“You with Robert?” She laughs hard at that, fingers flexing in the sides of his throat.

“Hardly. His little band of idiots wouldn’t have the brain cells for this.” It’s getting harder for Joel to breath, black spots starting to fuzz his vision. She leans a little closer, unwavering gaze holding him still.

“You got two options here. Number one, you let me in on whatever little business you got going with Tess and I don’t kill you right now. Number two, I kill you and take your parts and your radio and figure it out myself.” He can’t help the wheezing laugh he coughs out. This woman has some serious balls. She doesn’t seem to like that though, her grip around his neck tightening until he really can’t breathe anymore, his legs flailing uselessly on the floor.

“That mean you’d prefer option two?” He shakes his head as best he can in her grip, trying to choke out the word no, and she seems to understand, releasing his neck but keeping him pinned with a forearm across his chest. Joel takes several heaving breaths, trying to clear the haze that had crept into his mind. The first real thought he has as oxygen returns to his brain is that she has pretty eyes. Angry, but pretty.

“I’m not letting you up until I hear you say it.” He takes a few more steadying breaths before he responds.

“I’ll let you in on our business. But you try any shit like this again, I’ll be quicker next time and you won’t get so lucky.” She huffs a laugh at that, finally letting up and sitting back on her haunches as Joel sits up. He rubs tenderly at his neck, wincing at the already forming bruises and muttering to himself.

“You got a grip on you, woman, goddamn. Some first impression.” He’s surprised when she holds out her hand to him. He’s more surprised that he actually takes it, shaking her hand lightly as she smirks at him, telling him her name.

“Figured I’d have to do things a little unorthodox to work with you two. And hey, looks like it worked.” All he can do is shake his head at this woman who has so suddenly become his business partner.

…

Jackson, 2026

“I was going easy on you. Caught me off guard. And you were pretty, even then. Didn’t wanna mess up your face.” She scoffs, nudging him in his side as they stand in front of the crib, watching their sleeping girl.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises you had on your neck for the next, what was it? Three weeks? Totally going easy on me, uh-huh, so easy you let me nearly crush your windpipe.” Joel huffs around a grin.

“Suppose that’s another thing our girl gets from you. You ladies sure know how to make an entrance.” She stifles her laugh behind her hand as they both dip out of the nursery. Before she can get too far down the hall, Joel slips a lazy palm around her one hip, turning her back toward him and smearing a brazen kiss across her lips, pulling away with a wet smack that makes her eyes widen. He just grins.

“What the hell was that for?” Joel keeps his one hand cupping her hip, the other coming up to stroke along the arc of her jaw as he sighs.

“All this talk of you crushing my windpipe has got me worked up, darlin. Take pity on a poor man, huh?” She lets out a sputtering laugh at his words, but he’s quick to silence her with another kiss, licking into her mouth like a heathen. She pulls back with a gasp, lightly smacking his chest as he gives her a smug smile.

“Watch it, Miller. Or I’ll have to finish what I started ten years ago.” He shakes his head.

“Has it really been ten years? Christ– that’s hard to believe.” She rakes her fingers through his hair as she hums at his words.

“I know. How the hell did we end up here, huh?” He sighs, glancing back into the nursery.

“No clue, darlin. I think you’re the one bit of luck I got in this fucked-up world.” Her fingers still, hands sliding down to wrap behind his neck. She can feel tears welling up hot and fast in her eyes, and to keep them at bay she steals another kiss from him, quick and chaste that leaves them both smiling.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you, Joel.” He squeezes her hip, still smiling like a fool.

“I love you, darlin. Thank you.”

“What? For not killing you?”

“No. I mean– yes, that too. But, thank you for sticking with me. Fuck– for giving me all this. Just, thank you.” His thumb brushes away a rogue tear that has dripped down her cheek and she sighs under his touch.

“Well, now you’re just trying to make me cry, goddamn it.”

“Hmm, look who’s soft now, darlin.” She smacks his chest as he laughs at her exasperated expression, tugging her into a tight hug. She murmurs lowly into his shirt.

“I love you too, Joel. Love you so much.” They stay like that for a while, his arms wrapped firmly around her, her cheek pressed right over his heart. They’re finally broken out of their quiet moment by the sound of fussy coos coming from the nursery. Joel sighs, pulling away and squeezing her shoulders.

“I’ve got it, mama.”

“You sure? She probably needs a diaper change.”

“I’m sure I can handle that. You should get some rest, were up half the night after all.” She slackens under his touch, nodding lightly as he’s already moving back into the nursery.

She goes to head downstairs, but quickly stops when she hears him start to talk in a soft murmur to Libby. It’s a voice Joel won’t use if he knows anyone else is around, she had only caught him talking in it a few times to their girl, gentle and low. Ellie would have a field day if she heard him.

“Hey, baby girl. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” She slides along the wall, stopping just outside the doorway to the nursery to listen in as Joel continues talking to Libby. She can hear Libby’s sweet babblings as Joel keeps murmuring to her.

“My girl’s a talker, aren’t you? Get that from your mama. Woman’s got a mouth on her, let me tell you. One of the things I like best about her. But don’t tell her I said that.” She presses her hand to her mouth, keeping in her giggle at his ramblings.

“I know your sister’s been trying to get you to say her name, but I’d really like it if your first word is mine. Also may have a little bet going with her, but I’ll split the winnings with you if you just say my name first.” She makes a mental note to smack both him and Ellie later for their “little bet,” but continues listening as Libby’s babbling picks up. Joel lets out a laugh.

“That’s it, baby girl. Just string ‘em together. Da-da. I know you can do it. Whip-smart just like your mama, huh?” Libby’s babbling continues, still just nonsense sounds and syllables. Joel sighs.

“Gonna do it in your own time, huh? Think you get that from me. That’s alright, baby girl. Ready whenever you are.” She figures he’s picking her up again from the hesitant coos Libby lets out, Joel quick to shush her.

“I got you, my girl. It’s ok. I got you.” She rests her temple against the wall outside the doorway, closing her eyes and continuing to listen to his gentle words to their girl.

“Love you so much, baby girl. Your mama loves you just as much, and your sister, even if she is already corrupting you. You’ve got all of us on your team, my girl. We’ve got you.”

She smiles to herself. It’s been a long ten years, most of it bad, some of it good. But they really have made a little team for themselves, a little family. It’s certainly not what she expected when she went into business with Joel Miller, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#unexpected expectings #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #joel miller one shot

535 notes · View notes

gretavanlace · 7 months

Text

Poppins (part 10)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: sexual content, language, angst, etc. Poppins has come to an end my lovelies, but I’ve an epilogue in store for you, so don’t despair. Also, I’m so sorry for the wait, your patience and understanding means so much to me and I appreciate and adore you all xoxo❤️

“Just ignore him,” Josh breathes unsteadily, lapping against your neck like he can’t stand to exist another second without the essence of you blazing a languid path over his tongue. “He’ll go away.”

A louder, more insistent knock sounds out, as if in argument. As if to say, ‘that’s what you think! I’m not going anywhere!’.

“Oh my god,” you squirm beneath him, but not in the way he would like, not the way you were just moments ago. “It’s like you two have some sort of bat signal for interruption.”

A sharp laugh sounds out of him, open and honest. Beautiful, and so very Josh. “I can assure you, sweetheart, the last thing in the world I want right now, is my fucking brother at the door. Lemme get rid of him.”

He rises reluctantly and walks backwards, fingers fumbling to fasten his pants and adjust himself, eyes on you while you slide up into a more presentable position and attempt to smooth your hair.

“It’s no use, love…” he flashes that blinding grin of his, pairing it with a wicked wink, “he’s going to know you’re wet and up to no good. You look gorgeously desperate.”

You feel your cheeks color further as you contemplate running off to hide in the kitchen. He’s obscene, and the effect that it has on you is concerning. Your entire body is wired up tight and thrumming. You’d crawl to him, should he hook a finger in your direction.

Your traitorous brain conjures that image - you, on your hands and knees, making your way closer to him, to his cock. You want him in your mouth. You want him to press into your throat, to make you gag, to shape you into something filthy for him. Something pretty on her knees ready to give without thought, should he ask.

The knock sounds out again, snapping you out of your salacious daydream. You’re reluctant to leave it, but bid farewell anyway.

“Shut up!” Josh shouts, slipping effortlessly into sibling mode as he twists the locks and cracks open the door.

He’s gearing up to tell his twin to fuck off, it’s evident in his stance and by the way he wedges his foot against the wood, like Jake might decide to push his way in - but in a breath, he swings the door open wide.

“Hey, baby,” the affectionate greeting tells you all you need to know - Jacob isn’t alone. “What are you doing up so late?”

Jake saunters in, winding around Josh, with a wide awake Lily on his hip - who is barefoot, dressed in a frilly, purple princess nightgown, and clinging to her beloved uncle. She shrugs and drops her head to his shoulder.

“Mom told me not to let her fall asleep on me,” Jake runs a soothing palm up and down her tiny back. “Said she’d wake up as soon as I tried to put her in bed. I’m tired of that woman constantly being right about everything.”

“Wanted to come home.” Lil hushes in her soft little girl voice, “I didn’t want you to be all by yourself.”

“Ah,” Josh waves off her concern and leans in to sweep a kiss onto the crown of her head, “you don’t have to worry about daddy, Lily-bit. I’m tough as nails.”

Jake’s eyes are locked in on you over their exchange, flashing with gleeful accusations. Josh is as right as his mother always seems to be - Jake knows exactly what he’s walked in on, and he is delighted to have stopped it in its tracks.

“And just look, lil…” he grins, clearly enjoying himself, as well as your furious blushing, a great deal. “Daddy’s not all by himself, Poppins is here to keep him company!”

She swivels her head around lightening fast, eyes thrilled and round with surprise.

“Hi!” Her greeting comes as a squealing chirp as she scrambles down out of Jake’s grasp in order to hustle into yours.

“Hi, Lil,” you gather her up into your lap and finger comb her tangles, while she settles in, smelling of no tear shampoo and sleep. “What are you doing out on the town at this hour, you little party animal?”

“Jakey drove me,” suddenly her face is close to yours, nose to nose, as she confides, “he turned the radio up loud like I like ‘cause I promised not to tell Daddy.”

You’ve yet to meet a child who possesses the ability to properly whisper, and Lily is no different.

“Jake,” comes Josh’s stern admonishment.

His brother cuts him off at the pass, “The Shining, man, you let my angelic, perfectly innocent niece watch the Shining.”

“I didn’t let her, I—“ he interrupts himself with a huff of irritation. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

At the faint hint of a goodbye, Lily is clambering off your lap as quickly as she arrived. “No, uncle Jakey, stay stay stay!”

When her tiny hand tucks itself away within his own, every heart in the room knows the battle has been lost.

“Alright, girly,” he crouches down and cups her chipmunk cheek. “I’ll stay, but you have to promise to go to bed. You need your sleep so you can rest that big, bright brain and wake up ready to learn brand new things tomorrow.”

He could have so easily reminded her of ‘beauty sleep’, but he chose to emphasize her insatiable thirst for knowledge instead, and you love him for it.

“I’ll try,” she shakes her head solemnly, “but I dunno, I’m pretty awake. Feels like morning.”

Your eyes have wandered to Josh, watching him as he watches them. There is that completely laid bare devotion that you’ve always seen, but also, something new…or at least, something you’ve never noticed before.

Wistful indebtedness is the only way to describe it, though even that seems to fall short. He is beholden to them both - unflinchingly, and for very different reasons.

Likely, it isn’t new at all…maybe you’ve just never looked hard enough.

He has told you as much before, but now you are seeing it unmasked for the very first time; he would lay down his life for his brother, without thought. He looks at Jake as though he blazed the sun to life with his own calloused hands - and when you think about it, that is exactly what he did for Josh all those nights ago, when they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring through the nursery window. Jake had given Lily to Josh, and lit up his whole world, bright as the sun.

Tears are clutching at your throat, but you shake them off and extend a hand out to Lily to make her an offer she can’t refuse “How about a princess bath, Lily-bit?”

Jake is forgotten in an instant at the promise of a princess bath, and she scurries over to grab your hand with the ardor only a child flying high on their second wind seems to be capable of. “Can I have bubbles and flower water?”

“Of course,” you promise, as though it should have been a given, silently praying that the little amber bottle that lives in the medicine cabinet is full of the lavender drops that will turn ordinary tap water into flower water.

A princess bath is reserved for very special occasions, and certainly, being awake so late into the night after an unexpected drive through the sleeping streets of town with the radio cranked up way too loud, ranks a special occasion.

“C’mon, daddy,” she grabs his hand as well, trudging through the room, on a mission to be pampered…and you catch sight of Jake settling down onto the couch to wait, over your shoulder.

It feels like abandonment somehow, leaving him like this. Alone.

But Lily is chattering on, and your attention is quickly refocused as you work alongside Josh to make her happy. More importantly, to relax her enough to wrangle her into bed and lull her to sleep with a story.

It takes less effort than you had originally feared it might, and soon you’re creeping from her wildly chaotic bedroom while he quietly reads her a story - complete with changing character voices and much enthusiasm - stepping carefully over dinosaurs that rest, reptilian feet and winding tails stretching toward the ceiling, next to half dressed baby dolls and toppled towers of blocks.

Josh is adamant about instilling responsibility, and while she is given regular tasks and age appropriate chores, he insists her space is her own, and has never once, in your presence, ordered her to pick up her toys from her own floor. The living room floor? Daily. But he never dictates her space.

The way he sees her as a person is one of your most beloved ways to watch him parent. So many forget that children are people with thoughts and feelings, who are lacking the skill set to navigate the world properly…that they need guidance, not policing. Josh never forgets that. Josh sees Lily.

There is a soft smile ghosting over your lips listening to him read to her when you step into the hall to find Jake leaned against the wall like some long-haired James Dean minus the popped collar and casual cigarette.

He cocks his chin in the direction of the backyard and then pushes off with the heel of his boot to swagger down the hallway “Come have a look at the stars with me, babe.”

You follow behind him, feeling a little like a lost puppy, but damned if you know how to do anything but follow these two men - so beautifully alike, yet so achingly different.

“What were you smiling about back there, pretty girl?” He asks, rasping words into the night the second the two of you settle onto the framed porch swing that graces the deck.

“He’s so good with her,” you’re smiling again, remembering. “I don’t know, it makes me smile. I want her to be happy and loved. Strong and fierce. He’s going to make sure that happens. It just…” you offer a little shrug as his hand finds yours in the dark, “it makes me smile, that’s all.”

His head lulls to the side in your peripheral vision, watching you “You love her.”

“I do.” You confirm with a slight nod, not trusting yourself to look at him. “Very much.”

“I love her, too.” He whispers, and finally, you turn to catch his eye.

“I know, Jake.

“You love him.” He’s no longer whispering, his words come fainter .

Your response squeezes painfully out of your tightened throat, “I love you, too.”

His reply mirrors yours that came before, “I know, poppins.”

It is silent for a long stretch before he breaks it, “Did he tell you? How all this came to be?” A soft chuckle precedes the joke he makes to lighten the heavy, “the tale of the Kiszka Twins and the fucked up ways we fuck up?”

You ignore his joke, and address it for what it was: something serious masked as frivolity “Do you think you fucked up, Jake? What you did? Do you regret it?”

Again, there is a pause, and you allow him all the time he needs.

“Sometimes.” He takes a deep breath. “I love her so much it feels like something separate from myself. Some sort of being in and of itself. Like there’s me over here, and then my love for that little girl over there. Because it’s just so great that there isn’t room inside my body for it all, you know? Does that make sense?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, “Yeah, sometimes I get selfish and regret it a little. Sometimes she looks at me with such adoration, such fucking complete devotion and all of a sudden, I want her all to myself. I want to grab her up and run away with her in my arms. But it always goes away just as fast as it comes, that selfishness…he’ll walk in the room and her eyes will light up. Or they’ll share some silly inside joke that I don’t get. Or she’ll ask a question and he’ll see it as a moment to teach her, where I would’ve just answered it…he’s her father and that’s the way it should be. He was always meant to be her dad.”

You’re cradling his hand in both of yours now, soothing your thumbs across his knuckles “You think? Like an everything happens for a reason kind of thing?”

“You look at those two together and tell me what happened didn’t happen for a reason.”

You raise his hand and press a kiss to the back of it, before sweeping your cheek against the knob of his wrist, “I don’t know how to handle all of this. Or what to do with you two. It’s like I can’t separate you in my head. I don’t want to choose. I won’t.”

“Now who’s selfish?” He laughs lightly, wiggling his fingers that are still laced and wound around yours.

“I’m sorry.” A gentle sob shakes your shoulders, and for a moment you wonder how you ended up here. How strange.

“Don’t be sorry, Mary Poppins,” his foot kicks out, swinging you both back and forth in the moonlight, “I’m not sorry, and I won’t make you choose. Can I tell you a secret?”

Lifting your head away from his hand, there is reluctance - his skin feels right pressed against your own, and you hate to part from it “I don’t know that I can handle any more Kiszka secrets.”

A laugh, much too loud for the hour, bubbles out of him “Sure you can, babe. I’ve already decided for you. I won’t leave tonight, because I promised girly I’d stay, but I’m gone in the morning, and I’ll see you when I see you.”

“What?” Is it that you really don’t understand his meaning, or that you don’t want to understand it?

He hums a little tune and rests his head on your shoulder, hushing soft lyrics into the air as he swings gently, “Bye bye, baby, it’s been a sweet love…”

“Jake—“

“Isn’t that what you called me? Free bird?” His beautiful face tilts up and then there is his nose, nuzzling your cheek tenderly, his touch far more innocent than you’ve ever known it to be before. “It’s time for me to go, and it’s time for you to stay.”

You’re prepared to fight, but for what, you’re unsure, “I know what you’re doing. You’re choosing for him just like you did with that goddamned band you guys had.”

Now it’s his turn for confusion. He sits up in order to get a good look at your face and prods you along with raised eyebrows.

“Your mom told me. What you did for Josh because you knew music wasn’t what he wanted. How you gave it up to make him happy.” You’re spinning out of control just a little, but you can’t be sure why. Isn’t this what you wanted? An easy solution?

It just suddenly so seems tragic. He’s given so much to Josh, and here he sits, giving still.

“Fuckin’ Karen,” his laughter is quieter still, and blurred sadly around the edges. “She’s got a big mouth, that one. She’s right though, I did give it up for him. You, on the other hand, are wrong.”

You so badly want to reach out and stroke your fingers through his hair, he feels like mist, like a ghost who is already gone. A memory who sits before you. But you think it’s best to let him speak, and so you do.

“I’m not leaving for him. I’m leaving for her.” As if he can read your thoughts, his fingers card through your hair. “You love me and you love him and both of us love you back and it’s this convoluted fucking disaster, but none of that matters. She matters. And honestly, babe, it’s not even that hard to walk away because it’s for her. She deserves someone who thinks of shit like princess baths, and someone to fix her hair pretty for her first day of school. Someone who’s going to know what to say to her when she doesn’t feel good enough, or smart enough. Someone who won’t get flustered and weird when she starts her period, or needs her first bra,” he shudders a little at that and it makes you smile. “Someone who will know how to make her heart hurt a little less the first time some idiot boy makes her cry. Someone who will know what to do in a million other moments that I can’t even name because I’ll never be that person for her, and neither will he. She needs a mom. She needs you.”

“Don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Jacob?” You ask, though you don’t feel the conviction you’re desperately trying to color your words with.

“No, I don’t.” He’s never sounded so sure of himself, and that is a feat, as Jake is almost always sure of himself. “Not at all. You belong here. With her. With him. And I belong god knows where, playing for pretty girls who will never be you.”

“I love you, Jake.” You’ve said it already tonight, out here amongst the crickets and the dewy grass that could use a trim, but this devotional feels like the last.

His arm stretches out to pull you in “But you love him, too, don’t you, babe?”

“Yes,” And that is the truth…

He presses a kiss against your temple “And you love her?”

“More than both of you combined. More than myself.” And that is the truth, too.

“Well, then, Mary Poppins,” he sighs as you sway in the swing, the muted creak of its chains keeping time. “It seems we’re on the same page.”

“Will it really be so easy for you to walk away?” You can’t help but hope there will be at least a hint of melancholy in his tone…but there is nothing but content in his reply.

“For Lily? Yes. The easiest thing in the world.”

When you wake, it is with Josh curled up warm and snug around you. He soothes your soul like a security blanket. And even given the events just hours before, you feel serene…like you’re floating through calm, perfumed waters with tranquil skies overhead.

You hear him, of course you do, his voice will always perk your ears, you suspect - and maybe that’s okay.

Yes, you hear him. Speaking to her gently, giggling with her, singing to her, telling fanciful stories of what he’ll get up to on the road.

You listen to him remind her of how smart she is, how grand her heart is. He makes her promise to call him all the time, and to give uncle Sammy grief every chance she gets.

He says, “Listen to your daddy, girly, and make Poppins laugh at least once a day, just for me.”

…and then, with a click of the front door, he is gone.

Tears threaten in your eyes, but then there she is, climbing up onto the bed with Josh’s mangled maroon shirt clutched dutifully at her side.

“Can you make me pancakes?” She asks, crawling through the sea of blankets…and you smile, because you can make her pancakes. Of course you can.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @gvfpal @gretavangroupie @starcatcher-jake @demolitionndann @hugorobinson @jaketlove

205 notes · View notes

margowritesthings · 1 year

Text

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm.

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds.

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk?

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?”

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.”

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection.

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day.

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet.

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known.

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to.

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp.

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees.

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception.

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man.

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit.

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder.

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one.

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers.

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon.

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.”

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact.

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly.

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down.

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you.

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him.

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-”

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.”

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen.

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.”

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there.

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways.

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger.

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt.

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins.

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will.

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over.

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear.

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted.

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde rdr2 #dutch rdr2

381 notes · View notes