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notmyneighbor · 1 month

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor mention of blood and gore, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You are walking the yard surrounding your home in early August.

Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger is beside you, his fingers laced with yours as the pair of you leisurely stroll. You love mornings like this. Lazy weekends when you shut the rest of the world out. There is just this, this safe haven you’ve created, away from the city where the invaders seek to gain entry and conquer, where the humans continue to try to see past the lies standing right before them, the deceivers and pretenders like the one whose hand you’re clutching now so tenderly. Except he isn’t like the others; nothing like any of them. He is yours, and you are his. There is nothing else like this phenomenon, what you have with him.

The blackberry bushes lining the picket fence are heavy with fruit, the plump, deep black specimens dull skinned, ripe and ready to be plucked.

“So many of them,” the copycat murmurs, halting beside you as your pace slows and pauses, contemplating the sight of those heavily laden shrubs.

You nod. “My grandparents used to make jam from them. I can remember spreading it on pancakes on Sunday mornings.”

“Do you still recall how to make the jam?”

“Yes. It’s not difficult. Just a bit time consuming. A lot of prep work.”

“We have the whole day. Want to try?”

“Really? You want to?”

“It sounds pleasant.” He tugs you gently towards him. “Everything with you is.” His lips meet yours, warm as the summer sun heating you through the button front dress you’re wearing.

“We need something to gather them in.”

“Will this do?” He reaches for the fabric of your dress about halfway down the skirt portion, lifting the loose material until it forms a kind of scooped makeshift basket.

“That’s what my grandmother did with her apron. Yes, this will do.” You reach for the handfuls he’s gathered, keeping the improvised bowl in place. “Only pick the ones that are black. No purple or red, they’re not ripe. Nothing shiny. Only the dull ones. They should come off fairly easily. If you have to pull too much, they’re not ready.”

The imposter milkman follows your directions and the dip in the fabric you’re clutching is soon full. It is a little awkward walking up the porch steps, balancing the unfamiliar weight at your front. There are stains on his fingers, on your dress as you dump the gathered berries into the colander he grabs from the cupboard for you, followed by a mixing bowl, anything he can find to relieve you of your burden. Overzealous in the picking, perhaps, but you don’t mind. The excessive berries would just have gone to waste otherwise, more than even your wildlife neighbors could indulge in.

“You should get used to having extra weight around your middle,” he murmurs against your ear. Still persisting in the notion of having a baby with you. The previous month had ended with your menses. You’ve no idea if it’s even possible to create a new life with the doppelgänger. You’re still conflicted about it. Afraid for its life, for yours and Francis’. But you can imagine the face. As a toddler. Convinced somehow it would be a boy. Identical in every way to his father. A father as devoted to him as he is to you. The child clinging to your side, standing in those same fields near the house in summer, looking at the world around him with those dark eyes that are unshadowed, not yet tired like his parent’s. Soft brown hair. Human, because you won’t let yourself imagine anything else; refuse to concede that it would be part doppel as well. “I can’t wait,” he says, his arms enfolding you from behind, your hands settling on his, the quartet all resting over your abdomen.

You smile, leaning your weight against his chest for a few moments before reaching for the faucet. It was time to rinse the harvest, removing the stray leaf or stem here and there. You fill a pan with water to boil to sterilize the lids of the mason jars. There are a set of them under the sink. The glass portion needs to be similarly treated. It will be hot in the kitchen with the stovetop working so hard. You lean and lift the window behind the sink a little higher, hoping for any sign of a breeze.

“Go pick out a record to play.” A new tradition. You let your lover choose the music, discovering what he likes best. Perhaps some of Francis’ favorites. Some for the invader alone. You cherish both selections equally.

The man and the doppel themselves; that is something your conscience has struggled with for many weeks now. You think you will always love Francis. But you love the new creature inhabiting his form, too. More and more with each passing day.

The music begins and you smile to yourself. Al Bowlly. Something from two decades ago, but a timeless classic. One of the records your mother had left behind when she’d moved to the city, inherited from your grandparents. You were long overdue for a visit to your mother and father. You’d received a letter not that long ago. Still safe. It was a worry that gnawed at you. One of the reasons you’d joined the DDD in the first place. Wanting to protect your family, the people you love.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

You spread a tea towel on the counter. The jars will air dry there after you’ve finished preparing them.

I'm living in a kind of daydream and I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem, why to me that's everything

“How am I meant to not want to dance with you when this is playing?” Your partner’s lips graze the nape of your neck softly, his hands on your waist.

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

You smile again. A gesture that comes so easily when the imposter is around you. “After. You wanted to make jam, remember?”

“I want to make a lot of things,” he murmurs beside your cheek, his nose nudging aside a stray piece of hair that’s come free from where you’d pinned it up, mouth now on the patch of skin he’s cleared.

“Francis!” You giggle, playfully squirming in his arms. You aren’t really trying to get away. “I need your help. Use those muscles of yours and pulverize the berries. The potato masher is in the second drawer there.”

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

He rolls up his sleeves, beginning to crush the fruit while you gather the measuring cups and sugar.

“I know it’s equal parts berries and sugar. Three minutes to boil? And then another three after the sugar’s been added. Oh, I need the whisk, too. And one of the larger spoons to stir. Yes, that one, thank you.” Francis’ copy hands you the culinary tools you’re searching for, retrieved from the same drawer the masher had been in.

Speaking of which, he’s done a great job with the blackberries, making short work of them. For a brief second your mind teases an imagining of something far less pleasant being ground down like that, pulped human flesh, the gore that is left behind when a doppel feasts on a human. Your grip on the spoon tightens until it’s white knuckled and you force yourself to relax. You’re with him, the one that you love, that adores you. Your home. With the beautiful crooned words of longing issuing from the turntable in the background. Those horrors do not exist here. “Those look perfect. I think that’s maybe around six cups’ worth. But we’ll measure.”

Your estimate of the mixture volume proves fairly accurate. You begin stirring the berries in the stainless steel cook pot, watching the seeded dark red mixture begin to bubble, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall. The doppel is at the sink, already washing the used bowls and tools.

It’s time to add the sugar. You stir it in, once again timing your task, finally deeming the developing jam ready to be removed from the heat of the burner, switching the knob for the pilot light off as you move the pot to an unused burner.

You can feel the perspiration beading on your forehead as you whisk the heated fledgling fruit spread. Nearly there. Your strokes with the thin wired tool were releasing the natural pectin in the berries now. After that it was just a matter of filling and sealing the jars.

“What’s next? What can I do to help?” The doppelgänger asks, resting a hand on your lower back, where the heat lingers, making the dress cling damply to your skin.

“I think this is actually just about ready to start pouring.”

He turns over the mason jars that had been resting upside down over the tea towel to air dry, lining them up on the counter. You transfer small batches of the jam to a batter bowl, making it easier to fill each jar without spilling. A lot of dishes being used for this. Funny how you didn’t remember that part from childhood. Just the fun of making it with your grandmother.

The replicant screws the last of the lids on. The jam looks so inviting. You can’t wait to spread it on some toast with some butter after it’s had a day or two to set. Maybe just one day. You were really craving it now.

“It’s hot,” the imposter says, dragging a hand across his forehead. “I’m ready to head back into the tub after that.”

You like the idea of that yourself. “You should.”

“Coming with me?”

“I was hoping for an invitation.”

He kisses you and you taste the salt of his perspiration. “You look a little flushed. We definitely need to go cool down. And then heat up again.”

“Francis, you’re impossible. Go get the water running. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“It’ll be faster with both of us working together.”

You won’t argue with that, allowing him to assist you. Munching on some leftover blackberries as you work side by side. The last of the dishes done. Everything put away. Shutting off the record player on your way to the stairs. His hands work on the buttons of your dress after you’ve turned on the faucet to fill the tub. You loosen his belt. Shove the hem of his undershirt upward after he’s removed the outer layer. He reaches between his shoulders and pulls it free. You kiss the dip between his pectoral muscles lightly covered with dark hair. Suddenly finding yourself hungry for him.

“Should we wait on the bath for after?” he suggests.

“Yes. Definitely.” You switch the faucet off hurriedly, turning your attention back to him. He’s already entering the bedroom. The temperature in this room is hotter than it had been in the kitchen. No fresh breeze coming in through either of the windows. Just that stifling humidity. It needed to rain.

Undergarments removed. He kisses your bare shoulder, humming the song that had been playing the previous evening, when he’d met you at your front door, the start of your weekend together.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You sit down on the edge of the bed. A hand rests on your thigh as he kneels down. Fingers stained from some of the berry juice, garnet and magenta smudges along cuticles and nail beds. Your hand sinks into the hair you’d trimmed recently, finding it’s already growing long again. You bend to kiss his mouth and he tastes like the fruit, like summer itself, warm and fresh and sweet.

He leans to kiss the breasts that will one day bear the nutrition to feed your child, if it was ever meant to be, sucking gently, each nipple responding to that sensation, rising and hardening, the melody of that love song still emerging all the while.

Blue Moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Then he is between your thighs, every kiss still languid, drowsy, a leisurely summer afternoon gifted in each touch of his lips on your skin. Caressing your legs, the limbs that part to receive him. Gentle kisses on those nether lips, still humming, sending little vibrations into your body.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

His tongue strokes your clit and you lean back slightly, hands sinking into the mattress, arms braced to either side. His hands curl around your thighs and he sups at your sex, the pace still unhurried, easing you along into pleasure. Delving into your entrance, rolling the taste of you on his tongue before sweeping through the petals back to your bud, massaging it from side to side, up and down, pausing every now and again to plant a kiss on your mound or thigh, suckling the bundle of nerve endings and then dipping back into your canal in short, gentle little thrusts, the tune nearing its end, reaching the final verses, but yours have just started, that thrumming he sends through you, deep inside, an echoing response in your core.

Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You let your weight rest on one hand so you can touch his hair again, meet the gaze of those dark eyes watching you, those depthless pools of desire you get lost in, drowning, a tide that washes you away into your release against his mouth.

You're sweating profusely now, damp inside and out as you scoot yourself back to the center of the bed, making room for your companion to join you.

There is always the little surprised sounding moan when he first enters you, as if he’s forgotten that feeling, rediscovering it each time his cock pierces your pussy. His hips roll against you in slow, lazy thrusts. He combs your damp hair back from your face, hair that has completely fallen loose, natural. He kisses your forehead and cheeks and lips, your jaw and throat and ear lobes.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck. His voice sounds raw, full of emotion.

“I love you, Francis.” You grind up against his damp body.

His face hovers above yours. “Marry me.” You gasp as he grabs one of your thighs and rocks forward, pushing deep inside of you. “Marry me, be my wife. Stay with me always.”

Your heart pounds. To be joined with him like that. The mark on your arm only a faint pink line now. The traces of the bite completely disappeared. He wanted to put a ring on your finger. Everyone would know, then. There would be no concealing it.

“Be the mother of my children. Be mine forever.”

“Francis…”

“Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you add softly.

A heavy sigh as his body moves against yours, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “My love, my only, mine.” His pelvis knocks against yours faster now. Your knees tightly embrace his ribs. Every part of skin your lips touch taste of salt. His hair is darker, saturated with sweat, the tendrils clinging damply to his forehead. A drop slides from his nose and pools between your lips. The arms bracing his weight near your face are trembling. So close to the edge of bliss.

“Love,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer, and he spills into you, filling your womb with his seed.

***

You sit inside the bathtub between the doppel’s legs, resting back against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you obey, hearing something being lifted from that basin of water. The wash cloth, you realize, feeling the cool liquid dripping onto you hair, sliding down over your heated face. Repeating until your hair is thoroughly drenched in the bath water, his fingers slicking back those wet tresses, smoothing over your eyes, your cheeks, curling beneath your chin and lifting your face so that he can kiss you. Your eyes open and you see him smiling. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” A rumble of thunder in the distance. Finally, the rain was coming. “Will we lose the power again, do you think?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be so terrible, though, would it? Just being here in the dark together.”

“Not at all. I have fond memories of doing that very thing.” He kisses you again and your stroke the damp cloth over his forearms. “I am going to get you a ring, you know. Propose properly.”

“I know.” You lift his left hand and kiss it. “We should tell my parents. Visit.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Why not? They’ll be your in laws. The grandparents of your children.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “We will need someone to watch the little ones. When it’s time to make more…”

“How many are you planning on?”

“I don’t know. There’s no specific number. I just want it. Badly.”

“I know you do. I do, too.”

“You’re still scared.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you. You, or the children. However many there are.”

“I know you’ll be a good father. A good husband.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are my perfect everything.”

***

You do not lose the power that evening.

There is light for your repast at the kitchen table. Still too soon to indulge in the fruits of your earlier labors—pun intended—and neither of you want to heat up the house again using the stove, so you have a simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, and iced tea, listening to the storm outside, this one much calmer than the last, starting to write a letter back to your parents, beginning with the exciting news of your engagement.

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

You pop a few grapes into your mouth. “Yes. My mom is very similar in personality to me. My dad maybe a little gruffer, but he’ll soften with time. Especially when he sees how well you treat me. He’d probably like it if you asked his permission first. Just as a courtesy. A formality.”

Francis’ copy slices another piece of cheddar free from the block, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “What are you going to tell them about us, exactly?”

“Just that we met while I was working. You’re a resident in the building. The truth, you know.”

“But that’s not the whole story.”

You set your pen down. “I can’t tell them what you are. You know that.”

“Of course not. I’m just…wondering what to say. Or what not to say. How to behave.”

You lift the writing utensil again but don’t use it, merely holding it between your fingers. “Just be you.”

He looks over the top of his glass as you resume writing, neat cursive script filling the page. “Don’t forget to mention how handsome I am.”

“Hush, you.” You smirk, tossing one of the crumpled rough drafts at him and he easily catches it, returning your smile.

“And that I’m a good dancer.”

“You are a great dancer,” you concede, pausing again to tear off another piece of bread.

“We didn’t get to dance earlier.”

“We sort of did.”

His eyebrows lift. “I’ve corrupted you. That’s the sort of innuendo I’d deliver.”

“Speaking of which. No talking about wanting kids when we visit with my parents, at least not yet. They’re against premarital sex. Society doesn’t favor unwed women and it certainly doesn’t favor women who are unwed and pregnant. It’s because of the war. The need to repopulate, our purpose to create more soldiers.”

“We’re engaged, though.”

“Yes. But still not married.”

“I don’t want our children fighting in a war,” he says solemnly.

“Neither do I.” You pause, hesitating midway through writing again. “We are at war already. They’ll be born into it, just by the very nature of who they are. What they are.” You sigh, setting down the pen. The letter could wait for now. You don’t like the dark look on the features of the replicant sitting across from you.

“Come on. I owe you a dance.” You rise, reaching for the doppel’s hands and he allows himself to be tugged to his feet. “Go choose a record for us, my love.”

You clear the table while he rummages through the sleeved recordings. You leave the letter where it is. You’ll finish it in the morning, drop it off on your way to work Monday. At least there was one more day of this relaxed comfort, before you had to go back to the reality of the DDD.

You join your fiancé in the living room, positioning yourself with your dance partner, smiling as you recognize the song that starts to play.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“Fred Astaire, singing to Ginger Rogers. Another classic. This song was from the musical Top Hat. A big hit on the music charts.”

The doppel is silent, his hand warm against your waist, the other clasping your hand as you step and sway in a small circle.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And the cares that hung around me through the week

Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“My mom loves that movie. You’ll curry some favor if you mention it. We’ll have to watch it together. The movie house downtown plays classics on Sunday nights. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Two more verses of the song have already passed by.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. We should go. I’ll take you.”

“A real date.”

“Yes, a real date.”

You grin, nuzzling his jaw. “I look forward to it.”

Dance with me. I want my arms about you

The charms about you

Will carry me through to

“I like making you happy.” He draws back to look at your features. “I want your parents to like me. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too.”

“They’ll love you,” you say softly. “How could they possibly not?”

“Because…”

“No.” You release his shoulder, resting a finger against his lips. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters. I love you. You, inside of this man.” Your hand cups his cheek. “I’ve been calling you Francis all along. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s…not something you could ever pronounce. The differences in language…”

“I’ll do my best to learn.”

“Sweetheart. Call me Francis. That’s who I am now. Your Francis. Yours.” He kisses you, and you become lost in the feel of it, in the sound of the needle of the record player tapping restlessly now that the song has finished, in the lullaby of the soft patter of the rain outside.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #the milkman

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miloformula123fan · 2 months

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Could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader? He opted to hold her hand during the celebration of the Merc's double podium because there were too many people. "Move through the crowd while holding hands so as to not lose one another – and not letting go afterwards". Just something fluff and comfort. Add something if it's not right. Tag me later!! Thanks :)))

sorry it's so short! but I loved writing this fluff, and honestly churned it out in like 1 hour.

also if you have older requests i am working on them, I am just also working on school work.

luckily, all my assessments are nearly done, and holidays are next week so yay! more updates :)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

toto wolff x wife!reader

“AND THAT IS A MERCEDES 1-2 TO THROW THIS CHAMPIONSHIP WIDE OPEN AT THE SAUDI ARABIAN GRAND PRIX AND 3 YEARS AFTER WINNING HIS LAST GRAND PRIX HERE, LEWIS HAMILTON HAS WON HIS 104TH CAREER VICTORY AND WHAT A WAY TO DO IT IN HIS LAST SEASON WITH MERCEDES.”

The rest of Crofty’s speech was drowned out by the cheers of the garage around Y/N as the team who had gone so long without winning, especially Lewis’ side of the garage cheered and yelled and as the pit mechanics came back from where they’d been on the fence yelling and contributed to more noise.

Y/N felt a little overwhelmed. She hadn’t really been in the garage since 2021, due to her husband’s tensions during the year and her wish to continue to just focus on her own career. She tried to insist she was the team’s bad luck charm after Abu Dhabi, until people had pointed out that she’d also been there during the dominant 2020 season. And as she had spent 2022 and 2023, which also were not great years for Mercedes, she’d agreed to do a lot more of her work remotely and come to the grand prixs. She insisted that she was bad luck at the first grand prix, and Toto had basically dragged her along to Saudi.

Maybe she was their good luck charm, she thought, as the garage exploded when Max and Sergio had crashed into each other, making both the red bulls retire. The Ferrari’s had been having problems all weekend but no one truly hoped even when they were sitting in a 1-2.

At least until they’d crossed the line. And then they’d had hope. And then the celebrations had begun. Someone had already found champagne and begun spraying it around, no one thinking about the podium, until all of a sudden everyone was and they were all rushing around and Y/N was all caught up in the rush and being pushed around by everyone, trying to find Toto until she felt a hand slip into hers.

She jumped back, not wanting some strange man holding her hand until she looked up and realised that it was in fact her husband who was trying to hold her hand.

“Sorry…didn’t realise it was you.”

“That’s okay Liebe. I’ve got you. Now lets go watch Lewis on the podium, okay?”

The second she nodded in agreement, Toto slipped his hand back into Y/N’s as he tried to push through the crowd again. Being tall and the team principal helped, and as they weren't coming for the pre podium celebrations, which is where everyone else was rushing towards. As the drivers were hugged and yelled at again by the mechanics (honestly how were they going to have voices tomorrow, and how were the red bull mechanics’ voices not very raspy after doing this practically every week for the past few years). Y/N thought she was going to have to cancel her meetings for the next few weeks as she would just be unable to talk.

Toto pushed through the throng of mechanics, pushing through the Mercedes and Williams colours everywhere, trying to get a good position at the front, and then the announcers began, and Toto and Y/N were wedged against the barrier and they decided to stop and watch the podium.

Y/N watched as Albon mounted the podium, grinning to the feral screams of the Williams mechanics to her left. She’d ended up wedged between James and Toto, smiling at James’ excitement on Alex being on the podium. She smiled at him as the noise from the Williams side of the podium celebration. He smiled back, almost bouncing up and down by the excitement of what Williams was achieving. And as Lewis, George and Bono bounded onto the podium, bringing up a round of screaming and even Y/N raised her hands. And as she raised her right hand, she could feel Toto’s hand, still intertwined with hers. She smiled, locking eyes with Toto.

His eyes twinkled as he smiled down, before his attention was brought back to the podium and yelling at the drivers.

The German and British anthems blared out, and while Y/N knew most of the words of the British anthem (it was mostly just the same words on repeat ‘god save our king’). And while Toto was able to sing the German anthem while Y/N butchered it here and there. She loved listening to her husband singing or talking in his natural language. It was very hot, if Y/N had to admit it.

As they left the podium to go back to the garage, Toto had still not let go of her hand as they continued winding between what felt like millions of people crowding the pit lane.

When they finally returned to the Mercedes garage, and walked up to Toto’s office, Toto finally let go of Y/N’s hand and started to gather up his work and laptop to get ready to return to the hotel.

“Hey, toto?”

“Yes liebe?”

“Why were you holding my hand?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get lost, and I didn’t want you to get lost, liebe.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t you let go of my hand when we got to the podium”

“Do I need an excuse to hold your hand, darling?”

“No but…”

“Then I kept holding your hand because I wanted to keep holding your hand. Is that a good enough excuse?”

“Okay Liebe.”

Toto put all his files and laptop in his left hand after shrugging on his overcoat, and then offered his right hand to Y/N.

“Can I keep holding your hand liebe?”

“Of course you can darling.”

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3

#f1 x reader #miloformula123fan #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fic #toto wolff #toto wolff x female reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 7 months

Text

CONSUMED by dadsbestfriend!Price rn

He and your dad served together when they were both younger men, boys really, and they fought side by side for years before your dad packed all that in and decided not to renew his contract - leaving for a white picket fence life with your mum and you

You’ve never gotten to meet him before, but you feel like you kind of know him anyways because of the stories you’ve grown up hearing. He’s always been like a kind of figment of your imagination, someone your dads always spoken highly of in all of his tales from drunken weekends and adrenaline spiked firefights, he’s like some kind of mythic hero haloed in beer fumes and musing looks that get shut down when your mum asks if they both got themselves into any trouble on their latest gambit

Sure, you’ve seen pictures, you know what his face looks like, vaguely anyways. Apparently he has mutton chops now, something your dad is ‘always shocked by’ when they meet up now. However the pictures don’t do him justice. You realise that quickly after you do lay eyes on him.

You go over to your parents house, summoned for an early birthday dinner for your dad, and that’s when you see him. The man, the myth, the legend is cosied up on your usual spot on the corner couch, at the end of the short side with the chunky red tartan pillow barricading the hard brown couch arm. He turns when he sees you staring directly at him, meeting your gaze with a raised eyebrow.

The pictures didn’t really encapsulate how big he was, how broad his shoulders were as they took up an expanse of the chair back, how expressive his eyes were as they rover over you, how nauseatingly good he looked when ripped out of the confines of ink and paper and pressed into the lumpy old sofa you’d never been so needy to jump onto before.

Every little overworked neuron in your mind was busy exploding while you pictured tugging on his hair and beard and moaning out filthy things for him.

“You must be the kid,” Price observes, not knowing how much it would sting you, “how’s the head?”

If you weren’t aware of how childish it would be you’d huff that you were far from being a kid anymore.

“How’s my what?” Part of you wants to quip back that it’s ‘great- it comes recommended’ but then the sane part of you kicks in and thinks ‘perhaps don’t get yourself kicked out just as you’ve gotten in the door’

“Your dad showed me that charming little photo you stuck in the family group chat from the party last night. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree by the looks of it.”

Your face would flame up like a radiator in the dead of winter, you were just about spluttering and hissing like one too. You’d forgotten all about the drunken selfie you’d sent while in a full haze of peace love and a couple draws of your friend’s j after countless rum and cokes. ‘Love u guys, see ya tomoz’ you’d typed over it - remembering how you fumbled and squinted at the screen just so that it would be halfway coherent. Now sober, you knew it probably wasn’t.

“Fuck me, it actually sent,” you grumbled, jumping when you hear his earthy laugh tumble out.

His voice is like tree bark and honey, stolen straight from the mountains and imbued into his throat. You hang on his every sound, keen eyes glued to his plush pink lips that Peak out from under his beard.

You hardly notice your dad coming in until he’s all but shouting your name, wrapping you in for a bear hug you weren’t in the slightest prepared for.

Every response form there on out was hazy, as if it had been preprogrammed. For the entire night all you’d be able to focus on was John - He’d tell you to call him that after awkwardly addressing him as Sir, though not before something dark slithered over his eyes and passed in the instant it had come.

You’d spent the whole night fixated on John, hanging on his every word, sighing heavily when he reached back and combed through his hair, tousling it to a point that made you wonder if that’s how it looked after a night well spent in passion.

You were lucky you got through the dinner without making an arse of yourself, though to be fair your mum had gotten a jab in about how quiet you’d been. Better that than being embarrassing.

Though you weren’t to get away unscathed. It’d get late and after spending the whole night before fanatically talking and dancing, you had no energy left for being at your parents - present company included or not. However before you could call a taxi, Price would jump in and offer you a lift, claiming taxis were far too unsafe for someone so precious.

It’d make your parents laugh, but you weren’t even smiling. You’d stutter your excuses, telling him he didn’t need to make a fuss, but he’d be persistent. Being an army Captain and all, he was very difficult to argue with, so of course you found yourself in the passenger seat of his monstrous car, watching nervously as the old beast sputtered to life.

“Is this thing even legal to ride?” You’d mutter, frowning at the persistent choking noise that rattled underneath the engine roar.

“Could ask the same about you.”

It was barely a whisper, almost lost to the growl in his throat and the sound of the engine, but you were so sure you’d heard it said nonetheless. The possibility of it sent your back stick straight and your mouth plummeting to the floor, though in the back of your mind you wondered if you’d only heard him say it from out of the depths of your subconscious.

“Excuse me?” You’d chirp.

“I said: couldn’t get you to pull up some directions, could you?”

He’d side eye you as he said it, smiling to himself as he indicates and pulls out onto the road and out of the cul-de-sac.

Right. Directions, of course. You were just being filthy minded, you’d had a long couple days and you were strung out and tired. Why would he insinuate that he wanted to know if you were the right age to fuck or not. Especially when - even if you were by many measures - he was off limits to you. Forbidden. No go. Like the battle zones he probably waded into through his day job.

“Here you go. It’s not far!”

You’d pull up your phone, placing it on the dashboard so that he could see. He’d tell you to put on music too, shocking you when he’d produce an aux cord (by rights this car shouldn’t have even had the words aux cord uttered in it, but somehow it supported one).

“What kind of stuff do you listen to?” You’d ask, waiting to hear whatever dreary nonsense he was likely to come out with.

“What do you think I listen to?” He’d ask, barely paying attention to you as he made his way down the main road. “I’ll be happy with whatever you put on.”

“I mean i doubt our tastes are super similar.”

“You trying to drive at somethin’ here, sweetheart?”

You’d light up at the name, lighting up from the inside out in quiet awe. It’d be a challenge having to suppress your little firework show off happiness, so you’d hide it by shrugging and saying “figured you’d listen to old man music.”

He’d shake his head and grumble about ‘no such thing’ up until you put on an old Killers song and watched him smile - then you’d sagely nod your head and repeat ‘old man music’ delighting in his playful growl.

“Killers ain’t even that old sweetheart, at least stick some Dylan or Cash on if you’re gonna patronise me.”

“This came out in 2004, dude - I don’t know what to tell ya. It’s old.”

“Dude,” he’d grunt back. “Earlier it was Sir, was it not?”

You’d flush again and face the window, suddenly absorbing yourself in the outside world. The way he said that was far too…inviting. The no go zone was looking like the ‘get right the fuck in here and stomp all over your parents relationship with this man’ zone.

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Sorry, sir,” you’d tease. “Won’t happen again.”

Stupid insatiable brat, you’d inwardly curse, watching as Price’s smile widened again, pulling his whole face into a knowing grin.

It’d be clear to see you weren’t the only one fighting the urge to cross the barrier and take what you wanted. And with two people smashing at the confines…well.

One thing was for certain, you knew it in the pit of your belly, there was no way you were going to stay away now.

#captain price #captain john price #dbf!Price

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months

Text

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

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

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 1 year

Text

— after dark

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of gore and violence, angst, self - injury

summary: the demon doesn't think herself deserving enough — every single time she touches wednesday, she does so with bated breath, as if the girl is made of porcelain

word count: 3.4k

The Weather Wane tended to be crowded on weekend afternoons, but Wednesday found herself enjoying the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop, lucky enough to only share the space with some old couple and a few teenagers. She sat in the corner by the window, reading a copy of Dracula, the only sound accompanying her being the quite chatter of other patrons that she quickly tuned down and the shuffling of the yellowed pages when she turned them.

(Y/n), on the other hand, seemed restless. She was sitting next to Wednesday, having long since finished her coffee, her arm draped over the seat, brows furrowed as she glared daggers at the barista working behind the counter. The poor guy had already caught her death stare once or twice as he kept glancing at the pair, averting his eyes quickly with a small shiver before returning to scrubbing at the coffee machine nervously. It seemed like he had something to say to the small ravenette, but with the seething oni basically burning holes into him, growling intimidatingly, it was akin to sneaking over a garden fence that clearly had a ‘beware of the angry dog’ sign plastered over it.

It wasn't like (Y/n) had anything personal against Tyler, she supposed. He didn't seem like a bad guy — hell, he didn't seem like anything at all. There was nothing special or out of ordinary about him. But, as the oni's gaze flicked down to Wednesday's face, her mind started to drift.

What if ordinary was what was best for the gloomy girl?

She was into weird things, of course, but... Being with a human would've been much more safe for her. It would've been a balanced relationship, and she wouldn't have to deal with some of the demonic trais (Y/n) knew vexed Wednesday to no end. Humans did have their own exasperating habits too, but in no way could they be compared to eating raw meat, growling in one's sleep or turning into a ferocious beast every Blood Moon.

Wait. When had (Y/n)'s thoughts taken such a drastic turn? She didn't like wallowing in self — doubt. She was an oni from a powerful bloodline with strong heritage, no human could ever best that. Besides, that bloodline consisted of demons and samurais. She could definitely protect Wednesday when needed.

"(Y/n), are you listening?"

Snapping out of her daze, the oni tilted her head to look at the Addams girl who was plaguing her thoughts, “Hm?”

"I asked if you wanted to take the longer route back to Nevermore. Night would probably befall us half — way... I'll hold your hand so you don't get lost." Wednesday muttered softly, looking up from her book.

The oni grinned, hand moving to tuck a stray lock of raven hair behind Wednesday's ear, her clawed finger gently tracing the smaller girl's cheekbone before she pulled away, "Sure. That'd be great."

Yeah. Yeah, she was pretty great. Eat that, Tyler Galpin.

"Have you decided on the movie yet, (Y/n)?"

The demon groaned at the question, draping her blanket over her head to try and avoid answering.

"I did not," came the muffled response, "I'm having a hard time finding something to your liking that's not going to make me fall asleep halfway through."

"I'll watch whatever you like. I don't care."

"But I do!" (Y/n) shook the fluffy blanket off, her (h/c) hair emerging disheveled, and looked up at the ravenette with a pout, "I want you to actually enjoy what you're watching, not have to sit it through for my sake."

"I really don't care." The ravenette emphasized.

The demon sighed, her clawed finger sliding over the touch pad as she scrolled through the catalogue,

"Fine. But don't complain when it's too cheesy or stupid for you."

It was always like this with Wednesday on movie nights — she'd insist she had no preference, then the second the movie (Y/n)'d choose started, she'd grumble about it. They had watched most of the good horror movies that existed, the girls' favorites being Silence of the Lambs, Saw and Carrie, but the oni's mood would sometimes long for something less macabre, much to Wednesday's displeasure.

Running her hands through her wet hair, the ravenette grabbed her brush and moved to sit on her side of the bed, squinting to take a better look at the screen.

"... Breakfast Club?" She read with a frown, and her gaze slid over to the demon's face, "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"But it's really good! And it has a cool dance scene I thought you might enjoy... " (Y/n) sighed, looking back at the laptop sadly, "Or, you know... We could always rewatch Pulp Fiction again if you want to."

Wednesday sighed tiredly before putting the brush on her nightstand, lying down next to (Y/n) and grabbing her arm to pull the limb to her chest, albeit a little roughly, entwining her slender fingers with the oni's.

"Start the movie." She mumbled finally.

"Wha— really?"

"Start the wretched movie before I change my mind, (Y/n)."

The demon grinned, snuggling closer to the grumpy ravenette. She clicked on the movie poster and pressed space, then rest her cheek on top of Wednesday's head, sighing in content.

"But next time we're watching Tusk."

"No, Wednesday."

The first time Wednesday noticed it, she thought she was seeing things — maybe it had been the lighting, or her imagination playing tricks, but the ravenette didn't really pay it too much thought. She was used to visions haunting her, after all.

They were in class, a few minutes before their break would end, and (Y/n) sat backwards in her chair, elbows resting on the back as she talked to Enid and Yoko at the desk behind her, while Wednesday busied herself with her herbology assignment, having taken a habit of doing all her school stuff at least a week ahead.

At some point the lively conversation died, and the ravenette noticed it was just the vampire and the werewolf talking amidst themselves. (Y/n) was completely silent.

Turning in her seat to glance at the oni, Wednesday saw the demon looking back at her already, chin resting on her arms. Her head was titled a bit, and her (e/c) eyes glistened with fondness, but much to the smaller girl's surprise, the usual slits were absent — (Y/n)'s pupils were widened, taking up her whole sclera.

"Is something wrong?" Wednesday asked, a bit bashful under the gaze.

"No," (Y/n) denied through her lazy smile, "You're just really pretty. I like looking at you. Is that wrong?"

Color dusted Wednesday's pale cheeks lightly, and she turned back to her notes, "It's not, I suppose."

Huh. What an interesting trait. She wondered what the cause of it was.

It happened again when the girls were at Wednesday’s dorm, going over the ravenette’s investigation. (Y/n) was standing in the middle of the room, watching the smaller girl gesture at her hand – made chart, different photos of people, newspapers records and some of her own written notes were spread around the board, neatly arranged.

“Do you know what this means, (Y/n)?” She asked, pushing the papers into the demon’s hands, pointing at the picture, then walking back to her chart, “These are not just some mindless murders, he’s collecting trophies, like a seasoned serial killer. It’s quite impressive, actually.” Wednesday rambled heatedly before turning around to face the other girl, ready to hear her opinion on the case – but the oni wasn’t looking at the papers.

Her gaze was focused on the ravenette, a small grin on her lips, and her slit pupils were widened so much Wednesday swore she could see her own reflection in the orbs.

“... (Y/n). Are you listening?”

“Uh - huh. Yeah. Something something mindless murders, yeah...”

Coming up to stand before the taller girl, Wednesday snapped her fingers in front of her face, successfully waking her demon up from her daze.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm listening." (Y/n) blinked, looking down at the photographs in her hands, and Wednesday watched her pupils become slitted again.

Wednesday hated making out. Everything about it was gross to the girl, from the unhygienic exchange of bacteria to the awful feeling of being so close to another living being. But making out with her demon girlfriend... That was something completely different, and Wednesday found it becoming a perfect stress relief, her favorite past – time activity, something to look forward every time they were alone.

(Y/n) sighed into Wednesday’s lips as her hold on the girl’s waist tightened, pulling her closer where Wednesday straddled her on the bed. The ravenette slid her palms up to the demon’s shoulders, then up her neck, cold fleeting touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, and rested her hands on her powerful jaw. She pulled away, a small string of saliva between their mouths, and her tongue licked over the demon’s big tusks. (Y/n) whined, making Wednesday smile.

When her gaze slid from the oni’s lips up to her eyes, she found the puzzling sight again – (Y/n)’s pupils wide and round as she watched Wednesday, dazed and breathing heavily. Pressing her hands to the girl’s cheeks, the ravenette leaned in to take a closer look.

“(Y/n), your eyes...” she said quietly, “Did you know they do this?”

“Huh?” the demon slurred in reply, not really focusing on the question, “Do what?”

“Your pupils, they get... bigger sometimes. Especially when... When you look at me...” Wednesday trailed off, the realisation hitting her suddenly.

It seemed like the same thing had happened to (Y/n), as the demon’s face turned red and she averted her gaze, draping an arm over her eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

The ravenette sighed, grabbing the oni’s hand to pull it away from her face, “Are you getting shy on me now? Don’t be silly,” she pressed a small kiss to (Y/n)’s nose, chuckling at the way it scrunched under her gentle touch, “It’s a common thing for most felines, actually. Are you a kitten, perhaps?”

“Oh my God, stop.” (Y/n) groaned, hiding her face in her palms.

Wednesday ran through the woods, completely out of breath. Her legs hurt, knees bleeding where she scraped them from falling, and she could barely see where she was going, the night air nipping at her skin and urging her forward. The forest was almost silent – the heaviness of danger hung in the air, making all the wilderness hold its breath.

How long had she been running? Why did the forest seem so endless and dark, like a pit with nothing but void awaiting in the end?

The girl heard a loud roar behind her and picked up pace as much as her tired legs could allow her. Deep down she knew she would never win this chase. It was natural — prey was always meant to be caught by the predator.

Loud growls paired with sounds of leaves crunching under heavy limbs made her realise the creature was catching up. Gathering the last bits of her strength, Wednesday pushed herself to her limits, rushing forward to try and blend in the dark trees.

A flash of (e/c) eyes and huge tusks, and the ravenette went tumbling down on the ground. The demon knocked her off her feet and sent her flying on the forest floor, pining Wednesday to it with her talons painfully sinking into her sides. The ravenette winced, looking up at the furious creature who opened her toothy maw with an animalistic growl, staring down at the small human with heavy breaths. The oni's gaze was absolutely insane — there were no traces of humanity, no traces of (Y/n), warm and soft and full of adoration when Wednesday used to look at her.

Only monstrous hunger remained.

The demon didn't waste any time to bare her tusks, spit dripping as she lowered her head to finally put an end to their cat-and-mouse game. Wednesday grabbed at the monster's face, arms straining as she tried to push the creature away, but her frail hands were barely an obstacle to the demon — the oni's powerful jaws locked on her neck sharply, a loud crunching sound followed, and the creature jerked her head away forcefully, biting a chunk of flesh off the ravenette's throat.

A gargled sound left Wednesday's mouth, a scream muffled by blood gushing out, and she choked on the liquid, fingers digging at the soil around her as her chest contacted in pitiful attempts to gather up air.

Her widened eyes met the wild gaze of the predator above her, and her mouth moved, trying to get something out. Scarlet spilled instead of words, making her choke again, and after a few seconds of painful breaths the girl’s body went completely still.

The demon swallowed the warm meat, licking her lips pleasantly. She grinned, her teeth bloody, and dipped her head again to take another big bite from the delicious dish.

When (Y/n) awoke, she shot up in her bed, a gasp leaving her lips as she tried to steady her breathing.

She looked around, realising she was in her dorm, and not in the forest. It was still dark, and the only light was coming from the window, the moon shining amidst the gloomy sky illuminating her room in a soft glow. She stared down at her lap with widened eyes, palms grasping her blanket in a death grip.

Trying to swallow around the lump in her throat, she pressed her hands against her forehead and her shoulders shook.

Wednesday.

(Y/n) turned her head sharply — the small girl was sleeping soundly beside her, chest rising and falling with gentle breaths, and the demon felt bile rise up her throat.

God. She dreamt of eating her girlfriend. A being that now laid in the demon's bed, completely defenseless and fragile, trusting (Y/n) with her life more than anyone else.

Tearing the blanket off her body and stumbling to her feet, (Y/n) swayed, hitting her side against the desk, and her breathing turned erratic as the girl started to hyperventilate. She grabbed at her head, fingers carding through the (h/c) tresses, and the oni's claws slid down her face, leaving raw bleeding gashes that healed instantly. So the oni clawed at her cheeks again, again and again between choked breaths and pathetic hoarse whines escaping her throat, tears sliding down her chin and mixing with blood in a salty red river.

(Y/n) felt like screaming. She felt like clawing her eyes out, burying her fingers in the sockets of her skull and crushing them to never see the light of the day again.

She didn't deserve to.

Her legs gave out and the oni slid down to the wooden floor, leaning her head against the side of the desk. (Y/n) grabbed at her chest, talons piercing through the fabric of her shirt, wishing her heart would stop hurting. The girl wanted to rip it out of her own ribcage.

A soft touch on her back made the demon shiver, and she looked over her shoulder to find Wednesday sitting on her knees, hand outstretched and gently pressing into (Y/n)'s shaking form. Her expression was calm but in the darkness of her eyes swirled worry.

"Wed- Wednesday... Wednes... day, I... " The oni tried to speak through her quiet gasps and hiccups unsuccessfully.

"I'm here," came soft and quiet reassurance from the ravenette, "I'm right here, (Y/n)."

Clawed hands grasped at Wednesday's arms, and the demon hanged her head, face burying in the smaller girl's chest as she shook, tears coming in a seemingly unstoppable flow. Wednesday hugged the demon closer to herself, hands resting on her back, slender fingers tracing mindless circles there.

She didn't speak again.

“Wednesday? What’s going on?” (Y/n) walked into the ravenette’s half - empty dorm to see the girl gathering her things around the room.

“I was expelled, (Y/n).” Wednesday deadpanned calmly without looking at the demon.

“W... What?”

“It’s the condition Sheriff Galpin imposed in exchange for him not pressing charges. I’m going home.”

“No, this is... This is ridiculous,” the demon felt a lump forming in her throat as she stepped closer to Wednesday, watching her pack her suitcase orderly, “I can talk to Weems. I’m sure she’ll understand, you don’t have to- “

“The decision’s already been made,” Wednesday interrupted, stacking her books in a pile, face completely impassive, “It seems I’ve lost.”

The demon pressed her clawed hands on the typewriter case when the smaller girl moved to grab the handle, “And you’re just going to leave like this?” she asked, frustrated, “When he’s out there, parading around the town as if he’s not a monstrous killer?”

“It does exasperate me, but,“ Wednesday averted her eyes, looking down at the floor, “Xavier’s right. If I’m not here... The prophecy won’t come true.”

“If you’re not here, this stupid school is done for,” (Y/n) grumbled, “But there’s one thing I can promise you. If Tyler ever shows his face around here, they’ll be scraping hyde intestines off the fucking walls.”

Wednesday didn’t reply. Her sagged shoulders straightened again, and the ravenette stepped away to gather what remained of her stuff, “I’ve known not to trust people all my life for the sake of not being let down, but... In the end, I was the one to disappoint everyone.”

“That’s bullshit,” the demon girl snapped, rushing after Wednesday and grabbing her by the hands, turning her around to face her, “You were the most intelligent, cunning and bold person around here. No one could ever compare.”

The demon’s voice shook slightly, and she pressed her blunt tusks into her bottom lip to stifle a sob, inhaling through her mouth with a hiss, before continuing, “You... you taught me to accept myself. To live without feeling unworthy of life. You were here, through thick and thin, by my side, even when I least deserved it...”

She stopped speaking for a moment, closing her eyes. Wednesday opened her mouth to reply, but then the warm grip on her palms tightened, and (Y/n) looked at her again.

“I love you, Wendesday.”

Wednesday’s dark pools of grey widened, and she felt emotions overwhelm her. Suddenly, the realisation came crushing down like a tidal wave – it was the last time she was seeing the oni. She won’t get to feel her touch again, watch her sleep in the dead of night, won’t ever share a desk with her in class. The ravenette felt tears well up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“If there is a single good thing Nevermore gave me... It’s you, (Y/n).”

Wednesday leaned closer to the taller girl, pressing her plush lips against (Y/n)’s, and the oni pulled her closer by the waist, desperately trying to grasp all the warmth of Wednesday’s body to herself. The demon’s heart fluttered every time she kissed the ravenette, as if she had never kissed her before, not being able to get used to the soft feeling of her lips, but the kiss they shared now felt like a sorrowful goodbye, and (Y/n) couldn’t fight a single tear sliding down her face.

When they parted, Wednesday’s heart clenched at the sight of the distraught demon, and she raised a pale hand to gently wipe the stray drop off her cheek, “Don’t cry,” she berated the oni girl gently.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave,” leaning into the cold touch, the demon sighed shakily, “Fuck. What will I do without you?”

“What you always do. Laugh at the most idiotic things obnoxiously, skip classes, growl at people and eat everything without discrimination.”

(Y/n) chuckled, pressing her forehead against Wednesday’s with a small watery grin, “What a charmer you are.”

They stayed like this for a few moments, reluctant to let go of each other, before the demon opened her eyes, “Can I see you to the station?”

The ravenette nodded.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday netflix #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x y/n

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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year

Note

The sexual tension between the prompts ‘i shouldn't allow myself to get this close to you’ and ‘say you want me, and i’m yours’

Please give this to us with Javier Peña

(Also these prompts are so Javier Peña coded, I couldn’t think about anyone but him)

Nonnie, you are not alone in not being able to think about anyone else but Javier Peña for these prompts because I'm right there with you.

Firstly, I apologise - I got TOTALLY carried away with this and managed nearly 3K words for this prompt. Secondly, I apologise for what this is going to do to you all.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 2.7K (Oooops, right?)

Porn with plot below the cut. Mention of religion, drinking, smoking, and description of unprotected piv sex and oral (f receiving). ENJOY.

Javier Peña is in trouble, there is no denying it. When he came back to Laredo after the shitstorm in Colombia he’d wanted a quiet life. Helping Chucho around the ranch, maybe getting in his truck to take weekend trips to places he’d never been before, all the things he thought he was supposed to do with his extremely early retirement from the DEA. He hadn’t banked on the daughter of the towns pastor bounding into his life and testing every ounce of resolve he’d ever had.

He wasn’t a religious man. There was no way he could be with what he’d seen or done in South America, but when Chucho had insisted on him attending church with him in the week that he’d come back, spouting something about needing to get back into town life instead of hiding himself away, his eyes had landed straight on the innocent girl sat in the front row, hands folded on her lap, listening intently to what the pastor was saying.

“Since when did we have a new pastor?” Javier had asked when they’d made it outside, cigarette firmly between his lips despite telling himself he’d give up.

“Moved in a few months ago,” His dad had replied, “Seem a nice family, I think their daughter is twenty-five, just back from college.”

He’d nodded in understanding, trying not to let his eyes drag down your figure too much as you stood with your father at the door of the church to shake hands with everyone filing out to go about their Sunday business. He couldn’t help it though. You were shorter than him with hair falling around your face, framing it perfectly. That day you’d dressed in a modest white dress, falling just below the knee with sandals and he couldn’t help but compare you to an angel in his mind. An angel that he wanted so desperately to corrupt from the second he'd laid eyes on you.

“Bad idea son,” Chucho had warned, “Of all the people in this town you could look at like that, this has to be the worst one.”

He really had tried to heed his father’s advice. He knew it would be a terrible idea. A girl like you needed a straight and narrow man, someone to put a ring on your finger, buy you a house with a white picket fence and have babies. He was not that man. He would never be that man. However, from that day forward he’d seen you more and more.

The first time he struck up a conversation with you was in the grocery store. Chucho had sent him into town to pick up some ingredients for dinner and he’d found you with your head in the freezer section, two pints of ice cream in front of you, trying to decide which one you wanted.

“The mango one is my personal favourite.” He’d offered his advice, feeling like he’d been shot through the chest when you turned to look at him, big, beautiful eyes with an innocence to them he’d not seen in a long time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had mango ice cream before.” You’d replied.

“Well then, you have to try it and then you have to let me know what you think.”

He watched as you smiled at him, setting down the other pint of vanilla ice cream to put the mango in your shopping basket.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly,” Javier spoke, “I’m Javier.” He held out his hand which you took, immediately overwhelmed with how soft your skin was and how small your hand was in his.

You introduced yourself, “I think I’ve seen you at church.”

“I have to admit I’m not a religious man, I just go because my father insists,” He’d admitted, “Probably not the best thing to say to the pastor’s daughter though.” You’d laughed, “Between me and you, I’m not religious either.”

He made a motion that he was zipping his lips which made you laugh even further. A sound so sweet he’d convinced himself he needed to do everything he could so he could hear it at much as possible.

After that he’d found himself running into you more often. He’d make excuses to go to town in the hopes of running into you, he’d figured out your routine – you had lunch with friends at the diner on a Tuesday, always went to pick up ice-cream on a Friday evening and were always at church on Sunday. He’d even joined the library, figuring out you went on a Saturday afternoon to spend an hour picking out a new book and reading the first few pages sat on one of the benches there – something he’d started doing to just so he could spend time with you. He knew he was in too deep. He knew he shouldn’t be trying to get close to you, but the more he learnt about the less he could help himself.

His father had always been a perceptive man and he knew what was going on. Why else would his son be rushing to shower in the middle of the day, changing into shirts that weren’t covered in mud and full of holes to disappear into town for hours on end. It came to a head one Saturday evening when they were sat on the front porch drinking beers together.

“So, are you actually ever going to ask her out, or just follow her around like a lost puppy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Javi had replied, feigning innocence.

“We both know you’re not that stupid,” He’d stated, “Although I always thought you’d be smarter than to think a guy like you would be good for a girl like her.”

Javier would have been offended but it was true. Colombia had traced a darkness through him that he couldn’t shake. Waking up in cold sweats from the nightmares, glaring at the boats he saw riding down the river knowing exactly where they were going and with what on board, remembering all the people who had died, and for what? When he wasn’t with you he was closed off and hard and did he really want that to rub off on you?

“I don’t mean to say you’re a bad person son, far from it,” Chucho had added, “But you’re different since you came back and there something in you that isn’t good for her, isn’t good for you.”

He’d wanted to tell Chucho that he was sure you could help to heal him. That the sunshine and joy you exuded at every moment would be enough to take away the pain he was holding in, but it was too much to ask of you and he knew it. It wasn’t your job to fix his broken shell and he knew better than to ask.

From that day forward he’d stopped going to town so much. He’d returned his last library book and not gone back and his appearance at church was now pretty much non-existent. Chucho had even stopped asking him to go into town for groceries, opting to do it himself.

He knew he couldn’t avoid you forever, but he’d hoped by pulling away that whatever attachment you’d both formed to each other would dissipate. How wrong he had been.

***

The end of summer had arrived, soon it would be harvesting time and then Christmas would soon follow but not until the community came together for the end of summer cookout. Javier had thought about not going but Chucho had insisted. Said people had been asking after him and that he needed to show his face to prove he was still alive if nothing else.

It was warm and he was sipping a beer when he spotted you, stood with a group of your friends with a can of soda in your hand. You’d waved at him when your eyes met, and he’d lifted his bottle in acknowledgement before going back to the conversation he had found himself wound up in with his father and another rancher about the types of feed they were giving to their cattle.

It wasn’t until later that evening when he was fishing around the barrel for another beer that you appeared next to him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” You’d said bluntly.

“I haven’t, I’ve just been busy.”

“Right, okay,” He knew you could see right through him, “You’ve definitely been avoiding me.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ve been avoiding you.” He finally admitted.

“Why?” You’d asked.

God why were you so different? Any other woman he’d spent time with would have taken the hint and left, but not you. You wanted your explanation, seemingly unfazed with what it would be.

“Just seemed like the right thing to do.” He shrugged.

For some reason he’d expected you to be upset but you’d mirrored his shrug, seemingly accepting the stupid excuse for an explanation. He went to turn but felt your hand grab him, squeezing it before turning and walking away, revealing that you’d left a small scrap of paper in his palm.

He looked closely at it and found an address scrawled on it. He knew exactly where it was. The address for the park just outside of town. He knew because when he’d been here at school it was where all the teenage couples had gone to have privacy from prying eyes. There was a big tree at the end of the park which had famously been the place many of his classmates, including him had lost their virginity. Next to the address, the words 9pm tonight. Were scrawled next to it. He shouldn’t go, he really shouldn’t, but then when has Javier ever listened to logic?

***

You were already there when he arrived in his truck, leant against the tree waiting for him. He cut the truck off and switched his headlights off, grateful that the sun was still setting, giving you both enough light to see each other.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” You admitted as he walked to you.

“I considered not coming.” Was his own admission.

“Why did you?” Came the next question.

“Probably something to do with leaving my moral compass at the airport when I arrived in Colombia and never going back for it.”

“Lucky Colombia,” You mused, “I’d like to see what that actually means.”

“Hermosa,” He groaned, “You can’t do this to me.” But he was stepping towards you instead of stepping away.

“It’s actually all your fault Javier,” You smirked, moulding yourself into the tree further as he stepped towards you, “If you hadn’t talked to me about mango ice cream or joined the library just to sit in silence with me and read we’d both be fine,” You looked up at him through your eyelashes as he came to stop right in front of you – the slightest movement and he’d be pressed up against you, “Now all you need to do is kiss me.”

“I shouldn't allow myself to get this close to you.” He spoke, mostly to himself than anything else.

“Say you want me and I’m yours, Javi.”

If he wasn’t already damned to hell he was now. His lips were on yours in the blink of an eye, hands cupping either side of your face as you opened your mouth for him, letting his tongue into your mouth as you groaned. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pressed your body against his and he let out a similar noise to you, moving his hands from your face to the swell of your ass through your dress to pull you as close to him as he possibly could.

You pulled away from his mouth, pushing him back slightly to lean back against the tree. He watched with fire in his eyes as you pulled up the skirt of your dress, revealing to him that you were bare under your dress.

He fell to his knees in front of you, not caring about the dust and dirt his jeans would inevitably pick up, “Querida, eres el diablo.” He’d spoken before placing his hands at your hips, watching you shuffle your feet apart.

His mouth was like white hot heat when it touched your pussy. All those nights spent in your room touching yourself over what it would feel like for Javier to finally touch you were over, and it was better than you ever could have hoped. His tongue was quick and precise, finding your clit and homing in on it in seconds, switching between quick flicks and circles to taking it into his mouth and sucking. Your head was thrown back against the tree in pleasure, your hand threaded into his hair to keep his mouth exactly where you needed it. Within minutes you were cumming on his tongue with his name falling from your lips in a moan.

Your chest was heaving in an attempt to catch your breath when Javi rose from his knees in front of you. He sealed his mouth back to yours, letting his tongue tangle with yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You took hold of his belt loops and pulled him towards you, making light work of undoing the button on his jeans and taking the zip down before he took over, pushing them and his underwear down to pool at his ankles as he lifted you up to wrap your legs around his hips.

“This isn’t… I mean, sorry this is going to sound weird, but this isn’t your first time, right?” Javier spoke, his cock nudging at your weeping entrance whilst he had you pressed against the tree with your legs wrapped around him.

You threw your head back in a laugh, of course he’d ask that right now as his cock was almost inside of you, “Javier, I’m just from a religious family, I’m not a nun,” You shifted your hips as an invitation, “Now please for the love of God, put your cock inside me.”

He did exactly as you’d asked, sheathing his cock in your pussy in one straight motion that had you crying out his name into the ever-darkening night. If you’d have asked Javi if when he pictured the first time, he fucked you it would have been up against a tree, completely bare with nothing but the birds to keep you company he’d have laughed. A girl like you deserved a bed, being fucked by candlelight after he tipped you over the edge with his fingers, then his mouth and then both together before slipping inside of you. He couldn’t say he was complaining though.

Your tight pussy was clenching around him as he thrusted into you, his hand at the swell of your ass to keep you upright. The moans falling from your lips were scandalous and anytime you mixed his name into them he thought he would lose it. You’d begged him to go harder and faster and then begged him to kiss your neck. At one point the straps of your dress fell from your shoulders which in turn made the material fall away from your chest and his lip had latched onto your nipple before you even knew what was happening.

“Hermosa, I’m gonna cum, you need to tell me where you want me.”

“Let me go.” You breathed out.

He did, letting himself slip from your delicious wet heat before setting your feet on the ground. He was almost disappointed until he watched you drop to your knees in front of him and open your mouth.

“Maldito infierno.” Javi whispered to the sky, before locking his eyes with your own as he pumped his cock with his fist.

It took no time at all for him to let out a low groan and cum on your tongue. He’d done his best to make sure it landed in your mouth but his cum painted your cheeks and your chin by the time he was done. His eyes never left yours as he watched you swallow what he’d giving you in your mouth and then watched as your fingers scooped what was left on the rest of your face, devouring that too.

Maybe you hadn’t been the innocent little thing he’d thought you were after all.

#panda writes prompts #Pedro pascal #javier pena #narcos #Javier pena smut #javier pena fic #Javier pena fanfic #Javier pena x you #Javier pena x reader #Javier pena x female reader #Javier pena x f!reader #Javier pena x Pedro pascal #Javier pena fan fiction #JP drabbles

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tackytigerfic · 11 months

Text

I Fall On Grass

Drarry ~ T ~ 3k ~ Friends to lovers, late 30s single dads style

Written as a birthday gift for @sweet-s0rr0w who I am very lucky to have in my life. This Harry is a bit of her and a bit of me, so I won't go through all the references, but it's worth noting that Harry's potions shop in this fic is set just off Diagon, in the same location as Draco's shop in sweet's incredible fic, Nor All That Glisters. Happy birthday, matey, and here's to you.

Harry has a garden.

It’s a good one, as gardens go, long and well-drained and south-facing, all the things Harry didn’t realise mattered back when he moved into Grimmauld Place straight after the Battle, and the garden was a near-wilderness filled with brambles and overburdened fruit trees and the nightly shriekings of urban foxes.

Right down near the fence, where the grass is longest, the wildflower seeds that Harry scatters every year have brought forth flowers. When he first started sowing them, Harry didn’t know what any of them were called, just liked the colours and the smell and the wistful way the slender stems bent and danced in the breeze. But he found a good book in the library, and then read more books, and now he knows the names for all of them. He had never really liked Herbology at school but these days he can appreciate the careful magic of it, the way something grows from nothing, the way tough things can look delicate, the way things in nature can not just survive, but thrive, even when they’re neglected.

Sometimes Harry recites all the plant names to himself when he can’t sleep; yarrow, he says, which is also called seven year’s love and old man’s mustard and nosebleed and soldier’s staunchweed and Achillea millefolium. Harry read in his plant book that Achilles used it to pack wounds on the battlefield, and if it was good enough for a demigod, it’s good enough for Harry’s Sanguine Salve. It’s good for boundary setting, warding off evil, luck in love. Pretty impressive stuff for a plant Harry grew out of a seed ball he picked up half price in the little B&Q on Holloway Road.

Meadow cranesbill—that’s for love too, though maybe everything is, in its own way. Bees adore it, snails hate it, Harry thinks it’s pretty and he snips little bunches to put in the vase beside his bed so that particular delicate blue is the first thing he sees when he wakes.

Toadflax, for breaking hexes; Draco likes that one, thinks it’s useful. For Draco’s last birthday, the one he said he was too old to celebrate so no one was to get him presents, Harry had invited everyone round, including all the kids, and when Draco arrived Harry had given him his not-a-present. A protective charm; linen thread coated with wax, and three Toadflax blossoms strung along the thread, Harry’s Stasis and layers and layers of his protective magic laid over the plump little flowers with their wide mouths and full orange throats. Draco had loved it; he had laughed and laughed, told Harry he was turning into a proper hedgewizard.

He has it hanging on the door of his office in Hogwarts, James told Harry, looking disgusted. “He’s just as much of a saddo as you are, in his own way,” James had added with a sniff. “Flowers, honestly. Just ask him out, Dad.”

Just ask him out sounds easy but Harry feels like it might be impossible in practice, especially when there’s so much to lose. So Harry goes on growing flowers, and Draco keeps coming over at the weekend, and even though there is probably a limit to the amount of times that Harry can watch Draco eat a Magnum without pushing him down into the grass and kissing the taste of ice-cream out of his mouth, he hasn’t quite reached that yet. So it’s fine.

Read the rest of I Fall On Grass on AO3

Inspired by @drarrymicrofic prompt Endlessly

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry microfic #rowing and writing

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nonotnolan · 10 months

Text

Cuerpo Inc: After Hours Perk

“Look, dude... I know you’re not really Jake. The sooner you drop the act, the sooner we can have an actual conversation between us.” I tried not to any trace of fear reach my smile as Jake’s neighbor continued to stare me down, his arms folded across his chest. Thomas was right, of course-- Jake and I had swapped bodies with each other a few hours ago. I wanted to take advantage of the pool in Jake’s suburban backyard, and he wanted to take advantage of my downtown apartment to have a few nights out on the town. It wasn’t specifically against the rules, but since the office frowned upon non-work swapping we had promised each other that we were going to keep it on the downlow. Did he know about Jake’s job? He probably knew about Jake’s job..

“Why would...? Thomas, my man... it’s the weekend! Why the hell would I swap bodies over the weekend?” I gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, like I had seen Jake do to so many of our coworkers back at the office. “I spend enough time during the work week swapping bodies with people so that my company doesn’t have to pay for airfare. After a solid week of swaps across the country, I’m gonna be spending the weekend in my own body, thank you very much.”

Thomas simply shook his head at me. “Yeah, I dunno, man... being Jake’s neighbor, I can’t help but notice a few things.” Jake had warned me that his neighbor on the other half of the duplex was weirdly nosy, but this was a special kind of intrusive that I hadn’t prepared myself for. “It seems like Jake always swaps bodies with someone on Fridays, and he doesn’t swap back until Sunday afternoon or so. Not everyone who wears that body is as good as pretending to be Jake as you are, stranger.”

His benign acceptance of Jake’s body swapping habits was starting to make me question just how often Jake was swapping bodies outside of work hours. Jake swore that he only swapped once every few months, but there was no way Jake’s neighbor would be this suspicious if that were true. “I’m not pretending, it’s really me in here!” I said, laughing as I slapped my chest for emphasis. There really wasn’t any reason for me to double down on this lie, but... telling Thomas the truth felt like giving up, and I wasn’t about to take that loss. “I’m Jake, dammit! What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

“Take your shirt off,” he said, staring me down with a shit-eating grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. There had to be a catch, but I had no idea what it could possibly be. Better to try and just bluff my way through it. “You’re such a weirdo-- you know that, right?” I peeled my tank-top off over my shoulders, trying to mimic the body language I’d seen Jake use before. I wadded it up and tossed it over my shoulder, making sure to maintain eye contact with him as I did so. “Are you happy, now, Thomas? Do you believe me?”

He just smiled at me as his shit-eating grin got even wider. “Quite the opposite, stranger. The HOA around here gets very angry about partial states of undress, so the real Jake wouldn’t go shirtless unless he was behind a fence. So. Let’s head over into Jake’s backyard so we can talk about this further. What is your name?”

“Gah, fine. My name is Ethan,” I said, shaking my head. Not that it really mattered that Thomas had figured out that I was lying, but it still felt weird that he cared so much. I made my way toward the gate, and gestured him through. Jake’s backyard had a nice, tall wooden privacy fence to keep the pool hidden from view, and there was a patio area with a few plastic beach chairs set up near a cheap outdoor table. I’d expected Thomas to be gloating-- it’s what I would have done after calling out someone’s lies like that-- but instead he was typing away on his phone.

“Is this you?” Thomas asked, holding up a picture of a guy in a suit. More to the point, it was a photo of me wearing a suit.

It took me a bit to figure out when that photo had been taken. “Yeah, that’s my body,” I said, staring back at Thomas. I wasn’t sure why he had a photo of me, but I didn’t see much point in trying to lie anymore. “Assuming it’s a recent photo, that was probably taken last Wednesday. I swapped with a guy out in Milwaukee who needed to be local, and he needed someone who was wearing something a bit nicer than business casual.” It was a part of my job as an Accountant / Host. Since my job was 100% virtual, my workplace also expected me to swap bodies with anyone who needed to be local for an important meeting. I’d gotten used to filling out spreadsheets while wearing someone else’s body a long time ago, but not everyone was used to Cuerpo Inc’s casual approach to body swapping. Maybe Thomas was one of them?

“Just thought you should know, he’s using a photo of you on his Grindr profile,” Thomas said, handing me his phone. Sure enough, there was my name and my face on a profile littered with peach emojis, declaring that I was a hungry bottom eager for a hung daddy. Well, that explained why he had a photo of my body. “Jake does this a lot,” he added. “He’ll find a guy with a young face and a slender build, and then spend the weekend knee deep in gay sex. So, when your ass hurts on Monday, that’s why.”

“I appreciate the warning,” I said, giving Thomas his phone back. “I’m a gay man myself, so I’m not too bothered by it, but... it is the sort of thing Jake should have told me before we swapped.” I have to admit, I was not expecting Jake to be into that kind of thing. When he told me he wanted to spend the weekend out on the town, I really did just assume he was going to get super drunk in my body. Jake usually carried himself as a man’s man around the office, talking about beers, sports, or his most recent fishing trip. True, he never mentioned a wife, but I assumed that meant he got burned in a divorce or something. A thought occurred to me as I looked closer at Thomas.

“I can’t help but notice that you also have a Grindr profile,” I said, slipping my hands into my waistband. “Perhaps you would like to enjoy me for some fun out here by the poolside? Seems like this fence would give us a lot of privacy...”

Thomas stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath hitting my chest. “So let me get this straight. I come here to warn you about Jake’s plans to have sex inside of your body, and you decide to... try and have sex inside of his body instead?”

I looked down at him, staring directly into his eyes. “I suppose that is exactly what I’m doing, yes.” It was my turn to stare at Thomas with a wide grin. “It only seems fair, after all. What’s good for my body must also be good for his. And I can’t help but notice that you haven’t turned me down.”

He responded by placing his hands on my shoulders. “Well, now. I suppose I haven’t. But do you really think it would be a good idea for me to fool around with my neighbor’s body while he’s not inside of it?”

I responded by grabbing one of his hands, and sliding it down to one of Jake’s pierced nipples. “I just asked if you wanted to join me. Who said it was going to be a good idea?”

#male body swap #gay body swap #cuerpo inc #casual body swap #after the swap

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daggerspare-standingby · 7 months

Text

The Chase - Part 2 | Hangman x Reader

Wow. The amount of love I’ve received on this fic is absolutely overwhelming and I’m so incredibly grateful. Thank you so so much!

It’s a little too soon for a complete love confession but there is a bit of fluff sprinkled throughout. The rest of it, is coming I promise!

No warnings for this one except Jake being a lovesick fool for someone who’s a little mean to him

Here is Part 2

—

There they were, the damn butterflies that were erupting in your stomach at his caring, but you were determined not to let it show. He doesn’t get to state some claim on you because he saved you from cracking your skull open. “I’ve gotten home alone plenty of times without you before, what’s so different about tonight?” He was quiet for a beat before he answered, his tone laced with sincerity “because I want to spend as much time with you as I can” you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips “Hangman, that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and I’ve heard your pickup lines.” Continuing to walk towards your little rental on the beach, which wasn’t far from the bar making it the perfect location, “I’m starting to think you just want to know where I live, but it doesn’t mean you’re getting invited in.” You cast him a sideways glance, his hands in his pockets walking equally in stride with you, you could tell he was thinking about something very deeply, and also making a conscious effort to stay beside you.

The rest of the walk to your place was quiet, except for your footsteps, until you got to your small bungalow, you stopped at the walkway entrance and turned to face him again. You were surprised he walked the entire way without saying a word. “That must have been the longest you’ve ever gone without hearing your own voice huh?” He looked at you with a small smile forming on his lips “you can be really mean you know that.” You rolled your eyes “I’m not mean Hangman, I’m tired, and cranky and a little drunk”. You watched warily as he leaned on the fence post, his eyes not leaving yours, that smirk still on his face “can I buy you dinner some time?” You couldn’t have helped the surprise on your face if you wanted to “didn’t you just say I was mean to you? And you want to take me to dinner?” He nodded “it’s hot when you’re mean. And I want to know why you won’t call me by my name and only insist on calling me by my callsign, when it’s not the case for anyone else.” You shook your head and sighed “I’m working every night this weekend. I don’t have time to go to dinner.” He scoffed and stood up straight “you have to eat sometime, and there’s places open on weekdays too. Just give it a thought when you’re sober… I’ll see you tomorrow.” You chewed your cheek “goodnight…” as you turned to walk up the stairs to your place, you glanced back seeing him still standing at the end of your walkway. A small amused smile crept across your lips “are you gonna stand there all night?” He shook his head “nah, just til you get inside.” You nodded slowly, “goodnight…Jake.” You walked into the house before you could hear or see his reaction, of his face lighting up and the small fist pump he did as you closed the door. He was falling hard and fast for you, now all he had to get you to do was realize he wasn’t a complete asshole all the time.

Laying in bed that night was not different from any other night, except your hand still felt the weight of his where he was holding it. Sighing and rolling over onto the side you hugged your pillow, a sliver of moonlight shining through the curtains where the ocean breeze blew in from the beach, slowly you drifted off to sleep. Jake returned to the hard deck parking lot and got into his truck, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Javy while you were in the washroom.

“If you really have feelings for her, you need to stop leaving every night with those tag chasers dude.” Javy had handed in the pool cue to Bob and took up residence at a nearby high top table, his beer still in his hand. “I don’t go home with them, the most we get is a heavy makeout session outside the bar, I honestly can’t go any farther because I just see her face and hear her voice echoing in my head when I do. That’s why they all are the complete opposite of her.” Javy shook his head “listen, and listen good ‘cause I’m only going to tell you this one time. If you like her, show her that. Forget the other girls, prove to her that you’re not the guy with his name on the bathroom stall for a good time call.” Jake nodded, considering his friend's words. If anyone was to give relationship advice it was Javy. He’d been with his high school sweetheart for almost 20 years, and 5 of those have been married. Jake would love to have a relationship like that, would kill for it. But he knew that their job was dangerous, what if he never came back? It was a fear that plagued him, he knew especially after Coyote’s g-lock experience that it was a fear for his friend too. That’s why Jake never wanted to settle down, at least until he met you. He knew you were tough, you could probably handle it, him being gone for weeks at a time, though the dagger squad’s deployments were few and far between it was never entirely unavoidable. That’s why he strived to be the best of the best, but could he be the best of the best, for you?

—

Trying to figure out the tag list thing so If I miss you I’m so sorry!

@mayhemmanaged

@horseshoegirl

@dizzybee03

@kmc1989

@lynnevanss

@midnightmagpiemama

@djs8891

@blue-aconite

@rosiahills22

@hecate-steps-on-me

@cherrycola27

@roosterbruiser

@mak-32

@paigewinchester67

@potatothatcanwrite

@potato-girl99981

@theharddeck

@thedroneranger

@hangmandruigandmav

@themusingofagothicsoul

@wayward-river

@perfectprettypisces

@86laura11

@beyondthesefourwalls

Let me know your thoughts! Thank you again so so much

#the chase #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman fic #Hangman x bartender!reader #jake x reader

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hyugaruma · 6 months

Text

House Party (Nakagoshi x Reader)

♡

re: you have a bit of a crush on your friend…

me and my headcanon that nakaoka would have an average businessman older brother

♡

The reverberations of the deep bass shuttered the old, wooden infrastructure of the house, frames creaking as if in protest. The music was too loud to decipher what song was playing; you had to wonder if the neighbors wouldn’t have something to say about it. When Nakaoka went around inviting a bunch of Oya High’s first- and second-years to a party over the weekend, you hadn’t expected to find yourself crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in a traditional Japanese minka house of all places.

“It’s my older brother’s,” Nakaoka explained when you’d first arrived. “He’s a businessman.”

Now, you found yourself hovering at the edge of the room, trying your best to slink as far into the shadows and away from the drunk, dancing crowds as possible. When Nakaoka had mentioned the party to you, you were expecting something small, likely consisting of Nakaoka and Nakagoshi’s closest Oya goons. But this far exceeded your expectations. There was a fair number of women there too, which came as a surprise to you because it seemed that the brawlers of Oya High were far more interested in fighting than courting. Nakagoshi, of course, had been the one to talk you into going to Nakaoka’s “little” party. Otherwise, you would have been perfectly content spending your Saturday night catching up on your shows and snacking on junk food in the comfort of your home. But no, “It’ll be fun,” Nakagoshi had sworn to you. And now, said male was nowhere to be found, and you were left alone hiding at the fray of the party. You could’ve strangled him.

In desperate need for some personal space, you squeezed your way through the crowd of partygoers, somehow managing to navigate yourself out onto the veranda. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the bodies inside the home. However, it seemed a plethora of other people had had the same idea as you; the backyard was nearly just as noisy as inside. A group of guys took turns batting a baseball into the wooden fence surrounding the garden, guffawing loudly at every thunk it made. Scads of people milled about on the porch, swaying to the beat of the music echoing from beyond the walls. Several of them toked on cigarettes, plumes of smoke suffocating the air. Just on the lawn was a table where another group was playing an alcohol party game that seemingly had no discernible rules from which you could tell. Somebody bumped your shoulder as they squeezed past you to join the others on the lawn. You huffed, and contemplated just heading home to your pajamas and bed.

Just as the thought tempted you, you felt an arm snake its way over your shoulders. You turned to see that damned smiling face, if only it wasn’t so charming. Nakagoshi.

“Come out here for the fresh air?” He asked.

You squinted your eyes at him. You had half the mind of telling him off for making you think this was some sort of “small” get-together, but you couldn’t. You never could, not with that smile he’d send your way. “Something like that,” you replied, eyes scanning over the people spread out over the backyard. “It’s not really much better, though.”

Another drunken body knocked into yours as they ambled down the veranda. As you tried to glare after the guy who had just bumped you, your eyes caught a couple making out, dimly illuminated by the porch lights. Your eyes widened, and you averted them.

Nakagoshi turned to look, catching sight of what you had noticed. He chuckled at your fluster, giving you a little shake with his hand on your shoulder. You tried to nudge him off, but he didn’t budge. “Come on,” he said. “I think the front is a little quieter.”

You and Nakagoshi weaved your way through the throngs of people inside, making it back outside to the front porch this time. You both took a seat on the porch ledge. You pulled your knees to your chest to insulate against the cool, breezy evening air. Nakagoshi let his legs dangle off the edge, leaning back with one hand supporting him from behind. Spring crickets just barely made themselves heard over the sound of the party music, like they decided to play along. You let out a deep breath, finally able to relax amidst the frenzy of the night.

Nakagoshi eyed you from the corner of his eye. “I really did think it’d be something small.” He tugged awkwardly at the headband secured around his head. You could tell by his tone that he felt bad. You and Nakagoshi were close; he knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t your typical scene. Though, knowing that, you weren’t quite sure why he decided to convince you to attend the party in the first place.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not so bad. Just a bit overwhelming.”

“Think he just got a bit overexcited knowing he had his brother’s place to himself for the whole weekend.” Nakagoshi leaned his shoulder against the support beam he sat next to, turning his body slightly to face you.

You gave a small smile. “Sounds like him.” A lightning bug floated lazily just past your nose, and you watched it as it flickered off into the distance. The music playing from inside abruptly changed to the next song, and you wondered if somebody complained about what was playing.

Nakagoshi stretched his legs out in front of him, looking around to scout out any people hanging around the front porch. The few that had been milling about when you two first walked out had seemingly headed back inside to regroup with the party. It was just the two of you now. Nakagoshi cleared his throat, trying to be casual but clearly failing with the way you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing,” he laughed, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Just clearing my throat.”

“You can go back inside to the party,” you offered. You felt bad that you pulled him away from his fun Saturday night. Nakagoshi’s friends were probably looking for him right about now. “I really don’t mind. I came, I saw you. I’ll probably head home soon.”

His response came instantly. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assured him. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun. I don’t want to be a killjoy.”

Nakagoshi pulled a knee up and rested his arm on it. He had a serious look on his face as he studied you. You could feel your cheeks growing hot with the way he looked so intensely at you. You wondered if it was obvious how he made you feel. It felt obvious, at least, all the little internal and external reactions you had at anything he said or did. Maybe he did notice, and he just didn’t feel the same. That thought made your stomach twist. It wasn’t like you wanted to risk your friendship with him by outing your feelings.

“You’re not a killjoy,” he finally responded after what seemed like some consideration. “I asked you to come because I wanted to spend time with you.”

You felt your heart jump at his words. You stuffed those thoughts and feelings back down. “I just don’t think I’m as fun as your other friends.”

Nakagoshi laughed. You couldn’t help but to admire the way his face crinkled when he laughed, that boyish attraction that seemed to alight his features. It felt magnetic, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned forward ever so slightly towards him. It was like you needed to be closer to him. You swallowed hard. Again, Nakagoshi didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on you. Maybe it was better that way.

“You’re joking?” He pushed his hand through his messy hair, just for it to flop back down over his headband again. “They’re not half as fun to be around than you are.”

“You’re joking,” your brows knitted together disbelievingly at his words. “They like to go out and fight and drink and make music and do things. I like to… stay at home. I’m boring.”

Nakagoshi snorted and rolled his eyes. This time it was his turn to lean in towards you. You felt nervousness creeping up your spine. Your body almost leaned back in panicked response, but you held steady, soaking in any amount of closeness you could get to him. God, if only he knew how crazy he drove you. Damn him. “I don’t think you have any idea…” he said, a challenging smirk hinting at his lips. His eyes looked dark, even in the glow of the moonlight. Your eyes flickered to his lips for all but half a second. All you could think about was kissing him. He plopped a heavy hand on top of your head. “Not any idea about yourself, do you?”

You were taken aback. “Huh? What does that mean?”

“I mean,” he emphasized, pulling his hand back and giving you a grin worth damning. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You think I try so hard to hang out with you all the time, because, what? Because you’re boring?” Nakagoshi shook his head. “I asked you to come because I wanted to see you. Because I like hanging out with you—“

Before he could even finish his sentence, your lips were on his. It happened so fast it took you a second to realize it had happened. And it was over quicker than it started as you pulled yourself away. Nakagoshi’s eyed widened, but yours were wider.

“Oh shit,” you muttered. You could feel your cheeks were on fire. You had really, truly fucked it now. “I’m so sorry,” you started, feeling the words tumbling abashedly from your lips. “I didn’t mean to do that and I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking and then the stuff you were saying and before I even knew it I just kissed you and, oh fuck, I’m really, really—“

Nakagoshi quickly cut you off by grabbing your face gently between his hands and pulling you back again, this time him initiating the way your lips oh-so-perfectly melded together. You felt your heart swell with all the emotions you had tried so hard to hold back. He was kissing you, Nakagoshi was kissing you. If it was a dream you would have been satisfied with never waking up. But, it wasn’t. And you realized that you should probably kiss him back. Your hands snaked up to grip his black t-shirt like it was the only thing that could tether you to this reality. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, leaning tenderly into the hand which cupped your cheek. His lips were soft, chapped, sweet, everything you had imagined they’d be. You could’ve gotten drunk through kissing him alone.

Your noses faintly grazed each other as you both pulled back. The distance in which you held was small, but felt monumental in comparison to what you had just shared. His eyes were lidded and glossy, like he could’ve kissed you again… And he did kiss you again. Once. Twice. Three more times, like he, too, couldn’t reach his fill of you. You could feel your heart pound with each kiss, and you briefly wondered if it was possible to keel over from too much bliss.

He finally pulled back, really pulled back this time, much to your dismay. Then, he was sending that damn smile your way again. You smacked him lightly on the chest.

“What was that for?” He laughed.

“You—,” you didn’t even know what to say. “You know why!”

“You kissed me first,” he jokingly defended. “Gotta admit, kind of surprised me.”

You let out a huff of a breath, crossing your arms over your chest in mock indignation. Not that you could have been mad about anything in that moment. You felt like you were soaring above the clouds. But it’s not like you were going to let that get to his head. “Surprised myself.”

“I liked it though.”

“Shut up…”

Without warning, Nakagoshi slung a lazy arm over your shoulders and pulled you against his side. “We should do that again sometime. Like next weekend? What do you say, how ‘bout a ‘boring’ weekend next week? Your place?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the way you leaned into his side. A small smile ticked at your lips. “Sounds like my kind of weekend.”

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officebubble · 2 years

Text

Getting familiar

Milf!Wanda x Female reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fingering, fluff

a/n: I apologise for not posting anything for a while, studying for A -Levels is killing me, but here's a little something for the troubles :)

"Go inside boys, I'll be back in a few minutes."

You couldn't help but smirk at the words, making sure to flash the twins a gentle smile as they wave at you before running inside their house.

"They get a little faster every time I see them, you know?"

Wanda sighs, running a hand through her hair as she fans herself, "Tell me about it, my back is on the verge of breaking."

You lean your bike against the white fence, tightening your rucksack on your back, "I could watch them if you want? I never really have anything to do after school anyways."

Wanda waves you off, fixing her dress, as if there were any creases anyways, she's too perfect for measly creases. "That's quite alright, they're at a friends house tonight anyways, I'm just getting them ready."

You hum, shrugging, "Well, if you need anything, you know where I am."

Wanda softly bites down on her bottom lip, pondering for a moment before clearing her throat, "Now that I think about it, I actually have a few things that need looking at. You know, new appliances and what not."

"Oh, sure. I have homework but I can come round later?"

Wanda puts on her flashiest smile, titling her body forward ever so slightly, just for theatrics, "That would be amazing, Y/N. I'll see you then."

You watch as Wanda saunters back into her house, hips swaying so captivatingly. You don't miss the flip of her hair as she peaks at you over her shoulder before shutting the door.

Your palms were sweaty as you approached the Maximoff residence, eyes drifting to the two shadows flittering across the closed blinds to your left, no doubt the twins.

Before you can lift your hand to knock on the door, it flies open to reveal a dishevelled Wanda, two backpacks in hand and a tired smile on her face, "Y/N, you caught me at the best time."

She ushers you in, quickly closing the door and calling for the boys, who eventually sprint through the hall and into your view, "Y/N!"

"Hey boys, you being good for your mom?"

They share a sheepish smile, straightening up slightly and Wanda chuckles, "Of course they listen to you."

You smile at her and when she flashes you a grin, you have to look away, suddenly it was getting extremely hot.

"Alright boys, your friend and his mom will be here soon, get your shoes on."

The twins run off to find their favourite shoes, and Wanda breezes past you to place the twins' bags on the floor while she patters around the kitchen.

You watch her glide around the room, too gracefully considering the imbalance in your knees, and pull a few things from various cupboards.

"Can I get you anything? I'm making dinner but you can have whatever you want."

"I'll just have some water please." You swallow a little difficulty as she flicks the hair off her shoulder in her haste, grabbing a jug of water and a glass before she speaks.

"So, you got any plans for the weekend? Any parties?" She questions, pouring the water into a glass.

You chuckle, shaking your head, "Oh I don't really do that kind of stuff."

She frowns in confusion, sliding the glass over to you, "What, you don't party?"

You shake your head once again, a little embarrassed.

She hums, observing you closely before leaning back against the counter and placing her hands back on the marble, either side of her, "So you're one of the good ones, never does anything bad, homework always done on time."

You nod, scratching the back of your head, "Something like that."

She smirks, chuckling to herself, "I remember when I was in high school. God, I was always going out with my friends, as long as there was a party being thrown, I was there. My parents hated it, said I was too reckless."

Wanda rolls her eyes, dusting her hands off before stepping around the kitchen island, closer to you, "I loved taking risks, the thrill was the best part."

Your breath picks up as she nears, eyes scanning your face menacingly, "That.. sounds fun."

"Oh believe me, it was a lot of fun." Only a few centimetres away from you now, her eyes flicker down to your lips, but the sound of shoes stomping down the stairs pulls her away from you.

"You should try it sometime, take a risk," she whispers before stepping into the hall to gather the boys and take them to the car waiting outside.

Safe to say that glass of water didn't last very long.

"This is really good, Miss Maximoff." You hum, pushing another spoonful of food into your mouth.

Wanda watches you practically inhale your food and chuckles, "Please, call me Wanda. And slow down, you'll choke."

You blush, nodding quickly and swallowing your mouthful, "Sorry."

Wanda stands from her place at the table, checking the watch on her hand and briefly raising her eyes to look at you, "It's far too late for you to be going anywhere, Y/N. I think it's best I call your mom and tell her you can stay for the night."

You thought about it for a moment, while your mom would be more comfortable with you staying with Wanda, she'd be less likely to expect you home so early the next day if you were with a friend. You were 18, you didn't know why it still mattered, but it did.

And you wanted to stay as long as you could, to make sure Wanda got everything fixed of course.

"Actually, I think I'll just tell her I'm with a friend, she'll understand that better than if she knew I was here."

Wanda frowns, but obliges soon enough, making sure you message your mom before finishing your food, she'd hate for her to be worried sick at this hour.

"Finish up, there's something I want to show you." She grins before leaving the room, and you speechless.

"What is all this?"

"Lights we never got fixed, they've been sitting here for a while."

Wanda had led you out to her backyard where fairy lights were scattered around, but they weren't on. She walked you over to the electric box that controlled the lights, and you could tell it was busted.

"How did this even happen?" You asked, observing the cut wires and broken levers.

She laughs, hugging her arms close to her body, "The boys were messing around with it."

You chuckled, turning to her, "I should've known."

"Can you fix it?"

You tilt your head side to side as you think, "I think so, yeah. It doesn't look too damaged."

For the next 15 minutes, Wanda alternated between watching you work and watching tv in the living room, claiming it was too cold outside. Once you'd finished however, you told her to wait at the door and cover her eyes.

She was a little puzzled but did it anyways, and you hoped with all your heart that you'd done a good enough job as you flicked the switch. You waited for a silent moment, thinking that it hadn't worked, but then the lights all flickered on.

You smiled, turning to Wanda and telling her to open her eyes, when she did, the first thing she looked at was you. Sure, the lights were cool but the way they reflected off your eyes was captivating her more.

"What do you think?" You asked, a little apprehensively considering she hadn't said anything yet.

Her slow steps towards you were slightly unnerving, but when she got to you, all she did was smile softly, "Thank you."

The corners of your lips lifted as you watched her look at all the lights, and in a moment of pure confidence, you leant forward and kissed her.

She gasped quietly, eyes closing as she adjusted to the kiss, but it was over as quick as it had started. Her shallow breaths fanned across your face as she tried to take in what you just did.

"What was that?" She asked softly, eyes flickering between yours.

"Me taking a risk." You answered before kissing her once again, Wanda's arms wrapping around your neck as you pulled her in by the waist.

You'd known Wanda for a while, but never like this. She was so soft and so warm, and you never wanted to let her go.

She broke the kiss slowly, stroking her thumb across your bottom lip, "Let's go inside."

There wasn't any part of Wanda that wasn't silky smooth as your hand traversed across her skin. Her hair was splayed out across the pillows and her eyes were on the verge of closing, she was beautiful.

Her melodic sighs and moans were music to your ears as you kissed along the valley of her breasts, her stomach, anywhere you could reach. Her nails were buried in your hair, massaging your scalp and making you hum in satisfaction at the sensation.

"Come here." The whispered command had you lifting your head up to face level with the woman, gazing into beautiful green eyes and gently laying your body completely over hers.

She tilted her head up to kiss you slowly, savouring the feeling of you so close to her while pressing her hips up into you. You knew immediately what she wanted and wasted no time in trailing a hand down her abdomen.

Wanda Maximoff was a sight for sore eyes, and when your fingers pressed against her core and her mouth dropped open in a silent moan, eyes never leaving yours, you knew she was the best sight you'd ever lay your eyes on.

"Right there, oh." Wanda gripped your back tightly when your fingers slipped inside her, whimpering against your shoulder as her blunt nails pressed into your skin.

You dipped your head to attach your mouth to her breast, sucking softly and drowning in the deep moans Wanda lets out as she bucks her hips into your hand and her chest further into your mouth.

You worked Wanda like nobody ever had before and she was breathless from the pleasure. Her eyes were screwed shut and her chest rose and fell against yours as she called your name so quietly into your ear.

Wanda was an image of perfection and you'd have done anything to see her like this forever, but you could see she was getting close. Her breathing was getting shallow and you could feel her twitching against your fingers as you reached spots she didn't know you could.

When her body froze momentarily and she sucked in a sharp breath, you knew she'd reached her peak, and kept a slow pace inside her to help her back down.

When she eventually caught her breath, she was smiling and clutching you closer to her, "That was amazing." Her warm pants of air against your cheek had you laughing, moving the hair from her face and really getting a good look at her.

You loved what you saw.

"Since.. you never go to parties and stuff, where'd you learn to be so good at that?" She smirked, laughing as you hid your face in her neck and kissed it repeatedly, "I'm just asking!"

You groaned in embarrassment, kissing her to silence any further questions. She hummed, tangling her fingers in your hair before pulling away, "I think you'd better clean me up." She grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief.

She laughed as you smirked, kissing messily down her body and praying that this night never ended.

#wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff #female reader #milf!wanda #wanda x female reader

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space-mermaid-writing · 2 months

Text

The Vamp and the Were [IronStrange]

Summary: Tony would mark the day he met a vampire that did not immediately jump at his throat. Just for once – that would be a nice change.

Relationship: Werewolf!Tony Stark / Vampire!Stephen Strange

Tags: hurt/comfort, idiots in love, angst, fluff

Chapter 5: This didn’t go as planned

Every now and then they went on a mission together. It turned out each of them had a special skill set that proved to be useful in some cases. And the company was also nice.

Somehow Stark had managed to crawl into Strange's off-putting shell.

A few days ago, he had contacted the werewolf because several children had disappeared in the same area and he suspected an underground trafficking ring behind it. He had obtained some clothing and toys from those children, which he now handed to Stark in separate plastic bags.

"Can you pick up their trail? There's not enough DNA for a tracking spell."

"So I'm just your better tracking dog?" Tony snorted, without really being offended. "Yeah, sure, it's not like I have more important stuff to do."

Stephen raised his eyebrow. There was a small smirk on his lips. "More important than to possibly save five or more children from a cruel and painful fate?"

Tony was very unhappy about that comeback since it was very valid and he had nothing to counter. So he followed Strange through a portal to the place where one of the children had last been seen.

He took a plush bunny from one of the labeled bags and sniffed it.

Then he checked the surrounding air and concentrated.

When he was younger the many scents used to be overwhelming. But he became pretty good at filtering out what wasn’t of interest at the moment.

A few days ago the lawn had been mowed, and since these past few days had been really hot, the freshly cut grass was on the fast way to become straw. It carried a hint of the typical smell from stables.

Various cats and dogs were living in the area. Tony ignored those scents completely.

A car drove by, diesel engine. The brakes dragged a little and produced a fine abrasion.

Then he noticed something. It was faint, a few days old, and he followed the trail. An Iron Man suit, piloted by Jarvis, was sent to scan the area from there.

Stephen followed him without questioning him.

He knew from experience that if he was dragged out, something crucial would happen. Fortunately, they were in a quieter area of Queens. It was easier to pick out the older lead here than in midtown. And once picked up, he would hardly lose a trail. He didn't even need to shift for it.

Strange walked at his side, eyeing the surroundings. There was still no smell at all of the sorcerer. And that fact was still weird.

Tony was curious how he would smell. Probably something calm with a hint of herbs, like his teas. Something warm and inviting.

The Were shook his head.

He shouldn’t get distracted!

The path led them through a narrow passage between tall buildings. The area became poorer and poorer.

“You’re unusually quiet,” the Were noted after a while.

“I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

“I can track a smell and listen to you at the same time. It’s called multitasking and I’m an expert in it.”

Stephen scoffed. “Alright then. What do you want to talk about?”

Tony led them under a bridge. It smelled like pee. "Oh, nothing in particular. How was your weekend?" He stopped in front of a metal fence and rattled the gate. It was locked. So he tapped his wristwatch, but before he could weld it open, Strange did a swift motion with his fingers and the door magically swung open.

Stephen moved ahead past Tony. “My weekend was fine.”

Tony rolled his eyes and muttered, “Show off,” before he followed him suit. He waited a few more seconds, but Stephen offered nothing more. “Wow, don’t tell me more. I can already picture it as if I’ve been there myself.” His words were dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess: you read an old book, drank some tea and argued with Wong about which of them was on dishwashing duty? Maybe you even washed the cloak.”

The cloak moved as if by wind when it was mentioned. Stephen stopped and turned to the engineer, looking into his eyes. “I went to a dimension that consists purely of energy and gaseous elements. The inhabitants have never seen a solid shape and I had to disguise myself as some kind of smoke. I chased an ill-mannered nebula through some kind of semi-liquid slime and prevented it from passing into our plane of existence.”

Tony blinked. “You’re making that up!” he accused the sorcerer.

There was the hint of a smile on Stephen’s lips. “I also did wash the cloak afterwards.” With that, he started moving again.

Tony followed him, still not sure if he was told the truth or just some nonsense.

Suddenly there was a noise above them. Something approached them through the air, then landed with a gentle ‘thump’.

“Hey Mister Stark, Hello Doctor Strange. I saw the armor nearby and thought you might need some backup with whatever it is you’re doing here.”

The teenager didn’t lift his mask but the men could hear the nervous smile under it.

Tony exchanged a quick glance with Stephen.

The sorcerer shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just a rescue mission,” he said lowly.

That was good enough for the Were. "Sure, but do as we say and stay behind us," he told Peter.

"Yes, totally!" He sounded thrilled to be included.

So the three of them continued on their way, and the men explained the situation to Peter in a few words along the way.

Between the three of them, with the help of Tony's suit in the air, it was easy to find the missing children's whereabouts. Either the kidnappers were not very smart, or they felt very safe.

It was a fucking cliché: an unused office building on a street with lots of warehouses, most of which were empty.

The kids seemed to be locked in a barely furnished room next to an empty open-plan office that covered almost the whole floor. All the doors were glass, but most were covered with newspapers. So were the windows, so they had no visual contact.

Tony had called his Iron Man back down and stepped in it to get a better read of the data.

There were five armed guys in the open office space and two more in another adjacent room.

Stephen, Tony, and Peter quickly came up with a plan: Stephen and Tony would take care of the armed guys, while Peter snuck to the kids. Once it was safe, he would get them out.

They had the element of surprise on their side and between the sorcerer’s magic and Iron Man’s blasting beams, they should make enough commotion to create a clear pathway for Peter.

But, somehow, everything went to shit.

Apparently, the guys had been prepared. Maybe they knew that human trafficking was prone to vampire attacks – or they had done business with them in the past and had taken precautions. Their weapons carried silver bullets and they were both good marksmen and skilled fighters.

They caught Peter on his way to the kids and engaged him in a fight as well.

The guys guarded their merchandise well.

One moment Stephen was dealing with two guys at the same time, only relying on his magic, while Peter dodged the swings of his opponent, and Tony engaged the boss of this little gang in a hand to hand fight, repulsor vs knife.

The next moment, Tony was suddenly in a headlock with a gun to his head. He was wearing his helmet, but he had never tested it if it would withstand a close-range shot. Or several of them at the same spot.

"Freeze or I'll shoot his head off!" the guy yelled at Tony's companions.

The Were growled and clawed his opponent's arm, but the grip around his neck did not loosen. He didn't dare to turn because the guy's finger twitched on the trigger.

Stephen and Peter stopped what they were doing – the sorcerer ever calm, but his gaze was dark and he seemed to be calculating his options in his head. He gave a secret signal to the cloak, which was currently not on his back, but was stealthily approaching Tony's attacker from behind.

Peter on the other hand was still a kid and seeing his mentor in this immediate danger made him go pale. "No, Mr. Stark!" He jerked on instinct as if he wanted to leap over to him and rush to help, but forced himself against it.

Still, it was one move to many.

Tony's attacker aimed his gun at the boy instead and pulled the trigger – one, two, three times.

The Were thrashed against his hold. “No!”

But it was too late. Nothing could beat a bullet.

Except maybe a very skilled vampire.

There was a blur. A flash of blue and red. In the same instant Stephen stood in front of Peter and threw his arms around him in protection.

He hissed in pain as the bullets hit his back. They were perfectly aimed, and they burned so badly that they must be spiked with silver. A metal that was bad for Were’s and Vamp’s alike.

These people certainly knew their stuff.

Peter shrieked, first of surprise at the sudden appearance of the sorcerer, then because Stephen’s protection hug grew very heavy as he slumped to his knees.

Tony went feral. He saw his pack threatened and retracted his faceplate to bite his opponent in his arm. Then he turned in his grip, his claws extended as he transformed.

The armor adapted to his four-legged body like the masterpiece of technology that it was. It no longer covered Tony's entire body. In this form, he preferred to keep his face and paws exposed while fighting.

It was easy to overpower the traffickers after that. Growling angrily, he barely cared about how much he hurt the people who dared to attack his pack. As long as one of them survived in case the authorities wanted to pry more information out of them.

One of them tried to crawl with a broken leg towards the door. A ridiculous attempt to escape. The Were grabbed his trouser leg with his jaw and yanked him back. The man gave a startled yelp as he was thrown ruggedly against a cabinet, where he remained motionless on the floor.

Tony looked around for the other two traffickers, but there was nothing more than a pathetic bunch left of them. That hardly calmed the Were down, even if the enemies were all neutralized. The smell of fear, sweat and adrenaline was still in the air and kept him on edge.

He whipped his head around when he heard Peter’s panicked voice. “Mr. Stark!”

The boy kneeled next to Strange, his eyes wide and worried. The sorcerer sat scrambled, his head hanging low. He was heavily breathing – and bleeding. Shit.

Tony rushed over to the two of them and ducked under Peter’s arms right into Strange’s personal space. Something wasn’t right.

Stephen turned away from him, hiding his face.

The Were was too big for this, needed too much space, so Tony shifted back into his human form, still wearing his armor, and laid his hand onto the other man’s shoulder.

“Doc?”

“I’m fine,” Stephen gritted through his teeth.

“Like hell you are!” The anger that hadn’t completely shifted into worry blazed back to life. “You got shot!”

Those bullets were meant for Peter. How the hell did he manage to get over there in time? Tony hadn’t seen his signature glow of magic.

“I just need to return to the Sanctum.” Stephen had trouble talking under the intensified burning in his back. He needed to get the bullets out of his body. The wounds would heal regardless on the outside. But his flesh would be burned alive from the inside. Like a slow and very painful poison.

The Vamp felt his control slipping. Not on his mind but his body. The urge for blood, for regeneration became stronger. His fangs were out and so were probably his claws, which was why he cradled his hands close to his chest.

It made reaching for his sling ring in his belt all the way harder.

Peter hadn’t left his side, the brave boy that he was.

And now Tony appeared right in front of him. Stephen tried to turn away again, to hide somewhere. Anywhere.

But Tony held him by his shoulders.

Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?

“Please,” Stephen tried again, his throat dry. “Just take the children home. I can manage.”

“You must have hit your head pretty hard if you think we would leave you like that.” Tony's voice softened with his next words. “Stephen, look at me.”

The Vamp shook his head, his eyes shut close and his lips tightly pressed together. That was difficult due to his heavy breathing.

He was a vampire. Undead. He didn’t have to breathe at all, but it helped with the pain and besides, it was a force of habit. He had gotten so used to blending in.

Tony's finger gently but forcefully pushed his chin up. “Stephen.” His voice was so very concerned.

The Were was too stubborn to let this one slide.

And Stephen couldn’t fight it anymore.

Finally, he looked at Tony. His eyes wide in anticipation of the man’s reaction. And glowing red. The open mouth allowed the heavy breathing to continue, his fangs now on display.

Tony needed a second to understand the meaning of what he saw. His eyes darted over the sorcerer’s face, down to his hands – still scarred – but also with long claws.

The fact that the man was still alive – ha – minutes after being shot in the back several times.

He let him go as if burned and stumbled back a few steps. His face is a mixture of betrayal, anger and disgust.

It couldn’t be.

He would have known it. He would have smelled it.

But sorcerers didn’t smell of anything.

“Peter,” Tony addressed the boy that was still crouching next to Strange and who watched the whole interaction concerned and confused. “Step away from him. Now!”

There was no room for arguing in the command.

For the split of a second Stephen’s face showed the hurt he felt. Not the pain from the bullets. Then a carefully put together neutral mask slid in the place.

The boy hesitated only a second before he finally obeyed. But it stung as bad as Tony’s change of behavior.

Stephen was still looking at the man, unsure what he would do next.

Tony seemed not sure himself. He raised his hand with the repulsor glove and it made this little noise signaling that it was active and ready to shoot. But he didn’t fire at the vampire.

Their eyes met. Stephen did not avoid his gaze, nor did he not look away. There was acceptance in his eyes – in those red glowing eyes that didn’t blink.

Tony wasn’t sure he had ever seen the guy blinking.

His ears twitched as his fine hearing picked up the sounds of the children that were still sitting frightened next door, still waiting to be rescued. They needed him. Maybe they even needed medical help.

He grabbed Peter - who had stepped next to him - by the arm and pulled him with him, walking backwards to the door. He kept his hand raised and the repulsor activated until they left the room. Only then he turned around and away from the vampire.

Peter looked at him with big eyes. “Mr. Stark…”

“We got a job to do, kiddo.” His voice was stern, cutting off any further objection from the boy.

Tony tried not to think about the fact he left the man he called friend – the man he probably had preferred to call other things too – behind, injured and bleeding.

That man was a Vamp – an enemy. He had lied to Tony, had deceived him.

Had everything been just pretended? An illusion?

Tony’s heart ached at the betrayal he felt.

He should have killed him immediately. But the sorcerer had saved Peter. And even if he hadn’t, Tony wasn’t sure if he could have killed Strange – even if he was a vampire. And that was alarming in a whole different way.

__________________

Tag list: @jekyllhydetrash @goopierthenyou Tell me if you wanna be added/removed

#ironstrange #doctor strange #tony stark #Vampire Stephen Strange #Werewolf Tony Stark #stephen strange #marvel #mcu #strangeiron #The Vamp and the Were #spacemermaid writes

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yanphobia · 2 years

Text

Cleithrophobia - Chapter 2

Cleithrophobia: The fear of being trapped.

Pairing: Yandere Male Drider OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, Spiders, NonCon Touching, Possible NonCon (depending on reader's interpretation), Implied Female Reader (although it doesn't really factor too heavily into the plot), Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 1 Index Chapter 3

Author's Note: Wooow it's so nice to meet all of you! I was in the process of moving to a new city last week and didn't have the time to check on this account. But seeing how much support I've recieved in that time has been a great surprise ❤️ I'm going to be posting one chapter every weekend and this story has about ten chapters planned for it. Don't ever hesitate to say hi (or give me reading recommendations because I always love a new story!) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you'll enjoy this next installment!

This story was inspired by cobalt-sphinx's Drider x Reader from Quotev.

You were startled awake by Stan’s frantic pounding at the door. You bolted up and immediately regret it as pain floods through your shoulders and back. After last night’s encounter, you had immediately hidden yourself, terrified that that thing would break into your meager little cabin and attack you. You were on high alert, jumping at every sound outside of your window. As the sun began to rise, you must’ve passed out, still wearing your clothes from the night before.

And now you’ve overslept, judging by Stan’s knocking. You open the door and step outside.

“Stan, I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to oversleep.” You figured he’d be angry, but instead he looked worried. He took in your disheveled state but didn’t comment on it, most likely out of politeness.

“...It’s fine, no worries. But I need your help. The new rabbit hutch we just built was torn into last night and something got to ‘em. Think it was a coyote. Anyway, today I’m gonna teach you how to reinforce fences so it don’t happen again.” You felt your stomach turn as he spoke. You knew. You knew exactly what had happened last night.

You remain silent while he shows you exactly what to do. After a brief lesson, the two of you get to work.

“’S a damn shame, too. Those where some premium New Zealand Whites. Now, granted, there were only the two, but I was looking forward to breeding ‘em. Great meat, ya know? Delicious.”

“...Stan, exactly what type of animals live around here?”

“Oh, tons. You mean the bad ones, though, right? Bears, wolves, mountain lions, coyotes, wolverines even. They can be nasty when they want. Thankfully they don’t attack often, just so long as you respect their space.”

“...And... anything else? Are there any, I don’t know, myths or urban legends or anything about something really crazy living in the woods?”

“I’m sure! These lands are old, ma’am, and have been home to some very strange folk over the years. Native Americans, you know, and then settlers, all with their own superstitions,” Stan laughed lightheartedly. “But none I ever heard, not even a Bigfoot sighting. Guess that’s natural, though. The way stories and things just get lost over time.”

As Stan left to reinforce the turkey fences, and you finish up work on the chicken’s, you thought about what he had said. Things really do get lost over time, you thought to yourself. You certainly had. Once, you had dreamed of a happy life for yourself, with a career that you were passionate about and a family that you cherished. You had wanted to begin your life as soon as possible and quickly began creating it without a second thought. But as you matured a bit, and as each goal came closer to fruition, the doubt began to creep in. You fell out of love with your chosen field of study and stayed up at night worrying that you would spend your life working a job that you despised. When your partner, Alex, began describing your future together, excited at the prospect of marriage and starting a family, you only felt smothered. You were being forced, you quickly realized, dragged into an existence that you did not want and could not escape from.

Thinking about this made you uncomfortable, and so you forced it out of your mind.

The day passed without any further incidents, the next one as well. Well, it did until night fell. You had been walking towards your cabin, eager for a hot shower and a bit of relaxation, when you heard the panicked squawking of the chickens. They were out, everywhere, and hysterical. A quick look told you that the gate enclosing the designated area for them and one of the coups had been unlatched, allowing their escape. You quickly rushed back to the house, throwing open the door and calling for Shadow.

“What’s wrong?!” Laura asked, startled by your sudden appearance. She had nearly dropped the dish she was washing.

“Chickens got out. Don’t worry, I can handle it!” you responded quickly, although you knew that Laura would never miss the opportunity to help out. The two of you and your herding dog were quick to start gathering the chickens when you noticed that a few had been scratched up. Immediately, you knew who the culprit was. He had tricked you at first, admittedly, by simply opening the gates instead of tearing into them, but when Laura noted that two of the chickens were missing, you felt your fury grow stronger inside of you.

It was a game, you realized, just a sick game that monster was playing until he decided to kill you. To kill Laura and Stan. Maybe even more. It wouldn’t happen, not to such lovely people. You had brought this farm to his attention, and you wouldn’t allow him to hurt anyone because of it.

You found yourself slamming your cabin door open, grabbing a flashlight and a bowie knife, and charging into the forest. You didn’t even hear Laura’s desperate calls for you to come back.

#yandere stories #yandere fanfiction #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere male #yandere drider #drider oc x reader #drider x reader #drider #tw yandere #yandere writing #yandere oc x reader #terato x reader #terato #cleithrophobia

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daffi-990 · 4 months

Note

Hi Daffi!!!

Tell me about your Fantasy AU!!!

Ahhh Fantasy AU .. my beloved .. that I really need to spend more time on 🥲

The summary for it is:

23 yr old Buck lives with his adoptive father, Bobby, in Los Angeles. One day his life is turned upside down when he’s attacked in the street by what he can only describe as a monster. He’s saved by an attractive stranger named Eddie, who apparently knows Bobby and claims they’re in danger.

He also claims Buck is a powerful mage from another world, and is prophesied to save it from an evil that has plagued it for the last 30 years.

I’ve written small bits and pieces of it, most of it spoilery haha

BUT!!

Your ask actually encouraged me to write the beginning of it! So here is something I whipped up this afternoon in the notes app of my phone ☺️

Buck has lived in LA his whole life and still isn’t used to how suffocating the city can feel. Most of the time he’s okay, happy to explore the city and partake of its nightlife now that he’s old enough to do so, but sometimes the city feels like a cage that he’s trapped in, far away from home. Which is ridiculous because LA is home. Except lately it doesn’t feel like it. The only place Buck is able to find some semblance of peace is out on the trails. When he’s out here away from the hustle and bustle of city life, he feels like he can breathe. The kind of breath that’s deep and expands your lungs to their full capacity. He feels alive out here among the tress, the soft sounds of nature a gentle melody that has the restlessness in his bones quieting down to a dull thrum. It’s why he tries to get out here as often as he can.

Bobby likes to come out here too, in fact the two of them used to come out here together every weekend and camp. They’d eat s’mores and gaze at the stars and spar with the swords Bobby owns. Buck still has no idea where he got them, but they’re the real deal. It took Buck a while to build up the strength to wield one, but once he did he adapted to its weight pretty quickly, favouring the heavy weapon over his foil and sabre.

Bobby had gotten him into fencing at a young age and Buck had instantly loved it. It was a positive outlet for him to work off his excess energy, plus it made him feel like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. Along with fencing, Buck also learnt hand to hand combat through a mixed variety of martial arts, boxing and MMA being his favourite.

Bobby liked to test his skills on their camping trips, and despite being much older than Buck, the man could hold his own. It’s only been the last few years that Buck’s been able to beat him, and that’s probably because of the extra MMA lessons he’s been able to get with his staff discount at the gym.

Buck misses those weekends. They haven’t had one in a couple months now due to Buck’s new job. He has this weekend off though so maybe they can come out here again.

Buck checks his watch for the time. It’s almost 4pm which means he needs to start heading home to get ready for his shift at 6pm. He likes working the night shift at the gym, it’s usually pretty quiet with only the regulars coming in so Buck has a lot of free time to workout himself or just relax after he’s done all his usual jobs. Most of the time he just chills out behind the front desk and watches YouTube videos which almost always results in a YouTube spiral that sees him five videos deep into the subject of how to make your own cheese or something.

Thank you for the ask and the unintentional inspiration haha 😘

wip tag game list

#daffi writes #fantasy au #buddie wip #daffi gets mail #buddie fantasy au

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afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff · 1 year

Text

Little Bit of Love

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x reader

Word Count: 1,748

Summary: Rhett is finally able to take you out of town, and makes the most of it.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Penetrative Sex (p in v, fingering), MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO. For real, this is 18+. I'm putting this warning to cover my own ass as I'm an adult, and if there are minors or blogs with no age interacting with this, you will be blocked. I want you to be safe as well.

Authors Note: For @unmistakablyunknown!! Thank you for giving me that little push to write this. Also this is the first attempt at smut in a hot minute so excuse any cringiness.

Rhett couldn’t help but stare as you slept, your face smooshed into the pillow, body curled as tight as possible into a ball under the covers. He quietly gets out of bed, and presses a feather light kiss to your temple before getting ready for the day. He wasn’t a fan of getting up before the sun even thought of rising, and dealing with negative temperatures but if he wanted to spoil you later today, work had to get done.

He heard you whine from the loss of warmth and his heart clenched. Sometimes he really hated being his dad’s right hand man, but since Perry disappeared, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Plus he needed the money he was being paid so the both of you could try to get custody of Amy. Ever since Trevor died, with Royal and Perry being shady, and Cecelia at her breaking point, you and Rhett took it upon yourselves to take care of Amy. Although for the day and the weekend she would be staying with Royal and Cecelia

“Baby.” You say, voice hoarse from sleep, reaching out to your husband. “Hey darlin, go back to sleep, I’ll be done by 10ish and then we’ll head out ok? Just sleep for a few more hours for me.” He says, running a hand through your hair, leaning down to give you another kiss. You just nod and give him a sleepy smile, watching as he gets dressed and heads out for the day.

Rhett meets Royal at the barn and they get to fixing the fence near the West pasture. The wire kept getting torn out of the posts by the deer and antelope trying to jump over it or crawl under it if they were small enough. They fixed the fence in the nick of time, and Rhett came home to find you on the couch wearing an old hoodie of his and a pair of leggings.

“Hey darlin, you ready?” He asks, as he washes the dirt from his hands in the kitchen sink. “Ready as I’ll ever be, with who knows what you’ve got planned my love.” You say, standing up from the couch and walking to him. He wraps his arms around you and gives you a gentle kiss. “No need to worry, not this time.” He says with a grin, as you lightly slap his arm. He just laughs and grabs the duffle bag you had packed the night before and you both head out to the truck.

He tosses the bag in the backseat and before you can protest he heads to the passenger side and opens your door. You climb in and put on your seatbelt, as he opens the driver's side door and does the same.

The radio plays softly as you leave town and it makes your heart feel light. As much as Wabang was home, it felt restricting sometimes. You rest your head against the window, and feel Rhett grab your hand, fiddling with the wedding ring on your finger.

“Rhett, where are we heading?” “That’s for me to know and you to find out hun.” “Tease.” “It’s what I’m best at.” He says, flashing you a rare smile. He wasn’t much of a smiler when you first started seeing him but over the years he smiles more here and there. It makes your heart do a little pitter patter every time, since you know those smiles are for you and you only.

It’s dark when he pulls into a parking spot at the small motel, and he heads inside to check in. You watch as he comes back out and you hop out of the truck, stretching after the long ride.

You feel the cold air hit your abdomen as the hoodie rides up a little, and it makes you gasp. Rhett whips his head towards you, eyes full of concern. “I’m good. Don’t worry.” You reassure him. He grabs the duffle from the back of the truck, and then walks towards you, linking your fingers together, his hand warm and comforting.

You lean into his side, and he releases your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you head into the motel room. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s perfect for the two of you. Two queen beds adorn the room, with a small bathroom off the entrance of the room. “Happy Valentines baby. I hope you like it.” Rhett whispers, his breath fanning the shell of your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I love it. It’s perfect.” You say, sitting on one of the beds, as Rhett tosses the duffle on the other bed.

“Hey babe, in the front pocket of the duffle I’ve got something in there for you, will you grab it please?” You ask, trying not to blush, but failing. Thankfully Rhett wasn’t looking as he pulled out the deep purple lace bra and pantie set that was still in the discreet bag. “What is this darlin?” “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” You say, as you take the bag from his hands and head to the bathroom.

You change out of the hoodie and leggings you had on earlier, into the bra and panties, and yell to Rhett. “Close your eyes cowboy!” “Darlin. What do you have planned?” “You’ll see once I tell you to open your eyes, now are they closed?” “Yes. There are.” Rhett grumbles, doing as he’s told, not knowing what tricks you had up your sleeve.

He hears the bathroom door open, and can hear you padding towards him on the soft carpet of the hotel room. He feels as you take his hands in yours, bringing them to your mouth, placing gentle kisses on his rough knuckles. The mere action has him suppressing a whine. “Open your eyes cowboy.” You say, still holding his hands, your eyes scanning his features.

His bright blue eyes flutter open, and his jaw falls. He takes you in, clad in a deep purple lace bra and matching panties, seeing every single part of you that he loves, your soft stomach, adorned with thin silver and purple stretch marks from growing over the years, your thighs just as soft. His eyes travel towards your chest, the bra supporting you in more ways than any other had before. He lets out a soft moan before pulling you between his legs, a smile adorning his face.

“You like what you see?” “Damn, darlin. I love what I see. The question is do you?” “Yeah, I do.” “Good.” He says tracing small circles on your hands, bringing them to his lips, brushing your knuckles with light kisses like you did with him. He wants nothing more than to stop time and live in this moment forever, but the growing bulge in his jeans is telling him to get a move on.

“Darlin, as much as I love this on ya, it might look better on the floor.” “Oh really? Is that so?” “Yeah, baby please.” “I can make that work.” You say, reaching for his belt buckle as he toes off his boots and slides his shirt over his head. He shudders at the cold, and helps you take his jeans and underwear off, where his cock springs to attention. He moans as you place a hand on his chest, pushing him towards the pillows, a puff of breath escaping him.

He reaches up to unhook your bra, his calloused fingers tracing along your back, causing you to shiver. “You like that?” He asks, as you nod, whimpering as your nipples are suddenly exposed. “Rhett” you whine, as he takes a nipple in between his index finger and thumb, rolling the pink bud in between them, feeling your head rest on his collarbone, your warm breath against his neck.

He moves suddenly, rolling over so he’s ontop of you, a finger hooking into the side of your panties, slipping them off and tossing them aside. You whine, as he slowly inserts a finger inside of you. “That’s my girl. It’s ok darlin, make all the noise you need. It’s just us.” You let out a moan, as he sucks on the soft spot on your neck. “Good girl darlin. There you go. That’s it.” He whispers as he removes his finger, making you whimper.

“Rhett.” You gasp, his fingers running across your thigh, a thumb making circles on your clit, your nails digging into his back. “Darlin, tell me what you need.” “You, I need you.” You say, breathless, as Rhett lines himself up at your entrance. He slowly pushes in, allowing you time to adjust, and you both groan at the sensation. “Fuck feels so good.” He rasps, pushing in further, feeling your hips buck. He starts to pull out and then push back in, at a steady pace, leaving you more breathless than before.

“Love. I’m almost there.” You say feeling a familiar heat pooling in your stomach. “Let it go baby.” He says, as you wrap your arms around his neck, moaning as you release. He drops his forehead onto yours, as he finishes, slowly pulling out, and kissing you soft and sweet. “Lets get you cleaned up yeah?” He asks, as you nod, blinking slowly. He stands and heads to the bathroom, grabbing a couple of washcloths getting them damp.

He walks back to the bed, as you sit up, reaching for the damp cloth. “Let me darlin.” “Ok.” you say as he gently wipes you clean, and then himself. He grabs the pajamas out of the duffle and you both get dressed. You both settle down in bed, his arm wrapped around you, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Rhett Abbott I don’t deserve you.” You say, as you play with his wedding ring, twisting the silver band on his finger. “Mmm I could say the same thing about you love.” He replies, kissing your jaw. “Thank you for making this a good Valentines Day.” “Anything for you darlin.” “Anything?” “Absolutely.” He says, turning you to face him.

You watch as he stifles a yawn, his eyes fluttering with sleep. You press a kiss to his lips, a hand resting on his cheek. “Sleep baby. It’s ok.” You say suppressing your own yawn, to which he brings you close, your nose in the crook of his neck. You stay like this as sleep takes over, breathing in sync with the love of your life.

#outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbot smut #friendly neighborhood hufflepuff speaks #friendly neighborhood hufflepuff writes

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