#just came an inch away from posting this on main | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadsetobsessions · 4 months

Text

He could overlook a lot of things, but this was getting ridiculous. You’d think seasoned vigilantes would have better excuses prepared, but Danny had caught that flash of panic that crossed Tim’s face as Danny came face to face with Tim dragging an unconscious Steph to her designated room in the manor.

“Uh.”

“Danny! Uh, Stephanie brained herself- uh, sliding down the bannisters and- pleasedon’ttellBruce.”

Danny blinks, staring at Tim and then very pointedly, very slowly, turned his head back towards the direction he came from: the main hall… where the bannisters were. He wonders what vigilante hijinks they were trying to hide from B this time.

Tim coughs, trying to inch Stephanie away. “Uh. She was doing… cartwheels?”

Danny let his eyes slowly take in the bruises that were clearly not from “cartwheeling in the mansion” on the both of them. There’s a huge bandaged cut on Steph’s forearm and a giant bruise on the edge of Tim’s jaw. Tim’s face twitches nervously, not that anyone else would have noticed- except Danny has enhanced ghost senses and could feel the panic coming off of his adopted brother.

“You know…” Shit, what does he do? Not knowing would be so much easier if these idiots gave him good excuses! “I don’t think I want to know what you two have been up to… but should I be worried for your, uh, physical health?”

“Nope!”

“… Okay.” He says. Tim opens his mouth to make further excuses but Danny adds quickly, “But don’t tell me, because if Bruce asks, I want plausible deniability.”

Cartwheels, Danny’s ghostly ass. Luckily, this show of doubt reaffirms Tim’s belief that Danny believes them all of the other times. Danny grins inwardly, planning capitalizing on the guilt that flashed over Tim’s face.

“Deal.”

“Want help?” The halfa points at Steph, who’s still being dragged over the carpet by a noodle armed Tim. Danny knows Tim’s strong, he’s a vigilante, but it’s funny watching him pretend to struggle.

“Please. I’m so tired right now.” He looks it too. Danny’s brows furrow with genuine concern when he takes in Tim’s drowned raccoon look. He picks up Steph, firmly removing her from Tim’s suddenly weak grip. Being careful to avoid her injuries, Danny nods at the door to her room. Tim cracks it open and does a little showy gesture towards the inside.

“C’mon, we’ll tuck her in and then I’ll tuck you in.”

“What, you don’t have to do that.”

“If you don’t let me tuck you in and make sure you sleep, I’ll tell Alfred who really accidentally poured boiling hot coffee on his azaleas last week. And I’ll sic Dick on you and tell him you haven’t been sleeping enough.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Tim grumbles. “But fine. It’s really not my fault I’m this tired. A missing spleen is hard to handle, you know.”

“Yeah, missing an organ sucks,” Danny says, shit eating grin hidden long enough to catch the contemplative bloodhound look that passes over Tim’s face.

“Which- uh, which one of your organs is missing?”

“Liver.” Danny says, remembering the flashes of pain. He tilts his head away to hide the grin at Tim’s panicked face.

When he tucks Tim in, he pretends to believe Tim’s sleeping act and left his room while mumbling about the Wayne’s clumsiness and bruises and stocking up on bruise cream. He couldn’t even enjoy Tim’s floundering, this time, worried as he is.

——

“Brother.” Danny half turns his head, just to beam a sunny smile at Cass. He signs an exuberant hello. The halfa hangs up his coat as he addresses his adopted sister.

“Cass! What’s up?”

“Dinner.” She smiles back, signing that Alfred wanted them to the dinning room post haste. The main dining room, because rich people were fruit loops and Batman is totally included. Cassandra looks down and gasps.

What…?

Oh. Fuck. Danny glances down. He genuinely forgot about that.

“Huh.”

“Okay?” Suddenly, Cass is right next to him, hand reached out and hovering over the actual knife Danny forgot was sticking out of him. At least it’s where his liver should be, so he won’t have to pretend.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m good. Don’t have a liver.” Danny decides on the spot that he’s not gonna mess with Cass. She smiled the same as him. “Got mugged on the way back but I think they said I could keep the knife, right?”

“Danny.” She’s frowning at him. He feels like he just kicked tiny Cujo. But he doesn’t feel bad enough to blurt everything out.

“Here. You can have it if you want?” Danny casually pulls out the knife and holds the wound together with his bare hands. Cass looks more alarmed. She bodily picks up Danny and starts running.

“Woah!”

Cass throws him at Alfred, gently.

“Miss Cassandra! Why, I never-!” Alfred pauses in surprise.

“Uh. Wow, Cass. You’re really strong.” Danny pipes up, hand still over his gushing wound.

She ignores him, pointing at Danny and telling Alfred, “Hurt. Got mugged. Dumb.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Gothamites are ready to jump people at any moment. Besides, it’s daytime. It’s not like the vigilante furries are out to save my butt. I think I did really well coming back safe, you know?”

“Hurt. Forgot the knife. Was in him.”

“Master Danny!”

Danny pouts. He also knows there’s a discreet camera in the corners of the sitting room, so he’s definitely hoping he could phase into the cave when Barbara eventually tells the group that he called them “vigilante furries.”

Alfred clucks his tongue and set to work patching him up. Danny tries not to bask in the careful way Alfred tended to his wounds. It reminds him too much of Jazz, if Jazz was British and a man with greying hair.

But because they were watching him and he was watching them in return, Danny noticed the moment Alfred’s hands stalled and Cass’ gaze got intense. What now…?

Oh, fuck, his vivisection scar. Oops. Danny smiled, channeling Dani (his lovely clone sister) at her most innocent.

Cass smiled back, just as sunnily, fists tightening at her side in repressed fury.

——

“Cass? Why’d you call us?”

“Yeah, baby bat. I got a couple o’ smugglers to talk to.”

Cass paces.

“What is it, Cassandra?” Damian tuts impatiently.

“Danny. Has… scars. Autopsy. But was struggling. When cut.”

“What.”

“A vivisection, Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was crisp and eerily cold. His hands are folded, rage only held back by his sheer will and a well practiced sense of propriety.

“We find. Who hurt him,” Cass snarls. “We. End.”

Jason’s eyes glint green, hands going to his guns. “Fine. By. Me.”

“It does tie in with the dead comment. I wonder what happened to him.” Tim clacks away at the bat computer, furiously looking into the matter already. Bruce has taken to prowling, stressed out at the prospect of one more of his children- not a vigilante at that- getting hurt the way Jason had. Worse, even. A vivisection. He was alive, dissected. Aware enough to struggle. Dick looked like he was torn about hunting down and lunging at whoever hurt Danny to rip their throats out with his bare teeth versus the urge to go back up to the manor and wrap Danny in bubble wrap.

In the corner, Danny was having a quiet breakdown because he came here to watch them react to vigilante furries, not offering to murder the people who vivisected him. What the fuck?? He ran his hands through his hair, invisible.

——

“Oh, by the way, we should consider more daytime shifts.”

“Why?” Spoiler asks Barbara.

“Danny got mugged. And called us the nightly furries.”

“The fuckin’ what-?” Jason chokes out, laughing. Bruce stops his pacing, body language becoming slightly offended.

Danny muffles a laugh only Alfred would have heard.

6K notes · View notes

weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

Text

the baftas: my eyes need bleach after the livestream chat.

I SAID I WOULD COME TO TUMBLR AND SLUT-SHAME ALL OF YOU, AND YOU BET YOUR GODDAMN BILDADDY I'M HERE TO DO IT. First, a huge thank you to @good-usernames-were-taken, Valerie, for enabling this entire chaos and streaming it. And of course to Disappointment the Main Maggot.

Second, as per requests from you maggots, I have to give an honourary mention to the tragic lack of an emotional support gaseous orange, the late half-eaten packet of Lays on my desk, and my nearly empty can of Monster energy. Idk either, you asked for the mentions you got them.

Without further ado, presenting the BAFTA Awards 2024:

I am busy drawing out the neckline stitches of Crowley's wedding dress, when I am reminded of the stream and I crash into it midway. Little do I know what I am getting into.

Everyone is here for David Tennant. No one is here for the actual awards. This is made very clear very quickly.

KNEES. JUST KNEES. ALL EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT, THROUGHOUT THE STREAM, IS DAVID TENNANT'S KNEES. ARE YOU ALL OKAY WHAT THE FRESH HELL.

For context, David is in a kilt for the first half. I finally see why my relatives disapprove of skirts above knee-length. I never knew humanity's unholy worship of knees till I came here.

SOMEONE ASKS IF DAVID HAS TANNED HIS KNEES. MAGGOTS. PLEASE.

We interrupt our regular scheduled program of David knees to have an intense discussion about British versus French humour, and the misgendering of croissants.

RDJ wins an award and calls his wife his Alpha and Omega.

We're back to the knees. I can't handle how slutty David's knees are, says a worthy maggot.

This goes into a discussion about tickets for David's Macbeth, because, you guessed it, the kilt and the knees.

A lot of gorgeous and talented women in the BAFTAs tonight. I am floored.

I am not allowed to dwell in my awe because the chat is not a place of the lord. Curtain calls of Macbeth are discussed with unnecessary lasciviousness.

Thankfully, in the midst of this, I get a great Zodiac pattern reference for Crowley's wedding dress cummerbund. I was going to have to research the night sky for star charts but this is better.

People show their beautiful brainrot-induced Doc Marten purchases.

The knee thirst has moved into X-rated territory. I am terrified.

A song is sung in memory of film industry people who passed away this year, and people are sad about Dumbledore but at the same time are imagining Aziraphale and Crowley dancing to the song. The brainrot is real.

I accidentally spoil Saltburn's freakshow for someone. When I ask how I can make up for it, they say something about GOAD. I'm alarmed. Is that an OnlyFans, I ask. It's Good Omens After Dark, the chat answers. Is THAT an OnlyFans, I ask. Close enough, the chat says.

David has now changed outfits to a suit, which finally makes people pay attention to the BAFTAs, if only to alternatively thirst over the suit and bemoan the loss of knees.

Things, uh, happen, which I will have to include as quotes in another post. Cheers, @thearoacemess and @vitrilol.

Barty Crouch Jr is debated about as the Wolfstar child. Bratty Crouch Jr is said to be Crowley.

I obtain a banana, which I associate with blowjobs.

@thearoacemess talks about someone deepthroating a seven-inch banana without a hitch.

The stream does a flashback to the kilt time. It is a mistake. @queermarzipan barrels in and is being too slutty about the knees.

I tell them they need jesus, and they yell about how they've gone to mass twice today and they're an atheist.

Thankfully, @vitrilol starts chanting about the glory of Ireland. The only thing that will distract Marzipan from David Tennant is Ireland.

He proceeds to start screech-singing in all caps.

🎵IRELAND IIIRELAND TOGETHER STANDING TALLLL.🎵

The BAFTAs end. People are still thirsting over David Tennant.

🎵I KNOW YOU'RE MISSING HOME IT'S SO LONG SINCE YOU'VE BEEN🎵

Uh, more dubious things about David, suits and the absence of said suits are discussed. I'm trying my damndest not to notice.

🎵AND THE LIFE YOU HAD IN DUBLIN NOW AIN'T NOTHIN BUT A DREAM🎵

There is accidental Mascot lore: I am apparently from a different timeline (I mixed up timeline and timezone) and that's how Apollo deposited me in an illegal sushi restaurant where I became Neil Gaiman and Michael Sheen's intellectual child.

I am compared to a cat.

TOM HIDDLESTON AND DAVID TENNANT WERE IN THE STAGED-LIKE THING IN THE BEGINNING AHAHAHAHAH LOKI AND CROWLEY MY TWO CELESTIAL GENDERFLUID ICONS.

OKAY so I will end the summary here and make a list of out of context quotes in a new post. Because. Boy oh boy. That deserves its own post.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #david tennant #bafta 2024 #good omens #maggots #good omens fandom #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #michael sheen #bafta awards #bafta #bafta livestream #tom hiddleston #loki #ireland #macbeth

180 notes · View notes

kittyt-hexxed · 3 months

Text

Bad Together

Sevika x Gang Leader!POC!Reader

*This is a scheduled post so it will not be linked on the main page immediately.*

Warning: Gang Leader! POC!Reader, Rivals to Lovers, Crazy Offer, You’re also a scary lady, Dom!Reader, Dom!Sevika, You’re equals, Sexual Tension, An idea inspired by Valentine’s Day, Taunting, Flirting hidden as threats, Throat Grabbing, reader dresses slutty, Cursing, horny from fist fighting your rival, Sevika womanhandles you, you get folded, Making Out, Sevika bites your tongue

Summary: You and Sevika have been rivals since you were in high school. That only worsened when you both became gang leaders and tensions rose when Sevika became Silco’s right hand. You were scary, but Sevika was scarier… you had an offer for her - what if you combined forces?

You knew this idea could blow up in your face in more ways than one. But, you wouldn’t have ended up in your position if you didn’t go for things that came with a substantial risk. If you were honest with yourself, this would be the riskiest out of all of them. One wrong move could find you losing your gang, your cred, your reputation, and your identity. In these fissures that was worse than death. You’d become a laughing stock or worse. That thought put a sour taste in your mouth that you wanted to spit out.

The Silver Dagger’s territory wasn’t hard to find. It covered the best parts of the Undercity which included the expensive side of the Red Light District. Your business involved the boss herself, so you were headed into the snake’s den. Contrary to belief, the Silver Dagger’s did not operate out of The Last Drop. That’s where Silco kept them for easy access, but they spent most of their time in an old townhouse they had completely renovated. You’d been there before - once, a long time ago. It was a day you didn’t know whether or not to look back on fondly or with disgust.

As you approach the townhouse, two guys playing blackjack at the gate stand up when they see you. One of them pulls out a gun while the other steps forward with a hand outstretched. The other people loitering around the area don’t even pretend they’re not paying attention. They blatantly stare at you, watching as you reach for your weapon and pull it from its holster.

“A bat?” The one with a gun snickers. You look at him and twist both parts of the handle away from each other. There is a click and nine-inch spikes pop out along the body.

“Do you want a demonstration?” You raise an eyebrow. The guy pales.

“Hand it over. You can’t go in with it or any other weapons you have on your body.” The other guy says, giving you a look-over as you retract the spikes.

“That’s all. I’m not stupid enough to walk into Sevika’s territory with more than necessary. I don’t have a death wish.” You scoff. “Can I go in now?”

“What about there?” He motions to your crotch. You glance down and realize your leather shorts make the bulge of your strap more prominent.

“I’m packing, but not a weapon.” You flash a smirk.

“You’d be surprised how many people still try to sneak in weapons there, too.” He exhales, crossing his arms. “Just have to be through. Head on in.” The door swings open and a third, larger guy stares down at you with an annoyed scowl. You raise an eyebrow at him, too. You knew a lot of the people who fell in with Sevika tended to be quite interesting. She was very picky with whom she accepted into her gang. They had to be smart, resourceful, and loyal. Not much unlike your criteria except you liked to accept the ones with a bit more personality.

You were guided through the hallway until you reached what used to be the living room. You recognized the people lounging on the couches as Sevika’s inner circle. It was rare for her to be somewhere without them. They stuck to her like glue unless she was out on an errand for Silco. You wondered if she ever cared that they did that. You didn’t when it came to your circle. If you needed to tell them to leave you alone, they were more than likely to oblige.

“When I was told the Puppeteer wanted a word with me, I thought you’d be on death’s door… but you don’t look half-dead to me, Y/n.” Sevika’s voice sends a thrill up your spine. You look up to see her leaning against the second-floor railing. It’s been some time since you’ve seen her instead of hearing the gossip about her. The smirk that crosses your face at the sight of your target is positively feral.

“I’m sure seeing me bloody and bruised would give you a hard-on, Sevika.” You respond, taking a step forward, “But I didn’t come here for you to get off.”

“Pity. I was looking forward to something to celebrate.” She says, then motions to the stairs, “Come up. Third door to your right.” She turns and moves out of your sight, likely into the room she just told you about. Grinning to yourself, you head up the stairs with a newfound pep to your step. Oh, she was a sight to behold. ‘How long has it been? Ten years? At least sometime before Silco took over.’ She’d cut her hair and put on more muscle than you remember. She was taller, too.

You swing the door open to see a decently sized office. It was decorated in the way you expected it to be - covered in trophies. There were items or weapons from other gangs hanging from the walls or displayed on shelves. What shows the gap between you and her are the items from Piltover. The sheer number of them showed Sevika’s strength as a leader and her cunning to have them in the first place. You couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the sight. You have a few of your own but she had to have dozens. This is what it meant to be number one in the Undercity.

“So, what does the famous Puppeteer want with me?” Sevika asks, leaning back in her chair. You could tell it was custom-made, glossy with the telltale sign of being cared for with a linseed oil tincture. ‘I wonder how cocky she’d be if she was the one being fucked in that chair.’

“Me? Famous? You must be thinking of yourself.” You scoff, sitting down and resting your ankle on your knee. You make a show of checking her out, slowly dragging your eyes over her body. “From all the talk I’ve heard about you, I’d expected to find that you’d turned into an Oni. Color me disappointed to see that you’re normal.”

“An Oni?” Sevika snorts, “That’s a new one. Are you sure you didn’t make that one up?”

“A normal person can’t tank a fucking explosion and only get out missing an arm.” You point to the cloak hiding her metal arm. “And, I didn’t make it up. You’re not that lucky to have been on my mind all these years.”

“I could say the same.” She responds and the two of you intensely stare at each other trying to spot a glimpse of a lie. ‘Always so annoyingly attractive. Her makeup is always done so nicely. It used to piss me off that when it was smudged after a fight she still looked hot.’

“Anyway,” You direct the topic to where you want it, “I’m here to make you an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what delusional thought have you brought to me?”

“Get in a relationship with me,” You start, taking note that Sevika’s eyes widen, “and we can run the Undercity together.”

“You walk into my territory after years of not seeing each other to say… that?” She spits out the word as if it refused to leave her tongue. “You’re being serious? This isn’t some stupid joke because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m serious.” You nod, smirking. She’s clearly startled by what you said and it makes you gleeful to be able to knock her emotionless mask. “Let’s be honest, we can’t stand each other. You and I go together like gasoline and fire to a fucking explosion,” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as you continue to talk. You knew that expression too well. One she’d give you over and over again while you were in school and competing for top dog. The one that made your rivalry all the sweeter. “but I know you better than anyone else. You’re a fucking powerhouse on your own. Imagine what we can do together.”

“You’ve been so horny for me that your fantasies have convinced you I want you in real life.” Sevika says bluntly, “You should take my spot at Babette’s for the day. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“Why would I go to a brothel when I want to touch you, Sevika?” You purr, reaching out to caress her shoulder. She grabs your wrist, constricting her grip tight enough for the bones in your wrist to creak.

“What makes you think you can touch me, Y/n?” Her voice comes out low in a warning. You grin at her, your heart pounding harder with adrenaline as she glares at you with wild eyes. She didn’t scare you. She never did. Watching Sevika slip into her authoritative mode brought you nothing but a thrill. That’s what she was for you—a thrill.

“I’m the only one who has touched you.” You retort. A moment passes and she lets you go. You glance down at your wrist. There was nothing there but you knew there would be a bruise eventually.

“You’re wasting my time with this shit.” She deflects, taking a cigarillo out of a wooden box. “That’s nothing new with you though. You’ve always liked to waste my precious time.” You roll your eyes and stand up. She follows you with her eyes, tucking the cigarillo between her lips as you walk around her desk. You grip the back of her chair and push it away from the desk, taking up the space between the two. You lean against the desk, crossing your arms as you give her a disapproving stare. She looks up at you, trying to show that she’s disinterested in what you’re saying but the stormy look in her eyes says differently.

“While you continue running errands for Mr.Pink Eye over there, you will be left in my dust, Sevika. And I know how much you hate that. I’ll be number one in the Undercity and you’ll be racing to catch up to me.” You taunt her.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She chuckles, flicking the lighter in her hand open. A soft green flame flares to life. She lights her cigarillo and you watch as she inhales, exhaling the smoke through her nose.

“Believe? I already see it.” You take the cigarillo from her lips, extinguishing it between your fingers, “You’ll fail without me. But, go ahead and continue being Silco’s bitch, all you have left to do is bark.”

Sevika’s metal fist connects with your stomach and you hunch over gasping for breath. She grabs your hair and throws you into the wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. You’re quick to shake off the stun and dodge out of the way from her next attack, bringing your leg up to kick her in the side and launch her away from you. She stumbles and you lunge at her, landing a punch across her jaw. A gleeful laugh leaves your lips as you and Sevika brawl around the office. She had a permanent smirk on her face and she laughed as you narrowly dodged her sword slash. The weapons around the office were used and Sevika had to roll out of the way when you got your hand on a mace. She got a good hit to your leg that knocked you off balance and you staggered but caught yourself in time. You wipe the blood off your arm, wearily eying that metal arm of hers. You’d heard people talking about it, but to fight her with it was a whole different process. You were bruised and bleeding but you were having a lot of fun. Sevika was standing in front of the door breathing heavily and wiping blood from a cut on her face. It was a delicious sight to see.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m still standing.” You taunt her, gesturing to your body. Sevika looks at you silently, standing up straight as she catches her breath. “Well?” You continue. Her hand is closing around your throat before you can blink. A grunt is forced from you as you’re slammed onto the desk. Your hips are pressed into the wood, pinned in place by Sevika’s as she leans over you. A shiver goes through you as you realize she’s furious with you. Eyes of molten metal glaring down at you as if she wants you to burst into flames.

“It’s funny how you call me a bitch, but you’ve been barking at me since you’ve walked in here. If anyone is a bitch, it’s you.” Sevika says lowly, her face inches away from yours. “My bitch.” You can feel her strap pressing up against yours, forcing the base of it to your body and sending a tingling feeling through your clit.

“Prove it.” You smirk, purposefully pushing back with your hips.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.” She exhales sharply. You reach up and wrap your hand around her throat, pulling her face closer to hers.

“I said prove it, Sev.” You goad her with the nickname you gave her. She hated any form of nickname for her name. It was Sevika or nothing. So naturally you didn’t listen to that.

“If you insist, Y/n/n.” She responds with the nickname she had given you. Your eyebrow twitches. You make a noise in the back of your throat as she lifts you off of the desk by your throat. You let go of her neck to grab at her wrist. You don’t have to look to know that your feet are nowhere near the ground. Her lips curve up into a wicked smirk before the world around you blurs. You cry out in pain as your back is slammed against what you assume to be the desk once more. Her hand vanishes from your throat and the next thing you know she’s kissing you.

Sevika’s arms hold your legs to her body and you can feel her strap press against you due to the position you’re in. You feel yourself blush as she leans down, her hair brushing against your cheeks before her lips touch yours. Like your fight moments before, your kiss is anything but gentle. You’re rough, trying to be the one in charge and take the lead. Sevika’s tongue is in your mouth and you’re enjoying it until you want to put yours in hers. It takes a bit but you’re successful and get a low moan from her. You can’t help but feel smug about it, and almost as if she knows that Sevika bites your tongue. You yelp and jerk away from her, breaking the kiss and glaring at her.

“Seriously? You bit me?”

“Don’t be so smug about it.” Sevika shrugs. “You’re not in the position to be.”

“Would you like a redo of what happened the last time I was here? Then I will be.”

“If you call me your girlfriend in front of anyone, I’ll run you through with my sword.” She ignores what you said in favor of addressing the offer you made her.

“We’re partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.” You tuck your arms under your head, “I told you you wouldn’t be able to refuse my offer.” You smirk up at her.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your mouth.” She says seriously.

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika arcane #sevika fanfic

114 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Text

I Come With Knives Pt2

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Part 1

I am posting this at almost 1am AND I have to get up early tomorrow to do work for class before the actual class haha I plan my time accordingly

I was going to make this chapter longer. I had an idea and I started to write it, but it just wasn't coming out like I wanted it to (bc I'm writing at 12am duh) so I'm gonna put that in another chapter

Warnings: mentions of torture, trauma, hints of paranoia, hints of self-deprecation

Word Count: 1,390

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

After a grueling battle yesterday, you chose to give everyone a day off. It gave them time to rest aching muscles, repair and sharpen weapons, relax. It gave you a chance to bathe.

You didn't neglect your hygiene, but most of the time, once camp was set up, the sun would be dipping below the horizon. On those days, you'd run into the water, scrub the gunk out of your hair and get out, back to the safety of company before the first stars faded in. Now that you had the chance, you weren't going to squander it.

Once you were certain you were alone - an uncomfortable thought soothed only by the sun filtering in through the canopy above - you stripped down and waded into the water. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. You wasted no time scraping the dirt and blood off your skin.

Once you cleaned your body within an inch of its life, you ducked your head under the water and scrubbed at your hair and scalp. It was disgusting - you could only imagine the smell your companions had put up with this last week. You were just so happy you were clean. Your hair was smooth as water soaked it through, no knots or clumps of blood to be found. As you squeezed out the excess water, you caught your reflection between the ripples. In moments where it stilled enough, you could see the scar on your neck. It was still deep and prominent, but it was beginning to heal. It'd never healed before.

"Enjoying yourself?"

You nearly shrieked when you turned, sinking into the water up to your neck for protection. Astarion chuckled at your reaction.

"Would it kill you to stop sneaking up on me?"

"I was practically stomping like an ogre, dear, it's hardly my fault you weren't paying attention." You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. It was your fault you let your guard down. In the day, you were safe from (most) vampires, but there were any number of things ready to attack at any moment. "Mind if I join you?"

You shake your head, but you're already wading to shore to grab your clothes. "No, go ahead. I'm done."

"Leaving already?" You nod, not making eye contact. "I won't look, darling, if that's what's got you so flustered."

You pause mid reach for your shirt as he removes his, placing it haphazardly on a rock by the water's edge. His pants came next and you looked away until you heard the water sloshing around him.

"Though, I don't mind if you look," he teased, sparing one last glance over his shoulder before he got to work cleaning himself.

Gods, if he could hear the way your heart raced... You peek over, just a glance, before you look back at your clothes. But then you're looking again.

An intricate scar of circles, lines, and curved symbols marred his back. You feel your throat close just looking at it. You'd been forced to watch spawn and slaves alike punished by the cracking of a whip. Forced to keep your eyes forward by a hand on your jaw as the leather snapped and tore into their skin. This was worse. This was deliberate.

"Did..." You swallow, forcing your voice not to crack with the sorrow you felt for him. "Did your master do this?"

He hummed, continuing to wash his arms as though you'd asked him about the weather. The only hint it bothered him at all was the way his muscles tensed and the disdain in his voice. "Cazador," he spat. "He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas." His movements slowed to a stop. "He composed and carved that one over the course of a night. He made... a lot of revisions as he went."

You couldn't stop staring. Your mind kept replaying the torture you witnessed, but it replaced their cries with Astarion's voice. You hated to be so lucky. To be so fortunate that your master wanted you to look absolutely perfect and unmarked. You never received physical punishment. You were too precious.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, shakily. "If I could, I'd..." What? Remove the markings forever? Take away his pain and suffering? Go back and change everything so he never had to be a puppet? You couldn't do anything. You can't help. You can't remove that pain. All you can do is witness the aftermath.

He sighed and ducked his head so he could wash his hair. Drops of water slid down his back, only drawing your eyes in further. “It won’t matter when we get to Baldur’s Gate. I’m going to kill that bastard for everything he did to me.”

You know you should leave. Put on your clothes and slink away. But… being around Astarion isn’t entirely unpleasant. You’re still a little scared of him - of what he could do, but you trust him enough to believe he wouldn’t do those things. He probably understood your plight better than anyone else.

So, you slide down into the water until you’re resting on your knees in the silt. It doesn’t quite cover your neck unless you duck deeper in. You want to hide the scar, the damn mark showing everyone else who - or rather, what you belonged to. But it felt wrong to try hiding it when Astarion was fully showing you his.

“I never asked who your master was.” He turns his head slightly, eyes just barely catching sight of you. He did promise he wouldn’t look, after all. “Where she…” He waved a hand noncommittally and scowled. “Rules.”

Her eyes flash in your mind, wicked and burning. You almost flinch just thinking about them. When you speak her name, your voice trembles. “Kir Parthene. I… don’t remember where she lives. It’s been years since I’ve even been outside - I must have forgotten.”

He slowly turns, giving you time to tell him to turn back again, but you don’t. You watch him through a fog of memories. “How long were you enslaved?”

It’s harder to answer than you thought it would be. Time begins to blur when you can’t tell if it’s night or day, when everything is fuzzy and incoherent because you never had enough blood to think straight. Sometimes she’d feed and then leave you for days. Others, she never wanted to stop feeding - drinking from you morning and night before you ever got a chance to recover. You were a slave to her hunger - time never mattered.

“I was… 16 when I was taken.” You wrap your arms around yourself. Safe. “I don’t even remember home. My parents… I’m all alone.”

He’d never heard your voice so small before. You weren’t the most demanding leader, but you could still bark commands when things were getting rough. You even held yourself well in conversation, shutting down lopsided deals or uncomfortable topics with all the authority of a royal guard. It was easier, seeing you like this, to imagine your life in servitude. Meek and quiet.

“That’s not entirely true.” He kneeled in the silt a few feet from you, smirking. “You have us for as long as this adventure lasts, as long as we don’t transform into tentacled Mind Flayers.”

“And then after that?” He shifts uncomfortably at the question. “Everyone will go their separate ways, and when you do I’m a sitting duck. I’ll be captured again. Used again.”

You trail off, but the weight of your words sit heavy. You’ll never be free. You could help everyone else with their quests, help them free themselves from what ties them down, help them get stronger - but the same couldn’t be done for you. Without knowing where your master lives, there’s no way to seek her out and kill her, too.

The water is too cold now. The cool summer breeze only freezes you more. Astarion watches as you get up and slink back over to your clothes. He looks away before he can see anything you wouldn’t want him to. In no time at all, your clothes are back on and you’ve pulled on your boots. But before you walk away, you turn to him. Your eyes are so sad.

“Thank you. For… showing me.” He says nothing. So you head back to camp. Alone.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis

@hypopxia

@flsalazar

@beverlybeav

@angelofthorr

@emiemiemiii

@marina-and-the-memes

@lynnlovesloki

@aurasyn

256 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit.

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something.

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like.

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile.

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance.

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off.

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves.

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate.

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground.

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire.

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl.

Not just his.

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp.

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead.

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him.

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing -

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman golden circle #jack whiskey daniels

530 notes · View notes

pandorasfavorite · 20 days

Text

Maneater Part 3

AN: yall its finals week so its gonna be hard to post for a bit

You should've made him beg longer, but Dominik was getting ahold of you. No matter how hard you tried to stay away from him; he only drew you in further. So you joined the Judgement Day after weeks of him asking and pleading with you. The final blow was Dominik sinking to his knees with his wide eyes, begging you to join him.

Though now you had to cope with other people telling you what to do for the group. That is what you would hate most; you are independent and no one is supposed to hold any power over you. A man most of all, but Dominik is climbing that ladder quickly. So as you both are walking down the hallway you once again remind yourself to not let him win so easily; in other words, 'don't let Dominik get too close'. You were stuck in your own head; unintentionally ignoring Dominik, but you guessed that played to your advantage anyway because he was huffing and annoyed at your silence.

His fingers just barely brush over yours and you stop walking to look at him. Your look is so intense and fiery, Dominik all of a sudden felt stuck in his spot just barely choking out a feeble, "You look good". You feel your lips twitch into a smile, but any other time you wouldn't be impressed with the weak compliment. "That's all you had to tell me?", you put a hand on your hip while giving him that unimpressed look he has grown to hate. Nonetheless, he smiles and looks down at you; quick to give you a witty comeback, "You wouldn't want to hear everything I'm thinking" he looks you up and down. You scrunch your nose in distaste at his admission...you could listen to him talk for hours.

You shove a finger into his chest and you look up at him angrily, "Making decisions for me already?". He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and tries to not make his racing heart rate obvious, "You'd hate that wouldn't you?". You grab his face to pull him down closer to you; wanting to look him in the eye, "More than anything baby". You had let go of him but he still hovered near. Dominik's face went up in flames but he wiped a hand down his mouth and stopped before you could see the smile. He tried to play it cool and give you a serious look; you blew him a kiss. He dropped the straight face and smiled, a laugh fell from his mouth all the same.

"Alright, love birds keep moving!" someone you didn't care to look at yelled at you both. You shrugged and moved on; walking forward with Dominik a step behind you. The Judgement Day walked out towards the ring. You stood behind Dominik with a hood covering your face, with new all-black and purple gear on for the occasion. You heard the boom of questions in the crowd, most people guessing wrong, but the loyal fans knew it was you by the shiny black and pink high boots. Though getting in the ring was the best, Dominik stood an inch behind you; just barely brushing against you.

And when the spotlights were on you, you finally felt the feeling of power. Dominik took off your hood and the screams of fans could be heard from miles away from the stadium. Spotlights were directly on you just like everyone's attention, you know you looked good the cheers only made it better. You felt as if you were on the highest pedestal. As if Dominik could feel the pride radiating off of you, he rested his chin on the side of your shoulder from behind you. "You like that Hermosa?', he whispered just for you to hear, his breath feeling like ice on your skin. "More than anything baby", you said again and Dominik's smile against your skin was the most memorable moment of the night. Well apart from being the main pin point of everyone's attention.

After your 3 minutes of fame, a bitch had to ruin it; like bitches do. Santo Escobar's group came out to congratulate The Judgement Day for whatever reason, to you it seemed like something way different. But what really pissed you off was that Elektra Lopez skipped over you and went straight over to Dominik, laying a hand on his chest and giving him a cheesy smile. Dominik just watched her, but his eyes flickered over to your angry ones. One thing a maneater is would be possessive. Not a great trait but one you have, either way, Dominik was your's the moment he got on his knees and begged for you. Your hands shook and a smile graced your face at the violent thought. You stormed over to her Dominik's eyes shot open like you were going to murder him instead.

You grabbed Elektra by the back of her gear, and she started to put her hands behind her back to stop you. You didn't hit her but you slung her back, her ass hit the floor and she looked up at you with shock. "Touch him again I dare you bitch", you put your hands down on your knees and got down on her level. She flipped her hair dramatically, "I didn't know". You shrugged and flipped your hair more obnoxiously, "Now you do". You walked towards Dominik and grabbed him by the collar of his black gear. Finn was sitting on the ropes already knowing you were going to drag Dominik away. You pull Dominik with you and you both go under the ropes and backstage.

#dominik mysterio fanfiction #dominik mysterio x you #dominik mysterio fluff #dom dom #dominik my bbg #dominik mysterio x reader #wwe #dominik mysterio

62 notes · View notes

gyuwoncheol · 9 months

Text

Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

Pair: idol!Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: Good ‘ol, painful breakup

Summary: No one has ever loved you as much as Kim Mingyu does, and you've also always loved him back just as hard. So why wasn’t it enough?

Warnings: pain. Lots of it. Angst.

WC: 2.2k

Note: aaaah! First SVT work to be posted in publicever. The plot is admittedly cliché but i'm a suckerfor thess types of things and for anything sad and angsty. Enjoy!

He heard the doorbell ring twice in his home, startled at the loud sound against the quiet night he was having just scanning through Instagram. Slowly getting up, Mingyu made his way to the main door to check who his unexpected guest was past midnight. The familiar frame of the girl he loved appearing through the peephole was enough indication and he swung open the big white door right away. But more than the unexpected visit, the look on your face was the bigger surprise.

You had been crying. Red nose, red eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a slightly swollen upper lip. Your small frame semeed to have drowned in a thick grey hoodie to shield you from the cold midnight breeze.

“Hi” you exhaled awkwardly, hands tucked deep into the pocket of your hoodie

“Babe” Mingyu immediately wrapped you in an embrace, concern laced in his voice but he also felt how you tensed up under his touch. “What’s wrong? You didn’t tell me you were coming”

“Yeah I’m sorry” you shakily responded, “can I come in?”

Mingyu found it weird how polite you were being, almost as if you hadn’t spent countless nights in his home. As he welcomed you in the living room, you took a seat on the armchair by the side even when he lead you to the bigger couch where he had been seated. To say he was confused would be an understatement, you were acting like a stranger to him.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Mingyu prodded, bringing you back to reality as he sat closely across you and held your hands.

You didn’t know what to say and even though you tried to hold it in, another fat tear rolled down your cheek. Your vision blurred in an instant and your hands flew to cover your face as the crying started once again.

At this point, Mingyu was even more concerned. He pulled you in his arms, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap to cradle you as you cried. For once, you let go of all your rational thinking and buried your face into his chest, neither one of you caring that you’d wet his shirt. Your brain was racing a million thoughts an hour but you just wanted to be held close by him a few minutes more. Without knowing what’s going on, the raven haired boy simply held you close to him, his large hand rubbing your back up and down even if it actually just made you cry more.

“Babe...” Mingyu started slowly after a while, a pout now etched on his face “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but could you at least tell me what this is about? I’m getting so worried”

You shut your eyes tight, almost praying that Mingyu would think you had fallen asleep and didn’t hear him but even you knew that was impossible. Besides, though you did not want to talk about it, you needed to talk about it. That’s why you came here in the first place.

Inching away from your boyfriend to sit right beside him, your body facing his, you scanned his features: his week-old haircut, the mole on his nose, his chapped lips, the warm brown eyes that looked back at you with so much love and concern, those cheeks you loved to squeeze, and those soft pink lips that felt best against your own. You had taken many mental photos of your sweet boy in all your favourite moments with him, and though you were sure tonight wasn’t going to be a one of them, you still drank in all his little features, commiting every single one to memory.

You reached your hand up to his cheek, the pad of your thumb gently caressing the skin below it before you let out a heavy sigh as you eyes met his.

“You know I love you, right?” Your small voice squeaked with that little accent he was so used to hearing

Reaching up his own hand on his cheek to cover yours, Mingyu nodded and replied with a sad smile “of course I do”

“Then I’m gonna need you to listen to me okay?” You said as Mingyu’s grip on your hand tightened, as if saying yes to her

Swallowing a large lump on your throat, you took a quick glance at him before looking away, “Gyu...” you said in pain, “I need to let you go”

In that moment, Mingyu was pretty sure he felt his whole world stop, like everything just shut down. Literally. It’s like he went deaf yet still clearly heard what you said. He was hoping it was a mere glitch in the system, or that it was a joke, like it was magically April Fool’s day in the midst of September.

You stared back at Mingyu, a deathly silence overtaking the room as you waited for his answer. It took him so long to respond that you debated about repeating it again.

“No” Mingyu didn’t know how long it actually took him to say that, but he replied with enough conviction to make you snap your eyes towards him

“What?”

“No. I said no.” Mingyu repeated. If awhile ago, he thought you were acting like a stranger, this time he was sure of it. Was he just flung into an alternate universe? What the fuck was going on..

“Gyu..” you sighed heavily, “please don’t be like this” you said as another batch of tears started to blur your vision

“Be like what? Fight for our relationship?” He argued this time, he really didn’t want to raise his voice but a point had to be made. “You said you love me right?”

“Babe, please-“

“You said you love me, right?” He asked again, punctuating every word and wanting— no, needing to get a reply from you

“Yeah! I do!” You frustrated

If Mingyu was being honest, he had always feared this day. But if there was one thing Mingyu was good at, it was at staying positive. He always saw the silver lining at everything. Now this also meant that he was very good at being in denial.

“So why are you doing this? People who love each other don’t break up. They stay together, they work things out together! And we..” he looked at you, eyes pleading desperately, “We will do just that”

“Gyu, it’s not as easy as it seems”

“NO ONE SAID IT WOULD BE!” Mingyu finally snapped, “BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE DON’T TRY”

“You think I didn’t try? You think we didn’t try? It’s all we’ve been doing!” You explained, recounting all the efforts you both poured out into the 14 month relationship. “But Gyu, this relationship will never go anywhere when so many people don’t want it in the first place. Your management won’t let you date, there will be fans who won’t agree with it, and my parents.. they don’t want me with you. Everyone is literally coming for us. I can only name two people who actually want us together: Wonwoo and my best friend who’s halfway across the world!”

“My other members would like you…” your boyfriend reasoned out

“Your other members don’t even know about me” you said in a pained voice that brought shame to Mingyu. Had the circumstances been different, he would’ve so loved for his brothers to meet you. He's sure you'd get along well. But he had experienced first hand how catastrophic it got when Jihoon's relationship was found out by management. The rest of them suffered too when it was discovered they had known about it all along and helped keep it a secret. He didn't want to inflict that same fate to his members if his relationship got exposed, so Mingyu always thought it better to just keep it to himself. Wonwoo only ever found out by mere accident.

“Why do we care what others think about our relationship? It’s just between you and I, not you, me, and everyone else”

“I know Gyu” you exhaled, “but truth is, with a job like yours, everyone else will keep intruding no matter what. I wish I didn’t care what they thought, but it kills me that you constantly have to sneak behind the members backs. It also eats me alive that no one in my family wants to talk to me. Yes, I’m happy with you, but I can’t be genuinely happy overall if there are people I’m hurting and-“

“Oh so you’d rather hurt me, is that it?” Mingyu deadpanned, “Cause surely it’s better to satisfy the fans and your family and my management at my cost. Right?”

“MINGYU, NO. It’s not like that. If there was a way that I could make everyone happy, especially you, then I would! But no matter how happy we will be with each other, we’ll still get hurt. We won’t truly be happy if we keep things in secret and keep sneaking away. It’s going to ruin us, Gyu. Your management will keep making it hard for you, my family won’t let you see me, we’ll have trolls hating on us every single day. We can only keep trying but if no one is going to support us, it will all be in vain.” You sobbed as you watched Mingyu’s shoulders slump in defeat, no words left to argue back.

He hated how right you were, how rational you still were despite this overflow of emotions. When your relationship started, you both knew just how many “rules” you were breaking but god, you both were just so in love and smitten with each other that you both just had give it a try. You both latched on to the hope that things would be okay. But hope has always been a dangerous thing, especially when it’s your only weapon in a battle you can’t win.

As you searched for any reaction from the boy in front of you, your most dreaded sight came to life: a tear rolling down Mingyu’s cheek. You immediately wiped it away with your thumb before forcing him to look at you. His eyes were now red and the frown on his face was making itself permanent.

"This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make, Gyu." You cried, "But I don't want it to reach a point where I have to choose between you or my family, or worse, to have you choose between me or your career. You've worked so hard to live your dreams and I'm not going to let you throw it all away for me"

“Is there no other way?” Mingyu sniffed, voice barely above a whisper as both his hands cupped your face

“I wish there was, my love. I wish there was.” You said as you wrapped him in a tight embrace. This time, really holding him tightly knowing it would be the last. “I’m sorry I have to do this but it’s for us. You deserve someone you can proudly show off to the world, Gyu.”

Bullshit, Mingyu thought. You are the girl he should be proudly showing off, if he was just allowed to.

The act of letting Mingyu go was like that of a knife stabbed into your heart only to be twisted a few more times for assurance. You were very much a blubbering mess. “I just hope whoever she is.. sh-she'll love you with allshe's got, a-and won't break your heart like- I am"

Mingyu’s grip around your waist had tightened, if that was even still possible. He buried his face on the crook of you neck and took in all of you, the woman he loved the most, the woman he never wanted to let go of but had to.

“I love you, Gyu. I love you so much” you sobbed hard, body convulsing as you let go of all the pent up feelings

“I love you too baby. I’ll never stop loving you.” Mingyu cried out, your heart breaking into the smallest pieces you knew could never be put back together again

In one quick move, Mingyu attached his lips to yours for the last time, a kiss so sweet yet so sad. You memorised how his lips moved against yours. You wanted to hold on for forever so bad. He was your happiness after all, your safe space, your home.

You both breathlessly pulled apart, tears never ceasing to run down your faces. Wiping your face, you quickly stood up and made your way to the door, wishing so desperately for the pain to be quick and easy.

“Please don’t go” Mingyu’s voice shook in a desperate sob when he caught you by the arm, in a last attempt to keep you by his side. You shut your eyes as your lips trembled. You did not want him to beg like this because it made everything a hundred times more difficult.

“Please baby.... just.. just stay one more night” Mingyu asked, a most desperate frown plastered on his face. With every tear that fell down his cheek, you felt your resolve break more

You turned to face him quickly for one more embrace while he planted a kiss on your forehead. You knew you had to go because staying a second longer would cause you to completely falter. With tears in your eyes, you gave him a tight squeeze and squirmed away from his grip, pushing him back.

“I’m sorry, Gyu” you said painfully, scurrying out his door with the tightest feeling in your chest. If you didn’t just know what you did, you would’ve suspected you were having a heart attack.

Mingyu felt his stomach drop by his feet. He watched his whole world walk away from him and he couldn’t do anything about it. He wanted to run after you, to tell you ‘screw the world, let’s just run away and be alone’ but he knew that was impossible, not when the both of you were at the peak of your respective careers and he especially had the whole world watching his. He knew it had been unfair, and he knew you never would’ve done it unless there was no other way, but he also knew you were right. That it had to be done. But how was he supposed to fall in love with someone else if that someone wasn’t you?

#svt #seventeen #mingyu #svt x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen one shot #mingyu fic #mingyu imagine #mingyu one shot #mingyu angst #paula writes✨#seventeen x reader #svt fic #svt imagine #svt one shot #Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

169 notes · View notes

asphalt-cocktail · 3 months

Text

Lead us to Temptation- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Precious Lord Take my Hand

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

A/N: As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are immensely appreciated. There will be no tag list because I am far too lazy to do that, but feel free to turn on notifications for me or bookmark it on AO3 where it will also be posted per usual.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nicknames, religious themes, suggestive language, profanity, pining, mentions of criminal activity, period typical misogyny, physical fighting, mentions of alcohol and gambling

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

There were a handful of things you could always count on happening in Eden Ridge: the saloon having a free lunch every Thursday with the purchase of a drink, church every Sunday, the coal miners leaving the mines at 7PM sharp, and that springtime would bring a sloppy muddy mess. When your family set out westward you stopped about halfway to Oregon and found your home in the town of Eden Ridge, named after the Eden Ridge Mountains which served as the beating heart for the small but quickly growing town.

The hills were full of coal and iron which your father proudly exploited along with the good hard working people of Eden. He controlled the mineral exports and the main work force in town. The hills acted as a hungry maw, devouring the hopes, dreams, and even bodies of the coal miners that dug down to the depths of hell just to keep your father’s pockets fat. It was the only town where the sunset was painted with a harrowing combination of orange and gray and where the air was so heavy with coal dust you could taste it.

Once your older brother was of age he quickly found a wife and married off, having two kids in the blink of an eye. It was common knowledge that your brother was the heir to the Eden Coal & Iron company, but only after he did his time laboring in the bowels of the Earth

The coal mines weren’t the place for a lady, so you didn't know much beyond the fact that your father was the owner and employed 90% of the town. You liked it that way, it kept you cleaner than your brother. You saw how filthy he was when he came back from a long day under the mountain, skin so blackened by coal and filth his eyes and teeth seemed to glow even though the hills stole the light away from them. But your father wasn't going to let your brother become some pencil pushing fancy boy if he could help it. If your daddy had to do his time in the mines, so did anyone who wanted to take over his business. It garnered respect from the laborers and it helped your brother get a glimpse of the bigger picture when it came to a business like this.

Your brother’s future was clear as crystal, but yours was always a frequent topic of discussion. Who were you going to marry being the number one. Since you were the ripe age of 25 your mother spent most of her time about town talking with the other wives and figuring out who the most eligible bachelor was. She told you not to worry, because she had a list made that you could take your pick from. You’d long since thrown away your dreams of traveling and leaving Eden Ridge, those were the dreams of a little girl, and mama always said dreaming was unholy. God gave you what you needed, nothing more, nothing less. So, you best be grateful for it. The older you grew, the more you questioned that statement. There was no way that your father needed to control the coal and iron exports in town.

Your boots slapped against the wet, gray, mud as you walked through the town. You were grateful that your mother hemmed your skirt a couple of inches shorter than normal to try and help keep your dress clean and prevent it from dragging in the wet earth.

Outside of the saloon a large group of people gathered right where you needed to walk through. You frowned, the closer you got the more you could tell how rowdy the crowd was and the closer you got the easier it became to see the two men fighting in the street.

“You lying little snake.” One said swinging and punching the dark haired man in the jaw.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Of course he was the one getting his face rocked in the middle of the muddy street. You often wondered if he was the devil incarnate, a handsome sweet talking man brought up from the depths of hell to tempt you into sinning. It took all your strength not to give in and see what else his mouth could do if you just simply let him. For the last two months he’d taken every approach in the book to get you to go out to dinner with him and each time you shut him down.

Hard.

He was relentless though, stubborn, insisted that he’d treat you good if you just let him and by God you knew he would. He’d been in town for a short but annoying two months and seemed to have quite the reputation with the ladies. If you had to hear one more woman giggle and go “Hi Bucky.” while wiggling her fingers you were going to be the next one kicking Bucky’s ass in the street God help you.

Bucky staggered, shaking his head, trying to unscramble his brains, his cheek was red and already beginning to swell from the blow “I’m a lot of things but I ain’t no damn snake.” He hissed back at the bald man, Tomas.

“One of your little buddies was telling you what my cards were, I just know it.” Tomas yelled, tackling Bucky to the ground. The worst part was that one of them probably was helping Bucky cheat at cards. Anyone with a pair of brain cells knew he famously cheated at all card games, but Tomas famously lacked brain cells.

They struggled for a moment on the ground before Bucky got leverage, flipping the two over and sitting on top of the other man’s chest, “I told you I’m not a cheat.” He said, punching Tomas in the face, emphasizing each of his words as he spoke.

Someone pushed through the crowd, Steve, one of his buddies, and grabbed him, “That’s enough Buck.” He spoke harshly, pulling his muddy friend off the unconscious Tomas, “Can we please go into town and not get arrested for once?” The blond grabbed Bucky by the back of his soiled light red button down similar to how a mother cat would carry a kitten by its scruff and shoved him down to walk towards their horses.

You looked in the muck and saw a worn out, sun beaten hat discarded. You picked it up and looked over at the roughneck then back to the hat

“Excuse me!” You call after the pair, “Mr. Barnes!”

Bucky turned, immediately recognizing your voice and grinned. It was truly blasphemous how handsome he looked despite the bruised cheek, cuts and dried blood, and black eye starting to form. The beat up look seemed to suit someone like him. “You know, we have got to stop meeting like this sugar.”

“I think you need to stop fist fighting before the sun has barely set.” You couldn't help but return the smile, it was contagious like the plague.

Gingerly, he took the hat from you and brushed some of the mud from his hat before putting it on and wiping his hands clean on his soiled jeans, “I was fighting for my honor!” He completely ignored Steve, following you instead as you began to walk off.

You scoffed, “Honor, sure…” you mumbled, “was someone telling you what the cards were?”

Bucky grinned proudly, “Of course, Sam always helps me when we play cards.”

“There is a special circle in hell for liars and cheaters, Mr. Barnes.”

“Sweetheart I’ve done much worse than lie and cheat, I think I’ll be forgiven for this one.” He statement sounded dismissive and you didn't doubt that wasn't true for a second. There was something mysterious about Bucky Barnes and the crew he ran with. You never could quite figure out what he did for work or what his source of income was, but you figured it was A: impolite to ask and B: not something you wanted to have any part of. “When are you going to let me take you to dinner?” Bucky almost whined, grabbing your hand and stopping you.

You turned, yanking your hand out of his grasp “When I’m dead.”

Bucky groaned in annoyance, “I’d treat you so good sweetheart, better than any of these other guys around town.” He reached out for your hand again. This was a talk the two of you had at least twice a week for the last two months, three times if you were extra unlucky.

“I can’t.” Bucky Barnes was the type of man fathers warned their daughters about, and boy did your father have a rather strong warning when it came to Mr. Barnes. “My Daddy warned me to stay away from men like you. A roughneck like you brings nothing but trouble to a good girl’s life.”

“Sweetheart, your daddy has no idea the type of man I am, trust me.” He stepped in front of you, stopping you from walking, “Just humor me and let me take you to dinner, no funny business, promise.” He put his hands on your hips, “How’s about tomorrow, I take you to dinner in the next town over. That way you don’t need to worry about any prying eyes from these nosey folks.”

Bucky was serving your words to you on a supper plate and gave you a fork to eat them. You told yourself, just this once, and maybe that would get him off your back. Maybe he would go bother some other poor girl. But the thought of that kind of pissed you off, you didn't need to look deep down to know that you enjoyed the little game the two of you played. “No funny business?” All you needed was one little taste, nothing more.

“No funny business.” Bucky echoed you, nodding his head.

It didn't sound so bad going and grabbing dinner in the next town over. Thunder Creek was a lovely area, great food, great music, no one from Eden Ridge to run and tell your family you were out with the local drifter, “How about you ask me once your face doesn’t look such a mess.”

Bucky beamed at you, “Deal.”

The next time you saw Bucky, almost a full week had passed. His face had healed nicely; the big purple bruise under his eye was now a yellowish color, and the cut along his nose and cheek had scabbed over and shrank. “Have you thought about my offer, dear?” He asked, leaning on the hitching post as you readied your horse. He looked like a stray dog seated in front of a plate of steak, hungry and ready to devour like Saturn himself.

It distracted you, caught you off guard even, “What? About dinner?” You licked your lips nervously and couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze again “Yes, I’m free tomorrow evening. I’ll meet you at the train station at 3 and we can ride over”

He looked victorious, like he’d won a marathon, like he’d just been told God had saved him a spot in heaven, “3 o’clock at the train station.” He repeated back to let you know he heard and he would be there.

You weren’t shocked to see Bucky already waiting on a bench at the train depot at 3pm sharp just like you’d asked. What shocked you was the fact that you’d managed to travel the two hours to the next town over and have a nice sit down meal with him, all without him making a single pass at you. He made small talk, asking you about your horse and how long you had him for, asking you your favorite books, your life before moving out here, your fathers mining company. He picked your brain and devoured every piece of information you gave him, listening actively and intently.

You learned a lot about him as well. Bucky was 10 years older than you and hailed from New York, which explained his odd hybrid accent. He fought in the civil war as a boy some 20 years ago for the union which was where he met Steve, John, and Sam then they managed to pick up Peter along the way. He called him and his troupe ‘traveling workers’, they went from town to town doing odd jobs and when those ran out or they overstayed their welcome they left, moving on to the next town.

What he didn’t tell you was that he was a wanted man in 3 states, his traveling work consisted of robbing banks and trains, rustling cattle, and stealing horses, with a small dash of bounty hunting, and a big dash of murder. Sure there was some good honest work sprinkled in there to help keep his conscience clean but it was mostly crime.

He’d originally come to town to rob the local bank, since Eden Ridge was on the up and up, which meant lots of people came here with lots of money to start a new life and those rich assholes needed somewhere to store it all. His plan was to steal most of the money and use it to finance his next run to the next town and help pay off some of the minor bounties tied to his boys’ heads, but you were a bit of a distraction from his original plan

It almost made him not want to go through with it.

Almost.

Bucky liked you, he liked your soft curves, how you somehow managed to never have a speck of mud on your dress, he liked how sassy you got with him, like when you told him you hoped his horse would drop dead after he flicked mud in your face, and he liked the pretty white lace prayer veil you wore to church every Sunday. He wanted to marry you, come home to you wearing a little apron cooking dinner with a child on your hip. With HIS child on your hip. God the thought of making you his wife drove him near feral.

There was an added bonus to how pissed off it would make your no good crook of a father that made Bucky want to do it even more.

But, since a man was only as good as his word, he stayed true to his no funny business promise and only took you to dinner. You hated that he was a perfect gentleman and actually made you feel nice and cared for. You had no doubt that this was how he was able to get the other girls in town wrapped around his finger.

“You gonna let me walk you to church on Sunday too?” Bucky asked, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. He knew all the right things to say to you much to your chagrin.

You chewed your lip nervously, your father would not like it if he saw Bucky walking you to church and you knew that to be truer than the word of God itself. But, He had been such a perfect gentleman at your little dinner date, “Fine. But you can’t sit with us for the mass, my parents don’t like you.” You didn’t care if what you said hurt his feelings, it was true and you wanted to be kind enough to spare him the judgemental gaze of your father while Father Liska spoke the word of God, “And you have to sit through the mass and walk me home after.”

“Ok, deal.” Bucky grinned, a win was a win after all.

Bucky was more nervous about stepping foot into a church than he was to walk you there. Women he could handle, religion… well not so much. He half expected to burst into flames the moment he stepped foot into the holy threshold. He swapped out the filth covered denim for his best set of trousers and wore his nicest button up, just for you.

You didn’t have to worry about the prying eyes of your family when he came to your home to pick you up for your short little walk. Bucky greeted you at the door, you had to admit he cleaned up nicely, “You look nice, sugar.” Bucky reached up and and touched the scalloped edge of your mantilla, rubbing the delicate lace between his rough fingers.

You swatted his hand away, “Don’t touch that.” You hissed and adjusted the head covering.

Bucky reached out his hand for you to hold, begrudgingly, you took it, “Are we going to get dinner again sweets?” He tried to act coy by not looking at you, but you knew. He didn’t spend two months practically begging at your feet for dinner only to maybe want a second one.

You gave him an inch and he was going to take a mile. Maybe even two miles if he was feeling extra bold.

Bucky held the large wooden doors of the church open for you. He was flooded with the overwhelming scent of frankincense as he entered the church. It has been years since he’d set place in a place of worship. Maybe communing with god would be good for him. You looked uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of people kneeling, your presence disrupting their pre service prayers.

You dipped your fingers into the holy water and crossed yourself, holding your head high. Oh, they were going to have a lot to talk about at their weekly bible studies. You, showing up with a man to church? Well that was going to be the talk of the congregation, hell, it was going to be the talk of the town!

Bucky gave your hand a comforting squeeze before he dropped it, suddenly feeling the watchful eye of the Lord upon him. He gave you a polite nod and you almost wished you didn't tell him to sit elsewhere because now you had to walk down the aisle to the front of the room while everyone stared.

Your mother looked at you and you chose to ignore her until she leaned over and tugged at the sleeve of your dress, “What is all that about?” She said and nodded back towards Bucky.

He looked uncomfortable, like a bull in a china shop, sitting stiffly next to the Barton family. If he managed to sit through Sunday mass it would definitely get him bonus points and another dinner, “Nothing Mother.” You knew you were going to have to answer her poking and prodding after the service.

Father Liska finished the sermon and it took all your strength to not book it out of the church. You waited, ambushed by your mother who wanted to play twenty questions about Bucky. The number one being: do you think you’ll marry him? She loved to emphasize that you were a bit too bold and men didn’t like it when you told them to drop dead or that you’d rather walk across hot coals than meet with them. She would probably die early of a broken heart if you became a spinster.

“Please mother, we’ve only gotten dinner once and today I let him walk me to church. It’s nothing serious.” You hissed and hushed her once you saw Bucky walking over.

“Everything is serious when it comes to courting, dear.” Your mother reminded you. Marrying you off was serious business and she in some ways was your manager. “Mr. Barnes.” Your mother greeted him, almost breathlessly and offered her hand to him, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, thank you so much for accompanying our daughter to mass today.”

Bucky bent, kissing your mothers knuckles, you rolled your eyes at the display of chivalry, “It was truly my pleasure ma’am.” Of course mothers loved Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t they? He was the type of man mothers loved and the type of man fathers warned their daughters about.

“I can’t believe you made him sit all the way in the back,” your mother chastised you, blushing after Bucky kissed her hand, “ Mr. Barnes dear, near Sunday please sit with us, we’ve got the best spot in the congregation.”

“Well Daddy doesn’t like him.” You said frowning, “What if Bucky doesn’t want to come to mass next Sunday?”

“Oh nonsense, he’ll be here next Sunday,” Your mother answered for him, “He loved the sermon today, didn’t you, dear?”

Bucky flashed another pleasant grin at your mother, “Of course, I loved hearing, uh, Father.... Father...”

“Liska” You filled in the gap for him knowing he never set foot into the Church of St. Michael the Archangel for the entirety of his two months here.

“Right, Father Liska, I thought it was incredibly moving.” You said a silent prayer for God to smite him down.

“Why don’t you come by the house for lunch.” Your mother urged him.

You shot Bucky a glare, “Oh I don’t think I should.” He said after glancing at you, if looks could kill Bucky would be 6 ft under.

“Bucky can stop by when he picks me up for dinner later in the week. Let’s not bore the poor man any longer.” You hooked your arm in his and pulled him towards the door, “Goodbye mother.” You said sharply.

Bucky patted your hand with his own, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

You huffed, “I am most certainly not jealous.” You took your arm back and crossed them over your chest. You were jealous. Jealous and annoyed mainly with your mother.

“Don’t worry sugar there’s plenty of me to go around.” He grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #marvel cinimatic universe #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #LUT #marvel x reader #sebastian stan characters

63 notes · View notes

thiscrying · 10 months

Text

She looks like fun.

single chapter: kenny.

━━ 🥢 A/N : I am writing this at 04:46 in the morning as a way to thank the repercussion in my other posts, I never really expected that I would receive so many likes, since I am new here, love you all of you and thank you for all the support.

━━ 🍷 WARNINGS : NSFW, bad cliché story

━━ 💋 SYNOPSIS : "dance as if somebody is watching, 'cause they are."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were at a big party, you didn't really know anyone and you were only there because you needed to get together since you're new in the city, people seemed to have a really good energy and the atmosphere of that place was really nice so you decided to buy a drink to let go more. As you walk to the bar in your high heels, you notice some guys staring at you, this felt fucking amazing. "Hi! Can I get a mojito, please?" You said, standing at the bar and turning to see people dancing behind you, it seems that everyone is pretty excited to be here. You notice a blonde-haired boy in a orange parka staring at you, he looked confident and he got even hotter when he smiled at you. You get your drink and walk confidently with your black short dress to the dance floor, as you start dancing, you notice looks fixed on you, also listen to some compliments and superficially hear a interesting conversation that caught your attention. "Fuck, I've never seen this girl here before" A dark-haired boy said, looking at you with his eyes widened. "I've never seen anyone dance like this, look how she moves her hips, dude" "Yeah man, she must be wild in bed, and look at those tits, bro" You keep dancing while listening people talking about you, you felt like the main character for the first time in you whole life. Then suddenly, a group of girls approaches you. "Hey girl, you look totally amazing" A blonde girl with a red dress said, you were too drunk to remember this conversation the next day so you just listened to her. "Yeah we were talking about that, we've never seen you here, are you new here?" This girl asked, playing with her, are they friends? You ask yourself, trying to get your mind off your thoughts and answer her. "I actually am! I came from another country" You said, taking a sip from your mojito, it tastes different but still good. "That kind of explains why you dance so well, have you been interested in someone already?" The brunette said curious with a cute smile on her face, you couldn't hear much because of the loud music, but you still understood some words. "Well, there are a lot of hot people around here, especially the girls" You answered laughing a bit because of the alcohol, you didn't had any kind of expectations about him, it still worth a try. "But there's this specific guy, i haven't taken my eyes off from him since I got here" You point to him and he waved for you, smiling again. "Oh, Kenny? The blonde one? He's a man whore, i could totally make it for you" When you hear her words, you started smiling automatically, Bebe looked at Wendy smirking. "And if you really want to know, he has also been keeping an eye on you since you stepped here, most people have been, but he in particular? He didn't take his eyes off you for a minute" Really? he seemed so out of my league! "Would you really do this to me? Thank you so much! I'll go grab another drink" You walked away from the girls, left your mojito glass on the bar table and asked for another one. The blonde boy you were interested in approaches you, the lights were reflecting at his hair and face. "Hey cutie, do i know you?"

"Well, not at all! I'm new here" You could barely hear his words, but you still answered "You're kind of my type, you know? Can I get you a drink? It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Kenny, and you are?" Kenny said, kissing your hand. He had such an intense look that I could spend hours looking without getting tired. "I'm Y.N and it's my pleasure." Looking deeply in your eyes, he just approached your face, staying a few inches away from your lips. "Should we go to somewhere else to know each other better?" God! He was so attractive, i could kiss him right now. "I have a better idea..." You push him and drag him to the dance floor, dancing wildly on him as he presses your waist, you take a quick look at Bebe and she gives you a wink, you knew exactly what you had to do. "You look so fucking hot" He approaches your lips and press it a kiss while the loud music plays, thus pinning you to the nearest wall and intensifying your kiss, he was definitely one of your best kisses, his hands roamed all over your body, squeezing your thighs and making you want more and more. Separating yourself only by shortness of breath, after a while kissing, you notice a boner in his pants. "Will you fix this?" You didn't answer him and you just holded his hand and took him to the bathroom, locking the door and making him sit on the toilet lid.

"Get on your knees, princess." You without stalling too much, did what he asked, he smiles eagerly, lowering his head to kiss you once more before reaching into his underwear and pulling out his hardened member. "Will you take it all?" You nodded with your head and his breath hitches sharply when you begin licking him. "Oh god..." He breathes heavily, running his fingers through your hair as you continue pleasuring him. He wasn't caring about people hearing him, he lets out an audible moan as you wrap your mouth around his shaft, sucking gently while stroking it slowly. You stand up and starts undressing yourself, taking off your dress and climbing on his lap. As you start moving, bouncing up and down on his erection, he moans loudly. "Fuck Y.N!" He grips your waist tightly, unable to control his movements as you ride him. "This feels amazing." He groans deeply, gripping your hips tighter as he thrusts upwards meeting each bounce of yours. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly as he continues pounding away inside you. His breathing becomes heavier as sweat drips roll from his forehead. He smirks devilishly, pushing you off his lap and flipping you over onto your stomach. He pins your wrists above your head, pinning them in place with one hand while he slides himself back inside you with the other. "You like that, don't you? Being taken by me like this?" He leans down and begins to nibble on your neck, moaning deeply as he slides himself in and out, hard and fast, causing you to let out moans of pleasure each time he hits your g-spot. "That's it, let it out. Scream for me." He teases, to rubbing your clit slowly. He looks at you with an evil grin, knowing exactly what he has planned next. "I see... Someone is getting crazy with this big fat ass" He was looking into your eyes and squeezing your butt "Oh I am definitely getting crazy with your big fat ass" He growled seductively before capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every nook and cranny he could find. "Oh, I can feel that, Y.N. I can feel the heat radiating off of you. You're so turned on right now" He moved back slightly so he could look deep into your eyes. "Tell me how much you want me inside of you." He demanded playfully, pressing himself harder against you, he let go of one leg and grabbed both sides of your hips firmly, pulling you towards him forcefully. "Beg for it, sweetheart. Beg for what you need now." he commanded sternly, staring deeply into your eyes as he pushed himself inside of you. "Please Kenny, fuck me!" He smiles smugly, reaching around behind you and grabbing hold of your ass firmly. "Good girl." He begins rubbing himself against you slowly, enjoying every second of your reaction. So, he puts everything inside you at once, picking up the pace and slapping your ass. "F-Fuck Ken! I'm getting close!" He grabs your tits and plays with your nipples, making you moan louder and cum all over his dick. The feeling of your walls tightening around him makes him cum too. "Now, put on your clothes before they think we died here" he says, laughing and putting his clothes back too. "Hello, you pervs! We heard everything!" You come across Bebe and Wendy waiting for you at the bathroom door, you got into serious trouble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This is definitely shit, i hate this so much, I wrote in the form of thanks for the repercussion in my last posts, I love you! 💘

#south park #kenny mcormick x reader #kenny mccormick hcs #southpark kenny #south park kenny #kenny smut #kenny south park #kenny mcormick headcanons #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny x reader #kenny mccormick smut #kenny mccormick #sp kenny #kenny mcormick fanart #princess kenny #south park x reader

154 notes · View notes

munsonhoneybaby · 5 months

Text

Beginning Traditions | Eddie Munson X F!Reader

Summary: It’s your first Christmas in your new home with Eddie and the two of you are ready to explore the next steps you’ll take together as you form your own Christmas traditions.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, just some heavy making out honestly nothing bad in this one

A/N: takes place in december of ‘94. bit more of a blurb/drabble. this was originally gonna be some super sweet extensive thing with a lil breeding kink and some sex by the fireplace but uh- the month really got away from me. i’ll try and make it up to y’all with whatever i post next <3

The bluesy cadence of Elvis’s voice floated quietly through the main rooms of your home, the old holiday records your family had passed down having been dusted off in the name of the season. It was certainly a change of pace from the rock and metal cassettes you typically had playing. The golden twinkle of the Christmas lights worked hand in hand with the flickering fireplace to fill the room with a warm glow.

Four inches of snow blanketed the ground outside and, according to the weather report, the elements wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. Inside, however, Eddie had turned up the heat and started the fire while you had made two mugs of hot chocolate ‘with all the fixins’. The Christmas tree was fully decorated, including multiple ornaments the two of you had made together. The only thing missing was the star on top, which was what led you to balance precariously at the top of your step stool, stretching to reach the top of the eight-foot tree.

Warm palms met your exposed skin as your boyfriend of eight years grasped your hips to steady you. “You gotta be more careful, pretty girl. Gonna gimme a heart attack.”

“Eds, babe, the ladder’s like two feet tall. If anything, I’m worried about takin’ the tree down with me.” You fidgeted with the fake branches, “Is the star sitting straight?”

“Looks perfect, honey.” He held a hand out to help you step down, tugging you a few steps back to take a look.

You hummed in agreement as he kissed your temple, your back pressing into his chest. “It’s pretty. You did a good job on the lights.”

He smiled at you before glancing out the window where the wind howled and the tree branches shook. “Thank God I put up the lights outside yesterday. Who knows when this storm’s gonna let up.”

Hip bumping his, you gave him a suppressed smirk. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep busy. I just hope we don’t lose power, even with the heat going I’m still freezing.”

“If we can find ways to keep busy, we can definitely find a way to keep warm. Don’t you worry, honey baby.”

A ding from the oven drew you to the kitchen as Eddie put away the step stool. Grabbing the bag he’d stowed away in the guest room, he met you in the kitchen where you were swapping out the freshly baked sugar cookies for unbaked cookie dough. “Hey, I’ve got somethin’ for us to do tonight.”

“When did you go to Family Video?” You frowned in confusion at the bag in his hands.

Ignoring your question, he asked, “Remember that one kids’ Christmas movie you liked that came out last year? The Tim Burton one?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?” The smile spreading on your face had him pulling the brand-new VHS from the bag. With a little squeal, you took it from him to inspect it. He’d even gotten one with a plastic hardcover instead of a paper one. Your arms wound around his neck with a tight squeeze, “Thank you, Eddie!”

Squeezing your waist right back, he chuckled. “‘Course, pretty girl. Why don’t you go turn the movie on and I’ll make us some popcorn, hm?”

Less than a year until he’d turn thirty, and even after so many years with you he still stood in the doorway to watch you bend over and put the VHS in– only then did your boyfriend attend to his task of making popcorn. The hot bag burned his fingers as he dumped the microwaved popcorn into a big bowl. He joined you on the couch after pressing play for you, the festive pattern of your matching pajama pants blending together as your legs curled against his.

Eddie eyed your content expression as you watched the movie with a small smile. It had been a philosophy of yours to try and maintain the spirit of the holiday season for as long as Eddie had known you. Even when he’d still lived with Wayne, you’d insist on coming over to help decorate the trailer. He still remembers asking you about it on your first Christmas together as a couple. My family doesn’t really get along, you’d explained with an expression of shame that made his chest hurt. Not a lot of people show up to celebrate, and there’s always a fight when they do. I guess I just wanna try and enjoy what I have around times like this, y’know? Bring people together. He looked over at the two stockings hanging from the mantle of the fireplace and imagined more hanging beside them. “So, are you gonna leave cookies and milk out for Santa this year?”

Meeting his eyes out of the corner of yours, you smiled and popped a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “I s’pose I could if Santa actually wants to sneak in the living room at midnight to put the presents under the tree.”

“Well, I think he’s going to. He’s gonna need the practice if he’s gonna have a little one or two to deliver presents to in the Christmases to come.” He tried to keep a lightheartedly teasing expression on his face, but part of him tried to gauge how you would react to that.

“Little ones, huh?”

“Doesn’t have to be by next Christmas,” He reassured with a little smile. “All this’s just makin’ me think about it.”

“Yeah?” Your hand soothed over his clothed chest before slipping beneath his shirt to do the same to his skin. “Eddie Munson’s really thinkin’ about kids?”

His face flushed, head tilting down as his eyes darted around. “I don’t know, it’s just…we’re in such a good place– and I wanna stay like this for a while longer, I do, ‘cause this is perfect, y’know? I just think we’re getting there, I guess. Like maybe it’s time to start talking about parenting stuff a little more and preparing together?”

Cupping his cheek, you met his gaze with a small smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him, fingers winding into the loose messy bun that was falling out at the base of his neck. “We’ll talk about it, Eds. I promise.” You could feel his smile against your lips as they molded to his again, his arms surrounding you to draw you into his lap. “Eddie, the movie,” You pouted half-heartedly into the kiss.

“We’ve got it on VHS now, babe. We can watch it anytime,” He argued as his mouth found its way to your neck. Head rolling back to give him more room, you pulled your borrowed scrunchie from his hair. His hands wandered from your hips over your waist and up your back, mapping out each curve as though he didn’t already have them all memorized.

Pulling back slightly, your thumb stroked over his jaw. “You’re gonna be such a good dad.”

“You really think so?” He asked, a little nervousness seeping into his tone.

“I know so, baby. You’re gonna be amazing.”

He pulled you down into another ravenous kiss, mumbling against your lips. “I love you.”

On Christmas that year, he got down on one knee and gave you a ring.

The next year, you bit your nail as you watched Eddie unwrap his final Christmas gift from you– the first of several positive pregnancy tests.

————————————————————————-

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson christmas #christmas fic #eddie munson x f! reader #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson × reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff

127 notes · View notes

avanatural · 1 year

Text

Mini Date

Summary: Based on 12x22 “Who We Are.” Y/N vowed to herself that she’s done with meaningless hookups. And Dean vowed to himself that, when the time is right, he is going to give her more than that. But what happens when their time is running out?

Pairing: Dean x female Reader

Category: Angst, fluff

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Impending death, injuries, cursing

A/N: I’ve been planning to write about the trapped-inside-the-bunker scenario from season 12 for a long time. Here it is! I hope you like this story. If you wanna be added to my Dean Winchester tag list, send me an ask 💗

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

His smooth voiced stroked her eardrums with a gentle feather’s touch. The gravely tones filled her chest with confetti. Lifted her up into the sky. Everything was so damn easy with him. Too easy.

“Dean…,” she scolded, briefly throwing her head back. Her nostrils were high on his scent. He was so close to her that she was about to choke on his welcoming, rugged essence.

“What?”, he chuckled, his denim-wrapped knee cheekily bumping into hers.

They were having a little post-hunt celebration at a local bar. As soon as the monsters had left the picture, sparks had begun to fly left and right. Just as usual.

Dean and Y/N had tiptoed around each other for years. Going on the occasional hunt together, celebrating their victories, cracking jokes, getting somewhat handsy. But their risky antics had never been taken to the next level. So far, at least. As soon as their little seduction dance came to an end, they would go separate ways and try to forget the other. Until their reckless paths crossed again.

Now, pleasantly tipsy, the two of them were sitting on a cushioned booth in the back of the bar.

When Y/N’s head came back down, there were only a few torturous inches separating their faces. “Don’t do this to me,” she whispered, gaze drawn to his juicy lips. How could she not imagine kissing them? There was no way to ignore the carnal urge to join their mouths, not when he was this close.

“What?”, he inquired, casually draping his arm over the backrest behind her torso. The rough pads of his fingers grazed her upper arm. He was playing dumb. It was written all over his chiseled face.

The tingly sensations on her upper arm gave Y/N goosebumps. His touch was subtle and tender, but definitely no accident. “You’re charming me,” she said. Her accusation was weak. The voice in her throat didn’t stand a chance against the force that was Dean Winchester’s appeal.

“Oh, am I?” His grin widened, lips parting to reveal his white teeth.

“Mh-hm.” Her fingers disappeared between the short hair at the side of his head while her thumb caressed his cheekbone. He was strikingly gorgeous, even when his body was adorned with mud and bruises from their latest hunt. “Big time.”

Her touch sucked some of Dean’s confidence out of his spirit. The tenderness of her thumb made their connection feel surreal. Almost like a warning. Like she was threatening to make him fall for her for more than one night. The grin that dimpled his reddening cheeks turned into a boyish smile. “You want me to stop?”, he questioned.

“I don’t know,” Y/N sighed, sobering up slightly. She withdrew her hand and lost the warmth he radiated. “Listen, I… I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Dean pulled away a bit, creating some distance between them to study her expression as a whole. “Do what?”, he asked, irises moving from side to side as he observed her.

“You know what I’m saying.”

The deep green jewels on his face stumbled along her features. In slow motion, he captured his bottom lip between his teeth and dragged it through. “You’re talkin’ about hookups.”

“Yeah.”

“What changed?”, he wondered, his hand seeking out her thigh. His caress wasn’t a means to persuade her. No, it was a means to provide her with comfort.

“I’m just…” She shrugged her shoulders, searching for the right words to reflect what she was feeling. Her palm found the back of his hand on top of her thigh. “Tired of getting hurt, I guess. I want… More. I wanna be special.”

“You are special,” he declared without hesitation.

A sad smile rushed across Y/N’s heated face. She shook it off with another shrug, suppressing the bewitched giggle that was about to flee her mouth. “That’s what they all say.”

“You know I can’t-“ He paused and huffed, heart quivering against his ribcage. “I can’t give you-“

“I know.” She applied reassuring pressure to his hand. “You gotta protect yourself, too.”

Dean delivered a sheepish tilt of his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh… I guess this is where I back off.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he mumbled softly. He averted his gaze for a second, slowly nodding to himself as he processed the fact that their little game of flirts had come to an end. Once he looked back up at her, the sorrow in his expression was replaced by understanding. “You deserve better.”

The muscular organ in Y/N’s chest clenched and groaned against her rib cage. Dean was such a good guy. But he’d told her a long time ago he didn’t feel comfortable doing the whole dating thing. “You think we can start this conversation over?”, she hoped out loud.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he claimed, feigning confusion, “I should probably take it down a notch and switch to beer. Already can’t remember what we just discussed.”

Y/N smiled, grateful for his laid-back reaction. She slid across the booth and stood up. “Next round’s on me.”

As soon as she turned her back, about to approach the bar, a force unknown to Dean made him speak up again. “Hey, Y/N.”

She spun on her feet, brows moving up towards her hairline. Some of the tension returned to her body, making her straighten her back.

He ignored the violent racing of his pulse as he vowed, “One of these days, I’m gonna man up. Take you on a date.” The corners of Dean’s mouth briefly curled downward. He looked at the small, empty shot glass in front of him. What the hell was he doing? Rejecting Y/N and making a pass at her at the same time? Postponing a mistake? Postponing something great? “Even if it’s the last thing I do,” he added, looking up at her with sincerity in his gaze, wishing that they would stand a chance one day.

Y/N froze and stared back at him, stunned by what he’d just said. Dean had always been honest and straightforward with her. His promise made her think that, perhaps, they could actually try one day. After a few seconds of silence, she nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

They shared another lasting glance. A glance so intense that it felt like it was just the two of them in the entire bar. Just two hunters and the invisible barrier between them that was built up from longing and fear.

Exhaustion. Fear. Sweat. Pain.

Impending suffocation.

“Fuck,” Y/N croaked a broken curse through her dry throat and lowered her pickaxe to the floor. She couldn’t muster any more strength.

“Ugh,” Dean grunted, delivering one last blow to the concrete wall before, too, giving up. In a sudden rush of blood, his heavy arms tossed his pickaxe to the floor with loud clattering thuds.

Their efforts seemed useless. They pulled the safety goggles from their heads, leaving their hair just as disheveled as their minds.

“Shit,” Y/N mumbled, turning around and dropping to the floor, back resting against the wall.

“Yeah.” He slid to the ground beside her, breathing labored.

The British Men of Letters had cooked up a devious plan to get rid of the Winchesters once and for all. They had trapped Sam, Dean, Toni and Y/N in the bunker, completely cut off from the outside world. The oxygen pumps had been reversed. Slowly but surely, the air was getting thin.

“I can’t believe this,” Y/N whispered to herself. The back of her t-shirt was drenched with sweat. Her arms felt like jelly. And every single breath took her one step closer to suffocation.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean’s hands pulled on his short hair. He was trained to function in high-stress situations, sure, but this? He hadn’t felt this powerless in a long time. He was a fighter. But how could you fight a lack of air? When he peeked to the side, he could see that Y/N had shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The sound of Dean’s guilty voice coaxed her into opening her eyes back up. “You didn’t know this was gonna happen,” she stated. And she meant it. He couldn’t have known. But her compassion for his bad conscience didn’t stop the trembling in her voice. It didn’t stop the immense mortal fear of death that was shaking her to the core.

“You know… It’s kinda ironic.” Dean frowned a bitter scowl and licked his drying lips. “This… is my worst damn nightmare.” He rubbed his scratchy palms against each other, brows crooked. He avoided glancing at her by staring down at his dirty hands. “Gettin’ you killed.”

At his confession, burning tears sprung to Y/N’s eyes. So far, neither of them had spoken about their awaiting deaths out loud. To hear him mention it just made it all the more real. “Dean…”

Holding his breath for a second, Dean attempted to keep himself from crying. But holding back his distress only made his chest tighten even harder. “It’s what I’ve been tryin’ to avoid by not dating you,” he went on, his voice quiet and incredibly soft to her ears, “And it’s exactly where we ended up. God, I’m such an idiot.” Finally, after speaking his mind, he managed to shift his gaze and look right at Y/N. “I hate myself for that,” he whispered, too defeated to speak any louder.

“I don’t,” she replied. The tears were still stinging in her eyes. She tried not to let them fall. She couldn’t do that to Dean. “I could never hate you. It’s just…” A coughing sound forced its way through her throat. “There’s no monster to fight. There’s nothing we can do except trying to break these walls. I didn’t… I didn’t expect it to end this way.”

“Me neither.”

She extended her hand to him, and he wound his fingers around hers without missing a beat.

“Where will we go?”, she thought out loud, “Heaven or hell?”

His head met the wall behind him, and he shook it, letting the back roll against the concrete. “If you get sent to hell, I’m personally bustin’ your ass outta there. No matter where I’m at.”

A chuckle took over Y/N’s face, making her eyes narrow, causing a few tears to escape her hold. The salty drops left cracks in the dirt stains on her cheeks. “If there’s anyone I can imagine doing that, it’s you, Winchester.”

Dean found himself grinning along. He examined her face, taking in every single second of her little smirk. If he was going back to hell, he was going to need this memory.

“So… This is a dead end,” Y/N sighed and reluctantly retreated her hand.

“Well…” He frowned, already missing her warmth. Dean wished he’d offered all of his broken self to her whilst he’d still had the chance. “Let’s see if Sammy came up with a magical escape route.”

“One can only hope, right?”

“Yeah.”

They shared another lasting glance. A glance so deep that they could see the light in each other’s souls. Despite knowing each other for years, they hadn’t gotten to share much of their lives with each other. Spending a few days at a time together, hunting, flirting, then going separate ways and wondering if anything was ever going to happen between them.

If they weren’t granted a life together, at least they got to die together.

“Y/N?”

At the familiar sound of Dean calling her name, she looked up from the book she was hunched over in the scarcely lit library. The spiky-haired hunter was standing on the small set of stairs that led into the hallway, wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

“Can you come ‘ere for a sec?”, Dean asked, scanning the library for Sam and Toni, who were stealing glances from their respective research corners.

Y/N’s head tilted with curiosity. Dean had disappeared for about fifteen minutes. She wondered if he’d found anything useful. Anything life-saving. Was that even likely at this point? Was she hallucinating? “Yeah. Of course.” As she got up from her chair, he slowly reached for her, extending his bulky arm like a safety net. Shit, what if she was really hallucinating? As soon as she was within reach, Dean placed his hand on the middle of her back, making her release a breath of relief. Thank God – this was real. He wasn’t some ghost-like reaper who was coming to take her away.

Dean proceeded to guide Y/N to the dimly lit kitchen. He could tell she was getting weaker. Slower. So was he. Their lives were fading, ripped from their grasp by an invisible danger. Dean had already spoken to Sam. About the possibility of dying. In a strange way, the older Winchester brother was glad that two of the people he cared for the most were going to be with him during his final moments. He knew that was selfish. But he found a sense of comfort in the idea.

“What’s going on?”, Y/N questioned, feeling antsy.

In response, he rubbed affectionate circles into her back. “You’ll see.” What Dean wanted the most right now was to give her a few more smiles. And to keep his promise. He was a man of his word, after all.

Their two sets of boots crossed the threshold into the bunker’s kitchen together.

“What is this?”, Y/N asked with crumpled brows, studying the room.

There was a red-and-white checkered blanket draped over the small kitchen table. On top, there were two bottles of beer and a few bowls filled with leftover snacks. Skittles, potato chips, gummy bears. There was also a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, served on a plate, cut in half.

“This is…,” Dean trailed off and scratched the back of his neck. “A mini date, I guess.”

“A mini date?”, she echoed, turning to look at him.

“I told you I was gonna take you on a date,” he repeated his bar promise and stepped in front of Y/N. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Pang. A heavy stone of grief and gratitude dropped down to Y/N’s stomach, aggressively squeezing its way through her body. She half-expected the bittersweet emotions to drag her down through the floor and into another dimension. “Dean…,” she said with fresh drops of tears in her eyes.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago.” His facial muscles twitched as he willed himself to remain calm and collected. “I know it’s- it’s probably dumb, but-“

“I love it.”

“You do?”

“Honestly?” No one had ever done anything as romantic for her. For the first time in a long time, she felt special. It was exactly what she’d been craving. And Dean was giving it to her one final time. Her heart bloomed and shattered at the same time, the pointy shards carving his name into her very soul. “I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

The corners of his mouth crawled upwards. His smile was sad, but his eyes were brimming with utter adoration. “What’s stoppin’ you?”

She reciprocated his smile and lifted her head farther up to kiss him. Their lips met with gentle impact, and everything else around them turned into dust. Chills spread along their arms and necks, and a pleasant heat seeped into their bones. Their world finally fell into place.

Despite the excitement that was overthrowing Dean’s desperation, a pained expression took over his face. His forehead furrowed and he pushed his eyelids together as he attempted to hold on to their moment. His aching hands found Y/N’s lower back and pressed her more tightly against him. Just then, he could feel the wetness on his cheeks. He couldn’t tell whom the falling tears belonged to. And it didn’t matter. At last, they were one.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed when they pulled away. They stayed in place, unwilling to let go of each other.

Even with sweaty clothes, ruffled hair and dirt on her cheeks, Y/N was the most beautiful woman Dean had ever laid eyes on. A treasure that he wished he’d openly appreciated the way she deserved. “Holy crap, Y/N…” His trembling mouth grinned at her. His green orbs were filled with liquid regret as he delivered his million-dollar smirk. “You’re a fucking bombshell.”

She chuckle-sniffled against him, accidentally squeezing out more tears. When Dean moved in for another kiss, his words sank into her fried brain, giving her an idea. Before his lips could claim hers, she put her hands on his shoulders and abruptly stopped him. “Wait.”

“Hm?”

“The bunker…” Inquisitive lines appeared on her wrinkling forehead. “Does it have an armory?”

Dean’s emerald orbs narrowed as he tried joining her train of thought. “Yeah.”

“Do you have grenades?”, she blurted.

His body froze. Her question rang through his mind for a few seconds. “Actually…” His facial expression suddenly changed from bewildered to optimistic. His hope was shining so bright that Y/N saw an imaginary floating light bulb switch on above his head. “We have somethin’ better.” He grasped the back of her neck and joined their lips for a firm, lasting peck. “You’re a genuis, sweetheart.”

“Dean? Dean!”, she called out as loudly as she could. Holding on to the railing, she hobbled down the metal stairs to the concrete wall that Dean had just blown up with his grenade launcher.

Sam was hot on her heels, eager to check on his older brother.

Their heavy, lumbering steps led them towards the wrecked remains of the wall, through the clouds of dust that were sitting in the air.

Dean was nowhere in sight.

Initially, Y/N’s spirits dropped when she couldn’t see him anywhere. Whenever they were in danger, she needed him close. There was no rest until she made sure that he was okay.

Then, suddenly, the lights on the high ceiling were switched back on. Both Sam and Y/N stopped in their tracks and squinted at the dusty hole in the wall.

Shortly after, the air vents started to whir again. The hunters smiled in unison as they realized that they could finally breathe properly. Breath after breath of life was inhaled into their deprived lungs.

The bunker was safe again, and Dean had to be the reason. Meaning that he was going to be fine. Y/N could sense it. She slumped forward as if the heaviest of weights were being lifted from her shoulders.

Calling out for Dean, Y/N and Sam stumbled back up the stairs, right past Toni, who rolled her eyes at their impatient demeanor. As soon as they entered the war room, they exhaled happily, chests heaving with relief.

There, propped against the railing at the top of the stairs, stood Dean. He wore a tired grin on his grimy face.

Y/N exchanged a look with Sam, who gave her a nod and gestured for her to go up first.

As she trudged up the metal stairs to her long-time crush, she stared at him in awe. He’d actually made it. He’d saved them all. With a fucking grenade launcher. That man was truly a force to be reckoned with. She opened her arms, intending to hug him, but paused when she spotted the messy blood-patterns on his leg. His jeans were ripped, and a fleshy wound was spread across his knee and shin.

“You’re hurt,” she said with a scowl, slowing down her movements.

“I’ve had worse.” Dean gritted his teeth through the pain and reached for her. “Come on.” He didn’t have to wait another second before Y/N melted into his arms. He held on as firmly as he possibly could. For years, he’d flirted with her, but he’d kept her at arm’s length emotion-wise. And it took almost getting her killed for him to step out of his comfort zone.

Their embrace was tight and, ironically, it was on the verge of suffocating. It was a promise to start over. Another chance. A new beginning.

Unrestrained laughter began to pour from Y/N’s mouth. Her torso vibrated against Dean’s sweaty t-shirt. She felt like she was high on life. Or maybe on love. She didn’t quite know. And frankly, she didn’t care.

Dean pulled back slightly, wondering why she was laughing. “What?” The sounds erupting from his sore throat carried a grain of amusement. She was radiating comfort and composure, passing her calmness on to Dean, who knew they still had a tough fight to fight. But she was infecting him with a sweet disease. A disease that made him believe they actually stood a chance.

“If that was a mini date, I wonder what a full date would look like for us,” she snorted.

The wrinkles around Dean’s eyes deepened as he laughed along. “Tell you what. Once we dealt with those sons of bitches, I’mma take you on a full date. No tears, and sure as hell no death. Just the two of us, lots of fresh air, and some greasy dinner.” His brows arched slightly as he anticipated her response.

Y/N bit her lip. Her eyes were starting to water again. She felt like an emotional mess, but that was okay. She had no idea how they were going to deal with the British Men of Letters, but she was willing to remain optimistic. She was willing to wait. And one thing was clear as day to her – she was not going to leave Dean’s side. No more tiptoeing around each other.

Her palm grazed his forearm and slid down his skin until her fingers were intertwined with his. “I guess you’re stuck with me, Winchester.”

“Right back at’cha, Y/L/N.”

Tag list: @eevvvaa @waynes-multiverse @myloversgone @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @alagalaska @libre1rose8 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @woodworthti666 @deanwanddamons @awkward-and-indecisive @snowlovespie @desimarie12 @golden-hoax @leigh70 @mimzy1994 @impalaslytherin @globetrotter28 @spnwoman @mrsjenniferwinchester @may85 @100percentserenity @tmb510 @roseblue373 @iamsapphine

#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural imagine #spn imagine

396 notes · View notes

dirtysvthoughts · 1 year

Text

𝓟 𝓡 𝓘 𝓥 𝓐 𝓣 𝓔 𝓓 𝓐 𝓝 𝓒 𝓔 𝓡 - CHAPTER TWO

pairing: model! minghao x stripper! reader

word count: 1.5k

general tags/warnings: smut, pwp, female! reader, hao’s sorta kinda a regular customer, soft dom! minghao, steamy/intense makeout session, super/mullet minghao inspired, partial nudity, vip room sex, slight use of pet names (doll, masterpiece, baby), aaand i think that’s it

playlist songs: adorn - miguel, mushroom chocolate - quin & 6lack, anime girls - melli

notes: thank y’all for the love on pd so far! i’m getting notifs nonstop and that makes me really happy :’) hope you enjoy this week’s chapter!

taglist: @im-gemmy , @enhacolor, @hooniewnderland , @svtup , @kawaiikels @weeevrse @diorsfxck @kyexvly @woozarts @ifuckcheol (let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist)

you apply the finishing touches to your makeup, admiring how you looked in your silver sequined two-piece set and matching seven inch heels. to your surprise, you could already hear the loud atmosphere from the dressing room - and it wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet.

“it’s gonna be a good night,” you think to yourself, smiling to yourself at the thought of you covered in hundred dollar bills.

before you head out, you scroll through your phone one last time, looking at your social media feeds. double tapping on a friend’s post, you see a notification appear at the top of your screen.

minghao: hey, are you working tonight? i’m back in town for a show, but i need to relax and see you 😩

you bite down on your lip, your eyes rereading the message and your brain taking in every word. minghao is a famous model, somewhere in the world he was always in a show, walking the runway for all of the luxury brands. his handsome looks and his insanely gorgeous figure made him the it-boy every designer and photographer dreamed of.

you first met minghao at the club a few months ago, when he came for a magazine shoot and his friends decided to take him out. the second you laid eyes on each other as you were walking around the main floor, he took you by the hand and soon you were dancing for him in front of everyone. it didn’t take long to convince minghao about getting a room, your body clenching around nothing as you think about how big and hard he was in those jeans when you started to grind on him, thanking the heavens that your outfit made it possible to feel everything.

😈: hao! yeah, i’m gonna be working tonight. pay for a room as soon as you get here and i’ll be waiting 😏

minghao: i’ll try and get there within the hour. see you soon babe ❤️

you quickly toss your phone to the side when you hear your name being called, realizing that you would just have to kill some time before you got your main event.

——

as soon as they get through the doors (an hour later like he said), minghao walks in with his entourage, his dress shirt buttons deliciously exposing some of his toned chest, and his black distressed jeans accenting his legs. met with some screams, he greets his crowd as his people make sure he’s given enough space.

the music has switched a bit, and more sultry, intimate tunes fill the building. your hips rotating in rhythm as mushroom chocolate’s chorus comes on, playing with the straps of your top as you flirt with the customer in front of you.

so immersed in your own world, you don’t even realize that minghao has finally spotted you and approaches your space, sitting down a few inches away from your audience. your eyes for a split second reveal your shock and surprise, and minghao can’t help the smirk that crawls on his face.

“did you think i wouldn’t show up? i’m hurt, my pretty little doll. you know i’m a man of my word.” you stop dancing and walk towards him, gingerly sitting his lap, both your legs on opposite sides of his.

“mmm, trust me, i know you are, you know it’s just been a minute since i’ve seen you hao.. you look different,” you trail off, eyes wandering all over his body. did his muscles get bigger or something?

“good different or bad different?” he asks.

but before you can respond, someone clears their throat. the person sitting across from you and minghao stares in disbelief. right… you still had someone to “take care” of. you sigh, kind of wishing that you had gone straight to a room so your time with minghao would’ve been interruption-free.

“give me a sec, hao,” you say crawling off his lap, missing the contact and approaching the other customer. “i’m sorry, but it looks like i have to cut this short,” you say feigning a fake disappointment. “but, if you decide to wait for me, i can guarantee it’ll be worth the wait,” you say taking the cash on the floor, bending over in front of the two, teasing them. obviously you don’t notice, but minghao bites his lip at the sight, hoping that he would get to see that again in the next few minutes.

when you’re done, you take him by the hand and the lead the way up the stairs to the vip rooms. you stop at the first empty one you see, brushing the curtains away as he lets go of your hand to face you.

“you never answered my question, y’know,” he says staring directly into your eyes. you stare back at him a little confused, already forgetting what he had said earlier.

he laughs, “wow, you forgot already? what’s going on doll?”

“nothing,” you say chuckling back at him, “i just, have a lot on my mind now.. and it’s mostly you..”

“oh? care to tell me more?” he says, putting his hand on your waist, bringing you closer to him.

“i guess to answer your question, it’s a good different… you’re always hot, but tonight, hao? you’re fucking irresistible,” you swipe your tongue across your lips, biting down on your skin.

“really now?” he smiles, his lips inches away from yours. but before you can say anything else, his mouth crashes on your soft, pillowy lips, trying to take in as much as he could of you.

you put your arms around his neck, trying to bring him in closer as you match his energy and enthusiasm. minghao’s hands begin to roam your body, especially your breasts. he couldn’t help but admire how temptingly delicious they looked in your bra piece. you moan into his touch at every little trace and brush, craving for more.

“mm, minghao!” you whimper when he get adventurous and delicately touches your crotch, and you clench yet again around nothing. you continue to moan out his name in bliss and neediness, but after a minute, an idea pops in your head.

“m-minghao, you wanna take this to the couch?” you say trying to snap him out of his daze for a second.

without another word, he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the couch, your mouths still on each others. when he finally feels his legs against the edge of the furniture, he sits down, placing you on his lap.

not wanting to wait any longer, minghao takes off your bra, slowly revealing the top half of your body. he hisses at the sight, nearly groaning out at how the colorful lights in the room added to the glow that covered your body.

“you’re such a masterpiece,” he says as he once again guides his hands toward your body, this time paying extra attention to you chest.

while he was focused on that, you took to the opportunity to unbutton his jeans and pull his zipper down. he realizes where you wanted to go, and helps you get them, as well as his boxers off. once they both pool at his ankles, you smile when you can finally get to what you want after all the foreplay.

as you sink down on him, you both let out a loud moan feeling of being inside each other. “g-god, fuck,” you whisper into his ears clawing down his back, pressing into his chest. even though the music has long been forgotten to you, somehow your hips naturally grind to the rhythm. minghao notices and takes hold of your waist, guiding them in the right places. “god, you feel so good, baby,” he groans.

slowly but surely, you begin to feel a good pressure build in your core, your whimpering getting more frantic. “ahhh shit, shit, minghao, m-minghao,” you begin to move faster wanting to release all over him. and when he hits the right spot in you, you can no longer hold back, and you nearly scream, coming all over the lower half of his body.

you try and catch your breath, not wanting to come down from your high, but remembering you still had a job to do. “fuck, i needa go back downstairs soon,” you say getting up to find your bra top.

“do you have to go back now?” he asks, pulling his boxers and pants back up.

“well, not right this second,” you respond fastening your straps. “did you wanna stay a little longer?” you smile sweetly.

“yeah,” he says leaning back on the couch, returning your sultry gaze. “haven’t seen you dance for me in awhile,” he plams himself over his pants, already getting worked up at the memory.

you walk towards the pole, your arm holding onto the pole. “then minghao, be prepared for a dance you’ll never ever want to forget,” you say hooking your legs to spin on the pole.

#seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #minghao smut #the8 smut #minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #minghao fanfic #the8 fanfic #dsvtt: kenny’s works #dsvtt: private dancer

183 notes · View notes

banavalope · 10 months

Note

Hello, I'm a Homestuck and Good Omens fan and just saw your post about coffee. I came to the Homestuck fandom way late, though, and don't know what the coffee theory was. I was wondering if you'd be willing to share that story from the trenches if it's not too traumatic :)

I'll preface by saying, this all happened near about the time I began to step away from Homestuck, as this was late 2011 to early 2012. My recollection could very well be missing some juicier deets, because I always managed to avoid the worst of it. In all I had a pretty benign time floating about the Homestuck fandom, I'll say that. My knowledge is as a fly's.

If you want the short version: once upon a time, the Homestuck fandom was so stupid it had discourse over the way coffee was drawn in a single panel, because the stylistic choice used to show the way cheap potted coffee has that oil slick sheen on the top Really got the gamerz thinking Gamzee was putting troll blood in the coffee.

The long version is this: this Act was annoying. All the Acts had been annoying, there'd been rather more than six of them so far. The fandom's toxicity was at its most potent, and the main fandom exodus hadn't happened yet. But the stylistic choice brewing on page 4702 of A6I2 suggested a discourse was on the horizon, and it was the size of planet fucking Jupiter.

To understand the affairs of 2011/12 Homestucks, a few things are important to mention: first, nobody enjoyed Act 6. Ask anyone from the tumblr era First Wave, we all agreed that Cascade would have been a better place to start wrapping up the comic as a whole. When Act 6 opened introducing the alpha kids, a whole new plot derivative, and we all realized we'd have to go through the same slog again, that the story wasn't over, the collective exhaustion was palpable. SWATHS left unhappy; worse yet (for some), the alpha kids brought us away from the game of SBURB and the over-aching plot, to instead place our focus on their interpersonal relationships. It was a bad time to take your audience away from a well crafted climax.

Reading it now as a completed work makes this not so bad, because the book is wrote. You can consume it as a finished piece and clearly interpret a through line for yourself, start to finish. Skip it even, if you want. When you've no idea at what time the next update will come, while all the pieces remain necessary to tell the story, any pacing is bad pacing.

Second, while Homestucks are known for many things - all of them cringe - the one that goes overlooked most, in spite of the ripple effect we still feel from it today in every corner, is the sheer amount of over analyzing done to the story itself. Every panel, every inch of every pixel, was a part of a puzzle we all collectively made up. Theorizing was an integral part to the Update Culture era of Homestuck's fandom, that we Figure Out the Story, you had to be the one who predicted what came next. Impressive how none of us came up with some kind of fandom Nobel Peace Prize, for how much we lauded it as a lifetime achievement.

I'll give you, Homestuck does have a very rich narrative. Much of it, I'll favor, is even intentional. It made worldbuilding choices captivating enough to get people painting themselves grey, for fun, so surely it had a few right ideas in some places. And there's nothing wrong about analyzing your media, picking apart its references to tie together a background story, even if it's just one you make up based on how you experienced reading it. That's kind of the whole point of consuming art. It's to be discussed, share your personal conclusions on. Theory is the breath of creativity.

It's the whole part about wanting to be right, where Homestucks as a collective force wanted to start eating each other alive on the spot. We were fucking OBNOXIOUS with theory posting. I'll be honest with you, I really ate that kind of thing up, and even I was getting annoyed. People were beginning to stretch, likely to cope with becoming bored.

Finally, the sober Gamzee controversy. This came about a while before coffeegate, but the effect the inciting update had on Homestucks is comparable to a haunting. It was fucking chernobyl, and a bad day to be a nuclear scientist because now it was your problem. Vriska fans - equally insufferable, as we all were by some respect[1] - and Gamzee fans fought with each other VEHEMENTLY, just to see whos gang was better. Keep that in the background of your mind as the theme music to what's playing. Everyone was anxiously wondering what had happened to Gamzee, because for the last several some-odd panels, we'd lost the boy. He was full of murderous intent, we were down to precious few characters on the meteor left, and we'd lost the boy.

So here we are. It's 2011. We're standing now at the end of the world, we've lost the boy for several panels, and finally the plot is trying to move along. We're all tired, and irritated, and divorced, doing this song and dance one more time but god willing the LAST TIME, when a joke about the look of shitty potted coffee gets made.

And some harbinger of the fucking apocalypse takes to tumblr dot com, drafting up a post about how Gamzee - living in the meteor walls - is putting troll blood into the coffee. Because, otherwise, how is Kanaya as a rainbow drinker doing so fine? Dave called the taste metallic, like blood. Something something long forgotten theories about trolls blood here something something. People would chime in to say "that's just how coffee looks", somehow it dissolved into actual discourse of people violently discussing back and forth how it could ONLY BE BLOOD, because coffee drawn in a prior panel UPDATES AGO didn't have the film on top, only now AFTER SOBER GAMZEE. Etcetera. It was just the worst case of reading too hard into something that you done ever did see.

Shortly following this, many people who were already growing exhausted with Homestuck's narrative direction at this point decided to take this coffee theory as their sign the flood was coming and to board the ark or learn how to swim. Anyone who learned to swim subsequently left during the exodus of 2015.

Again, my memory is pretty hazy. Thanks to Requiem Cafe, surprisingly difficult to google these days. Certainly another old still following me will have something more to add that I'm forgetting, as your handy dandy unreliable narrator.

[1] Said the Eridan fan.

#bana stop talking #homestuck #doddleys #i shouldnt tag this as good omens but theres an evil part of me that wants to

87 notes · View notes

saradika · 10 months

Text

— WASTELAND, BABY

vii. be known in it's aching, shown in the shaking

[masterlist] | [part vi]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 6.4k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, multiple pov, angst, feelings, masturbation (m), kissing, oral (f), fingering, semi-public / outdoor sex, birth control mention, begging, piv, outercourse

Your routine watch with Fennec takes an interesting turn when someone very unexpected appears to take her place.

His reason for first going to the Pika Oasis had been rooted in duty. Never expecting there to be anything more than that - no pleasure in the long days spent away from Mos Espa.

But that had been when he thought he had been going alone.

Before he had been unable to shake Fennec. The others soon following, so sure in their decision to stick by his side.

Before… you.

He still marvels at your transformation. From that pretty little bluebird to something far more fierce. All sharp talons, now. Spreading your wings, prepared to soar.

The girl he had found at the farmhouse never would have insisted she come with. That hunch in your shoulders as you had scurried after him, startling at the crack of a branch underneath your own foot.

He can no longer pretend he doesn’t look for you. The quickest flick of his eyes when he’s walking down the main road, even now.

Looking. Searching.

Finding.

There's confidence in the way your hands brace on your hips. A little tilt of your head as you listen to the settler, watching where he points towards the row of houses being slowly cleared out.

Hands reaching for the box he holds, where it wobbles from being stacked too high. Kindness in your unguarded expression. A rarity, in a world where personal gain often came before the needs of others.

A softness still lingered in you. A remnant of the before - something he had never truly wondered about, until now. Never worth his time thinking about a past that would not exist again.

It’s in your eyes, in your smile.

In your form - the hard work and warm weather baring inches of skin that his eyes couldn't help but to be drawn to. Desire was a tricky thing, but even with his attempts to distance himself, his mind was brought back to you, again and again.

Leaving his mind to wander, in the dark. When the hard day was finally over. When what starts as a replay of a moment turns into more - a hand dropping to curl around where he’s already half-hard.

The jerk of his fist twining with his thoughts. Imaging your sweet mouth pressing against his, how your lips would feel wrapping around his cock. Soft and warm and wet - how good you’d be, for him.

Your name catching in his throat, snarled out through clenched teeth as he spilled across his knuckles.

Sometime over the past month it had changed. From a physical appreciation of the memory - the way that blue suit had clung to your form - to something deeper, something that lasted into the next morning.

No longer thinking of just the during, but now - the after.

His mind torn between that moment of reaching out and taking - like he had wanted to, just the night before. Hoping to find you on that evening shift, to go to you, himself.

Now, in the light of day - seeing you now, he wonders if he was right to wish it.

If his touch - so stained as it was - would dent your softness, mold and mar it into something unrecognizable. If it was fair to return your gaze, the desire that so often flickered in your own eyes.

The morning washes away the smoldering fire from the night before. Brining a fresh clarity, unwanted but inevitable.

No, he thinks. Perhaps not.

He has tarnished enough things during his time walking this world. The one bright spot in Mos Espa would not be one of them.

He'll let you down, gently. He can do that much.

Then, he'll make himself forget.

The sky bleeds from blue, to gold, to a deep, hazy orange.

Your plate dipping where it rests on your knee, scraped clean from your dinner-from-a-can and roasted tatos.

Lost in thought, stuck in the night before. Replaying the conversation - a loop of wondering why Boba had been asking about your shift.

If it had just been checking in again, or if it had been something more?

You think… maybe it had. The prospect thrills you, and sends your stomach twisting in knots. Feeling the heavy weight of his gaze today, your own darting back his way when his attention pulls from you.

A slow circling, steps in the sand - just waiting for the loop to complete, to finally converge.

"About time to head out.” Fennec tells you, her boot reaching out to tap yours. The corner of her mouth lifting, when you don’t immediately reply, “Where'd you go, bluebird?"

"Oh. I'm here." You blink, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

Brushing off her questions, the raised tilt of her brow, as you wash off your utensils, turning them back into the rusting wire basket at the cantina.

The easy silence lingering, as you walk beside her. Down the long dirt road, past all the houses. The flickering lights above and lanterns slowly dimming the further you go, until you reach the ridge that overlooks the river.

The remnants on an old one-room cabin was found nestled in the trees - bolstered with wooden boards. Furnished into something almost cozy with a discovery of an old picnic table, a rickety chair, and some crates that passed as storage.

An open window on each side that gave a good view of where the river spilled into the lake, a fine place as any to watch for Raiders.

Some of your gear is dumped inside - a small lantern lit that hopefully acts as a deterrent. An almost familiar path taken together, as you start down the wooden trail.

The nights were close to routine, now - a slow loop around the lake, and then back. A few hours of watch, and then the same.

It's about half-way down the river, near a bend that loops perfectly around a massive fallen tree, where there's another nudge. Your thoughts drift again, this time back to your childhood.

Younger you would have loved a walk like this. Toeing off shoes and socks - rolling up the hem of your pants to wade in water and wiggle your toes in the mud.

With the radiation that lingers, you don't know if you'll ever get the chance to do that again. There were areas that were safe, and perhaps this river was too, but you'd lost that carefree edge the moment you woke up.

There's an urge to look into the rippling water - see if it's still you looking back. A step forward as your eyes drop - the stars and line of trees reflected in the surface.

Again, still you. Still her, deep down, when your eyes narrow and your vision blurs.

"Don't think you'll find anything in there." A hand touches your elbow, as she brings you back again.

Your reflection distorts with the twist of your head, as you step away.

Offering a small smile, an embarrassed huff of a quiet laugh, "Sorry. I've just been a bit... distracted lately."

It's an understatement.

A sideways look shot your way, as you move on, "Don't tell me you're wishing someone else was on patrol with you."

It's a misinterpretation - and you haven't been wishing that, not really - but she still strikes at something close to your heart.

"No!" You sputter, with a little wave of your hand, "I like patrols with you. I just-"

She is quick, smart. Second in command for a reason, tongue rubbing against her teeth as she fights a smile. Easily plucking at the way your words peter out, unable to help poking at them.

"...but?"

"But, nothing." Your cheeks feel hot, as you move ahead on the trail.

Embarrassment licks at you. The thought of talking about your crush with Fennec feels silly - too juvenile on a multitude of levels.

It was fine enough in your thoughts - a soft, cozy thing. But to speak it out loud would make your desire real. If she were to laugh at your presumption, you'd be crushed.

"You don't have to tell me." She sighs, when she catches up to you a moment later, "It will be more fun to guess, anyways. Just… be careful. Okay?"

That has you pausing, a little glance over your shoulder. A frown, as you try to figure out the source of her worry.

"I’ve talked with vault dwellers before." Fennec gives you a look, as if you should know, "Things sounded a lot different back then. Life moves a lot more quickly now, with a lot less attachments."

You think you know what she means. From what you've heard, life had turned more fluid, when the world had turned all but lawless. A bad day could get you separated from your family for months, or far worse.

Love had persevered through it all, but the slow dance of romance were rooted with traditions that have long been forgotten.

"You're jumping awfully far ahead," You shoot her a look, "You're telling me there's no white dresses or ringing church bells at the end of the line?"

Her brow furrows, as she thinks about your words. Your humor had been another thing that has disappeared, when the world had changed. All those little references that came without thought, now an ancient language.

But you think she tries to understand, for you. A shake of her head, with a small smile, "Not out here. Not anymore."

"That's too bad. You'd make a pretty bridesmaid, Fen." You deflect with a grin, and then the tension breaks.

And this time she's the one to roll her eyes - to walk on ahead.

Her laugh joining yours, as you follow.

By the time you make it back to the shed, the earlier conversation has trickled down into the back of your mind. An ease in the way you settle into your usual seats - Fennec leaning against the picnic table.

You, propped up against a large crate, nearby. A leg pulled up as you rest an arm on it, giving you a good look out of one of the open windows. Idle chatter passing the time - plans for the next few days, the tiny bits of gossip you've caught while working.

How Krrsantan got that scar that arcs across his eye - a story you didn’t quite believe at first, because there weren’t laser swords in your time.

The piece of paper with some writing on it that she had seen in Mos Espa - the words illegible but somehow binding Charon to Boba, leaving him unable and unwilling to disobey an order.

And just as the sky reaches its darkest, the moon hanging full, there's the sounds of footsteps coming from the path behind.

Coming from the worn dirt path to town - someone to relieve Fennec of watch duty, since she was covering for a villager this coming evening. You still had a few hours ahead of you, until dawn rose.

You don’t look up - too busy narrowing your eyes at the flicker you thought you saw in the distance. But, through the old set of binoculars, there’s just the inky night looking back at you.

Shifts had increased when there had been rumors of Raiders nearby. Krrsantan spotting them when he had been out earlier that week, a few miles past the far edge of the fences. Disposing of some, but they always travelled in packs.

The settlement was growing, food starting to become even more plentiful. Word would spread, and those who were hungry would come - welcome or not.

Fennec uses your knee to push herself upward, and you sway with the moment. Something solid bumping into the leg that dangles, her casual “thanks, boss” capturing your attention.

Your head turns until you can see the person behind you, whose hip brushes against your thigh.

Boba Fett.

The breath catches in your throat as he lowers himself down, taking up the space where she had sat - the old picnic bench creaking, but holds steady. Your focus so solely on him, that you don't quite catch the goodbye she tosses your way.

Fennec shooks you a look, catching your delayed response. A cocked eyebrow, a smirk that splits her face; before she’s slipping out the door.

Leaving the two of you alone - the small flickering lantern warming the space where you're wrapped in darkness.

A silence lingers, until the conversation slowly begins. Going over routine ones during and after a shift. No changes in the traps set - tripwires scattered throughout the woods. No new tracks in the muddy riverbank. Nothing on the horizon.

As the minutes pass, you can't help but wonder why he's here. A small bud of hope just starting to sprout in your chest. Happy with the thought that maybe he just wanted to spend time with you, like you had been so secretly hoping.

And slowly, the topics turn. Away from the semi-formal reporting, to detailing small moments about your day. Boba tells you about the defense turret they got running at the entrance to town. Only one, but it was a start.

About the second story above the old storefront that's finally been upgraded to home an official clinic - instead of the tucked-away corner they had been using.

You tell him about the large generator you'd gotten running. The couple lucky breaks you had gotten with the old equipment, how you had managed to find enough scrap metal to replace the rusted bolts and wires.

The look in his eyes is pleased, appraising. Crinkling at the edges with his smile - as you wonder, if perhaps he no longer wishes he had left you in Mos Espa.

"Not many Wastelanders would be able to do that." The curve of his lips tilt into a frown, as if he's not sure how to word his question, "Did you do similar work before?"

Before. Before the end.

"No." The shake of your head is small, "Nothing like this, this has all been new. But I had a lot of time to learn, since I..."

The words thicken in your throat - almost choking you - but you push through, "Since I was alone for so long. And I've learned a lot in Mos Espa, too."

His eyes drop.

"I am sorry for your loss. We've all had them, but to lose everyone-" He doesn't have to words to finish, to even begin to convey the breadth of what you had gone through.

And for the first time, there's the urge to talk about them. A want to clarify, a deep-rooted feeling that you'd be safe to name them here, in this tiny shack.

"My family, they're... they're not gone." You begin, with the smallest waver in your voice. A second as you collect yourself - sending a glance his way, a small smile, "They're still in the Vault. The one I woke up in."

His face has gone from sympathetic to concerned - a sharp focus of his brown eyes, a pinch of his brow as he concentrates. You think he knows, somehow, how important this is.

"It's hard to explain but from what I've pieced together, when the bombs fell we were put into an extended cryosleep. Frozen in time." You frown, as you try to cut down your extensive research into the barest of bones, "I don't know why, but I woke up early."

There’s a slow nod as he follows, a relief coming when he does.

"And I tried to wait it out in the Vault. I really did. But after months had passed, I couldn't take it anymore." You get lost in the memory for a moment. The aching hours of isolation, those painted-white and silent walls, "So, I left. I went out."

"Very brave of you." His voice is low, in the dark.

"Very stupid." You smile, remembering those weeks - months - ago, "If you hadn't found me-"

The words die on your tongue, as you look at him. The curve of his lips as he remembers that fateful first meeting. Pure luck - you know that now, living in the outside world as long as you have now. The warmth in your chest swells at how far you've come since then.

"…But, I think they're okay. I think they'll wake up when it's time." You still hold onto that last tiny part - the exact timing. That feels like too much to give, to anyone.

Boba hums in contemplation, his fingers steepling as his elbows press into spread knees. Eyes drifting past your shoulder and beyond, as he thinks.

"They are welcome in Mos Espa. There's plenty of space in the east wing now." Boba's voice is solemn, a finger breaking free to brush against his lower lip - already planning, "I can move you over there, when we get back. Block out the rooms.”

So casual in the way he offers you salvation, once again. The heavy weight of worry that’s been sitting on your chest for some weeks now - wondering how you’ll ever afford housing for everyone, even in four years time.

A kindness offered out now, without thought.

Everything seems to go still for a moment, as your feelings tip into something almost tangible.

Love, you think dizzily. That bud in your heart suddenly blooming fiercely, the petals filling up the cavity of your chest.

Not even realizing you’re standing until his eyes drop, to where your feet creak on the thick wooden boards.

Yours stay fixed on his face. The dim flicker of the lantern catch the shadow of his scars, and you in this moment you don’t know if you’ve ever wanted to kiss someone more.

It’s then that he catches you looking, his head cocking as he considers you. The flicker of a shadow across his expression, the grit of his jaw - as if he was steeling himself.

His next words catch you off guard.

“I’m not one of your handsome princes or noble knights.” Boba’s voice is a low rumble, soft in the night air, “You know that, right?”

You frown - confused by the sudden turn, not knowing where this is going.

A protest, that he is handsome - that you’ve spent weeks thinking so, knowing so - bubbling in your throat, but he cuts you off.

“I’m an old man. I’ve seen-,” He frowns then, a moment before he continues, “I know what you want, princess. But I don’t think you really know, yourself.”

His words make you blink. Stepping towards him, as your hands brace on your hips.

Bypassing the embarrassment and barreling right towards indignation, “You don’t think I know what I want?”

Boba’s lips press together, the mark deepening between his brows. A shake of his head, the movement slow, “You want the idea of something. But it’s not reality.”

The rejection stings. It rips through you, your hands curling into fists, until your nails bite into your palms.

A final blow, “You’re not seeing, sen’ika.”

Your eyes drop. He makes you feel small, as if he’s wearing his hulking power armor now. Easily battered aside, left and forgotten in the Wasteland.

But you’ve grown, since then. Stronger and braver than when you first met.

“I see just fine.” You bite out, your heart fluttering in your chest, your breaths shallow, “I see someone that Din listens to, and respects. Someone who saved Fennec and gave her another chance.”

He’s looking at you, unblinking. Face impassive, as your voice threatens to crack, “I see someone that this settlement trusts and follows, when there’s little left for us to believe in.”

You inhale a breath, blinking back the prickle that stings your eyes. You’re aching and crushed, and the feelings in your chest are breaking out of their shackles, bursting free.

“I see someone I-”

Boba doesn’t let you finish.

The shell around him cracks with your words - a hand darting out to wrap around a wrist. It only take one willing step, before you’re tugged between spread knees.

His other broad hand spans the back of your neck, cradling it as his mouth presses to yours with a growl.

It’s messy, insistent. Your lips slotting with his as you move closer - knees knocking against the breadth of his chest as you climb onto the bench to straddle him.

His tongue brushing against your lip, a scrape of teeth as you open, whimpering. The layers of his dark robes beneath his armor are soft to the touch as your fingers sink in, as his hands find your waist and drag you closer.

It’s not like the times you’ve had, before. Hushed whispers in bed, careful fumbling. Moments from lifetimes ago - a different world.

Here, his finger dig into your hips. The nudge of something that stiffens against your core as your thighs spread wider. A mouth that presses open-mouthed against your neck, a low chuckle as you whine.

Boba knows where to touch you, your head tilting back so he can kiss at your throat, and then down. Fingers rucking up your shirt, plucking at the buttons until the cool night air is raising goosebumps against your skin.

Heat pools between your thighs, a neediness that has you rutting against him. A shiver making you tremble when his lips brush the curve of your breast, his breath warm against your skin.

“Is this what you want?”

You can only manage a weak sound, a soft gasp.

“Tell me, princess. Do you want this?” There’s a firmness to his voice that has you finding your own.

“Yes.” You look at him, his chin pressed against your sternum, waiting for your answer.

Lips parted over clenched-together teeth. A groan, then - as a finger hooks around the center gore of your worn, cotton bra.

A rough yank as he tugs it down, baring you. His tongue pressing against the stiff peak of your nipple, as your thighs close around his thick waist.

You jerk in his touch, moaning as his lips close around you. Leaning into the soft suck as his hands grip at your waist, fingertips brushing over the bare skin above the waistband of your trousers.

Tugging then at your belt, as your fingers fan out and then wrap around a shoulder.

His teeth graze your nipple, the briefest pinch before his tongue soothes it. The night quiet except the rasp of denim against his armor, as your hips rock again.

As you moan his name, sounding so pretty on your lips, “Boba. I need you.”

Racing past want, now. A throbbing in your core, an excitement coursing through your veins that feels so new. You’ve desired before, but never quite like this.

He’s tugging at the zipper now, and your hips lift to help him. Your fingers hooking around the waistband, a foot dropping down to the earth as you stand.

A knee resting in the bench as you awkwardly push both layers down to your ankles.

Your small squeak is shushed when he nudges at you - hands that press at your hips, drawing you back to the bench.

The old wood seat pressing into your bent knees as he bends you over the table, a hand smoothing down you back.

“You need me, hm?” His mouth is level with your shoulder, now. A flex of your muscles as his lips brush against your skin, as he peels the opened shirt from you.

Tucking it beneath your elbows for padding, a small moment of consideration.

“Please,” you breathe, eyes closing as his strong hands shift you up just a little further - the edge of the table biting into your skin, until - yes. There.

Right where he wants to you be.

Right where he can see you - his thumb tracing the curve where your thigh meets hip. Then, brushing against your core, so warm and wet, making your hips jerk.

“Here?” He asks, as his thumb makes a pass again.

Ghosting over soft skin, just shy of where you want him. Teasing you.

“Yes, there. Oh my god, there, please-”

You feel yourself clench, rocking your hips into his touch.

Expecting the blunt press of his cock to follow. Trying to turn your head to watch him disrobe, not expecting him to lower himself down onto protesting knees, instead.

Unable to - as his mouth replaces his fingers, tasting you from behind. The hot swipe of a tongue against your folds, as your head drops forward to thunk against to wood.

Eyes closing as he eats you, a pleased hum in his throat as his palms flatten on the curve of your ass, gently tugging.

Keeping you spread, even as you grit out an “oh, fuck-” that is way too loud. Unable to help it, with the way his lips suck against your clit.

Your fingernails scratching against the wood, as he draws back. Eyes sweeping over your soaked skin as his thumb presses against your opening - nudging just the tip inside.

“Just look at you.” He husks, as he feels your muscles tighten around him. Seeing how the angle keeps you spread so open for him, a tremble in your thighs as you hold back the urge to grind into his touch.

“A sweet thing like you, so wet for an old bounty hunter like me.” Boba’s voice is low - drawing his thumb out so it can swipe over your folds. Leaving you glossy, slick with desire, “You should be running, princess.”

The edge to his voice makes you moan, goosebumps raising at his warning. Too far gone to take any heed of it, not when his middle finger is pressing inside you.

Sinking deep, down to the knuckle - before withdrawing. Pulling back to fit it back in, and you can hear the sound of your cunt swallowing him.

It’s been too long. Two hundred years, you think derisively - the strangled laugh coming out as a hushed whine by the time it passes through your teeth.

The slow build across these weeks too much, your feelings twisting with your desire until you feel ripe - about to burst.

Your breathing ragged as his nose presses against you, as a second finger hooks inside, scissoring you open.

His face angling to press a tongue between those fingers, inside you, before his tongue licks at your clit again.

The arch of your hips is automatic, as is your cry. Never expecting this, the man that is groaning into your cunt. The soft shuffle of fabric as his other hand drops, as he frees himself without looking.

Preparing his cock to replace his fingers as soon as he feels you drip onto his tongue. It won’t be long, not with the sounds he makes.

A low sigh, the wet, rhythmic suck as you take his fingers. Curling the tips to stroke against a soft spot inside that has you clenching around him.

Rumbling words and warm breath between your thighs, punctuating the flick of his tongue.

“Tight little cunt.”

“Need to make you cum before you take me.”

Words escape you. Twisting in your brain, only to escape as half-hushed sounds. A tightness stringing through your body, as he threatens to wrench something from you.

With the pump of his fingers and the pull of his voice. Tender words twisting up and around you as it feel like a countdown flares to life in your belly, ticking down with each swipe of his tongue, the pointed curl of his fingers.

“Boba,” You moan, and it’s a filthy thing. A harsh, strung-out moan as your breathing turns short. Each one turning into a soft “oh!” as he hums.

“Fuck, ah-, don’t stop-”

And you know he won’t. Intent behind every movement, as his hand leaves himself to smooth over the curve of your ass.

Three, and then two, and then one.

And then you’re burning, a bright spark that begins low and then spreads throughout your belly. Coursing down your limbs with a blinding, pulsing pleasure.

Your muscles stringing tight as you rock into his tongue - trapped between his chest and the wooden tabletop.

The moan muffled where you bury your face in the discarded shirt. Worried about crying out too loudly - alerting the others out on patrol.

He is not. A rasping growl as his fingers slide free, leaving you empty. Replacing them with his mouth as he spreads you open, leaving streaks of slick on your skin.

Letting you ride out your orgasm against his tongue, leaving his lips and chin smeared with you.

Waiting until all of your muscles go slack, before he pulls away

There’s a low hum, the creak of wood as he pushes himself to his feet. The hot, swollen curve of his cock brushing against your core.

A slow drag as he tucks himself flush, rocking his hips forward as he fits between your spread thighs.

“Have you had your fill, princess?”

Even with the sharp throb of arousal, he’s content to leave you like this. Loose-limbed against the table - a pretty enough sight for him.

But for you, it only makes you crave for more.

A strength coming back as you push yourself up again. Twisting yourself so you can see the parts of him he’s bared.

Lingering, for the briefest moment. Never thinking you’d get to see him like this. The thick curve of his cock making you wonder how heavy it would feel on your tongue.

A thrill in your belly at the way the flushed tip gleams, all from tasting you.

There’s the tap of his hand against your ass then, a gentle squeeze.

Your head shakes, your teeth sinking into your lip as you risk another glance. Lingering on the peek of skin above, the dark trail of hair leading down.

A second, as your thoughts come back to you - the slightest hesitance.

“I want all of you.” This part is easy to say, because you do. Desperately. “But I don’t have… anything.”

You never thought tonight would end up like this. Never thought you had to worry about what passed as protection, now.

He steps away from you, and you’re immediately missing him.

“We can stop.” His voice is low, but not unkind. Your nose scrunches because you very much don’t want to do that, but then he’s speaking again.

“But-” He catches your hand, brings it to the curve of his hip. Giving you a second to twist around, to press - feeling the slightest something beneath the skin, “This is an implant, very effective. It’s your choice, princess.”

Your hand drifts from his hip, then down. Trusting him, as your fingers curl around the base of his shaft - gently squeezing as you hear his soft groan behind you.

“Fuck, please-” You sigh, as you bend again.

Angling him against you as he hums in amusement - letting you try to line him up, in spite of the angle.

“Easy now, princess.” He rasps, as his hand wraps around yours - warm and firm.

The other curling against your hip, an intake of breath as he nudges against your slit.

“Tell me again,” Boba commands, with a slow sweep - pressing just barely against swollen, soaked flesh.

You don’t know if you can take much more teasing, “I want you. Please fuck me, please-”

He makes a low sound then, a strained groan in his throat. A pressure, as he starts to sink inside. First the blunt head - only to draw back, as you clench around him.

Then, another thrust.

Fingers biting into the table at the slick slide of his length. Each one inching him deeper, as you sigh.

The final punch of his cock steals your breath. A soft gasp at feeling so full, in that moment where you can feel his stomach pressing into your back.

Pinning you against the table, before he’s rocking back. Feeling the drag of his cock - almost all the way out. Nudging it’s way deep again, with a smooth thrust.

Picking up, as his hands splay flat against the table. Using it for leverage as he sets a steady rhythm.

Pounding into you, as you back arches. Doing your best to rock back and meet him, as that pressure bleeds into pure bliss.

The flickering lantern rattles with the force of his thrusts, jolting when your hips bump against the table. Again, and again - until a hand leaves the grip he has on your hip.

A finger looping around the handle. Reaching to set it on the knee-high crate, instead of the floor.

All the better for him to watch, to see. The perfect height to illuminate the shine of his cock as it disappears into you. The way your thighs glisten with your first release, while he works you towards a second.

If you thought you were a mess before, it’s nothing compared to now. Each breath no more than a gasp, with the way he’s pounding into you.

Your hand drifts then, sliding across the wood - trying to slip between your thighs, press where his tongue had been.

His own hand leaves the table to wrap around your waist, pressing between your breasts.

Tugging you back, and then up - until you’re curving against his chest. Your fingers forgetting their path as they curl around the edge of the table for balance.

Lips brushing your ear, his voice a low rumble, “I’ve got you, princess.”

Wanting to do this, himself. To pull every orgasm from you tonight with the press of his own fingers.

Canting his hips upward - seeming to drive even deeper as his other hand traces across your hip. Over and down, until it’s swirling against slick skin.

Finding the tight bud of your clit, a low hum when you whine as he presses down. Making your back arch further, toes curling as he begins to circle.

Winding you up, like before. That build of pleasure accelerated by the sound of his grunts and panting breath in your ear. The way he cock drags inside you, filling you so much that it’s impossible not to feel every inch and ridge of him.

“Fuck,” He groans, filthy in your ear as you clench down around him - as if you’re trying to keep him buried in your tight heat.

The rough gravel of his voice make you moan. His breath warm where it fans against a bare shoulder as his lips press to the spot under your ear.

“Taking me so well.” He sighs, with the scrape of teeth against your skin. No longer sounding quite so put-together, his voice losing that aloof edge, “Want to feel you come on my cock. One more time, yeah?”

The words are muted in your ears. Your heartbeat thudding louder, a steady drumming as you’re brought closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” You manage, the word coming out ragged, “Oh my god, I’m close-”

Grasping onto the table is no longer enough. Your hands twisting behind - wrapping into robes and around the edge of chilled armor as you cling to him.

Nothing to mute your cries other than the clenching of teeth, the whimpers still slipping between to be caught by the wind.

He grunts as you grind into his thrusts, your head tipping back against his shoulder. Muscles stringing tighter and tighter, as you try to tell him, warn him.

“Oh, oh, I’m gonna come-”

Barely getting the words out, before the pleasure tears through you. A shift of his arm - a mercy as his palm presses against your mouth, muffling the sound of your cry as he growls in your ear.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s fucking it, come on-”

Too far gone to hold it back yourself, too caught up in the way you seem to radiate from the inside out.

A humming groan as he feels you, the tight pulse of your cunt as you come - those sharp thrusts turning into a slow grind.

Slicking him up further, dripping down his cock. Fingers keeping their steady rhythm as your hips buck, riding it out until the pressure starts to twinge.

Only then, does his hand lower. Pressing again against your heaving chest as your head tilts.

A hiss of air through his teeth as you mouth at his jaw with contented sighs. Those sounds dropping low as he shifts - leaving you empty as he pulls from you.

You whine, before he’s fitting himself between your thighs. A slow slide as you shift your legs closed, his cock tucked between your legs and pressed snug against your pussy.

A thrust, and then another. It won’t take many, not with the memory of you coming on his cock, the way your lips press again to his throat.

His breath coming in short huffs, hands gripping at your hips and moving you to the rhythm he wants.

Fucking your thighs, so slick with your release. Nearly overcome with your murmuring encouragement, the way you can’t help but look down - admire the peek of his cock when his hips are flush with yours.

“Gods.” He snarls, and then his fingers are pinching - your hands flying to the table again as his chest flattens across your back.

“Fuck. Fuck-”

He spills himself - each streak dripping down between the table top and the bench with the force of his orgasm. The grind of his hips leaving him sticky on your thighs, a low growl with each twitching throb of his cock.

Keeping himself pressed flushed for a few long minutes - the sounds of your joining petering out, as your heartbeat returns to normal. As he softens between your thighs, as arms and fingers finally relax.

There’s a softness in the way Boba kisses you after, a press of his lips against your shoulder. A hand petting across your hip, pressing slow, soothing circles.

Eyes averting politely as you tug up your clothes, as he kicks dirt over his mess - he’ll clean it up later, in the morning.

When you settle back on the bench, his arm rests across the tabletop behind you. Letting your head dip against his shoulder as he tucks you into his side.

“I’ll wake you at sunrise, sen'ika.” His voice soothes, as you feel your eyelids getting heavy. Warm in his embrace, something you’re not used to.

A little sigh, as you wiggle closer. Gloved fingers trailing against your arm, in a soft looping pattern. Your mind wandering as you start to drift off, thinking you can ask now - about that name he calls you. A fixture since that first day - something you've thought about endlessly, but never had the courage to ask.

"Boba?" Your eyes crack open, as he makes a sound of acknowlegement, "What does that mean? That name... sen'ika?"

The question comes out sleepy, mumbled - punctuated by a yawn.

"Go to sleep, little bird." Boba's words are pointed, but you think you can hear a smile in them.

You grin, as your eyes close again. A coziness in his answer, settling over you as your thoughts go quiet. As your cheek presses against the cool metal of his armor.

Uncertain if he has anything more he can offer, beyond tonight.

Out here, trust and tenderness carry a weight you’ve never known before. Actions have a currency that wordsno longer held. Things left unsaid - because there’s an ache in everyone now, and sometimes it’s too much to voice them.

After all, this is the Wasteland. And you’re a scavenger, now.

You’ll take anything you’ve been given.

Ahh their conversation in the cabin and the storytelling in the last chapter were the first scenes I had mapped out when I started this (back in Jan!) so it feels so exciting to get to this chapter! Thank you for reading 💚 part viii will be out thursday, the 20th! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

(0-pressure tags 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights, @wingofshadow, @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay, @floral-force, @valentine-tx, @ri-a-rose, @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved, @writeforfandoms, @winchestershiresauce, @monada43, @rescuethewretched, @thegalaxys-edge, @honeydjarin, @ray-rook, @dumfanting, @bedky, @thirsty-boba-fett-posts, @dukeoftheblackstar, @lifelikefae, @pentaghasm, @izbelross, @margowritesthings)

#FINALLY #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett imagine #boba fett smut

98 notes · View notes