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writella · 3 months ago

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Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x reader smut #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x y/n smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fluff #twd fanfiction #twd smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic

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aphrogeneias · 9 months ago

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...right? — one-shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern!au)

summary: you're not sure of where you stand with eddie munson, but you're forced to confront your feelings after almost losing him.

word count: 3k

warnings: fluff and angst with a happy ending. jealous!reader. feelings of self-doubt. eddie munson is a sweetheart.

author's note: this one has been a long time in the making, and it may be a little melodramatic, but i'm doing a lot of self-projecting here, so be nice. thank you to @intrepidacious for reading it for me and giving me your approval <3 i'm sorry to all the girls named emma reading this, but i had to give that character a name.

We're performing tonight, if you want to stop by.

You'd been staring at this message for a couple of minutes now, unsure of what to do. You seemed to be in this dilemma a lot, as of late — to answer or not to answer, to show or not to show.

Too scared to show how you felt, but too scared to lose him at the same time.

Zoned out, you caught Robin’s hand flying in your direction from your peripheral. “Stop looking at your phone!”

She snatched it from your hand, still open in your conversation with Eddie. Robin whistled when she took a look at your screen, “Oh, I see. How are things with Mr. Headbanger?”

“You're talking to Eddie?” Chrissy chimed in from her side of the bed, lifting herself on one elbow to see you better with Robin between you.

The three of you had been like this all night, spread out on Chrissy’s queen bed, a sequence of old romantic comedies playing on her TV. There was an empty pizza box on her fuzzy carpet, and a half finished bottle of wine next to it, the second of the night.

You groan, trying to get your phone back to no avail. “Things have been… well, I think. Too well. I guess I've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Then, it was their time to groan.

Your friends like calling you jaded, but you consider yourself a realist.

It's been a topic of conversation between you for years. Ever since your last relationship ended, after you'd been left for another woman, when you swore off love for good — at first, they thought you were just grieving, it would take time to heal, of course, but you never really did.

You don't think you've ever been anything other than an open wound, in that sense, even before your ex. The high walls that were meant to protect you eventually became a prison you couldn't get out of. A princess and a dragon, all in one.

That is until Eddie Munson came into your life.

No one's ever made you want to drop those walls as much as he does. You'd met him through Chrissy, who’d been his friend since high school, and at first you thought he wasn't really flirting with you. He seemed to always be flirting with everyone, always getting a little too close. Until he asked you out, and you were still not convinced.

It could be a friend date. He could be after one of other friends. Maybe he was just passing time until he found someone better.

That was a few months ago, and Eddie hasn't gone anywhere.

He had a few shirts on your place, merch from various bands which you were growing fond of listening to them in his car. Shirts you would wear to bed when he wasn't spending the night, curling into bed with his smell on you. He'd made friends with your cat, and fixed your coffee in the morning the way you liked it, and left strands of hair loose in your shower.

A brave knight, that Eddie is.

Despite your closeness, and the honesty you see in his eyes whenever you're near him, neither one of you has put a name on what you have. It keeps you up at night, thoughts about calling him your boyfriend and have him laughing at your face. How could you be so stupid?

The thought of it brings tears to your eyes.

“What if that's it, though?” Chrissy interjects, with a gentle voice. Her small hand reached for yours, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “What if there's no other intentions, no other shoe to drop? You have no reason not to trust him.”

“You say that because he's your friend.”

“Chris is right, babe.” Robin says, sitting straighter on the bed. “He’s never given you any reason to think like that. You need to let yourself go, just this once.”

You sigh, and mumble something along the lines of “Easier said than done,” as you sit up and pull your knees to rest your chin on them.

“You should go, by the way.”

Robin reaches to you with your phone in hand, handling it back to you. Her blue eyes are kind, understanding. Chrissy smiles from her place between you.

“Our local rockstar is waiting for you.”

You respond Eddie with a short omw <3 before your friends are pushing you out of your stupor, and into the street.

They’ve already finished their set by the time you arrive at The Hideout.

You're dressed entirely inappropriate for a dive bar full of metalheads and middle-aged bikers, but you don't let yourself think too much about it because no one really notices you coming in, except for the bouncer who compliments you on your old college sweatshirt.

The night is well beyond starting. The bar is full, and it takes you a while to find Eddie, but when you do, he finds you immediately.

He's at the foot of the stage, talking to his friends. The rest of the band is around too, and you wave at them as Eddie makes his way towards you. The smile that pulls on your lips is uncontrollable when he, with an excited smile of his own, takes you in his arms, wrapping himself around you. “Hi! You just missed the show!”

“I'm sorry! I was at Chrissy’s.”

You take a second to look at him closely. His wild hair is a little damp, and his Accept shirt has the sleeves cut off, which shows more of his tattoos. There's a studded belt on his hips, and you don't think too much before pulling him closer by it.

Eddie kisses you on the forehead, and his lips linger a little bit before pulling away. “Did you tell her I said hi?”

“Forgot to. But next time I'll make sure to send your regards.”

When he's close like this, you almost forget your doubts. When his arm is around your shoulders and he's pulling you close, the smell of his cologne and the last cigarette he smoked before going on stage cling to you, and you cling to it in turn.

“Good, and make sure to arrive on time next time too because we played your favorite and you weren't here.” He pouts dramatically, putting one hand to his chest.

The gasp you let out matches it. “Metal Health? Eddie, no!”

“Eddie, yes!” He shakes you a little, turning you in the direction of the tables. “We played Quiet Riot, and you weren't here to see it. Have to say I'm a little disappointed, sweetheart.”

Walking along with him, you stop when you reach a vacant booth on the corner. Turning to face him fully, you leave a soft kiss on his stubbled chin. “I guess you'll just have to keep playing it, then.”

“Does that mean you'll come to every show?”

There's no space between the two of you, standing chest to chest with each other. The rest of the bar disappears. “I might, if you'll have me.”

“Baby, I'll…”

The bubble you find yourselves in shatters and breaks when Eddie stutters, and turns, because there is someone poking him on the back, disturbing your moment. It's a woman, asking to speak to him.

You don't really register what she's saying. All you know is that you've seen her around before, and you know she's friends with the guys. Eddie apologizes to you as he's being dragged away for a private conversation. “I'll be right back! Don't go far.”

Nodding, you remain frozen in place.

They don't go far, but you can't really tell what they're talking about, but her hand on his forearm, slowly rising to his bicep, tells you everything you need to know.

You don't realize it but you're shaking a little bit, cold sweat prickling through your suddenly frigid skin. There's a ringing in your ears, and a lump growing in your throat, but you can't stop yourself from looking.

He looks beautiful like this. The light from the now empty stage hits his figure from the back, making him look every bit like the rock god he's always aspired to be. The frizz on his hair creates a halo around his head, and you think you might faint.

To his credit, he doesn't get any closer to the girl. Doesn't flirt back. His smile is polite, and he maintains a sensible distance, but that's not enough to ease your mind.

He's only keeping a distance because you're here. Your mind says, always the traitor. You're holding him back. He could be making out with a different girl every night. Maybe he is. Maybe he is and you're none the wiser. Better walk away now. Go, before your heart breaks.

It's already breaking, and you're the culprit.

You almost don't notice Eddie return to you, as your vision’s gone blurry.

“Sorry, Emma wanted to invite me to an after party. Told her I was busy.” There it was, his easy smile again. From a first look, you wouldn't think Eddie Munson smiles so easily, but it's always there, pulling on his full lips and showing off his dimples.

You would smile back, as usual, but it's like your face can't move.

“Just you?” You ask, “Not the rest of the boys?”

He laughs, but there's not much humor behind it. “Just me.”

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” He is still grinning, raising one eyebrow at you, as if taunting you to speak up. Something rotten spreads through your insides, stirring them, rising like bile right through your opened mouth.

“Say what? It's not like we're dating, Eddie."

If regret could kill, you would be dead the moment you saw his face fall. Eddie's expressiveness is a double-edged sword — his happiness was contagious, but when he’s upset, there is nothing that could distract you from the way his bambi eyes plead to you.

You double down anyway, already feeling like a fool, but too stubborn to take back what you said.

"...right?"

“Is that what you think?” He asks, a pout on his pretty lips. “Is that what you want?”

“I… I don't know.” Your mouth is moving, but it's like you don't have control over what you're saying anymore. Like you can't even hear yourself, too taken by the dread that has taken over your body. “I think… What do you think?”

You throw the question back at him because you can't be the first one to say it. Because if he backs out, if you say what you really want — and it's him, he's all you've ever wanted, and the realization hits you like a punch to the gut — and he says it's never been quite like that, that he doesn't want you the same way, that he's just been passing the time, you would break.

Eddie looks away from you, then. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “You're not sure what you want, is that what you're telling me?”

“No! No, it's not like that.” You almost choke on your own spit, “I'm just…”

Scared. Of opening your heart, of rejection, of him leaving when he learns how much you want him, need him.

“If you're not sure of what you want, I think you should take some time to think about it.”

“But, Eddie, I…”

“Think about it, and call me when you know.”

One of his hands goes to your shoulder, squeezing it, and briefly running thumb over the fabric of your sweatshirt. He's turning around before you can stay anything, the lump in your throat too big to allow you to speak.

The room feels like it's turning upside down as you turn the other way, towards the door. It turns and turns on its axis, and you almost lose your balance as you're making your way out. You wave halfheartedly at the bouncer, who waves back at you in the middle of his conversation with a green haired girl.

Walking home, you have time to think of what you'd just done.

As the tears roll freely through your face, and you wipe them with the end of your sleeves, you think of Eddie’s sullen face, once full of life, now transpiring his disappointment in you. You'd let him down, and it was all your fault.

In an attempt to protect yourself, you pushed him away.

You imagine him back at the bar, with the boys. With Emma, ready to console him after what you just did to him. The thought of it just makes you cry harder, trying to control your breathing as you get closer to your apartment.

You did what you always do. Leave first, turn your back, clam up back into your shell. You just never thought you'd do that to him.

It doesn't take long until you spiral.

You did all you could after you got home. Tried to breathe, but it only made you cry harder. Curled up on the couch with your cat, a brown tabby that curled herself right back into you, and cried until there were no tears left. Ignored your friends’ messages on your phone, pretending everything was all right.

Tried to drink, but felt too sad to even open your fridge. Ran into one of Eddie’s hoodies hanging from the back of a chair in your room, and felt more tears coming, but no strength to cry.

Everything in your room reminded you of him — your unmade bed where he'd be lying on if you didn't screw up, the fantasy book he'd let you borrow on your bedside table, a polaroid of the two of you with your arms around each other serving as a bookmark.

You pick your phone, and it rings and rings. He doesn't answer. In a moment of panic, you leave a message instead, pacing through your room on your bare feet, still wearing the clothes you went out in. The cat on your bed follows your movements with her eyes.

“Hi, Eddie. I… You might not even want to hear from me right now, and I get that. Really, I do, but… You just need to know I know I fucked up. I didn't mean to do you like that, I didn't mean to say those things to you.”

Your voice trembles, just like the hand that's holding your phone to your mouth, but you keep going, “Of course we're dating, we've been dating for a while now. I was too scared to say anything because we never put a label on it and I thought you didn't want anything with me, I guess I just didn't want to be the first one to say it in case you decided this wasn't… that I wasn't… what you wanted.”

There's a few seconds pause as you take a deep breath, and release it in an anguished sigh. “What I'm trying to say is… that I like you. A lot. Have since the beginning. And I understand if you didn't want anything to do with me anymore because of what I just did, but… if you still want to talk, I'm… I'm still here, okay? I'm still here.”

When you're finished, you throw your phone back on your bed, and wait.

You're still pacing around the house, a mug full of tea in hand, when you hear your phone vibrating on your bed. You almost don't pick it up, but you do anyway.

Two notifications from Eddie.

Can I come over?

Are you still up?

Hands shaking, you answer with a simple Yeah. Key’s on the carpet.

The clock on your screen says it's 2:22 AM.

You hear your door opening not too long after that, the spare key turning on the lock, as you're sitting on the couch, writing like a kid that's to be scolded when their parents come home. The mug of tea is half empty at your feet, and now cold, just as your nervous hands as Eddie comes through the door.

Wearing a Metallica sweatshirt, an older one that you've borrowed before, one you know how soft it feels on the skin, he comes in and silently closes the door behind him, leaving the key on a small ceramic plate by it.

You cave in before he can say anything. “I'm sorry.”

Your chin is wobbling again, but you swallow it down, not wanting to make a scene. Eddie comes closer, and sits next to you, careful not to kick the mug that you left carelessly on the floor.

“No, I'm sorry. I should have said something, I should have told you what you meant to me sooner. You know… I've been calling you my girlfriend to everyone but to the person who matters the most.”

“Everyone?” You repeat, “Everyone who?”

“The guys. At work. Wayne…”

“You told your uncle I'm your girlfriend?” The word feels foreign in your tongue, but not unpleasant. Eddie looks sheepish, but the corner of his mouth twitches and lifts just a bit, one of those dimples you love making an appearance in your dimly lit living room.

“Yeah. Like I said, everyone but the one who matters the most.”

There it is. That earnestness, pouring through him, warming you up from the inside out.

“And I guess… Am I the person you mean?”

“Who else would it be?” He's tilting his head now, kind eyes aimed at you. You huff a weak laugh, them, relief hitting you in waves. Not thinking too much, you throw yourself at him, hugging him by the shoulders, and folding your legs under your thighs to be closer to him.

“I'm still sorry, though. Sorry that I made you think I had doubts, or that I…”

Eddie doesn't let you finish, shushing you with a hand on the back of your head, and another wrapping around your waist, keeping you in place. “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry too.”

“Since we're both sorry, does anyone have to be sorry at all?” You mumble into his shoulder, taking in his smell through his clothes. It soothes you more than anything can, along with his voice vibrating through his chest, and the warmth of his body clinging to yours.

“I think we can discuss the details in the morning.”

He seals it with a kiss to your temple. You and your boyfriend sleep on that same couch, and in the morning, there is nothing left to say.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

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jarofstyles · 5 months ago

Text

Let It Burn

Hey….. now this is unhinged and dark but I figured why not give you a bit of crazy H AND Crazy Y/N 🤭

Check out our Patreon for early access and 180+ exclusive writings

WC- 2.5k

Warnings: whew… dark Harry and dark y/n, toxic relationship and other elements, mention of murder, blood, mention of an abuser (not h), theft, they are not stable lol, breeding kink, rougher sex, tattoos, a hint of anal… it’s a ride :-)

Obviously this does not depict any real people or events!

Artwork is not mine, credit to owner

———

“Did you find him?” Fingers slid over the back of his wrist, alerting him to the woman’s presence behind him. “Look surprised to see me.”

Following instruction, he put on a believable show of raising his eyebrows, letting the smile take over his face before he brought her in for a hug. Playing a role was something the both of them felt increasingly comfortable in each and every time they did it. It should be habit by now, 3 years into it.

“I did. He’s down here, red tie in the second booth to the right.” A stealthy swipe of the button of her purse, he slipped the key inside of her bag. “It should be clear when you go up there. The combination for the safe is in your notes app.” Returning to full height, he leaned his hip against the bar. His voice spoke clearly now, letting the bartender overhear his words.

“It’s been so long since we caught up, hasn’t it? How have you been?” He flagged the man down, giving a charming smile. “Can we get the lady a vodka sprite, please? Thank you.”

“It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” She giggled, playfully swatting his chest. Like they hadn’t seen each other naked in the rumpled sheets of the bed just this morning before splitting up in order to achieve the goal they’d been working towards. “I’m so glad you reached out. I didn’t know you’d be in town.”

Creating an alibi wasn’t really difficult, all things considered.

In all fairness, so was this life of crime. The natural skills they possessed had led them to this moment, led them to one another and bonded them at the seams. A couple infamous and yet unknown, their stories told all around. The wealthy clutched their pearls at their names while sitting at the same tables as them, sharing appetizers. It gave them a sick sense of satisfaction each and every time.

“It was a bit of a surprise. I had hoped you’d still be here.” He moved a bit closer, letting the heat sizzle between the both of them. It was always like this before they completed their goal. ¾ths of the way there, their finish line was so close they could almost taste it. “We do have some history, hm?” Biting his lip, he stroked over her hip. It was always difficult for him to keep his hands off of her- his one true weakness.

“Oh, stop.” She let out another fake giggle and pushed his chest. It took everything in him not to laugh too, considering she was definitely milking it now. Realistically no one was probably listening in to their conversation, but if they were? They didn’t want to leave any room for questioning. “We do. And you know… it’s been a long time considering I’ve been divorced.”

“Oh?” A roleplay of sorts. Harry always leaned into these, smirking down at her. The sparkly eyeshadow glimmered in the low light of the bar, mascara coating her lashes with a slight smudge on her lowe lashline- giving him a glimpse of his future. He loved when she got all dressed up just for him to ruin her. Make a whole different idea of art on her face. “Well, I did hear that through the grapevine. I was hoping you’d be single again.”

Y/N shivered at his gaze. Just one look and he could eat her alive, they both knew it. They were each other's world. Their only weaknesses. A package deal since the day they’d met, there had never been a connection quite as strong as theirs and they both knew not to take it for granted.

In reality, if Y/N wasn’t single it wouldn’t matter to Harry. He’d claim her anyway. Take her again and again in the same bed her husband slept in if need be, because there was no universe that they wanted to exist in that they didn’t belong to one another. It was something a psychologist would probably deem unhealthy, but considering their professions and personalities, they didn’t plan on seeing any of them anytime soon.

“Well I am.” Running a manicured finger down his chest, she stepped into his space. Not uncommon for bar spaces, people getting closer and alluding to what would happen once they reached privacy. “Are you interested?” The coy look through her lashes went straight to his cock, a reminder of the night they’d met. It had been instantaneous, like a moth to a flame. No one else existed in the room once they’d caught eyes for each other, but they played cat and mouse in their banter. It had ended in her coming to Harry’s place and never leaving his side.

His playboy days ended the day they met. No other cunt would feel as good as hers, no one would moan as pretty, and certainly no one would be as filthy as she was. Letting the passion overrun them, letting her nails dig into his back and opening her mouth for his spit, he had met his match in the back of his car where round one of four that night had happened. Meeting each other, kissing, fucking, being partners in crime? It just made sense.

“More than.” The energy crackled between them, igniting his stomach as she brought the little red straw between her lips and sipped on the drink. “I’ve got a room, if you want to go talk up there. It would be a bit more….’comfortable.” And he did have a room-

One booked under a fake name, under a fake identity that wouldn’t be traced back to them. But they both knew Y/N wasn’t going to go straight to his room.

“I think I’d enjoy that. Will you pay the bill so we can go?” Dragging her French tipped claws down his pale skin and tiny thatch of chest hair, she sent the saucy smile up at him before letting her eyes fall down to his lips. “It’s a bit too cold down here for me. I think I’m going to warm up.”

“Go ahead, Angel.” He nodded. “Room 308, when you’re done.”

——

“You are so fucking sexy.” Harry panted, the bag of jewels and cash off to the side. His hands were too busy running over the arch of her back as she ground herself over his lap, fingers tugging his belt off.

“Yeah? How sexy am I?” She purred, head falling back as his lips ran over her sensitive throat. Teeth grazed it, making her inhale sharply before working harder to get him out of his damn trousers.

“The most beautiful… alluring… sexy…. Sensual… evil woman I’ve ever come across.” His words were kissed into the skin, both palms finding her ass and dragging her dress up to bunch over her waist. “And I own you. You belong t’me. You’re never getting away from me.”

The promise would probably turn most people off, make them scramble off his lap and ask what he meant- but for Y/N, it only made her more aroused. Being reminded that there was nothing and no one that would come between the both of them was reassuring, a welcome sensation as she managed to fish him out of his pants. “Fuck me then. Prove it.” Her taunts always worked. Y/N knew how to push his buttons, as he did hers, no surprise in when he flipped them over and pinned her down, giving little time to prepare before lining himself up with her cunt and pushing in.

The groan between the both of them was loud, but their frantic need was overcoming the need to be quiet. “Fuck you?” He cooed. “Every time I’m inside of you… I-own-you.” The last sentiment was emphasized by thrusts that jostled her body. Her toes curled as her legs fastened against his lips, the feral smile on her face growing as the hand not holding her wrists together ripped the top of her dress down to expose her tits.

“Yes, you do.” She hiccuped. “And I own you. You’re mine, and you’re so….” Her words stuttered as each deep thrust got into her stomach. “You’re so obsessed with me. You’ll never let me g-go.” Her last sentence was hissed out. “I won’t let you.”

“Never.” He snarled, rutting into her poor cunt like he was crazed. He sort of was, to be honest. Every time they did another little mission, he got increasingly turned on afterwards. Knowing they pulled it off, they they were richer, that unstoppable feeling only made his cock harder and his need more desperate each and every time. “Never going to let you go. I’d kill someone before letting you go…” he let out a crazed laugh, connecting their mouths for another kiss. “I have, haven’t I? Fucked you with their blood on my hands and you fucking loved it, you crazy bitch.” The word wasn’t an insult, but the highest praise.

Y/N moaned, nodding at the accusation. There was no way either of them were sane, not in the slightest, but they were smart. They were practiced and cunning and no one had a clue who they were. Equal obsession with one another had only resulted in a secret empire of wealth and blood that they would be craving forever.

“I did. I love when you’re mean.” Her cunt was slick and hot, clenching around him as he thrust into her with a fervor that was only matched after their missions. “I love when you hurt people for me, Sir. I love when you fuck me in their blood, I love when you-“ her neck fell back and she arched her body as he shifted and hit the spot she had been waiting for. “Oh- fuck. I love you.”

“Yeah, you do. You love me so much, don't you? Think it even compares to how much I love you…” the man panted. “Got your name tattooed right above my cock so you can see that you own it. Get it wet with your cream every fucking time….” He wrapped his fingers around her waist, pulling out momentarily to flip her over. “Let me see it- let me fucking see it.”

Y/N’s face buried in the mattress, she shakily put her hand back to ride up the dress and show the stamp above her ass marking his name. “That, Sir?” She cooed, knowing it was exactly what he wanted to see. The script that marked her ass as his as he fucked into her weeping hole, his intensity moving up as she felt his thumb trace the outline of it.

“Yeah- that’s what I want. Never going to forget who you belong to, hm? Who owns your heart, your body, your soul. M’nothing without you.” His tone darkened, spreading her ass open and spitting over her hole and pressing his thumb inside. “You’re never allowed t’leave me. I’ll follow you anywhere, I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you. There’s nothing I want without you.”

As toxic as the words were, it sent her over the edge. Hand slamming against the duvet, curling her fingers into it as she sobbed out his name, the white hot pleasure rushed over her body and shook her core. Slick dripping from her cunt and both holes clenching around the intrusions, she felt her eyes roll back as the bullying of her pussy continue.

“That’s my girl. Cum around my cock again.” He commanded. “Can’t fuckin’ wait until I can knock you up. Want you full of my babies, all the fuckin’ time.” Considering their lifestyle the babies had to be put on pause until they amassed enough wealth to feel comfortable stopping full time, but Harry had been dreaming about getting her connected to him in that way for ages. “Full of me. My cum is good, but it isn’t enough. Need to own you that way.” He was crazy, yes, but he loved her.

“Soon.” She gasped, feeling as his thrusts got harder. That talk always made him more aroused, and based off of the pulsing she felt inside of her it wouldn’t be long. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me. Gonna be the b-best. You’ll take care of us, won’t you?” She panted into the air, face turned to the side as he added another finger into her ass. Her eyes flashed with colors as he pounded into her, surely making her sore for tomorrow but neither of them cared.

“I’ll burn down the world for you.” He promised through his grunts. “For you and our little family. Watch the entire thing go down in flames like that one time…” the first time they’d realized they were as crazy as one another. When he had set the car on fire with her abuser inside of it, and she had kissed him for it. “I’ll do it again, and again, and again… fuck, I love you.” Harry’s voice strained as he felt her clench up around him. “Give it to me, baby. Give me your pleasure. I’m so fucking close.”

They needed to get the fuck out of there before their signal blockers ended and the security team caught on to the looping footage. Before the bastard they’d stolen from realized the riches he had brought with him were gone. But neither of them could stop themselves from making their own fucked up version of love before they finished and got into their getaway car.

Y/N could feel how wet she had gotten him, feel the knot in her belly expand as he bullied that one spot in her channel over and over again, each pound making her get closer and closer to the edge. “H-Harry…” she plead for him, putting a hand back for him to hold. Immediately he took it, squeezing her hand in his own.

“I know, baby. I know, you’re creaming all fucking over me. Let it go. Let me fill you up the way you deserve.” He pleaded, fucking his fingers into her as his cock followed the rhythm. “Give it to me, my perfect girl. My pretty little wife, cum on my cock.” The coaxing was low, the headboard smacking against the wall and the sound of their sex obnoxiously loud as she came.

“Oh- fuck!” The man growled as he felt the splash of her cumming on him- squirting on his cock as he fucked into her, his thrusts getting sloppy. “That’s what I wanted, you dirty slut. I am so in love with you and this perfect pussy… fuck me.” He wheezed, feeling the crest of his orgasm wash over him. “Take it, take it all.” The sloppy thrusts turned into short, rough ones. Fucking his load into her, little grunts leaving his chest as he pretended it could catch.

One day it would, and that would be the day their dangerous fun on the road would be over, and they’d begin their lives all over again.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #dark harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles one shots #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics

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leilanihours · 4 months ago

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🗝️, + 2 + kate martin

# EVERY LOOK, EVERY TOUCH MAKES ME WANNA GIVE YOU MY HEART

pairing: kate martin x reader

word count: 722

warnings: none !

prompt: "i love it when you laugh"

⭑ from lani: i dont actually know if kate wore makeup to the draft but for the sake of this lets say she did! 🤗

celly masterlist !

main masterlist !

YOU PLACE YOUR hands on kate's shoulders as you gently push her to sit down on the cushioned chair before you.

"remind me again why i let you do this?" she jokes, referring to how she gave you permission to do a light makeup look on her for the 2024 wnba draft.

"because you love me and i'm the best makeup artist in the world?" you shrug with a slight pour on your lips.

"oh right," she smiles, "that."

you stand in front of kate as you dig through your makeup bag on the table beside you. she sat patiently, gazing up at you as you work swiftly. her large hands found comfort on your hips as you temporarily towered over her.

kate didn't want anything too heavy, as she wasn't big on makeup. you settled, of course, also agreeing that a subtle makeup look would be a better fit for her.

"what's that?" the blonde asks as you work on her lashes.

by now, you had already applied light layers of skin tint and blush, not too much so as to not hide her gorgeous freckles.

"an eyelash comb, it makes the mascara less clumpy," you explain as you brush through her long lashes.

you were so focused on the task at hand that you failed to notice the way kate had been staring at you with nothing but adoration. you also hadn't noticed that when you braced yourself by placing a hand on kate's jawline, she slowly leaned into your touch.

when you finished touching up her lashes, you took a step back to admire your work, or more realistically, your girlfriend in general.

she sat there like a little puppy looking into your eyes lovingly with a small smile on her face. seeing her expression made you mirror her grin, falling victim to her dreamy blue eyes.

"you're so cute," you giggle as you watch her blush even behind the pink you had brushed on earlier.

"thanks for doing this, baby," kate says looking in the mirror next to her, "i actually look presentable."

"oh please," you scoff, "you're so much more than presentable. even without makeup. it's, like, almost rude how naturally beautiful you are."

"c'mere," she mumbles, pulling you closer to her by grabbing your belt loops.

you lean down and embrace the kiss, smiling as you feel her lips fit perfectly with yours. but it made you remember you had one more step to do.

pulling away with wide eyes you exclaim, "i forgot about your lips!"

"should i be offended?" she jokes, placing a hand on her chest in pretend hurt.

you simply laugh and shake your head before reaching into your purse to retrieve the lip products you use on yourself.

she can't help but smile at the ticklish feeling of your smooth lip liner against her skin.

"don't move, baby," you whisper, focused on not messing up.

she stays silent, not wanting to interrupt. however, she can't help herself when she gets the idea to tease you even further.

once you finish lining her lips and swiping on some lipgloss, she immediately starts attacking your face with light kisses - your cheeks, your temple, your jaw, everywhere.

"kate!" you yelp at the feeling, "you're gonna mess up your lips!"

"well then you can fix them up for me," she mumbles against your skin.

you can't help but laugh as you just let her continue kissing you, the sound consuming kate's senses.

she backs up from you, tilting her head up to smile her biggest smile yet.

"what?" you chuckle.

"i love it when you laugh," she says honestly.

"stop," you blush.

"i love it even more when i'm the one making you laugh," she adds.

"i can't believe i get to be a 'wag' to the best basketball player ever," you sigh in content. as you begin packing up your makeup products.

"if i even get drafted," kate grumbles to herself.

"quit it with that," you demand, "you're the most talented yet stubborn person i know. you have to be more confident in yourself."

"fine," she says, "only so i can help you fulfill your dream of being a 'wag.'"

"my hero," you laugh.

"there it is again," she grins as she stands up from her seat to kiss you again, "the best sound to ever grace this universe."

— leilani signing off ! 📁

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vhagarlovebot · 1 year ago

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gwen, i need ur thought on dilf/older!aemond !!

MEAN!DILF AEMOND — NSFW, MINORS DNI.

♡. ── pics credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )

pairing: dilf!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+, explicit content, aemond is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s, dubcon, somnophilia, mean!dilf aemond, marking/biting, edging, possessive!aemond, dacryphilia, degradation, praising, aftercare.

note: sorry it took me so long! if there are any mistakes i apologize but english is not my first language. reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!

aemond targaryen and you met after you answered his anonymous ad looking for a babysitter. you were struggling with college and paying rent, so it was something you really needed. and so aemond needed it too.

aemond emailed you an address for your first meeting and you almost fell off the chair when you googled the place; a very fancy restaurant in the upper side of town.

you dressed in your best clothes, a decent dress you knew would help you make a good impression, and made your way to the restaurant, so anxious you had to stop at the entrance and take a deep breath.

when the host led you to the table, you were met with the last person you were expecting. there, on a table for three, was sitting aemond targaryen—the ceo of one of the biggest corporations in westeros and member of one of the most renowned families—next to a silver haired girl clinging to his arm.

after you got over your initial shock and learned that he was actually really kind and easy going under that ‘dark’ facade he always showed to everyone—not that you really knew him, it was all based on the countless interviews on magazines—you were able to relax and answer all his questions.

you were also able to ask him anything and clear all doubt you had. you even talked to the little girl, vaella, who was no older than four years old.

your first weeks you didn’t see aemond. he told he was closing a very big deal and that you would need go stay at home to take care of his little girl. and you had no problem, everywhere was better than living with your very annoying roommate.

but once that job was finished. you started seeing him at home more often which only made you more nervous and uncomfortable. because every time you turned around, he was there leaning against the door watching you play with vaella, or simply looking at you from behind the newspaper while you feed vaella her breakfast.

the intensity in his gaze made your skin burn. every time you caught him checking you out, a shiver would roll down your neck as a warmth pooled in your lower belly at the thought of him finding you attractive. it made you feel good.

aemond made the first move one night after vaella fell asleep and found you next to her, asleep too.

aemond took you in his arms, wanting to leave you on the guest room and retreat to his own to rest, when he heard you mumble his name in your sleep. “what was that, kid?” he asked you, fingers caressing your cheek, aware you were dreaming. “oh fuck—aemond,” you moaned, and he couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto his face.

it didn’t matter to him that you were sleeping. after all it was of him you were dreaming of and he would not let that slide.

you thought you were having a very vivid dream, his hands on your body felt a little too realistic but you were enjoying it; you knew it was wrong and fucked up even in your subconscious but it feel too good to made yourself wake up. if you couldn’t make those fantasies come true, you will have him in your dreams.

aemond squeezed your breast, hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and cupping your cunt. you moaned, eyes slowly fluttering open. it didn’t scare you seeing him so close, eyes so dark you couldn’t see his irises anymore. “was it a good dream?” he teased you, lips attaching to your left breast. it feel even better than your dream.

aemond wasn’t gentle that night.

but you like when he manhandles you and uses you for his own pleasure. if you’re a good girl and take everything he gives you, he lets you cum.

aemond likes to tease you. even more so when you are at one of the events he’s hosting at his house. you are always around because he likes to keep his daughter around. and he’s not going to lie, he likes seeing you all flustered when you caught him looking at you from across the room.

he would introduce you as his daughter’s babysitter, a hand on your lower back, thumb caressing your bare skin as he keeps a straight face as if he didn’t made you cum until your legs were trembling just a few minutes ago, hiding from everyone behind a bookshelf.

aemond would see you trying to hide the bite marks he left on your neck with a smirk on his face. he has to bite his lips to stop himself from chuckling when he sees people eyes darting to the place where the marks are more dark and visible, your face heating up at noticing it too.

he’s not an idiot, he sees how some of the men look at you, even asking him very inappropriate questions about you. aemond tries his best to hide his anger, clenching his jaw and excusing himself.

you end up bent over his desk on his studio after one particular men tried to flirt with you. “parading yourself like a slut. can’t even leave you alone for one minute.” he grunts, pulling down his pants.

when you’re watching a movie with vaella, aemond likes to have his hand on your thighs, squeezing and caressing just inches away from when you need him. you look at him, pleading, but he doesn’t even look in your direction, pretending to pay attention to the movie playing in the background.

and when he notices that you’re not able to keep still, parting your legs and bucking your hips up, trying to make him touch you, he slaps your thigh, nails digging onto the soft flesh making you whimper. “pathetic slut, you have no respect for my daughter.” he laughs at you, removing his hand.

aemond punishes you for being so greedy, edging you all night until you’re a crying mess and can’t think straight.

you sob, hot salty tears streaming down your face. “please, please!” you don’t even know what you are begging for. aemond feels bad for a second until he feels you tighten around his fingers, a dark laugh falling off his lips. “you like this, stop being a fucking baby and take it.”

and when he finally slides in, it’s too much. you’ve been at it for hours, and you’re too sensitive so you try to push him away but he pins your hips to the bed, frowning down at you and forcing you to take him to the hilt.

aemond has to put a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. “you need to keep it down, sweetheart. don’t want to wake vaella up, do we?”

aemond likes praising you, especially when you’ve been such a good girl for him, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with you.

“doing s’good for me, sweetheart.” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your sweaty forehead and hips thrusting into you.

when he finally lets you cum, it’s devastating. it leaves you trembling, muscles going limp.

aemond always asks you where you want him to cum and your answer is always inside. he likes to hear you say it, he cums hard every time, painting your walls white.

after you both come down from your high, he does not hesitate to wrap you in his arms and kiss your temple, whispering soft words in your ear.

aemond cleans you up, gives you water, runs a bath for you and even gives you a massage. he lets you rest on his bed while he makes something to eat and checks on his daughter. he spoils you.

“you were such a good girl, it’s the least i can do.” he says, softly kissing your lips, after you try to get up and help him. “you need to rest, sweetheart.”

and the next morning when he sees you having trouble to walk straight or even sit, he needs to hide his smile behind his hand. seeing you that way only helps to feed his ego.

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#modern!aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fic #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #prince aemond x reader

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castiwls · 7 months ago

Text

champagne problems - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you."She would've made such a lovely bride. What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said'

Requested; @arcticwisteria

Notes; No the first time i heard this song I IMMEDIATELY thought of dean :( Also this is quite sad oop but I kinda flipped the prompt so its not the woman saying no but instead its the man it just fitted better in my head. requests are open!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

The tension in the room was thick. The clock ticking seemed to echo throughout the room getting louder and louder with each passing minute as you both sat in silence. For the first time in your relationship, you had no idea what to say or do. You felt helpless as you sat at the kitchen table, your hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically. “So,” You lay your hands flat on the table looking up at the man sitting opposite you. “This is it? Three years down the drain.” You nodded. You couldn’t help the bitterness that seemed to lace into your tone as you spoke.

The realistic part of your brain knew that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that his childhood had messed him up so much that now as an adult he struggled with any relationship. You’d know what you were getting into when you’d first began this relationship. You’d known the baggage that came with loving Dean Winchester yet you’d pushed it away because you were so utterly in love with him.

Yet in this moment, you were wondering if you’d possibly made a mistake. If maybe you’d been so blinded with love that you’d overlooked one too many things.

“Are you gonna say anything?” You flatted your hands on the table looking up at him. Dean’s gaze was locked on the wall behind you. “Dean! Say something…please.” Your voice broke off slightly at the last word. Dean’s eyes finally moved to yours and for the first time, you noticed the way his eyes seemed to glisten slightly.

“I can’t marry you. I…I can’t” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth before letting out an airy laugh. “I thought I could. I’ve thought about it for so long but…”

“But you can’t actually do it.” Your hands played with the small red box in your hands. You’d found it on accident a month ago. He’d hidden it in baby’s glove box and that’s where it had lay, slowly collecting dust for the past few months. “You bought the ring, but you can’t actually ask me.” You stared incredulously at him.

Placing the box beside you, you reached out to grasp one of his hands. “What if I asked you?”

Dean stared at you for a moment. His expression unreadable. “No. He spoke quietly his gaze locked on your hands. “What?” You felt your eyes widen slightly at his bluntness. Dean took a breath before his eyes moved from your hands to your face. He placed his hand over you. “No. I can’t marry you. I thought…I thought the answer was a yes. Sweetheart believe me I did.” He softened his gaze as he watched your eyes slowly begin to fill with tears of their own.

“So what changed.” Your voice wavered slightly as you spoke. You wanted nothing more at this moment than to kick and scream to your heart’s content. “I realised I am far from husband material. That’s what.” A frown pulled at his lips.

“How do you know that? You are a perfectly good boyfriend. If you weren’t I wouldn’t be sat here right now.” You swallowed trying to hold the tears which threatened to spill back. Dean let out a breath before slowly letting go of your hands. “Because I know I’m messed up alright. And I refuse to burden you with that. Being your boyfriend means you can walk away, I can let you go.” Dean rubbed a palm across his eyes, wiping away the tears which were slowly beginning to fall. “If we get married i can’t let you go.” He finished, his voice dropping to merely a whisper.

You sucked in a breath, feeling the damn behind your eyes slowly begin to break. “Letting me go?” You shook your head. “No. No, I am not walking away from you Dean. I’m not walking away from us.” You said firmly feeling your face dampen with your tears.

You watched with bated breath as the man opposite you slowly rose from his seat and moved beside you. “Your gonna find someone else. Someone else who's gonna love you and who’s gonna get down on one knee and make you so happy.” He placed a hand on your cheek. “You're gonna get that apple pie life I know you’ve always wanted. But I can’t be the one to give you that.”

His thumb slowly stroked your cheek as his eyes slowly travelled across your face almost as if he was mapping it out. “I’m sorry.” He whispered before leaning forward to press his lips to yours.

Your hand gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. After a moment he pulled back. “I love you.” Dean smiled at you, tears slowly falling from his eyes as he stood from his seat.

It killed him inside to walk away but he knew he had to. He could never be what you needed and with him in your life, you would never find what you needed.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn imagine #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #jensen ackles #.mine #.spn #.deanwinchester

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covetyou · 6 months ago

Note

please impregnate dieter

ok bye 💜👽🛸

fine 👽🛸 beam him up, boys.

propagation

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!alien rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub/non-con (because alien abduction), alien impregnation, implied mpreg, anal sex (including rimming and fingering), tentacle (just one), belly bulge, alien gender includes humanoid alien ladies with shapeshifting tentacle dicks, spaceship bondage, light mind control. word count: 2.8k summary: He always knew their existence to be fact, but Dieter Bravo never considered their continued existence would one day rely on him.

A/N: seeded left me with too many thots, so I accidentally stayed up until 4am writing this, and finished it this morning, thanks to this comment of yours. I hope you're happy. I have very thoroughly impregnanted That Man™, with his own hypervirile sperm.

And for anyone curious, he was beamed up into the spaceship like a Sim.

tagging a few unfortunate people who have expressed interest in my little weirdo:

@sp00kymulderr @umnitsa @missredherring @thereaperisabitch @magpiepills

@pedge-page @max--phillips

Dieter has no clue how long he's been here. It could be minutes, it could be weeks. Time stopped meaning much of anything pretty quickly - that's how it goes when you're trussed up in a windowless room, strapped up by some extraterrestrial technology the likes of which he hadn't even seen imagined on the most bizarre of movie sets.

Logically, he knows he should be afraid. If there's one thing Dieter Bravo knows, it's to fear the unknown. But, some part deep inside him knew this to always be true. These things that have him existed long before he did and would go on to exist long after him too. Even deeper down he knows that what they're doing to him right now is to ensure that continued existence.

There's no other reason he can think of for being in a position like this.

Or stripped entirely naked.

And nothing else will quite explain the contraption currently strapped to his cock.

No amount of wiggling will dislodge it, and between the way his arms are strapped up and the way his hips are hoisted high in the air, his head left to dangle as it pleases, he doesn't think it's coming off anytime soon. It's a good thing he kind of likes it, even if it does make him feel a bit like a dairy cow.

In the minutes, hours, days, since he's been here, not a single soul has bothered to come in to see him. He didn't know if this damn tube that was pumping him was even okay to piss into, or where his next meal would come from. Realistically, he hadn't thought that he'd die here - it didn't feel like that kind of thing. Still, the fact remained that he hadn't seen a single living thing since the light took him and the floating feeling took over his body.

It was a floaty feeling, thanks to the position he's been kept in, that hasn't quite left him. Between that and his cock being relentlessly pumped without reprieve or release, he's starting to feel desperately lonely here, floating through space or wherever here is.

No sooner does he think it, when there's a hiss of mechanical doors behind him. Dieter opens his eyes - he'd closed them some time ago - and there she is, stalking towards him on two long legs, talking to him in a tongue he's never heard.

It's an unnatural voice. Somehow too high, and too low, and lilting, and rumbling all at once. It's the voice of a dream, one he's had before, except this time it's so very real. It wraps itself around him and lodges into his bones, vibrating sound through to his core until he's gasping and suddenly understanding everything.

This is a processing chamber. He is to be processed, bred, and released.

The newfound knowledge isn't exactly a relief, but he supposes the machine trying to milk his cock without letting him come just yet makes sense. The longer he teased himself, the more he had to give, and it seemed these lifeforms already knew that too.

She purrs, dark eyes bright and curious, and it sends a jolt to his cock, twitching and swelling in the grip of the machine. If he wasn't sure about coming before, now he's certain. He doesn't care who, or what they are. He just wants to burst, to give them every last drop he has, and to make a show of it for the alien thing standing behind him. She's beautiful. Her skin practically glitters, shimmers holographic, translucent, full of sunbeams and starlight. Her eyes trace him, examining every inch, before settling between his legs where his engorged cock hangs and his balls draw up in a desperate attempt to come.

But the machine still keeps him on the cusp of losing it.

Even when one elongated finger reaches out to stroke him, tracing down the seam of his sack, he can't come, and that's when he realizes it's her doing.

"Please. You can have it. All of it. Just please..." his voice sounds thick and just about as alien to his ears as hers did, but he knows she understands him.

He knows, because with a blip and a soft whine, he's being maneuvered in his restraints by some unseen force. With legs spread wider, and his shoulders pulled back, that ethereal voice hums through him again.

...Ready for processing...

It's her. Dieter can see her out of the corner of his eye as he twists in his restraints. But she's changed. Sort of.

She still looks effervescent - her skin shifting and fizzing under his gaze - but so much about her has expanded and grown. Her fingers have gotten longer, wider, the tips practically glowing with each throb of blood through her veins. She seems taller too, and broader, rounder, but he's struggling to work out what's a trick of the too-bright light and what's real. Fuck, everything feels so real.

Most of all what Dieter notices, and can't take his eyes off, is the swelling appendage between her legs that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. He'd almost mistake it for a cock, if it wasn't for the way it moved and writhed, as if a limb all on its own.

He should be scared. He knows he should. But he knows that all that's between him and coming is being processed, and he's quite liking the look of what that means.

Another tingle ripples through him, just as the cool weight of her drops down behind him.

...Commence lubrication...

Something slippery and long slides along his ass. It slips between his cheeks, wet and slick as it glides across his puckered hole, leaving trails across his skin. Dieter can't help the groan that leaves him. If this is lubrication, he can't wait for what comes next.

And then it slides inside, the slender tip breaching his asshole for a moment, feeling wetter than any tongue he's ever had there before. He can't help but twitch in his restraints, his legs trying desperately to give him momentum to rut into the air, to give him more friction so he can just come already.

Instead, he's held still by long fingers with too many knuckles. Fingers so long they wrap around his entire thigh, anchoring him in place. He's totally at the mercy if her and her tongue - because that's definitely what it is, even if the feeling of it swirling around his rim is more than a little different to the human tongues he was used to.

It probes into him deeper, and he groans in his restraints. The machine on his cock has stopped it's sucking, but it hasn't given up it's grip. He can't bust even if he wanted to, and he's starting to think she's never going to let him come.

He can feel it. The tongue slipping deeper, her mouth meeting the skin of his asshole, and the slick rush of liquid as it pours into his hole.

He's begging. He can hear it distantly coming from his own mouth, before the soft lullaby of her voice rings in his head and turns his bones to jelly.

But then she's gone. Her mouth unlatching from his ass, the tongue slipping from his hole, and the fizz of knowing is back in his head.

...Lubrication complete...

There's so much of it he can feel it dribble and bubble out of him, leaving gloopy trails down his thighs as he shudders in the bindings keeping him hoisted high.

He can see pools of it on the floor beneath him too, and more dripping in oily globs out of him as he shudders. No lube, or saliva, he's ever experienced is like this. Nothing has ever pumped so deep and felt so good.

...Commence dilation...

Fear.

Fear because he knows those words, but doesn't know what it means for him here and now, with his ass so he exposed to her and his cock at the mercy of the machine. Dieter tries in vain to move, to tuck his ass under so he's a little less exposed.

But it's no use.

The long fingers find his thighs again, and that voice echoes through his head, bringing him to calm as the tip of one throbbing finger strokes against the slick of his hole.

When it pushes in, the stretch feels no different to the toys he's used on his own ass, or the many people he's had fuck him before. It feels good. Incredible even. Each slight fuck of the finger into him coinciding with a deep throb in his asshole.

The bulbous tip of her finger pops in and out of him, drawing more moans out of him as his rim is stretched around the appendage.

When the thinks dilation isn't too bad, her other hand creeps up to his ass, pulling him apart and holding him open.

The stretch is deeper like this. And he's nodding his head, spurring her on to finger his ass more, to go deeper and curl just the way he loves until she's milking his prostate. He knows he can come like that. He doesn't need anything on his cock, he just needs some well practiced fingers in his ass, and he has a feeling this creature is extremely well practiced at this.

Deeper doesn't come, but the stretch does. It's the stretch of another of her thick tipped fingers being pushed into his hole. And when that pops past the resistance of his asshole, he yelps, his chin wobbling in a feeble sob. Dieter can't help but gyrate his hips. He's so desperate for more he's willing to risk those fingers pulling out and holding him in place.

Except they don't.

She lets him rut this time. He can feel the pleasant approval from her in his mind as he rocks himself in the air, fucking her fingers as deep as his shallow movements will allow.

Even when the fingers tug at him in opposite directions, he doesn't stop rocking. He feels so full and stretched, that he barely registers a third finger joining the others until it's too late.

He almost panics. Almost, because he's fairly certain at that same moment she tells him to calm, to relax, and he does. The tense muscles in his asshole give in to the fingers and let them in, all three fucking into him and stretching him beyond anything he's had before. Even a fourth, and final, finger doesn't draw response from him beyond a whimper and a sob, his hips still doing whatever they can to get the digits deeper.

...Dilation complete...

And then they're gone.

And he feels so empty.

"Please. Please you can't. Don't leave me like this, please. You've got to - I need to - please. Anything. I'll do anything."

Dieter knows he's babbling. Knows she might not even understand a word he's saying, mess that he is. But he doesn't care. He's never been so desperate in his life. He wants her fingers back, or her tongue, or even that terrifying thing writhing between her legs -

...Commence insemination...

He doesn't even hear it, even though it's right there inside of his brain, unavoidable. Dieter doesn't hear, because the moment the voice floats into his body, the slick tip of her cock, more like a tentacle than any penis he'd ever seen, slips easily inside of him.

It's immediately swelling and growing as it slips deeper. He can feel as he's stretched wider and wider around it, the whines that leave his chest turning more and more desperate with each throb of the thing plundering his hole. It's deeper than anything has ever been, he can feel it as it wriggles around through him, pushing aside organs and pulsing into the deepest parts of him. It's impossibly wide too, the deep stretch in his asshole unlike anything he's ever felt, even two cocks being no match for this thing she's wedged inside of him.

And the deeper it pushes, the wider it pulls him, the more he craves it, the more he needs something to anchor him down and ground him even as he floats along, hoisted in the air of a fucking spaceship to be bred by an alien creature.

Whoever his captor is, she's benevolent, and she gives him exactly what he wants. Her long hands wrapping themselves around his hips, finger tips pressing on the bulge in his belly, massaging him and drawing soft ah ah ah's from his mouth. She likes it when he makes noise, he can tell by the burst of approval tingling down his spine, like she's singing something beautiful to him as she destroys the very hole she just prepared.

When those same fingers trail down to his balls, the throbbing in their tips turning to frantic thrumming, vibrating his sack in her hand, he knows he's done for. The machine around his cock starts sucking in earnest, switched back on by some command unheard by Dieter. The tight grip it had around his base is gone, and all he can feel is relentless sucking, the buzzing along his balls, and the writhing tentacle cock deep in his guts, fucking the life out of him.

He feels higher than he's ever been, and before he knows it he's coming, his cock throbbing and pulsing in the tube that contains him, spilling out seemingly endlessly as the thing inside him writhes, pressing against his prostate and milking him for more and more and more.

He doesn't stop coming. It's still leaking out of him, his balls spent and drawn, but his cock red and throbbing and sore but still so drippy from the relentless onslaught in his asshole.

Around him everything whirrs to life. Lights flickering on control panels, sparkling across his vision. There's movement too, above and to the sides of him, but he can't move, doesn't even much care what's going on as he still twitches and comes and comes with her tentacock buried in him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -"

There's pulsing. The gentle throb of her fingers was one thing, but the thing inside him is now pulsing so deep it stretches him wide as each pulse ripples from the base of her through to the tip, where he can feel it burst and fill him.

And with one final wave, the biggest yet, the thing inside him throbs and bursts once more before she releases a pained gasp. The fingers around his hips don't release, the throbbing in the tips of them so quick the vibrations are numbing his skin.

Dieter can hear it - actually hear it - her voice uttering some gibberish he doesn't understand, and the thrumming pulse of her fingers eases off, even if the depth of her cock does not.

...Processing...complete...

His own breaths are the only ones he can hear among the slow winding down of the machine around him. There's other sounds too, as his vision hazes and blurs. Snicks of tubes disconnecting, the hydraulic hiss of moving machinery, the soft steps of the alien behind him as she pulls away, and out of him, with one final gasp from both of them as the impossible length of the appendage she had buried in him finally comes free.

The machine unlatches from his cock without another sound, before collapsing into some hidden compartment in the floor. The panel lights switch themselves off, and his restraints fall slack. He can finally move again, twist to see her, even though all of him aches too much to ever want to move again.

But he does. Anything to see her one last time, because he knows in his bones that this is his last chance. He's never known it himself, but he's certain she looks how love feels. Even now as she reduces back down to something a little smaller, but nonetheless imposing, he can tell that that's what she is. And maybe it's her function, the draw of her electrifying skin. Maybe she looks this way to make processing easier. Still, looking at her, he already knows he'd do it again, if only to lay his eyes on the thing that looks so much like a love he's never known.

With a final look into those beautiful, endless eyes, he lets exhaustion take him, the last remnants of her voice flitting through his veins just as he succumbs to darkness.

...Thank you...

He dreams of a light so bright he's certain he can hear it, the harsh metallic glare of it buzzing through his ears, making them ring and his head spin.

But the light gives way to darkness as he wakes, and he sees the very same stars that took him, just as distant as they've ever been, and looking down to the city below from the hills, he sees stars there too, as close as they always are, and the ache taking deep and low in his belly is forgotten, if only until dawn breaks across the horizon.

#dieter bravo #👽#dieter bravo x 👽#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #coveted fics

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in1-nutshell · 6 days ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could write where Sari asks NightLight how Ratchet and her became Conjunx endura?

This story caught the other's off guard for sure.

Hope you enjoy!

How did Nightlight and Ratchet get bonded?

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Mention of injury, Cybertronian reader

TFA

The questioned started after movie night.

Nightlight had finished her evening patrols earlier than expected and the others had been preparing for Movie Night.

Nightlight had nothing better to do for the rest of the evening and decided to join in.

This made Sari very happy, seeing as Nightlight didn’t join in many nightly activities that were around patrolling or work.

The movie ended with its main protagonist getting married and riding off into the sunset.

Sari looked up to Nightlight, who was sitting next to Ratchet. Sari: “Nightlight, how did you and Ratchet get married?” All the bots are caught off guard by the question. Bumblebee: “Now that she mentions it, I don’t think either of you have told us.” Ratchet: “There is a lot you young bots don’t know.” Bulkhead: “Did you have a spring wedding?” Bumblebee: “Or maybe something like in a church?” Prowl: “…Who asked who?” Nightlight: “You do realize we did Conjunx rites? We didn’t do a ‘wedding’ like the humans do.” Sari: “Oh right, aliens… but then how did you get… umm…” Optimus: “Bonded?” Sari: “Yeah! Robo married!” Ratchet looks over at Nightlight and gives her a knowing smirk. Ratchet: “Yes Nightlight, how did we get ‘robo married’?” Nightlight looks uncharacteristically flustered and tries to make a break for it before Ratchet traps her on the couch using his magnets. Nightlight: “Ratchet!” Optimus: “Okay now I want to know.” Bumblebee and Sari: “Tell us!” Nightlight sighs in defeat. Nightlight: “All right, all right… sit down everyone… it’s a bit of a long story…”

…

It took place during the final days of the war.

The pair had been ‘dating’, if you could call it, for a while.

A couple hundred years give or take, but it felt a bit shorter given each other’s professions took a lot of time and dedication to.

It was a miracle for a field tech and detective could even find time for each other that wasn’t based on screen calls or rare mission briefs.

Nightlight’s most recent case had led her to the same base camp Ratchet was in.

It would soon come to her attention that the base would be under siege in a matter of days.

Normally a quick call would have sufficed in warning the others and getting the relief team on their way… if the base wasn’t under a tech blackout.

Nightlight made sure to call in the relief team for the base before racing to get to the base herself.

Ratchet was surprised to see Nightlight in the base looking so disheveled and panicked.

After briefly explaining the situation, the two helped getting the injured and other personnel bots out of the base before the siege started.

Too bad some Con scouts had entered earlier.

It was up to Nightlight, Ratchet and a few other bots to hold everything down before the others would arrive.

The small group was doing okay for the most part.

Ratchet spots a Con sneaking behind Nightlight. Ratchet: “Nightlight! Get down!” Nightlight immediately drops to the ground as Ratchet uses his magnets to throw the Con. Ratchet looks down at her worried as she hadn’t gotten up yet. She just stared at him. Ratchet quickly pulled her up, looking over for any injuries. Nightlight grabs his free servo. Nightlight: “Be my Conjunx?” Ratchet stops, completely caught off guard by the question. Nightlight punches a Con who was trying to attack them both. Nightlight: “We’re busy!” Ratchet shakes his helm in disbelief. Ratchet: “You decided that NOW of all times is the right time!?” Ratchet and Nightlight punch a couple more Con’s. Nightlight: “I am not going to go out without asking that.” Ratchet: “No one’s going out!” Nightlight: “Just being realistic—HEAD’S UP!” Nightlight drop kicks another Con. Nightlight: “I made my decision Ratchet… would you do me the honor of being my Conjunx for whatever time we have left?” Ratchet blinks before turning his helm to a nearby bot. Ratchet: “Kup!” Kup: “Yeah!” Ratchet: “You’re our witness for the Conjunx rites!” Kup does a double looking at Nightlight and Ratchet ducking from the blaster fire. Kup: “Now?!” Nightlight: “Please Kup?!” Kup: “… Sod it… Say your things! I’ll cover for ya!”

Both bots are fighting and yelling out their rites, gifting each other enemy blasters at one point.

Now officially Conjunx’s… just as the relief team came.

Everyone had survived, hurt and wounded heavily, but alive.

Many bots where surprised to hear that the sour field tech and detective had the bearings to do their Conjunx rites in the midst of battling the enemy.

The pair didn’t care too much about what the other younger bots were whispering about.

Mainly because Ratchet had a bit of a lovesick smile while Nightlight had tucked her helm on the side of his helm.

Both their servos tightly wound together.

They had lived for another day.

It would take them a few hours to get back to the capital for better care on their injuries.

It would also be a few days later before the war would have officially ended.

…

The team’s mouths were on the floor.

They were not expecting that!

Ratchet and Nightlight earned some respect on their names.

Optimus and Prowl are just surprised when they had made the rites.

It was completely dangerous and risky for Nightlight to make such a decision.

Though to put it in perspective, if she was that scared to risk doing one last thing with Ratchet before she went off line…

The two bots just hoped that they never had to see Nightlight make such risky decisions like that on Earth.

Bumblebee, Bulkhead and Sari are just floored with this story.

They were expecting something like a sappy love confession or them casually wanting to do it to lower their taxes.

This story gave the married couple a new light for the young ones to look at.

Optimus: “But there is one thing I don’t understand. Nightlight looked very flustered when mentioning about the story, why?” Bulkhead: “Maybe because she’s just embarrassed.” Ratchet chuckles. Ratchet: “No, its what happened shortly after we bonded.” Nightlight hid her face in her servos. Nightlight: “Ratchet please…” Ratchet: “The kids are going to keep on asking.” Nightlight graoned: “…Proceed…” Ratchet chuckled a bit rubbing circles on her back. Ratchet: “She apparently had a whole series of plans to ask me to be her Conjunx. All colored coded, alphabetized and in most likely to least likely to fail.” Sari: “Can we see it?” Nightlight jumps up and is out the door. Ratchet chuckles a bit. Ratchet: “Give her a couple of days, a few puppy dog eyes and maybe you get to see Plan Yellow C.” Prowl: “What is that one?” Ratchet: “Lets just say it involved several jetpacks, a few favors and Megatron’s sword.” Optimus: “Megatron’s what!”

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x platonic reader #tfa x reader #nightlight #nightlight x ratchet

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5iyoomi · 3 months ago

Text

3H Leaders With an Overworked S/O

characters: Dimitri, Edelgard, Claude

warnings: none! just fluff

A/N: this kinda bled into an idea I had for them with an insomniac reader so these are sort of a mix of the two things! written for them pre-timeskip and with a gn reader (with one use of dear, darling & sweetheart, but otherwise nothing pointing towards a specific gender). I haven't written for fe3h in forever hopefully they aren't too ooc

Word Count: 1,770

‎

Dimitri

Like you, he's probably overworked as well

Being a royal and a leader has its merits, yes, even though he doesn't really like all the formalities that come with it, but that doesn't mean it's always easy

He's used to pushing through it, protecting his people and doing anything if it gets pushed onto him. That's his role, after all, and if he can take the pressure off of others then he'll gladly accept it

With you, though, he understands that's not the kind of advice you need. It's not uncommon for him to find you in the Monastery's Library hours after everyone had gone to sleep for the night, hunched over one of the large, elegant tables with stacks of papers and notebooks splayed out around you

He'll sit down with you when he catches the single, dim light on in the otherwise dark room, waving off your questions of how he knew you'd be there as 'just a feeling'

He's realistic, helping you with your workload even if you insist otherwise, that you need to get it done yourself before your deadlines hit. But he'll also hold you to it if you mutter out a 'just one more', his eyes looking between you and the clock mounted on the wall

"Here should be a good stopping point for now, don't you think? You've already finished most of what you needed to get done," Dimitri says with a soft smile, setting a piece of paper into a stack that you'd deemed the 'completed' section.

You'd been there long enough that he had time to go brew the both of you some chamomile tea, hoping the fragrance and sweet notes would help lower your stress. It seemed to be working, your anxiety lessening as you took small sips and noted the fact that you'd at least gotten the bigger, more important things out of the way.

"But-" you start, tapping your pencil against your head in thought, but your words get cut off with a yawn. "There's only a few more left, wouldn't it be better to just finish them?"

Dimitri shakes his head, reaching over to hold his hand out for you. You take it after a moment, interlocking your fingers and sighing when he gives your hand a squeeze. "They aren't due for another few weeks, right? They can wait until morning, you should really get some rest, dear."

You want to protest, tell him it's not even that late, but you've already thrown out every excuse you can think of to get him to not drag you to bed. He wasn't obligated to do any of this for you, and you knew these nights were something that ate into time that he could be using to get some much-needed sleep. So you finally, albeit hesitantly, give in, your teacup long empty and shoulders drooping in defeat. "I guess so-"

The blonde brightens at that, his thumb stroking over your own with a gentleness you'd grown weak to. It was hard to fight him when ocean blue eyes gazed into yours, his love for you obvious in the simple ways he showed his care. "If it helps, you can stay in my room for tonight. I'm sure one night won't hurt."

You nod, sparing a glance at the once disorganized mess of pages and deciding that you'd take his word for it. "I'd like that."

Edelgard

Similar to Dimitri, she's always dealt with things by trooping through them. As a more private person and a leader, she rarely ever lets appearances fall, so you're one of the few people that's seen what she can be like behind closed doors

Thus, her first instinct when she sees you nodding off in class is to gently nudge you awake and tell you to get to bed earlier. It might sound a bit harsh, but she only wants the best for you, and she thinks to what might happen if you were to fall asleep like that in the middle of a battle, which doesn't exactly help either of you (dramatic much?)

But when you tell her it's because you're swamped with work, trying to keep up with everything while simultaneously doing extra for people that, in her words, couldn't take the hint that you were busy, she gets upset

Not at you, but more at herself for not noticing the signs sooner when you're her partner of all things, and for making a comment that may have come off as insensitive. She still struggles with how to deal with these things, especially when it comes to you, emotionally or otherwise, so there's a chance she'll just ask you exactly what you need from her

She's a bit more lenient when it comes down to you staying up since she tends to do the same, but she'll still suggest taking a day off at one point

She'll take you to the greenhouse if you're up to it so that you aren't cooped up in your room all night with the idea that a change of scenery might help you avoid burning out or getting too frustrated

The Monastery was so quiet at night, most of the student body and staff already long asleep or busy with their own things. You only see a few people as you step outside, fingers interlocked with Edelgard's and a small crease in your brow from looking over the same words for hours.

You'd always thought it was beautiful, but lately you had no time to appreciate it, what with assignment after assignment piling up on you, so it was nice to get out for a while, even if the only things that awaited you when you got back were unfinished documents and half-filled in pages.

Scribbled notes that you took when you could hardly keep your eyes open. A breath of fresh air was almost enough to make you forget why you've been so stressed out. Almost.

The greenhouse was no different, the place always well-kept due to the student's tireless work. It made you feel a bit better, walking side by side with Edelgard as you're greeted by greenery and the like.

Pink and purple flowers bloom in one corner, slowly but surely growing underneath the bright moon visible through the glass, while seeds you assume to be newly planted sit beneath fresh soil on the other.

"Look at this one, it's the same color as your eyes." Edelgard says, grabbing your attention. You turn towards her in time for her to slip a flower behind your ear, her thumb brushing over your skin with a thoughtful grin. "It's good to get out, isn't it? That's why we're out here, so you shouldn't worry so much, darling."

You smile, feeling your cheeks and body start to warm. She was so effortlessly sweet sometimes; you think it's going to be the death of you one of these days. "Yeah, you have a point there."

Claude

He probably notices before you even say anything or notice you're feeling off yourself lol

He's an observant character, but it does still surprise you when he asks you if something's wrong out of the blue

"Huh? No, I'm alright, just a bit tired."

He sees right through it, but he doesn't wanna push you, so he'll just keep an eye on you for a while, making sure that you aren't overdoing it or setting aside your basic needs

If he sees that you are, he'll make it a point to put extra food on his plate for you. He'll come knocking on your dorm door every now and again to check on you, sliding a snack or drink your way and staying if you let him, though he mostly distracts you

It'd be hypocritical of him to tell you to take it easy when he's the same way, so he won't exactly tell you what to do, but he'll find a way to get you away from your work if he notices it's causing you too much trouble. He'll also have a polite word with your professor, maybe tell them that you're sick and need a few days off if he thinks it's bad enough

You might huff at him and say that that wasn't necessary, but he'll insist it was

It's another one of those nights, times when Claude comes knocking with another excuse at the ready for why he's there. You know why, it's become obvious over the last few weeks that it's his backwards way of telling you that he cares. He'll never scold you for your habits, but you know exactly what he wants to say even if he doesn't say it.

"Hey, wanna dance with me?" Claude asks after a comfortable silence had grown like a veil over the both of you. He'd made himself very comfortable on your bed, but you never actually minded. It was endearing in a way, really, even if you had to turn him down when you finish writing out a sentence, looking up at him from your desk.

"I'm busy, Claude, you know that."

"Come now, you can hardly even focus. Just a few minutes, promise." He gives you his signature smile, one that's saved for you but still equally mischievous as all of his other ones. He holds out his pinkie finger, chuckling at your muttered seriously? But he doesn't see you saying no. After a few moments of hesitation, you stand up, taking his finger in yours and shaking.

"Fine, but only a few minutes. I'm serious." You say, yelping when he stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him and taking your hands in his. He kisses your knuckles oh so softly, a glint in his eyes that you realize far too late that you shouldn't trust, but he's already got you right where he wants you, and he doesn't plan on letting go.

"I know, I know. I won't take up too much of your time, sweetheart." He hums.

It isn't just a few minutes, song after song playing on the record as you danced into the night. But you can't find it in yourself to be mad. Not when he twirls you around so carefully, a hand placed on the small of your back with your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders.

And certainly not when he coaxes you to bed, not even bringing up the thesis you had to finish since all of your attention was on him now. He presses a kiss to your forehead, wishing you sweet dreams, and you fall asleep in a matter of seconds with him by your side.

#🌙 ── 5iyoworks #fe3h #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h x reader #fire emblem x reader #three houses x reader #edelgard von hresvelg #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von riegan #edelgard x reader #dimitri x reader #claude x reader

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virq-qgo · 3 months ago

Note

Can you give please do SFW and NSFW alphabet head canons for Logan (Wolverine)

Hi!! I am so sorry that it took me this long to finish..! I’ve actually never heard of alphabet head cannons so I had to find some templates and couldn’t find an SFW so please forgive me 🙁🙏 I would also like to apologize that I’m terrible at making head cannons, because I don’t have the mindset of that.. so this will probably be my first and last time I’ll do this 😞

Requests are still open ❤️

Warnings: smut, fem reader, my writing, not proof read obvi.. I also kinda rushed the end so I’m sorry 😢

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very caring, now matter how old he is gets. Logan will make sure to give you the best treatment of your life. Literally the definition of princess treatment.

After getting the dick pounded out of you, with all of these marks on your poor worn out body. Logan will kiss each mark then pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. Like nobody talks about it so i fucking will, Logan will sit you on the toilet and make sure you piss. Why? Your handsome lover wants you to be healthy! No UTIs or yeast infection for the princess (speaking from experience.) Then you both will have a very relaxing shower together before cuddling in bed!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Logans favorite part of his body will probably be his chest, mainly his abs. He knows how much you love them, and how much you like doing other things with them. Not to mention he works hard for his body to look the way it does, it’s something everyone should be proud of.

Now realistically, Logan will tell you that he loves every single inch of you. Yknow how you ask your parents who’s the favorite sibling, they’ll tell you they love each and single one of you, but make it so obvious that they favor the other one. Yeah, this is how it is. Except yknow he loves your hips. With the way he always grabs them, either from moving you to the side or moving you when your leg get to sore from riding him. Logan just loves how they feel in his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As a man would, Logan loves to fill your sweet pussy with his cum. And once in a while, cuming on your tits when he’s fucking his hand. But again, mainly you cunt. He’ll fill it up as much as he please and once you’re both finished, he loves to pull away and admire how much cum drips out of your hole and onto the bed. He loves his little stuffed donut.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Logan definitely fucked his hand when you were asleep, taking your dirty underwear from the floor and fucked that too. Not one of his proudest moments. But when your moaning his name and stirring in your sleep, he couldn’t help himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bro is over 200 years old, please shoot me if you ever met someone who says that this man is a virgin. Because they are lying to you and themselves.

But that saying, in these 200 years, he’s had plenty of sexual partners. That means more experience and the better your pussy gets dicked down.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Logan loves when you’re on top of him. Why? Well, this is the perfect view for him. He loves the way your tits bounce and if you have small girls, he loves seeing them. He loves boobs, Logan is definitely a boob man! But he loves grabbing your hips and since he’s so much stronger than you, he moves your hips back and forth. Logan loves when your nails dig into his chest when you’re on top of him, and he LOVES watching your face while his dick is going deep into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is not silly turning sex, Logan finds this time most serious. Durning these moments, he completely loses himself and only focuses on you and your pleasure. So really, he has no time for goofiness, and too him, any man who’s goofy durning sex. A time where you solely focus on your lover and their needs. Is not a man, but a boy. Because every woman who’s being intimate with a man deserves to be treated like a queen.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Now you see the mans face and head, it’s nothing but hair. The whole guy is hairy, and if you’re not into hairy men. Well Logan is not for you. He grooms his face and hair but leaves everything untouched because it’s just so unnecessary to him. That being said, he has never trimmed downstairs, and won’t plan to. Plus he knows how much you’re into that thick happy trail of his.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Logan during intimacy is very loving, he finds the moment where they’re but so vulnerable towards each other. Logan finds being intimate a very serious thing.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If you aren’t around then yes, he needs to find a way to relieve his boner. Just the thought of you makes him so unbelievably hard. So when you’re away and he thinks of you, he can’t help himself. I like to believe that you guys have toys in the bedroom, so he definitely uses your vibrators to get done.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

So, bud definitely has a few!! Like I said in previous, he loves your boobs, that being said he’s definitely into Breast play. His hands will always be on your boobs, playing with your nipples, sucking on your nipples. Marking them up.

Another one Logan has is orgasm play, now I feel like that he will only do this when you’re not “behaving” such as making him jealous, purposefully pissing him off, yada yada you get the jist. Logan will make sure you sexy time is one of the most miserable times for you, basically saying that you don’t get to cum, he’ll drag it out on and on until he feels like you deserve it.

I am a firm believer that Logan will steal your panties from the night before. He knows where he threw them at while ripping them off you, he knows just how wet they were during that time. So obviously, he’s gonna use them to jerk himself off.

Finally, one of the last ones Logan has it’s degrading. Either he’s degrading or you, he’s so into it. Especially during a rough night, he loves to call you his dirty slut, his slutty little girl. The famous “you’re such a fucking cumslut, wanting me to always fill the tight pussy of yours up. Don’t worry, I’ll fill it up, so nice and full.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Whenever he gets hard, Logan will drag you to a closed off space and pull your pants to your to your knees, and push your panties to the side. He doesn’t care, he’ll take you right then and there. Logan is just always so horny for you, but can you blame him? His girlfriend is so fucking hot.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Boobs, your boobs to be exact.

Show a little bit of cleavage, well sister. You better be ready for the outcome. Logan will make it so obvious that he’s staring. It’s kinda embarrassing, especially when you’re around other people.

Another thing that gets him going is when you talk back to people, putting them in their place. He finds the bossy and demanding side of you so fucking sexy. He sometimes acts bratty just to see that side of you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that will physically harm you, he doesnt care if you’re into it. It’s a big no. He also won’t share, so no threesomes. He finds it’s disrespectful and a little hurtful that you’ll want another person into the game, making him think that he’s not giving you enough or not making you feel good.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Definitely depends on his mood or day.. but mainly I think he likes to focus on your pleasure, so he’ll definitely eat you out. Especially when he’s pissed off with something, he just wants to bury his head into your thighs and eat his meal.

But he also loves when you give him head, he asks for it almost all the time. It’s the best thing ever, just to feel how talented you are with your tongue and mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Logan definitely goes fast and rough, it’s how you like it too. The both of you think it’s the best way to do it, especially since Logan has so much stamina and strength. The way his cock hits all the way back.

But of course, there are times where you guys take it slow. Showing to each other just how much you truly love one another.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves them, when you both are horny but don’t have the time to take your time. It’s super convenient. He doesn’t care where or what time it is, he will pull down your pants and fuck you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I don’t think he’s cares all too much about being risky. As long as he knows he’s in a spot with you that no one will see, you two will be fine.

You see, he doesn’t care if anyone saw him fucking you. He just knows that your worried people will see, so he takes cover for you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Logan can probably go as many as five, I know once he fucks you till his balls are quite literally empty and can’t go anymore because he’s too sensitive. That’s when you take you chance because that when he’s gets all subby. Enjoy your time 😉

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes!! He loves using toys just to be mean to you, he knows your favorite vibrator, sets in on the highest setting and places it directly on your clit, enjoying the way your hips flinch back.

Logan also likes using toys on himself, especially fleshlights that feel exactly like you. Or using your vibrator on himself.

Overall, toys are a big yes!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Logan loves to tease you, when it comes to public and barely touching you in your most sensitive areas or sending you dirty texts. (I am a firm believer that he would send you dick picks or send you pictures of his abs, flaunting the v-line you love so much.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His sounds are quiet but loud enough for you to hear, he moans in your ear when he’s on top of you. Or when you’re on top of him, he lets out small quieter moans. Logan gets louder when he’s closing to cumming too.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Logan’s favorite outfit on you that will get him so unbelievably horny is a pair of sweats and a tight shirt. Gets him so hard, and an instant way to get nutted in.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Okay, let’s be so for real..

Logan ripped, we know what the v-line is like! We all know that he’s hairy downstairs, but you don’t care. Because all what matters is that dick serves you good.

Logan is more of a grower than a shower. When he’s hard, he grows to be 7 to 8 inches. He’s not that thick, but big enough to stretch that pussy out!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I guess it all depends on his mood and how he feels. Logan overall can have sex anytime he wants. He’s your horndog after all.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

He’s not that quick to fall asleep, he’ll stay in bed with you while you both cuddle each other and chat. After sex, the both of you take your time lay down and relax, feeling each others skin and heartbeat. This is a very relaxing time together.

#avengers #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel imagines #the avengers #avenger imagine #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett smut #enemies to lovers #wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine smut #deadpool smut #deadpool

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gatorlovebot · 1 year ago

Text

this is a direct continuation of this piece here. read more of my king!simon blurbs here <3

it had been three days since simon had been stabbed and you, unsurprisingly, had not gotten out of bed. once the carriage leading simon to the hospital was off castle grounds you had become almost inconsolable. sympathetic staff members attempting to get you together, convince you that the king was in good hands, that he was strong and in good health, and that he would make it.

it didn’t matter, none of their words helped the way it felt like your world was truly falling a part right before your eyes. simon was your whole world. he was usually the first person you talked to in the morning and the last person you talked to before going to bed. you shared every meal together, you accompanied him to every outing, every meeting, regardless of how boring. you knew how he took his tea and he was the only one that allowed you to do it, complaining that no one else knew how to do it like you. you washed his hair at night and clung to his arm when you walked around the bustling city with him

it might have been stupid but you considered simon to be your closest friend, and you believed he felt the same about you. what were you supposed to do without your best friend?

in those three days you hadn’t heard anything regarding simon’s condition. everyone in the castle left you alone, to suffer and rot alone in your bed. you were almost scared to leave your room, too afraid to get the confirmation to your worst fear. you know realistically someone would have come to you to break the news if simon had passed, so you’re still holding on to a little bit of hope.

the sun had risen for another day with no word on simon. another day for your emotions to fester and your hope to fade, up until midday, when there was a knock on your door.

your body was heavy and sluggish as you heaved yourself up from your bed to the door. you had no work without the king, so you had spent your days curled in your uncomfortable bed, unmoving. you tried to be hopeful as you reached for the doorknob, but all that you could feel was sorrow as you revealed the doctor on the other side of your door.

he had a small smile on his face that was unreadable to you given the circumstance. was it his attempt at kindness and sympathy before he gave you the terrible news? what is out of pity as he took in your disheveled and unkempt appearance? “hello, my dear.” he greeted in a soft tone.

you couldn’t take it, couldn’t take any pleasantries or politeness, pleading with him to just please tell you whatever he came here to tell you. “well, i’ve had a hell of a morning trying to wrangle our king into his bed.”

“what?” you questioned, your voice laced in astonishment. “he’s-” your voice cracked on the question, eyes welling with tears as you began to grasp the implications of the doctors words.

“alive? yes, yes he is, my dear.” the doctor assured you, taking your hands in his grasp. “i spent all morning monitoring his condition, making sure he was stable enough to finish his recovery in the castle. do you want to know the only thing he asked for?”

you couldn’t come up with an answer, barely even listening to him as all you could think about was that simon was alive.

he squeezed your hands, “you, he only asked for you.”

a sob left your lips, not one of despair, but one of incredulous joy at your king, your simon, wanting you. the doctor let go of your hands and gestured to the door with an expectant expression, “you better not keep him waiting any longer.”

all you could do was give the doctor a quick hug, hoping to convey all your gratitude you had him for in a tight embrace, before running out of the room. your bare feet slapped against the stone as you climbed up stair after stair, passing by maids and butlers without a word. your hurried gait didn’t slow until you got up to the long hall that led to simon’s room, spotting the guards at the doors, the moment becoming more and more real as you approached them.

the guards just gave you a nod as they grasped the door handles and pulled the doors open. as you made it over the threshold you almost fell to your knees in relief at the sight of simon in his bed. his back was towards you, bare and pale. you noticed a large patch of gauze covering the wound that almost took him away from you. you watched, intently, for a moment, cataloging the way ribs expanded with each breath before finally making it over to his bed.

after days of waiting, at long last you saw his face, smushed against his plush pillows. you felt a weight being lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe for the first time in days. you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out, a need to touch, to feel. you graced a finger down his cheek, over one of his scars that he got years ago when he would go out to battle with his men. you gasped as he suddenly snapped his eyes open and a hand was grasped around your wrist.

within a second, recognition washed over his face as he took you in. “oh thank god, it’s finally you.” he whispered earnestly, voice hoarse. he didn’t let go of your wrist, bringing your hand back up to his face, nuzzling himself against it.

when you felt tears against your hand you couldn’t help but warble out a pathetic, “oh, simon.”

“get in here.” he damned, voice wet and thick as he adjusted to make space for you.

it was probably a bad idea to get into bed with a man who was supposed to be recovering from a near fatal stab wound but that wasn’t stopping you from crawling in underneath the covers. there was no opportunity at keeping a respectable distance between you two when his strong arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. you shamelessly groped his back and molded yourself to his front, nuzzling your face into his throat, wanting to be as close as possible to the man that you thought you lost.

your emotions from the last few days overtake you as you wept out, pitifully, “i thought i lost you.”

he squeezes you tighter in response before he affirms, “i thought i was going to lose you, too.”

your heart clenches, knowing that your relationship was just as important to him as it was to you. you tried to calm your breathing but your mind was flooding with the memories from the days previous, how he was ripped out of your arms after asking for your care. “they took you away from me.”

his hold on your became impossibly tight as he growled, “i’ll kill them all.”

you finally got some sense over yourself at his sudden mood shift. your hands that had been clutching at his strong and broad back reached up past his neck to scritch through his hair, trying to soothe him. “no, no, simon, you just have to relax right now. i need you to rest so you can get better.” you pleaded with him.

his rigid body began to loosen at your words, muscles relaxing around you until you could gently rest your head along his chest.

he took a deep, calming breath before promising, “anything for you, lovie.”

#gator.writing #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley imagine #cod x reader #hope you guys like it!!#i'm a little stumped on what to write for them next so feel free to send me ideas!#king simon

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Note

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #mihawk x reader #smut

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