#the way that when he found this horse he was like leave me alone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitten-fruit · 3 months

Note

price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

2K notes · View notes

hedgehog-moss · 3 months

Text

This particular patch of woods between two cow pastures is my favourite place to go when it's cold, because there's a little stream in there that meanders in a very whimsical way, dividing itself into spiderwebs of rivulets then becoming one again, winding around every other tree, it's delightful.

The stream is smaller but still here in summer, but I like it best in winter because it sounds so delicate! In some places it runs under a thin layer of ice with a light glassy sound; in others there are branches across the stream with dozens of little ice drops hanging underneath and making a tiny tinkling noise.

This patch of woods can be hard to find though, as it's tucked between two very large pastures that are completely featureless in winter. But Pandolf knows what we're looking for now, and since he's not distracted by cows in this season, he led us right to it.

Congratulations Pandolf! You are useful !

Although it's not a forest, it's easy to get lost here in winter when all my landmarks have disappeared, so I always follow the stream. One of the most recognisable spots is a hollow tree stump that looks very old and gnarled and full of character in summer, but sometimes in winter it almost entirely disappears and looks like a massive soft marshmallow (until you stumble upon it) (it hurts)

But as long as we don't lose the stream, we'll find our way back.

So of course I quickly got distracted and lost the stream. First because I found deer footprints, and they looked so much like Pampe's footprints I had to examine them and then look around suspiciously. (She wasn't following us. It was a deer) (I'm almost sure)

Second, because the woods kept stealing my hat.

Third, because Pandolf was being recklessly ambitious.

After walking in circles for a while, instead of the stream I found a barricade of shrubs forbidding access to a mysterious meadow. (Mysterious because I have never seen this place in summer. There are no charming small meadows here! It's pasture / tangled woods / pasture!)

I did not have time to inspect yet another fae meadow (and didn't feel very welcome here), so off we went again in search of the stream which is our only reliable landmark.

Then Pandolf found a way out all by himself:

He was very proud to show me the cow pasture, because in his naive dog logic he assumed I was still looking for the stream in order to follow it and leave the woods. In my better human logic, I was now looking for the stream because streams have no business disappearing like that and I was taking it personally.

How did we lose the stream, Pan? It's supposed to be everywhere!

What was annoying was that sometimes I could hear soft stream sounds, but saw nothing...

It took me a embarrassingly long time to figure out that the stream was, in fact, everywhere.

I'd never seen the stream frozen, let alone frozen + covered with snow! I suppose it was only frozen here and not near the pastures because there's less sun in the middle of the woods and the stream is wider and runs more slowly. It was a bit fun how every time we brushed aside some snow or found a snowless spot, we discovered a piece of the missing stream right underneath.

... well, at first it was fun but then it got a little bit worrying, because the ice was quite thin and cracked easily if I knocked on it politely, so the only thing keeping me from falling knee-deep in icy water with every step I took was the layer of compacted snow. Which I didn't trust. In places where I remembered the stream being wider (so most of the snow in these areas was potentially traitorous) I tried to walk very lightly and carefully, as if it's possible to tiptoe lightly with snow boots.

Pandolf just walked normally, completely unfussed about the fact that he was (literally) on thin ice.

I think he could tell I was nervous but didn't know why. He looked pretty confused whenever he turned around and saw me walking like an Andalusian horse over the same spots that he'd just trampled happily.

I'm fairly sure he knew all along that the stream was under our feet. I wish he'd told me! But maybe he could tell the ice wasn't cracking under his weight and he assumed I too knew what I was doing.

We made it out and I only stepped right through the snow and ice and into the horribly icy water once! One soggy boot was less bad than the fate I expected when I realised I was standing in the middle of this patch of woods surrounded by a pretend-snowy ground that was actually just water.

Then I reached my car and found that I could not open any door because they were frozen shut. This had also never happened to me in the middle of the day when I parked in the sun and I felt persecuted. Thankfully I was not too far from a farm; I told Pandolf to wait for me in the nearby pasture (in case of farm dogs; I didn't have his leash) (it was in the car, keeping warm next to my Thermos of tea) and I went to knock on the door and humbly ask to borrow some hot water. The woman who answered the door noticed my very wet boot and I think she initially assumed I wanted hot water because my foot was frozen and I'd already lost three toes, but I reassured her that it was only my car that needed unfreezing.

When I returned to my car with the bottle of hot water, I found Pandolf waiting for me in the pasture as instructed, but he didn't notice I was back until I'd almost reached the road because he was busy doing what he does best. (And it's not crawling under trunks.)

#crawling along

850 notes · View notes

ceilidho · 10 days

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)

first chapter >> last chapter

You could just tell him.

You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.

He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear it’ll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. You’re weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.

Maybe that’s just on your end.

You’ve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like he’s holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, you’ve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. That’s what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesn’t fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache.

You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one).

Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escaping—now where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some bandit’s tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death?

You shudder to think of it.

In the days since John brought you home, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. It’s as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.

You should’ve just waited them out. It’s clear now, what you should’ve done, but who can argue with the past? You’re sick of telling yourself that there might’ve been another way. It doesn’t change the way things are now.

There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isn’t looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.

Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away.

Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. John’s deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesn’t belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.

The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it.

He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you can’t excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, you’ll have no choice but to belt it out.

The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of John’s deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and there’s a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house.

It’s a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“John?” you ask, uncertainly.

He doesn’t answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line.

“John?” you repeat, more force behind your words this time. “What’s wrong?”

“Passenger train up east is about to be robbed,” John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if it’s loaded. “Simon got word.”

“How’d he know before it even happened?” you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids.

“Informant. He’s got ‘em all over the county.”

Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has John’s other horse saddled up and ready to go.

“When will you—” You can’t finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesn’t answer you.

You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going.

John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t fancy havin’ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“Well, you just see here now—”

“You heard me, darlin’—”

“Price,” Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. He’s never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones.

John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.

“You be good while I’m gone,” John says, casting you one last parting glance.

You screw your lips into a scowl. “Don’t you dare die out there.”

That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.

John’s horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them.

You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.

It dawns on you that John hadn’t said goodbye either. That has to count for something.

Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.

You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood.

Kate comes over later that morning while you’re still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.

“Morning!” she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.

She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards.

“Morning,” you greet tentatively. “Not that I don’t appreciate spending time with you, but don’t you have a store to run?”

Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. “Folks chip in when they have to—I’ve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, what’s the point of owning a business if you can’t take a day off every now and then?”

You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. “Did he tell you to come babysit me?”

You don’t specify who, but it’s obvious enough.

Her lips flatten. “I offered.”

All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. “They seemed in a hurry to leave. Didn’t think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.”

“John didn’t do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.”

“My man,” you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. “So he didn’t ask you to come?”

Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. “No, ma’am. Thought I’d just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.”

Your frown keeps getting deeper. “Don’t ma’am me, Kate. And I don’t need your company if you’ve just come to make fun of me.”

“Hand to heart—I came only to make sure you were alright.” Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. “Give me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and I’ll be right back.”

You could almost kiss her for that though. You’d been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you haven’t felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kate’s presence takes some of that stress away.

Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You can’t seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away.

You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.

It’s well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. You’d long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you.

And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.

“I suppose he’s—” Kate says, but you don’t hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat.

When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill.

Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across John’s face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation he’d gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadn’t even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home.

John smiles down at you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

That’s almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadn’t realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry that’d been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees.

“Are you well?” you ask, throat tight.

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you.

Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.

“Never better,” he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.

You hear the door open again. “Hi John,” Kate calls from the door.

“Hi Laswell,” John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.

A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. You’re not sure what to read into it, but reading’s never been your strong suit.

“I’ll see myself out then,” Kate says. “Leave you two lovebirds to it.” Her words make you bristle, but even that isn’t enough to pull your eyes off your husband.

“Don’t look so put out—Soap’s just down the path waiting to take you home,” John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.

Kate rolls her eyes. “So chivalry’s not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.”

You don’t hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue.

The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. “You’re hurt.”

He huffs. “Just a sore rib. Nothing worth fussin’ over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. “Your hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.”

John nods. “I’ll put Chiron away and then come in.”

“Chiron?”

“This boy here.” His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mind—another piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name you’ll never be able to shake.

You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. It’s how you track him from the window. It’s too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now it’s quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds.

You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale.

He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesn’t so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that might’ve gotten in. He’s a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles.

“Do you want me to call the doctor in the morning?” you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room.

John shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Wasn’t anything too serious.”

You frown. “Are you sure? I don’t want to risk it getting infected—”

He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. You’ve felt them over every part of you—loose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim.

You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now.

“It’s not that bad, darlin’,” he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. “Y’did a good job fixin’ me up. You’re a good little nurse.”

“I’m no substitute for proper medical care,” you snip, still frowning.

“Ah, if I die, I die.”

“That’s not funny,” you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like there’s something new writ large on your face.

There’s a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadn’t noticed until now. Once you notice it, it’s impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away.

“Now where’s this all coming from?” John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you.

His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except it’s dark now and there’s not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. You’d be a blubbery drunk anyway; you’ve always been something of a sad sack.

“I thought you might come back hurt,” you whisper. “And you did.”

His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. “I’m sorry to make you worry, darlin’. I meant nothing by my words. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. “Well, only if you want to.”

“Don’t get smart with me, wife—”

He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden.

John sighs. “We’ve been making a right mess of things, haven’t we?”

You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement.

It’s in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that.

Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.

There’s love and then there’s thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?

There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You don’t yet know if that’s possible for you, but you’re starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side.

Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection.

If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right.

So instead, you ask, “Can we just put it behind us and move on?”

John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. “Already forgotten.”

You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

1K notes · View notes

spookykoolkat · 8 months

Text

kinktober | grateful - j.m.

kinktober day nine - cockwarming

pairing: joel miller x plus size!reader

wc: 2.17k

summary: being joel's girlfriend meant you saw sides of him no one else ever saw. one of them was how he just loved to be in your presence, to feel you, to touch you — to be buried inside of you.

warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! MINORS ARE NOT WELCOMED!!! NO AGE = BLOCKED. mentions of violence and sexual violence *if you blink you will miss it it's not a main theme!*, mentions if blood, dirty talk, p in v, cockwarming, slight somno.

an: gosh im so behind on this but i WILL catch up. i have a concert tmrw im very excited! also this one is very short, but i still love it 🥹

reblogs, likes & comments are so very appreciated i love u guys 🥹

⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧ °｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧°｡⋆༺♱༻⋆｡°⛧

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT it meant to be in a relationship – with joel. somehow, years after you got lost with the group you’d traveled with for months, you ended up in the midst of a bunch of men on horses pointing their guns at you.

one of them being joel, and his brother. you were cut up, bloodied and bruised, in the freezing winter with hardly anything on. you remembered looking around you at the men that circled you, your hands raised but just barely because you had a stab wound on your left shoulder, crying.

“please, i, i can leave just, please don’t kill me, i’ll go,” you cried frantically.

every thought was going through your mind right now. you were half naked, shivering and near frostbite basically, the only thing warming you up would be the blood pouring from your wounds. there were only two things that could happen.

they’ll trap you, have their way with you, then leave you for dead. or, they shoot you because they think you’re infected.

“please don’t hurt me, i’m, i’m not infected, i swear.” you sobbed, looking down at your knees that felt numb being buried in the snow.

you heard a shuffle, then something hit the floor, and the crunch of snow under a pair of boots. until you saw them right in front of you, and the person lowered themselves down to your height.

the man tilted your chin up with his glove-covered fingers, and made you look at him.

“you ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of, come on, we’ll get ya some clothes,”

and that was it. joel was the one who kept you away from the men that stared you down like a piece of meat that day, he kept you away from tommy, who kept telling him it was a bad idea. but quickly referenced when he and ellie came into town, and they took them in like nothing.

he kept you safe. and he let you stay with him for the time being, until you managed to find a job down at the local bar. then, the two of you kind of went your separate ways. you found a little house at the corner that tommy told joel to give you, and managed to live by yourself for the year you were there.

joel didn’t want you on patrol routes, or to forage for things that the town needed. he needed you safe, even when he wasn’t there.

you hadn’t talked to joel, but he managed to come to the tipsy bison every friday, sitting at the bar by himself and watching you.

“you know,” you start as you are cleaning the beer glasses and wiping down the sticky table after closing. joel was the only one still there.

“you come here every friday, ever since i started working here, but everyone i’ve ever heard from tells me you like to drink alone. in the comfort of your own house,” you said, wiping the bar down in front of him.

“jus’ makin’ sure you ain’t in no trouble over here,” he mumbled behind his last drink, downing the rest of the mahogany liquid. he did a subtle look down your shirt as you wiped the bar down in circles, watching your cleavage come into view.

you just chuckled. “i think i’ll be okay. i promise you’ll be the first one i go to if i need help.”

that made a small smile tug on his lips.

“let me walk ya home,”

so he did. except he didn’t leave after that. that night, the two of you drank a little more at your place, and things got a little heated. in the midst of stretching you out for the very first time, he was whispering things you would’ve claimed were little nothings, but seemed as if he was declaring his need for you.

“fuck baby, tell me, whose pussy is this? who else is stretchin’ ya out like this?”

“pretty fuckin’ girl, i swear i’ll fuckin’ kill for ya, won’t let nobody come near ya,”

“you ain’t leavin’ me, darlin’. this pussy is fuckin’ mine,”

and you never did, and he always kept his promise. four years later, after him being the one to fix your wounds and give you clothes, a place to stay — you lived with him. ellie ended up being able to take patrol routes occasionally, moving into a small house with dina. she was even glad he had someone to look after him, to take care of him as he cared for everyone.

joel had just came in towards the end of the night from patrolling with tommy, mumbling about how he’s sort of an idiot. you could barely hear his banter from your bedroom, ears perking up at the sound of the door opening and slamming closed.

“baby?” you called out from the bedroom as he walked to the kitchen and grabbed himself a beer. his eyes searched for you in the darkness of the living room, until he ended up walking to the back hall to the room you both slept in.

his face softened, giving a little smile as he walked over to you and plopped on the bed next to you. the force almost made you drop the book you were reading, so you dog-eared the page and put it on the table as you turned to curl into him.

“you smell like outside,” you said as you crinkled your nose.

“fuckin’ tommy, stressin’ me out. he wanted t’ stay longer for maria just in case but it was a fuckin’ ghost town, nothin’ was even there, but he’s fuckin’ stubborn.”

you just sighed and let your face rest on his chest as his arm threw over behind you, rubbing the side of your body. “well, you’re home now.”

he sighed, taking a swig from the beer and moved to put it on the bedside table. he just threw his head back, used his forearm to cover his eyes and breathe in and out. you just looked at him, a little empathetic.

you started to kiss his chest, the one with the dirty shirt he wore to patrol and up his body, to his neck and jaw. with the movements, you swiftly swung your leg over one side and straddled him, making his arm move and his head tilting down to get a look at you.

you just watched him, watching you, and smiled as you sat directly on his groin.

“i know you’re stressed, but,” you started and rubbed over his tummy and pecs, “i need you.”

you said with lust in your eyes, and he just smirked as he watched you reach under his shirt to feel the warmth of his body.

“my baby needs me, ‘s that right?” he asked lowly, his voice sounding raspy and gruff. his hands rested on the width of your hips, loving the way you were so curvy and plush for him.

you just nodded, and moved to where you could unbuckle his pants and try to shimmy them down with his help. after you got his pants and boxers to his knees, you spit in your hand and gripped the shaft of his half hard cock.

“i love you,” you said as you started to feel him harden in your hands, his own hands moving to the tank top you had on and yanking the fabric down to see your breasts.

“you know i love you, baby,” he said and reached to play with your heavy breasts, tugging your nipple and playing with both of them so he could watch them peak.

“i’m just real tired, honey,” he started as he felt your grip on his cock soften, and watched your face turn with disappointment until he grabbed your face and made you look at him.

“you wanna help me out, darlin’?” he asked and you nodded with your eyebrows furrowed, “alright then, come lay down right here,”

he patted the side of the bed that you slept on, and you let go of his cock before pouting and sliding down to the side next to him. you faced the opposite direction, facing the wall as you heard him get up and start taking all of his clothes off before sliding under the blankets with you.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby, such a pretty fuckin’ pussy you have,” he said in your ear as he pulled you flush to his back, gripping your asscheeks before pulling one cheek apart from the other, feeling the wetness you gathered at your cunt.

“always so wet f’ me, always so good to me,” he breathed on your neck. he felt your legs move apart so he’d have more access, and he just smiled, kissing on your shoulder.

you didn’t know what he was planning on doing until you felt him guide the tip of his fully hard length up and down your cunt, still using one hand to move the thickness of your ass so he’d have access to your juices.

“joel,” you whined and moved your hips back to his, and finally felt his tip slip inside of you.

“please,” you begged as he stretched you completely, feeling full even as he’s halfway.

he lifts the blankets to watch you take him from behind, watching how his cock the was lathered with your juices as he thrusts softly into you before he bottoms out completely.

but he doesn’t move, and instead kisses on your shoulder before going to your back, kissing there and wrapping his arm around your waist to rest on the fat of your tummy.

“wait, joel i-” you started before he just squeezed your breast, leaving his hand to rest there.

“mm-mm, we’re goin’ to sleep,” he said, but the feeling of his cock being buried inside of you was too distracting. you couldn’t sleep.

“but joel,” you whined, your hand resting on top of his as you felt the heat of his breath against your neck.

“go to sleep, i promise i’ll give you want you want baby, jus’ let me feel you like this, yeah?” he asks and you involuntarily moan a little, your movements of trying to fuck back on his cock failing.

“i love feelin’ you like this, sweet girl. could be buried in this fuckin’ cunt for years,” he whispered as he squeezed your tit again, “you fit me so fuckin’ perfectly,”

“i love when you fill me up, joel,” you whispered ss you hugged his arm, leaving kisses on it and making joel smile against your skin.

“aw, my baby, loves when i just keep you on my cock, just so i can feel you. love when you keep me warm inside that little fuckin’ cunt,” he growled and you whined, trying to squirm and get some movement in.

he just holds you tight, not letting you move. the feeling of his cock filling you to the brim made your cunt clench, and he groaned at the feeling. you felt like you were suffocating, practically feeling his cock in your throat as he just laid there behind you and kissed your skin.

“go to sleep, baby. i promise i’ll make ya cum over n’ over til’ i gotta leave,” he said, and your heart skipped a beat at the proposition.you knew he was telling the truth, because he’s done it before.

he’s made you soak the sheets before it even hit six in the morning, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you and ravishing in it. the best thing he could ever do with his time is watch you fall apart because of him, and make you feel good.

so, you fell asleep with him still inside of you, feeling the dull throb of his cock and your cunt mixed together, the feeling of when he would move to pull you closer because he slipped out of you a little bit.

he craved you, even in his sleep.

and the next morning when he woke up, he was still buried inside of you and looked at where you two connected, seeing the pool of your arousal leaking onto him, and on the bed.

so he kept his promise, and used the newfound arousal you built up to slide out of you, and slide right back in. until you woke up, and tightened on his cock as he fucked you awake.

joel was obsessed with you, and that meant if he could have you sitting on his cock while he did his day to day things, he would. and he’s tried. but feeling you soak him, squeeze him and cry out for him made him feel a whole other type of gratefulness.

you were grateful he was the one that took you in, he was the one that cared for you and protected you, and he was grateful that you let him walk you home that night, grateful that you only trusted him and not anyone else.

TAGLIST

@awilderi @nerdieforpedro @cyb3rluvvxx @joelmillers-girl @pedritoferg @bethanymccauley @dirtydianaahah

let me know if u would like to be added to the taglist!

1K notes · View notes

toomanystoriessolittletime · 6 months

Text

Sweaty

week 2 of the Winter Writing Challenge

prompt: "I totally definitely did not just watch you chop wood outside.“

Summary: Things.... escalate after Joel caught you watching him chopping some wood outside in the snow.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: E

Warnings: some domestic fluff, flirting, smut (unprotected sex), f masturbation, cum play, some dirty talk, Joel Miller really being into readers tits, humour I guess?

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Ellie was hovering behind you.

„Stop it,“ you hummed, your hand steady as you tried yourself on the first decorative frosting of cookies in… twenty years.

„I’m not doing anything,“ she whined. You could feel her breath on your upper arm. Turning you head to the side you narrowed her eyes at her.

„I wanna waaaatch. It’s so cool,“ she pouted.

You sighed.

„Okay. But you gotta give me some space. I haven’t done this in a long time,“ you said. She grinned, taking a step to the side.

Ellie had asked you for help.

She wanted to do something nice for Dina and asked you for advice. You ended up offering to teach her to bake some of Dina’s favourite cookies and then help decorating them with whatever you could find in the community kitchen.

Turned out Ellie was not as creative with cookie decorating.

She got frustrated pretty quickly, leaving you to do most of the decorating, while she cleaned up the kitchen. But now she was finished and while you still hated people watching you when you worked, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the girl standing next to you.

Things did not start out like that with the two of you.

You had moved into the house they had apparently occupied when they came here the first time, leaving Ellie calling you House thief for the first months after meeting.

More than once you had offered to move, the house being way to big just for you alone, but Maria and Joel had insisted you stayed.

Ellie and Joel had moved into the house across from you instead, leaving you with your official first neighbours.

They both did not talk much in the beginning, nor did you see much of them.

Sometimes you saw them leave the house together in the early morning when you were just finishing getting dressed. Sometimes you saw Joel sitting alone outside of his porch, a guitar in his lap, his eyes far away.

You hadn’t really talked to either of them until a month after they joined the community and Ellie had somehow managed to break you kitchen window as she played outside.

Joel had made her say sorry before he offered to fix the window up for you.

And it seemed like Joel found reasons to come and see you after that alone. Without Ellie around, just him and you.

Your sink leaked? Joel would fix it.

Creaky floorboards? Fixed within a day.

Your back was tense, because you had spent all day cleaning out the stables? Joel’s big hands could help.

Thinking back, him offering to massage you had been smooth as hell, but you were just too thankful and exhausted that day to notice just how much he had been flirting with you. Or maybe you were generally not used to people being very interested in you.

Hell, to this day you went all shy when he told you all the things he wanted to do with you (or to you).

It had now officially been nine months since you and Joel started dating, and three months since both Joel and Ellie moved into your house.

You were putting the finishing touches to the cookies, when you heard the door open and close, followed from a long released deep sigh, that brought a smile to your lips.

„Joel’s home!“ Ellie said just before he walked into the kitchen. You looked over your shoulder, smiling at him.

„Though patrol?“ You asked.

„Stupid fucking newcomers want to play hero just to get knocked of their horses,“ he grumbled, walking over to you. He kissed your cheek, smiling at you.

„Ugh, gross,“ Ellie gagged and you rolled your eyes.

„That’s gross? Remind me who asked me to help her bake cookies for the girl she’s crushing on again?“ You sing sang and Ellie blushed.

„Shut up. You’re like ancient…. And I do not have a crush,“ she mumbled, grabbing a cookie to hide her smile before she sprinted out of the kitchen and you heard her footsteps walk up the stairs.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You brought one cookie up, feeding it to him.

He moaned softly, enjoying the taste.

„How about you leave some of that frosting for later?“ He asked, licking his lips. You set your frosting tools down, turning in his arms with an eyebrow raised.

„To do what exactly?“ You pursed your lips.

He leaned in, kissing you softly.

„Guess you’ll have to wait to find out,“ he winked, pecking your lips again before he took a step back.

„I’ll get some wood from outside and then I’ll take a shower,“ he said.

„Okay,“ you smiled.

Half an hour later you had put all cookies away, Ellie had grabbed and packed the ones for Dina and left for the birthday sleepover party and Joel was still outside.

With the intention to look for him outside you made your way towards the front door, grabbing his extra winter jacket to stay warm, and then walked towards the back of the house.

It was a chilly December day, snow shovelled high everywhere, yet there he was. Joel Miller, stripped off of his flannel and only wearing his grey undershirt, swinging an axe down on a log of wood, splitting it in half with what looked like ease, the wood seemingly melting against the force of the blade.

You stopped in your tracks, your feet seemingly glued to the snowy ground beneath you, watching the man you loved split some firewood. His hand gripping the handle of the axe, the muscles of his arms flexing every time he split another log of wood. His shirt clinging to his sweaty chest.

You swallowed, your eyes tracing the veins of his arms you loved to brush your fingers on whenever you had the chance to.

You kept watching him, for what felt like hours (or days) but probably only minutes, fascinated (and turned on) by the sheer strength of his body.

Fuck, your man was hot.

Joel set the axe down, his hand brushing his hair back as he groaned, brushing the sweat that had started trickling down his temples away. When he looked up he found you standing there, watching him.

He tilted his head and you flushed, your teeth catching your upper lip between them, nervous.

And yeah, still turned on.

It only took seconds for Joel to access just why you were looking at him like you wanted to jump him, his left eyebrow raising in question, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

Not wanting to embarrass yourself by more ogling you turned around, intending to walk back into the house, when you slipped, crying out in surprise, but before you could fall to the ground, hands wrapped around your upper arms, keeping your upright.

Both of his arms wrapped around you from behind then, one of his hands on your stomach, keeping you close to his body. His nose in your hair.

He smelled of leather, nature and sweat.

„Careful there sweetheart,“ he whispered and you shivered.

„Can’t just run from me after undressing me with your pretty eyes…“ he kissed your neck. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to give him more space.

„I.. I wasn’t…“ you began to lie but he hushed you.

„You weren’t watching me? Getting a little turned on?“

„… No?“ You gasped, feeling his fingers play with the waistband of the sweatpants you had on, having left the jacket unzipped as you left the house.

„So… your little pussy isn’t dripping for me right now?“

You scoffed.

„My little pussy is always wet for you, baby,“ you smiled softly, closing your eyes.

„God damn right she is,“ you felt him grin against your neck.

He had you stripped down within seconds, making you lay with your legs spread for him on your bed while he got out of his clothes, having you whimpering when he pulled his belt of the loops of his jeans with one fluent movement.

„Touch yourself baby,“ he said, getting his shirt off.

You brought one of your hands straight between your legs, playing with your clit.

„Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy,“ he groaned, making quick work of his pants and underwear, shrugging them off. He spit into his hand before he wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watched you.

You moaned.

„Can see how wet you are. Can smell you. Put two fingers inside,“ he said, his voice raspy and deep. Sinful.

You obeyed, pushing two of your fingers inside, whimpering softly.

„Fuck yeah,“ he hummed.

The bed dipped and Joel’s hands were on either of your knees, his gaze fixed on how you were fucking yourself with your fingers.

„Wanna fuck you hard,“ he groaned and you moaned.

„Do it,“ you sighed, close to your first orgasm.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your fingers out of your pussy and into his mouth, his tongue cleaning your cum off, humming as if It was a five course meal.

„Fucking delicious. Best pussy I ever tasted,“ he winked and you chuckled.

„Ready for me sweetheart?“ He asked, kneeling between your legs. He notched his cock against your pussy, using his hand to slip it over your clit, playing with it.

„I’m so fucking horny for you. Just fuck me,“ you whimpered.

„Gonna make your tits jiggle for me,“ he winked, before he lined his cock up and filled you in one hard thrust, both of you moaning.

„Oh fuck,“ you cried out. He did not give you much time to get used to the size of his cock, starting to fuck you in quick, hard movements. You stretched your arms above your body against the mattress, pushing your chest out towards him, your tits moving every time he thrusts into you.

„So god damn wet,“ Joel groaned, pumping into you, moving your whole body with his forceful thrusts. The headboard was hitting the wall and you were thankful Ellie would be out of the house for the whole night.

„Fucking love your tits,“ he rasped and you playfully wiggled your chest, making him groan.

„Not gonna last long today. Touch that clit for me,“ he said and you did. Your hand back between your legs, parting two fingers to feel where he was filling you before you began to circle your clit, the combination of him fucking you and playing with your clit leaving you reaching your orgasm in record time, crying out his name.

„Fuck,“ he groaned, pumping into you a handful more times before he pulled out, jerking himself off until he released a long groan, coming all over your stomach and tits.

„Mmmmhhh…“ you hummed, your eyes closed as you panted for breath.

When your eyes opened Joel still had his hand wrapped around his cock, his eyes burning into you. Letting go of his cock he brought both of his hand down on your body, smearing his cum all over your tits and stomach, massaging it in.

„You really like tits, huh?“ You asked and he smiled, almost shyly

„Really like your tits,“ he winked, using both of his hands to squeeze them. He groaned as he softly let himself fall down on top of you, his weight a welcome blanket, his head resting between your tits.

„We gonna be all sticky,“ you mumbled, pulling one of your arms around him, your other hand brushing through his hair.

„Don’t care. `s comfortable,“ he kissed your tit and you smiled.

„All of this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t ogled me like fresh meat outside,“ he said and you laughed.

"I did not ogle!" you said.

"Uh huh. You totally did watch me watch chop firewood outside," Joel said smug.

"I totally definitely did not just watch you chop wood outside,“ you giggled.

"Sure sure," Joel hummed.

You laid there in each others embrace in comfortable silence for a moment.

„So us being sticky is now my fault?“ You asked after a while.

„Jep,“ he kissed your tit again.

„I guess I can live with that,“ you said and you felt him moving a little on top of you until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking softly on it, making you sigh. One of his hand was on your other tit, softly squeezing it.

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth before a teasing grin came to your lips.

„Imagine if these were full of milk,“ you teased and felt him still.

„God fucking damn it, woman.“

#my fic #stephswinterwritingchallenge #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #Fanficion #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

686 notes · View notes

neptuneiris · 5 months

Text

Wild Hearts | (One Shot)

'you, it's always been you'

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you and he can't be together, yet the two of you have fallen for each other. but the Gods are not merciful and you both have to let go. but by comparison, your charming prince doesn't think the same way you do.

word count: 8.6k

next part • main masterlist

this is the new idea that I was talking about hehe🤭

i hope you like it a lot and first of all, i want you to know that there will be part two and nothing else. so enjoy this, dig it and let me know your opinion that is the most excited i am to read❤

enjoy and thank you so much for your support beautiful people!

warnings: angst, sex content, arranged married, minor mentions of cuts and blood, smut but not so elaborate.

The Gods can be cruel.

And for some time they have been cruel, especially to you.

You are a lady, yes, but not of a great house enough to be worth anything really big and significant. All your father can offer the Realm is a few soldiers, horses and you.

You are the only daughter of an arranged marriage trying to find their place among the Court. And when you are born a woman, your duty is to marry a suitable man, please him and give birth to as many children as possible.

That was your purpose in coming to King's Landing after Queen Alicent approved your stay at the Red Keep and you became a lady-in-waiting to the highborn ladys who also remain at Court.

But no one, not even you, could have prevented that those plans would no longer be a priority for you the moment you met Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You knew of the one-eyed prince's reputation, as well as his brutality in combat, his cold behavior and also of his recognition as the rider of the largest dragon in the world. But most of all, you knew that his disinterested and sometimes mean personality... was due to how he lost his eye at such a young age.

But that was what he wanted to show all the people of the Court and its visitors.

After such humiliating years of trying to prove himself while at the same time listening to whispers and rumors about him and the pity he caused people for losing his eye, Aemond had no interest in pleasing the Court, so he was just mean, disinterested and cold.

But with you it was all different.

Perhaps it was being alone for so long that he finally got tired of himself and let you in and see his other side, his true side that very few were privileged to see. After all, you were just a lowborn lady who had lived her whole life with the same duty as him: to please the Realm and fill its needs.

But even he never imagined that you and he would understand each other so well.

The gleam of his violet eye, charged with an unusual intensity and determination, the effect he made you feel when you looked back at him and saw his patch covering his left socket and the way he spoke and behaved with you, triggered a wave of unknown emotions and expectations in you.

Your first casual encounter with the prince began in the library, where you exchanged literary tastes. You revealed your fascination for the history of the Andals, as well as shared with him how interesting you found the stories of his family, the Targaryens.

And he shared with you his admiration for history and philosophy as well.

Your casual encounters with him continued in the library and before long, those encounters extended to walks in the gardens. Those walks became a mostly secret habit, where you not only shared equal opinions about books and history, but where you both got to know each other a little more.

And despite the growing friendship and the bonds that intertwined with every conversation and interaction, the weight of undeniable reality persisted.

However, neither of you stopped.

On some trips he had to make, on every return he would always bring some gift for you, whether it was a piece of jewelry or a new book that you don't have access to, to leave secretly in you chamber. Or he would even surprise you with a rare flower that is not seen in the Crowlands, handing it to you so delicately while you tried to keep the blush on your cheeks from being so obvious.

You too tried to look casual when you went to the training yard just to watch him train discreetly, admiring his skills and in every fight smiling proudly every time he made his opponents surrender to him.

And in the midst of everything and everyone, his violet eye always met yours.

At banquets and celebrations it was also the same. The two of you couldn't engage in conversation as such, at least not alone, so all night long, you could only exchange glances and act like complete strangers.

But in the occasional places where the two of you meet and no one else is around, you can act completely free.

He shared with you the story of how he claimed Vhagar, told you more about the history of his ancestors, even taught you some High Valyrian words, while you, who in comparison to him do not possess anything as great and exciting as he does, share with him your thoughts, dreams and tastes.

You both became friends. You became the friend he didn't know he needed and you definitely didn't expect someone like him, especially him, to enjoy your company so much.

And during those years, you couldn't blame the Gods for falling completely in love with the prince.

That was your total freedom and decision, even though you knew how impossible the situation was and that the two of you could probably never be together.

Your house is not worth enough to allow a union between you and a prince of the Realm. It was also useless to suggest it, because the answer would be no, both from the Queen and from your parents, who would have been totally pleased.

But Aemond is destined for more, you know that. And that more is definitely not you and not even close.

And despite this, you couldn't help but imagine as a fleeting dream the moment when he and you unite and become one. A dream that will never happen in which you finally become his wife and you can call him yours, just as he can also call you his, in body and soul.

But that dream is finally shattered when they announce the official betrothal between him and Lady Floris Baratheon.

It was something that was eventually going to happen, you knew it was going to happen, but still, the news takes you by surprise and your heart breaks into pieces, while everyone around you rejoices at the news and approves.

The days following the betrothal announcement become dark and sad for you. You retreat most of your time in your chamber, not having the mood to go out and face the Court, much less him.

And when you had to face the daylight, your steps became stealthy and sparse, trying to keep your distance as much as possible and avoiding any possible encounter with him or anyone else from the royal family.

Aemond of course realized the distance you took and respected it. Not because he knew exactly what happened, but because he thought you had other important matters that did not allow you to share your time with him.

It wasn't until an audience at the Court where the Queen and the Hand of the King attend to the needs of the people, that Aemond finally caught a glimpse of you. But you didn't return his gaze even for a moment. And it is only then that he tries to understand the reason for your distancing, but your eyes avoid any eye contact with him.

You spend several days living in the same way, until one silent morning, Aemond finds you in the library all alone. He knows this is not your favorite time to read, nor is it his, so to say you are avoiding him is clear at that moment.

He opens one of the doors gently and closes it audibly enough to get your attention. He sees perfectly how your whole body tenses and nerves are reflected in your gaze, as well as discontent.

That especially catches his attention and with more purpose he wanders deeper into the library, watching you completely intently and in search of an explanation, wanting to know what he has done to make his presence before you now uncomfortable and annoying to you.

"My prince," you say politely enough, bowing your head to him, but already wanting to leave.

You certainly did not expect him to appear and now you only try to hide from him as much as you can so that he avoids looking at the disappointment on your face.

"My Lady," he says, still with bewilderment in his gaze, taking a couple of steps towards you, "It is good to finally see you after so many weeks without your presence."

You force a small smile, lowering your gaze.

"It's good to see you too, my prince."

His closeness begins to unsettle you, feeling each step he takes towards you as an echo of emotions you'd rather keep hidden. And this is exactly why you desperately seek a way out, a convincing excuse to get away from him.

"If you'll excuse me, my prince, I must retire," you decide to say without further ado, hoping that it will work, "I wish you a good day."

But you only manage to move two steps forward when he quickly blocks your path.

"Wait."

Instantly you watch him intently and in awe, feeling your heart begin to beat too fast, as he looks at you confused and hopeful.

"You've been... absent lately," he says, his words laden with a mixture of confusion and longing.

You swallow hard, averting your gaze from his for a moment. You don't even want to look him in the eye but that would be rude and not appropriate behavior in front of a prince. So you have no choice.

"Yes," you say in a mumble, trying to find an excuse quickly, "I-I've had to take care of some important matters with my family. Also, my responsibilities at Court have kept me occupied with the ladies and other engagements, which has left me less free time, my prince."

And despite your explanation, really not at all convincing, Aemond can't help but feel annoyed.

"And will you stop saying that?" he inquires in a low tone and you watch him in confusion.

"What do you mean, my prince?"

"Exactly that, my title," he points out deliberately, "There's no one else here, it's just you and me. I don't understand what all the formality is about."

You press your lips together, again averting your gaze from him, as you as well as he, feel that tension between the two of you, a tension completely unfamiliar and one you have never felt before in each other's presence.

You had never felt uncomfortable in his presence and you had never wanted to get away from him before.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to offend you," you observe him with a serious expression, "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave now to attend to an engagement."

Again you try to walk past him and head for the library doors, but Aemond prevents it once again, blocking your path and pushing you back with his determined and clearly annoyed gaze.

"You are avoiding me," he sentences, firm with his words, showing his inconformity, surprising you, "Nothing is the same between both of us anymore and your explanations don't justify it," he says, with annoyance in his voice and a determination, "Did something happen that I don't know about?"

He asks, watching you with a restrained fury, mostly to see how you try to escape from him, while you press your lips together, trying not to let your look show your pain, disappointment and resignation.

But his gaze clings to yours with an intensity charged with longing, wanting to know, while the silence is uncomfortable and you feel again that tension between the two of you. Until finally you decide to break the silence to not quite answer her question, still evading it.

"This is inappropriate. We shouldn't be alone."

You say without looking him in the eye and that only increases the anger inside him more, watching you without understanding.

"Why the shyness all of a sudden?"

You bite your lips, feeling the discontent all over your insides as you say your next words.

"You are betrothed. People might think badly of you and me if they see us here alone."

"Oh, please Y/N," he tells you incredulously, annoyed, "You're acting ridiculous."

"Aemond-

"Why this sudden concern for appearances?" he questions, his tone infused with irritation and annoyance, "Everyone knows we're close, we always have been, and now it's inappropriate?" he inquire, not understanding.

You let out a short breath, closing your eyes for a moment, really not wanting this to be any harder than it probably will be.

"You don't understand," you murmur sadly, biting your lips, "You are betrothed now," you observe him with the resistance to cry in your gaze, "Now there are limits we cannot cross. And it would be best if this were no longer to go on," you say with a lump in your throat, "Your gifts and our meetings must stop, for the good of your future marriage and out of respect for your f-future... wife."

The weight of your words are felt in your tone, with sadness invading you as you utter them, as well as the ending of this... friendship.

Again the heavy silence hangs between the two of you, laden with a sadness and helplessness that neither of you can control. And although Aemond doesn't fully understand your reasons for distancing yourself from him, he knows there is something else that he still can't quite figure it out.

"Y/N, if you're upset because I didn't tell you about the plans my mother and grandsire had for me-

"No, no, I assure you it's not that," you hasten to say, hiding your sadness and disappointment, "It would eventually happen, wouldn't it?" you shrug, trying to smile genuinely towards him, but you can't, "You must do your duty and I will too, sooner or later," you say, lowering your gaze.

Aemond is speechless for a moment, watching you and nothing else, still feeling the guilt inside, while you struggle to contain your true emotions and shout to him in that moment that you love him, let him know once and for all, though it won't change anything.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his barely audible voice full of bewilderment and a hint of pain, "Still I didn't want to-

"No, no... it's not your fault," you say again quickly, struggling to keep your composure, "Truly, it's all right. I should leave now."

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze for a second to look at you in concert with longing and concern.

"Can we please talk about this? I don't want things to end up like this between us."

"Don't worry," you try to smile genuinely at him, but rather a grimace appears on your lips, "I'm sure we can meet in the hallways and talk at the feast."

You tell him in a confident and assured tone, but even you know that won't be true.

"Oh and... hum... congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," you say with a lump in your throat and a forced smile on your lips.

To you, the falsity of your congratulations echoes in the air, a subtle echo of disappointment and resignation flooding your heart. Aemond tries to say something with the right words, but you don't give him the time as you finally move forward and no one stops you, each step echoing with the heaviness of what could have been and was not.

But just when you think you've managed to get far enough away, a hand gently lands on your arm, once again stopping you.

"Wait, please."

Aemond's voice sounds full of urgency and longing, making your breath catch for a second. And when you turn to look at him with the clear resignation and sadness in your gaze, his look reveals a mixture of torment and determination, frustration as well.

"I did not wish for this, Y/N," he confesses truthfully, his voice soft and emotionally charged. "It is not my desire to marry Lord Borros' daughter. That is not what I wish for myself."

Your eyes fill with tears as you hear his words, surprise in your gaze. And he stares directly into your eyes with despair, as if his thoughts are trying to be conveyed through his gaze.

And even though you have nothing to say regarding that, he continues with a confession that takes your breath away.

"Y/N..." he whispers, his expression heavy with longing. "If I had a choice, if the decision were mine, I would not hesitate in....

His words hang in the air, causing confusion in you for a moment, but as you watch him closely, his gaze speaks for him.

He watches you with attention, longing and hope, adoringly seeing the way your beautiful purple dress highlights your figure and beauty, with those precious and discreet jewels adorning your neck and fingers... his woman.

He shows you his affection and expresses it simply by observing you that he doesn't need to say anything else aloud. The meaning of her words is dispersed between the two of you, revealing a shared desire and a deep connection.

As you, upon understanding, surprise and hope collide within you, leaving you breathless at the implicit, yet clear revelation. Emotions intertwine in a whirlwind of feelings as the weight of his words sink deep within you. Your heart only beats faster, unable to believe what you are hearing, as time seems to have stopped, unable to speak.

And only then there, you can feel joy in knowing that your feelings are reciprocated, but the pain of knowing that it is now too late, simply ruins everything and fills you with pain.

"Why are you saying it until now?" you whisper with your voice broken and your gaze lowered.

"Y/N, please-

You don't let him say anything else, as with a lump in your throat and tears streaming down your cheeks, a sight Aemond doesn't like to see, you turn away from him more quickly and walk out of the library, leaving him alone with the weight of these confessions and unspoken words.

Also with a heart full of regret.

The news of your courtship came weeks after the last time you spoke to Aemond in the library.

You definitely did not expect to hear that at all, as you felt like you had been unexpectedly punched hard in your stomach and a sharp pain settled in your chest as your father spoke complacently about how he received two advantageous offers for the asking of your hand, Lord Ronan Redwyne and Lord Alan Beesbury.

Despite your father's efforts to express the importance and political benefits of such possible unions, to you it was as if the air itself had become heavier and stifling.

Only on this occasion the Gods had been good to you, as both men are the same age as you, so the fear of having to marry a man who multiplies your age and was surely going to be bad to you evaporates.

But still, you feel trapped and obligated.

Of course, your parents are quick to push you to start having conversations with both men to see which of the two is the most suitable for you.

Lord Alan, with his refined presence and gentle smile, known to be a skilled knight, is kind and very gentlemanly. You always see his attempt to make you feel comfortable with his presence, also in the topics of conversation that arise between the two, telling you about his home, his family, some stories and sharing some wishes with you.

You appreciate that, as you can tell he's doing his best, but even so, your mind reels at the thought of him being the possible candidate to take your hand, which adds another layer of complexity to your situation.

The same goes for Lord Ronan.

Despite his kindness, chivalry and the attractiveness of his face, you find no peace in the situation. You don't even care that they are both advantageous for a future marriage, all you want is freedom, to wait a little longer until you heal.

But at least you are being given the choice, a privilege not many women get from their parents when it comes time to marry and simply sell them as a trophy to the first advantageous man.

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think, my Lady?" says Ronan, breaking the silence between the two as you stroll through the Red Keep gardens.

"Yes, it is," you reply with a forced smile, lowering your gaze, keeping your pace slow.

He watches you intently.

"I just want you to know that I am eager to get to know you better, my Lady," he tells you gently and formally, "And any questions you have about me, you can tell me. Also any thoughts you have, I will be pleased to hear them."

You nod politely, feeling a little uncomfortable about the situation, unable to help yourself. And though you truly appreciate Ronan's kindness, your heart still yearns for something that now eludes you.

As you continue the walk, you strive to find something in Ronan, anything, just as you do whenever you are in Lord Alan's company, but you always fail. And even though neither of them is a bad man, you know that they too are caught up in choosing a future wife that is not entirely of their choosing.

"I thank you for your kindness, my Lord."

You say in a sincere voice, looking him in the eyes for the first time since you had started the walk,

"And also for your interest. Not many men are interested in the thoughts of women these days."

Ronan places a kind and understanding little smile on his lips, nodding in your direction.

"There is nothing to be thankful for, my Lady. And I know it's only a short time since we've begun to know each other, but I enjoy your company."

You nod again, keeping your gaze straight ahead, unable to help but feel how you still feel overwhelmed by the weight of courtship and the fact that you will soon marry him or Lord Alan.

And at the same time, reality dawns on you with undeniable clarity: Ronan and Alan are good men, but neither is him.

While both may be honorable companions, your heart still yearns for someone you can't have, feeling utterly sad and resigned, because it's not fair, not to the two of them either.

But how can you make those feelings go away fast?

And just when things couldn't be more unexpected for you, as you turn down one of the bush paths along with Ronan, you both find yourselves face to face with Aemond accompanied by Lady Floris at his side, who were walking in the opposite direction.

And the air is enveloped with immediate tension.

You knew that eventually the news of your courtship with two possible candidates to give your hand in marriage would reach Aemond's ears, but when your eyes involuntarily meet his, you see only dissatisfaction and restrained fury.

This triggers a whirlwind of emotions within you, trying to disguise your surprise and discomfort, also nerves, as well as you try to focus on your companion, trying to move on and appear unaffected by this.

"Lady Y/N," Lady Floris greets politely with a smile, breaking the silence, "Lord Ronan," she address him, "How lovely to see you both this morning."

"Lady Floris," you reply, trying to remain calm, then look almost fearfully at Aemond, "Prince Aemond," you tilt your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek.

"My Lady," he answers you in a soft tone.

Ronan at your side also greets Lady Floris in a respectful manner, then turns to Aemond.

"My prince."

"Lord Ronan," says Aemond, in a dismissive tone, observing you attentively and at the same time in seriousness.

Aemond's tone does not go unnoticed by you, with an intensity on his face that does not go unnoticed either, as you struggle to remain calm in the face of the uncomfortable situation.

It is clear that Ronan's presence at your side does not please him at all.

As Lady Floris at his side, she attempts to carry on a polite conversation, oblivious to the tension that has taken over the moment.

"I would like to offer my best wishes to you both on your courtship," Lady Floris begins to say kindly, "Fortunately the prince and I are in the same place as you and understand what it can be to have expectations high in families if you decide to join your houses."

You feel more the knot in your stomach and the discomfort all over your body, not daring to say anything regarding that, while Aemond remains just as silent as you.

And fortunately Ronan is the one who appreciates Floris' gesture, while Aemond keeps his eye on you with an expressionless but penetrating gaze, also watching Ronan from time to time.

"Thank you, my Lady," Ronan replies courteously, "Your words are most kind and we wish you both well in your future marriage."

"Of course. We hope to see you both at our upcoming wedding," Floris adds with a kind and visibly excited smile, while you again feel your heart give a painful jump.

And since you say nothing, nor does Aemond, Ronan hastens to speak.

"Of course, my Lady. We will see you there."

With pain in your eyes, your gaze involuntarily drifts to Aemond for a brief moment, where he is already watching you. And in that fleeting moment, the looks in both of your eyes convey more than words can express.

With a polite bow, the four of you take your leave and each pair continues on their own way.

You try to focus on your steps along with Ronan's, but the echo of tension and unspoken feelings leave an unpleasant sensation throughout your body. And that's when you hope that soon, both you and he will find peace in your respective futures.

But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Neither did acceptance.

Aemond continued the rest of his walk with Floris in the gardens with his mind still focused on the encounter with you and that boy clearly unworthy of you. He didn't even pay attention to what Floris was talking about, he had not the slightest interest and obliged, he had to complete his walk with her contributing very little to the conversation.

Even he himself could not avoid the feeling of suffocation and frustration that invaded him. Seeing Y/N, his Y/N, next to that poor boy, one of his possible candidates to take her hand in marriage, provoked a mixture of indescribable emotions inside him and he made a great effort to keep his composure.

He feels furious and emotionally on the verge of exploding, like a mad man, with impotence filling him with rage.

Why should she marry a man who was not him? Why should he be forced to witness her courtship with another man? Why couldn't he have realized that she also loves him the same way he loves her and reacted sooner?

He felt that he was really going to go crazy, so as soon as he bids farewell to Floris and leaves her in the company of the other ladies of the Court, he heads for the training yard.

Big mistake.

As soon as his presence arrives at this place of the Red Keep, the figure of Lord Ronan pulls him out of his thoughts and draws his full attention.

At least he has the decency to hold a sword.

He thinks to himself, watching as he finds himself engrossed in his own training, accompanied by other knights, practicing his sword moves. He also thinks about focusing on his own training, but finds it a better idea to meet the candidate of his dear friend Y/N, wanting to know what truly awaits her.

After all, Lord Ronan is not the only candidate, Lord Alan also frequents the training yard and will eventually see him as well. So with a determined step, he approaches him.

"Lord Ronan," he says in a cool but controlled tone as he approaches, heading towards the weapons table.

"Prince Aemond," Ronan replies, stopping his training and turning to him, "It is good to see you here as well, my prince."

His gaze assesses Ronan closely, noting his every gesture and movement. And despite the anger still flowing through his veins, he remains calm, not revealing too much of his thoughts.

"I guess you don't train enough at home. House Redwyne is best known for making sweet wine from the grapes that grow on your island," he comments neutrally, watching Ronan's position with meticulous attention.

"Ah... no, my prince," Ronan says politely, "I have had training lessons with the sword, among other weapons, since I was a young boy. So have other members of my family and I assure you we are well trained," he replies, adjusting the position of his sword, "After all, a knight must remain prepared at all times."

"Hm," he says seriously, "And that is what you have accomplished with so many years of training?"

Ronan remains calm in the face of the prince's critical gaze, though Aemond's insinuation resonates with a defiant tone.

"P-pardon me?"

"With those moves is that how you're going to ensure protection for your future wife?" he inquires with a dismissive tone, challenging Ronan with his words.

Tension begins to be felt in the air, the verbal confrontation slipping between the two men. And though Ronan maintains his composure, not wanting his words to affect him, the disdain in the prince's words does not go unnoticed.

"Appearances can be deceiving, my prince," Ronan said calmly, controlling each word to convey determination, "And my duty as protector of my future wife is not limited to combat alone. I suppose there are more important aspects."

Aemond tilts his head, watching him in confusion.

"And what aspects are those, my Lord?" he asks, clearly disinterested.

"Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice," he replied determinedly. "Protection goes beyond sword skills; it involves being willing to give your all for the person you are sworn to protect."

Ronan's words echoed in the air, filling the space between them with a seriousness that could not be ignored. And Aemond, his brow furrowed, lets out a sigh and watches him more seriously than before.

"Do you hear yourself, my lord? Speaking like the ladies of the Court who read and listen to love ballads," he snaps, watching him in disapproval, "Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice are not going to protect your future wife from a life-threatening attack," he says and then turns away, taking his sword and a shield from the table.

Ronan swallows hard.

"You need not worry, my prince. Still I assure you that I am well prepared for combat."

"Oh yeah?" he looks at him expectantly, turning to him with his weapons in hands, "Then prove it."

Ronan looks a little confused.

"My prince-

"Come on," he interrupts him, egging him on with defiance, discontent and agitation in his tone and look, "If you're as skillful as you proclaim, then prove it."

The atmosphere grows more tense, as Aemond waits for Ronan to accept his challenge and prove his worth beyond words. Both men hold each other's gazes firmly, with the tension increasing by the second, but neither takes a step back.

The confrontation becomes tangible. Glares charged with a subtle but unmistakable rivalry. And without further words, the air filled with the anticipation of the physical training ahead, as the two head to the center of the training yard, each preparing in their own way.

Aemond tightens his grip on his sword and without hesitation, lunges towards Ronan with fierce determination, causing the poor knight to have little anticipation to protect himself from his sword, but managing to dodge it and answer him in kind.

At first it appears to be casual training, yet Aemond wants to get a reaction out of him.

And between every clash of swords and every move full of speed and precision, at every failure of Ronan, Aemond taunts and shouts questions and insults at him in a defiant voice while demanding superior performance.

And at every failure and every taunt, Ronan's determination grows, also inevitably to the prince's provocations.

"Is that all you can do!?"

Aemond exclaims arrogantly to him, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to unsettle him.

Ronan growls and focuses on his movements, responding with brutality and force, trying to answer every blow he threw at him, which to Aemond, couldn't be more pathetic and weak movements.

"This is what you plan to defend yourself with? This is what you have learned?" he inquires, mockingly, "What a shame."

Ronan lowers his sword a little, watching him in bewilderment and panting in exhaustion.

"My prince-

He tries to say but Aemond won't let him.

"No," he tells him seriously, "Be a fucking man and fight me back."

Aemond raises his sword again and slams it against his, causing him to lose his balance, while Ronan as best he can defends himself from their attacks, while the combat begins to attract the attention of the other knights and some people of the Court.

And only when Aemond sees that they have just started and he can no longer stand and does not even have more strength in his arms, the confrontation went from a simple duel to a battle without mercy.

And he in a fit of anger and frustration, leads to hit him with his foot in the chest with excessive force, making him gasp in pain and throwing him to the ground, and then walk quickly towards him, with purpose, raising his sword, so Ronan quickly tries to get up, raising his sword, blocking his attack.

Then Aemond's sword dangerously grazes Ronan's shoulder, knocking him back to the ground with a blow to his side.

"My prince-

"You yield!?" he exclaims to him in his madness, bringing the point of his sword to his throat.

"Yes! I yield!"

"Just like that!? So easy!?"

"Prince Aemond!"

He hears someone shout in the distance but he focuses entirely on Ronan below him.

"I yield!"

"He's bleeding!"

"My prince!" comes Criston Cole immediately.

And only at that moment does Aemond stop, breathing shakily, his gaze with barely contained fury. And only at that moment he also notices that Ronan has a wound on his shoulder with which he had brushed his sword earlier, not realizing at the time that he had wounded him.

Ronan presses his free hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, watching him in horror and clearly calling for help.

Aemond squeezes his sword again so hard that it marks his white knuckles, watching everyone around him for a moment, then with a hard stare, turning to him again, angling his body so that only he can hear him.

"You are not worthy of her," he whispers in a low voice, his words laden with disdain and resentment.

And without caring about the stares or even her opponent's injury, he leaves the shield on the ground and with his sword in hand heads towards the interior of the Red Keep's castle.

Aemond knew that eventually what happened at the training yard would reach your ears. He also expected a confrontation about it, but he didn't imagine he would face your fury late at night.

His guards are required to stand guard in different hallways, so taking advantage of the fact that there are none in the hallway by his doors, you quickly make your way there to enter his chamber as fast as your body will allow.

He looks up from his book in his lap, sitting near the fireplace, watching you attentively at once, but before he can say anything, you turn to him with your lips pressed together and annoyance in your eyes.

"Have you lost your mind?" you inquire in a serious and demanding tone, looking for explanations.

And just like you, Aemond isn't having your attitude either. He's annoyed to see how you haven't taken any time at all to come to the defense of that stupid, poor, defenseless boy.

Putting his book aside, he stands up, imposing his presence on you. Despite having to raise your face to face him directly, you don't let his posture intimidate you.

"I see that that... Ronan matters too much to you, my Lady," he says in a dismissive tone, "It took you no time at all to fall for his sure sweet words and promises of love. After all, you and he are very much alike."

You inhale deeply before responding, seeking calm despite his attitude and the tone of his words.

"Ronan and I are getting to know each other, nothing more. Just as you are getting to know Floris Baratheon. But I'm not doing anything against you, yours is for sure, she's going to be your wife. But you can't go hurting and almost killing the men who can be my future husband."

He looks away from yours for a moment, irritated.

"I don't know what you expected, honestly," he tells you seriously and indifferently, "That's what happens in combat when we fight with weapons, Y/N, men get hurt. And if Ronan is weak and wasn't taught well, that's not my problem."

You stand your ground, incredulous to hear his words.

"That doesn't justify what you did. Everyone witnessed how the combat began and it was you who unfairly exploded against him, hurting him," you reproach him with determination. "His wound was deep. He needed eight stitches!"

Aemond, sick of this, averts his gaze from yours and turns his back on you, heading towards his table to pour himself a glass of wine under your confused and incredulous gaze.

"I don't understand why you're so worried, he'll be fine. After all, you still have another possible candidate for your hand, I hear," he says in a tone devoid of emotion, laden with bitterness, "Though I doubt he's much stronger than Ronan."

His voice sounds harsh, his words laden with a bitter resentment that he can barely hide, jealous.

"So this is how things will be?"

You ask him earnestly and sadly, fighting back tears that threaten to escape at any moment.

"You'll go around hurting my suitors until there are none left and I have no chance of marrying anyone else but not you either?"

Tension hangs in the air as you wait for his response, feeling the weight of your words and the clash of emotions between the two of you.

And he remains silent, staring out the window with a hard stare, as if not looking for an answer through the glass, turning his back to you and not daring to look at you at that moment.

Finally the first tear rolls down your cheek and Aemond listens as you gently sniffle your nose, then turns to you, his face showing a mixture of emotions, from hardness to the flash of regret and longing.

And he lets out a defeated sigh.

"That's not what this is about, Y/N," he murmurs in a softer tone, his expression revealing his inner struggle, "They're not worthy of you. Your father is choosing wrong."

And that's when you explode with anger and frustration, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"I just don't understand why you care so much, Aemond!" you exclaim without understanding, "You shouldn't see them as a threat because they are not. You have nothing to do here!"

You face him, as your tears fall silently, with a defiant look and your posture firm, though full of sadness, anguish and confusion, inside and outside. And he too responds to you in kind.

"Of course I do!" he turns to you angrily, exclaiming in his fury, "This does concern me because those fucking men and your father are going to take you away from me! And they have no right!"

And again your emotions boil over, fury and pain getting the best of you.

"Do you even listen to yourself? How irrational you are being?" you inquire, not understanding, "You didn't even do anything in the beginning, you are the prince, the one who had the power to do something about it and you never even once asked for my hand!" you shout at him, your voice full of reproach, sadness and disappointment.

Furious, Aemond turns around and in a burst of anger, throws his hand towards the table, causing the wine jar and the cups to fall to the floor with a deafening clatter. The sudden sound makes you jump and recoil, startled by the noise and force of the act.

He turns his back and heads for the back of his chair, leaning hard against it as he tries to contain his fury. With her breathing rapid and agitated he struggles to regain his composure, his body tensing and closing his eye tightly.

The air becomes tense and the silence uncomfortable, as Aemond fights against himself and you just allow yourself to cry silently.

When he speaks again, with a tinge of bitterness in his gaze, still not turning to look at you and his voice soft but laden with resignation, still holding back his fury.

"I wanted to," he confesses to you, his vulnerability visible, "But my mother and grandsire would never have approved, you know that."

His statement leaves you speechless, with a mixture of sadness and disappointment that he didn't even try, not once and yet...he has the nerve to do this to you.

You remain silent and the disappointment and bitterness reflect even more on your face as the tears run their course, to finally gather your courage and speak.

"Then... let me go," you whisper, it being more of a painful plea than a command.

Silence expands in the room, marking every second with the heaviness of unresolved emotions. And you, overwhelmed with disappointment and pain, understand that you have nothing more to do here and turn to leave.

You don't even care if one of the guards sees you coming out of his chamber, you don't even care if rumors arise seeing you here late at night and everything gets too complicated, you just need to get out of here soon.

And with tears still running down your cheeks and being completely heartbroken, you grab the doorknob. But just as you are about to turn it, his firm and determined hand lands on your waist and turns you towards him, stopping you.

The action takes you by surprise and you look at him without understanding, he doesn't give you time to say anything either as he places one hand on your cheek and the other keeps it firmly on your waist, bringing his body close to yours.

And still without reacting, he moves closer, his warm breath brushing against your face.

"I can't," he murmurs, his voice cracking with anguish, laden with longing and regret, "I can't," he repeats in a whisper, gently caressing your cheek, "I'm sorry."

And just then, without a thought for anyone else and without a care in the world, his lips trap yours in a passionate, desperate kiss.

Paralyzed, surprise takes you completely and you can only feel how every movement of his lips is a mixture of apology and desire, asking you to kiss him back.

His arms wrap firmly around you, clinging to you as if he's going to lose you at any moment. And unable to resist a second longer, with his soft lips and warm mouth on top of yours, he makes the world fade away around you in that instant and you kiss him back.

You place your arms around his neck and cling to him completely, moving your lips in sync with his, as he presses your body against his and lets out a gasp at the wonderful feeling of having you this way with him.

And you feel as if you are floating, this being exactly what you had dreamed and prayed for so much, wishing and praying to the Gods that this is not also one of your cruel dreams.

But this is real. It is finally happening.

So you allow yourself to lose yourself completely in it, not thinking about the consequences and not caring about anything else, as Aemond walks you around without stopping kissing you for a single moment, until his feet touch the edge of his bed.

"I love you. I love you so much, my sweet girl."

He whispers into your lips, watching you with all that love and desire in his gaze, noticing your swollen and parted lips, watching him back with the same intensity and completely surprised to hear his words.

And without saying anything back, with the actions speaking for themselves, you kiss him again, feeling that urge to cry, but of happiness.

Aemond falls down sitting on the edge of his bed and you take a seat on his lap, placing your knees on either side of his hips, clinging to his neck and kissing him slow, deep, making you feel everything.

"I love you too," you murmur against his lips, watching him with nothing but affection and desire.

He kisses you again desperately, feeling something warm in his chest at your words, holding your waist with one of his hands and the other beginning to lift the edges of your skirt, making his way to touch your bare thigh.

You gasp into his lips, feeling his warm hand and the cool metal of his rings, only to tilt your head as he begins to leave soft, wet kisses down your neck, trying to find your sensitive spot to make you shiver.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, leaving a kiss on your collarbone, lifting his gaze to you.

"A-aemond," you gasp, feeling the hardness beneath you.

You reach up with one of your hands and remove his eye patch, wanting to see everything about him, instantly reflecting the faint light of his blue sapphire, looking so beautiful and dazzling.

You smile softly at the sight of him, then leave a soft kiss on his cheek, beginning to leave a small trail down his face to kiss him on the lips, as his hand on your thigh makes gentle, firm strokes on your skin.

Slowly, he lifts his hand from your waist to the laces of your dress, watching you attentively afterwards and needing first of all your permission. And you help him untie the knots yourself.

Your front of the dress loosens and revealing your white gown underneath, Aemond lifts one of his hands and gently traces your skin between the valley of your breasts, making you shudder and shiver, then stops at the straps, watching you again.

"May I?"

With the blush on your cheeks and the nerves in your lower abdomen, really wanting to do this, you nod.

"Yes."

His hand slowly slides the strap down your shoulder and arm, then exposes your breasts to him, making you feel more nervous, but you feel completely safe to be doing this with him.

Truly everything that happens next, giving him your mainhead and letting his calloused hands explore all over your naked body, is by choice and you think to yourself that if there is one man you would willingly trust with this, it's him.

And just as the tip of his hot, hard, heavy cock makes its way between your walls, he knows exactly how to comfort you and make you feel comfortable. Instantly blood stains his sheets, but he doesn't care at all.

And when he begins to move inside you, slowly and very carefully, waiting for you to get used to it, he wipes away every tear that escapes your eyes and comforts you with his hands and kisses, making sure that at all times you are well.

"You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight, my love."

And despite his obscene words, his actions are anything but, his movements careful and careful not to hurt you, asking you how you feel.

He kisses you sweetly and caresses your breasts, he makes sure to pleasure you too, as he understands that this is not just about him and the act is not just about fucking, but him making love to you.

He growls into your lips and you gasp as he begins to move with more purpose inside you, feeling the sweat all over your body and forehead, clinging to his shoulders and gently digging your nails into his skin also lightly illuminated by sweat.

"Do you have any idea how long I imagine this?" he whispers against your lips, moving his hips and pounding that sweet spot inside you, making you moan beneath him.

But he quiets your moans with his lips, not wanting anyone out there to hear you, it would be too risky.

"Aemond," you say his name in a moan, biting your lips.

"What's wrong, my sweet girl? Does it hurt?" he says to start moving more gently.

"N-no. It just... feels so good," you manage to say over the sensual movement of his hips that make you see stars behind your eyes.

The act doesn't last long and very soon Aemond makes you reach your highest point, making you experience a sensation you had no idea about all over your body and he also spills all his seed inside you, grunting and moaning from the pleasure as he feels your walls squeezing him deliciously.

And then, both of you sweaty and trying to catch your breath, you embrace and take a moment in his bed.

You feel a tingle between your legs that is more than gratifying and Aemond, for the first time in a long time, feels at peace and completely at ease, especially having you in his arms at this moment.

There was no time for regrets and worries, it was all done. So the two of you dive into that little world where only the two of you exist.

But even though you didn't want to think about it, you think about the future, with uncertainty beginning to invade you, as you inhale Aemond's scent, hiding your face between his neck and chest, embracing him as he encloses you in his arms and gently caresses your bare shoulder with his thumb, listening to his soft breathing above you.

You let out a sigh, close your eyes and wish you could stay like this forever, starting to feel your eyes water and that huge worry in your chest for what you just did.

When Aemond speaks.

"In the morrow I will talk to your father and ask for your hand."

He says in a soft voice and everything in you comes to a complete standstill, listening to him attentively.

"I'm sure he won't be able to resist my proposal. No one will be able to stop us when they know I have claimed your mainhead, not even my mother and grandsire. And then... we will have our Valyrian wedding and there will be no turning back," he murmurs and then places a soft smile on his lips, "You will be mine, as much as you already are now."

You feel him leave a soft kiss in your hair and you smile softly, moving closer towards him, if possible.

"Sounds like an excellent plan, my love," you whisper, grateful.

And finally you can be at peace now.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond one shot #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen angst

933 notes · View notes

dr3c0mix · 1 year

Note

I need more jock x reader with reader having a big attitude and shows big disinterest in Brandon🥰

Jock x Gn Reader pt. 3

there was also an anon who requested reader topping Brandon so ill add it in as well :3

🏈 You've been tutoring Brandon for a few weeks now. Even after he passed that english test, he insisted you'd tutor him even in other subjects.

🏈 Of course you didn't care because you never wanted to tutor him in the first place.

🏈 No matter how clear your explanations are, he never got it until an hour of guiding him step by step, it was terribly draining to you and the alone time you were supposed to spend instead of teaching a dumb jock like him what 2+2 was.

🏈 Despite you thinking he's all muscle and no brains, Brandon's pretty smart, he gotta keep his grades up for football somehow, but the more time he spent playing dumb, the more time he spent with you, zoning out of your cute face that gets upset when you notice him staring at you googly-eyed, snapping your fingers at him to wake him up.

🏈 He won't say it out loud, but he relished the thought of your annoyed face, it awoken a part of him that he didn't even know existed.

🏈 Brandon would spot you amongst the crowd during break periods and if he tried to tease you or mess with you, you'd give him a sharp glare, sometimes grabbing his wrist or arm to stop him from wrapping an arm around you or playing with your hair.

🏈 It aroused encouraged him honestly.

🏈 His friends would notice him talking and hanging out with you more often and would ask him about you, Brandon confessing his slight big crush on you.

🏈 They'd coach him, telling him sweet poems to write, pickup lines, gifts, gestures to make you notice him, even his friends' girlfriends would tell him things they felt would work with you.

🏈 He had a few tricks he used on girls to get with them, but they never worked with you, so he might as well try.

🏈 He'd try to impress you, lifting weights, working out, all to get your attention. A compliment, a glance, even a scoff over how much he's trying, please notice him!!!

🏈 You rarely did, but whenever you do, you'd go out of your way to push him off his high horse, lunches bought for you were repaid with you teasingly treating him to food, even feeding him which flustered him to no end.

🏈 Cheesy flirts were deflected towards him whenever you gave him little touches and the like. You made him feel so small, so inferior...he loved it.

🏈 You'd walk in the room, and he'd be in a strange pose looking at you come in, his head resting in his hand as he spread himself on your couch.

🏈 "Is it just me or did it just get hotter in here?"

🏈 But you paid no mind, in fact, you leaned over him, your hands supporting you on both sides of him evidently trapping him as his face goes red by you glaring at him. "Uh-uhm...wow, now it's actually getting hot in here..whew!"

🏈 You hated it, but his little moves started growing in you, eventually earning smiles and giggles from you as you hid your face from him, but you always scoffed and shoved him away afterwards.

🏈 But that changed when you heard from one of your friends that he turned down a girl who wanted to sleep with him. He'd never do that! Unless he already has someone in mind...oh no..

🏈 You tried your best to avoid him that day but of course he found you, he was about to spew out another pickup line when you grabbed him by his letterman jacket's collar and slammed him into the lockers, pinning him.

🏈 You asked if all along his flirting and gifts were all a ploy to get you to fuck him through seething teeth.

🏈 His sweat dropped as you pinned him, his face getting redder by the second.

🏈 He gets shy all of a sudden, looking down like a sad puppy, pulling at your heart. You sigh as you let go of him, walking away from him.

🏈 "One chance, my house." You say as you leave him there with his hand on the parts of his neck that got red from you grabbing his collar.

🏈 When he saw you leave, he pumped his fists in the air and ran to tell his friends you asked him out.

🏈 He drove to your house in the best clothes he had without making him seem desperate. He knocked on the door and you let him in. He's been to your house many times but never because of another reason than tutoring, this seemed more intimate to him somehow.

🏈 You sat him down and you two talked, if he really liked you, if he really wanted to be with you, if he really liked you not just for a one-night stand.

🏈 "Y-you really thought that?...Sorry it's just- I'm not good at this...actual relationships I mean..I know it sounds bad but-...yeah it is..but I really like you (Y/N)! You're smart and funny and awesome! and really cute..."

🏈 You never saw him so genuine, something in the way he sat so curtly, avoiding eye-contact with you, you knew he wasn't lying.

🏈 Your glare softened and a smile starts appearing on your face. You scoot nearer to him to ruffle his hair before pulling his head towards you for a kiss.

🏈 He melted into the kiss, putting a hand on your cheek, deepening the kiss.

🏈 You suddenly grab a chuck of his hair, pulling his head back. "If I find out this is all a joke, your ass is grass you hear me?"

🏈 b o n e r

3K notes · View notes

vourequat · 17 days

Text

DADDY, I LOVE YOU!

WARNING: Boothill backstory, daughter is alive!, headcanon of Dad!Boothill, fluff/angst, parent!reader.

Inspired by multiple Tiktoks that have plagued my for you page and has left me scarred for days.

Boothill and you had tried to have a baby ever since you first sealed the deal with the rings that now decorated your ring fingers, it may have been very sad for the both of you with the possibility that you'll never have kids but always reminded you that you were enough.

You and him lived a very peaceful life with you and your farm, it had been fun with your never ending honey moon phase.

You told yourself how lucky you were to be able to manage to convince a man like Boothill to marry you and make you his partner, everyday, you enjoyed watching him till the soil as you watched from afar whilst feeding your farm animals.

It was a beautiful life, until...

"Sugarcube, come see this quick!" You heard Boothill yell from the corn field, you ran as quickly as you could in fear that your husband might be injured but when you reached where he was all you saw was his back turned to you while he seemed to hold something in his hands.

"Love, what's wrong?" You began to question.

That's when he turned around, you gasped.

The most beautiful girl was in his hands, draped in a red cloth as she cooed at your husband.

It was so sad to look at knowing that this baby was most likely abandoned but this was a chance given by the aeons— to finally be parents.

You two cared for the little girl as if she was your very own, you two watched as the little grew so fast. She grew to be a daddy's girl, you had to admit that you were jealous at times but you understand that Boothill wanted this parenthood as much as you did.

Life on the farm with your husband and beloved daughter was like a dream, a dream you never ever wanted to wake up from.

"You guys stay here, a'right?" Boothill was stressed and exasperated, he didn't know why but meteors kept raining and sought havoc amongst the planet.

He couldn't think of anything else but to just do everything for you and your daughter to survive whatever this is.

He ran out with his steed to look for more survivors and possibly answers for this phenomenon, along the way, he found food and other necessities that you can live off for a while.

One of the meteors landed nearby which almost knocked him off of his horse but he managed to keep his balance, curious, he approached the meteor and was shocked at this revelation.

His horse was galloping for its life as he wanted to go back to you and your daughter, you two were probably so scared, his eyes watered at the thought as he kept trying to go beyond natural human speed just to get to you.

Once he arrived, he immediately went inside and snatched the two of you to get going and leave the house.

"What's wrong?" You asked as he mounted you onto his horse, your daughter in your arms before he mounted the horse himself.

"They're not meteors... they're fucking time bombs!" He stressed out, immediately guiding the stallion to get going.

As you were trying to leave however, a large debris landed in front of you that almost reached you all and could've killed you.

It made your heart drop.

The once beautiful planet you had both lived in your entire life was now being torn apart for a reason you don't even know why.

"Boothill..." You were crying, holding onto his arms as you tried to escape the inevitable.

He held your hand back to comfort you, he hated seeing you cry, he would hate himself if you didn't survive this catastrophe.

You soon arrive at a desolate land, the houses that once stood were now burning and turned into nothing into ashes.

"Daddy..." A small hand held onto his jacket that stopped him from doing anything.

He looked at you and at your daughter, clad in the same red cloth you both found her in when you first saw her in your corn field all alone, he tried to smile to hide his fear, he needed to be strong for his baby girl.

"I love you..." The girl uttered, trying to reach her father's eyes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He just broke down immediately, hugging the two of you as he showered you in kisses as he repeated ‘I love yous’ after every kiss.

His eyes opened and saw one of those meteor bombs hurling towards them, you saw it too but it was all too late as it was getting so close. Boothill hugged the two of you once more, his back to the thing that was about to kill you as your bodies protected your little girl for the very last time.

"I love you, Boothill."

Those memories still felt fresh to him as tried to keep himself from crying when he was told that they will be visiting his planet after years, he had lost his body to the explosion but his head somehow managed to survive which gave way to his chance for another life in a robotic body.

But he hated this.

He hated a life without you, a life without your beloved girl.

His planet looked newer now, there were still traces of the tragedy but the people who managed to survive were now getting onto their feet to start anew.

As his others went to gather intel and try to see if there's anything they could help with, his feet unconsciously brought him to what was once your home.

It was weathered and burned down by whatever landed on it, he went inside and looked for something, just anything for aeon's sake.

There, he found a picture that stood mighty amidst the tragedy. A family picture of you and your daughter, you all looked so happy.

He laughed at the memory of that picture, you were all trying to have a decent photoshoot but then your daughter decided to lick your cheek and then went to bite her father's hand. She was a wild child, a wild child he dreamt of seeing to grow up.

"Boothill..." Acheron came in, just handing over some worn cloth to him.

When he received it, she just left.

He was a bit confused but decided to study the cloth, there was a small tag— the same tag on the cloth that he found his little girl in. Inside the cloth was a hairpin, the same hairpin he gifted you on your first wedding anniversary.

He didn't know how, but he felt something inside him shatter.

His two girls. Gone just like that.

He began to break down like before, holding the two pieces that were all left of the two of you close to where his heart once was.

Every night, those bitter sweet memories haunted him in the nights where he sought for peace.

The way he can never seem to forget how you looked at him with such love and... your daughter's very last words to him that echoes throughout his head.

He missed you so dang much, if he could bring back time he'd do so but there was not much he could do other than to respect and spread your memory.

He missed being your husband, he missed being a dad to your beautiful girl.

A/N: Do not ask me how the cloth or the hairpin survived a double homicide (impact by meteor bomb and the explosion of the bomb) because I am not a carcass expert, I just like to add more angst.

(eyes wet and heavy from crying to Tiktoks of Boothil and his daughter. Fuck the IPC)

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai sr #HSR #honkai fanfic #honkai angst #boothill #boothill x reader #HSR x reader #angst

193 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months

Text

Take Me Home - Part 2

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.

AN: Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments on Part 1! I know many of you have questions, and I promise, all will be revealed in due time…

(Also, what do you guys think of new chapters releasing on Wednesdays and Sundays instead of just Fridays? A week is a long time, isn't it? 😂)

Song Inspo: “City Grown Willow” by Radio Company

Word Count: 5,200

Tags/Warnings: Tension, hurt/comfort, major angst, and more comfort of a different sort.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay

Tensions were running high at Sunny Day Excursions.

Over the next few days, Mary continued to press the issue of you staying in Montana with little passive aggressive comments that got on your damn nerves. You proverbially dug your heels in, and became even more stubborn and taciturn as a result.

Unstoppable force meets immovable object.

However, the entire camp was shaken the night Paige and Luke disappeared on a hike. Buck and Sunny assured everyone that they were doing their best to look for the couple, but come the morning, it was Emily who accidentally found Luke in the woods, bleeding from a head wound, and without Paige.

He claimed that they’d gone their separate ways after a fight, and he hadn’t seen her since. Paige’s suitcase and things were gone from her tent, so Sunny could only assume that she’d found her way back to camp and left for home by morning.

“Look, no one’s a prisoner here,” Sunny had said. “If Paige wanted to go home, then that’s up to her.”

There was still something off about it though, you felt. Emily seemed to share your thoughts; you’d heard her whispering with Avery, and Dan, another camper in his early 40s.

You started to watch Luke a bit harder from then on. As did your friend Mary, if for different reasons.

It was still early in the morning when you caught her flirting with Luke in front of your shared tent.

“A personal trainer, huh?” said Luke. His gaze flit over Mary’s form, and she allowed it with a smile. “You know, I’ve got a pretty good workout routine, but I’ll bet you can give me some tips—”

“Drink lots of water,” you said dryly as you approached the tent. You carried your sketchpad and acrylic paints in your hand, and you pushed into the tent without giving Luke and Mary more than a glance.

You heard Mary’s voice outside the tent, all girlish and flirtatious as she apologized about you, and suggested they could keep talking later. Luke readily agreed. You sat down on the edge of your bed and watched his silhouette walk away from the tent.

Mary soon joined you inside, and she didn’t look pleased. She stared down at you and crossed her arms.

“Are you kidding me with that shit?” you asked, gesturing at the scene you just saw.

“Could you be any more of a cockblock?” Mary shot back.

“Number one, that guy is a little too young for you, Cougar Town,” you reminded her. Luke had to be in his early 20s. It had been a hot minute since you and Mary were of college age. “Number two, he came here with his girlfriend, who he somehow lost in the woods.”

“She left him,” Mary said. “All alone in the middle of nowhere. Then she took off and went home so she didn’t have to deal with what she did. I feel bad for him.”

“No, you’re horny for him. There’s a difference,” you said flatly.

You loved Mary like a sister, but she had the tendency to let guys blind her to good sense. (Ha. Pot calling the kettle black, came your self-deprecation.)

Though you could’ve predicted the way she huffed and walked away, once again leaving you alone. You sighed.

Wasn’t this vacation for us? you wondered.

Mary continued to bait Luke with coy flirtation, while you tried and failed to ride a horse again. Cormack had been kind and encouraging in trying to help you onto the creature, but once you were on its back, you were too afraid to let the horse move.

You felt like you were going to topple off at any moment, even with Beau Arlen’s advice. (Which still made you blush whenever you thought about it.)

So Cormack helped you down, and you went back to the mess tent for a mid-afternoon snack to make you feel better: a giant jelly donut.

You were really getting frustrated with yourself now.

“It’s not so hard,” Emily had said. You could imagine that her dad, the cowboy sheriff, had put her on a horse from the time she was a little kid. You were a city girl, through and through. The closest you’d ever gotten to riding a horse was a plastic one—a carousel at a carnival when you were six.

While you finished off your donut, you realized that you’d spent the whole day alone. As frustrated as you were with Mary, she was your best friend. And after this week, you would be staying and she would be going back to Chicago. You didn’t know when you would get to see her again.

So with a sigh, you wiped your hands free of donut icing and went to try and find her.

You started with the tent you shared with her. “Hey, Mary? Look I—”

You gasped when, upon entering the tent, you got your eyes seared. Mary and Luke were tangled together under the sheets. He moved off of your friend and rolled onto his back next to her when you came in. Mary uttered your name in shock. Everyone was shocked, really.

You were that, and angry.

“Really?! In our goddamn bed?” you shouted. Your gaze focused on Luke, and you pointed at him. “Get the hell out of here.”

He hesitated slightly, glancing at Mary, but your furious look scared him more. He grabbed his boxers and got dressed under the sheets before he left the bed, and then fled the tent, giving you a wide berth on his way out.

You then focused on Mary, who somehow looked both contrite and irritated at being interrupted. She said your name in a placating way, but you shook your head.

“No. No. Don’t even try,” you said. “That guy’s girlfriend left him in the middle of a vacation! What does that tell you? Please, screw me?”

“You know what?” Mary snapped. She sat up in the bed, making sure to cover herself with the sheet. She leaned over to grab her clothes from the floor and started hastily getting dressed.

“Luke’s actually a nice guy," she said. "You used to know how to have fun. But now you’ve just become this bitter person who can’t relax or let yourself be happy, let alone anyone else.”

That actually struck you—like a physical blow to your chest. You tried to blink past the sting of tears in your eyes.

“You’re a damn child,” you said, steadier than you felt. “You’re not the one who had your whole world imploded.”

Mary’s lips pursed. She still looked angry, but also like she was hiding the sting of guilt. She gathered up some of her things and informed you that she’d be staying at Luke’s tent tonight.

Freakin’ fine by you.

You’d also have to request some new bed sheets from Sunny.

In the morning, you stumbled out of bed after a rough night’s sleep. It was hard for you to sleep in a new place by yourself, especially out here in the woods.

Especially after how you and Mary left things.

You were so tired, you counted it a small blessing that you were able to put on clothes and get your hair into some kind of normalcy before you trekked over to the mess tent.

There you accidentally overheard Avery and Emily arguing; she’d lost her knife in the woods when she’d happened upon Luke, but Avery was reluctant to let her go hiking by herself. Apparently, her mother was due to join them this morning as well.

It seemed like the day of late comers though. A new married couple, Tonya and Donno, had arrived late yesterday to join the trip. They’d requested a tent at the far end of the camp, closest to the woods. Apparently, they wanted to really experience nature.

All you knew was, they seemed a bit weird.

“That knife’s important. My father gave it to me,” Emily said, interrupting your thoughts.

It made Avery quiet, but they both greeted you more pleasantly when you had to walk by them to get to the coffee.

“Hey, sorry,” you gave a little wave in embarrassment. You hated interrupting moments that had nothing to do with you, but you supposed it was unavoidable in this camp.

Once you’d gotten your coffee and filled your plate with some eggs and bacon, you joined them at the table. You pretended not to notice the way they both glanced at you with measures of concern. Did you really look that bad?

Avery wisely didn’t comment. Emily wasn’t as good at curbing her inner filter.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked. You gave her a thin smile.

“Just a bit tired. Didn’t sleep so well,” you admitted.

Of course, that was when the reason for your bedraggled appearance strolled into the mess tent. Mary came in and noticed Avery and Emily first with a smile. It turned frosty when she glanced at you. You gave her a mocking “smile” right back.

She chose to ignore you and went for the buffet table instead.

Right, you thought. You supposed that was how it was going to be for the rest of this damn trip.

“All righty! Good mornin’, folks,” Sunny said, entering the mess tent. She surveyed all the faces gathered—some relaxed and jovial, and then your table, a bit awkward, a bit tense.

She moved on with a smile that matched her name and her shiny red hair.

“Just lettin’ you all know as a reminder, we’ve got a bunch of activities for you all if there are any takers. Archery, kayaking, it’s gonna be a great time,” she said. “But if you prefer, you’re welcome to keep to the camp have a more relaxed day. It’s your vacation, so it’s up to you how you wanna spend it.”

You all nodded in understanding.

It’s your vacation. You choose how you spend it.

That, you could get on board with.

You spent the rest of the morning alone, as usual. Either you were reading in the outdoor lounge area, taking in the sunshine and the fresh air, or you were painting, taking in the landscape of the tall trees and the great, big mountains peeking out from behind them.

You earned yourself some peace today, one that let you breathe and try to tune out your frustrations with Mary, and your worries about the future. You hummed along to a melody in your mind as you painted. Completely at peace…

Until a hand tapped on your shoulder, making you yelp and sending your paintbrush high in the air.

Cormack came into your line of vision with a barely stifled laugh and placating hands. While you took out your earbuds (and calmed your breathing), he grabbed your brush and handed it back to you.

“Sorry about that. Just wanted to let you know that lunch is served,” he said, though he took a glance at your painting. “Hey, lookin’ real good there. Nice landscape.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Aw, you don’t have to be so nice. I’m still learning.”

He crossed his arms. “Well, if you’re interested in taking classes, I know someone who runs an art studio in town. Miss Peggy. Nice lady. Not too harsh.”

You laughed more genuinely.

“Good to know, thanks! Send me the address and I’ll check it out,” you said. Cormack agreed with a smile, and he helped you up from the long couch you were sitting on. The two of you walked back together to the central part of the camp, where the mess tent was.

There you met Emily’s mother, Carla, who’d just joined her family at the camp. She wasn’t exactly dressed for camping in her pressed blouse and pencil skirt; professional and smart, her long dark hair a perfect coil.

This woman was immaculate. As you soon learned, she was also a lawyer. You didn’t often feel intimidated by other women, but she could fit that bill, considering you were sweaty and dusty in your plain V-necked shirt and jeans.

And especially knowing that this was Sheriff Arlen’s ex-wife. Avery seemed like the “wealthy businessman” type—the kind of man you’d expect a high-powered lawyer to be with. You found yourself wondering how she’d met the sheriff.

That’s none of your busineeeess, you sing-songed in your mind, while you speared more salad on your plate. As if that could disguise the juicy brisket burger right beside it.

After lunch, you returned to your tent to finally find Mary. She was lying on the bed, looking a bit listless.

“I’m surprised you’re not attached to Luke’s hip,” you remarked, setting down your backpack and paint supplies on the floor. “Or his face.”

She shot you a peeved look. “He keeps ditching me for that weird new couple. Tonya and Donner or something.”

“Donno?” you supplied. “Yeah, he’s weird. He stole the ketchup bottle from the breakfast table this morning. He told me, ‘You shouldn’t ruin good eggs with sugary tomato paste.’”

Mary raised a brow, but she turned to you when you sat down beside her on the bed. There was a moment of tension between you, even though your gazes were softer to each other. The truth was, you missed your friend today. You guys didn’t fight often, and it had you hurting. Maybe she felt the same way.

“Listen,” you said with a sigh. “I’m not sorry for throwing Luke out of our tent. That was gross as hell, and I didn’t appreciate that. But I don’t want to fight with you. I want to enjoy our last few days together before you go back to Chicago.”

Mary’s lips pursed, but she seemed to relent.

“Yeah, that was a bitch move,” she admitted. She knew full well that her tryst with Luke could’ve happened in his tent, not the one she shared with you. She met your gaze with more resignation, as well as apology.

“You’re really staying here, aren’t you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I am. I’m not saying there’s nothing for me back home. Of course I’m going to miss you, our friends, the rest of my family…but I need to do this. I need a fresh start.”

It took her a moment, but Mary nodded. She reached over and hugged you. You held her back tightly.

After a beat, she let you go and slid out of bed.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I need to do something. I’m going stir crazy in here.”

“Where’re you going?” you asked.

“Just for a run,” she replied. “I should be back by dinner.”

“A run?” you repeated, your brows furrowing. “In the woods by yourself? Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”

“Well, you could come with me,” she offered. You grimaced. You and running didn’t mix. You were more of a yoga girl.

Mary laughed and finished changing into her activewear and sneakers.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “No worries, I’ll have my phone if anything. I’ll be okay.”

“But your cell won’t have service out there!” you said.

Mary was already leaving. She blew you a kiss goodbye, though she did stop in the tent’s entryway. Her face sobered with a sincere apology.

“Look, I’m sorry for everything, okay?” she said. “I know I can be a brat sometimes…but we can talk more when I get back, clear my head.”

You were reluctant to see her go, but you nodded.

“Just be back in time for dinner!” you called after her.

Mary wasn’t back for dinner. Even after the sun set, she hadn’t come back from her run. You were really beginning to worry.

All the other campers were gathering up at the edge of camp for a Night Hike. It was an idea Buck and Sunny surprised you all with a few hours ago. You wondered if they were trying to make up for the strange way Paige left the camp.

“The moon’s full tonight,” as Sunny had said, with a slightly too bright smile. “Should be a beautiful time.”

You asked some of the others if they’d seen Mary, but they all replied negatively. Even Luke was nowhere to be found…but someone else was missing too.

“I still can’t believe you let her go into the woods alone,” Carla snapped at her husband.

Avery’s frown deepened. “I had no idea she went off by herself. You know your daughter. She’s headstrong—”

“Yeah, just like her father,” Carla muttered, turning away from him. Avery sighed.

You couldn’t help but approach them.

“Emily’s missing?" you said in concern. "Mary is too. I’ve been waiting for her to come back all afternoon.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carla said. She frowned as anxiety continued to well up in her eyes. “Maybe they found each other.”

You touched her arm in comfort. “Either way, we can all look for them now.”

Sunny came up to the group with a flashlight and a smile.

“Everyone ready?” she asked.

“Mary’s missing,” you told her, “And so is Emily. Mary went on a run this morning and hasn’t been back since.”

Sunny inclined her head. After she surveyed the rest of the crowd, she settled back on you.

“I see Luke’s not among us either. Maybe they’re together?” she suggested, in a leading tone. You frowned.

“No, she left alone,” you said firmly.

“Don’t mean she stayed alone, darlin’,” Sunny replied, with that Oklahoma twang that so often made her words more charming. “But we’ll be sure to look for her and Emily while we’re out there.”

Carla shook her head and said to her husband, “That’s it. I’m calling Beau.”

“Darling, you don’t need to,” Avery replied, shaking his head. “Emily’s a responsible girl. She knows what time we’re meant to leave—”

Carla shook her head and walked past him and Sunny—towards the hotspot for cell service. You agreed with her; calling the sheriff couldn’t hurt, especially if you all couldn’t find Mary or Emily on this hike.

You still went with the rest of them to start your own search. You tried to keep with the group, but after lingering in certain spots to call for Mary, you eventually realized that you’d lost the trail—and everyone else.

The trees were tall and dark now. The moon was filtering through them like the sun had during other day hikes, but it was much more ominous at night.

“Shit,” you muttered. You gripped your flashlight in worry as panic started to well up in your chest.

Now you were lost.

You jumped with a start when the hoot of a bird passed by overhead.

Shiiiit. This was very bad.

You kept moving forward on what you thought was the trail. That was all you could do, keep moving forward. You made a few turns around some trees, occasionally calling out for Sunny, or Mary, or anyone to hear you.

The panic was back now, full force, and you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. And when you turned another corner, you screamed when you bumped into someone.

A girl’s scream echoed just as loudly as yours in the big, empty wood, but you got ahold of yourself, literally with a hand over your wildly beating heart when you realized who you’d run into.

“Emily!” you uttered. The girl let out a breath of relief to see you too. You went to her and pulled her into a hug, and she hugged you back.

“Thank. God,” she said. Her voice sounded tight with emotion, and you held her a bit tighter.

“It’s okay,” you rubbed her back. “How long’ve you been out here?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, pulling away from you. “Couple of hours? Maybe longer.”

You nodded and expelled a breath. Poor thing looked tired. She didn’t even have any supplies with her. You gave her a protein bar from your backpack before you two started walking.

“So the good news is, we found each other. The bad news is, we’re still lost,” you said, counting each item on your fingers. “But the good news also is, I’ve only been walking for about…half an hour or so. I’m thinking we can mark trees or other landmarks as we pass them, like checking them off, so we know where we’ve been.”

Emily glanced at you with a smile. “You’re a checklist person, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely!” you agreed. “Checking things off is satisfying. But it’s also good just to take an inventory of where we’re at.”

You two kept walking for a while. Emily explained that she’d been following Luke, who took off by himself after giving her an ominous warning.

“There are some bad people on this trip. Want my advice? Get the hell out of here,” he’d said.

You frowned in concern. You’d felt that there was something fishy about that guy, pretty much from the moment he and Paige disappeared on that hike. Those newcomers he’d been hanging out with ever since, Tonya and Donno…maybe they had something to do with it.

They’d left camp today to go into town, claiming to check on the restaurant they owned and ran. But with everything now starting to come into perspective, you couldn’t take any piece of information at face value around here.

Suddenly, Emily stopped short.

“What’s…” Your words trailed as you followed her line of vision. There was a frilly pair of underwear on the ground.

That led to a hoodie strewn in the dirt and dead leaves. You continued on, until you found Mary, lying on her back on the cold ground. You and Emily gasped her name, but you moved first, dropping to your knees at Mary’s side. You pressed a hand to her cheek and found it cold.

You moved two fingers to the pulse point at her neck, but there was nothing. No life in her. Your mouth fell open in a silent, shocked cry.

“Mary? Honey, can you hear me?” you tried, shaking her shoulders. When she remained unresponsive, tears burned in your eyes and blurred your vision. You finally saw a dark patch of wet pooled out from under her body.

“Oh my God,” Emily said, voicing your thoughts. She was panicked. “Oh God, she’s…she’s…”

You turned to her and wanted to say, Don’t look.

You had briefly taught highschoolers before you became a college professor. You were used to looking out for your students, and as the adult here, you wanted to shield the teen from the sight of this, no matter how much your mind was spinning.

Before you could say anything, Emily fled the clearing with a scream.

“Emily!” you shouted after her. You glanced back at Mary in desperation, but you forced yourself onto your feet and ran after the girl.

You had slightly longer legs, but she was fast. You only caught up to her because she screamed louder, after running into Buck leading a horse through the woods. She grabbed onto him while you caught your breath behind her.

“What? What happened?” Buck asked. You laid a supportive hand on Emily’s shoulder, and she turned back to you with tearful eyes.

“Mary,” you managed, despite the coarseness in your voice. “She’s…”

This isn’t real, you thought. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“She’s dead,” Emily finished for you. “Someone killed her.”

Buck’s eyes widened in shock. All he could say was…

“Show me.”

Buck brought Mary’s body back to camp on the back of his horse. The three of you walked in silence all the way there. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her lifeless body. It was wrong. And if you did, you knew you’d collapse.

Emily was likely in shock as well. Her arm was looped through yours, though you weren’t sure who was steadying who.

Thanks to Carla, the police were already on the way to Sunny Day Excursions. When you reached the camp, Carla beelined for her daughter. Despite how happy she was to see her mom, Emily was a bit reluctant to let go of you, seeing how shaken you were, but you encouraged her wordless to go to her mother.

Carla pulled Emily into a tight hug, kissing the side of her head, and asked if she was all right. Emily just shook her head and pressed her face into her mom’s shoulder. Carla looked up at you with a relieved sigh.

“Thank you,” she said.

You gave her teary smile of your own. You couldn’t speak though, especially when Buck passed by with Mary still on the back of his horse. Sunny gasped and grabbed a blanket to cover the body with.

She then went to you, whispering, “You poor dear. Come ‘ere, sit by the fire.”

She covered your shoulders with another blanket and steered you to sit by the bonfire in the center of camp. You stayed there and stared at the flames. All the while, you didn’t feel the warmth. You didn’t feel the silent tears that slid down your face and dropped into your lap.

“Where’s Luke?” you heard Avery ask.

“That’s a good question,” said Sunny. She turned to her husband. “Buck?”

“I don’t know, but somebody better find him,” he replied grimly.

It was another hour before the police arrived.

You still hadn’t moved from your spot in front of the bonfire on a hard bench, but it was Cormack who gently asked you if you wanted to go back to your tent to relax until the police got around to talking to you about what happened.

You’d agreed, silently, and he helped you up. But you found that you could go no further than the couple of steps that brought you onto the platform outside of your tent. The tent you’d shared with Mary.

You couldn’t go in, and Cormack seemed to realize that. He helped you lower down to sit on the platform, with your dirty sneakers planted on the step below. He gave you a cup of hot tea as well, which you held with both hands and sipped slowly.

You only raised your head when you heard Emily’s voice exclaim in happiness. You watched her run to her father, the Sheriff. He welcomed his daughter into his arms and held her tight. Relief was painted all over his face. You heard the rumble of his voice asking her if she was all right. She just burrowed closer in the safety of his arms.

A blonde policewoman had come with him, along with a whole unit of officers. She went to question Buck and Sunny first, while Beau handled Emily, then Avery and Carla. It didn’t seem like a pleasant conversation, between the two men especially.

Don’t stare, you reminded yourself. You lowered your gaze to the dusty bottom stair between your feet. Your vision started to glaze over the longer you focused on that spot. You weren’t lost in thought. You were just…blank. This entire night still didn’t feel real.

Mary’s last words kept ringing through your mind…

“Look, I’m sorry for everything, okay?” she’d said. “I know I can be a brat sometimes…but we can talk more when I get back.”

You were interrupted from your reverie when two brown boots entered your line of vision. You looked up, and Beau Arlen was there to greet you with a look of sympathy. And yet, there was a professional set to his face that let you know you were about to be formally questioned about Mary’s death.

“Is that spot taken?” Beau asked, pointing to the space beside you on the platform. You shook your head and scooched over, so he could sit down. He sighed on his way there, greeting you with polite familiarity.

“Sheriff,” you nodded back. You set aside your mug of tea and crossed your arms, holding yourself against the chill.

You’d left the blanket by the bonfire, and your sweater had been stained with blood, after helping Buck set Mary’s body on the horse. You’d ripped the sweater off as soon as you got to camp, leaving you in just your undershirt.

“You need a jacket,” Beau remarked. He glanced back at your tent, as if he was wondering why you hadn’t gone inside to grab one. But his gaze was perceptive. Instead of asking, he shrugged out of his faux fur-lined leather jacket and draped it around your shoulders.

“Here, you can borrow this for now,” he said.

“Thank you,” you spoke in a small voice. You grasped one edge of the jacket and pulled it closer around you. It smelled like musky cologne and old leather.

Beau waved off his gesture of kindness.

“I hear you found my daughter in the woods and tried to get her back to camp,” he said. “Thank you for that.”

You glanced over at him, and tears once again shone in your eyes.

“I’m sorry she had to see…”

Beau’s gaze was heavy as he sighed and nodded again in agreement.

“I’m sorry you had to see it too,” he said. “And I’m sorry for your loss. For your friend.”

You took in a shuddering breath. New tears found familiar paths down your cheeks.

“Best friend, since college,” you said.

Beau took that in, before he asked you about the day’s events. You had to explain about Mary going missing first, then Emily, and finally Luke, who still hadn’t been found. You told everything you knew from your perspective.

When you were done, Beau reluctantly asked about the Mary and Luke situation. Your lips pursed, but your upset wasn’t at the sheriff. You knew he had to ask these questions.

“We argued about it,” you admitted. “Me and Mary. I warned her not to get involved with him, and the way Paige left camp was just one of many…but still, I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have let her go into the woods alone! I should’ve gone with her!”

By the end, your whole body wracked with sobs. You covered your face with your hands to try and get some semblance of composure, but you just couldn’t keep it together.

“Okay, okay,” Beau said gently. He laid a hand on your back and rubbed back and forth. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I am.”

You sucked in a few tremulous breaths, sniffling. You looked up at him with red, watery eyes. He gave you a half smile.

“Sorry,” he repeated, this time for the endearment. “Like I said, got a bad habit of doin’ that.”

You shook your head with a weak curve of your lips, despite how your lower lip wobbled.

“It’s okay,” you said.

But it wasn’t. Nothing was.

You didn’t think you’d ever be okay again.

AN: 😥 I'm sorry about Mary, but I promise, it's all for a purpose, besides following canon. But let me know what you think! There will be much more of the reader and Beau in the next chapter, though you may not expect how their next meeting comes about...

Next Time:

“We’re gonna start here in a few minutes, but until then, you can take a seat,” said Tom. “There’s also coffee and cookies over there, if you like.”

Coffee. Coffee was warm, and it might settle your nerves and help you perk up a bit. You thanked him and went for the carafes on a small table in the back. You poured some coffee into a Styrofoam cup and poured a little sugar and creamer into it, but after you took an experimental sip, you immediately regretted it.

Tastes like damn soil water! You made a grossed out sound and spat it back into your cup.

“Yeah, wouldn’t recommend the joe,” drawled a familiar voice.

You turned sharply to find Sheriff Beau Arlen.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Series Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @deans-baby-momma @tabsluvsu @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @deans-spinster-witch @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @lostin-jensenseyes @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow

#It's Not Right But It's Okay #Take Me Home #Part 2 #Beau Arlen series #big sky #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader #Emily Arlen #beau arlen x you #Jensen Ackles characters #big sky season 3 #zepskies writes

239 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 24 days

Text

❝ sunshine pt.3 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. switch!hobie. switch!reader. missionary. save a horse ride a cowboy. using cum as lube. hobie being a tease. after your time in the bathroom, it's hard to deny your feelings for hobie. it's even harder to deny when hobie shows up on your doorstep.

Hobie Brown liked you.

He liked you from the very moment he met you. You were responsible, respectable, with enough sense in that brain of yours to last the both of you. You were quiet yet not shy and willing to speak your mind when need be. You were mean but in a nice way, in a way that really showed you cared more than you ever wanted to let on. He might have liked that most about you. Or it would be your lips that he liked the most. After all, he’s finally gotten a taste of them twice now.

You and Hobie met at a party through Riri. She had introduced you two and you had given him a once over and, looking rather unimpressed, dismissed him in the most polite way you possibly could. Hobie thought you to be prissy and stuck up and was ready to dismiss you as well as just that until he saw you glancing at him throughout the night, always within view of him. He knew you liked him right away, simply playing, or convincing yourself, that you didn’t. He thought it was cute.

You were avoiding him again. More so than before. According to your other shared friends, you weren’t even leaving your apartment. You didn’t want to risk any chance of running into Hobie on the street and being forced to confront your undeniable feelings right then and there.

But you had to talk about what happened eventually…right? You would have to talk to him eventually.

Would flowers be appropriate? Would they make you more upset? Imply something that was never there in the first place? Or would they soothe the undoubted rage you would feel upon seeing Hobie at your door when all you wanted was to be left alone with your thoughts. You didn't need him coming in and stirring shit up but Hobie wouldn't be himself if he didn't stir the pot just a little.

Hobie decided no flowers, not yet, you weren't ready for something like that. It would send you into a spiral, turn you off to any idea of simply talking to him.

He stood at your door for approximately 10 minutes, simply debating if disturbing you would be worth it. Hobie had the chance to make things a whole lot worse but also the chance to remedy your pain and confusion. He would be remiss if he didn’t at least try to make things better between the two of you. So he knocked, nervous for one of the few times in his life.

It was clear you didn't expect him to be at your doorstep when you opened the door. Your bored gaze widened into something of surprise, or maybe that’s fear he was seeing. You didn't hesitate to try and close the door on him but Hobie stuck his boot between the door and the frame to stop you. “Wai’, wai’, sunshine please, hol’ on.” He pleaded softly, sticking his hand through the crack to pry the door open but you had a surprising amount of strength.

“Could you stop fucking calling me that? It’s stupid and annoying.” Your words hold a bitter taste to them. Your lips are pressed into a firm scowl as you look at him. Your hands balled into fist pinned to your sides. “Why are you here, Hobie? I’m not feeling well” You let out a feeble cough to punctuate your point. It’s unconvincing even to you.

Hobie leaned against your doorframe and looked at you with those heavy-set eyes you found yourself thinking about far too often. “Ya haven’ been answerin’ ma calls.” His voice was soft compared to yours. It makes you feel a bit ridiculous for being so angry. But your anger was righteous; you had every justifiable reason to be upset.

“When do I ever answer your calls?”

“Touché.” Hobie tried to play nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, shifting his gaze to the side. But — God — if only you knew how anxious he was to speak to you. His mouth ran dry and his palms, usually cool, where now hot and clammy. “But we still need t’ chat. Don' wan’cha goin’ ‘round thinkin’ I was just tryna get off or somethin’.”

You’re colder than usual to him, scoffing at his every word. Hobie was starting to think you might actually hate him. But if he’s right, and he nearly always is, you like him far more than you want to let on, you always have. This was all denial, a front, a way to protect your fragile world view and delicate self-image.

You turn yourself away from him, eyes shifting, head low. You don’t want to talk. Is it so hard to just be left alone?

Hobie could see you were shutting down. “Look– I’m no’ ‘ere to tell ya who ya are and who ya aren'. ‘M jus’ here fo’ support.” He was gentle, his lips twitched into a half-hearted smile, trying to be friendly and cordial. As much as someone like him can be.

Maybe it’s then that you realized the fact that he was just trying to offer you some kindness at a point in your life where you might have needed it most. You were so unsure of yourself, who you were, what you did. You always knew Hobie wasn’t a bad person, but you never knew he could be so tender.

You pursed your lips and sighed with defeat before opening the door a little more to let him through. His boots made your floorboards creak under the weight of them as he walked into your flat, his hand shoved into the pockets of his spiked and studded leather jacket. He was too comfortable, too cool for your liking. Or maybe you were too tense for his.

You closed the door behind him and crossed your arms over your chest as if to protect yourself. Your body language screamed defensive, closed, unwilling to listen. Your eyes shifted from side to side but never linger on Hobie for long. Back against the door, you shifted your weight from foot to foot, heel to toe. “I don’t know what you think is going on between us, what you think we share, but I’m not interested. It shouldn’t have happened.” You spat out, more at yourself than at him. “It was a mistake.”

Hobie grunted. “Way t’make a guy feel good ‘bout ‘imself.” He wasn’t hurt about it. You were going through a lot right now. And your words said more than you ever cared to say.

“I’m not gay, Hobie.” You say a little forcefully, watching with a sort of meticulousness as Hobie wandered his way closer to you. You watched him shrug as if it didn’t matter. “So wha’? I wouldn’ call myself gay either, I jus’ like who I like.” He slid his hands from his pockets, his approach still slow and steady. You didn’t dare look away from him or make a motion in any other direction.

“‘M no askin’ you t’be gay, sunshine.”

You swallowed as Hobie reached out and placed his large hand on your hip and closed the space between your bodies. This was the very reason why you didn’t want to be around him, because you knew that if he made a motion for you, you wouldn’t have the strength to pull away.

You wanted him. You wanted him carnally, wanted him the way one being always longs for another. You wanted his hands, his lips, his cock. You wanted all of him and more. Just one more time, one more time and you’d expel him from your mind and you’d be done with it all together.

You looked at him, desperation filling your glossy eyes like tears. “Then what do you want from me, Hobie? I don’t understand.” You don’t understand yourself anymore. You don’t know yourself. All you know is that you're wildly and completely, head over heels, desperately fiending to have him again and you didn't know what that meant about yourself.

Hobie stroked your hip tenderly with his thumb. “I jus’ wan’cha t’like me back. Is tha’ so hard?”

You turned your head away, lips pursed to stop them from trembling. You were utterly terrified. Terrified because you do like him back. You like him more than you ever wanted to let on. Everything you despise about him, his saunter, his carelessness, his full laughter, his smile, is truly everything you adored about him and he had seen right through you the entire time.

“I do like you.” It feels so good to get off your chest, to finally say it out loud. You look at Hobie, eyes hard yet glassy. Your lips are pressed firmly.

Hobie didn't understand. “Then wha’s the problem?” If he liked you and you liked him, why were you so against being with him? It wasn't like you’d lose your friends, they were totally accepting of queerness if not queer themselves. And so what if anyone else judged you? You never cared about anyone’s opinion before.

“I thought you were the most annoying person in the world just a few weeks ago. I still do. So what if we like each other? That doesn't mean we’re meant to be together. I’ve known myself well all my life. I’ve known what I wanted, who I wanted, where I wanted to be-”

“This is ‘bout’cha feelin’ like ya don' know yerself anymore?” Hobie scoffed. “Things change, sunshine. Life happens. Grow up.” It was harsh, but you needed to hear it. You liked men, Hobie specifically, men generally. Who cares? Not him, not your friends, not the people that matter in your life. “If I like you and you like me, wouldn' i’ make the most sense for us to at least try to make sometin’ outta this?”

You were silent. Utterly and terribly silent. You didn't know what else to say. You felt ridiculous for holding on to this idea of yourself that you’d never live up to. You couldn’t believe you were admitting this but Hobie was making sense. Who cares if you like men, like him. Sure, it might come as a shock to everyone but in the end, what does it truly matter?

You look at Hobie with big eyes and your hands reached out to pull him a little closer. Who cares, you told yourself. The guilt still ate away at you but with time, you knew it would go away.

Hobie deemed it safe to kiss you. He was cautious, easing his lips onto yours, tender and innocent until it wasn’t. It was all the sum of their parts. Lips, teeth, tongue, passion, drowning desire. You reciprocated with the same timid carefulness of someone unsure of how to be gentle, how to be intimate without being aggressive.

Hobie’s fingers curled into the fabric of your shorts, pulling you closer until your body was flush with his. Your arms fell over his shoulders, fingers mindlessly scratching at the nape of his neck while your teeth nip softly at his lip piercing. He pressed you to the wall much like you had done to him that night in the bathroom and pressed his body closer to yours. You didn’t mind that all his spikes in studs were digging into your flesh. You welcomed his sharp abrasiveness.

You guided Hobie to the couch, where the two of you fell into a tangle of limbs and caressing touches. Hobie was on top of you, his large hands still on your hips but slowly beginning to roam about your body while the two of you kissed.

Fuck, he was hard already but so were you so it made the matter all the less embarrassing. Your arousal only made him harder, more desperate for you. Hobie’s hands grasped at your hips and waist in an act of worship, before sliding between your legs to palm at your aching cock pressing against the front of your underwear.

“Hobie~” you whined softly, moaning onto the fullness of his lips before your tongue sought out his once more. “Fuck, fuck, just like that.” You should be embarrassed by how desperate you are, you both should. Your hands ferally tug at each other's clothing, just enough to get your cocks out and rutting against each other. His was bigger than yours, thicker, with veins running along the sides. He was uncut and pretty. And the direct comparison of your sizes made your cock twitch and leak onto your stomach. His precum dripped down and mingled with yours.

Hobie was not shy about rutting his hips and rubbing his length against yours. Your hands continued to pull off clothing after clothing. His vest, your shirt, his pants then yours. Until you both were totally nude, minus the spiked collar Hobie still wore.

“I don’t– I don’t know what to do.” You said between bated breaths and eager kisses. Hobie pressed his hips down against yours and you whimpered just slightly. You felt his smooth yet scarred skin under your palms and felt at ease. You looked at him almost pathetically and felt your face grow hot as Hobie rolled his hips into yours and chuckled at you. The leaky tip of his cock rubbed the underside of your mushroom head and you shivered.

Hobie’s lovely lips kissed your cheek and began to hover over your jaw and down your neck. “I’ll show ya, sunshine. We’ll take turns, yeah?” He suddenly became as sweet as sugar, so sweet you could taste it on your tongue when he kissed you again. “I’ll show ya how t’do i’, then you can do i’ t’me.”

He was so gentle when he touched you, but you writhed and squirmed with every trace of his fingers along your body. “Do ya have lube?” He murmured against your flesh as he kissed a small sweet spot at the base of your neck. You nodded, a bit slowly. “I think… It’s somewhere in my room. I never needed to — fuck — use it before.” For the life of you, you couldn’t remember exactly where it was. Your brain was too fuzzy, Hobie was starting to move his hips faster and the way his cockhead rubbed yours was starting to make you delirious. “I can’t remember,” you murmur hazily. “I can’t remember, I can’t remember. God, please don’t stop.”

“Yer actin’ like this ‘n ‘m not even fuckin’ ya yet.” Hobie chuckled lowly into your ear. It tickled and you weren’t sure if that’s what made you shiver or the way he wrapped his lithe fingers around your cocks and squeezed just enough to apply a perfectly delicious amount of pressure.

You couldn’t help but to roll your hips into his hand while Hobie thrusted his forward. He watched the way you huffed and whimpered, almost whining. You squeezed your eyes shut and simply let yourself feel his length against yours. His tip rubbed yours, precum leaking onto your slit. It was just enough to make you come undone.

You didn’t even know you came until you felt it pool all over your tummy. Your eyes opened, bleary and out of focus as your cock twitched. You reached down, looking up at Hobie who was pushing his hips in shallow thrusts. He was close, you could tell just by the way he moaned, deep and pretty like he was singing just for you.

You reached down and dragged your thumb over his dark tip, pressing against his slit and rubbing in short, tender strokes. Hobie’s hips shuddered and his lips parted just enough to let out something of a guttural groan. “Fuck– ‘m close, sunshine. Yer doin’ so good.”

Hobie came soon after you, with a few more short rubs of his tip, he spilled out all over your hand and tummy, his cum pooling in with yours into a large, milky puddle. It was warm, a bit more viscous than yours, came out in globs that landed on your abdomen.

Hobie leaned in and kissed you once again. You melted into him, your hands cupping his face to pull him closer. “Please fuck me, Hobie.” You plead with him, panting into his mouth with a desperation you’ve never before known. You parted your legs wider, exposing yourself to him, offering yourself to him. You looked so handsome like that, legs spread and cum on your belly. “Use our cum if you have to. Please, I need it.”

He was taken aback by your eagerness to be fucked. “This’ll be ya first time bottoming, yeah?” You nod sheepishly. Hobie smiles that smile you’d usually scoff at but now, all you could do is marvel at it. You swooned at it, your lips pulling into the smallest smile of its own. “Will you let me fuck you after?” You ask in the smallest voice as if you were almost embarrassed by your request. But you couldn’t help it. “Please, I really wanna fuck you.”

“Awww ya wanna fuck me, sunshine?” Hobie crooned at you. He laughed robustly as you slapped his shoulder and turned your face away. “You can always leave, dickhead.” He kissed at your neck and chest, nipping slightly at your skin. “You don’ wan’ me t’do tha’.” Hobie continued to kiss at your neck while dragging his fingers through the puddle of cum on your tummy.

Your lips parted and a small gasp left you as the pad of his fingers circled over the tight rim of your puckered hole.

“Ya wanna prep first, jus’ tease i’ open.” Hobie pressed a singer against your hole, listening to your soft whines as his finger eased into you. The intrusion felt odd, but not bad. He whispered for you to relax. “‘M no’ gonna hurt’cha.” He gathered more cum and made sure his path was nice and slick. “‘M gonna add another finger.”

“Just do it— please.”

Hobie wasted no time sliding another slickened finger into your taut hole, his eyes watching the way you bite your lip and stifle a whimper. His fingers didn’t search for your prostate, his cock would do that work for him. He was just focused on opening you up and ensuring that you’d be ready to take him. Your hands gripped his shoulders. Your face twisted, not exactly with discomfort. It was a feeling you could get used to with time.

Hobie and that dimpled smile that grove you mad. You almost wanted to say something but every time you opened your mouth, you simply cried out. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” You were desperate, every desire you’ve ever had spilling out of your mouth, every fantasy you’ve had about him since that night in your closet. You wanted him to fuck you, you wanted to fuck him, you wanted you bodies to melt into one another.

And when Hobie pulled his fingers from your wanton hole and gathered more cum to spread down his length, you prepared yourself for an unbearable pain. You’ve seen porn like this but no one has ever been nearly as big as him.

He placed his tip against your wet hole, looked at your face for any sign of pain, and slowly eased himself in.

Your mouth fell open and your back arched as you whimpered. You could feel him splitting you open, parting your tight walls to make space for him. Your walls were molded to his cock. Hobie groaned above you, hands gripping at your hips and thighs to ground himself. “Ya feel so good, sunshine. Bloody hell. Stay still f’me.”

But you couldn't, you wiggled and writhed with something of discomfort and pleasure. His intrusion was not exactly welcome but certainly not discouraged. The sounds that left you were ones you’ve never heard before. They were new and unknown, whiny and loud as Hobie pressed against something soft and sensitive inside you. Suddenly discomfort was welcome and you needed more.

He pressed his hips flush to yours, rolling his hips and offering shallow thrusts that made him poke and prod at that spot that made your toes curl. You tossed your head back, eyes rolling back into your head, fingernails sinking into his flesh. “Hobie, Hobie, Hobie.” You whimpered as he buckled down and pulled out only to fuck himself back into you.

Hobie was desperate, ravenous, trying so hard not to hurt you while also satisfying his need to have you. He loved the way you sang for him, your whiny moans growing higher with each thrust into your hole. You trembled and you sang and you opened your legs wider to feel him deeper if such a thing was really possible. You could feel him in your throat, choking.

Your orgasm came so quick you hardly had the chance to say anything before you were squealing, your cock leaking more cum onto your tummy with a few hard twitches. Your mind was so hazy, but you had enough sense to hide your face in the bend of your elbow to hide from the embarrassment of coming so swiftly.

You expected Hobie to laugh at you, tease you for it. But he gently took your arm from you face and leaned down to pepper kisses across your heated face. “I’s okay, sunshine. I’s ya first time. Only right you’d be sensitive.” His fingers traced up and down your side as he placed his lips on yours and kissed you with a tenderness you still couldn’t believe he was capable of.

“Y’want me t’keep goin’ or do y’want yer turn?”

He made you feel safe and comfortable. As comfortable you could be having sex with another man.

“Can you ride me? I wanna look at you.”

Hobie chuckled, slowly pulling out of you with a pop that made you shiver. “So obsessed with me.” Your lips tugged into a lighthearted scowl that soon faded as Hobie scooped up your cum from your abdomen and reached back to prep himself, slowly sinking a finger into his ass, soon followed by another.

You watched, dazed and amazed, admiring the contours of his face as he let out a breathy little moan. Hobie smirked at you, “like what’cha see?” You didn’t have enough sass left in you to pretend that you didn’t. You just wanted him, to feel him, to make him cum like he made you cum. You wanted his pleasure, wanted him.

You sat up into a sitting position and watched as Hobie came and straddled your lap. Your hands found purchase on his boney hips and he looked into your eyes as he stroked your cock with his cum-covered hand. “Le’s see how fast I can get’cha t’cum this time.”

“You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“No’ rubbin’ i’ ya face, sunshine. I jus’ think i’s cute.” Hobie leaned down and kissed you again, just a peck that left you wanting more. He settled down and positioned your cock against his hole before slowly and carefully sinking down onto you.

It felt different than being with a woman, tighter, warmer, less wet. A moan ripped from your throat, your mouth falling open to gasp and shudder. Your hands stroked Hobie’s sides to soothe yourself. “Fuck– Hobie~ God, you feel so good.” You were gasping for air, breathless. Your cock was still sensitive. You’d cum in no time.

Hobie grinned, settling into your lap, rolling his slender hips into yours. He rode you slowly at first, drawing out noises no other person has ever made you vocalize before. He cooed at you, his lips on yours, his tongue in your open mouth. Then he rode you hard and fast, with the skill of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

You were borderline pathetic. Rendered down to nothing more but a gasping, whimpering, drooling mess. You should have more self-respect, but Hobie was taking any semblance of it from you. His hole squeezed you tight, a vice grip that left your eyes rolling. “Ngh, mmh~” You were writhing beneath him, hands gripping, nails sinking into flesh.

You held Hobie close. His chest to yours, his cock slapping against your wet abdomen, his fingers laced into your hair. There was something so terribly intimate about it, how close you two were. The desperation on both parts was thick in the air, hot with the smell of sweat and sex. When Hobie stopped kissing you, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You two looked at each other and you felt as though your face had been shoved into lava.

Hobie grinded his hips down and his head lulled back. You had touched his soft spot and he let out a pretty, baritone moan. He squeezed you tight and stroked your cock softly and just as Hobie had suspected, you came, without warning. You had meant to cum on the outside, your hands attempting to push Hobie off of you when your cock began to twitch, but he seemed intent on staying.

You came inside, nice and deep, your hips shuddering. Hobie groaned, low and loud, and came onto you stomach and chest.

You both were left panting, tired and suddenly sore. Hobie looked at you, waiting for that moment where it all switches and you realize that you’ve made another mistake– where you suddenly become cold again. You looked up at him, eyes unsure but softly pleading for reassurance. “Please tell me this wasn’t a mistake.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Hobie got up off of you and sat on his heels beside you. His hands traced imaginary shapes into your cum-covered chest before leaning in to litter pecks across your face. “I’ wasn’ a mistake, sunshine. Nothin’ we did was a mistake.” His lips finally found yours and you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. His lips soothed you.

“Le’s see where this takes us. We don’ have t’put a label on i’ righ’ now.”

You looked rather sheepish, turning your head away from him. “What if I want to put a label on it?” If you were going to do this, you wanted to do it right. You wanted Hobie to belong to you and you to belong to him. “Don’t get me wrong, you still annoy the hell out of me and sometimes I want to knock you over the head with a frying pan, but I want us to be something.”

There was that smile, that gorgeous, charming, irritating smile. It was so cocky, so arrogant, so Hobie. You adored it.

“Then le’s be something’.”

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown x male reader #hobie brown smut #hobie smut #atsv hobie smut #spiderpunk smut #spiderpunk x male reader #sunshine

153 notes · View notes

lunajay33 · 1 month

Text

Missing🖤

Summary: You and Daryl got separated at the started and now you’ve just been wandering hoping to find a secure place will you find Daryl again?

Pairing: Season 2 Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You and Daryl have known eachother since you were kids, growing up right next to eachother, along the way feelings grew and you got together right before graduation, you became a teacher and he worked at a mechanic shop, life was nice and simple together, you were even thinking about having a family but then things change, the world ended when you were teaching and you haven’t seen Daryl since, you search everywhere for him until eventually you had to leave down because of the walkers and venture out on your own, hoping you meet him again

Along the way you came across a barn, you scavenged for food finding some cans and as you looked out the window a horse was grazing the field, you packed up the rest of the food and ventured out finding a saddle approaching the horse steadily trying not to spook it away, thankfully it was friendly and approached you with ease letting, you strapped the saddle around her and hopped up, leading the horse as it trotted north

You’d be alone on your own for about 5 weeks now and it’s been lonely, you just wanted to see Daryl again just needed for him to hold you, you were on the horse walking through trees when a clearing opened up showing a farm house with people walking around, you were a bit wary since you’ve run into some shady people along the way but for some reason you were drawn to this farm, you lead the horse, you named Pixie, slowly as to not scare the people

As you and Pixie walked up the dirt road people started to gather, you hopped off Pixie holding her rope and waiting for the others to do or say anything and not just ogle you

“Who are you?” A man in a police outfit asked

“I’m y/n, I’ve been alone since the start, until I found pixie here” you said as you pet her shiny black hair

“Where’d you come from, who’d you find this place?” Another man asked he seemed a little crazy

“I’m from outside of Atlanta, I’ve just been wandering until I found something, I lost someone at the start and I’ve just been looking for him”

“Sorry to break it to you, he’s probably dead”

“Shane!” The officer glared at the man

“I still have hope, but do you guys have room for one more, I know how to hunt and I can help out”

“Of course, we could use another hunter, got one out hunting right now”

“Thank you”

The officer who introduced himself as Rick, showed you around introduced you to everyone even the owner of the farm, the sun was setting by the time all that was done

“We don’t have anymore tents we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get you one”

“Oh that’s no problem I can sleep out with Pixie” it was the normal for you now

“You sure?”

“Yeah it’s no problem…….shouldn’t your hunter be back by now?”

“Yeah oh there he is now” he said looking over you shoulder at the dirt road

A man with a crossbow and plaid shirt with ripped sleeves, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, you sprinted off towards him your heart racing, tears streaming down your face

“DARYL” you screamed as he looked up dropping his crossbow just in time to open his arms and wrap himself around you as you threw yourself into his arms

“Is it really you peach?” He asked in such disbelief it broke your heart

“It’s me, I can’t believe I found you I thought I’d never see you again, I looked everywhere for you I waited at our house hoping you’d come back but……I had to leave I had to find you” you said quickly your eyes not believing you found him having to tell him everything you’ve been thinking these 5 weeks without him

5 weeks may not seem like a lot but in the apocalypse there was no guarantee about anything so everything was precious

You held his biceps as he traced his fingers over ever features on your face completely forgetting others were around you both

“So I’m guessing you two know eachother?” Glenn asked

“She’s my girl” Daryl stated not taking his eyes off of you

“Thee Daryl Dixon got a girl?” Andrea laughed, you turned and glared at her

“You bet your ass I’m his”

“And ya ain’t ever leaving my side again”

319 notes · View notes

pretty-red-garnet · 8 months

Text

Never Leaving

Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader • Farm • Fluff

Thank you so much to the anon who requested this! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

When Daryl had left early this morning, he'd promised he'd be back before sunset. You were a worrier, always had been, so he tried to reassure you. But now that the sun was just beginning to dip under the trees, you're staring to get a little worried.

You and Daryl had been close ever since the quarry. He had found you after all, and you wholeheartedly believe you'd be dead if he didn't. You had just fled from your town being overrun and were totally out of sorts. But he had found you, gave you a little bit of his squirrel meat he had and took you back to his camp at the quarry. That was maybe three months ago now, but who can tell time nowadays?

Daryl was definitely your best friend. Sure, he could get angry and he snapped more often than not, but there was a warm heart under all that rough exterior. You knew now more than ever, with him going out every day looking for that missing little girl. Where he was now.

He wasn't always your closest friend, though. When you first met him, he was always snipe and rude. But he was just so damn interesting, and smart. You always bugged and prodded at him, and after a while, he didn't seem to mind. He even began to seek you out when you seemed just a little too quiet. He had gotten chewed out by Merle for that, for being 'too soft,' or whatever bullshit he managed to stew up.

But now, despite Merle's comments, you two were attached at the hip. Rarely one without the other. You just got Daryl. You understood him, how he didn't really mean his rude remarks or when he just needed to be left alone for a moment. Or when he needed to just be told to shut the hell up. He'd been shocked the first time you told him to, and you still have to laugh to yourself when you think about the face he made when you finally snapped back at him.

You're just Daryl's person, and he's yours. You understand each other on a deeper level than either of you have ever had before. If you're honest with yourself, sometimes you lie awake at night thinking of what it would be like to be even more to each other. Be each other's person in every possible way.

And now that he's been gone all day— when he promised he'd be back quicker than usual because he took a horse— you're panicking a bit.

What if he got bit? Or some other people hurt him? Where the hell is he?

"Rick, I'm going out," you say sternly. The sheriff looked at you confused.

"It's gonna be dark soon, you can't go out now." You huffed.

"Daryl still isn't back. Something could've happened, so I'm going to look for him." Rick shakes his head.

"You and I both know Daryl is probably the most capable one of us all out there," Rick says, reassuringly. You shake your head and your brows furrow. "If he's not back by morning, I'll go with you, alright?"

"No, not alright," you say with anger. "He shouldn't be out there all night. What if he got hurt? What if it was you, Rick, would you want us to leave you out there because we think you can handle yourself good enough?"

"Y/N, listen," Rick says and pulls you away from the tents where everyone is gathered. "I got enough to worry about already. I can't be worried about you wandering off in the woods alone at night, too. So just do me a favor and stay put."

Rick looks at you with a pleading look. You'd probably be more guilty of asking another thing of him on top of everything else if your stomach wasn't doing somersaults over Daryl. Still, you nod anyway with a sigh, and he looks relieved.

"I promise you, morning comes and he's still out there, I'll go with you." You nod again and give him a small smile. Rick pats your shoulder with a smile in return before waking back to everyone else. You cast one last look at the group before sneaking off to the stables. Maybe you could sneak one out of there and go alone.

There's a horse there that's already saddled up. She looks agitated and stressed, pacing around and huffing air through her nose, occasionally lifting a hoof to bang it on the ground.

You walk up carefully and put a hand on her nose. She exhales roughly, but seems to calm at your touches. You're confused as to why she's already set to go, before you realize and your eyes widen.

This is Daryl's horse.

She came back without him. Why? Where is he? You rush her back to her stable and close the gate. You had to go now. Forget Rick looking in the morning, and never mind setting up a horse, Daryl needs help now. He could be hurt out there.

You bolt out of the stables and look towards the tents. Most of your group is still gathered over there. You couldn't go to your tent and grab anything, forget going to get a gun, they wouldn't let you go. You just have to hope your knife attached to your hip will be enough. Luckily, Daryl had taught you how to kill walkers with just a knife, along with some self defense.

You sneak off the farm and into the woods in the vague direction you saw Daryl go in that morning. You aren't the best tracker, but you knew the basics. Daryl had taught you that too after you'd annoyed him too much with your begging.

You could see some spots where leaves where moved, but you didn't quite know if it was Daryl. It looked like it could be horse tracks, seeing as it was multiple prints right in front of the other, but you aren't totally sure. It was the best you had for now.

You followed, nervously walking amongst the tall trees. You kept your feet light and quiet, following the tracks you could make out. After a while of walking, the tracks seem strange. There's a weird shuffle in the leaves next to a ravine. Then the tracks are on top of each other like the horse backtracked.

Weird. You walk some more, but now there's no tracks to follow. You aimlessly wander for another minute, looking around for any sight of the hunter.

You grab a tree and lean over to look down the ravine. It dips down into a creek, but no sign of Daryl. You sigh and are about to keep moving when you hear heavy panting. You look around trying to find the source, before walking in the direction you hear it come from.

"You best shut the hell up!" That's Daryl! You rush towards his voice and find him struggling to get up the cliff. He's panting and his face is smeared with blood.

"Daryl!" You yelp at the sight of him. He looks at you with wild eyes, covered in blood, and has walker ears around his neck. You would've been scared if it was anybody else.

You drop to your knees and reach down to grab his hand. You pull him up at hard as you could, and eventually, he drops down next to you. You take a deep breath and sit next to him.

"Are you ok? What happened?" You ask. His tank top was blood soaked and had a scraps of his flannel binding what you can only assume is a bad wound. He lays on his back, breathing heavily and doesn't answer. "Daryl?"

"Damn horse threw me off," he says, finally, unfocused eyes looking in your direction. "Fell down the cliff. Twice."

"Twice?" Daryl shrugs.

"Fell on my own bolt, too," Daryl says and motions to his wound. Your eyes widen and you immediately go to look at him. He flinches when you touch his stomach to move the binding.

"Can I look?" You ask, taking your hand off him. He nods, but he's looking at you with a careful expression. You pull the fabric away to see a clean shot, completely through his side. You grimace and gently put the fabric back over it. You tighten it a little and Daryl lets out a strangled groan, his eyes falling back a little. "I know, I'm sorry. We have to keep it tight, though."

You stand and reach a hand towards Daryl, who grabs it and stands. He stands unsteadily and sways. You put your hands on his shoulder and back to try and keep him upright.

"Good?" You ask. He nods, and the two of you begin the walk back to the farm.

Daryl holds up pretty well. Much better than you would've if you were in his position. The pace is slow and Daryl has resorted to dragging his crossbow on the ground by the strap.

"I could carry that, you know." Daryl shrugs.

"I got it," he says. You roll your eyes.

"You really will never trust me with your precious baby, will you?" He snorts and his mouth quirks in a smile, but he doesn't confirm nor deny. "I'll get my hands on it one day."

Daryl wouldn't let you help him walk at all, too nervous that he'd fall and take you down with him. So he stumbled his way back to the farm by himself, in more pain than he let on. Occasionally he'd let out a small, pained sigh, but would just say that he's fine and that you worry too much when you'd look at him.

"I'll run ahead and let Hershel know your hurt," you said, once you finally exited the trees and entered the paddock of the farm. Daryl was lagging behind you, and you wanted to make sure Hershel was ready for him when he finally made it to the house.

"Mhm," Daryl hummed. His brows were furrowed in a pained wince, worrying you even further. "'M fine, go on ahead."

You nod and turn away from him, jogging slightly to the house. You'd send Rick to Daryl, he'll make sure he gets to the house. Daryl is too stubborn to let you help him, hopefully Rick could.

"Walker!" Andrea shouts from the top of the RV once you get a little closer to your group's set up. "It's following Y/N!"

What? You turn around to no walker in sight you could just barely see Daryl staggering his way to the house. Honestly, from this far, Daryl looks like he could be a... uh oh.

Before you could get a word in, Shane, Rick, T-Dog and Glenn fly by you with weapons in hand. You can see Andrea has that damn rifle firmly pointed in Daryl's direction. Your heart drops to your stomach in panic.

"No! Wait!" You rush to run towards them. "It's Daryl!" By the time you make it to them, everyone is breathing heavily.

"Third time you pointed that thing at my head," Daryl says, annoyed. "You gonna pull the trigger, or what?"

Before anyone can say anything else, a loud gunshot rings out, and Daryl drops to the ground. Your stomach twists and your eyes widen, Andrea fucking shot him.

"Oh my God!" You screech and drop beside him. "Daryl?"

"I was kidding," Daryl says before falling unconscious. The bullet grazed his head, leaving a bloody stripe near his temple. You quickly check for a pulse and is relieved to find one.

"He's unconscious," you say. Rick moves you aside and hefts Daryl's knocked out figure with Shane's help.

"Oh my God!" Andrea's voice rings out and your face heats with anger. "Oh my God! Is he dead?"

"Unconscious," Rick replies.

"You could've killed him!" You shout, following behind Rick and Shane carrying Daryl.

"I thought he was a walker!" She yelled back. "I was trying to help!"

"Even if he was, it was one! There was a whole group going for him!" You stop to scold her, Rick and Shane helping Daryl up the stairs to the house. "That gunshot could send walkers right to us!"

"With the trees and hills, the gunshot probably just echoed. They can't find us," Dale says, always trying to be the voice of reason. Typically, you respected it, but now it just pissed you off.

"Daryl will be fine, Y/N—"

"That's not the point! He could've died! And you're too goddamn stupid and caught up in your own problems to realize you're putting people in danger!" You huff and take a step back, turning around and running a hand through your hair. You're about to leave and check on Daryl, but Andrea steps in front of you to get in your face again.

"I said I was sorry, you don't have to insult me—" And you couldn't take it anymore, and you smacked her right in the face. Her face instantly has a viscous red mark, and you don't know if you should feel remorse or pride.

There's a chorus of 'oh's in the back from the others that gathered. You instantly feel guilt when you see Carol is there looking anxious, and so you turn to go in the house. You run into Hershel in the hallway nearing where Carl used to be, now where Daryl is laid up.

"Is he ok?" You ask.

"He's resting now, exhausted and recovering from blood loss. He would be much better if he didn't steal my horse." You groan internally at the comment and instead just smile and nod slightly awkwardly. "You should let him be, come back later when he's up."

You agree and turn back to head to your tent. You keep your head down to avoid the others, but luckily most have scattered to their own areas.

After a while of brooding alone and even missing dinner, you decide to go check on Daryl. You've been thinking about him, but didn't want to wake him up if he was still resting. But after dinner time, you didn't want to wait anymore.

You quietly make your way into the house and to Daryl's door. You knock quietly and is surprised to hear a quiet 'come in.' You poke your head in to see Daryl laying on his back, looking back at you. He's all cleaned up with a bandaged around his head and side.

"Hey," you whisper before closing the door behind you. "How're you feeling?"

"'Bout as good as I look," he says with a shrug.

"You must feel like shit then." Daryl snorts, his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

"Pretty much." You sit down next to him on the bed. “I hallucinated Merle…”

“You must be crazier than I thought,” you joked, but Daryl didn’t smile like you thought he would. “You miss him?” He nods.

“He ain’t dead,” he says after a moments silence. “Don’t know where the hell he is though.”

“I’ve seen Merle kill like, 10 walkers while high. I don’t think a little blood loss will kill him.” Daryl smiles, snorting out a little laugh. You congratulate yourself on the inside for lightening him up. “Is that who you told to shut the hell up?”

“Yeah, he was talkin’ shit like always.”

“What else is new. I’m just glad you weren’t talking to hallucinated me, then I’d beat your ass,” you say, smiling and nudging him. He just lets out a scoff.

“Like you could.” He nudges you back.

You both fall into silence for a moment, you looking at your hands while Daryl is looking at you. "What's wrong?" He finally asks.

"Nothing," you answer and give him a little smile. He doesn't look convinced, and nudges you with his foot.

"S'it about Andrea?" Daryl asks. "Saw her face, looks like she got rocked pretty hard. Was that you?"

"Maybe..." Daryl scoffs.

"Maybe?" He teases, a soft smile that's reserved for only you on his face.

"Ok, definitely."

"That what's bothering you?" He asks. You shake your head. "The hell is it then?"

"I was just really worried about you today," you confess, looking back down at your hands to fumble with them.

Losing people is always on your mind, and Daryl was way too close today. You've already lost friends and family, people from your group. But Daryl is Daryl. When he found you in the woods, you were just about to give up. He gave you reason again.

The thought of losing him terrified you. You don't want to think about what would've happened if Andrea had shot just a little more to the left, or if a walker found him bleeding out while he was out there. You couldn't lose him too.

"'M fine. Told you that already." You nod.

"I know." Daryl bites his lip a little and nods back. He looks like he has something on his mind.

"You know," he starts. You look at him, waiting for him to continue. He seems nervous. "I'm always gonna come back to you."

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them, and your hands tremble. Daryl looks panicked.

"Sorry," you say with a little laugh, wiping at your eyes. "I just don't know what I'd do without you."

Daryl has an unusually soft expression when he looks at you. He lets out a dramatic sigh and opens his arms.

"Come on, once in a lifetime opportunity," he teases, pulling you down. You giggle and comply, cuddling into his body in a way that wouldn't hurt him. "M never gonna leave you," he whispers.

"You can't make a promise like that," you say with a sniffle.

"Like hell I can't." He hugs you tighter, but you can sense apprehension. This was Daryl's most outwardly show of affection since you've known him. He's always a little awkward about physical affection, he shows his care through action and doing things for others.

"You know why I can?" He asks, his voice quiet and hesitant. You hum for him to continue, but he doesn't. His fingers trace nonexistent patterns on your back and tap anxiously.

"Why?" You ask, pulling your face away from his chest to look at him. His face is flushed and his lip is pulled in between his teeth. He moves his hand up your back, sliding it to the back of your neck to play with your hair there. "Why?" You ask again in a whisper, too affected by the heavy tension in the room to be any louder. You didn't want to break it.

Daryl doesn't answer again, just pushes your head towards his to capture your lips. His lips are chapped and rough but you don't mind a bit. Your head is spinning but perfectly clear at the same time. There's not an ounce of appreciation or hesitation from either of you, both right where they know they need to be.

When you part from him, your eyes blown and faces heated, you don't break eye contact. His hand is on your face now, other on your back. Yours are splayed open on his chest. Daryl's eyes flit between your eyes before moves to rest his forehead against yours, unable to part from you completely.

"'M never gonna leave you, alright?" Instead of refuting him again, you just nod, and return your lips to his.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x you #twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff

614 notes · View notes

just-another-author-i-guess · 1 year

Note

Judd smut in Y/n's car? 😈

JUDD SMUT IN Y/N’S CAR !!!

Tags: fem! Reader, porn without plot, well I mean they talk like a little before they fuck, driving under the influence?, okay literally don’t do that pls idk why they did it in this fic, being low key inappropriate in front of kids, more weed smoking 🫶, judd has a HUGE HORSE COCK, he also degrades Y/n quite a bit, also like semi public sex??, it’s literally in a car, and once again very unprotected sex, PLEASE WRAP IT!!

Summary: they fuck in Y/n’s car after Judd got his taken away lmfao

Author’s note: SORRY this took me so long to write for some reason,, I hate school so much oml 😡 I was originally going to finish and post this yesterday but like then I got a bunch of unsolicited dick pics and I got scared and didn’t feel like writing smut anymore 🧍🏻🏃🏻‍♀️ anyways,, I’m back today and I’m fine, just traumatized. I love being a woman fr 💩

Judd smut in Y/n’s car

Word count; 3,9K

(smut under the cut)

Judd took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling most of it through his nose but having the decency to turn his head slightly and exhaling the rest through the barely opened window.

He flicked the burned tip out the window as well; cinder falling down and gathering in the cracks of where the window sat in the door.

“You drive like a fucking grandma— drive faster,” He instructed.

You didn’t turn your head from the road. “I’m actually driving exactly what the speed limit allows. Fuck off. “ You grumbled.

The two of you were on the way back from one of Judd’s deals, which you were almost late to because Judd decided to leave 10 minutes behind schedule, forgetting you had to drive and refused to go too far over the speed limit. The deal itself had been pretty uninteresting; you sat in the car and watched as Judd handed the guy a plastic back and he handed your boyfriend the money.

He got his car hijacked (parentsjacked) two weeks ago, because he got caught lighting an old building on fire. You were there too, actually, too drunk and stoned to care in the moment; but because Judd could be a pretty good boyfriend at times he covered up for you.

“Yeah. Whatever. I need at least one of us to have a car.” He said, when you asked him about it.

Immediately after, you had been prompted to Judd’s personal Uber. Not to mention he had to hide most of his,, not legal substances in the trunk of your car, hence why you were now even more adamant on following traffic rules as to not get pulled over by the cops.

(Or found out by your mom, who already wasn’t a very big fan of your boyfriend)

His raccoons had also made themselves at home in your backseat, at the moment the two of you were alone in the car but often there would be a couple of them napping in the back.

Judd grumbled something in response that you didn’t quite hear, but you retorted; “Shut the fuck up. Why can’t you just act like a passenger princess, or something,”

He opened and closed his mouth, cigarette hanging on his lips. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

You smiled a little. “That’s what you are, babe. You’re my passenger princess,”

Blinking slowly, he put the cigarette out in the ashtray he had placed between the front seats and stared at you blankly. “What the hell are you talking about? You think I look like a princess?” He was baffled.

You suppressed a chuckle, and turned your head quickly to gauge his reaction. “I forgot you’re too edgy to use tiktok,” You murmured. When you opened it on your phone, he would sometimes stand behind you and glare at the screen over your shoulder, but that was all the exposure he’d had to the app.

Judd frowned. “Why don’t you pull over and I’ll show you who the real fucking princess is.” It was half a threat, but none that you took too seriously.

“Oh, yeah? You’d have to pay extra for that, Uber drivers don’t normally fuck their costumers.” You answered coyly, but he didn’t find your quip nearly as funny as you did. You turned back to the road, making sure you weren’t about to run into any middle schoolers as you neared Bridgeton Middle School. Judd didn’t say anything– but you felt his large hand slither up your leg, enclosing around your thigh and squeezing the fat there softly.

He looked out the window to his side, refusing to grant you attention while he continued to massage your thigh; and glaring as you pulled into the parking lot. Judd had convinced you to skip school that day, so you could drive him to his stupid deal and you could smoke and get McDonald’s after. The first part of his plan went without a hitch, until you got incredibly high-horny and you ended up fucking in the bathroom at McDonald’s as well. Unfortunately, you had to leave sooner than intended; in a daze and desperate to sober up before you went and picked Jessi up from school. Coincidentally Nick as well, since, you know, Judd's parents took his car.

You parked and turned to Judd, crawling half over to his seat and forcing him to look at you. His glare lessened as he stared at your grinning face so close to his; leaning in. You kissed him softly once, then twice, then three times, giggling and pulling away whenever he chased you. He growled and the hand on your thigh went to your waist, he pulled you in and was just about to kiss you properly, forcefully and roughly when a series of knocks came to your window.

It was Jessi and Nick. You averted your head and let Judd kiss your cheek instead, gently pushing him back as you sat back down in your seat. You motioned for the two to come in.

Jessi opened the door, and allowed Nick to crawl inside first. “It smells like weed and junkfood in here.” She commented, a slight question in her statement as she crawled in, too, and closed the door behind her.

You turned your body halfway in your seat, coming to face her. “Sure.” You ignored her comment. “Had a good day at school?”

Both her and Nick nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. Can you help me with some maths-stuff later?” She asked and you wrinkled your nose; Maths was not something you were particularly good at, but you nodded and agreed to help her anyways.

Judd’s hand returned to your thigh and you glanced at him– he was staring blankly at the kids, but he met your eyes with raised eyebrows, indicating he wanted something from you. You hummed. “Hey, Jessi, how about hanging out at Nick’s house for a while?” You looked to Nick, who flushed slightly and nodded in agreement.

Jessi’s mouth tightened as she looked at Nick, and then you. She new that when you asked her that, you really meant; “Hey, Jessi, it would be more convenient for me to drive straight to Judd’s house so we can fuck.”

“C’mon Jessi, we can watch a movie or something,” Nick added hopefully. You smiled, a bit tightly as you looked at Jessi and she reluctantly uncrossed her arms and agreed. “Okay, fine. But can we do that stupid biology assignment together then, instead?”

Nick agreed happily, and the two quickly got a rather animated conversation started. You drove out of the parking lot, Judd’s hand increasing in height on your thigh till he was toying with the hem of your skirt. You flushed, gently pushing his hand down a couple times so Jessi and Nick wouldn’t see, but it ultimately was a losing battle.

The two’s conversation turned to background noise as you drove towards your destination, as fast as you could; now way faster than the speed limit allowed. Judd’s incessant caress of your thigh made your heart beat so much faster and your finger’s grip the steering wheel so much tighter— you could feel him staring hungrily at you the whole time too, seizing you up with that small twitch of his lips that meant he was going to fuck you till your legs were jelly.

‘Step on that goddamn speeder, sugar! Look how he’s eyeing you.. like a big, hungry wolf,’ Connie’s claws locked around the back of your seat, and she moaned when his nails slightly scratched at your fishnets; lifting them and making them slap against your thigh.

You gasped, and sent him a glare that bordered on a sultry pout. “I can’t,” you muttered to Connie. “I’ll actually run someone over if I go any faster,”

Your monstress shook the seat harder. ‘They won’t mind giving up their life for some sweet, sweet lovemaking baby~’ She purred and you glanced at her briefly, with a scandalised expression.

“I really don’t think you should be saying stuff like that,” You retorted, focused on evening out your breathing from the slow teasing of Judd’s warm hand. Then he leaned in, squeezing your thigh in a death grip and placed a long, slow kiss under your jaw

“You changed your mind about fucking your Uber costumer yet?” He drawled, deep voice dragging a whispering growl all the way up your spine.

You shivered. “I think I have,” you breathed back and felt him smile triumphantly against your neck.

He cackled darkly. “Good. You better drop the fucking attitude,” Then, he snapped your fishnets again, watching as thin, red lines appeared on your thigh.

Connie moaned loudly again, fanning her hands in front of her face before dramatically laying down on the floor of the car, between the front and back seats.

“Ew. Can you two not?” That time it was Nick speaking, arms crossed over his chest.

Jessi nodded in agreement; her gaze was locked on where Judd was touching your thigh, burning into you. Your boyfriend in question slowly retreated his hand, half turning in his seat to glare dissatisfied at your two passengers.

Nick shifted uncomfortably and whatever insult he had died on his tongue. “What? Are you fucking jealous or something?” He sneered.

The younger shrugged and looked away. “No.”

Judd grunted, gravely and deeply. “It’s not my fault you can’t get your little prick wet,” He wiggled his pinky finger for emphasis.

You failed to hold back a giggle and gently slapped his arm. “Don’t tell thirteen-year-olds to have sex, you ass,” You scolded, halfheartedly through and smiled as you came to a stop in front of the birch house.

“Okay, get out you two!” You called over your shoulder. “We’ll be right in— I’m just gonna park.” You bluffed, and didn’t miss the way Jessi rolled her eyes at you as she slammed the car door behind her.

Connie rose from the floor to sit in the middle seat in the back. ‘Yeah, park Judd’s dick right in your pussy!’ She drawled, making obscene gestures with her hands.

Judd was quick to point you to a nearby parking spot, concealed a bit by a willow tree with low-hanging branches. As soon as you were parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt and Judd was reaching for you.

He pulled you to him by your waist— settling you down over his lap, straddling him. You whimpered as you felt him against you, already straining in his pants. He grabbed greedy handfuls of your ass with one hand, having the other settle on the back of your neck and pulling your hair. He held your head in an iron grip, making sure you wouldn’t avoid his kiss this time around.

Then, he kissed you. Roughly, deeply, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly. You mewled as he bit your lower lip, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers gently pulling on the short hairs at the back of his head.

You were already moving your hips, without thinking about it and he wasted no time in aiding you; thrusting upwards while holding your hips down and helping you rock back and forth.

You were already quite sensitive from your earlier rough fuck in the McDonald’s bathroom, your clit swelled and started twitching almost instantly. The rough drag of denim on your panties was almost too much, but the sloshing of warmth in your lower belly kept you going— rutting yourself harder against him.

He moved from your lips, you let out a soft, whiny sigh. “You wanted it that bad, huh? You’re already so fuck-drunk,” He commented, that wicked smile pulling at his lips. He squeezed your asscheek hard. “Up.” He instructed, and shakily, you lifted yourself up to stand on your knees instead of sitting on him.

You held his shoulders for support, definitely not expecting him to bring both his hands under your skirt and roughly ripping your fishnets apart right under your pussy. He let them rip all the way down your thighs and you looked at him wide-eyed.

“I’ll get you new ones, baby.” He grinned, a bit coyly as he pushed your panties aside. His cold fingers gently brushed your folds and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about your ruined tights. Your breathing hitched and you desperately bucked your hips, trying to get him to touch you further.

His other hand returned to your hip, to hold it in place and keep you from rutting yourself against his fingers. He gave a warning growl, brows drawing together as he concentrated on the task at hand. He teased your folds apart with his pointer, feeling how warm and wet you already were. You were pulsing, almost, starting to clench before his fingers even entered.

“Judd—“ You moaned. “Do— do something.” You pleaded with him.

Connie was going crazy behind you as well, both her and Maury were sitting in the backseat contributing to an animated conversation. Your monstress shook Maury by the shoulders, yelling at him to get Judd to do anything.

‘C’mon! Fist her already!’ Maury roared, kicking the seat you and Judd were sitting on.

Your boyfriend inhaled sharply, pressing his thumb to your swollen bud— forcing a breathy, drawn out whine out of you. He retaliated by pressing down harder, slowly moving his thumb in a circle that had you desperately bucking into his hand.

He could feel your warmth leaking, wetness gathering and threatening to fall before he finally, finally gave in and shoved a finger into you. He looked at you, drinking in your expression as he burrowed one, long finger into your cunt.

Connie cheered and you cried out Judd’s name. He made a ‘come hither’ motion, slightly scratching deep within your walls right where you needed him. He chuckled, darkly as you clenched around his finger.

“Want one more?” He asked— pressing down on your clit deliberately right as you were about to answer.

You nodded your head, burying your face in his shoulder. “Mhm! Judd— please!” You wiggled your hips in emphasis.

“Good girl.” He praised you, adding a second finger as promised. He pumped them for a little while, relishing in the moans you tried to conceal in his neck and grunting at the occasional bites you left.

Then, he suddenly stopped moving, but not withdrawing his fingers. You whined pathetically in protest. “Relax, slut.” He said. “Fuck yourself on my fingers,”

You didn’t need to be told twice, immediately you were bouncing up and down on his hand; trying to bring them as far into your pussy as possible. You clawed at Judd’s shirt, pulling the neckline down so you could properly bite him and conceal most of your whiny moans.

He groaned, ripping his head back and allowing you more access to ravage his neck. You could feel yourself dripping, warm liquid gathering in Judd’s palm and running down his forearm. He pressed your clit harder, feeling your cunt clench tightly around his fingers— his cock ached at the thought of feeling your little pussy around him again.

The car filled with loud squelching sounds, every time you rose and fell back on his fingers. Your pace fastened in time with Judd’s assault on your clit and you cried out; “Please—please, more! Judd, please!”

“Yeah?” He drawled and you lifted your head from his neck slightly to nod your head. Then, he curled his fingers and touched a spot that had you seeing stars. You cried out, loudly, as his fingers began thrusting into you violently. Along with your combined forces, you moving your hips frantically and him rolling your clit with his thumb and scissoring his long fingers inside your pussy, you reached the edge quickly.

Judd sneered. “You gonna cum?” He knew the answer already, could feel it in the way your little pussy throbbed and clenched around his fingers.

Your thighs burned from your rapid movement, shaking as liquid flames consumed your belly. “S’good, s’good— yes,” you breathed, clawing at Judd’s chest.

He bend his fingers inside you again, breathing into your ear in his nice, deep voice. “Come on my fingers, pretty girl. C’mon.”

Again, you definitely did not need to be told twice. The coil in your tummy snapped, and you fell apart with a loud cry of your boyfriends name. He continued finger fucking you through your orgasm, until you were even puffier and so sensitive that you were shying away from his hands.

He grinned gleefully. “Good fucking girl,” he praised you, rubbing your clit in slow circles again, before finally pulling out and allowing you to rest on his knees.

You sat, feeling your own wetness drip underneath you as you tried to catch your breath— Judd however, wasted no time, unbuckling his pants and pulling his fat cock out.

You swallowed at the sight, how fucking hard he was and your pussy clenched again— as if it wasn’t already sore and abused. Subconsciously, you rutted your hips a bit forward, grinding on his knee as you watched him stroke himself. He hissed, hand tightly fisting the base of his cock and making its way to his leaking head; you timed your movements with his stroking.

“C’mere.” He grunted, hands leaving his swollen cock in favour of grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him.

On instinct, you reached forwards and grabbed his dick, standing on your knees again so you could sink down on him. You only managed to get the head in, before one of his large hands wrapped around your wrists; stopping you.

“You take what I give you, slut. Pull shit like that again and I’ll have you on your knees instead, got it?” He growled, his other hand restraining your hip in a death grip that was sure to leave marks on your after— long, purple finger prints.

Though the thought of sucking him off wasn’t terrible, your pussy ached so pathetically and you knew the only thing that would satisfy you was Judd’s cock rearranging your guts. So you whined, but nodded and let him guide you back.

He leaned the seat back a little, Maury yelped and moved away from his place behind you to make space as Judd leaned back. He lifted his hips up, emphasising what he wanted from you.

You reached out a shaky hand, closing it around his base and moving up and down just like he had before. He groaned, teeth clenching as you smeared his pre-cum from top to bottom, massaging him to the best of your ability. Still, you couldn’t ignore the harsh clenching of your hole as he kept you empty. You slowly started grinding against his thigh again, hoping he’d let you.

“Judd..” You sniffled, eyes close to filling with tears. “I need your cock inside me, please.”

You could almost feel Judd’s dick hardened in your grip, and he growled and sat up a little straighter. “Jeez. You whine like a bitch in heat,” He commented, rather smugly.

He beckoned you with his fingers again, and you raised yourself right over his cock but waited to sit down. Judd hummed in approval, guiding his cock with one hand and you with the other, till the head was making its way inside you.

You sighed, relieved, trying to relax your throbbing pussy so Judd could fit. He groaned. “You’re so.. fucking tight, relax.” He said, as he forced his way further inside you.

When he finally bottomed out, you moaned, loudly. He didn’t move right away, so again you took matters into your own hands and started softly rocking your hips.

He grabbed your hand, placing it over your belly to feel the bulge his cock had created inside you. “Feel that, baby? You’re so full, aren’t you?”

You barely registered the question, burying your face in his neck again to hide the way your whole expression screwed up in pleasure. “Mhm.. s’big, s’full.” You slurred.

Then, Judd started moving, bouncing you in his lap like a cocksleeve while you wailed into his shoulder. The stretch was almost unbearable, you felt him bruising your cervix each time he moved— the fit was so snug you could feel every ridge and vain on him.

He lost himself in the feeling of your warm, soft pussy, having tuned Maury out a long time ago he fucked you mercilessly, entirely focused on reaching his own end. He lifted his hips off the seat to pound into you from below— you could feel him in your belly, your clit scraping over his lower stomach every time he moved.

It was too much— you were already close to reaching your end, clenching so tightly around Judd that he cursed and could barely move.

“Feel good, you little slut?” He grunted, blunt nails digging into your sides.

You nodded desperately. “Good.” He said. “Then cum for me again, you’re so close, right? I can feel your little pussy clenching around my dick so tightly, god, you’re such a fucking whore.”

You kinda wanted to say something back, but with his rough thrusts and the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head and crossed; you couldn’t really deny him.

The air in the car felt electric as you came for a second time, bursting and feeling a flush of warm liquid spill from you and cover Judd’s cock. He groaned as you creamed, warm little hole sucking him in and fighting to keep him there. His breathing went erratic, and he bounced you harder, faster, to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck! Shit, you’re so tight,” He growled through clenched teeth, fucking you so hard the car shook and he was sure to leave bruises. Your legs had gone numb by the time he took your hand again, placing it back on your belly right in time with his release.

His cock throbbed and he came. Hard. Thick ropes of warm cum filled you, stuffing you so full you could feel your belly swell even further under yours and Judd’s combined hands.

He leaned in and bit down on your neck, keeping his own noises as quiet as possible but making sure to leave your neck swollen and blue. You moaned softly as he bit you, not having the energy to shy away from the borderline painful overstimulation.

When he came down, you collapsed into his chest— breathing heavily. You sat like that for a while, the car’s windows had been fogged up and the only thing you could hear were your combined breathing.

‘Atta girl!’ Connie slithered around you, patting you on the head. You just mumbled incoherently in response, still too sex drunk to function.

Maury did the same, ruffling Judd’s hair as he leaned his head back against the seat and praising him— all of which Judd ignored.

“You’ll have to carry me back.” You muttered, after a long while.

Judd chuckled hoarsely, moving you a bit to pull out of you and tug himself back in his jeans. “Fuck no.”

You slapped his chest, gently, and pulled yourself up to look at him directly. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Then I did a good fucking job.” He snarked, leaning in and kissing your temple.

Well. It wasn’t like the two of you needed to be somewhere, relaxing in your car for a bit actually did seem like a pretty good option— and so that’s what you did.

God,, why am I horny for a fucking cartoon character wth 💀✋

Tags: @dlfvrr , @bxbyyyjocelyn (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

#big mouth #judd birch #judd birch x reader #headcannons #big mouth x reader #judd birch smut #smut #Judd is so pretty omg

1K notes · View notes

zoluowo · 7 months

Text

Striker × Assassin Reader Headcanons

What to expect: fluff, cursing, harm, injuries, violent themes, enemies to lovers and aggression

1. You and Striker were unknowingly after the same bounty. Right when you both were going in for the kill, you rammed into each other; both of your assassination plans screwed up.

Striker immediately had a distaste for you because you messed up his job and of course you felt the same way with him because he messed up YOUR job.

After a truckload of bickering, you two went your separate ways:

Striker stumbled to the ground with a THUD, as you did. Almost immediately, he reached for his musket as you reached for your dagger -- then within seconds, you had your weaponry aimed at his jugular while his was pressed into your temple. without lowering your weapons you both glance to the side to see that you're bounty was scrambling away in fear.

Striker looked at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of scrap to be tossed away. "Are you kidding me? You ain't got no business being here, shit bag! This is MY bounty to claim!"

You snarled back at him, pressing your dagger further into his flesh. He immediately forced the musket further against you. "You reek of an overbearing simpleton! Let the fuckin professional handle this." You fired back.

2. In about two weeks you attempt to go after that same bounty without any worries of bumping into striker again. As fate would have it, you both ran into each other AGAIN. Of course, your interaction didn't go well but a different outcome occurred this time; you and striker both managed to take down the bounty in unison without any verbal indication ( it was sort of like an instinct for you both to work together )

Being impressed with your skills, Striker had a much more respectable demeanor with you:

"holy shit--" Striker grimaced, a slight hiss to his tone. "You--" his gaze flickered from the fallen body to you, it's almost as if he was failing to comprehend what had just happened. "You-- we...we did that?!"

You eyed Striker from hat to boots and looked as if you were judging him, he curled his lip back at you to reveal his sharp pointed teeth. "Yeah. We did." You pstated blankly.

Striker took a moment or two to compose himself before removing his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Huh. Not bad for damsel." He chuckled, his tone now exceptionally soft.

You staggered and turned to face him with all of your fury, though your gaze immediately softened after seeing a gleam of respect within his hues. "R-Really?" You internally curse yourself for stammering.

Striker skillfully tossed his hat upon his head. He then placed his hands upon his hips and arched a brow, an eat shitting grin was clearly plastered upon his face. ”you heard me." His grin immediately vanished. "Don't think too much of it though. You strike me as the type who's cocky when they fuckin shouldn't be." The cowboy zipped past you, a rattle could be heard as he flicked his tail. "You could learn a thing or two from me."

You watched him hop onto his horse and crossed your arms, unsure if you should be offended or relieved that he wasn't looking to bite your head off like the first time you met. "Alright, old man. You seem pretty cocky yourself. Don't be a fuckin hypocrite."

You could've sworn you saw a light smile from Striker.

"yeah yeah, whatever, damsel."

"I'm no damsel."

Striker hesitated. "Yeah- you're not just that." He gestured to the body that laid limp before you two. "The bounty's yours."

Before you could so much as blink, Striker's horse galloped away, leaving you alone with yourself and your thoughts. Plus the dead bounty.

3. You just couldn't settle with this - you had all this money and yet you weren't satisfied. Much to your surprise, you got off your ass and searched for Striker throughout the ring of wrath.

You found his hideout thanks to some singing fools and you searched for him. Unaware that it was you at first, Striker fired his musket - the bullet grazed the side of your cheek and you stumbled back, instinctively tossing your dagger out to catch his clothing and bound him against a large boulder. He was, of course, stunned once again by your remarkable skill and then pulled the dagger from him and demanded to know what you were doing there.

You explained that you couldn't have the money all to yourself, so you tossed half of the portion to him and he was touched to say the least.

3. Your relationship kind of expands from here. You technically start working together, but avoid saying that you two are a team to soothe both of your egos I guess. Despite "working together" you two do go off on lone missions.

( ep 6 s2 ) after Striker lost to blitzo and fizz, he stumbled back into his hideout, wounded from burns he had received. You reluctantly tended to his wounds and tried to get him to talk about what happened but he refused. After you were done helping him out, he walked off and grumbled a snarky "thanks"

4. You two often train together. Whenever one of you has the upper hand you deliver a snarky remark and gloat.

5. You eventually loosen up around striker and occasionally tease him. He mostly has aggressive responses but he's secretly amused by your banter.

6. It takes a long while for Striker to loosen up to you. When he does, he likes to ramble to you about his victories and how awesome he is. He also allows you to feed his horse

7. Striker decided to give you horse riding lessons. You both were on the horse and he was sitting behind you, instructing you on what to do. He immediately regretted ever teaching you because you ended up having a field day with galloping all over wrath.

8. You noticed that it's a bit of a routine for Striker to avoid you at all costs whenever he comes back with injuries from a mission of his.

One day, you decided you had enough of his avoidance when he came back with incredibly severe injuries. It took a lot of convincing, but you managed to tend to his wounds. He was complaining and talking down on you the whole time. But you decided to shut him up by saying "next time. Ask for fucking help." - your stern tone made him stagger and vulnerably utter "yes ma'am/sir"

9. You two pretty much go on with your lives being fully aware that you love eachother but never fully admitting it aloud.

10. There are rare occasions where Striker just approaches you from behind and gives you a back hug. ( he usually does it when he's very sleepy )

11. Whenever you do an excelling job during a mission -- afterwards striker places his hat on your head and jokingly justifies your skills with "PFFT that was just pure shitting luck."

That's pretty much all I got! Hope you enjoyed this first ever post of mineee

#helluva boss #helluva boss striker #striker x reader #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss striker x reader #helluva boss x reader #beginner artist

341 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 10 months

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 4

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.9k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Unlacing corsets but in the slowest most sensuous way possible Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

You blink again, feeling the damp mist of morning swirl against the hem of your skirt as you look down the path to the front of your garden where two figures lean against the twisted trunk of an aspen tree.

"Morrrrnin'." Soap drawls at you, smirk plastered across his face at the shock in your expression- not expecting two witchers to be awaiting you outside your front door.

"M-morning." You reply after a few moments, quelling your surprise. Soap beams at you, and beside him Gaz offers a little roll of his eyes towards his companion at the clear smugness there.

"Laswell asked for you." Gaz explains when Soap fails to elaborate on their presence. "She mentioned she wanted you to pick some herbs for her and sent us to escort you."

"Escort me?" You ask with a little huff of amusement, raising an eyebrow at them. "What, like some sort of damsel in distress?"

"Aye." Soap offers as he straightens off his perch with a little roll of his shoulders. He stands before you, broad as he places his hands on his hips in a demonstration of sarcastic machismo. "We are but faithful knights to your safety, yer highness."

You have to hide a girlish smile behind your hand at that, endeared by Soap's teasing flirtations. There's an easiness about him you appreciate, that softens the anxiety of the world around you, the burden of the secret in your home that remains dozing in the loft of your home. You had refused to wake König, had instead left a small, scrawled note of your venture outside for errands and a promise to return soon.

Instead, you had found this, the mysterious presence of two monster hunters who had awaited your appearance in the misty brightness of late morning.

"What he means is that there's a dangerous monster in the forest, and Laswell would rather you not be out there by yourself." Gaz again elaborates, offering Soap a nudge in the side as the Scot cries out in feigned hurt. Yet they both look to you expectantly, offering boyish smiles as they await your response.

"Well." You sigh at last. "I suppose I can't refuse two handsome gentlemen such as yourselves."

"Aww, she called us handsome." Soap drawls, nudging Gaz in the side with his elbow. Gaz shoves him a little back playfully, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Can agree with me, at least. Might need to get your eyes checked about him." He tells you wryly, much to Soap's displeasure.

"Oi-"

"Shall we get a move on, gentlemen?" You ask as they begin to playfully cajole each other into rough housing, until they both turn and offer their horses to you. You stride past them, put a boot in the stirrup of Soap's mare and deftly swing yourself into the saddle, offering the pair a clever smile as they stare up at you in surprise.

"You two can share." You declare, clipped, nudging the mare in the direction of the village road as they cry out after you in dismay.

----

You end up sharing with Soap after all, as the three of you pick your way off one of the more isolated trails into the gulley of the forest. You know the path well, know nightshade and chamomile grows deep in the shadows, know which leaves to gather, and those to leave alone let the thorns bite at your fingertips.

There's easy conversation amongst the three of you, as you capture their rapt attention in your ramblings about the village, herbs, Laswell, the forest itself. In turn, Gaz and Soap share their own limited knowledge about your craft, and detail that which you don't know about theirs. They share tales of gargoyles and necromancers, creatures of the night, curses and demons and dead kings.

They tell you too about the wolf.

"Werewolves are especially hard to kill." Gaz explains from his saddle beside you, voice lower now. Grim. "Especially during full moons."

"I thought they shift only during full moons?" You offer, and Soap makes a little grunt of frustration behind you. it's not directed at you, but you can feel the annoyance sit low in his chest pressed against your back.

"They can shift at will." He elaborates, voice colored with a low simmering irritation, likely at their currently fruitless hunt. "Full moon is just when they lose control."

"And bite people?" You ask, to which he and Gaz exchange a look.

"It's uncommon, but yes. Treatable too, if you catch it soon enough."

It clicks then, the herb that they must be searching for, the cure to the ailment they may end of facing.

"Wolfsbane." You breathe, twisting in your saddle to look up at Soap behind you, who smiles, pleased.

"Told ya' she's a smart lass." He comments to his comrade beside him, who chuckles in response. "Aye, wolfsbane. Tastes like shite but will cure you right fast."

You cast him a little look of wry amusement before facing forward once more. "Have you tried making it into tea?" You ask mildly. "Or...bread? Soup? Liqour?"

"Liquor...why didn't I think of that?" Gaz mumbles, barely audible beside you both. "Could have been drinking wolfsbane ale this whole time and not choking it down raw."

"Bet it still tastes like piss." Soap points out, and Gaz gives him a withering look.

"You will drink anything that has liqour." He points out, to which Soap splutters but offers no rebuttal. "Besides-"

Gaz looks at you, a little more seriously now. "We can take it, we...are a little different than regular people. A small dose for us would kill most humans within a few hours. For us we get feverish and a tad sick, but it won't kill us. It’s better than being a werewolf."

You nod at that, and want to press for more. You knew from the moment you saw the witchers that they were...different. They're broader, taller, more intent than other men you've seen. There's an inherent keenness to them that speaks of awareness, more than that of an average human. It makes sense. Mortals of your kind were not bred to hunt creatures such as werewolves, let alone all manner of other beasts that roam these lands.

Gaz must see the contemplation in your eyes, the silent rumination, because he reaches the distance across from you, between the horses and nudges your shoulder with his leathered palm.

"You can ask." He offers gingerly, eyes kind. "We don't mind."

"Gaz's right." Soap supplies. "Truth is, hen, we've taken a bit of a shine to ye. Laswell trusts ye, and we can see why."

You squirm a little at that, face tucked into your hood, abashed but pleased at their comments. It's nice, this. It's often lonely in the village, in the place where so many others don't trust you, look at you skeptically from the corner of their eyes, whisper about you even where you can hear. Here, between these men with blood that runs hotter, higher, more potent, you feel a familiar sense of otherness that to you feels like belonging.

So, you ask, and you learn more of them.

They weren't always witchers, they tell you. First, they had been boys. Orphans, or given up to older witchers to be trained, honed, broken and rebuilt. Over the course of years, the four of them had stopped being boys, had begun to grow less human, and by the time they reached adulthood they were no longer mortal.

Witchers.

Gifted with superior sights, hearing, reflexes, strength. They can easily fight with the power of twenty men, born and bred to rid the lands of creatures that stalk and kill more fragile things.

Things like you.

It had taken them many years to find each other. Price had been the first, and you knew this from when he spoke to you. He had originally met Ghost when the younger witcher was still in his trials, had spoken encouragements to him that allowed Ghost to overcome the remainder of his training in ways few others had before him. Yet by that time Price was gone, hunting down a witch in the far western lands, one with grey eyes and a thin, wry smile.

"Laswell." You breathe to Gaz, much like a little girl listening to a beloved, enrapturing fairytale. Gaz smiles knowingly at you before continuing on.

Price had been meant to kill her, but upon realizing Kate was not the dark enchantress the villagers who had summoned him made her out to be, he made a different call. Instead, he had traveled with Kate for a time, until they had once more come upon Ghost.

Soap and Gaz go quiet then, and you feel a silent sense of regret, grief between them. You're afraid to press into it, but at last Soap offers the hidden tale of the masked witcher who had once terrified you with his mere presence.

"Roba." Soap offers, voice low, grim.

Roba, the name of the necromancer Ghost had been sent to kill by the man who had trained him, only to be betrayed. Roba had kept Ghost, had tortured him, had failed to break him despite everything. When Price and Laswell had eventually found him, Ghost had already been cursed by the necromancer, a bearing that even to this day forces him to conceal himself lest others be horrified by the appearance of a dead man under the mask.

It has been Price and Laswell who had helped Ghost kill Roba, and the man who had betrayed him. It was only after the battle that Laswell declared herself tired of traveling, and had come to settle in your valley village, while you were still very young.

Price continued on with Ghost at his side, and eventually they had found Gaz, who belonged to a small coven of witchers that protected a haven for those of their kind. Yet when Gaz had listened to promises of adventure and conquest from Price, he had been eager to leave behind his keep and travel alongside them. Price had easily taken him under his wing, had guided him in all the things Gaz had yet to experience as a young witcher.

It had only been once the three of them were united that they found Soap.

Soap goes quiet then, unexpectedly, and you gingerly shift in the saddle to see the hard set of his jaw, the grimace in his expression that speaks of anger, regret.

"You don't have to say it, mate." Gaz declares softly, and Soap only shakes his head.

"My squad was wiped out." He tells you softly, but his voice is hard, stony with grim memory. "We were all too bloody green, too fresh to be hunting what we were after."

You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments of silence you wonder if he actually will.

"A werewolf." Soap finishes at last, voice close to a snarl, low and dangerous in the back of his throat.

He goes on to tell you the story, spares you the details of his fellow witchers' deaths by the beast, tells you only that he had been the one to kill the thing, had sat for days surrounded by the bodies of his friends and his sword embedded in the chest of the werewolf. It had been Price and the others that had found him, had lifted him from where he kneeled and silently accepted him into the fold.

You nod at that, trying to tell yourself it's a happy ending at least. After all, they're together now, found themselves despite all the trials and tribulations. The team they are now is one of loyalty, skill, solidarity, trust. You can think of no one else better to defend your village against the shadow that lurks in the trees.

"So then how do you kill a werewolf?" You ask after several long minutes, adjusting in your seat as the horses begin to descend downhill into a gully.

"With patience." Gaz replies with a little grunt, reigning in his mare from walking too fast. "They heal fast unless you hit them with silver. Wolfsbane helps too."

"Which is why we're finding it." You conclude, leaning back into Soap's chest as he palms the reins in one hand, wrapping a brawny armored arm across your front to keep you from slipping. Your face warms at the contact, remembering the sensation of being at Price's back as you both rode back from Laswell's those nights ago.

Strangely, the memory fades to something else, to the press of a warm, solid frame that loomed above yours, one arm slung over your shoulder as you helped him walk from the forest under the cover of darkness, where he murmured a soft, breathy "Danke, Fraulein." As he at last rested in the safety of your home.

"That-" Soap says from behind you, startling you from reverie. "-and to check the traps we lay."

"Traps?" You echo, when suddenly both men urge their steeds to a halt, Gaz easily slipping from his saddle and walking over to a small pile of crinkled leaves just a few steps from the path. Gingerly, he brushes them aside, revealing a jaw-like contraption laying open against the ground. Empty.

He makes a small sound of disapproval, turning to Soap and talking over your head.

"Not this one, thing may have learned to avoid them after we got him the other night." He comments, brow creasing in frustration. Soap's grumble mirrors Gaz's expression, discontent at their findings.

"What is that?" You find yourself asking, eyeing the strange metal contraption with a healthy amount of caution.

"Bear trap." Soap explains quickly. "Won't kill werewolves but may keep them long enough for us to catch up."

"Our werewolf managed to get himself loose before we could find him." Gaz sighs ruefully, covering the trap once more. "We tried to follow the blood trail, but lost him over a creek. Smart bugger."

You consider that, that the monster that Price and the others hunt is not just dangerous, wild, untamed, but intelligent. It knows it's being hunted, adapts to the wolves of a different breed that nips at its heels under the cloak of darkness. What Soap has said makes sense now, that werewolves are hard to kill, that you need to be patient, smart, and absolutely prepared at any moment to face the monster.

"No matter." Gaz declares, standing and stretching, making back for his horse. "We'll catch it during the full moon."

"Aye." Soap agrees, but his voice is low, a warning. "Dangerous time to be hunting werewolves. It may lose its mind, but it'll be that much more dangerous."

"So, we better finish our own hunt then." Gaz announces, swinging gracefully back into his saddle and taking point as he continues down the path. He turns so he leans over his shoulder at you, offering a reassuringly bright smile.

"Where to?"

---

It takes you the better part of the day to find the hardy purple flowers that grows from the soft, wet soil of creek beds in the hills. You gather as much as you can, and even when Gaz and Soap warn you about the soon-setting sun you try to continue pulling the wolfsbane from where it grows. You aren't like the two of them. You can't hunt monsters, you can't heal quickly, can't fight against beasts. What you can do is this, is help them how you can, and you tell yourself it is enough.

The journey back towards the village is quick, the sun setting low behind the hills and cast the forest in waning light that whispers of ominous darkness. You can't help but trace the trees where you sit in Gaz's saddle, heart murmuring in apprehension as you expect to see the sight you saw that night- of a gigantic, looming figure toeing the edge of the path, eyes glowing, a growl deep in its chest.

As you ride back into the village, you see lanterns flicker on in the houses you pass. Several torches light the square, alighting a small group of men who huddle and discuss with each other in low, grim tones. They silence as you, Soap, and Gaz pass them. Though the two witchers don't bother to glance their way, you do, and instantly wither at the disdainful wariness in their gazes. It's only once you're past them that a voice rings out in your direction.

"Whore!!"

You flinch.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, tugs his reins back in the direction of the men, only for Gaz's gloved palm to shoot out and grasp at the Scot. His eyes are serious as he looks at Soap, mouth a thin line of disapproval as he slowly shakes his head. You can still see the fury in Soap's gaze, but it's restrained as he forces himself to swallow it down.

Gaz then turns his attentions to you, smile sad but kind as you tuck yourself back into his chest, trying to hide, cheeks warm and shoulders hunched in a mixture of shame and hurt.

"Don't listen to them." He tells you softly, one hand gently settling atop yours in your lap. You nod, shoot him a grateful look, one that doesn't ease the remaining anxious flutter of your heartbeat.

By the time the two witchers deposit you back at your doorstep it is well and truly dark, the lanterned lights of the village doing little to illuminate the lane where your small cottage resides. You try and tell them to be careful, but the pair merely shoot you playful, withering glances in the same vein of Price.

We're Witchers, love.

Even so, they assure you that the bundles of wolfsbane they carry back to Laswell will offer them protection as they canter back in the direction of her home.

You watch them go and try not to think about how much you'll miss them after they leave for good.

"You're back!" König chirps as you step inside and the door latches behind you. You smile at the bright tone of his voice, excited, eager to see you. There's an unfamiliar brightness that alights in your chest, the feeling of being welcomed so wholly, so jovially as soon as you step into the confines of your own home. It feels different than Laswell, with her easy but mysterious demeanor, different than the shy bashfulness of being around Price and the others. Here, you feel like you can be entirely yourself, allow König to see the weariness behind your smile.

He's warming himself near the fire as you step inside, hands outstretched as the scant warmth of daytime fades. He's coaxed the hearth into a slow, tender flame that licks just shy of his palms. A pot of water hovers above it, and once again the soft, grateful comfort of coming home to good company fills your chest so suddenly it nearly aches.

"You were gone all day." König offers as you come closer, deposit your scarlet cape atop a chair with a little sigh. "I-"

König pauses, breathes in. You blink, watch as a strange puzzlement passes over his features, his chest rising as he takes a long, dragging inhale through his nose.

"W-what is that?" He asks, voice wavering slightly, and you blink, a similar look of confusion clouding your features. You stare at him silently, trying to decipher whatever he's alluding to, and eventually glance to your skirt, your cape, seeing if perhaps there's something you don't recognize that could have spawned his reaction. Finding nothing, you eventually look back at him.

For a single moment, you swear König’s eyes glint yellow.

He stands, the motion rather abrupt, and his height nearly makes you startle, still unaccustomed to the sheer length of his build that towers over you.

"I-I heated some water." He manages, voice strained. "In case you...maybe wanted to bathe."

You relax a little at that, the idea of a warm soak a much-needed relaxation to the ache of being in a saddle all day. Still, you raise a playful eyebrow at your visitor, mouth quirking.

"Why, do I smell?" You ask, and König splutters, instantly raising his hands and waving them in defense.

"N-nein!" He exclaims, and you giggle at the frantic, indignant widening of his eyes beneath his hood. If you look close enough, you can almost swear there's a faint pinkness rising to his cheeks.

"I'm only teasing." You reassure him, and watch his shoulders droop in relief, failing to resist a grin.

König startles as you pass him in the direction of the wood wash bin you keep tucked to one side of the kitchen, sucking in a sharp breath as you near him. You wonder idly if perhaps you were a little too harsh with your teasing, considering his strange reaction to your proximity. He doesn't make to assist you in dragging the tub across the floor, nor does he move from where he stands as you lift the now simmering kettle to pour into the tub. Your hands briefly dip into the water, testing the temperature, watching Konig out of the corner of your eye. He seems to ease as you dry your hands on your skirt, gaze lifting to regard you more fully.

It's a bit odd, the way he watches you. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, not in the way that some of the villagers watch you. Their gazes rake across your form, scarcely conceal the apprehension, the disdain behind their eyes. You're still trembling a bit from earlier, turn in such a way that König can't see it. His eyes follow the motion, gaze keen, unblinking. There's an interest in his stare that feels far less like a scowl and more of a silent watchfulness, an unwavering focus that leaves goosebumps trailing along your flesh.

Like a wolf.

You shake away the thought, cast him a shy look over your shoulder. You catch his eyes just for a moment, see him blink as if he was enraptured at something you couldn't see. He straightens under your eyes, but tilts his head down towards his shoes, as if abashed at being caught staring.

"Would you mind, König?" You ask him gingerly, damp hands rising to the back laces of your bodice meaningfully.

Usually, you can undo them by yourself, but the ache of your spine from riding with two witchers all day, and the effort of straining your arms, scrambling up rocky creek beds in search of wolfsbane has you hard to reach the ties.

König shifts where he stands, a little apprehensively, until at last he approaches, broad hands settling at the dip of your back as he slowly tugs the laces apart. You can't tell if his hands are trembling, or if he's just unused to the motion against his fingers. It takes him more time than you expected to part the laces enough for you to have the space to shrug out of the bodice. Before you can, his hand dips in the space between your bodice and your chemise, pressing a featherlight touch against the small of your spine.

You shiver.

König pulls away at once, so suddenly it's as if he's been burned. You look at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes and finding a matching look of surprise there at his gentle but blatant touching. König looks stricken, guilty, and there's a choked little apology on his lips, as if he too is shocked at his own actions.

You clear your throat a little awkwardly, averting your gaze towards the tub, and fortunately König instantly understands, putting space between you both and tugging the privacy screen as he goes. You hear him take a chair, and as you peek towards him you find him sitting himself facing the wall, offering you an extra layer of privacy. It's strangely endearing, the hunch of his shoulders, as if he's a boy being sent to think on his misdeeds.

You set yourself to the washtub, draping your layers over the screen until you gently scoot yourself, knees folded, into the tub. There's a little sigh that escapes your lips in relief, and though the water barely covers your hips, the warmth is a welcome respite for your tired muscles.

"We went up into the hills today." You offer in the strange silence that follows, and you hear König release an exhale as if he'd been holding his breath. "Laswell sent us looking for wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane." König echoes, and you blink at the strangeness of his tone, dipping low in his chest with a hint of annoyance. It's gone in a moment as he asks: "...Laswell is the healer at the other side of the woods, Ja?"

"Yes." You reply, knowing he can't see you nod. "She's been my friend for as long as I can remember."

You pause, stare down into the bathwater.

"Maybe...my only friend."

König is silent.

You perk up, smile up in his direction, even if it's a little forced. "You're my friend too, König."

König sits a little straighter at that, and you think, even though you can't see his face, that maybe he's smiling.

"You're...my friend too, fraulein." He offers hesitantly. "A very good friend."

You smile a little broader at that, reach for the soap and begin to scrub off. The grime from digging in the moss and dirt soon comes clean, and you begin to start on the rest of your skin as well.

"The two men from earlier..." He offers after a few minutes of silence. "Are they your friends too?"

You pause, consider.

"I think so." You reply slowly. "I'd like them to be, but..."

You think once more about the witchers you've become friends with, of Soap's easy going amicable nature, of Gaz's trustful eyes, of Ghost's quiet but steady presence, of Price's gaze that weighs heavy on your shoulders, watching.

"But...?" König echoes uncertainly.

You heave a little sigh. "They won't stay here." You declare solemnly. "Once they catch the wolf they're hunting, they'll move on. So, I guess it doesn't really matter."

König is silent at that, and you don't blame him. There's little to offer in that regard. Not even an apology for the things you're yet to miss.

You rinse off, feeling cleaner, stand up from the water and let it drip from your bare skin. When you glance towards König, he remains steadfast, gazing into the corner and not moving. It makes you smile a bit, seeing his embarrassment at the idea of being anything less than a gentleman towards you.

"I...didn't have many friends growing up either." He offers as you dry off near the fire, voice somber, lonesome in a way you recognize all too well. "My mother, she took care of me, but the children that were in the same village as me..." He trails off, looking a little lost. "They weren't kind."

You eye him woefully, pause long enough to see his shoulders sink a little, feel a sense of heartache tug inside you as well.

"Your mother." You speak softly, as you reach for a clean chemise in the trunk near your bed. "...What happened to her?"

König is silent for a few moments, and you wonder if perhaps you've pushed too far. Before you can offer an apology, his voice softly returns to yours.

"She died." He says simply, voice a little muted. "and I was chased out of the village soon after. I've...been traveling ever since."

Dressed now, feet still bare, skin still a little damp, you turn to him. König doesn't turn to look at you, focused now not on the stone wall before him, but on his feet. He’s curled in on himself, as if suddenly he feels like he’s the only person here. You know the slouch of his spine, feel it in yourself. After a moment's hesitation you gently pad over to him. At first you rest a palm on his shoulder, feel the shudder he gives you as a result. Yet he doesn't move it, doesn't force himself to dislodge it, and slowly you slide it around to his front, draping yourself carefully across his back in an embrace.

"I'm sorry." You whisper against the soft, worn fabric of his hood. König doesn't answer except for one, large palm that settles on your arms loosely looped around his neck.

You stay like that for a while, feel the rise and fall of his breath in his shoulders, feel your own exhales tickle across his hood. You wait for him to pull away, not wanting to deprive him of this, but as the minutes tick by, you begin to wonder if he ever will.

"Would you ever leave?" He asks, barely a whisper.

You're silent for a long time, eventually turning your head to look up through the window beside you both, the one that faces the trees reaching up towards the ink blotted sky. The clouds roll past the bright moon, heavy and waxing towards fullness. You watch it, feel it tug something in your chest, an awareness you don't recognize just yet. When you speak, it's as soft as the embrace you've fallen into against him.

"...Yes."

Taglist: (If you'd like to be tagged in future updates please REBLOG this post)

@writeforfandoms @zwiiicnziiix @soapskneebrace @tealikestoread @mikrou @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @kiroshang @adorephina @equalstrashflavoredtrash @dog55teeth @seraphimcollections @pettyprocrastination @borderlinecatboybehavior @warenai @moskaisley @nachtcirce @feelingnotmyself @lovenotcomputed @rk1v35 @kikisstrawberrie @emrzennn @montenegroisr @frazie99 @graybraids @ohgraywardens @tangerines-mustache @poohkie90 @arbesa-mind @glitterypirateduck

If you are on this taglist and would like not to be, please DM me ❤️

#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #my writing #my fic #fic: rotes madchen

525 notes · View notes