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fanfictionalraven · 1 month

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Right Where You Left Me

Title: Right Where You Left Me

Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 7,309

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly.

“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.

“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.

“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.

“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing.

“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.

“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.

“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.

“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.

“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.

“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.

When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.

That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other. There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…

“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.

“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.

“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.

“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.

“We don’t know,” she tells you.

“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.

“Well…yes,” she says.

“Have you called the police?”

“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.

“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”

“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.

“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.

“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.

“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.

“I want to help,” you tell them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.

“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”

“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.

The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.

“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.

“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.

“I wish I could say the same but…”

“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.

“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.

“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.

“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.

“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.

“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks.

“Of course,” you agree, immediately.

***

Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.

Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.

“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.

“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.

“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.

“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”

“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.

“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”

“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.

“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all. “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”

Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.

“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.

Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.

“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.

“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.

“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.

“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.

“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.

“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table.

“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”

“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”

“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.

“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.

You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.

You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.

“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead.

The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.

“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.

“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.

“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.

“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.

“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.

“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.

“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.

The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.

“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.

“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.

“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.

“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.

“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.

“I hope we can do better than them.”

“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.

“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.

The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.

The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.

“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.

“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”

“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.

The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.

“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.

“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.

“How much do you know?” He asks.

“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.

You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.

“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.

“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.

“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.

The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.

“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.

“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.

Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.

“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.

“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.

“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.

The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.

“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.

“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.

“What’s happening?” Mary asks.

“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.

“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.

“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.

“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”

“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”

“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.

“Why would you –,” Mary starts.

“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”

“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.

“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”

“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.

“Leave her out of this,” he growls.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.

“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.

“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.

“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”

“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.

“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.

“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.

“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.

“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.

Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…

“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”

“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.

“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.

“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.

“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”

“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.

“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.

***

Three months, five days.

That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment.

You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.

“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.

“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.

“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.

“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.

“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.

“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.

“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.

Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.

“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.

“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.

“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.

“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.

“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.

“Gre...huh??”

“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.

“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.

“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.

“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.

“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.

“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.

“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.

“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.

“You were so mad when you saw me…”

“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.

“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.

“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.

“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.

“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.

“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.

“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”

“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.

“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.

“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, Dean kisses you once again.

You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.

I quit. -Y/N

****

Tags: @roseblue373

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #sam winchester #mary winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #cas #castiel #right where you left me #dean x waitress

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syoddeye · 1 month

Text

useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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theteasetwrites · 2 years

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Go Get Him | Part 1

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 10 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT��fingering, face riding, oral (female receiving), submissive!Daryl, virgin!Daryl, grinding, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, swearing ❧ Word Count: 12.5k (oh they keep getting longer, don't they?)

❧ Requested by anonymous (this request)

❧ Summary: You've known Daryl for a long time, and you've flirted with him for a long time, too. Today's the day you finally take things to the next level and show him just how much you want him.

❧ A/N: Sub!Daryl, anyone?! God, I love shy, nervous, sweet baby Daryl. This version of Daryl is a little different from anything I've written so far, since I usually write Daryl as being a little more dominant/experienced than he is here, but I really like writing submissive/virgin Daryl, too!

“God, I want to do sinful things to that man.”

Rosita scoffed at your sudden declaration, turning her head to follow your gaze, which was glued onto the man in question as shaggy brown hair hung over his face, his greasy hands tinkering with the mechanics of his motorcycle. You hadn’t the first idea about motorcycles, but for him? You’d read every manual you could get your hands on just to show him how much you wanted him. Everyone already knew, though, except him.

“Do you think he likes to be on top or on the bottom?” you asked, your eyes not leaving his body as you undressed him with your mind. You took a casual sip of the homemade horchata Rosita had served you. “I’d love to hear his moans.”

“You’re such a whore,” laughed Rosita. “And you tease him, you know.”

“I know,” you replied with a devious smirk. “He likes it, he’s just too shy to say anything. I told you, I caught him staring at my tits.”

“That’s because you were bending over, and you purposely had on a low-cut dress, dumbass.”

You gently kicked her shin under the dining room table. “That’s not the point. He looked.”

She shook her head. “How long have you been flirting with him, anyway?”

You shrugged, smiling to yourself as you swirled the cinnamon stick in languid circles around the glass of that sweet rice drink. “Oh, six, seven years maybe? After things settled down with the Saviors.”

For most of that time, Daryl had been living on his own, out in the woods searching for Rick’s remains. Still, when he came to town every once in a while, it was your opportunity to engage him in conversation, to see how much you could pry open that stubborn shell and get him to smile just a little at your cheesy quips.

You learned a lot about him just from that, from the days spent hovering over his shoulder as you watched him gut a squirrel or ready his crossbow.

Maybe you had never really gotten anywhere with your occasionally rather obvious flirting, but you had a friend in Daryl. He’d dropped his guard as much as he could, and after a while of purposely brushing up against him, or “accidentally” touching his hand, he seemed to not stiffen at your touch as much as he once had, and the more you learned about him, the more you liked him, and the more attractive, nearly irresistible, he became to you.

When he finally returned to the fold a year ago, around the time the Whisperers began to cause problems, you didn’t hesitate to make him feel comfortable, to use your bubbly, extroverted personality to ease his mind when his introverted, cerebral psyche became too much for him to handle.

So it was more than just flirting or lustful teasing—you really did care for him, and something told you that he cared for you, too, but his shyness kept him from acting on his feelings.

Maybe Rosita was right. Maybe now was the time to really let Daryl know exactly how you felt. No teasing, no flirting, just the truth.

Well, you probably couldn’t really help yourself. You had to flirt with him, too.

“You’re just teasing yourself at this point, mami. You want him so go get him.”

It was tempting, more now than ever.

He was right there, not about to go on another mission, not about to come up with a stuttering excuse for him to do something “important” instead of spending the night with you, as you’d occasionally joke about to his face.

Still, he never outright rejected you. If he had, you’d have stopped in your tracks, not wanting to harass him, but he toyed with you in his own way, too. It was more subtle than your liking, and perhaps even accidental at times, but it was sweet, his own brand of flirting that was clumsy and unrefined, as if he were holding something back and stepping on eggshells. You surmised he was terrified of rejection himself, even though it was pretty clear that you wanted him.

“For real this time?” you asked. “I mean, should I go all out?”

“Depends,” said Rosita, leaning back in her squeaky wooden chair and folding her hands behind her head. “What do you mean by ‘all out’?”

“Hm…” You leaned forward, folding your arm on the table to lean your chin upon your hand as you watched Daryl wipe his hands of that filthy grease. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead to remove the accumulated sweat, but he only smeared it, creating an adorable streak of black. “Well, I have to get him alone. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone… But I want to touch him. Just a little more than usual… Maybe I’ll wear that low-cut dress again.”

“No panties,” suggested Rosita. “That’ll get him riled up, I bet.”

“Oh, you’re a genius! But how am I gonna get him alone? He’s always busy.”

“He’s not busy right now,” replied Rosita with a smirk. “He’s just working on that stupid bike like he always is. Why don’t you go get that dress on and let your body do the talking?”

Not ten minutes later, you came sauntering across the street (sans panties), adorned in that contradiction of a dress.

It was at once seductive and innocent, with the motif of pale yellow buttercups blooming across a cream fabric, high empire waist and low-cut v neck wrapped bodice perfectly accentuating your chest, which Daryl seemed to like. The material was soft to the touch, a crinkled polyester with a bias cut that hugged your curves and reached your knees.

You didn’t know what to do with your hair, besides pinning it in a loose bun that lifted it from your hot neck while wispy strands framed your face and blew gently with the late spring breeze.

Strategically, you wore one of the pairs of earrings he’d brought back for you on one of his visits to Alexandria a few years ago. He had a habit of doing that, collecting trinkets and jewelry that made him think of you. The ones you had on now were your favorite—dangling blush pink jewels in a cluster that trickled down to a singular diamond in the shape of a heart. You hoped he’d notice that you were wearing them, but something told you he would. He always noticed things like that, even if he didn’t tell you. You could almost read him like a book at this point.

“Hi there, handyman.”

His hooded blue eyes peered over the seat of his bike to acknowledge you. Though he’d felt your presence getting closer, and even caught a sweet whiff of that sultry perfume you always wore, he’d tried not to let himself get distracted again, even if he was rather fond of being distracted by you.

“Hey,” he replied, that one syllable word already having an effect on you. His voice was at once smooth and silken as rich maple syrup, and yet with a flavor more like salted caramel. In any case, he sounded so sweet, sweet enough to rot your teeth. “Need somethin’?”

“You,” you said bluntly. As always, he shared with you that look, an initial look of serious consideration, peppered with sexual tension, and seasoned with a just pinch of disbelief. Then, as always, he scoffed.

“Pfft.” He shook his head, returning his focused gaze to his work, though you noticed he looked a little less focused than before. “Yeah, sure. What’s up, buttercup?”

He nudged his head to your body, correctly identifying the full yellow flowers painted on the fabric of your dress. He was the kind of man to know flowers and plants, to recognize them easily. Years of surviving in the wilderness would do that to you, but he was also observant, obsessed with details, especially yours.

“You like it?” you asked, sliding your hands down your own curves.

Raising his eyes to look at you once again, he bit his lip in thought, trying to look at you without imagining what you looked like underneath the dress in question.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Seen it before. Yellow suits ya.”

“Thanks… So, what are you working on?”

You planted yourself next to him, folding your arms as you watched him spin some kind of wrench around to tighten one of the bolts.

He dusted his knees as he stood to his feet, then removed his black rag from its place on the seat to wipe his hands once again.

“Jus’ maintenance, makin’ sure everything’s dialed in, tuned up, ready to go. Ain’t got much else to do.”

“Well,” you sighed, “now I’m here. That’s something else to do.” You side-stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his. He didn’t seem to flinch at that, so your other hand crossed over to lightly trace up and down his arm, clothed in a long sleeve black button-up shirt.

He swallowed hard, unsure of what to say for a moment as your hand playfully tickled his sleeve. He’d only wished he’d been wearing a sleeveless shirt that day, just to feel your fingers on his bare flesh.

His feelings for you consumed him on a day-to-day basis, and though he knew you flirted with him, as you were doing now, he could never tell if you were serious, or if this was how you were with every man. Granted, most of your other friends were women, so he couldn’t really know for sure. All he knew was that many nights he’d woken up from dreams about you in a cold sweat, soaked in his own arousal, and with a tent pitched under his sheets.

He knew he loved you, he always did. It took him a while to admit it to himself, how much he cared for you, but old habits die hard, and he had a habit of suppressing his emotions, especially the kind that could get him hurt. Besides, why would you want to be with a guy like him, anyway? When he wasn’t out killing walkers or dealing with Whisperers, he was in his basement whittling arrows, or talking a little too much to his dog. He was shy, quiet, standoffish, even. Surely someone so gregarious and sociable as you would want nothing to do with him, right? Well, that’s where you confused him, in the best way possible.

Still, you brought something out in him, and whenever he was with you, he felt like he could let his guard down just enough to keep up with your quips, your teasing flirts, your contagious giggles. Being around you made him feel like a teenager again. Or, at least, how most people were as teenagers.

Daryl never had feelings like this before, not once. Sexual feelings hadn’t been apart of his life one bit until he realized he loved you. When people spoke of their relationships, of their sex lives, his brain went blank. They might as well have been speaking another language, and he might as well have been deaf.

All he knew of sex was how you made him feel, and when you touched him like you did, like you’d done so many times before, he found himself somewhere between terrified and euphoric.

“Pfft,” he scoffed with a nervous smirk, elbowing you playfully. “Ain’t ya got anythin’ better to do than talkin’ to an old man?”

You rolled your eyes, then looked around as you turned dramatically. “Gee, I don’t see any old men around here. All I see is a very handsome, sweet, strong—” You cut yourself off, noticing the blush blossoming on his cheeks. “Sorry,” you giggled. “So, you’re not busy right now, are you?”

Your voice was sultry and deep, deeper and more rich than usual. Even when you flirted with him more intensely, he’d never heard such a sweet sound.

His feet shuffled as he scratched his neck, his shoulder-length hair draped over his wrist. You’d always wanted desperately to get your own hands tangled up in that hair of his.

“Uh, guess not,” he said. “Why?”

Shit, you thought. I haven’t thought this far.

“Well, um…” You rocked your hips back and forth as you thought, unintentionally drawing his eyes to your midsection, a place on your body he’d thought about more than he’d care to admit.

An idea occurred to you then—Daryl was good with his hands, and surely he’d be able to help out around your house. Maybe he was good at plumbing. You could make up an excuse for him to come to your house, to “fix” something…

“My bathtub,” you said abruptly. “I—I mean, it’s all… clogged up. The water—it pools around my feet when I’m showering. I was wondering if you knew anything about plumbing? Maybe you could… snake my drain?”

Perfect, a nice sexual innuendo.

His eyes seemed to widen for a moment as he processed your words, and the bite in your lip and the sway of your hips didn’t go unnoticed. Still, however, he couldn’t comprehend this being anything other than a friendly interaction. At least, he didn’t want to assume you meant anything else.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and scratched his head, avoiding eye contact as much as he could. If he looked into those intense, beautiful eyes of yours now, he was sure he’d get down on his knees and worship at your feet. “Well, what’s in it for me?”

You cracked a smile and a raised eyebrow at that. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if his light flirting was intentional, or just a byproduct of his cluelessness. Either way, it was adorable.

“Hm, maybe a kiss on the cheek?” you teased. “Or anywhere else you want a kiss…”

He scoffed and shook his head, stepping backwards and nearly tripping over his foot until he caught himself, eliciting an amused smirk from your lips. There was nothing more adorable than how he reacted to your flirting, and how nervous he could get.

“What about some peach pie?” he rasped, his voice seeming to break a little.

Oh, your famous peach pie. The only other thing he dreamed about besides you was your pie, made with fresh, plump peaches plucked from the tree outside your house. You’d first made it for him as a thank you for the first necklace he brought back for you, and from that point on, he always asked you for more.

“Peach pie, huh? Well, you know what, I just happen to already have a slice of peach pie with your name on it.”

That was a lie. So was the drain. You hated lying to him, but you figured it was for a good cause, and you hoped he’d appreciate what you had in mind once you got him alone in your house. Peach pie or not, at least you managed to employ the use of yet another sexual euphemism to hint at your intentions.

“Come on,” you said, tugging lightly on his hand. He didn’t jerk it away, he never did. His hand interlaced with yours felt too much like two matching puzzle pieces finally fitting together for him to pull away. He felt safe cradled in your touch, secure. As nervous as he could be around you, it was simply because he was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of embarrassing himself in front of you, even if he knew you could never be embarrassed of him.

“You’ve been spending too much time with that bike,” you said. “I’m starting to get jealous.”

He scoffed, feeling your hand tighten around his the closer you got to your house. He blushed as a few passersby eyed the two of you, their eyebrows raising in curiosity at the display. Surely they’d gossip about it behind his back, saying he was screwing you. No matter how much he sort of liked the idea of everyone thinking you were his, he tugged his hand from your grasp, wiping the sweat that had accumulated from his anxiety onto his jeans.

“That ole bike ain’t got nothin’ on you, buttercup,” he said, nearly tripping up the steps to your townhouse as you began fiddling with your keys to unlock the front door. “So, you got the stuff to snake the drain?”

You swallowed hard as you turned the key in the lock. “Mhm,” you lied, but you were so close to getting him inside where you could make your first serious attempt to seduce him. If you needed to lie once more to get him inside, you would. Besides, they were only little white lies. “Got everything you need in the house. I’m just not very good with that kind of stuff… Maybe I need a man around the house, one that’s good with his hands.”

Your voice had a suggestive lilt to it, and Daryl couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be that man, to use those deft hands of his to pleasure you and touch you wherever you wanted him to. Maybe you imagined some man other than him, though, and the thought of any other man inside your house, doing his job, infuriated him slightly.

“Pfft,” he scoffed, stepping over the threshold as you held the door for him. “Don’t need a man to fix shit. I can show you how.”

“But then who’s gonna make you peach pie while you snake my drain, huh?”

You watched him remove his muddy boots, as was policy in your house so as not to track dirt through the place, but all you could think of was how you were one step closer to getting the man’s clothes off.

“Whatever you say… So where do you keep the drain snake?”

Shit.

Closing the door, you turned to face him, your eyes fluttering sweetly as you prepared to tell him that it was all just a ploy to get him in your house. Oh, but his face was so sweet in all its innocence, his eyes genuine as they glimmered in desire to help you. He was such a good man, always was. That made him immensely more attractive to you. He was gorgeous, too, with that beautiful bone structure and those strong, broad shoulders of his, but none of it meant anything to you if he wasn’t also a good person, and Daryl was perhaps the best person you’d ever met.

Not once had he taken advantage of you and your kindness towards him, even if perhaps you wished he’d take advantage of it. You were long past the point of wondering whether or not you loved him. You knew you loved him, that you’d let him do just about anything he wanted to do to you. Now you had him alone, you could make that abundantly clear to him.

“Why don’t we sit down for a bit?” you asked. “You want some water? I’ll get you a glass of water. Sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.”

He already knew he couldn’t be alone in private with you for long without feeling a near irresistible urge, an urge he was scared to realize. Today was worse than usual—you were in that dress again. You were wearing those earrings he’d gotten for you, and it was no accident that their diamonds were in the shape of a heart. It was his subtle way of showing his love for you, but the words just never materialized—vapor dissipating into thin air.

Most of all, you were sweet, delicate with each flourish of your hand as you lovingly poured him a glass of water in the kitchen across from the living room. Even such a simple gesture from you seemed so genuine and kind. No, no, he thought. She’s like this with everyone. She must be.

“Here you go,” you said with a smile, leaning down to hand him his glass. He eyed the thin lemon wedge perched on the side of the glass, and the slices of fresh cucumber floating in the clear liquid.

“Fancy water,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Mm, yes I did, Daryl.” You sat closer to him than usual, and you always sat close to him, much closer to him than anyone else sat. “You deserve nice things.”

The feeling of your hand massaging his shoulder did not escape him. In fact, he nearly choked on his water when you squeezed his muscular frame, trying to knead out the knots by his neck.

Still, he wasn’t uncomfortable, just nervous, and slightly confused by your gesture. It was more than you’d ever done before, but it felt good. Oh, did it feel good. Somehow, it gave him just a little spark of confidence, just enough to turn his thoughts into words: “Are you a nice thing?” he asked, surprising himself with the flirtatious lilt of his voice.

Your soft giggle drove him wild, its cadence somewhere between girlish innocence and erotic amusement.

“Well, that depends on who you ask… Do you think I’m a nice thing?”

His shyness washed over him again, causing him to nod shakily as he cleared his throat, his eyes drifting down to look at the translucent seeds of the cucumbers floating in his water.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered.

“Well, then I guess you deserve me…”

His heart fluttered along with every bat of your eyelashes, and with every whiff of that intoxicating perfume of yours, he knew he was done for, in one way or another. He wasn’t going to get out of this alive.

You saw him shift his shoulders as he looked back up at you, his eyes darting around your face in panicked circles. You offered him a small smile, laced with equal parts adoration and flirtation. In a flash, he shifted his eyes downward again, causing you to lean forward and tilt your head at the sudden return of his shyness. Still, you could tell that the man who could idly flirt back with you was in there, he was just nervous, maybe a little scared.

“Daryl,” you giggled under your breath. “All this time I’ve been flirting with you, you know that, right?”

He scoffed, the dismissive sound of which worried you for a moment. Maybe he never really had been subtly returning your flirtations, maybe he was just entertaining you. If so, you were sure that you, too, would soon be overcome with shyness and embarrassment.

It didn’t matter, though, because if you didn’t do something to make it extremely clear what you wanted, you were sure you’d be running around in circles with this man for the rest of your lives. You had to make a move, a bold one. Daryl seemed to respond better to actions than words, as you were almost sure if you straight up said, “I love you,” he still wouldn’t know what to say.

Go get him, you heard Rosita’s voice echo inside your head.

You’d kissed his cheeks before, and every time you had, he apparently must’ve seen that as a friendly gesture, so you were determined not to do that again.

With your hand delicately, yet firmly, grasping his chin, you pulled him closer, eyeing him steadily to silently keep his attention on you. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” you whispered, and slowly closed the gap, pressing your lips lightly against his.

His body and brain went numb, practically dead to the world. He couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, even if it was technically something he’d imagined many times before. Your lips barely touched his, but they were so soft, so warm and pillowy. Better than any pillow he’d ever had in his life. He couldn’t escape the feeling of wanting more, of wanting to wrap his arms around you and kiss you the way you deserved, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know the first thing about kissing, or pleasing a woman, as far as he was concerned. He knew nothing, except from silly childhood “girlfriends” he pecked lips with, and even that was reluctant. For a long time he wondered if he could love anyone, have feelings, sexual or otherwise, for anyone. You changed everything. He touched himself for the first time in several years the day he met you. He didn’t know it then, but you had awakened that in him.

You didn’t move for a while, trying to gauge his feelings, but it was hard to tell, as he sat frozen, eyes wide and lips trembling against yours. “Daryl,” you sighed, pulling away to make sure he wanted this. “I need you to communicate with me… Do you want to kiss me?”

Hell of a lot more than that, he thought.

“Yeah,” he mumbled softly. “Jus’… Ain’t a very good kisser, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, encouraging him to smile just a little too, though his was much more crooked, almost boyish in his innocence.

He shivered a little when your arms wrapped around his neck, your glass of water having been surrendered to the coffee table at some point. He watched you fold your legs under your body, and a glimmer in your eye hinted at mischief as you remembered you weren’t wearing any panties. You could feel the back of your shins grazing your bare lower lips as they peeked out between your thighs, unbeknownst to the painfully bashful man before you. It invoked sinful thoughts within you, as you wondered just what it would feel like for his large, strong hand to slip under your dress and feel your most intimate area.

“Well, that wasn’t a real kiss,” you said. “Can I give you a real one?”

He swallowed hard, eyes trailing down to your lips as you licked them, leaving behind a glossy sheen, like dew on the pink petals of a peony. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that he wanted you, even if he couldn’t quite believe you wanted him. It still seemed so surreal, like some kind of fever dream made too vivid from the cold sweat drenching his aching body in his sleep. Every cell was on fire, every square inch of skin begged to be touched by you. His lips seemed to sting with need as he wanted nothing more than to feel your mouth on his.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, but it was enough to indicate that he wanted more, even if he was too shy to say something more eloquent. He never really had a way with words, but at least you did.

Your lips parted before meeting his, eager to show him exactly what kind of kiss you had in mind. Your arms coiled tighter around his neck to bring him closer, until the tips of your noses met. He always had such a cute nose—a short, slightly sloped button with a soft, fleshy tip. Just being this close to him, so close to meeting his lips with yours, was enough to elicit a giggle under your breath, one that alerted his attention to yours eyes instead of your lips.

“What’re you laughin’ at?” he asked, his own voice beginning to crack with a few chortles.

“Your nose is so cute,” you laughed. His eyes followed yours as they darted all over his face, admiring every sunspot and freckle and blemish and crease and wrinkle and—Well, you couldn’t stop yourself. He was so beautiful to you. Your thumb brushed against his jaw as his own hand moved cautiously to rest on your knee, though not without nearly immediately pulling it away.

“You can touch me,” you whispered against his lips. “Please touch me.”

Your more confident hand took a hold of his to rest it once again on your knee. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn you felt him squeeze it, but maybe it was just a nervous reaction.

The featherlight feeling of your lips slotting around his was deeper than before, with each crease melding perfectly into one another. It was slow for you, slower than tectonic plates, but you knew an earthquake was well on the way, as you couldn’t stand to be interlocked with him without shaking the fault lines. You needed to move, to go deeper, to plunge your tongue between his trembling lips.

First, you got a tighter grip on him, your hands pulling him closer by his shoulders until he simply had to part his lips for you. Hot breath seeped in through the cracks, alerting your tongue to the breach. With almost a mind of its own, it darted teasingly into his mouth as your lips massaged his.

Soon his hand gripped tight to only the crinkled polyester fabric of your dress his fist balled up and curling around the material as he concentrated hard on savoring the moment, not overthinking. Even in your embrace, he wondered if you knew what you were doing, if you were only kissing him out of some kind of pity. Maybe you would regret this. Surely, you’d regret this. Well, that’s what he thought, but you were too busy trying to rouse his tongue with yours.

His kiss was awkward, and a bit stiff, even if it was quite obvious he was trying to match the fluid, expert movements of your intoxicating mouth. His tongue couldn’t quite keep up with yours, and his lips only moved to gasp for air, or to try taking the lead when he seemed not to know exactly what to do.

At least your hand in his hair seemed to rile him up, his deep grunt of appreciation reverberating in your mouth as your fingers weaved through those messy brown locks like yarn. It sent a jolt through him, turning him briefly into a live wire as he moved his head in sloppy, wild motions, trying to get his lips to loosen and match your movements, though he really just hit your nose with his, back and forth, until you were giggling into his mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there, stud,” you teased, your lips moving to his cheek to kiss him there, all while your hand tucked under his hair to stroke his neck. It only made the hairs on it rise even more, and something else began to rise in his pants, too. “As much as I love your nose, I think it’s getting in the way.”

He swallowed hard, suddenly turning red at the realization that he’d never kissed anyone before. Nearly fifty years old, he thought, and never kissed a woman before… Yeah, real stud.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I ain’t, uh… I ain’t done that in a long time.” A long time as in never.

“Me neither,” you said. “I liked it… Did you like it?”

With your hand cupping his cheek again, and your lips pressing lightly against the other, he couldn’t dream of any alternative universe in which he didn’t like that kiss. That was everything he’d wanted for almost seven years. Of course, he wanted so much more, but that kiss? That was the start of it all, the foundation for a whirlwind he was hoping to get swept up in.

“I loved it,” he said, a little more enthusiasticly than he’d hoped. He wanted desperately to play it cool, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Oh, it was everything to him. If he could stay this close to you for the rest of his life, he’d do it in a heartbeat. “You, uh… always wanted to do that?”

Oh, you sweet, silly man, you thought. Getting lost in those deep, grey-blue eyes of his was the best part of looking at him, so that’s what you did, shaking your head as you wondered if he knew just how much of an effect he had on you. Even from just once sloppy, haphazard kiss, you were getting those familiar tingles in your core, the ones that told you there was something particularly arousing in your midst.

“I thought that was obvious. I think about you all the time, Daryl… I want to kiss you all the time. I love being with you.”

Even he couldn’t comprehend how long he’d wanted to hear you say that. He couldn’t stay silent, even if he just wanted to bask in the afterglow of your sweet words, the ones that tickled his ears and caused a stupidly wide smile to split his face in half. You’d never seen him smile that wide before. In fact, you’d seen it only in your imagination, but real life blew that hazy daydream out of the water.

“I, uh… I love bein’ with you, too. I wanna kiss you, too. All the time.”

A swell of short-lived pride filled his chest, but it deflated quickly as he remembered how inexperienced he was, how he surely couldn’t please you the way you wanted, and judging by the way your hand was guiding his back to your leg, you wanted him to please you.

The fabric of your dress crept up your bare thigh as you gently guided his hand, which had seemed to almost be numb as he let you take it where you wanted.

His eyes couldn’t help but look down, watching as the skirt of your dress slowly lifted with each inch his hand moved with yours. You stopped before his hand lifted your dress to reveal your nakedness, but you did lean forward to whisper in his ear, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

How you had always wanted to say that to a man. In the movies, that always seemed to rile them up, so you were sure it would get him flustered, too. Well, you hoped, anyway.

Your chest pressed tight up against his, and you could just feel his heart beating so fast and strong, and so much warmth emanating from him. It felt like getting too close to a fireplace, with that overwhelming heat igniting your cheeks. It was a good feeling, though, a comforting hearth that felt like home. Nothing could possibly be more attractive.

“Maybe it’s a good thing, though,” your voice spoke huskily into his ear. “Whenever I’m around you, my underwear always ends up getting soaked. Better to just get rid of them, huh?”

He had no idea when you maneuvered yourself to sit atop his lap, legs straddling his waist and your bare core rubbing up against his jeans, but it became clear to him when your next kiss awoke him from whatever trance you’d put him in.

As your tongue desperately wriggled into his mouth again, begging for his sloppy kiss, he groaned against your mouth and grasped your waist with his hands, pulling your lips away with a small whimper from you.

Shit, you thought. He doesn’t want this… He doesn’t want me. I’m a dumbass.

“Daryl,” you said, slightly panicking as you feared you and your forwardness had blown any chance you had with him, “I… I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s, uh…”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” you sighed. “It’s not you, it’s me, right?”

Shit, he thought. I’m a dumbass.

“Nah. I mean, uh… Yeah, it’s me.”

“You don’t want this?”

His hands tightened around your waist in a slight panic, as if terrified you’d get up and leave without hearing his explanation. Well, maybe it would have been better if you didn’t hear his explanation: he was a virgin.

He’d just never met anyone he felt this way about, and sex had never been a priority. He wasn’t completely unaware, though. He knew what sex was, he’d seen porn before, mostly Merle’s overdue video tapes he rented from the local adult film shop back in Georgia, but that wasn’t real sex, of course. Even he knew that.

“N-no,” he said, and immediately shook his head to contradict himself. “Shit, I mean, yes. I want this. I want… I want you.”

Your eyes turned soft as your lip quivered into a sweet, relieved smile. He let out his own low sigh of relief as your hand raised to cup his cheek. It never failed to enchant him how soft your hands were. “I want you, too… So what’s wrong?”

If there was one thing he admired about you, though he loved just about everything, it was your straightforward nature, your tendency to lay your cards out in front of him and wear your heart on your sleeve for the whole world to see. Now that he knew you wanted him, he wondered why you hadn’t told him earlier, but maybe you liked teasing him. Evil woman, he thought. She knows what she does to me.

Never before had the word evil been used as a compliment, until now. He liked how evil you were, if being evil was teasing him for seven years to the point he’d probably turn into a puddle of goo if you so much as grazed his lower abdomen. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a result of your teasing, or just how inexperienced he was.

“I just, uh… I haven’t done it in a real long time.”

Don’t lie, dumbass. You ain’t never done it.

“Oh, Daryl,” you laughed, “I haven’t done it in a long time either. I think it’ll feel even better, don’t you?”

As your confidence began to return to you, you found yourself tracing your fingertip along the collar of his shirt, and your eyes began to descend down his neck, the muscles in which seemed about ready to burst through the surface of his skin as he strained himself not to seem too desperate. He could practically feel the blood rushing to his head when your fingers parted the lowest point of his collar, making their way to his top button. Sparse hairs of light caramel color dotted his chest, which became more and more exposed to you as your fingers snapped together to undo that first button.

Your tongue wetted your lips as if on its own accord, your mouth becoming dry with each heavy breath you took. All the willpower in the world couldn’t stop you from impatiently attacking each plastic circle down the front of his shirt, ripping the fabric apart until his chest was bare, though his shirt still clung to his shoulders.

A slight trance took him over as he became almost immobilized, eyes wide and mouth agape as he watched your hands fight each other to figure out how to undo his belt.

“Mm, I’ve wanted this for so long,” you said, each word pouring out in an increasingly desperate whimper. “Kiss me.” You couldn’t even wait for him to shake himself out of that trance. Instead, you just crashed those trembling lips onto his, hands still fumbling to get that belt out from the loops.

Low, sultry groans emitted from your mouth and reverberated inside his. Without much other thought in his paralyzed brain, he grasped at your waist and squeezed you until you let out a breathy whimper of his name.

“Fuck me,” you sighed against his cheek, and soon you found yourself buried in the tresses of his hair, your lips pursed and peppering his scalp with kisses as your free hand clumsily searched for the button to his jeans. For a moment you gave up, lowering your hand to find the bulge in his jeans, growing and becoming more prominent with each movement of your body, somehow shivering despite the heat coursing through you like a lava flow. “I’ve waited so long for you… handyman.”

That little moniker reminded him, sending him flinching a little in your grasp as he awoke from his brief immobilization. You only held onto him tighter, gripping his thigh with one hand and his shoulder with the other. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with your shower drain, is there?”

Your lips curled into a mischievous smirk. He’d finally caught on, it seemed. “No, but I still need your… expertise.”

Expertise, he thought, all the while trying to match your smirk, despite his inner state of panic. I got no damn expertise, woman.

He nearly opened his mouth to say something, to finally admit his lack of experience to you, but the feeling of your hand gripping his, leading it swiftly underneath the skirt of your dress, rendered him speechless.

A pink rosy haze swelled around him, clouding his vision until all he could see was your face, your body, your eyes closed and your lips spread apart as his palm tickled you in the place where you hadn’t felt a foreign touch in so long. You’d always been waiting for Daryl, hoping he’d come to you first. You’d turned other men in Alexandria down before, waiting for the burly yet inordinately quiet archer to finally kneel down at your feet and admit to you his feelings that you knew deep down he shared for you.

The touch of a man’s hand had at least been known to you, but for Daryl, he’d never felt this before. The sparse carpet of short, slightly curled hairs cushioned his thumb, while the other fingers clumsily spread apart your lips, slightly wetted by your arousal. When his mind caught up with his actions, he realized you were telling the truth—you weren’t wearing any panties. As he thought back to earlier, you standing so close to him, petting his arm and flashing those sultry bedroom eyes his way, he couldn’t help but imagine a droplet or two trickling down your thigh, uninhibited by the presence of underwear.

“I love your hands on me,” you sighed under your breath, barely audible for him to hear, as if you didn’t even need him to hear, you just needed those words to linger in the air for a moment, so it was known by even the tiniest speck of dust in that room that you loved this feeling. “Daryl… I need you.”

It wasn’t even just a want anymore, not a flight of fancy or anything that could ever evaporate from your mind. It was an intensity for a man you’d never felt before, and if you didn’t have him soon, you were sure you’d go mad.

“I—I need ya, too,” he stuttered mindlessly, his fingers wiggling in sloppy movements as he blindly felt around below your dress, that strange feeling of touching something he’d never touched before. It was so new, so exciting. Every inch of his body grew tense and taught, pulled tighter than a tourniquet with each stroke of his fingers against your folds. Still, he had no idea what he was doing, and that uncertainty got the better of him. “I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

You hummed a sweet, “Hm?” through your smiling lips. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? he thought to himself. Shit, this is really happening. If this was what it was like to be loved, he had a feeling it would become a guilty pleasure for him. That sound of your angelic voice calling him something so sacred was so surreal, and so very sweet.

He felt your hand tighten around his, guiding him to keep his palm pressed against you.

“I ain’t ever…”

His voice trailed off as you leaned forward to press your lips against the center of his chest, where the most tempting crop of short, sparse chest hairs dotted his broad frame. Spreading your lips, you licked languid, sloppy circles over his skin, taking in the feeling of those hairs dancing with your tongue.

Desperately keeping his hand under your dress, you manipulated his pliable fingers to enter you slowly, causing his breath to hitch in shock at the feeling.

“(Y/N),” he said. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when that warm, silky embrace was swallowing his fingertips in the most delectable way. “I—I ain’t never… Fuck.”

“Mm, tell me more,” you laughed against his chest. “I love your voice… Say my name again.”

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes tight as he tried so hard not to lose control of himself before he could tell you what he needed you to know, but the truth was he quite liked your name on his voice, too, and he had a proclivity for saying it, especially whenever he touched himself.

“(Y/N),” he sighed, a gruff and raspy sigh, but a sigh nonetheless. “I’ve never done this before.”

The vibration of your playful laughter against his pec as you kissed him there seemed to be a bad sign. What if you were laughing at him, laughing at how he couldn’t possibly ever please you? Clearly you wanted him, and now he couldn’t be the man you needed to satisfy you. A virgin? Surely that wasn’t the kind of man you expected him to be, and surely it wasn’t the kind of man you deserved. Not only that, but Daryl was no young man. He was much past the age of a typical virgin, so how was he supposed to excuse it? It just was never something he’d been very interested in, never something he’d been offered, either. Now here he was, with a woman who was just about ready to let him make love to her, and now he might’ve just blown it. Still, you needed to know. He owed you that, he thought. He needed you to know what you were getting into.

Now you knew.

Well, he had hoped you knew.

“Mm, done what before?”

Fuck. Ain’t it obvious?

“Never, uh…”

There’s no way, you thought. There’s no way this man is a virgin.

“Daryl,” you said, more seriously now as you lifted your head to look in his eyes, trying to find the truth as disbelief clouded your vision. Surely Daryl had women clamoring for him before the world ended. Surely he’d been with women before. You knew for a fact that there were a handful of women in Alexandria ready to drop their pants in a heartbeat for him. Hell, you were one of them, though you’d somehow managed to scare most of them off with your less than subtle attempts to publicly portray a more intimate relationship with Daryl, even if you’d never done anything more than kiss his cheek. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had sex before?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you laughed, raising your hands to cup his cheek. “That’s okay.”

“Really?” he asked, dumbfounded by your continued affection as your hands massaged his chest, pushing his shirt further off his shoulders. “Ya ain’t… disappointed?”

“Well, I’m sitting on the lap of the man I’ve had feelings for for seven years. I think there’s very few things that could disappoint me right now.”

That crooked, boyish smile that spread on his face was enough to show just how much that meant to him, how much relief washed over him. Still, it faded when another thought occurred to him.

“But what if I can’t… What if I can’t satisfy ya?”

You chuckled under your breath at the notion. “You’ve already satisfied me,” you said, causing his brows to knit together in confusion at the statement.

Leaning forward, you whispered in his ear, but only after taking a delicate bite of his earlobe. “I touch myself every night thinking about you,” you said. “Thinking about all the things I want you to do to me…” Your hand reached down to lift his fingers to his own lips, and that innocent confusion in his eyes as he looked at you only ignited a deeper fire within you. “Taste me.”

Something about the demand in your voice as you instructed him seemed to rule him up. You never commanded him before, not with such controlling need. He liked it, surprisingly. He liked when you bossed him around, especially since he had no clue what he was doing.

His tongue slipped out between his lips, as his eyes still locked firmly onto yours. Those fingertips sank effortlessly into his mouth, as a simple lick was not enough. He took four of his fingers inside, sucking them gently to absorb every last drop of you.

“Mm, good… Do you like that?” you asked, hands now massaging his scalp as soft, wavy caramel tresses draped over your attentive fingers.

It was almost patronizing how you spoke, as if you were amused by his relative innocence. Still, he liked how you spoke to him, so controlling and yet so soft, in that angelic voice of yours. You knew what you wanted, that much was clear, and Daryl knew what he wanted, too, but he’d need you to guide him. It was evident that you were more than willing to do so.

“Like it a lot,” he answered, tentatively returning his hand to the pot of dripping honey between your legs, though he stopped himself at the hem of your dress. “Can… Can I have some more?”

In a flash, you tugged on his hair, pushing his head back until it rested forcefully on the edge of the couch. His grunt of surprise echoed for a moment, turning you on far more than you intended.

“You want more?” you asked, brushing your nose up against his as your face and body pinned him down. Of course, he could probably throw you off him if he wanted to, but that was just the thing—he didn’t want to, not in a million years. He had you right where he wanted you, on top of him. “What do you want more of, sweetheart?”

He bit his lip and nodded his head, as if it was obvious. “Wanna taste you more.”

“On your fingers?”

“Yeah…” His tongue poked out between his lips as he desperately reached up to kiss you, and you let him, for a moment, until that sloppy tongue got too wily. He needed to be tamed, you thought. He needed control, otherwise he’d lose himself before he could even relish in the pleasure of his first time.

With a gentle, but firm, pull of his hair, you removed his saliva-soaked lips from yours, though it was tempting to keep him there, even if he was a sloppy kisser. In fact, you quite liked it that way.

“I got a better idea,” you whispered against his lips, which trembled in an attempt to close the space and devour you once again. “Lay down.”

As you raised yourself from his lap, you eyed the rather prominent bulge outlined in his jeans. Your thighs seemed to instinctually rub together, providing your sensitive area with a little relief until you could feel the friction you needed from him.

He seemed hesitant at first, slightly embarrassed by your eyes scanning his body. As he scooted forward, ready to maneuver himself, you called out another order: “Take your shirt off.”

The quarter-length sleeved button-up was still clinging to his shoulders, and you needed to see that strong, broad chest in all its glory. Clearing his throat, he relented, bashfully stripping himself of his shirt. Noticing his slight shame, probably from the numerous scars he’d developed over the years on his chest, your eyes turned soft and understanding. You, too, had your fair share of scars. Everyone who’d lived long enough in this world had them.

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said softly, hoping he wouldn’t recoil at your reassurance. “Your body is beautiful.”

He swallowed hard as he came to terms with your eyes taking him in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look in the mirror many times before, examining his own nakedness and wondering what you’d think. Most of the time, he told himself you’d hate his body, how worn it was. He was bulky, too, and you were so soft and delicate in his eyes. Surely you’d have wanted someone more lean and with a smaller frame, but no… You thought he was beautiful. You said so yourself. He couldn’t argue with you, not even if he wanted to.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, a nervous chuckle undercutting his gruff voice. It was so sweet to see him so shy as he called you beautiful for the first time. He’d hinted at it before, usually with the odd “you look nice,” or “I like your hair,” but never something so direct.

“Lay down,” you repeated, approaching slowly as you watched him lean back until he was lying face-up on the sofa, waiting for you.

His curiosity piqued when you straddled his stomach, rubbing your bare slit up and down his abdomen. You felt him tense up, and you could tell by the frozen movement in his chest that he was holding his breath, nervously expecting something.

“Just relax,” you laughed, letting your hands rest on his pecs to feel his breathing begin to return. He seemed to like your touch on his chest. “Let me show you how to do it… You still want to taste me again?”

He nodded slowly, keeping his trembling hands steady on your waist. “Yeah…”

“Good,” you said. “I like your tongue.”

As you slid up further on his chest, until his chin met your pelvis, you looked down to speak once more. “I'll guide you.”

Lifting yourself up, you straddled his face, then lowered yourself as you felt his hands curl around your thighs, pulling you further down. “Whoa,” you laughed, steadying yourself on his face as his tongue blindly searched for your entrance. “Settle down, partner.”

You pulled back the hem of your dress to meet his eyes, and watched them flit open to meet yours. His tongue moved in quick, rapid, hungry attempts to taste you, causing you to hiss under your breath at the sloppy movements as he only darted past your clitoris.

Pulling him gently by his hair, you guided his mouth to your clit, and held his head there with both hands, circling your thumbs over his temples. “That’s the spot,” you said. “Lick me there…” You tightened your grip on his head, swirling it around until his tongue was moving just the way you wanted it to, slow and steady. “Kiss me too.”

His lips suctioned around your clitoris as he kissed you there, all while his tongue moved at the pace you instructed. You kept your hands tangled in his hair, moving his head like a puppeteer holding her puppet on a string.

“Kiss and lick…” you sighed, watching his eyes flutter closed and his nostrils expand with each heavy breath. “Open your eyes.”

His hazy, blue-grey eyes opened just enough to see you peel that cream-colored dress from your body, revealing a pale pink bra that kept your breasts tightly contained. As the dress folded over your head, it took with it the scrunchie that had once held your loose updo in place, rendering the messy tendrils to spill over your shoulders and your face. With one hand, you tossed the discarded garment, and with the other, you moved the hair from your eyes to look back down at him, enraptured.

You reached back to unclasp your bra until the straps came loose, allowing you to slowly pull it from your chest until the lukewarm air of the living room hit your nipples just enough to get them stiff.

“Keep going,” you said, noticing his lips and his tongue had stopped moving, as he was in a state of awe. “You’re doing so good, Daryl.”

His tongue on your clit again, you began to rock back and forth, attempting to ride his tongue for the first time. He let out a grunt against you, but it wasn’t out of displeasure, that much was evident—his tongue moved more rapidly now, desperately lapping at your clit until he lost control of himself, moving his tongue back down to breach the entrance. You felt his tongue squirm inside you, tickling the shallow part of your hole.

“Oh…” you moaned under your breath, rocking with more vigor to match the clumsy wiggles of his tongue inside you. His head began to move side-to-side, causing the tip of his nose to tickle your clit with each pass. “Dar-Daryl, I… Oh, God.”

You felt his forearms wrap tight around your bare thighs, moving you at the pace of his tongue until you weren’t moving on your own accord anymore. His tongue and lips moved frantically, switching from your clit to your hole in rapid bursts as he couldn’t contain himself from sucking, licking, and kissing every part of that area. It was already so addictive, so delicious. He groaned deep against you, his way of begging you to ride him harder until you came on him, but he was going too fast for your liking, moving his mouth too hungrily.

“S-slow down,” you moaned, squeezing the back of the couch with one hand and tugging on his hair with the other. “Take it easy… No hurry. Just go slow… I like your tongue down there.”

He nodded, bringing his tongue back to your clit, where he let his head move once again with the guidance of your hands. “Good boy,” you laughed under your breath. You heard him groan underneath you, another groan of pleasure. “You like that?”

He nodded again, letting out another groan as his lips suctioned with your folds to make the most sinful sound, intermingling his saliva with your wetness.

“Just keep your head still,” you instructed. “And let me ride you.”

You clamped your hands to each side of his head, keeping him still as you slowly moved against the grain of his tongue’s flicks. Your back arched and your core grinding back and forth, you lowered your hands to meet Daryl’s as they rested on your thighs.

His hands went numb at your touch, letting you bring them up to your breasts, where you encouraged his hands to massage the supple tissue. His fingers moved clumsily as he tried to focus on his tongue pleasuring you, and the feeling of your breasts under his palms, bouncing with each thrust you made.

You moved at a steady rhythm, and his tongue began to match it, though all he wanted was to reach down for a moment and relieve himself over his jeans, which tightened and constrained his erection, the likes of which he was sure he hadn’t felt before. He’d had plenty of erections, but this? This was different. This was torturous.

Your hand encouraged his fingers to pinch your nipples, but one hand dropped down to palm at his clothed cock. You groaned, leaning back to replace his hand on your breast.

“You’ve got to make me come first,” you said with a smirk. “Then I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

He nodded, then moved to take one last deep breath of air before latching his mouth tight to your clit.

“Ugh!” you cried out, throwing your head back with the shockwave that teared through your abdomen. You were close to the height of your pleasure, after so long of Daryl’s tongue dancing wildly in an attempt to find his rhythm. You couldn’t say you didn’t like his sloppiness, though. It was cute, in a way. At least he listened to your instructions, for the most part. “That’s it, right there…”

He drew tighter and tighter circles around your sensitive spot, each swirl of his tongue tugging on the tightness in your core and getting you closer and closer to the climax. As his hands gripped tight around your thighs, you leaned back, arms stretched backwards to prop yourself up, hands resting on his lower abdomen as your body rocked back and forth, getting as much friction as possible against his tongue.

“Oh, yes!” you called out into the air. “Keep going… Daryl… Yes… Oh…”

One last thrust against his tongue sent your body into a cascade of pleasure as your orgasm pulsed through you. You let out a delirious laugh between deep, sultry moans. Each pulse caused your body to drag your slit back and forth over his tongue instinctually, letting your throbbing clitoris absorb even more pleasure.

With the last shockwaves of your orgasm, you maneuvered yourself until his tongue met your pulsing hole, dripping with the evidence of your orgasm. He didn’t hesitate to jut his tongue into your entrance, allowing himself to catch the droplets and to feel the last clenches of your moving walls.

Your hands held his as they rested on your hips, then dragged them slowly up the curve of your body until they cupped your breasts, sensitive and taught from your arousal. Lifting yourself from the lower half of his face, you straddled his chest until you could see his lips, glistening with saliva and raw from overuse. His eyelids were heavy, with only a sliver of those overcast sky blue eyes hazily watching you languidly drag your core up and down his abdomen.

His chest heaved as he panted, and as he caught his breath, you lowered yourself further until you felt the scratchy fabric of his jeans underneath you. Leaning forward, you took his panting lips in yours, massaging them gently to ease their exhaustion. You felt his arms coil around your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were almost one. It felt so natural being above him, letting him hold you close as his lips picked up the pace and demanded more movement from yours.

Soon his tongue was moving wildly inside your mouth again, and his hands moved desperately up and down your back, one finally landing on your bottom, the other tangling in your hair, forcing his kiss to go deeper.

The pressure from his grip on your ass made your core come into closer contact with his until you could feel the intense erection confined in his jeans. The pressure on your clit was too strong not to react, so your body instinctively moved, grinding your lower body back and forth over his clothed cock. He let out a deep hiss between your lips, and gripped harder onto your hair and ass as he threw his head back, finally separating himself from the lock of your lips.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out. That sensation of your body dragging itself up and down his cock was torturous, in the way the most delectable pleasure can become so intense it turns itself into the most abject pain. “I need ya,” he whimpered, a small cry of help you’d never heard from the stoic man before. You hated to admit it, but it was beautiful to see him crumble, just a little. He was always so strong, so fearless in the face of the terrors from the outside world, and yet, with you, he was nervous, timid, and now, begging you for release from his state of arousal-induced agony. “I need ya so bad.”

A slight smirk across your face, you slowly sat up, purposefully putting more weight on your core as it sunk deeper into his.

“Shit!” he yelped, raising his head to look down, seeing what you were doing to him.

You bounced gently on his clothed erection, hoping to tease him just a little more before you released the poor thing from its entrapment.

“Ah, fuckin’ shit! You’re gonna make me come ‘fore you get my pants off, woman.”

“You better not,” you said. “Not before I get you inside me.”

He nodded rapidly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as your hand reached between your legs to stroke his clothed cock. “(Y/N),” he stuttered. “I can’t wait no more.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s get these pants off.”

You felt his legs squirm as you lifted yourself up just enough to unbutton his jeans, then pull down the zipper until you could see the dark grey of his boxers. Your hands moving too slow for him, he reached down to pull off his pants until he could shimmy them off the rest of the way.

“You’re so impatient,” you teased, tickling your fingertips up and down the length of his cock, stiff and hard as a rock beneath the fabric of his underwear. His breath hitched and his hands clinged to your thighs, squeezing them tight as he tried to control himself.

“Woman, you’re evil,” he hissed under his breath.

You laughed and shook your head as you jerked the waistband of his underwear to reveal his cock—long, hard, and already beginning to stand up on its own. “Mm, wow… Big boy.”

He scoffed, halfheartedly glaring at you through hooded eyes. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t at least a little flattered, though. “Ya think so?”

“Know so. Nice and big and hard…”

Your hand wrapped tight around his shaft, pinning it to his abdomen as you sat yourself on the base of his cock. “Fuckin’… F-fuck, (Y/N),” he groaned. “Ain’t ya gonna put it inside ya for Christ’s sake?”

You pouted exaggeratingly, wiggling your hips to center his cock between your folds. “Not yet,” you said.

Leaning yourself backwards on your hands as they held his thighs, you slowly slid your slit up his shaft towards his tip, causing him to jolt at the feeling, that terrible trembling that surged through his cock as you slid backwards once again.

“You like that?” you asked.

“Shit, I… Fuckin’… God… Shit.”

“Mm, I’ll take that as a yes.”

“F-fuck yeah,” he clarified, watching as with each pass you spread a layer of sheen over his aching cock. “It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

You continued sliding his cock between your folds, moving your body back and forth rapidly, until his groans became so intense you were sure he’d come prematurely, so you slowed to an excruciating pace until you stopped, sitting still on the base of the cock.

He let out a strangled moan under his breath, almost high-pitched enough to be a whimper. “Woman…” he groaned, his voice drenched in a quivering ache. “I need ya.”

He tugged on your thighs with both hands, forcefully dragging you up and down his shaft once again, until you tore his hands from you, throwing them loosely above his head till they dangled over the arm of the sofa. “Hey,” you said. “You’re gonna come if you do that.”

“I—I wanna… Wanna come.”

He looked almost pitiful, panting out his words through trembling lips as his eyes hungrily trailed over your body, that body he had visualized in his head so many cold nights in those dense woods as he searched for his lost friend—searched for some kind of meaning to his life. When he settled back in Alexandria a year ago, he still couldn’t shake those thoughts from his mind. In fact, the yearning had only gotten worse. Now that you were here, finally really there and not just some blurry figment of his imagination, he couldn’t wait much longer.

“You’ll come,” you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft to lead it to your entrance. “I’ll make you come.”

“Ah, shit!” he blurted out as his tip entered your shallow end just for a brief moment. In a conscious act of near torture, you had pulled him out again.

Redness blotted his face and neck as he strained himself. His cheeks puffed up with air, each breath labored and heavy. You watched in amusement as the prominent vein in his neck swelled and clenched under his sweat-speckled skin.

When he calmed down for a moment, you let yourself sink down a little further onto his cock, heaving your own deep sigh of pleasure as you did so.

You felt a powerful jolt send you bouncing upwards, and his cock snaking deeper inside you. His hips bucked up in quick succession, causing you to grip his shoulders in order to restore your balance.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out hoarsely. “Shit, I’m… I’m gonna…”

You pulled him out swiftly, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from the pit of his chest. “(Y/N)…” he whimpered, rolling his head back and forth in the best kind of agony. Still, it was agony.

You knew what you were doing, of course. You were drawing him so close to the edge, then pulling him back before he could reach it. All he wanted was to feel you clenching around him, your body bouncing on his as you enveloped him in the warmth and sweet friction of your twitching walls. He’d feel that eventually, but for now, you wanted to play with him a little.

He had gotten so close to release, though, that now he was rabid, practically foaming at the mouth and driven wild by lust and the pleasure he was being denied. It was exactly how you wanted him: desperate, almost primal in the way he needed you to release him. Not anyone else, not himself, you.

As you sat on his cock once more, taking the entirety of its length inside of you, you felt his cock begin to twitch, signalling it was close to its point of relief. The deepness and the angle at which he penetrated was intoxicatingly good, and if you weren’t so focused on him, you might’ve taken the opportunity to let yourself have another orgasm, but you didn’t think he’d last much longer, not long enough for you to do that.

Instead, you rode him hard again, arching your back and pinning his arms against the arm of the couch, hair cascading wildly around your face and bottom clenching hard with each thrust.

Your own moans started to harmonize with his until the two of you created some kind of erotic symphony of strangled grunts and breathy whimpers. As his eyes clenched shut and his neck strained again until all his muscles showed through the red-tinted skin, you pulled him out once more, letting his cock spring up to meet his belly button.

“Fuckin’ shit!” he groaned. “Fuck me, woman!”

Words fell on deaf ears as you watched him squirm. If he really wanted to, he could’ve escaped the grip you had on his arms, but who was he to do such a thing? After all, he was the virgin, and you were guiding him.

As your eyes locked onto his, you nearly gasped to see two glimmering pools of water forming in his eyes. Is he crying?

“Please, (Y/N),” he practically whined under his breath. “I need you… I need you. Please.”

One small, jagged tear ran down his cheek, but your lips caught it before reaching his jawline. Kissing over to his lips, you jutted your tongue into his mouth to get another feel of his wily tongue.

“I love it when you beg me,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re such a good boy.”

If he had any willpower left in his body, he would’ve sassed you for the slightly degrading compliment, but he could hardly speak any word other than “please.”

So you sat yourself back down on the base of his cock, once again spreading your lips to envelope his shaft as you slid up and down, this time with the intention of letting him finish.

When he pulled on your hips, tugging you faster along his shaft, you didn’t stop him, letting him use you to get himself off now. “Ah… yeah… shit…”

It didn’t take long at all for a small spurt of white liquid to emerge from his swollen red tip, with a series of bigger spurts following in quick succession and pooling on his stomach. His chest heaved and his face melted in pure bliss with each twitch of his cock that sent shocks through his core. He’d never felt an orgasm like that, not one from such contact with someone else, and surely not from contact with you, the only woman he could imagine as he touched himself at night. No, this was different.

“Holy… shit,” he panted. “That was… so fuckin’ good.”

“Mm,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around his softening cock and tucking it back in where it belonged. He twitched at the feeling of his still sensitive tip grazing the deepest part of you, but it felt too good to pull away, too warm and soft inside you. “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Eyes still closed as he processed his bliss, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as you tucked your face into his neck. The couch was much too small for both of you in this position, but the closeness was worth the sacrifice of comfortability.

“We shoulda,” he agreed, then let out a deep sigh. “Jesus, woman, you like to torture me, don’t ya?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing the last seven years, huh? Torturing you is kind of my thing.”

His hand tangled in your hair until a strand formed a curl around his finger. He never thought he could be so entranced by just a piece of hair. That was how much you affected him—even the tiniest, most insignificant part of you was enough to distract him.

“Yeah, well,” he said, “please tell me I wasn’t the worst you ever had.”

You scoffed and nuzzled your nose into his neck, kissing his collarbone. “You were the best,” you said. His scoff of disbelief caused your eyes to flutter to meet his in pure genuineness. “Really. You’re the best.”

“Nah,” he said. “I sucked, you can say it.”

Well, he really hoped you wouldn’t, actually. His pride was at an all-time high, despite his self-deprecation. It was a hard habit to break, but the confidence he felt now was already another addiction he’d have to grapple with.

“Daryl, I love you.” Your words were so matter-of-fact, so blatant and direct, that he needed to blink away his disbelief before letting your dead serious face come back into focus. “Sex isn’t anything without love… I don’t care that you’re a virg—Well, were a virgin. I love you, and that fact alone made it the best sex I’ve ever had. Plus, you’re really not that bad.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Mhm… Just a little sloppy, but we’ll work on that. Practice makes perfect.” You tugged on his chin to guide his lips back to yours, kissing them sweetly for just a short moment. Even the littlest, most innocent peck was enchanting to him.

“I love you,” he said, eyes turning hazy as the heaviness of his lids began to blur your visage. “Shoulda said it a long time ago… Shoulda done a lot of things a long time ago.”

You tilted your head and smiled. “You’re saying it now… That’s all that really matters.”

A comfortable silence settled in after a while, the steady beating of Daryl’s heart lulling you into a shallow sleep until his deep, syrupy voice gently roused you.

“Hey,” he said, softly shaking your shoulder.

“Mhm?”

His nose nuzzled into your hair, where he left a small kiss, or maybe two, he was too sleepy to count, and quite hungry, as well.

“Got any peach pie?”

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist Part 2

✏ Taglist

Comment, message, or send an ask if you’d like to be on my taglist.

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #twd smut

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leclerc-s · 4 months

Text

big reputations - part eight

series masterlist // previous // next

charles leclerc i've decided that this week i will be driving like a menace.

daniel ricciardo i see track terror is making a comeback this week.

max verstappen no more inchidents please.

charles leclerc mate let it go already. it's been over 10 years.

max verstappen admit you pushed me into that puddle and i'll let it go!

oscar piastri i see why the entire internet is convinced you two are secretly dating

charles leclerc excuse me? max verstappen they're what? sabrina carpenter lestappen is lestappening

daniel ricciardo to be fair, they think k-mag and nico are in love with each other, have been since the whole 'suck my balls' thing

daphne jones didn't we have this conversation already?

max verstappen that was in the other group chat

sabrina carpenter YOU HAVE A GROUP CHAT WITHOUT US? THIS IS TREASON!

oscar piastri OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

charles leclerc THIS IS TREACHEROUS!

daphne jones oh grow up, it was started before you three were even in the picture. we don't use it much these days.

sabrina carpenter good. otherwise i'd throw a fit.

max verstappen don't you always?

sabrina carpenter i will make your life miserable verstappen

max verstappen you already do by existing every day.

lando norris MR. RICCIARDO ARE YOU OR ARE NOT A MASTERMIND?! THE TWITTER GIRLIES WANT TO KNOW!!

daniel ricciardo the hell are you talking about lando?

pierre gasly so you saw the same twitter thread i did?

max verstappen i completely forgot daphne had performed at the 2016 austin grand prix.

lewis hamilton huh that did happen

lando norris DANIEL ARE YOU A MASTERMIND?

logan sargeant was going to ask why but then i realized what the song is about.

mark webber i don't get it? what's the song about?

oscar piastri forgive him, he's uncultured.

mark webber that's it, no more sabrina time for you. oscar piastri sabrina said you can't separate siblings. tell him charles! charles leclerc yeah! what she said! lando norris wait a fucking minute, are you all together right now?

carlos sainz is that family thing working for you guys?

max verstappen it actually is. you should've seen the group chat after texas.

max verstappen on second thought maybe not. daniel ricciardo yeah, that's not a good idea. oscar piastri things were said by sabrina. charles leclerc well when you say it like that you make it sound bad. nothing bad was said, they're being dramatic. although, she might be in love with fernando daniel ricciardo you do remember the spa inchident don't you? alex albon they call him fernando rizzlonso

lando norris renamed daniel ricciardo

mastermind hilarious lando. truely.

lando norris you never confirmed or denied it. i took matters into my own hands.

pierre gasly question for sabrina, how does one get a song like nonsense written about them?

sabrina carpenter what an odd question pear gasly, i'd say by dating a singer? which is better for me because that way i can steal your girlfriend with no obstacles.

aelx albon she's a menace.

max verstappen THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING!

oscar piastri it's not that great of a song. i don't get the hype?

sabrina carpenter added one person

sabrina carpenter oscar's been disowned. he didn't know the words to love story.

charles leclerc max doesn't either?

oscar piastri what the hell are you talking about sabrina?

sabrina carpenter i saw that mclaren video.

daphne jones it's one song sabrina, let it go. this is not going to turn into another spa situation.

yuki tsunoda excuse me while i go scream into the void

logan sargeant wait for me! lance stroll and me!

lando norris daniel probably

sabrina carpenter lando with all of his teammates

lando norris man fuck you sabrina

carlos sainz what's the spa situation?

daphne jones you don't want to know, trust me. oscar piastri for your sanity, you don't want to know. daniel ricciardo please don't get her started again.

sabrina carpenter mr. sainz, you truly do not want to get me started. as i said before, i may not have been present for spa but i can and will bite ankles for oscar.

mastermind so who's free to go to daphne's concert in argentina on the 11th?

lando norris SIGN ME TF UP!!

yuki tsunoda I'M IN!

alex albon depends, can i bring lily?

mastermind of course! - sabrina mastermind that's my wife! - sabrina

logan sargeant ready to dance along to the fearless era

mastermind bold of any of you to think you have a choice. I EXPECT ALL OF YOU THERE! - SABRINA

mastermind love the name btw - sabrina

charles leclerc to quote sabrina, "i expect ass shaking for vigilante shit."

oscar piastri dear i god i hope none of you do that.

lando norris well now i'm going to.

sebastian vettel well she's certainly something.

max verstappen she's a menace.

lewis hamilton huh, sounds like someone back in 2016 to 2018. max verstappen YOU TAKE THAT BACK! lewis hamilton i don't think i will

mastermind JUSTICE FOR ABU DHABI 2021 - SABRINA

oscar piastri she just likes to stir the pot.

mark webber sounds like someone else and the infamous alpine tweet.

oscar piastri okay, that was one time.

esteban ocon argentina right before vegas? doesn't seem like a good idea to me but i'm in.

lando norris BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!

jenson button so is daniel dating daphne or not?

mastermind that's a secret i'll never tell - xoxo gossip girl.

alex albon something is brewing i can feel it.

taglist: @glow-ish @agustdpeach @msolbesg @spilled-coffee-cup @1nt3rnetgf @six-call @smol-scream @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @Mimolovescookies @brekkers-whore @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @chiliwhore @tygecjjd @cataf1 @nothaqks @caipng @nataliambc @formulaal @prongsvault @kaa212 @anxxiousaries @julesbabey1 @julesbabey @georgeparisole @hobiismyhopeu @melissayalene @nikfigueiredo

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! i’m back for 2024! i tried something different for this chapter and i think i liked it so i'm going to change it for all of the other parts, which is going to be a bitch because it's gonna take forever. it's also not that big of a change but i think it makes a difference.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #big reputations series #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x female oc #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic

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galvanizedfriend · 7 months

Note

HIII if you don’t mind sharing, what are your fav klaroline fics? New and old, I’m in need of new reads 🙏

I'm probably not the best person to be doing new fic recs. 🥲 I have sadly not been reading that much Klaroline myself these days. When I do read fic, it's for other stuff. So my recs are either old or new-ish. 😂 But hopefully you can find something to your liking that haven't read yet here.

Buckle up because I took my sweet time with this list, nonnie.

. Inertia Overcome by @avari20

The first KC fanfic I remember reading the reason why I finally got pulled into the fandom after years of watching TVD as a reasonable spectator (so rly, if you guys can't stand to see me around anymore after all this time, it's this fic's fault for being so good). Honestly one of this fandom's statement works. If you haven't read it yet, please do.

. Timeless by @marvelouskatie

Same as the above. One of the most iconic KC fics of all time imho. The canon AU to end all canon AU. When I first decided to come out of the shadows and create a tumblr and actually start interacting with folks, this was the first fic that was recced to me. I was very grateful then, and now I'm here to pass this knowledge on.

. Picturesque by @supernutellastuff

Honestly of the sweetest, most heartwarming fics I've ever read! It's a human AU that's a How I Met Your Mother sort of adaptation, and honestly the first time I've ever enjoyed HIMYM. I love a good ensemble fic and this is just it! Supernutella is so talented.

. Quiet Light by @definedareasofuncertainty

This fic was WRITTEN FOR ME because of how much I pestered my friend Luiza about Carolijah and this will forever feel like a trophy to my heart. 🥰 It made me feel ALL THE FEELINGS. I hated Caroline, I loved Caroline, I loved my baby Elijah, I hated him, I also hated Klaus (he's such a fucking asshole omfg), but then the end was just DHAGHDDASAS!! You think you're in for a certain kind of story and it turns out to be so much more. It is, deep down, about the brothers, how selfish they are, how they can hurt each other more than anyone, but how they love one another above anything else, even when they want to kill each other (and fall in love with their brother's girl!!!). It's beautiful, like everything Luiza writes, and it genuinely made me cry.

. long limbs and frozen swim by @definedareasofuncertainty

I saw a discussion the other day about how whoever wrote this fic JUST GOT IT, and I have to say I completely agree with the person who made that comment. Luiza just NAILS Caroline's grief and loneliness after her mother's death, how isolating and gut-wrenching it is. Klaus being the person who finds her, who knows exactly what to say without her ever having to spell it out, the one who can truly see her, is so honest too. This fic is sensitive and absolutely beautiful. Luiza's writing is perfection and this is for sure one of my all-time favorites.

. Whisper to me, Help me remember by @lalainajanes

This story reimagines the plot with the "villains" of TO S3 in a way that proves my point that the premise of that season was good, but execution was absolute crap. All of the potential the De Martels had to be incredible antagonists was completely destroyed at the hands of the show writers - but explored to perfection by Laine's much more capable hands. Klaus is freed after 10 years in captivity to find that Caroline had been working with Tristan this whole time in order to take him down - except something is not quite right about that. While you're at it, please read all of Laine's fics! It's a delight.

. Into the Woods by @jinxedwood

I wept when I read this because it's the post-TO canon fic I didn't even know I needed. Caroline's search for a way to stop her twins' merger ends up leading her to someone who's been watching over her on the Other Side. 😭 I thought I'd always rather live in denial when it came to how TO ended, but this fic made my heart so full! Also, jinxedwood's use of fae mythology here was incredible.

. All I Need by @euvixen

This story is HOT. It taught me things about the werewolf AU universe I was not prepared to learn, but I am a much happier person after reading it. It's a canon mates AU that will leave you 🥵🥵🥵🥵 I speak as though the story was merely about the smut, but it's actually much more than that. A TVD S3 reimagine of sorts that is incredibly satisfying. That's my favorite season of TVD, but this is still even better.

. the birth and death of the day by @little-miss-sunny-daisy

Anyone who's known me for a some time knows how this fic was my entire personality for a while there. I'm obsessed with Kelly's writing, and I have this fic on a freaking pedestal. I first started reading it when it was on a six years hiatus, and I was *so* into it I didn't even bother me that it might never get updated because it was so good I was just happy I'd found it. But then my silly comments inspired Kelly to come back to it, finish it, and it has honestly been my greatest accomplishment as a part of this fandom because this is a masterpiece. It's a TVD/Supernatural crossover where Caroline is a step-sister to the Superbros. It's truly, truly epic, with beautiful writing. This could genuinely be a show. It's amazing, just read it.

. this is a harvest by @highgaarden

This, right here, is the perfect Klaroline-within-canon story. This is the story that put my revolt to rest and gave my spirit some much deserved peace where those two are concerned. This is exactly what canon should've been like. I'm not even joking, this is IT. If you'd asked me what I thought the perfect Klaroline development should be like I probably would've said something very vague because I couldn’t explain it, I’m not that great or creative a writer, but now I can just show you this story and let you bask in the amazingness of a fantastic read that will not only keep you thoroughly entertained, but will also be the answer to all the questions you didn't even know you had.

. Paradise Lost by Borzoi

When i grow up, I want to learn how to write like Borzoi. All of their fics are incredible novella-like reads. It's addictive. And this is probably my favorite (it varies though, sometimes I'm in a Parisian Deal era). What happens after Klaus and Caroline sleep together in 5x11, and how they eventually find their way back to each other. It's just one of those stories that you can't stop reading after you start. It's so rich, so deep, so perfectly IC. One of those fics to end all fics.

. The Stubborn Grace of Being Loved Regardless by @helpless-in-sleep One of the modern day classics, if you will. This fic is such a stunning, vivid and delicate picture of Caroline's mind as she was dealing with the consequences of the abuse she suffered at the hands of Damon. She's still human, but she's probably more IC than we've seen her ever on the show when it comes to this. The bond she forms with Klaus is truly incredible too, and speaks a lot of how the two of them really do have a lot in common (even with Caroline still as a human), but it's really the Caroline study part of the story that touches me. The writing is absolutely beautiful as well.

. it takes a while to settle down by theviolinist

This story is a punch to your stomach, but it is PERFECTION in 8k words. It's hot, it's bittersweet, it's SO in character and, in my head, I kinda like to pretend that this is what happened before Caroline married Stefan. lol

. Wanderlust by @bellemorte180 Anybody who was a part of fandom around the time this story was being published can tell you how much of an EVENT it was. There were discussion groups about the mystery. It was so entertaining. Erica's attention to detail and how she wove the little clues throughout the chapters made this a genuine thriller. I particularly some of the side-characters here. It's honestly another fandom staple I think everyone should read.

In terms of newer fics that I can rec you, I have two that are on my TBR. One of them is a WIP that I've been slowly going through, and the other one I know was recently finished.

. make them bow by @stars-and-darkness

This was recced to me by two friends recently and I started reading it a while back and thought it was incredible! I have sadly been awful with keeping up with stuff, but just based on the raving reviews and the five chapters I read, I fully believe it to be just as awesome as it seems to be. The writing was so good, and I was just in love with Klaus' voice in this story. It was so reminescent of early-days TVD Klaus, which is by far my favorite Klaus of all. Sexy and dangerous and so smooth. I loved it! Need to get back to it.

. Wolf Club by @Radioactive79

Listen, if you like kid fics, this is absolutely for you. The whole story is narrated by an eight-year-old OC, the daughter of Ray Sutton, the first werewolf Klaus kills when he's trying to start his mass-production of hybrids. She's a little wolf herself, and a while little thing who was subjected to her fair share of child trauma. Klaus has no idea what to do with her, but ends up taking her with him as continues on his journey, and ends up forging a bond with the little girl. I cannot tell you how delicious this story is. It has Klaroline, yes, but for me the little girl is the absolute star of the company. I usually hate OCs, especially children, in fics, but this one is AMAZING. Seriously. The way this story is written is glorious. I can't recommend it enough.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfic rec #klaroline fanfiction #yokan answers #it's been a minute since i wrote such a long rec list!#i know i have some followers that are new-ish in fandom so i hope this might introduce some old classics to them #honestly this is all better than anything i've ever written #i'm spoiling y'all #hope you still want to read my crappy fics after going through this list nonnie lol #long post

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scekrex · 2 months

Note

Hello💕💕💕💕 me again I just really love your story's and I would like to be known has '💕💕'<3 another request 💕hurt/fluff 💕

💕Adopted child male reader x parent Adam, were reader died from his father and went to heaven but doesn't have a place to stay of course his like 2 and Sera does not know to do with him so she just give him to Adam and told him to just keep him for a while to find someone willing to take care of y/n.💕

💕While Adam first saw y/n he just take cared for the kid and kept on saying how the kid was soo annoying, after a few months he started to actually started to get attached with y/n but then Sera asked Adam for the y/n back because she found a orphanage that will like to take care of y/n and maybe find a real family but Adam quickly refused saying that he would like to keep y/n so Sera was alright.💕

💕So after a few 10 years y/n and Adam became inseparable! Going to their favorite bands and y/n knowing how to play the electric guitar and even the drums. This year y/n wants to go and see his dad killing those sinners but Adam isn't too sure on letting his son but he let him because he kept on begging him to come so he allowed it just this once and to try stay close to Lute ( Lute is kinda like a babysitter for Y/n ).💕

💕Y/n was rooting for his father while he was fighting with Lucifer ( more like Lucifer fighting with Adam) until when Adam fell on the floor while Lucifer was punching Adam, then Charlie said that Adam had enough before y/n could run to his father and tell him if they could go home now the little red demon girl stabbed his father, y/n quickly ran towards his father grabbing the girl out of his father, crying fat tears and keep on saying "please don't go, dad" ( or whatever you want)💕

You can write the ending I am too lazy 🙃

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Okay so I've never written child reader before so I hope it matches your expectations! xoxo/p

Born to Lose

pairing: dad!Adam & child!male!reader (platonic)

warnings: language, canon typical violence, major character death

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The woman in the pretty white dress with the beautiful looking wings handed you over to that man with golden wings and long horns attached to his head, he looked a little grumpy.

“Why me though?” the first man asked, clearly displeased with the situation that had been forced onto him. What was he supposed to do with a two year old? Sure, he did have children back in the garden but… that was ages ago. He also had Eve back then, to help him raise them. How he was alone with nothing but you in his arms.

Sera was serious about this. A situation like that rarely happened and usually there had always been angels willing to take the child in, but not this time. Not when you had arrived in heaven. Your hands clumsily reached up to one of Adam's horns, you wrapped your small palm around it and giggled happily. Adam sighed. “I wish there would be a better, more permanent solution, it would be the best for the both of you, but sadly there isn't. It's either you taking him in or him ending up homeless.” Sera's words hung in the air for a moment before Adam sighed again, “Okay yeah, I'm taking him in. But fucking hurry up to find a family for that little shithead.” “Language,” Sera warned the first man who simply rolled his eyes at her before he flipped her off and left the building.

So he had to take care of a motherfucking two year old now. Fucking great, thanks for absolutely fucking nothing, god.

You were loud, most children your age were. Well, in Adam's defense, he didn't sign up to adopt a two year old. So he was allowed to complain about you. You needed constant attention, always silently begging to be lifted up into his arms by making grabby hands at him and considering that it was the only way Adam was able to get you to shut the fuck up, he carried you around more than he liked to.

You were a clingy, loud, annoying, stinky little brat and yet you made him soften up. Because carrying you around often resulted in the two of you playing. Adam would lift you up in the air, careful not to drop you of course, while you pretend to be flying - which one day you would be. He also complained about your nightly wake up sessions, how annoying and exhausting it was for him to get up at least five times a night to feed you, change your diapers, or simply give you whatever else it was you were craving.

Yet he loved you dearly and wouldn't give you up for anything.

He had already completely forgotten about what Sera had promised him. That she would find a permanent solution for your problem. To him, this was the permanent solution and he was more than fine with it. So when Sera had ordered him into her office and he had stepped inside with you sleeping in his arms, he was quite surprised to see other angels there too. “Who the fuck is that?” Adam asked as he steadied your little head that was resting on his shoulder. “Those are the people willing to take Y/N in, Adam,” the seraphim explained calmly to the first man, who turned his body away from the strangers in order to protect you. His wings were spread, working as a shield. “No fucking way, he's not leaving me now. I took care of this little fucker for the past six months, he's not going to live with somebody else now.” He pressed your little body a bit closer, yet he remained careful, the brunette had no intention in waking you up. And you remained asleep.

Sera folded her hands as she turned towards the angels that were there to pick you up, “As you can see, I'm very sorry to announce that Y/N will stay with Adam. He seems quite attached to the child and the young boy is visibly feeling comfortable around him. Therefore we don't need your service any longer.” And as soon as Sera had finished her little apology, Adam left the building. There was no need to stick around longer and possibly wake you up.

The years passed and before Adam knew it your twelfth birthday was in the past. Ten years had it been since the first man had been given the task to watch you, raise you. And he did. Once you had learned how to walk and fly, there was nothing that could possibly stop you in any form or way. Talking was also a skill you learned quite quickly, eager to repeat whatever Adam said. At first the first man had thought of it as annoying but he had quickly started to like that little habit of yours. It disappeared as you grew older though.

With six Adam had started to teach you how to play the electric guitar, music had always been a big thing in his parenting methods. He was a guitarist and singer, in God's holy name, of course he would raise you with music. So it had only been a matter of time until he took you to your first ever concert.

The drummer of Adam's band had insisted on teaching you how to play them after you had curiously asked him how he managed to stay so focused on it while also looking ‘badass’.

So. You were twelve, that was fucking old if someone were to ask you. Old enough to join Adam on extermination day. That had been a thing ever since he had adopted you, probably even before. But your father had always told you that you were too young. This year however, you weren't going to back down so easily.

“C’mon dad, you've taught me how to fight, I can defend myself okay? I'm not some whiney, helpless bitch like the other angels up here,” you begged your father.

Ah yes, the language. Your vocabulary was definitely heavily inspired by Adam. A thing Sera disliked, but had stopped commenting on. She still hoped you'd grow into it and learn how to articulate yourself properly.

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he furrowed his brows, “Jesus, okay, okay, fuck, yeah fine.” He had given in. He had officially allowed you to fight by his side during the extermination. “But you're not leaving my side and if you do, only in company with Lute.” That was something you could agree on. Lute was the most badass bitch you've ever met after all.

So extermination day rolled around quicker than Adam had liked it too, if he were to make the decisions, he'd skip it simply because that would mean you'd be safe, instead of being surrounded by demon fuck-ups. But he had already agreed, there was no taking it back now.

Adam was slammed into the ground, neither you nor Lute were in sight as it happened. Lucifer only showed mercy once his daughter reminded him. Adam crawled out of the crater, blood dripping from his face, his body was in pure pain.

You saw him, you also saw the little demon girl that was sneaking up behind him. But things went down way too quick. The little girl pulled out a dagger and stabbed Adam with it. Your father fell face first onto the ground. Pain shot through your body, not physically but emotionally. “Dad,” you screamed as you flew over to his body, the little girl sat proudly on his back. You grabbed her by her throat, your hand was wrapped around it tightly, strategically cutting off her air supply as you ripped the dagger from her tiny hands and lifted it, the tip pointing to her eye. And then you stabbed her.

As you pulled the dagger out, her eye popped out of its socket and blood covered your hands. You stabbed her again, this time in her chest. And again. And again.

The body in your hands went limp and you threw her away carelessly. “Dad, stay with me,” you dropped to your knees next to his head, pulling him onto your lab, “C’mon dad I wanna go home.” Tears started to well up in your eyes as Adam opened his eyes to look at you. His usually bright eyes seemed so lifeless, so dead. Tears streamed down your reddened cheeks and hit his face. “Don’t go dad, don't fucking leave me,” the brunette simply shot you a weak smile of thankfulness. Thankfulness that he didn't have to die alone, that you were there.

it was Lute who came up behind you to rest her hand on your shoulder. “Y/N,” she spoke so softly yet her voice sounded hurt, “He’s gone,” she stated as Adam's eyes fell shut. “No,“ you screamed as you pulled away from her touch and pressed your father's dead body against your chest, “He’s not- he's Adam, he can't-”

In the background Charlie, surprised, asked, “Adam had a son?” Lucifer nodded, “Well, he isn't one of the kids I know, he must either be heaven born or adopted, but Adam sure is a father.” Something tore in Charlie at the sight.

“Dad- Adam,” you hiccuped as Lute grabbed Adam's halo. “Y/N, we have to go,” but you shook your head violently, “I’m not leaving without my fucking father, don't even try it.” The lieutenant sighed heavily before agreeing to take him with you, to take him back to heaven.

You got up from the ground, straightened your back and spread your wings proudly as you and Lute picked up Adam and carried him to the portal the leader of the exorcists had opened only a couple of hours ago.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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laurenairay · 30 days

Text

Summer days pass me by - T. Jost

“I feel like I’m stuck, doing the same thing over and over with the same nothing at the end. I need to do something new. Wanna help me make this the best summer ever?”

“You do know that sounds like the start of a coming of age film, right?”

Summary: Mollie Thomas has been friends with Tyson Jost since they were children – but this summer by the lake could change everything.

Warnings: childhood friends to lovers, some bad language, a little angst

Word Count: 9.5k

A/N: I love Tyson Jost so much – this is a super indulgent fic that I started back in August 2020, and it’s been one hell of a journey writing it, including a complete rewrite about 2/3 through. This OC was actually the first one I ever attempted on hockeyblr, although I’ve since written a fair few in stories I've since posted over the years, and she holds a special place in my heart.

This Tyson blurb I wrote in July 2022 is what inspired me to rewrite this story (and thank you @bqstqnbruin for all the encouragement to finish it!).

If there was one thing about summer that Mollie Thomas loved the most, it was being by the lake. As soon as the weather was good enough, she would head up there with friends to relax, have barbecues and mess around on the water. Being by the lake simply was the epitome of summer, sunshine and friendship – she’d grown up doing it, her parents trusting her to go alone since the age of 15, and now 10 years later (despite some friends moving away), she still loved nothing more than watching the days roll on by from the lakeshore.

Utter bliss.

Mollie had been teaching history at the local Kelowna high school ever since graduating from the local college three years ago, and when the weather started getting consistently sunny, she even went up to the lake some evenings after work, depending on who was around. But now that the end of the school year was approaching, she would no longer be restricted to the occasional evening after work, and she honestly couldn’t wait.

Why? Because soon one of her best friends would be coming back to Kelowna for the summer. Tyson Jost.

Mollie had known Tyson ever since he’d moved to Kelowna to live with his grandparents when he was 13, his family's house being down the road from Mollie’s family. Her older brother John had been on the same hockey team as Tyson, so he’d always been around – but with John being a couple of years older than them, Tyson and Mollie had become fast friends.

Sure, things had become harder when Tyson had gotten more serious with ice hockey. When Mollie’s brother John had quit playing, choosing to focus on school instead, Mollie had been worried that they wouldn’t want to hang out any more – but that wasn’t the case. Hockey or no hockey, Tyson had always been there for her, and she knew she could count on him for anything.

He was the guy that encouraged her to get out of her comfort zone. He was the guy that turned to her for help asking out his first girlfriend Sarah Cooper. He was the guy that punched her first boyfriend for kissing Jenny Prince behind her back. He was the guy that made her laugh down the phone when college had been stressful. He was the only guy that she would wear another team’s colours for whenever he played against the Canucks. He was the guy that called her with a broken heart when the Avs had traded him. He was the guy that she looked forward to seeing most every summer, and she couldn’t wait to see him this year.

She missed him – who could blame her?

It was a Sunday afternoon, just about to head into the last week of the school year, and Mollie was soaking up the sun by the lake with some of her best friends; Bryony, Louis, Michael, Chase and Allison. There had been other people hanging out with them in the morning, including Mollie’s brother John and his wife Michelle, but the remaining six were the tightest group. So tight, that they’d all chipped in to rent a cottage together this summer, Allison’s uncle owning a couple in the area and offering them first dibs. Naturally, they’d all sprung at the chance of having a summer home base, even if not all of them were there all the time, so Mollie had that to look forward to starting next weekend, the moment that the school year ended. Bryony, Louis and Michael were also teachers, although across various different schools to Mollie, so at least she wouldn’t be the only one up at the cottage during the weekdays.

“Anyone for a refill?”

Mollie turned her head to the camping chair next to her, watching Bryony stand up and wiggle her empty can in the air. Mollie nodded, smiling at her friend, and a few others nodded too. As soon as Bryony walked away, Allison plunked down in the vacated seat, turning to Mollie with a grin.

Allison was probably Mollie’s closest girlfriend in Kelowna – also living on the same street as Mollie’s family – and while the two of them couldn’t have looked more different (Allison a curvaceous insta-airbushed blonde compared to Mollie’s chestnut hair and tomboy runner’s body), Allison had encouraged Mollie to be as confident and friendly as her, and Mollie was forever grateful. Sure, Allison was an incorrigible flirt and flitted between jobs, and sure Mollie had her moments where her anxiety got the better of her – but Allison was as close a friend to her as Tyson was, and Mollie loved that.

Even when Allison’s grin spelled troublemaker, like it did right now as Allison got comfy in Bryony’s vacated chair.

“So you know how my Uncle’s got me helping out with administration for his holiday home rentals this summer, in exchange for us getting our cottage for a lower price?” Allison prompted.

Mollie raised an eyebrow at the glee in her friend’s voice. Whatever it was, clearly she was excited about it – and considering that the cottage had been a good deal, clearly this was good gossip.

“Yeah, I remember…why?” Mollie mused.

“Well, a couple of cottages on this side of the lake have been rented…one of them by someone you know very well…”

Mollie knew her friend meant well, but this cryptic stuff was not helping.

“Out with it, Ally,” Mollie said bluntly.

“Tyson rented the cottage closest to ours for two months,” Allison grinned.

What?

Holy shit.

“He’s going to be here all summer?” Mollie asked, excited.

“Yep! As far as I’ve heard, Tyson’s got some buddies coming up to stay with him at various points, and probably his sister too. I don’t know when or for how long, but there’s definitely enough rooms for all of them in that cabin to be there together so it’s going to be so much fun!” Allison told her, “Now that I think about it, I probably wasn’t meant to tell you. Tyson was probably keeping it as a surprise. Oops.”

Mollie just giggled, too happy to care that Tyson hadn’t said anything to her about his plans. It had been too long since she’d seen her childhood friend – summers just weren’t enough time with him – and knowing that he was going to be around for two solid months just made her heart soar. This was everything.

“Oh man, this is going to be the best summer,” Mollie sighed happily.

“Maybe this summer you and Tyson will finally admit how much you love each other.”

Mollie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. For some reason, Allison (and the rest of their other friends) had it in their heads that her friendship with Tyson was more than platonic. Sometimes it got really annoying because honestly nothing had ever happened between them (not even a hint of an almost) but she tried not to let it bug her. She knew where she stood with Tyson – yeah, he was incredibly handsome, with a good heart and a wonderful smile, but she wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything. Ever.

“We’re just friends, Ally-cat,” Mollie sing-songed, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll see,” Allison sing-songed back.

Honestly. Troublemaker.

Mollie ignored her friend’s laughter as she pulled out her phone, opening up her text thread with Tyson.

From: Mollie

A little birdy tells me you’ve rented a cabin by the lake for the summer…

Mollie barely had to wait a couple of minutes before her phone buzzed with a reply.

From: Tyson

I swear Ally can’t keep her mouth shut.

I was trying to surprise you!

Mollie giggled to herself, ignoring Allison’s wriggling eyebrows.

From: Mollie

Trust me, I’m surprised.

School finishes next week – I can’t wait to see you!

It really had been too long.

“Tell your future husband we miss him!” Allison crowed.

“Oh you’re texting Tyson? Say hi from me!” Chase grinned from across the chair circle.

Mollie stuck her tongue out at him as Allison cackled next to her. Her friends were such dicks sometimes.

From: Mollie

The gang say hi and that they all miss you

“Done, happy?” Mollie said dryly.

“Extremely,” Allison grinned, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“I don’t know why I like you at all,” Mollie said bluntly, although her smile gave away her lie.

Allison just wriggled her eyebrows again, earning laughter from the whole group and another eye roll from Mollie.

From: Tyson

Hi back from me!

I miss them too

I miss you the most

Mollie’s eyes widened slightly, a light flush warming her cheeks. What? Why was she reacting like this? Tyson said that all the time. Kind of. No, stop it. Mollie swallowed heavily, keeping her eyes down to avoid a reaction from their friends.

From: Mollie

I miss you too

With that, Mollie shoved her phone back into her pocket, just in time for Bryony to arrive with a fresh round of beers, which Mollie was more than grateful for. What was that all about?

“I am so ready for a drink.”

“Make it two,” Mollie mused, grinning at Allison’s words.

“Make it three,” Chase laughed, “I can’t wait to cool off in the lake, it’s too damn hot today.”

That was an understatement. The temperature was sweltering and even just thinking about jumping into the cold water was almost too much to bear. Mollie been waiting all week for this Friday evening – while the four of them who were teachers had been up at the lake during the week every day since their schools finished for the summer a week ago, Allison and Chase had weekday 9-5s, so Mollie had volunteered to drive back into town to bring them out for the weekend, finally bringing their big friendship group together in their rented cabin for the summer. Of course Mollie had visited her family (with her brother John and his wife Michelle reminding her they wouldn’t be up at the lake until next week) to fill the time while she waited for Allison and Chase to be ready, as well as stocking up on supplies, but now Mollie was more than ready to kick back and relax.

After she’d been in the water, of course.

Thankfully Mollie had put a bikini on underneath her clothes, just a simple little red thing, before picking up her friends today, so as soon as she’d parked outside their cabin, brought the cooler of drinks and snacks into the kitchen, and dumped her duffel bag by the stairs, she stripped off her clothes as she walked towards the tempting water. Bryony wolf-whistled as Mollie walked past the three who were already there, and Mollie just flipped them all off with a grin, kicking off her shoes quickly before taking off in a run down the dock and diving into the water.

Bliss.

Allison and Chase, both having stripped down to their swimsuits too, wasted no time in joining Mollie in the water, and all Mollie could do was smile as she resurfaced. This was summer. All of them together in glorious weather at the most beautiful place in Kelowna. What more could she ever want?

“LOOK WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN!”

Mollie turned her head at Michael’s hollering, grinning at the sight of the familiar figure walked over from the neighbouring cabin. Tyson. Mollie eagerly hauled herself back up onto the dock, slipping back into her shoes and picking up a towel from the stack at the beginning of the dock to dry herself off with as she walked back to the cabins, waving hello as she got closer.

“There you are.”

Mollie just grinned and threw her arms around Tyson’s neck, him just laughing as he picked her up, swinging her round in a circle, not seeming to care that she was getting him wet.

“You’d think you were happy to see me or something,” Tyson teased, setting her back on her feet.

“Oh hush, you know I am,” Mollie sighed happily, running the towel over her wet hair, “Are you happy to be back here?”

“You know it,” he nodded, smiling sweetly at her, “even more so knowing that I’m nowhere near Buffalo and that you’re here.”

Well Mollie would never say no to a bit of Tyson charm.

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Mr Jost,” she mused, trying to calm her racing heart.

It wasn’t fair that nothing about him had changed at all and yet somehow his pretty curls and pretty face were even more handsome since she’d last seen him. So unfair.

“HEY LOVEBIRDS!”

A shout from Bryony broke Mollie out of her thoughts, and she saw Tyson blush fiercely as they both looked at the group by the chairs to see them all smirking at the two of them. And to think it was usually Allison who was the troublemaker. Mollie just flipped them all double birds, earning laughter.

“We’d better go before people start talking eh?” she laughed, trying to hide her blush.

“Let them talk,” Tyson grinned, but starting walking over to the ring of chairs anyway.

It wasn’t fair that her stomach filled with butterflies at the simple sight of his smile.

As Louis handed Mollie a cold white claw, Tyson already having one in hand, she took the empty seat at Tyson’s side. By the time that Allison and Chase hauled themselves out the water to join the group, they were all well on their way to catching up.

They talked about Bryony and Louis still being together, their relationship going on 5 years strong. They talked about Allison losing another job, her uncle having taken pity on her and letting her do his administration for the summer cabins he owned. They talked about the school year, how parents and kids were a stressful nightmare most days now. They talked about Tyson’s season, sort of, Tyson just saying that he was happy to be back up from the AHL. They talked about Tyson’s sister Kacey, how she was kicking ass and taking names. They talked about Chase’s hard-earned promotion at work, finally getting the recognition he deserved. They talked about all the plans they had for the next two months here at the lake and the more they talked and drank and laughed, Mollie just sank back in her chair, taking everything in, soaking everything up.

This really was heaven.

Tyson noticed her relax back in her chair and just smiled at her, earning a genuine smile back. Yeah this was going to be a summer to remember, she could feel it.

Another couple of days passed at the lake cabin, Chase and Allison heading back into town while Tyson stayed at his place, and Mollie couldn’t be happier. Happy enough to make breakfast pancakes and bacon for Bryony, Louis and Michael after she showered following her early run around the lake, leaving it all in the oven for them with a note while she cleared up. Breakfast she could handle – it was the little things. She knew her friends would appreciate it anyway.

As she was taking out the trash though, she spotted Tyson doing exactly the same from his cabin, and waved enthusiastically at him, grinning as he laughed. He was clearly still adjusting to waking up early, same as she was – he still looked a little bleary eyed as they walked towards the end of their driveways.

“Good morning Tys!” she said cheerfully.

“Morning!” he mused.

She jogged over to him, Tyson catching her in a hug as she reached his side, making her laugh and squeeze him back tightly. Mornings like this were exactly what she had missed while he was away. As she pulled away though, her phone buzzed with a series of texts, and she pulled out her phone only to frown at the sender. Her ex. Ew. He really wasn’t getting the hint.

“Who’s making your face do that?”

Mollie cursed under her breath and tucked her phone away with.

“It’s no-one,” she said simply, willing him to let it go.

“No-one doesn’t make you grimace like that,” Tyson pointed out, “And it doesn’t make you hide it from me. So who is it?”

She really couldn’t pretend around him, could she? And it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard about her terrible ex boyfriends before.

“It’s my ex. Justin. It’s been six months since I caught him texting other girls with all the things he wanted to do to them, and while I don’t know if he physically cheated, I still kicked him to the curb the moment I found out. Every now and again he blows up my phone, even though I never answer him,” Mollie explained, “His mom even knows and yells at him for bugging me. He’ll get bored soon enough.”

Yeah, this latest ex wasn’t exactly one of her finest choices.

The deep frown that shifted onto Tyson’ face was an interesting reaction though.

“If he doesn’t leave you alone, tell me. I still know enough people in this town, and I can hunt him down and punch him if he doesn’t back off.”

A rush of heat went through her veins at his words, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

There was a flashback in her mind to when they were 15, when Tyson found out that her first boyfriend Todd kissed Jenny Prince behind her back, and sucker-punched him at school in her honour. It was a beautiful memory. And to know that he’d still defend her like that?

“You always were my knight in shining armour,” Mollie teased.

But Tyson just shrugged. “You know I’ve got your back no matter what. That’s what best friends are for.”

Such a sweetheart.

Something about his tone though, how seriously he’d taken her words, made Mollie keep her eye on Tyson throughout the day, and by the time that late afternoon rolled around when their barbecue was in full swing, she finally cornered him again. There was just something in his eyes that looked…tense. It wasn’t the Tyson she knew and it worried her that even in the most relaxing place in Kelowna, he still looked so stressed.

“Hey, Tys, fresh beer?”

Tyson smiled his thanks, taking it with a nod. There was no one else standing too closely so she didn’t feel bad for confronting him like this, not at all.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” she said softly.

Tyson’s eyes widened a little, before he huffed out a laugh.

“There’s no point hiding anything with you, is there?”

Just like her with him. But Mollie winced. “If there’s something you don’t actually want to talk about, then I’m not going to push. That’s the last thing I want.”

Tyson just nodded, taking a sip of his beer, as if to steel himself. Clearly this was more than passing worry. What was going on?

“Every summer I’ve ever had has been the same. Arrive back to Kelowna, get sympathy and pitying smiles for how shitty the season was, hanging about by the lake, train, start hockey again. I’m tired of it,” Tyson groaned.

“Tired of it?” she asked, confused, trying to understand what he meant.

Surely he didn’t mean he was tired of hockey? She knew how much the sport meant to him.

“I’m tired, Mollie. I feel like I’m stuck, doing the same thing over and over with the same nothing at the end. I need to do something new or I feel like I’m going to go crazy,” Tyson sighed.

Okay, okay that she could manage.

“It must be so frustrating, pouring your whole heart into the sport you love, and not getting the reward you deserve. And the fact that you still feel like this in the off season? That’s not good, Tys,” Mollie murmured, “What can I do to help?”

He sent her a sad smile.

“I’m not sure, really. If I don’t know what I can do, I don’t know what anyone else can do,” he said softly, “But being here with you right now, talking with you like this, I appreciate it. I don’t exactly trust many people with my full thoughts like this.”

That both saddened her and made her heart soar. The fact that he didn’t really have anyone else he could really talk to was devastating…but the fact that he trusted her enough? That was everything.

“Then we can talk and vent and rant and scream as much as you need. And we’ll build your happiness back up, just like you deserve. I’m here for you, Tyson,” she said firmly.

“Yeah?”

That smile would be the end of her, she just knew it.

“Yeah, I mean it,” she nodded, helpless to do anything but smile back.

“Wanna help me make this the best summer ever?” he grinned.

“You do know that sounds like the start of a coming of age film, right?” Mollie teased.

Tyson nudged her with his shoulder, earning a nudge back.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, hope filling his voice.

“Obviously,” she grinned.

How could she say no to him?

But as she looked into his eyes, there was something in his gaze that made her breath hitch in her chest, her grin sliding from her face. Tyson seemed to be caught in the moment too as his own face drifted into neutral, his eyes locked on hers in return. She didn’t realise how close they had shifted until her fingers brushed against his arm, Tyson’s eyes darting down to where they were touching before he looked back up at her. Her heart was pounding, ears full of a rushing sound, her thoughts filled with nothing but the dazed look on Tyson’s face.

It was when his gaze flicked down to her lips that she jolted out of her reverie, just in time for a couple of shrieks and splashes came from the end of the dock.

Fuck. Fuck.

What was that? What the hell was that?

“Mollie…” Tyson murmured, fingers brushing against hers finally.

“I’m going to get some more food,” she said quickly, stepping backwards.

It took all her strength to turn away from the confused hurt expression on Tyson’s face, and walk over to join Bryony and Louis at the barbecue, plastering a smile on her face as her head whirled, desperately trying not to panic. Tyson had almost kissed her. She had almost kissed Tyson. Tyson wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss Tyson. Did she want to kiss Tyson?

Of course she wanted to.

But since when did she give into fleeting desires around him? And since when did he ever look at her like that? No, she couldn’t deal with this. She wouldn’t, not tonight. Maybe not ever. What the hell, Tyson?

Tyson and Mollie didn’t talk about the moment they shared at all. The first two weeks of their two month summer, almost a full week since that fateful night, passed quickly and the longer they went not mentioning it, Mollie found herself burying the topic completely. From Wednesday morning to Friday midday, Mollie, Tyson, Bryony, Louis and Chase all quickly fell into a routine that she knew would carry on for the rest of the summer. Mollie did her usual run along the lake front each morning, with Bryony and Tyson joining her for a yoga session today, the Friday morning. She spent each day cycling through swimming, sunbathing, and reading, all of the group taking it in turns to cook dinner while sorting out their own lunches. She kayaked with Chase and Tyson for a couple of hours before lunch on Thursday, the three of them paddling in a comfortable silence most the way, taking pictures to make their friends jealous of the beautiful views.

And now Bryony and Louis were back from their grocery run for the barbecue tonight, to celebrate Mollie’s brother John and his wife Michelle coming up for the weekend, as well as Tyson’s friends Mat and Dante arriving ahead of their own week’s stay. They’d all met Mat and Dante before, the two of them joining Tyson for a few summer’s now (and Dante joining on his own the year before that started) so Mollie was well prepared for the chaos those two always seemed to bring. At least in comparison to the peace and calm that Tyson’s friend JT brought when he visited (which he would be doing for two weeks after Dante and Mat left).

It was going to be an interesting stretch of time, that was for sure.

After Tyson had gotten his friends settled in, they immediately joined Mollie’s group to chill on the clearing by the dock, relaxing for a few hours before they needed to start prepping for the barbecue tonight. Chase and Allison wouldn’t be joining them until later, and neither would John and Michelle, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t have fun before then.

“We’ve got snacks and fresh fruit and cold beers, help yourselves,” Michael grinned, waving towards the coolers on the back decking of their cabin.

Mat, Dante, and Tyson saluted, making them all laugh, Tyson carrying over their own crate of beers to add to the coolers too. Mollie just stayed silent, offering Tyson a small smile, to which he sent a hesitant one back. Great. He was still going to be awkward around his friends too. With a quiet sigh, quiet enough that no-one else heard it, she laid back down on her deckchair, eager to let the sun wash away the underlying tension she was desperate to ignore.

Maybe with his friends here, Tyson would get over the awkwardness and they could return to normal. At least, she hoped they could. She didn’t know what she would do if they didn’t.

“So, Mollie looks good, huh?”

“Don’t even think about it Barzy,” Tyson scowled.

Dante and Mat looked at each other only briefly before bursting into laughter.

“We know she’s yours, Josty. Chill,” Dante snickered.

“She’s not mine,” Tyson shot back, narrowing his eyes.

His friends just laughed harder.

“Yeah okay, and you totally weren’t distracted when she was sunbathing in that tiny pink bikini this afternoon, right,” Mat teased.

“I swear, I will throw you in the lake.”

The weekend was…odd, to say the least. Mollie didn’t spend nearly as much time with Tyson as she normally did, mostly because he looked like he didn’t know what to say to her and she didn’t have a clue what to say to him. She got away with it though, having her brother and sister-in-law up at the cabin, and Tyson having his friends to distract him. She had to get over this weirdness. She needed to.

On the Sunday evening, when her brother John and Michelle drove back into town, she followed them back, staying at her apartment for a night ahead of a family dinner their mom had insisted on for the Monday night. It wasn’t a hardship to take a little break from the cabin, using the time to pamper herself with a long bath and a face mask, giving herself the time to refresh. And Monday she spent giving her apartment a giant deep clean, driving all thoughts from her mind until she only had enough time to shower and change before heading over to her parents house.

“Mollie! Baby! Are you eating enough?”

Mollie just rolled her eyes fondly at her mom’s greeting.

“Nice to see you too mom. I brought wine,” she mused, stepping into her childhood home.

“Ooh, I do love a good cabernet, thank you darling. John and Michelle are already here – they’re with your dad in the den,” her mom said cheerfully, “I’m just finishing up in here!”

“I’ll help you, mom. It’s been a while.”

Mollie’s mom just beamed at her, kissing her cheek before wandering back into the kitchen. She followed with a smile on her face, heart bursting with the love that only a mom could cause, her mom especially. Mollie put on the apron that her mom passed her, the two of them chopping vegetables for the salad in a comfortable silence, Mollie just enjoying her mom dancing along to the radio while they worked. True to her word, they didn’t take long to finish preparing everything, and in no time at all, her mom was calling everyone to the table for dinner.

Incredible chicken pot pie, with creamy mash, a variety of greens, and homemade gravy, with a fruit cobbler for dessert. This was exactly what she needed.

What she didn’t need was her brother opening his mouth the moment that they finished eating.

“So mom, has Mollie told you about Tyson yet?”

What the hell?

“No? Is everything okay?” her mom asked, voice full of concern as she turned to look at Mollie.

She kicked her brother under the table but he just smiled sweetly at her. Her older brother was such a child.

“He’s fine mom. A little stressed after the season, but fine,” Mollie said, as calmly as she could.

“I was talking about all the flirting actually,” John said innocently.

“Shut up, John! There hasn’t been any flirting!” she hissed.

He was a dead man. Michelle could move on happily.

“Flirting?” her dad frowned.

“Flirting?!” her mom cried happily.

For fuck’s sake. She needed to nip this in the bud before her mom pulled out her scrapbooks.

“There is no flirting. John is delusional, maybe a touch of heat stroke. You really check that out for him, Michelle,” Mollie said firmly, her sister-in-law just sending her a pitying smile, “Tyson and I don’t flirt with each other.”

“It’s been different this year and you know it,” John shot back.

Michelle elbowed him, but other than a grunt he didn’t react at all, his smirk staying put.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s one of my best friends and you know it,” Mollie scowled.

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” John sing-songed.

“Oh you assho-”

“That’s enough,” their mom interrupted, gaze firm. Mollie snapped her mouth shut, John doing the same. “Johnathan Neil Thomas, cut it out. If Mollie says they’re still just friends, then that’s that.”

Mollie smiled triumphantly, earning an eye roll from her brother.

“And Mollie Eliza Thomas, if there ever is a change between you and Tyson then you know you can be open with us.”

Ugh.

“Mom!” Mollie hissed.

John just threw his head back and cackled, not even flinching at the elbow from his wife this time. How was he 27 years old?

“Alright, alright, I’m stopping,” their mom grinned, “and so is John.”

Seriously. It was bad enough that her head was messed up from whatever the hell had happened at the lake the other day, whatever the hell had been happening since Tyson came back this summer, but she didn’t need her family adding to it too.

“Cheer up buttercup. Whatever happens, happens,” her dad shrugged, smiling.

Mollie didn’t know if that made things better or worse. Sure, John could be doing the opposite, getting defensive and shutting down a ‘potential’ relationship between her and Tyson (not that there was anything) but this wasn’t helping.

“I’m disowning you all,” Mollie grumbled, “not you Michelle. As always, you’re an angel.”

Her brother’s wife just beamed. “If John doesn’t want to sleep on the sofa tonight, he’ll stop.”

What an angel she was indeed.

Her dad tactfully changed the topic to his upcoming fly fishing trip, finally giving Mollie some peace, but she was lost in her head from there on out, Michelle just filling up her wine glass in solidarity. By the time John and Michelle went home, Mollie had drunk a couple of glasses too many to safely drive home, so she crashed in her childhood bedroom, her mom thrilled that she got to fuss over her for another day.

Her dad promised to make her a hearty breakfast.

While she got ready for bed, doing her usual skincare routine after she changed, Mollie finally let herself embrace her thoughts. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, John’s teasing had gotten under her skin.

It’s been different this year and you know it.

Because it had been different this year. This summer had been full of all of this tension that hadn’t been there before that she didn’t know what to do with. This was her and Tyson. If she couldn’t figure out what it all meant to her, then where did that leave them?

Oh.

Oh no.

John was right. He’d been right all along. It was different this year. Everything with Tyson had felt different this year, the flirty teasing, the innocent touches, the way her heart had skipped at his smile. But why? What had changed?

And what could she do about it?

Tyson had never said anything to her about being more than friends in all of their years of knowing each other, not even as a joke in passing. There’d never been a moment like that almost moment before the barbecue the other day. There’d never been anything that had flared Mollie’s feelings into a tailspin like this, but now? Now she didn’t know what to think.

Breathe. Take a moment.

Mollie inhaled shakily, running her trembling hands through her chestnut hair. It was like a dam had burst, her emotions rushing over like a tidal wave, her heart racing and her breathing getting ragged. This had changed everything. How could she not think about Tyson differently now that the floodgates had opened? How could she ignore that he was her everything now that she’d admitted it to herself? What the hell was she supposed to do now?

“Mollie? Is everything alright?”

Mollie snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of her mom’s voice through the door, clearly having seen her light was still on. Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it.

“Yeah mom, just doing some yoga!” Mollie called back, hoping that the lie wasn’t too obvious, that her voice wasn’t too shaky.

“Alright sweetheart, get some rest! I’ll see you in the morning,”

Mollie just squeezed her eyes shut tightly, balling her fists at her sides as she curled up under her duvet. This wasn’t fair. All these years she’d maintained an amazing friendship with Tyson, a constant steadiness that she cherished, but now…could it really stay the same? Could she stay the same, knowing her feelings were actually real, when he didn’t feel the same? Could she pretend to be normal?

Could they even stay friends?

At the lake, unbeknown to Mollie, Tyson was going through his own emotional turmoil, sitting with Dante and Mat in the living area of his cabin.

“What’s going on with you and Mollie?”

“It feels different this year,” was all Tyson could offer to Dante’s question.

“Different…how?” Dante frowned.

Tyson sighed, running a hand over his face, missing the look that his friends exchanged.

“Tys, seriously. You and Mollie have always been so close, and yeah we tease you about it…but has something happened?” Mat said softly.

“I don’t know. There have been some moments. Like, emotionally-charged moments. That first weekend when we first saw each other again, she was wearing this tiny red bikini and she just looked so carefree and beautiful and so goddamn hot that it completely blew past all my defences. I couldn’t help but flirting and she flirted back. Talking to her felt like my heart was clenching and there was something in her eyes that said it wasn’t just me. And the other day at the barbecue, I just…I don’t know. We almost kissed and then she basically ran away,” Tyson said miserably.

Mat laughed softly, making Tyson whine in protest.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Oh it’s kinda funny. Why is it that everyone can see the connection between you two other than you?” Mat mused.

“We’re just friends. That’s all she wants, clearly,” Tyson sighed.

“That’s all she wants? Are you saying that you want more?” Dante asked, grinning.

Tyson just whined again at his friend’s excitement, dropping his head to rest in his hands. He couldn’t deny it, not any more. Not now that things felt so different, so…new. How could he?

“So you’re admitting that you like her. Finally. Are you sure that friendship is all Mollie wants? Have you even said anything?” Mat asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Why would I say anything?!” Tyson yelped, lifting his head up again.

Was Mat crazy?

Both Mat and Dante rolled their eyes. “You literally said that it wasn’t just you that had that emotionally charged moment,” Mat pointed out.

“I know but…”

“If there’s another moment like that, why don’t you just take a chance?” Dante interrupted, before Tyson could spiral into a panic, “if things are stressing you out this much, then maybe she’s feeling the same.”

Tyson bit his bottom lip, contemplating his friend’s words. Could he really do that?

Mat sighed, seeing Tyson’s hesitation. “Look, bud, you never know until you try. The friendship that you and Mollie have is so solid – even if things don’t happen between you two, nothing will change that.”

“I guess you’re right. She wouldn’t be weird about it, even if it is just me with feelings,” Tyson murmured.

Mat frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Dante just elbowed him in the ribs, making him grunt.

“I don’t think it is just you, but yeah, you really should act on this, before you get too in your head about things. I know it’s scary and I know that you’ve got to take a risk, but I honestly think it’s going to pay off. It’s Mollie, Tys. How can things not?” Dante said warmly.

Mat nodded enthusiastically, making Tyson laugh softly.

“You really think I could take a chance?”

“Absolutely. You’re Tyson fucking Jost – you’ve got this!” Dante grinned.

Tyson smiled weakly, trying to put on a brave face. He wasn’t convinced, not with how much was on the line. Mollie was too important for him to lose. But maybe, just maybe, he could gain even more?

The week went on with Mollie no closer to an answer to what her next steps should be. At least Tyson was a little more relaxed around her, offering her genuine smiles rather than the awkward ones he’d been giving her since their almost moment. On Mat and Dante’s penultimate day, Allison arranged for a four jet skis to be sent up to the lake as a surprise, and they all took turns in racing each other on them, no-one getting too drunk to make sure they stayed safe.

After a few races on the jet ski, Mollie took a break, letting Louis take over to race Bryony, Mat and Dante, while Michael cheered them on and took photos. She could see her phone lighting up with jealous messages from Allison and Chase – FOMO was a bitch – so she could already predict that Allison would be extending their rental until after the full weekend had passed so she could have a go herself.

Mollie headed back out of the cabin with a book, a bottle of water, and some sunscreen, ready to relax for a little while now that she’d pulled some shorts back on, only to see Tyson already sitting where she had been planning to sit. Maybe it was fate. Maybe this was the time they needed, apart from the others. Maybe this was a sign.

Then again, Tyson had been fairly quiet today so far, letting Mat and Dante take the reins in conversation.

“Hey Tys. Mind if I join you?”

He jolted, looking up at her like she’d surprised him, making her frown slightly.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.”

Okay, not quite the reaction she’d been expecting. Even for him, this was weird. Still, she sat down in the chair next to him, reapplying her sunscreen before opening up her book. But the way that Tyson was sitting silently next to her, just staring out at the lake, was unsettling.

“Is everything okay?” she murmured, putting her bookmark in her book.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

His answer was so short, almost distant, unlike any way he’d ever spoken to her, and it hurt a little to hear that tone in his voice. Maybe she was just missing something, but him brushing her off like that on top of all of her emotional turmoil lately was just enough to make tears spring to her eyes.

It was all she could do to swallow heavily to keep her composure, and she stood up, dropping her book on her chair.

“Where are you going?” Tyson frowned.

“I don’t know. Just need to clear my head, I guess,” Mollie shrugged, attempting to keep her voice light.

“Can I come with you?” Tyson blurted.

That would be the opposite of helpful right now. But when he looked at her so hopefully, how could she say no? Maybe he’d actually open up, and his attitude was all a big misunderstanding? She could only hope. She couldn’t take him pulling away from her, if that’s what this was.

No, she had to have hope.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to check that their friends were all occupied, Mollie started to walk in the opposite direction down the lake front, knowing that Tyson would be following her. She wandered, a little aimlessly, trying to clear her head as she’d said to him, but nothing helped knowing that it was his footsteps following her.

Eventually she slowed to a stop at a little cove, ducking into it to get out of the harsh light of the sun, and Tyson stopped next to her, offering her a small smile. She had to return it – this was the place they’d dubbed ‘their spot’ after all. Back in Tyson’s first summer, she’d found him here after a difficult training session, full of frustration and homesickness, and it had been one of the things that bonded them so quickly. She’d never told anyone about this place, that it was hers and Tyson’s. Mollie hadn’t intended to come here, but clearly her subconscious had other plans.

Tyson took a step towards her, slipping slightly on a rock, and Mollie’s hands darted out to stead him, Tyson clinging to her forearms as he regained his balance. It was only when she laughed and looked back up at him that she realised they were standing so close that she could count his eyelashes, and she froze.

No, no she couldn’t do this. She needed less drama, less intensity, less…

“Mollie,” Tyson murmured, voice breathy.

“Tys, I…I can’t,” she choked.

Her head was swirling as she jerked out of his grip, trying not to slip herself as she stepped past him, but Tyson grabbed her hand to stop her leaving.

“Mollie, please don’t go! Just listen to me!” Tyson begged.

The desperation in his voice made her stop in her tracks. She closed her eyes, keeping her back to him as she tried to control her racing heartbeat, jumping slightly as his hand move to touch her shoulder. Against her better judgement, with a gentle squeeze of his hand, she turned back around to face him, biting her lip at the devastation in his face.

“Tys,” she whispered, a little helplessly.

He’d never looked at her like that before, like she had the power to destroy him completely. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.

“Mollie, sweetheart…”

Sweetheart. He trailed off at her whimper, running a shaky hand through his unruly curls before he looked into her eyes with such determination that butterflies erupted in her stomach.

“You’ve got to know how much I like you, Mollie. Seriously. You’re one of the only people I keep in touch with from home, one of the only true friends I can count on, and you know how much our friendship means to me. But you’ve got to know how our friendship has evolved. It’s…more now, right? You feel it too?”

Mollie’s breath caught in her throat. He…what?

How much I like you.

How much our friendship means to me.

Our friendship has evolved.

You feel it too?

“Please. Say something,” Tyson begged.

How could she deny him that? After everything she started admitting to herself? She closed her eyes, swallowing heavily, only opening them when her heart cracked open a little. If he could be honest, as much of a dream as it felt, then so could she.

“I do feel it, Tys. I just…I didn’t let myself hope that you felt the same,” she whispered.

There it was. She’d finally said the words out loud. Tyson let out a wounded noise, low and sad, but Mollie didn’t say anything. What else could she say without losing all composure?

“I’ve liked you for so long, Molls. I just never let myself act on it because I didn’t think you felt the same. But now…”

Tyson trailed off again into nothing, letting out a whoosh of breath. The hope and wonder in his voice sent a thrill through Mollie’s body, her heart beating a little bit faster. Tyson liked her. He really liked her! And she’d told him how she felt about him too? She’d never thought this moment would actually happen. Definitely not since her emotional realisation a few evenings ago. But now that it was? It felt mindblowing. Was this really happening?

But there was still that niggle of doubt she couldn’t deny. So Mollie gathered her thoughts while Tyson stayed silent, hoping they wouldn’t bite her in the ass.

“I can’t do this if it’s just for the summer,” Mollie blurted, “I can’t be only a fling for you, Tyson. I wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Not with you.”

Tyson quickly shook his head, reaching out to clasp both of her hands in his, making her gasp softly at the warmth in his grip.

“You could never be a fling. This is the real deal between us, Mollie. I know it is. You know it is,” Tyson said firmly.

Mollie just nodded, choking out a laugh, unable to stop the tears welling up in her eyes as she smiled at him, earning a hopeful smile back. He was right. Deep down, no matter how her insecurities whispered, she knew that their friendship meant a solid foundation. It wasn’t a temporary wavering summer-fun. It was…everything.

“So what are you saying?” Mollie murmured, trying to blink away the tears.

Was this really happening?

“Will you be my girl?” Tyson asked, his voice full of hope.

Mollie choked a laugh, her voice thick with the tears that wouldn’t leave. “Yeah, Tys. I’ll be your girl,”

Tyson let out a whoop, throwing his head back, making Mollie laugh again. What a ridiculous guy. She liked him so much. He rested his forehead against hers, one hand rising to cup her cheek, making her inhale sharply as his eyes went more serious.

“Can I kiss you now? Finally?”

Mollie tilted her head up to press her lips to his in answer.

Being with Tyson was easy, easier than Mollie could’ve ever imagined. Somehow that transition from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend was seamless, with not even a little awkwardness like she’d feared there would’ve been. She attributed that to Tyson mainly though – he was such a driving force of happiness, and now that she’d allowed herself to feel all those thoughts she’d subconsciously pushed down before, it was like everything had clicked into place. It was almost like it was fate.

Fate that she was seizing with both hands and never letting go.

The moment that they’d returned to the cabins from the cove, Dante had taken one look at them and demanded Mat to ‘pay up’. Bryony had immediately pulled out her phone, typing away furiously, until she groaned and admitted that Allison had won their pool. Tyson had just laughed when he realised that everyone had been betting on the two of them, Mollie hiding her face in his chest with a groan. Somehow she wasn’t surprised – it was their friends after all – but that didn’t make her feel any better in the moment.

Nor did John’s smug texts – Michelle’s happy ones soothed that a little. She wasn’t surprised either when Tyson came to her after the weekend and admitted that John had given him a shovel talk in private, one that he refused to share the details of (so she knew it had to be violent), but when she’d texted John to berate him, all her brother said was that he approved and that Tyson was a good guy.

That much she knew already, thank you very much.

The rest of their summer raced by. After Mat and Dante left, JT stayed for two weeks, just as thrilled for them as Tyson’s other friends had been (especially since he won the bet he had with Alex Kerfoot about them). After JT left, Kacey and Tyson’s mom came up to stay for a week, and their genuine heartfelt welcome to the family talks left Mollie more emotional than ever, Tyson just smiling with watery eyes (that he later denied).

And obviously her parents were thrilled, Tyson being dragged down to a couple of family dinner over the remaining six weeks of summer, in between his intense workouts, getting him ready for the upcoming season.

But those six weeks flew by faster than Mollie anticipated, the end of summer drawing closer, and Tyson only had few weeks before he needed to get back to Buffalo for training camp. His time at his cabin had come to an end, as had Mollie’s, so he’d come to stay at her apartment with her while he figured out what he wanted to for his remaining time.

The more time Mollie could spend with him, the better, so she wasn’t going to complain. Especially if it meant waking up in Tyson's arms in the mornings. Even if it meant Tyson watching her with adoring expressions as she shuffled through old lesson plans to see which she could spruce up ahead of the upcoming school year.

A few days into them living in her apartment together though, Tyson made breakfast for them both and sat down opposite her with a serious expression on his face, making her a little nervous. They ate mostly in silence, the radio playing in the background, and it wasn’t until he’d put their plates in the sink that Tyson was ready to talk.

“Everything’s been so good between us, right?” he blurted.

The nervous expression on his face made her heart twinge, and not in a fun way.

“It has for me?” she offered, wincing.

“It has for me too, I promise,” he said quickly, taking the edge off her anxiety, “I just…I’ve been thinking a lot. About our future. Where we could end up. Where I want our relationship to end up.”

She tried valiantly to ignore how her heart started beating a little faster.

“What have you been thinking?” she prompted, hoping her voice didn’t sound too shaky.

“I don’t know where I’m going to end up with hockey in the future. The Avs didn’t want me, it didn’t work out with the Wild, and who knows where I’ll be after this coming year with the Sabres after all the up and down this past season. I don’t know where I’ll be playing or what city I’ll be in, but…will you come with me?”

Mollie’s jaw dropped slightly, her breath catching in her throat. He wanted her to go with him? To leave Kelowna? Tyson saw her shock and immediately reached across the island counter to take both of her hands in his, desperate to ground her as he knew she needed.

“I know this is fast, or at least it would be by normal relationship standards, but with how long we’ve known each other and with how right this feels…I just can’t bear the thought of another 9 months without you. Especially not in Buffalo,” Tyson said, his eyes wide and honest.

Go with Tyson? Uproot everything she’d ever known, move away from all her friends, her job, her life?

“Tyson, I…”

She trailed off, biting her lip, unsure of how to continue as her thoughts swirled. But as soon as she did, she noticed how Tyson’s shoulders slumped slightly, his grip on her hands going limp.

“No, you’re right. It’s too soon, isn’t it? I couldn’t ask you to give up your whole life, just like that, that's not fair on you,” Tyson sighed, finally dropping her hands.

Her breath caught in her throat at the defeat in his eyes. That, more than anything else, she hated. How he second guessed himself? His lack of self confidence? That devastation, it just wasn’t right. So Mollie shook her head, taking his hands back in hers.

“Tys, I need a moment to process, yeah?”

He nodded, a glimmer of hope entering his eyes again, making her smile slightly. Mollie huffed out a breath, running her thumbs over his knuckles, as she tried to process his words. Moving with Tyson – moving in with Tyson fully – would change everything. It would be the biggest step she’d ever taken with a relationship, but with Tyson it would be…

“Tell me what’s going through your mind,” Tyson begged, interrupting her flow.

“You just can’t stand the silence huh,” she teased, unable to resist.

“You know I can’t,” he laughed.

But the laugh was strained, making her sigh. Time to be honest.

“I guess…the main thing going through my mind is that this is such a big step,” she admitted.

“Yeah it is. But it’s also exciting? And I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure it would work,” Tyson said honestly.

She couldn’t help but blush slightly. The fact that he was so certain about their relationship was refreshing. And she knew that Tyson always put his whole heart into everything, which was exciting - no-one else had ever had this conviction.

“What about my job? My friends? My family? And a visa? I’ve never even left BC, you know I haven’t,” Mollie prompted, going through all her doubts.

Tyson tilted his head back slightly, averting his eyes as he chewed his lip, clearly deep in thought. She couldn’t help but smile – he really was putting so much effort into this.

“I know you love teaching, even though the school you’re at right now has terrible parents…but I know you’d also smash any teaching job in any place, so I think that part is solvable? Family and friends though…that’s the big sacrifice. And I know, because it sucks leaving mine at the end of every summer. It’s sucked leaving you at the end of every summer, even though we were only ever just friends before. I don’t want to leave you again, but I understand if only seeing everyone else a few times a year outside of summer is a deal breaker,” Tyson sighed, “The visa thing I can work out with my agent, so that shouldn’t be an issue. And I know that you haven’t ever left BC – but there’s so much of the world I want to show you, even if that starts with Buffalo.”

Mollie huffed out a breath at his words, knowing he was speaking from the heart. But what should she do? Tyson watched the frustration play out across her face and smiled sadly, squeezing her hands in comfort.

“Hey, whatever you decide, just know that it won’t change how much I love you, yeah?” he said softly.

He loves her? Of all the times to drop that declaration, so simple and sweet. How could her heart not sing at that?

“My god, Tys, I love you too. So much. And you’re right, it would suck to watch you leave again because everything is so different this year. I finally have you and to lose you?”

Mollie frowned, shaking her head as she cut herself off. How could she let him go?

Tyson saw the change in her expression, a wide smile spreading across his lips. “So…?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed at his prompting, and squeezed his hands back.

“Yeah, Tyson, I’m willing to try this, to try us,” Mollie nodded, smiling, “I’ll move with you, to Buffalo, and then wherever you go after that.”

Tyson whooped and stood up from his chair, making her laugh again as he ran around to her side of the island, which quickly turned into a squeal as he threw his arms around her and picked her up to spin her in a circle. The joy in his face was just pure happiness, and Mollie knew right then that she’d made the right decision.

“I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us,” Tyson grinned, resting his forehead against hers.

There was so much to think about, with moving, with getting a visa, with her job, with her apartment in Kelowna. But a future with Tyson? That was all Mollie wanted - and she couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them either.

#my writing #tyson jost fic #summer days pass me by #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fanfic #tyson jost x oc #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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iznsfw · 1 year

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Eunbi and Taeyeon threesome where Taeyeon unnie teaches Eunbi how to properly please her man 👀

In Absentia Lucis, Tenebrae Vincunt

Part two of Dulce Periculum | Previous Part | Next Chapter

Girls Generation's Kim Taeyeon x IZ*ONE's Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

10,144 words

Categories | sex-ed_professor!Taeyeon x valedictorian!Eunbi x student!Reader, mommy kink, lesbian sex, squirting, breeding

Content warning | teacher/student relationship, age gap (all legal, needless to say), slapping, degradation

mobile masterlist | masterlist

This piece is edited by and dedicated to @midnightdancingsol and @capslocked, two of my favorite writers. Thank you so much, I appreciate it! Originally had a different plot, but ideas hit, and I've been working on this ever since. There wasn't supposed to be mommy kink here, but then I realized that no one has written Eunbi calling someone mommy here before, so I wanted to try that but with my top two, Taengoo ;) IZ's best girls coming your way... now!

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The clock says 10 AM sharp, and the skies are a warm sight of lively blue. Morning has long been here, yet for Kwon Eunbi, it’s an hour she can view as nighttime. With the school uniform keeping her warm from the wind of the powerful air-conditioner, she feels right at home. For once, she cares not for paying attention to lectures or reprimanding her classmates’ buzzing conversations. For once, she puts herself first—not her schoolwork, not her classmates, but her.

It’s not like she can continue her usual routine of studying even if she wanted to. Her body’s worn from endless days of studying and playing. Her forearms, formerly milky white, are now peppered with purple bruises. With the number of textbooks she’s flipped through under a flickering lamplight, it’s likely that she'll need to replace the lens of her round prescription glasses.

Still, she’s Sleeping Beauty herself. Chocolate hair falls messily but prettily over the pillow she rests on (AKA your arm) as she finds solace in slumber. The softest of snores barely make it past her full lips pressed together.

You gently rock her side to side, admiring how pretty she is even when she’s resting.

Too bad she's sleeping due to stress.

During class.

For a girl like her, classes are a lifeline. School in general is. She would never dare fall asleep in class. However, here’s the deal: she’s been put through stress harsher than the healthy amount (stress can be healthy, you’d argue, because if someone has nothing to stress about, then surely they aren’t alive?), and she’s starting to give out. Her grades start to stagger as time goes by. She almost passed out during volleyball training and could barely button her uniform right for school because of how tired she is. Eunbi’s leading the volleyball team for your senior year after all; it should be expected, but it just isn’t fair for her, and especially not for you, the one you’d argue cares for her the most.

Seeing her tired and battered makes you refuse to rouse her. She deserves the rest, more than anyone.

Jo Yuri, the annoying kid in class sitting at the desk beside you, thinks otherwise. She raises her hand high in the air mid-discussion of the importance of condoms, attracting the attention of your teacher.

“Professor Kim!” says Yuri; she stands up proudly. Roll your eyes at her, warning her to stay in her lane, but when has Jo Yuri ever done that? She quirks her brows back at you mockingly.

Kim Taeyeon glances at the girl's direction. Shit. Wait, she might have missed her—she’s looking back at Yuri with an inquisitive look. “Yes, miss Jo?” she asks.

“Eunbi is sleeping.”

“I see that,” says Taeyeon simply. She looks at Yuri from behind her gray-framed glasses with a slightly squinted look. “Anything else less of the obvious I should be informed of?”

A few small chuckles pass around the room. Although people won’t say it directly to Yuri, they all revel in her humiliation. Yuri’s the definition of a brat, and not the good kind. Her parents have funded the school's activities for decades, and because of that, she thinks she’s got a one-way ticket out of anything.

Unfortunately, you aren’t the train conductor. You can’t usher her away for every passenger’s convenience.

“W-well,” Yuri answers, a little unsurely now, “isn’t it basic class etiquette to be alert for discussions? You can’t make an exception for her.”

Taeyeon’s lips create a small, sarcastic smile.

“Kwon Eunbi works hard, Miss Jo,” Taeyeon says. “If anyone deserves a cut of slack, I’d say that it's her, someone who’s been truly conscientious, and not one who doesn’t put in effort even from a place where most of it has been done for her.”

Yuri’s cheeks transform into two red roses. “B-but, but you scolded me when I fell asleep during class.”

“That’s because you’re not an honor student, Miss Jo.”

The quietness is almost death-like. If it went on any longer, the classroom could become a graveyard. Everyone’s thinking the same thing. You can see it from the looks in their undead eyes.

“Now, Yuri,” continues Taeyeon, smiling, “would you like to say anything else?”

“No, Professor.”

“I thought so. Please take your seat.”

Taeyeon lifts her gaze from Yuri. She then addresses all of you, the calm yet piercing look in her eyes never fading.

“It would do us well if the only interruptions my class will have from now on are insightful questions and answers.

“Shall we continue?”

The class murmurs in response, their words echoing in the room. Yuri glowers in her seat, suddenly taking particular interest in her manicured nails. Even from afar, you can see her red ears.

The combined choir of young voices responding to Taeyeon rouses Eunbi from her sleep. Her eyelids flutter, and she gazes at you with sleepy eyes. She still hasn’t registered everything.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you say with a grin.

Eunbi looks at her surroundings, then at Taeyeon, who’s continuing to teach.

“Oh God, oh fucking fuck.”

Suddenly, her notebook and pen are all on her table, clicked and open. She glances at you with panic in her beautiful face. “What did I miss?” she asks frantically.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’ve witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime sighting: the annoying kid getting a taste of their own medicine.

But you smile instead.

“Nothing, babe.” You kiss her forehead. “A whole lot of nothing.”

“Class dismissed,” Taeyeon announces. “Have fun at the intramurals, everyone!”

The class files out rather slowly. Some are caught up in conversation about her earlier scolding of Yuri, and others are still arranging their books into their backpacks. Whoever’s already taking their exits are yelling their goodbyes, waving at her cheerfully; she waves at them, too, with a kind smile of her own. Despite her strict upholding of rules in class and her no-bullshit approach to discipline, she wants to show her students that she’s still a good teacher. She remains the same: someone who wishes to make a healthy connection with her students.

The last to leave are the boy and his little valedictorian of a girlfriend. It’s been a year since they two had gotten closer. Although they never officially announced it, Taeyeon can see the status of their relationship in the little things: their joined hands that draw envious looks, Eunbi's head on his arm, and the playful touches. It’s sweet seeing connections grow between her pupils, but she can’t help feeling a little...

Jealous?

Is that what it is? Taeyeon contemplates as she sits back down.

Yes, she is jealous, but not because she misses the proud, youthful feeling of being an adult nearly out of high school. She misses those days, that’s for sure, but it isn’t the root of her feelings. (She’s certain—not entirely yet—that it’s because of their relationship.

She’s only been teaching for a year, so she makes it a habit to catch a pretty face among the masses. For example, Kim Minju is pretty, but the honor student has a different kind of prettiness in her possession. It... attracts her.

And so does the boy.)

Said boy looks at Eunbi expectantly whilst he waits at the doorway. He’s the delinquent, isn’t he? His wrinkled uniform is enough indication—the punks always dress like that no matter the dress code or situation. They could be at their grandfather’s funeral and they’d still dress like a missing kid who’s learned to adapt to the streets.

“You coming, Eunbi-ya?” he asks her.

Does he ask her that privately? When he’s fucking her? When he’s pinning her down to the bed while her parents are out of town, as he gives her a hard and well-deserved pounding? He’d look so good doing that; he's far more attractive than he likes to make it to be. He’s nineteen, after all—boys are still like that at that age, even though they’re barely teenagers anymore.

Taeyeon can’t take her eyes off him. She doesn’t know how to; it’s like they're permanently glued to his movements, like she's only capable of looking at him and nothing and no one else.

What do her moans sound like when he’s fucking her?

Turns out she can, but only for the girl. She’s saying something to her boyfriend, but with how much she’s absorbing her—her body, her face, her cute little smile—she doesn’t quite hear everything.

Her moans would sound so pretty; she speaks so prettily that she’d sound good even when she’s below him. She’s a screamer, I bet, she looks like the type of girl who’d cry when—

“Professor? Excuse me, professor?”

Speak of the fucking devil (... angel?).

It was unusual of her to be caught by her students without her guard up. She has to remain focused. When those large, bouncy things are directly under her nose only restrained by a school blouse a tad too small, it’s difficult to.

“Yes, Miss Kwon?” asks Taeyeon, brought back to Earth.

“Um.”

Eunbi has her hands behind her back. Her eyelashes flutter beautifully as she guiltily fails to meet her eyes, leaving much to Taeyeon’s imagination about a fictive good little Eunbi, who’d sit on her teacher’s plaid-skirted lap and say soft, innocent things like that and—and—

“I’m sorry for falling asleep in class,” Eunbi says in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so tired, I… I couldn’t help it. And I know that’s not a good excuse—”

I swear, if you put your tits in my face one more fucking time, rambles the voice in Taeyeon’s head—(it’s been there for a while now, and comes to life whenever she sees the wind blow Eunbi’s skirt up just right, or when the school collar fails to hide the forbidden view when she bends down to pick up a fallen pencil); it’s not my fault anymore if I do anything.

It’s such a raw, wrong thought, because it isn’t Eunbi’s fault either that she’s so tempting. It’s not her fault that those lips of hers curl downwards in the cutest, most pitiable angle or that her body is naturally carved to fit more than a handful. However, when one knows what they feel is morally repulsive, they tend to put the blame on anyone else but themselves.

“Water under the bridge, miss Kwon. We all have our moments.”

Eunbi looks surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Taeyeon repeats.

Eunbi smiles widely. Even the way she grins is pretty. “Thank you, professor,” she says gratefully, bowing ninety degrees.

Taeyeon chuckles amusedly. “No need to bow like I’m an emperor, of course. Just do your best in the intramurals. I believe in you.”

“Yes—”

“(,) but I don’t think I can do this. Please, oppa.”

“Eunbi, that’s nonsense. You’re a great player, you’re gonna be fine.”

Star player and top student Kwon Eunbi squirms fearfully. That many achievements to her name and she still has doubts about her own abilities.

“I'm... I'm really not,” she says in a small voice.

She looks around the covered court with fear dancing in her large brown eyes. All these students—her classmates, anyway—are rooting for her. Thirty-six and more have all laid their eyes and expectations on her. She figures that’s probably what scares her more rather than the game itself.

“I don't want to do this,” she whines.

“But you can’t do anything about it now, can you, baby?” you ask her. Your hands frame her nervous face, rubbing your thumbs over her cheeks.

“I can, actually,” she says. “I can just go up there, say ‘oh, fuck this, fuck you all; I’m not doing it,’ watch them go bananas over it.”

Her lips have a sarcastic side to the smile it holds, but you know her. You know that she’s actually considering it. For the first time in her school life, she’s contemplating ditching it all for something, anything that isn’t this game.

She’s looking down at her rubber shoes again, but you raise her face to look you in the eyes. “You signed up to play. You’re a varsity player now. So you have to go do it whether you like it or not.”

Eunbi presses her forehead to yours and closes her eyes with a sigh. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

Considering your first intimate encounter was rough lustful sex, the two of you actually really care about each other. It made you realize that your crush on her isn’t purely from lust. You care about her, and you’re not happy about the amount of stress she's been under. To be fair, the whole school is suffering, including you, but you’re a known failure. You couldn’t give less of a fuck if your future transformed into a person, went on its knees, and begged you to take it seriously. Exam season is another Tuesday to you: nothing to care about, nothing new.

But for Eunbi? Exams and games mean everything. She has her reputation of being an honor student and overachiever to maintain. She has her parents, who are constantly pressuring her to join every extracurricular activity under the sun, to please. Additionally, due to a particular school board teacher’s brilliant idea to schedule the intramurals a week before the exam season, she has to juggle hours of eternal volleyball practice and studying and tutoring students to make it through the year. She barely has time in her packed schedule to breathe.

While the students on the bleachers are roaring and cheering excitedly in their color-coded shirts, she's in a tight sleeveless white shirt stressed to death.

There’s only a few minutes until the most important volleyball match of her life. What could go wrong?

(Everything.)

“Baby,” you say softly. “Baby, listen to me.”

Near tears, Eunbi looks up at you. “Yeah?” she asks.

You kiss her sore fingers, the insides of her thin wrists, and the bruises from the volleyball that mark her forearms. Kiss her where it validates her pain. Kiss her where it hurts. Kiss her where it means something.

“Whatever happens in the game,” you tell her truthfully, “I’ll still love you. I’ll still be proud of you. So just do your best for me, okay? I’ll be there all the way.”

“You promise?” Eunbi raises two fingers wrapped in medical tape.

“I promise.” Make your promise by gently grasping the digits she holds up. “Hell, I bet Professor Kim would be holding up a ‘Kwon Eunbi 4 The National Team’ tarpaulin.”

Eunbi giggles. You both know who you’re referring to: your sex ed professor, Kim Taeyeon. She started teaching at your high school just this senior year, and looks young for her age. Many students adore her, but she only really has one favorite, Eunbi. Always particularly sweet with her, just like earlier, and always attentive to her intelligent questions. If it weren’t for Eunbi being eighteen going on nineteen and in high school and Taeyeon a teacher, anyone would have thought the latter had a crush on her.

Her defense of Eunbi earlier just adds to your suspicions.

If Eunbi reciprocates those alleged feelings, you’d see why. Taeyeon is a charmer. She’s watching the basketball game with crossed arms and a stern look behind her round spectacles. Without saying anything, she attracts people. Anyone can see how beautiful Taeyeon is. She gave a short welcoming speech earlier and you could hear the oohs and ahhs of both parents and students alike.

“Oh, hush,” Eunbi says, waving it off, but she’s visibly more cheered up. “She likes me, but not that much.”

“If she liked you less, she wouldn’t have let you off the hook for napping.”

“It’s called empathy, dear oppa,” says Eunbi, flicking your forehead. “Don’t s’pose you know what that means.”

“Someone’s got a crush on their sex ed teacher.”

“And if I do, so what? She’s really beautiful.”

Take your biased eyes off Eunbi and you’d see that she’s beyond the statement of just “really beautiful.” Taeyeon has the look and aura of an older friend who’s blunt but loving, and would help you out of sticky situations, but not without tough-love advice. Her hair and minimal makeup always look perfect and natural, besides the fact that she looks quite young for her age.

But you won’t see that until later.

“See? If you need anyone to do your best besides me, do it for professor,” you add to make her laugh. “Okay?”

Eunbi wipes the last of her tears. She’s chuckling as she shakes her head at her current emotions. She’s Kwon Eunbi, for fuck’s sake, why is she like this? “Okay,” she says. She sounds a little more assured now. “I will. Thank you, oppa. I love you.”

“Same here.” You kiss her cheek. Comb your fingers through tangled strands of her side fringes left unrestrained by her high ponytail and pat her shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yep. Never been more ready.”

Eunbi’s team lost the game.

It wasn’t her fault. A lot of her volleyball teammates kept missing whenever the white ball was plunged back over the net. And by “a lot,” you mean fucking every one of them. She basically hardcarried the team. More bruises started to appear on her beautiful arms, and she looked more and more discouraged as the game time quickly passed.

The first thing she did was rush in your arms after the game.

“Oppa,” she muttered softly. She’s all sweaty and wet, but you didn’t mind. She needed you, and even if she needed you while covered head to toe with acid, you’d still hug her.

“I’m here.”

The second thing she did was weep.

“I fucked up,” Eunbi moaned, burying her head further in your shoulder. Now tears replaced the sweat that coated your skin. “I… I couldn’t catch the ball, and—”

“That’s not your fault, Eunbi. Your teammates were shit.”

Even as she continued to cry, she went to their defense. “Don’t talk about them like that. They did their best.”

If the situation wasn’t pulling her self-esteem down this much, you’d laugh in her face. “You call that best?” you asked.

Her incompetent teammates made you infuriated. They caused your girlfriend’s wane of confidence and more tears right after. It only made your anger grow from a flame to a fucking house fire.

“I… I just need a break,” she murmured. “But I never get it. It’s all just stupid fucking games, stupid fucking quiz bees. I’m just some toy to be passed around whenever there’s a competition that needs winning.” She chuckled sarcastically. “Nothing more.”

“Eunbi—”

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said firmly, putting a full stop to the conversation. She was done here. She didn’t want to go back.

Eunbi took to the school showers after that like she said, and dressed back into her little school uniform for the resumption of classes later. What you didn’t know is, after everything that happened, she still intended to get dirty.

The program is still going on. Lee Chaeyeon and the rest of the dance club are performing a dance number as an intermission. As the trendy pop beat resounded through the school grounds, Eunbi dragged you back to an empty classroom and sat you down.

“Eunbi!”

Her knees land on the tiled, classroom floor. “Mmm, just... oppa, let me do this.” Eunbi frustratedly pulls down your jeans. She wipes the back of her hand on her lips. “I saw oppa staring at my chest earlier. He was more focused on them than the game.”

She’s wrong for that. Well, partly wrong but—

“Eunbi, aren’t there—” Tap her gently on the cheek when she keeps pulling your pants down. “Eunbi, oppa’s talking.”

Eunbi looks up. “Yes, oppa?” she asks.

“Aren’t there other ways to de-stress? I—I can buy you some ice cream. Baskin Robbins, just how you like it. We can even cuddle later if you want to. It doesn’t have to always be like this.”

She’s licking your cock sloppily now, as if she needed to do it or she’d have to repeat a whole game again. Your cock is her source of serotonin and dopamine—even chemistry can’t teach her that. (Sorry, professor Myoui, you’d say; but it’s the truth.)

Eunbi, with her pouty lips and ponytail coincidentally perfect for what’s about to happen, shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “I want oppa’s cock right now. I don’t want anything else.”

She sucks on your cockhead severely, treating it like her own candy. The pleasure hits, even though it only affects the tip of your length. You moan softly. She moans, too, and it goes on even without touching herself. She loves being a good girl for your cock. That alone gets her off.

If the school knew of the little tutoring incident that sparked your relationship, they’d be scandalized. That part is something you know secretly makes her wetter than you can imagine. The cliché, teen love story-ness of it all—you, a guy who wouldn't give two fucks about school even if you were paid to do it, and her, someone who’d die rather than put off a day of studying but would get on her plaid skirt coated knees for you—is something she’d like to roll her eyes at, but it's kind of destiny, isn’t it? Just like the stories.

What if they know? The teachers could suspend you. Better yet, expel you and put it on your permanent record.

Oh, but they don’t need to know about how fucking pretty Eunbi can look like when she’s being good for you. You can submit the squirms of her thick yet toned thighs, the passiveness evident in her eyes, and the eagerness her voluptuous body holds to pleasure you and herself as evidence. Nothing more is needed to prove it.

They don’t need to know.

Eunbi pauses her effortless bobs of her head to moan. “I love your cock, oppa,” she confesses, though it isn't really a confession when one thinks about how evident it is. Her tender licks already hold adoration in them.

Chuckle. You can get used to this. “More than me?” you ask.

“Nooo... oppa, I love you, too. You know that. But, hmm,” she licks your cock worshipfully, “this is number two. Mwah.”

“Good girl. You can touch yourself, you know.”

Eunbi gives you a clever grin. “I don’t have to. I have you.”

Touché.

She resumes sucking you off, letting out soft “Mmph”s of pleasure and satisfaction as she goes. Over time, she’s gotten better at giving you head. Her sloppiness begins to feel fulfilling, and she learns to make good use of her sweet, full lips as she wraps them on the sides of your cock and around it. Occasionally, she pushes up her glasses so that they don't slide off her nose while she goes about her pleasurable blowjob, which adds a more wholesome and cuter side to the daring fiasco the two of you are engaging in.

“Mmm, love this cock.” Eunbi gives loving kisses to your length. Her tongue erotically stimulates it with languid licks and sets fire to your emotions. “I can’t live without it. Hmph. All I'm ever good for.”

“Eunbi,” you say, concerned, “don't—”

“Please, oppa,” she says. Her eyes make contact with your own, and she pouts prettily. “Let me do this. I need you.”

Your cock rubs the inside of her cheek. It makes a visible imprint, making her look like she’s munching on ice. She ensures to devote soft laps of her tongue on the sides of your length. When she takes it all in, you gasp. You’re too wrapped up at her tongue also licking your heavy balls to be distracted by her whimpering. The deeper your cock goes inside her pretty mouth, the tighter her throat becomes. Her hands squeeze your thighs powerfully.

“Fuck.”

“There’s more where that came from,” she says cheekily.

“Oh yeah?”

She nods.

“Show me, then.”

Her lips part, as if going for an open-mouthed kiss, but it simply takes a couple inches of your length, caressing them with the softness of her balmed tiers and wetness of her mouth. She withdraws, then repeats, but now with more of your cock in her mouth. She looks up at you expectantly for approving reactions, but you give them, and would have given them without her expecting you to.

“Yes, fuck, yes, Eunbi.” Her hair tangles in your hand. She whines a little when your tip reaches further places down her throat. The jeers and yells of school spirit outside you’d love to join in, but you'd choose Eunbi's cute moans any day of the week, weekdays through weekends. “Take my cock. That’s a good girl. My good girl.”

Although she finds it difficult to deepthroat you, you can see her shiver at being called that. She likes it, oh, yes she does: being told she’s under your ownership, and being treated as such. With your cock fucking her tight throat and your hand pulling on her hair like you hate her rather than love her, it's all true. True and clear.

“Love you, oppa,” she says in between suckles of worship on your dick. Her eyes are watery, but now from the pleasure of having her mouth used. Oh well, it’s better than negative.

“Love you, too, sweet girl.” That’s another thing you like to call her: good girl, good sweet little thing, which sounds so corny but fits so well with her. And she likes it—and you can’t deny a good girl of being exactly that. Besides, she looks so sweet with her lips parted to fit your cock like that, and her eyes full of tears. She’d—

The door creaks open. Oh, curse interruption. Goddamned interruption.

Wait—

You look up. Oh, fuck—

“Professor!” you and Eunbi yell out in surprise.

A stuttering Eunbi withdraws her mouth from your cock, looking at her teacher with bewildered, brown eyes. You aren’t sure what exactly she’s thinking, but you can place fear in that face of hers. You’re pretty sure you look red as hell, too.

Kim Taeyeon is standing at the door. She’s watching the two of you closely. How long has she been watching? Or... or perhaps she just caught the two of you in the act? Her face holds an expression of nonchalance, like she’s been expecting this to happen.

All the earlier thoughts come back. You were so turned on by the thought of getting caught, but now that it’s happened, you realize you just put Eunbi’s future at stake. You might not care about your own, but you care about Eunbi. She has a whole, long and successful life in front of her, and you might have just ruined it.

“P-professor,” Eunbi stutters. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes grow wider as Taeyeon approaches her. With each step Taeyeon takes, she grows more scared. “It’s, it’s not what it looks like! I was just—”

“Shhh.”

Taeyeon pushes the side of her finger to Eunbi’s lips. There’s little distance between them. Eunbi’s knees would have knocked severely into Taeyeon's if not for the shushing index.

Eunbi’s flustered by their closeness. Her voice, normally so confident when stating answers in class, is broken in pathetic stutters. “P-professor,” she tries to say, weakly, her hands waving about, “it’s really not what it looks like. I was just—we were j-just…”

“Resting!” you pipe up, getting to your feet. It’s stupid, but it’s the only thing you can think of as an excuse.

Eunbi nods. “Yes! Resting! I was lying on his lap!” she adds helpfully.

Taeyeon stares at you two coldly for a few, long seconds, then chuckles softly. “Resting?” she repeats, and tilts her head to the side.

“Y-yes. And, and I was drooling, and it was—”

“Miss Kwon.”

“—really hot so I kind of, kind of fell to the—”

“Miss Kwon.” Taeyeon's eyes flare dangerously. “I told you to keep that mouth shut, didn’t I? Or do you just not listen to your teachers anymore?”

Eunbi’s eyes water. That’s the biggest insult anyone could ever tell her. School life means everything. If she couldn’t listen to her teachers, what good can she be?

You place a reassuring hand on her shoulder and step forward. “It was my fault, professor,” you say. How to get balls big enough to admit to that? Just ask Kwon Eunbi for a fucking blowjob, that's how. “I wanted a quick, uh, blow,” you wince, “so I asked her to do it for me. It wasn't her fault.”

“I knew what the two of you were doing, sweetheart. I wasn’t born yesterday. My only problem is that Eunbi doesn’t know what she’s doing, nor is she doing it properly.”

“Professor—” Eunbi tries to defend herself.

“Sit down, boy,” says Taeyeon to you. You do, hesitantly. You have no idea what’s about to happen. She gestures to Eunbi. “Miss Kwon, come here.”

Eunbi follows blindly, getting on her knees again. She’s still looking at her teacher with disoriented eyes.

“Look here, sweetheart,” Taeyeon says. She grabs Eunbi’s chin to direct her gaze to your cock. Then, she wraps her hand around your member and jerks upward. ‘Have you blown your boyfriend much?”

“S-sometimes,” says Eunbi, looking up at you unsurely. But you’re too busy gasping at your teacher's strong, firm hand to return her gaze.

“Don’t you know that the first thing you have to do is to give him a few pumps? It’s not necessary, but it’s good to get him going. Just like this.” Taeyeon slowly jerks your cock up and down, keeping a grip that’s tight but not too much that it’s uncomfortable. Her thumb rests on your cockhead to rub its sensitive surface, making you tense up.

Eunbi watches with hesitant yet curious eyes.

“Don’t go too fast now,” advises Taeyeon. “The whole point is your mouth. That’s where you want to hold nothing back. Do you understand me?”

Even as she teaches Eunbi how to pleasure you, something that's a little dangerous even for a sex ed subject, her voice remains the same as her teaching one: calm, no-nonsense, and nurturing. You’re a little turned on by it, you’re not gonna lie. Additionally, there’s Eunbi sitting there with her hands on her lap, looking like an obedient puppy as she listens to Taeyeon, ever the valedictorian.

“Yes, professor,” says Eunbi. She looks at you closely. “Oppa, are you okay?”

“Never been better,” you rasp out.

Taeyeon sifts through Eunbi's hair with her gentle fingers. “See?” she assures her. “He’s alright. He’ll feel even better when you learn how to put that pretty mouth to good use.”

Scarlet creeps onto Eunbi’s ears and face. Her thighs squirm again. “But it’s wrong,” she whispers. Uncertainty is written all over her face. “We could get in trouble for this, professor. I’m, oh, I’m so wet, b-but my grades—”

Taeyeon has had enough of her talking. She leans forward and shuts her up with a firm kiss.

Your mouth falls open.

Eunbi's pupils grow large like a cat’s in the dark. Her hands are suspended mid-air, seemingly unaware of what they should do. Meanwhile, Taeyeon has already grabbed Eunbi's tiny waist, insistent on keeping her close to her.

But then, like ice, Eunbi melts. She melts into the sin, she melts into Taeyeon. Her lips find themselves locked tighter with the older woman’s. She becomes the one who pushes forward, looking for more of that sweet taste.

Should you feel hurt? Scandalized, perhaps? Angry? You attempt to find the morally correct emotion to have in this situation, and you come to realize that you feel none of them. Instead, as you watch your teacher dominate your girlfriend in a French kiss, you’re painfully turned on.

Taeyeon lets her go after a few seconds. She cups a hand around Eunbi's full breast. Gently, she parts the buttoned lapels of the uniform and helps the girl undo her bra. Eunbi's expression remains one of disbelief and arousal. It switches to pure horniness when Taeyeon starts to suck and bite at her big, beautiful breasts. She begins to squirm, but Taeyeon holds her in place.

“Professor…” Eunbi whimpers. “Please, they’re so sensitive.”

“Shhh, let mommy do the work.” The professor squeezes the two round breasts at the same time, licking one’s nipple lovingly. “You like your teacher sucking your tits like these, Eunbi-ya?”

“Hnnn, yes,” squeaks out Eunbi, closing her eyes. “Professor, I—”

“It’s mommy,” corrects Taeyeon, kissing her student on the lips. “I thought you’d pick up on that, darling. You’re my top student, right?”

“I’m sorry, mommy. P-please suck my tits again. I’ll be a good girl.”

Never did you think that hearing your girlfriend call an older woman mommy would make you so hard. “Fuck,” you curse. You rise from the chair to join them. You’ve never heard of morality; its meaning evaporated the moment their lips joined.

“No, boy, stay there,” Taeyeon orders. “I’m going to show your girlfriend how to really ride dick.”

All of a sudden, not one article of clothing lies on Taeyeon’s body. The sweatshirt and jeans no longer hide her beautiful figure. Now, you can behold the glory of her body completely. Her form is toned and small. Her pilates, which she talks about when asked during classes, really helped carve her perfect belly. Her pink nipples, hard from the air-conditioner wind, sit on top of her handful-sized breasts, begging to be touched.

Eunbi looks like she’s just seen a goddess. Her worshipful gaze runs up and down the professor’s buttocks and breasts. Most importantly, there’s Taeyeon’s small, shaved pussy to marvel at. “Mommy,” your girlfriend says, “mommy, you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby,” says Taeyeon, bearing a confident smile. “Watch and learn, okay? And you,” she looks over at you, and leans down so only you can hear as she whispers: “Try not to cum so fast.”

You’d defend yourself if she didn’t slam her beautiful ass so quickly on your lap. That’s when your cock slips inside her, causing the both of you to moan and, additionally, for you to figure out exactly why she told you that. Your teacher is so fucking tight. Your cock immediately is covered by her juices, from base to tip.

“Oh, fuck!” Taeyeon cries out. Both her eyes and mouth become round at the pleasure she takes in. She looks at Eunbi in disbelief. “You really take this dick everyday?”

Eunbi doesn’t know how to respond. All that comes out of her mouth are moans. You suppose she’s a bit lost about what to feel right now as well. Perhaps she’s rejecting what she feels, which is turned on. But that can’t be it: her fingers are already under her skirt, trying to replicate the pleasure Taeyeon must feel about your dick.

“D-does it feel good, mommy?” she can’t help but ask. A small part of her young heart is mortified at the scene of her boyfriend fucking another woman, but another part is curious. She’s never seen her teacher in this state, and probably never will again. Eunbi’s mind is voracious on any hints of pleasure Taeyeon feels.

“Y-yes, oh my god,” says Taeyeon. She tries to maintain a neutral expression, but fails. “See what I’m doing? Circle, fuck, your hips a bit, just like this, s-so it feels good for you, too.”

Taeyeon lifts her hips a little, letting the rest of your length breathe for a little while. “Then take a few of it inside to get ready. You just have to get used to the size. After you’re used to it, you can start riding him.”

You’re left breathless in the wooden school chair as your sex ed teacher does exactly that. After riding only the first couple inches of your dick, she starts violently slamming herself up and down. You have to hold on to her muscular thighs to subconsciously direct her to slow down. And she does, but still not at a pace you can take. Her breasts keep bouncing in front of your face, as if they were asking you to devour them or choose death. And, with Taeyeon’s slick, tight cunt around you, you really don’t want to die yet.

Capture her breast in your mouth. Her sharp fingernails press down on your scalp. Her pitched moans beat on your eardrums. You can barely even hear Eunbi’s soft cries of pleasure anymore, nor can you place the sound of skin slapping and touching. Even the outside sounds of students cheering and referees narrating sound inaudible when Taeyeon’s obscene moans fill too much of the atmosphere.

“Good boy, bounce me on that big fucking cock,” growls Taeyeon. Her pussy grows impossibly tight, and you’re forced to perform your own upward thrusts to continue penetrating your painfully hot teacher. “Give our girl a show, you know you want to.”

You’re not a submissive guy, but you can live with Taeyeon praising you and calling you a good boy. You can live with her sweet, delectable vagina fucking itself on your cock. Fine, you admit you can live with Taeyeon basically confirming her ownership over your girlfriend Eunbi. But more than anything, you want to please her, to please your mommy. So it’s inevitable that you fuck her faster and rougher, summoning all the might you have in your body to make her scream.

Eunbi’s definitely been given a show, one that’s good enough for her to get off to. “Fuck, oppa,” whines Eunbi, ecstatic. The gleam in her eyes exhibits slight jealousy and more bliss. “It looks like it feels so good. I…” Her eyes shut, and her lips purse. “I’m so close.” Her fingers pump faster. Her hole struggles to catch up with the almost brutal pace of her digits.

“I’m close, too, fuck!” Taeyeon says. It’s almost like she’s angry when she throws her hips up and down, back and forth. She has more strength than your phys-ed teacher, that’s for sure. It’s like the gyrating of her body holds no self-control, and her mind is just on you and your cock, and nothing else. “Yes, yes, make me cum! Make mommy a slut for your cock!”

And you’d say you succeeded—Taeyeon’s voice reaches volumes a human being should be incapable of making. Her legs curl around your waist and behind the school chair to keep you as deep as possible as she cums on you. By then, you’ve sucked her breasts to redness and soreness. By then, Eunbi had reached her climax. You’ve managed to stave off your own. Some other time, you’d look back and wonder how you did it.

“Good boy,” Taeyeon gasps. She lifts your face up and kisses you on the mouth. “Such a good boy.”

“I want a turn, too, mommy,” says Eunbi. She’s pouting; there’s a whine tied around her tone. “Please? Please?”

Your professor removes herself from your lap. Her body has lost some of its former strength, but her actions still possess womanly confidence. She takes a slow walk over to Eunbi, kneels to her level, and lifts her chin upwards.

“Only if you promise to show what mommy taught you and clean off your oppa’s cock.”

“I will.” Eunbi nods furiously and repeatedly. She’s more than happy to do that just to have a turn of your cock. “I will, please, please let me!”

She crawls over between your legs. She forgoes the jerking part of Taeyeon’s hands-on lesson and goes for your cock with her lips immediately. Eunbi’s pink tongue glides on the coat of slick Taeyeon left on your length, delicately cleaning it up. The juices are replaced with her saliva. Carefully, inch by inch, she bobs her head on your dick, collecting the delicious taste of her teacher and the musky scent of your cock.

Her throat still isn’t used to your size. So, when she tries to take you in like she did earlier, she gags. You’re careful not to thrust in her mouth too much. You don’t want to hurt her, or block her from creating those adorable sounds of determination and arousal.

“Good girl,” coos Taeyeon, softly encouraging the girl to go on. “Just breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Take deep breaths. That’s my girl.”

When Eunbi comes back up for air, she’s breathless. Her shoulders ascend and fall with difficult pants. “Did I do good?” she asks expectantly.

“You did better than earlier,” Taeyeon says. “Did he taste good?”

“Yes, he did. But you were delicious, too, mommy.”

“You’ve always been a sweet girl, Eunbi,” Taeyeon remarks. She plants a kiss on Eunbi’s neck. “Just for that, you can have your oppa’s dick and taste mommy at the same time.”

Eunbi draws in a little excited breath. She practically drags you to the teacher’s desk that Taeyeon directs the two of you at, and lies down almost immediately when asked. Taeyeon pulls down your girlfriend’s schoolgirl skirt and volleyball shorts, which boasts a prominent cameltoe. But you and Taeyeon are able to see the real thing after just a few tugs of her clothes downwards.

There’s a genuine smile on Taeyeon’s face. “What a pretty little pussy.” She turns to you. “Tell me, is she tight?”

“See for yourself, professor,” you say without realizing it.

Even Eunbi is surprised. She lifts her back off the table. “Oppa— ah!”

Taeyeon’s finger finds shelter in Eunbi’s grippy pussy. Eunbi struggles and moans. You can see her little hole clasp onto the singular finger that intrudes its space, and how her enclosed walls part.

“Oh, ,” says Taeyeon with an evil grin on her goddess-like face. “She is.”

She moves her finger in and out, watching Eunbi’s blissful reactions to it.

“How can she take your cock if she’s this tight?”

“I’ll—ah!” Eunbi winces. Her legs close together, but that doesn’t stop the greedy Taeyeon. “I’ll do my best, mommy, I promise! I just want oppa’s cock!”

“Very well. Open your mouth and legs, Miss Kwon. Take those glasses off, too, and get ready. We’re not going to be gentle with you.”

Eunbi does as told. The honor student in her is still there behind the sex toy she’s become for you and Taeyeon. Her immediate obedience says it all. While Taeyeon throws one leg over the side of the table and her face, you part her legs. Eunbi’s legs never failed to amaze you. Her thighs, though muscular from running around the covered court all day, are full and jiggly enough to hold and use. Maybe one day you’ll give in and fuck her thighs. Cream them with semen milkier than her skin itself.

But her pussy will do just fine today, you think, if not better.

You and Taeyeon go to town in your respective parts at the same time. You fill Eunbi up with one, hard thrust, causing her to moan into Taeyeon’s pussy. Taeyeon sighs happily, too; Eunbi’s warm, wet tongue feels insanely good inside her pussy. Although inexpert and untried, just the steady thrusts of her tongue inside her can do.

“G-good girl, Eunbi,” she sighs. “Good girl.”

Eunbi’s whine of happiness turns into a groan after you form a steady rhythm. The teacher’s desk creaks back and forth along with your hips. You and Taeyeon squeeze and play with Eunbi’s huge tits, sometimes slapping them to draw a muffled, helpless reaction from her. But one look into each other’s eyes confirms this: you need to have each other, too.

Blinded by pleasure to be afraid, you lean forward and kiss Taeyeon. She’s hardly surprised, as if she expected that to happen. She earnestly kisses back. She’s sighing against your mouth. She tastes sweet; you understand now why Eunbi kissed her back like a greedy animal earlier. Your tongue navigates every sweet spot in her mouth, curling ‘round Taeyeon’s own tongue, as she fucks Eunbi’s mouth and you fuck her cunt.

Taeyeon bites your lower lip, licks it, then smirks. “Good boy,” she whispers sultrily. She kisses you again, ignoring the look of utter passiveness in your face caused by her tone and words. Gripping onto Eunbi’s bouncing boob in one hand and the other grasping the back of your head, she pulls you in for a deeper kiss. It’s something you’re glad to reciprocate; you don’t want to hear how pathetic you sound moaning because of Eunbi’s little pussy.

Eunbi has never eaten pussy before, but she knows what feels good. She tests it out by keeping a firm, hard pressure on Taeyeon’s clit. It elicits a positive response: a slightly louder moan from the other woman, and the rougher gyrate of her hips. She can’t see anything besides Taeyeon’s back and round ass. Her legs are numb from the consistent pounding, and she truly can’t feel anything besides breathlessness and pleasure. Her mind goes back to what Taeyeon taught, and finds that what makes her hornier is that Taeyeon is forgoing all that she taught—going against her own teachings, being a hypocrite—and fucking her mouth like she’s just a toy. It makes her so incredibly turned on.

“Fuck! Keep fucking me like that, Eunbi! Fuck yes, fill her up, fill our good girl up like that!”

Your thrusts get rougher, and Taeyeon feels Eunbi’s mouth give their all in eating her. The short, blunt flicks to her clitoris become full-on sucklings alternated with tongue-fucking. Unable to handle it, she lets out a guttural cry, slapping one of Eunbi’s breasts roughly, then wrapping her hands around her pretty neck.

“Come on, toy.” She slams her ass down on Eunbi’s face angrily. Her hands squeeze tighter around the girl’s throat. “Do what you’re good at. Eat my fucking cunt, make me cum.”

Eunbi begins to cry. Her squeal vibrates on Taeyeon’s pussy as her tongue plays with and fucks Taeyeon’s pussy. It’s so messed up, but Eunbi being used impulsively makes you fuck her harder. Her pussy traps your coming-and-leaving shaft as a steady spray of clear squirt goes your way. Eunbi’s screaming, trying to vent her pleasure by eating Taeyeon out more, which causes another orgasm from the teacher. The two pairs of bouncing mounds tempt you, and you have to pull out to blow a heavy load on Eunbi’s breasts.

All three of you are moaning and sighing together, creating an unholy choir of sin that the school choir would find repugnant. Eunbi shivers as Taeyeon lifts herself off her used mouth. Your legs feel like sticks against a heavy wind. You have to grab on the desk for support.

“Did she just squirt?”

Look down at your wet polo shirt and shrug, finding humor at the obvious question and its obvious answer. “I guess so,” you reply.

Taeyeon’s eyes glint with menace. “Make her do it again,” she says.

“What?” you ask, just to make sure you’re hearing her correctly. Now all the humor is gone. She can’t be serious. You don’t know how you’ll make it work. You’re barely coming down from your high, and Eunbi is at the brink of passing out. You can’t give her another orgasm; the two of you are way too spent.

Taeyeon, however, can go for days.

“I said,” Taeyeon grabs Eunbi by the hair and pulls her up, “make her squirt again.”

Eunbi’s tired frame relies on Taeyeon’s to maintain her position of sitting, but she doesn’t need a hand in her hair again to shake her head. She whines in protest when Taeyeon’s fingers play with her pussy again.

“Mommy, no! I’m too sensitive! You can’t!”

“Fuck her pretty cunt, toy,” Taeyeon whispers in your ear. Her finger, which slides back and forth on Eunbi’s clit, grows stronger and faster. “Teach her to take a good cock. Don’t mind her whimpering. She wants it.”

You’re automatically inclined to follow your teacher’s instructions. So, when you slide into Eunbi’s snug pussy again, she screams in pleasure. She grabs for anything—your hand, a chair—but Taeyeon pins her hands behind her back. They’re messily making out again. Eunbi lets out her moans in the form of greedy, wanton liplocks. Meanwhile, you cry out feral groans watching the two beautiful women kissing.

Eunbi’s wrists have fought themselves out from Taeyeon’s hand and have led themselves towards the valleys of her teacher’s tits. You're pretty sure she’s done so to finger her, which is proven when Taeyeon gasps and pins her down even more roughly to the table. They touch each other just the way they like it: roughly and unforgivingly.

Whenever Taeyeon twists Eunbi's nipples, your girlfriend’s cunt clamps protectively around your cock. It’s delicious—it’s difficult to drag it out when all the pleasure from your hands and Taeyeon’s makes her so tight and wet. Taeyeon’s harsh flicks send wet sloppy fluid leaking on the desk. Eunbi’s inexperienced yet somehow skilled fingers drive Taeyeon to hiss and bite down on Eunbi's full lower lip.

“Oppa, mommy’s too good,” Eunbi mumbles weakly. Her legs shake. “And mommy, oppa’s cock is so big. It fills me so well.”

“I know, baby. You’re taking him like a good girl.”

Giving Eunbi one last kiss, Taeyeon scoots over to you. She’s unimpressed; her arms cross, one over the other, below her killer breasts. “How are you going to make her squirt if you can’t fuck her fast?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, professor.”

“And from the boyfriend of a top student, too. You’d think she at least taught you something. Pull out. Now. Somebody needs to teach your girl a lesson.”

You’re actually glad to be able to stop. Eunbi moans at your hard cock leaving her hole, but she screams again—this time because of Taeyeon spanking her cunt.

“Mommy! Mommy, no—mommy!”

“Dumb little girl,” snarls Taeyeon. Her hand makes several rough landings on Eunbi's cunt over and over with little time to recover. You're horrified. “Aren’t you a valedictorian, Kwon Eunbi? You should know better and teach this no-good delinquent to fuck you properly. Do you even remember your classes?”

“Mommy!” Eunbi sobs. Her hips flinch and retract from Taeyeon's hand. “Hurts!”

The girl yelps and whines, but you can see her biting her lip as she watches the teacher punish her. It took your teacher risking her job and literally slapping your girlfriend's vagina for you to realize this: your girlfriend is a freak.

“You like how it makes you cry, don’t you?” asks Taeyeon. She slaps the wet folds until the skin around it is red. “Fucking pain slut.”

“Hurts, hurts, hurts! G-gonna cum again, mommy, please stop, you’re going to make me cum, haaah!”

Eunbi squirms and wails, jutting her legs out while she cums again. In the end, Taeyeon gets what she wanted: a spray of fluids from Eunbi’s pussy. She rubs her nub to prompt more of her squirting. The younger girl’s lower body jerks and moves away, but Taeyeon’s hand always finds her clit again.

“It took spanking to get you to squirt?” the teacher asks, slightly amused.

Eunbi can do nothing but sob and nod. What else is she supposed to do? She looks more tired now than she was post-game. Her naked, beautiful body’s wet and used beyond limit. “Mommy… I’m tired,” she says. “Please.”

“Take your time, angel.” Taeyeon slides Eunbi’s glasses back on her face. Behind the lens, her eyelids barely make it past her brown irises. “You were such a good girl for mommy today.”

Eunbi nods appreciatively. She nuzzles into Taeyeon’s hand. Her whole body feels like it’s going to break anytime soon.

Taeyeon turns to you with a dangerous look in her eyes. That’s how you know she’s not done, at least with you. She still hasn’t had her load, and she’s not leaving without it.

“Now let’s see,” she says, slowly, walking over to you with her shapely hips swaying, “if your little boyfriend can be a good boy.”

You gulp. You’re in for a long ride.

“You sure you can handle me, professor?” you ask. You’re being a hotshot again, you know that, but it’s the only way you know how to deal with nervousness.

You’re gliding her hand across her thighs, taking pleasure in this stalling that benefits you in more ways than one. In doing this, you get to touch Taeyeon’s slim, sensitive thighs, and toy with her prepared pussy.

Taeyeon’s shivering breath is the only indication of her pleasure. Her face remains stoic, almost offending, as she sits on the desk. Her clothes are anywhere but on her body. It’s not like you mind.

“I’d ask you that same question,” she says. She knows how to keep her guard up enough to make you red with humiliation. “But it seems like I know the answer already.”

Pinch her pink nipples. You’re copying Taeyeon’s way of letting her feelings manifest in her little actions and ways, hence the harsh squeeze of your fingers on the nubs. Eunbi watches on with anticipation, searching for the right scene to repeat in her mind to reach her climax. She’s whimpering quietly.

Taeyeon’s slandering you, you know it. It just so happens she does so incredibly sexily. Finding her deserving of a good fucking, line up your cock with her entrance and rub yourself on her lips. Your tip rubs her clit repeatedly.

“Which is?” you ask innocently.

Taeyeon’s breaths are short. “You’re too scared to fuck me,” she says, with no less confidence. In a way, she’s correct, but not for long. “Mmm, you’re scared of what would happen if you get to it and breed me. Your life would be over, you know that, and you’d ruin your girlfriend’s potential to excel.”

Sarcastically: “Am I?”

“Ohh, oh, yes, you are.” It’s a nice save from her. “And that’s not all there is to it, isn’t it? You’re scared of me. What’s promising I won’t tell anyone of what we did? That’s right: nothing, and that’s what scares you. It scares your delinquent ass more than you’d like.”

The table creaks backwards. Taeyeon moans.

You steadily thrust in her, reminding yourself not to be gentle as you would to Eunbi in lighter situations. No, your slut of a teacher deserves to be pounded. If she had to resort to her students to get a good fuck, she might as well get it.

“Am I still scared, professor?” you ask.

Taeyeon’s pussy is as good as the first time you entered her. But now it’s obvious she’s so much more turned on; her pussy grips your cock in any way but gently. Her tits start to bounce again.

“M-maybe,” she weakly gasps out. “With how small your dick is, I’d see why you are.”

Although her lie is clear, it sends a blow to your ego. You force her folds to welcome and swallow more frequent thrusts. Taeyeon is whining; or is that Eunbi you’re hearing?

Take a look at Eunbi and see that her legs, just like her teacher’s, are wide open. She’s rubbing herself while squeezing one boob in her hand. Her moans mix in with Taeyeon’s as she watches the two of you go at it. Needless to day, she’s enjoying the view.

Minutes later, you’ve got Taeyeon sprawled out even more on the table (if that were possible), with a tired Eunbi still kneeling at her side, as you fuck your teacher’s cunt to the point of oblivion. Your cock still drips with semen and precum from the previous sessions, but your desire to keep fucking Taeyeon’s tight, perfect pussy keeps you going. It’s the defiance, the sheer fucking will to go on that prevents you from passing out.

“I think it’s your thing, professor," you whisper in her ear, shedding the honorifics for just this time. “Fucking a pretty little high school student because you know she's curious, and being railed to shit by some delinquent. This cock—”

—Taeyeon gasps when you sharply thrust inside her—

“—and this pretty face—”

—Grasp Eunbi’s face in between careless, rough fingers; she whines pitifully—

“That’s what gets you off, right?” you ask. “Because you know it’s messed up: how good it feels being ruined by some boy who should be a nightmare but is instead the guy who can give you a good dicking-down. It just isn’t right, is it, Kim Taeyeon?”

“Oh, oh my god,” Taeyeon rasps. Her eyes are wide. You've just stripped her feelings out for her, one by one, while you rail away at her mercilessly. Her face is red; she's humiliated, nonetheless, but she's turned on. So fucking turned on.

“So cum for me, mommy.” Speed up your thrusts, grab her bouncing tits before dragging your hand up to her throat. There, you squeeze. “Cum like you want me.”

And cum she does. Taeyeon lets out a feral scream, squirming and struggling on the table. Eunbi, who was touching herself to you and Taeyeon fucking, crawls over and seals her lips around Taeyeon's clit, catching the squirt she expels. Taeyeon propels herself forward, causing your cock to bury itself deeper inside her and Eunbi's mouth to take more and more of her pussy.

“Yes, yes, yes, good boy! Fuck me, fuck me like I’m a whore!” Taeyeon cries. Her beautiful face is stretched and scrunched into an expression of pleasure. Her hips never stop going crazy at the doubled pleasure. “Keep sucking my clit like that, Eunbi-ya; yes, that’s a good girl, yes yes yes please—!”

Eunbi squeezes Taeyeon’s breasts and thighs while you release inside her. It goes against what she taught in multiple classes: safe sex, use of condoms, all that, but you want to continue feeling the beautiful wet walls close in on your cock, like it doesn’t want you to leave her hole.

And if you could, you won’t. But the human body has limits, and it can’t take non-stop sex unless your stamina’s like one of the school athletes. So, you can do nothing but welcome the darkness that covers your line of vision.

In the absence of light, darkness prevails.

The classroom is a mess. White fluid that’s definitely not Elmer’s glue coats the wooden teacher’s desk. You think you’ve broken one of the table’s legs. The floor needs to be mopped with how much of Eunbi’s squirt has sprayed on its tiles.

But you don’t worry about that. Not now, when Taeyeon lovingly takes care of your tired post-sex bodies. She’s dressed now, and although her messy hair and pants indicate a recent frisky session, you don’t suppose anyone would think that.

Through it all, you’re still students Taeyeon cares for.

“My good girl, and my good boy,” she says softly. She might be harsh, but her love is real. She buttons Eunbi’s uniform, kisses her, then kisses your forehead. She’s still trying to find her lost breath, but she’s smiling. She’s smiling despite the messed up morality of the situation as a whole, despite your body looking ragged after multiple climaxes and Eunbi’s body and breasts being marked with her own slaps. If she were asked, she’d do it all again.

“You’ll still be around to please mommy later, won’t you?”

Just like that, she’s put a mark on the two of you. You’re hers and no one else’s from this day forward, and you can’t decide what to feel about it. You had no idea how to react during this whole sex frenzy, but you think that vulnerable, helpless feeling is exactly what makes you smile. The feeling of having someone dominate you, claim you, own you, especially from someone who shouldn’t be.

God, you’re a mess. You’re fucked up. Taeyeon is fucked up. And, in her own little way, Eunbi herself is fucked up, too, but that’s exactly why you have each other.

Someday you’ll look back at all this. You’ll go over everything—meeting Eunbi, being her boyfriend, the whole fiasco with Taeyeon, all of it—and perhaps you'll laugh a little too. All of it is absurd, and is that of a plot straight out of a pornography video. To think it might happen to you, a guy who’s barely above average, would be the main cause of your reminiscent laughter.

They say high school days are wild. You find that to be true; you just bred your sex ed professor, called her mommy and made out with her while she rode your girlfriend’s face. To add to that, your first intimate encounter with Eunbi was raunchy, wild sex. And you sit in the classroom, with her leaning against your shoulder, attending another class as if nothing happened. Halfway through a biology quiz, Taeyeon enters. You don’t know if your eyes were just teasing you, but she winks at you as she leaves. It’s a wink that says don’t get too carried away, toy; we’re not done yet.

#kpop smut #girls generation smut #snsd smut #kim taeyeon smut #taeyeon smut #izone smut #kwon eunbi smut #eunbi smut #x reader #male reader #reader insert #pov smut #request

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bengiyo · 3 months

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Hi, what's your 30 favorite Asian BL characters from dramas or series you've watched? (unless you don't have that many) Thanks.

Nonnie, respectfully, that's just too many characters to write about. However, I have written about The Knowing and why I identify with those characters, and I've written about Framboise, one of my favorite characters of all time.

However, now is as good a time as any to join @lurkingshan and @waitmyturtles in reaffirming my love for Dynamite!

In her post, Turtles talked about how Dynamite and Fire are products of internalized and externalized homophobia. Shan went on in her post to talk about how their story works because of how Fire shifts as he becomes comfortable with himself and his relationship with Dynamite.

I think part of why I feel so protective with it comes to Dynamite and his friends is that I care so much for fem gay men and the kinds of visible queers that don't get loved, especially when they're assertive about themselves. It was always obvious to me why Dynamite, Prem, and Samsee were together. They're all lonely queers who don't expect others to love them or take care of them.

I've noticed over the last decade that fandom really struggles with friend groups like these. It was somewhat similar with the SCOY quartet on the front end, especially Toh. I often wonder if there is a component of visible queerness or gender play that doesn't reach sections of the audience. However, as a gay man who is loved and protected by queers like this, these are my best friends. You've heard my best friend on @the-conversation-pod when David guests, and he is one of those queers. He is a fighter. I am not.

Prem and Samsee clearly know Dynamite's story. The crux of why Samsee is upset with Dynamite at the end of episode 9 and going into episode 10 is because he felt like he should have been trusted with something important about Dynamite. Samsee is the kind of man who is like Whoopi Goldberg: He doesn't want people in his house. However, he opens his door for Dynamite when he loses his apartment, and keeps letting him live there even when he's pissed. Samsee believes in his friends and loves them. Dynamite is the de facto leader of their friend group because they love and trust him. Dynamite is more than just his persistent attraction to Fire.

Dynamite likes Fire because Fire protected him from what clearly reads as a bashing. Dynamite has been thinking about that for years, and toughened himself up because of white Fire inspired in him.

We also know that Dynamite lost his parents to homophobia. You don't get a queer like Dynamite if they're loved and supported by the people who were supposed to do it. You get this when he's loved and supported by the people who chose him. I keep my guest room ready because we sometimes have to take care of a friend in the local community.

When Fire gets serious about Jane and weird about Dynamite, he backs off, forcing Fire to come after him. He knows that Fire is also into him, but he isn't going to be jerked around. It's the sincerity of Dynamite's attraction that makes Metha force Fire to reckon with how he's suppressing who he is.

More than anything, it's that Fire admits this to himself when he can't put up the front anymore. Dynamite is so important to me because so many of us who were closeted are like Fire. We pretend like we don't like gay men chasing us, like Intouch chasing Korn in UWMA, and then we lose them! You will lose confident gays like Dynamite if you treat them like shit and keep calling them annoying. Their friends will call you DL trash and you will not be invited out.

I just love Dynamite so much. He is the kind of gay character I love the most in BL. He's a kinda fem gay man who is earnestly pursuing his hot, super fit love interest. He has the support of his visibly-queer friends. He knows what he wants out of his relationship. He supports his partner through a major difficulty while still being clear about what he wants as secondary to his partner's safety. He is passionate about his goals, and wants to succeed with his friends (I ugly cried about their dish narrative in episode 10).

We have a fully-realized queer character surrounded by complex, layered queer characters. His story and those of his friends are about queer love making people's lives better. He will always be a favorite, and I really hope the people in the audience who've struggled with him can find more ways to appreciate him.

#answered #cooking crush #cooking crush meta #ben writes

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fandomwritingbit · 26 days

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Sweet girl pt.6

Dbf William Afton x (fem) virgin reader

Synop: Your parents are throwing a neighbourhood party, you're looking forward to it. It's too bad you're going to miss all of it.

Warnings: smut, oral, taking of virginity, public sex, coercion, corruption and manipulation. William is pretty evil ngl.

Imma just link to the masterlist, this series is getting well too long lol.

A/n: I've never written cherry-popping before I hope this is okay. This is so far from my experience it's hard to believe it'd be the same even lmao. Also my writer's block has been so fucking bad recently, I need all the slack you're willing to give.

It sounded great when your parents first put it to you: a barbeque a few weekends from now, the whole neighbourhood invited to enjoy some good food and sunshine. The perfect excuse to flaunt a gorgeous lavender dress you bought months ago, it caught your eye on a sales rack, a perfect flowy fabric that clung to all the right places. Your size, a match made in heaven. You can’t help but shiver with the thought of how William will react to it, handsy is the word that springs to mind, not that you are against that.

The day of, you step into that dress, the fabric soft and almost soothing around your body. It’s hot today and you’re glad for the lightness of the material, though you think that maybe the heat on your face is from anticipation. He’s all you think about, the danger of him asking you to touch him with your dad barely 10 feet away, the beautiful feeling of his fingers inside you tearing an orgasm out of you like nothing you've had before, the nights you’ve spent calling him and getting off. You’re addicted to all of it and it has your fingers dipping into your panties at any given opportunity.

You pad downstairs about ten minutes before people are set to arrive, finding your mum and dad hurrying around. “Oh you look lovely, sweetie.” Your dad says in passing, carrying an overly big bowl of salad towards your dining table. It was full of all kinds of buffet bits, but enough space left for guests to contribute things, as tends to be customary. Right now the amount of food seems over the top, but you know that once things get going your house will be full of everyone with a tie to the community.

…

And you were correct, your house is swarming. People in the living room, the dining room, outside, all chatting and greeting neighbours that ‘they really should see more often’. You’re herded around groups of people by your mum and dad, introductions and re-introductions said to what felt like hundreds, but was likely only twenty or so. You are as polite as you can, smiling through small talk about your education and how much you’ve changed since last year, but your heart’s not in it, your eyes are constantly flicking around for William. It should be easy to spot him, he's a tall enough fella, but your searching keeps turning up empty.

Your glancing around the room is interrupted by a squeaky, “Oh my god, y/n?” You turn to where the voice is coming from, instantly recognising the girl of your age who was squeezing past your dad to get to you. “I haven’t seen you since… school.” She pulls a face at the word ‘school’ which you commiserate with, you can’t place this girl's name but the mention of school makes you frown. Your manners are important to you but it doesn’t take a genius to realise that if you haven't seen someone in years, there’s most likely a reason why.

“Yeah… It’s been a long time.” You agree, giving her a bright smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. In the middle of this awkward interaction you clap eyes on him and your heart jumps in your chest in such a ridiculous way you pray it doesn’t show on your face. He’s talking to a bloke you know from three or four houses down, a small smile on his face that has an air of amusement like he’s laughing internally at the gentleman’s expense.

You are almost physically pulling away from this conversation but the lass doesn’t stop talking, oblivious to your lack of interest as she tells you all about her cosmetology school and her apprenticeship. You just don’t have the rudeness in you to walk away so you grit your teeth and ride out the conversation, eagerly watching William out of the corner of your eye.

It takes so long trying to get her to leave that by the time she’s got out her phone and is part way through finding you on instagram, William is slinking out of the room. The moment she’s done, you brush her off with a polite see you later, leaving the room in the path your bad influence had used. You’re experiencing some kind of withdrawal from not having his attention, it’s pathetic but it’s true, and achingly obvious in how you walk your house searching for him… again.

You find him in your living room and you edge through a group of chatting neighbours to get through to him and as you get near still unnoticed you find your mum standing beside him, looking up at him and talking through a wide grin. “It feels like a long time since I’ve seen you properly, William.” It takes you no effort to lock onto your mother’s words, they make you frown instantly.

“Yeah I’ve been busy with work.” He shakes his head, “I’ll have to come and see you and Chris soon.” And your lovely daughter, he mentally adds, though some of the intention must show on his face because the woman in front of him puts her hand on his arm. His eyes widen.

“Anytime.” She says, doubling down on it, “I mean it, any-time. I like having you around.” Something about the tone of that turns your frown into a scowl. It’s flirtation, and you burn with anger. Jealousy, yes, you can’t help it, it’s instant, but for god’s sake your dad is right fucking there. You don’t consider how you could be overreacting, the indignation is too strong, so you leave the room in a huff, feeling like a fucking idiot for spending your whole day looking for a bloke who clearly wasn’t looking for you. It stings and in a flurry you remind yourself that all the things you’ve done with him are only your first times, not his.

You’re out of the house before you know it, keeping your head down as you go far to the bottom of your garden where a hedge gives you respite from turning heads. You’re not crying, but you’re not a mile away from it either. Maybe it’s that withdrawal again, but you stand in the corner feeling let down, lonely and stupid. Anger at your mum outweighs anger at William, but the latter is still strong.

You stand there for a while, getting a better grip on your emotions, you need enough of a hold to walk back inside and either brave more of the party or hide away in your room. This is when people need a smoke, you think to yourself, wondering if a fag could actually help relax someone in this state.

Calming yourself down takes a good few minutes but once you get there, you decide that yeah, you need some quiet for a bit, then some thought about why you went off the handle so quickly, why you’re so enamoured by William. But to do that you’re going to have to escape this whole party, preferably without being noticed because if someone asks you how you are right now, you don’t know how you’re going to react.

So you slip out your hiding place, peeking around the hedge to see the silent picture of people through your back windows. Here we go. You cross the garden pretty quickly and soon get your hands on the door handle into the house, you step inside managing to smile at the few heads that turn your way. But that smile soon drops away when he appears. Your heart jumps at the sudden confrontation, so long of trying to catch him but now you don’t want him anywhere near you.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” William’s voice drips with honey and you try to ignore the warmth already settling in your core, but you know it’s a battle you won’t win.

You turn from his invasive gaze, hands a little shaky as you try to close the sliding door behind you. “Hey, where are you going, hm?” His eyes narrow at the blatant way you’re ignoring him, he can’t hold a serious expression though so a confused smirk rests on his face, how sweet you look with that pet lip. He puts his hand on your arm, halting the process of closing the door easily, no force necessary, the touch is enough. “Come with me outside, sweetheart, come on.”

You look up at him frowning, partially from previous anger, partially from fear that someone else will see, how he can dare to be so obvious is beyond you. There’s no room to reason with him, not when he’s already opening the door again, already guiding you through it, that grip still present on your arm. It’s not a firm hold, it’s barely there but, the skin to skin contact has you enthralled.

He takes you all the way back to the hidden spot you left just minutes ago, only this time it doesn’t feel like such a safe space. Once out of view he lowers his head down to look you in your face, not liking when you turn away and so catching your chin with his thumb. “Are you alright, sweet thing? What’s wrong?”

His sickly sweet tone is enough to spark a flash of anger as bright as it is sudden. “Why don’t you ask my mum?” You snap, your voice much more petulant than it is clever, the patheticness of it has your cheeks hot but you double down. William just grins, confusion leaving his brow furrowed. This is new, he thinks, you’ve never taken that tone with him before, it’s fun, shiny-new and exciting.

You continue, provoked by him not understanding what you mean, “...You seemed to be enjoying her company anyway...” You speak dejectedly, your jealousy running riot with you. You want to pull away from him, the lack of genuineness in his expression inflames you, he thinks it’s all a game and you can’t believe you’ve only just cottoned on.

William hums in acknowledgement before dropping his hand from you, you’re glad that he’s taking you that bit more seriously but it’s downright shameful how you miss the contact already.

It takes a lot in him not to laugh, the unfounded envy practically has your eyes glowing. This is good though, such passion all from feeling cast aside, you so desperately want him to want you and that is just perfect. For him. He faces your glare dead on, being very careful not to patronise you too much. “What exactly are you jealous of?”

You open your mouth to protest, hating yourself for being so easy to read. You know your bitterness is written on every inch of you, your closed stance, your harsh jaw, the immature tone of your voice, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s no point denying it, so you don’t bother. “There…” you stumble, having to abandon your daggers to continue, “You didn’t have to flirt with my mum right in front of my face like that… and my dad’s.”

He nods, sighing before answering you through a slick grin, “I think maybe your mam was teasing me, a little.” That grin simply blossoms, thorough amusement peeking out of hiding, “But you more than anyone should know that flirting with me isn’t half as boring as that was.”

You don’t have time to fight the way you flush, it’s not fair, are you really this easy to win over? He’s doing the William equivalent of batting his eyelashes at you and you’re falling for it, you must want to deep down. But you still don’t trust him as far as you could throw him, which is needless to say, not far.

“Come on, why would I even consider your mother when I have her sweet girl looking at me so moody right now, huh?” You roll your eyes at that, moving to turn away and think for yourself but he stops you, his hands on you holding you still and muting the dull noise around you. “At least tell me what I can do to make it better. How can I earn your forgiveness?” He speaks with a certain glee, prideful of his art form, like you’re some puzzle he’s solved before. And with his face close to yours he adds mockingly, “Or have I got it already?”

You want to touch him, shut him up, but you’re a mere corner away from the whole neighbourhood. “You’re slimy.” You speak honestly, well maybe you’re sugar-coating it even, “And I’m not stupid.” Your conviction is there, but the physical support isn’t, you’re looking up at him like a doe, breathing quicker than normal, your chest rising and falling fast in your new dress.

He laughs, “True. But watch it, you’ll hurt my feelings.” He has something else to say, some other mocking teasing syrup, you don’t let him, throwing yourself towards him. Your lips press against his in a sudden desperate way, like you’ve something to prove. Your lack of finesse could be mistaken for hunger but he knows you better than that, he dominates the kiss without much effort, easily pulling you along with his rhythm. He likes you like this, smart, able to see through him, it turns him on. Because what’s better than spoiling a naive young woman? Spoiling one who knows it’s happening and can’t help herself either way.

William breaks the kiss, hands eagerly taking in your shape, “Let me make you forgive me, right here.” As he talks his touch slides low, over your arse and making your back curve against him. “I’m dying to pull this cute dress up.” You need it, just whining some form of approval, wordless at that predator’s glint in his gaze. He slides his hand between your legs and you’re keen, shivering at the spark of pleasure and eagerly angling your hips for more.

He pauses his touch for a moment, breath staggering as he thinks about what he’s going to do, you hardly notice for your own need. When you do look at him, you see him shaking his head, snickering at something unbeknownst to you.

He moves then, debasing himself by dropping to his knees on the grass, hands grabbing your skirt fabric up above your waist band, gathering it there in one to rive your panties down with the other. The cool air invades you, unwarned exposure making you moan. “William-”

“Shush.” He chastises bluntly, as if his thumb wasn’t now resting against your clit and giving it a perfect gentle pressure. He knows what you’re going to say, “You don’t want anyone to see, huh? Well, bite your tongue. I don’t have to worry about mine.” The words are wicked with innuendo and you have to stifle everything in you except a sharp intake of breath when he shows you exactly what he’s doing with his tongue.

It’s dirty, shame-ridden and debauched, but you’re at the mercy of his mouth devouring your cunt. Parting your seam to toy with the slick plea of your hole. You can hardly stand still, body shaking with fretful want, it’s too much and not nearly enough, you have to battle to keep quiet against the vindictive way your core is tightening.

His tongue drags through your slit and he sniggers against you before cruelly sucking your bundle of nerves. You’re grabbing him, pulling him closer, trying to push him away, as you tingle with need for your end. He’s relentless, playing your instrument just right and you have no faculty to ask for respite. Your coil clenches tight and snaps, and you come undone right there in your garden, waves of bliss so bright your legs shake and you need his arms to hold you up. There are tears in your eyes and you don’t know if they’re because of your climax or the emotional whiplash you’ve just endured. You don’t have it in you to care.

He pulls away from you and you watch over-blissed as he wipes your slick from his face on the back of his hand, letting your skirt fall to its rightful position. “Now that’s the perfect thing, I’ve missed.” He stands, his eyes dark with arousal. “You’re a good girl on the phone but fuck there’s nothing like it in person.”

You beam with pride, his praise so much nicer when you’re pliant and glistening from pleasure. How bad an idea that was isn’t lost on you, but it was worth it, even if now you have to pull your knickers up to hide the evidence. As you do, you see how filthy he is, mud coating his knees and you laugh.

Struggling to explain yourself through the shocked giggles you manage to state, “Your trousers are ruined.”

He looks down and sees why you’re so lost in laughter, he had weighed up his options though and tasting your sweet pussy was more than worth the dirt. William attempts to brush some away but it’s never going to happen, and so with a sigh he sniggers, “Am I old enough to have people believe I fell?”

You burst out laughing at that, unable to regain yourself for a while, he deserves that, you think. After some time you are lucid enough to say, “Maybe say tripped instead of fell.” Your cheeks are shiny with both the fit of giggles and the aftermath of your activity, you look so delectable he hardly minds the state of his clothes.

“Why don’t,” William begins, still smirking, and you give him as much of your attention as you can, “you show me your room? I’d like to see it in person.” He’s testing to see how much forgiveness he’s won, you know that, but the prospect of what’s to come is motivation enough to give him it.

“Okay.” You agree, the idea of it has your chest tight but your core knows better, “Should I be scared?” You’re joking, mostly, your room is a different beast, much more personal. Somehow more bare than what you’ve just done.

“Very.”

Walking through your house felt dangerous, like it’s written on your forehead that you’re doing something wrong. People are eating now though, too self-absorbed to notice the rabbit leading the fox to its burrow, which is for the best, all things considered.

He follows you obediently, mind half-focused on your retreating form, the other half pondering just what he’s going to do about this raging erection he’s afflicted with. You looked so sweet taking him in your mouth, so eager to please, malleable. But your perfect unbroken cunt would be just delightful to rut against. As much as he wants to, he won’t- can’t deflower you just yet, not with all these people around to hear the squeaking of bedsprings, hell, the squeaking of you. The idea makes his cock throb and he’s already palming himself before you reach the landing.

“This one.” You say, opening the door for him, your voice sounds much smaller than it did two minutes ago. You are scared, all jokes aside.

He moves past you inside, you’re the one to shut the door, sealing the two of you inside your bedroom. How out of place he looks, this huge hulking figure in your untainted room, the walls pastel, the sheets light and the curtain frilled.

“I could have told you your room looks like this.” His grin is wolfish, the imposition feels very metaphorical and he revels in it. He’s absent-mindedly touching things, a bottle of perfume on your drawers, then a teddy on your bed, you like how they look in his hands, delicate, breakable.

You find yourself speaking before the words are clear in your mind, “William…” He turns to you, still holding the fucking bear, visible overjoyed to be in your private space, piece by piece you’ve let him in here, first through a camera now this, it’s all very correct.

“Hm?”

You’re flummoxed for words, arms folded across your chest in some vain effort to keep yourself together, “I want to t-touch you. On th-the bed.” The request takes a part of your soul with it, it’s unveiled and glaringly obvious, but there’s no other way to say it, that is what you want. Well, some of it.

Chuckling, he throws the teddy aside, “That is the best thing anyone has ever asked me.” He means it, he could touch the peak now with just how pretty you’re talking to him.

He moves slightly and you interrupt him, the rest of your want raising its whiny head. “You’ll have to take t-that off.” You’re pointing at his trousers and he laughs, remembering the muck decorating his legs, but the laughter dies quickly and he fixes you with a quizzical look, eyes narrowed as he again reads you like a book.

“Because of the mud, or another reason?” He teases and you bite your lip, your answer wearing you, more than the other way around. Much like the way smugness is wearing him. “I know you like to see, you’re quite fascinated, aren’t you?” He grabs himself as he speaks, crude, garish and vulgar, and it prickles your sides.

“You like to see me.” You retort, trying not to feel the embarrassment your brain really wants you to.

“Very true.”

…

Fascinated is perhaps the right word, you are fascinated by him. It’s more than just that he’s handsome or you find him attractive, it’s curiosity, desire to understand. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscle on his arms, the hair on his chest, his legs, his cock; it is fascinating.

You start off sitting beside him on your duvet, enjoying the sight of him with his dick in your hand. Observing what your action is doing, how his breath changes for you, then a deep groan when you smear the precum beading on his tip. It’s driving you crazy and in a sudden realisation you need more. You want it all, want to know how his thickness is going to feel inside you, good, bad, dirty and ugly, you need it.

And you tell him.

The view of William above you is insane, the dark greying hair trailing down his chest leading your gaze down to the sight of him stroking his cock, positioned above your cunt. He presses against you occasionally, your hot slick beckons for him and he thrusts himself through it, restraint a heavy weight on his shoulders. It’s maddening.

“Please…” You whine, any trace of dignity you had is long gone, you’re corroded, worn down to your bare minimum and you need him to feel the same way.

He takes his eyes off your glistening cunt to flash you a devastating smirk, “Please, what?” The teasing makes you shift underneath him, desperate for more, that’s just how he wants you. As he watches you he pleasures himself, it’s bloody stupid how weak your pretty hole has got him.

The lewd words burn in your throat, there’s no debate in saying them, not anymore, “Fuck me… please.” You manage to choke out, but it still fails to convey your need to be filled. His fingers had made you see stars, but you’re greedy for more, you want him to come undone inside you. You want to drive him mad.

Well, he didn’t expect you to say that. You want him to take your innocence right now? Right on your lacy fucking bed sheets? With your parents downstairs? Clearly you’re not thinking straight, you’re too fucked up and that is just delicious. Your plea makes his cock twitch in his hand, he wants nothing more than to stretch your sweet pussy around him but you could hardly handle his fingers. You hardly know what you’re begging for.

“You want me inside?” As he speaks he rubs his cock over your pussy lips, there’s an almost sinister quality to his voice that makes your core tighten.

You nod, squirming away from the teasing of your aching bundle of nerves; that’s exactly what you want.

William sniggers, “I can’t, sweetheart. Not with everyone downstairs to hear.” You hardly notice the noises you make, but you’re vocal as anything, whining from the tiniest touch, he has no doubt his cock would make you scream. The reasoning falls on deaf ears, you don’t care because his power over you is too strong. You just want his cock inside you so he becomes as pathetic as you are.

“Please.” You try again, this time shifting your body to roll your hips against his cock to show you’re serious, but your thighs quiver at the stimulation.

In a sudden movement he seizes your jaw, forcing your gaze away from his cock on your swollen pussy to the dark look in his eyes. The restraint is visible, a clear crack in his in-control facade. He can’t help it, your begging is making him leak again, impatient precum oozing from his tip, begging alongside you for stimulation. How’s he supposed to hold himself back from this perfect untouched cunt right here asking him to deflower it?

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He speaks slow, a singsong tone to the words that’s a little sharper than intended due to the continued rolling of your hips. “It’s not to be taken lightly.”

You watch him wide-eyed, understanding his words is a conscious effort. “It’s not just a quick fuck, sweetheart. It’s me breaking this little pussy. Taking your innocence.” He punctuated the filthy point by lining his cock up with your entrance, eliciting a terrified pang of excitement in your core. “Stretching you open. You know what that means?”

He pauses but you don’t have the speech to answer, he thought as much, “Means it’s all mine. My little toy to use whenever I want. Break it over and over.” At this moment it doesn’t occur to you that this is the real William, not just slimy but the honest William who knows he’s bad, creepy, gross whatever you want to call it. The man who’s blatantly moulding you into something he can use, using your sexual naivety against you and playing your mind and body like a fiddle.

You swallow, his words go straight to your cunt making you impossibly wetter. He looks down at you and his control slips from his fingertips, he knows you’re going to feel so fucking good around him, how tight and wet and fucking warm.

“That what you want?” He blatantly asks, the intention thick in the air.

“Y-yes.” You start, your back arching a little, “I want it to be yours.” You know the words are dangerous, but you have no agency to prevent them from leaving your lips. “I want you to t-take it. Please.”

He lets go of your jaw, a particularly mean expression possessing his face. “God, you are fucking stupid.” He speaks quietly but you hear, it stings and you’re unable to tell if he’s kidding or not. He wasn’t, you are stupid to let him get this far, and he’s stupid for going along with your begging.

His cock is still notched tight against your entrance and he holds you squirming still with a hand on your hip. “You’re going to be quiet for me, alright? I’m giving you what you want.” His voice is thick but you hardly notice he even spoke, your heart is pounding and your whole body tense with anticipation.

He parts your walls, pressing in slightly, just the head and your eyes ping wide. You’re wet, drenched even, ready for it but it still hurts. A noise escaped you, wounded, doubling when he presses just that little bit further. “Shh, fuck.” His curse is very telling, you’re strangling him already in the most perfect way, if he’s not careful he’s going to crack his own jaw with how tight it is in restraint. “I told you.” The words are harsher than he meant them, but seeing the tears already welling in your eyes he knows he was right.

His hand comes over your clit, drawing a circle over the bundle and it works, a blaze of pleasure drapes over the invasion but it doesn’t distract you when he moves, forcing himself a lot further in your cunt. You cry out and in a sharp movement he covers your mouth, grunting at how you tense due to the sudden action. “Ah-You’re going to do it, sweet thing. Just relax, you’re tight as a fucking vice.”

You try, blinking through tears, and focus on his rhythm on your clit, it’s better, easing. He moves, slowly pulling out then back in and you see it. The need for him inside, shaping your walls around him, your body squeezes him eager for him to continue.

Your mouth is open behind his hand, muffled sounds leaving your lips, whining, mewling, hooked on the promise of overcoming the ache and snapping the coil inside you more than ever before. If your mouth was free maybe you’d say his name, or kiss him, or curse him, you don’t really know. His movement becomes better, you can take him, he knows you can. So he thrusts deep, making you accept him, your yelp is stifled and your teeth dig into the palm of his hand, it's unnoticed, overshadowed by the perfect feeling of you cunt swallowing him completely.

“God,” He scowls.

The pain dies again, settling back to the muted ache, you’re reeling, full more than should be possible, breathing frantically through your nose. He’s slow, pushing in and out of your hole considerately, as he’d be sure to tell you. And you quickly realise with a startling joy how he digs just right into a spot deep inside you. It’s almost blinding, engulfing you in a doubly quick need to end.

Your cunt throbs and he flicks his eyes back to your face, what a good girl you are. He can feel the change in you, the rise of pleasure over pain, the way you panic at the growth of your end, your eyes say it all fearful of what’s going to happen. You’re close to an end, body burning and falling rigid underneath him. It hits you like a train, each time he shoves himself deep is electric, it's intense and you whiteknuckle just to take the pace he keeps as you cum around him.

“Fuck, baby.” His words are edged with his own ruin, the rhythm of his pace growing brave, selfish, you’re taking it so well. And he loses it, no sense in him to pull out, he doesn’t care, your perfect cunt wants it. He’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet as his warmth spills inside you, thrusts sloppy to push his cum deep inside you. You whimper, it's a dirty feeling, but a right one and seeing the look on his face you realise that you were right, he looks as pathetic as you feel.

He removes his hand from your mouth, your skin red under his grip, freeing you to moan pitifully. You’re wrecked, somehow exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. You don't know how you feel, your climax was like something unreal and when he slowly pulls out of you, you feel empty. William was right, you’re changed.

He sits beside your form still laid exactly as he left you, your pretty pussy flushed and shining. “You alright?”

You blink, like you somehow forgot he was a person able to speak, “Yeah, I think so.” Your voice is hoarse as fragile as the rest of you and it makes him grin.

He looks down at you, and just laughs, at you, at him, at the situation, “What the fuck are we supposed to do now then?”

It makes you chuckle and you run your hand over your face. Yeah, what exactly should you do now?

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #william afton x female reader

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