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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 7 months

Note

Hiii!

I love your writing, especially Mirror, Mirror! Are you still taking request? I‘ve been thinking about Ascended Astarion and female Tav/Reader attending a ball for the politicians and nobles of Baldur’s Gate, getting all dressed up and socializing, dancing and Astarion flirting with her all night long. Astarion obviously wouldn’t waste a chance to be alone with Tav/Reader, takes her on a romantic stroll in the gardens and has his wicked way with her somewhere in a dark corner 👀

I can not make Ascnedant Astarion not dark I am SORRY but I can't help myself. The intro to this is sad bad, but honestly it gets pretty fun later down the line. Gotta set up that Stockholm syndrome. You gots it here.

Tw: Murder, Violence, not much but it is there, graphic smut, 18+ sweet dark fluff. I do consider this Stockholm on your end. Very inspired by the in-game quote of locking you away for a decade. Also, never write shit only in tumblr post editor, I lost half of this right before I was going to post last and it almost killed me

Astarion was.... aware that you'd been having a hard time as of late. If anyone could empathize with the complications of being a vampire spawn, it was certainly him. Even though his circumstance were obviously much, much worse than yours ever could be.

He was no Cazador. Astarion was different, he loved you. He knew what was best for you. All that needed to happen now was for you to accept it.

And in your defense, you were trying. It had taken a long time for you to finally come to terms with the full extent of power he had over you as his spawn. He would always know where you were through sensation alone. Always ready and willing to drag you back home if need be. He could compel you to his side at any moment, though he did have a bad habit of going out to find you during your little tantrums. It seemed to work better to put you in your place, especially since he had very little self-control when it came to who you associated with. Many a possible friend had died at his hand, in front of your eyes. A waste, really, one that wouldn't be necessary if you would just listen.

But the demonstrations had been useful. Slowly but surely you were learning that the option of secrets between the two of you had died the second he sunk his fangs into your wrist. He had personally put an official stop to all of your extracurricular activities. The things you used to do in your spare time were silly and dangerous, always going out of your way to help the undeserving. But now he had the control to stop you, to sequester you at the estate where you were safe.

You had nowhere to be besides his side and you were finally starting to understand that. Things were so much easier when you gave in and listened, happier and more fun.

Lately, it had almost felt like another honeymoon phase, with your sudden predilection for extreme loyalty. It helped that he could still see into your mind through the new connection, fully aware that your love remained real and pure, if not a bit melancholic. It was silly really, the guilt you felt towards him for letting him ascend. Never mind the thousands he sacrificed, you were too concerned with how power had chanced him.

It was cute. Stupid, but cute. Because obviously it had changed him for the better. How else would he be where he was now? With his hands already in nearly every major part of Baldur's Gate's governance? He had made wide, sweeping moves to gain control in the past year, banking on your dual hero status to deflect from his more... unsavory attributes. But it was working, and in a few years time this city would belong to him. Then the two of you would be on to the next major conquest. A future that you were just now coming to terms with.

And Astarion wanted to reward you for that acceptance. He had been a bit paranoid of late, paranoid enough to not let you out of the house for a solid fortnight. But for good reason. The last of the Gur had come out of the woodwork recently, looking for revenge for their children and fallen comrades. With a specific interest in you. It had made sense, in a way. You were his greatest weakness after all. So of course he had to take it upon himself to personally hunt the last of them down to tear them limb from limb.

But now they were officially gone, and he was finally feeling comfortable with letting you out into the world again. Just not out of his sight. And tonight was the perfect opportunity. He had a mandatory soirée to attend, populated by neighboring nobles and a few powerful foreigners. One that would be so much more entertaining with you willingly by his side. Or forced, if need be. Depending on if you decided to be in one of your moods, though they were a rarity nowadays.

But no, you turned out to be too excited at the prospect of leaving the house to even attempt being a brat. Astarion watched you with a smile as you appeared at the top of the staircase, dressed to the nines. He whistled as he watched you descend, beyond pleased with how you looked. He met you at the bottom of the landing, easily wrapping an arm around your waist before setting a quick kiss to your temple, "You look beautiful pet. Absolutely stunning."

You truly did. A navy satin gown that matched your skin tone perfectly, fitted with delicate straps and a low bodice. Perhaps the slit in the leg was a little high, revealing too much of your perfect thigh for the rest of the world. But you looked too good for him to complain.

You really were so gorgeous, could he be blamed for wanting to dress you up?

You rolled your eyes, but Astarion didn't miss the tiny smile dancing on your lips, "You're the one who picked it out."

"And you wear it perfectly," Astarion praised, already leading you out the door. He kept you close to his side during the short journey, his eyes darting around your surroundings every few moments. His paranoia had been quelled, but it hadn't completely died out. But he had already made the decision that he was going to be on his best behavior tonight, and that included not indulging in his protective nature. You deserved nothing less.

But that didn't stop Astarion from taking some mental notes on those who stared at you too brazenly when you arrived. Part of him couldn't blame them, not when he could understand your thrall better than any one else. But the other, more fun part of himself was too busy imagining ripping them apart for the audacious, lustful stares.

But he didn't drag the two of you out for strictly fun, a fact that he was quickly reminded of when you were approached by the main host, "Lord Ancunín! I'm so pleased that you could make it."

Astarion vaguely remembered who he was, though he was much more interested in his friends than the man himself. The man turned his attention toward you, brow raised, "And who is this beautiful creature?"

Astarion could feel his brow twitch at the insolence. How dare he not know who you were? The Hero of Baldur's Gate, his consort, the love of his life, how could someone of his breeding be so ignorant? You had to many titles to choose from for introductions, so Astarion decided on the most important, "This is the future Lady Ancunín, my fiancé."

He could feel you tense at his side, staring up at him with wide eyes like what he said was surprising. Which was odd. He had been extremely clear about his intentions since the day he ascended, marriage was the obvious next step for the two of you.

"Well it's lovely to meet you," The noble said with a smile, his attention going straight back to Astarion, "Now if you'll excuse us, I have a few matters to discuss with your future husband."

Astarion was startlingly close to hurting this man. What on earth made him feel as though he had the right to dismiss you? He tightened the arm he had around your waist, sneering at him, "There is nothing that you can say that she won't eventually know. Don't waste our time."

Then he proceeded to do just that, wasting Astarion's time with useless information and worthless attempts at allyships. It seemed to be an unfortunate trend as the night progressed, just reinforcing how utterly useless the gentry could really be. Not to mention their constant passive dismissal of you. He really was going to need to start letting you out more often, though he had to wonder if they were even worthy of your presence. He would have been a bit more forceful regarding his own displeasure at their arrogance if you weren’t so distracting.

It was hard to hold onto his own indignation when you seemed so content. You were leaning into him the whole night, smiling softly through all of his inane conversations. Never failing to be adorably pleased at your introduction. It made Astarion want to fawn over you, alternating between whispering sweet nothings in your ear and sweeping you onto the dance floor. All of your pleased laughs and giggles music to his ears.

He kept you close all evening, never allowing you to wander past his sight. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, never quite shaken off after your first waltz together. But you didn't seem to mind. If anything you were glowing under the attention, happy in a way he hadn't seen for a long time. Too long. Beautiful enough for him to have the overly romantic thought that he never wanted the night to end.

Even after he had done his rounds, engaged with all whom he had planned on, he wasn't quite ready to leave. They had all been dreadfully dull, but at least a few conversations would prove useful in the future at the very least.

He started to steer you towards the back garden doors, whispering in your ear, "Take a walk with me?"

You followed him easily, happy to leave the bustle of the ballroom and step into the coolness of the night. You both started walking, hand and hand in a comfortable silence. It was a pretty enough garden, hedges and ivy lining the walkways, a white slightly weathered gazebo placed in the center.

"You know," You said eventually, as the two of you went up the gazebo steps. You leaned against the railing, looking at him with a coy smile, "I don't recall you ever proposing."

Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he crowded around you. It was an unnecessary question, considering how you would have no choice in the matter. But he was playing nice tonight. Astarion grinned at you, bracing his hands on the railing to cage you in his arms, "If you want a proposal, I'm more than happy to oblige."

"I do," You were playing with the lapel of his jacket, looking up at him through your lashes, "Sooner than later if you don't mind."

"Your wish is my command," Astarion murmured, shameless as he started to kiss along the line of your throat, "I'm proud of you pet. You've been an angel all night."

"You haven't given me much to complain about," You said with a small laugh, your breath hitching when his fangs scraped against your delicate skin, hard enough to make pinpricks of blood bubble to the surface.

"You know..." Astarion started, pulling back to look you in the eye. His voice gentle but serious, "It could always be like this. If you let it."

"I... I know," You admitted, biting on your lower lip as you struggled for the words, "I-I want that. I want you. Even if... it's like this."

Astarion would take offense at the subtle dig if it was anyone else. But with you? He was just happy that you were finally coming around, at long last willing to accept the fate he'd set for you.

"You have it," Astarion promised, tilting your chin up to press a light kiss to your lips, "For as long as I breathe my love, you're mine. And I'm yours-"

You kissed him before he could finish, wrapping your arms around his neck, forceful in a way that he had desperately missed. But you were pulling back too soon, your mouth swollen and your lipstick slightly smeared, smiling at him like the precious thing you were.

How could he resist?

"I think you deserve a reward for tonight my pet," Astarion said, leaning in to softly kiss along your jaw, "For being such a sweetheart."

His hands were wandering, already moving to pluck at the delicate straps of your dress, slowly teasing them to drop down your shoulders.

You made no moves to stop him as your eyes darted around the empty space, "H-Here? But what if someone sees?"

"Then I'll tear their eyes out and feed them back to anyone who stumbles on us," Astarion said simply, smiling at the way it made you laugh softly.

"Violence isn't always the answer you know," You said, your breath hitching as he lightly bit your neck. Your dress still slinking down all the while, "I thought we talked about that?"

"Perhaps," Astarion murmured, "But it seems to usually work in my favor."

He had already managed to slip the straps down enough to ease the way, brazenly tugging the fabric until your breasts spilled from the top. He leaned back in, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth as you gasped; mewling when he began touching you, shamelessly pinching your nipples just to hear you whine.

He adored all your little noises, so easy to coax out of your mouth. He could feel his own cock pulsing in the confines of his trousers, the feeling getting worse and worse as you started to whimper.

Astarion let one of his hands travel further down, right through the slit in your gown. He traced the seam of your pussy through delicate lace, smiling into the kiss from how the simple touch had your hips pitching forward. He could feel you getting wet, already seeping through the fabric of your panties, your needy cunt already begging for his touch. And Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

He tore them from your hips, letting the tattered pieces fall unceremoniously to the ground before he started to rub his palm against your clit, more slick gushing out as you moaned.

You were clutching at his shoulders, panting into his mouth as he played with you. Your thighs tightened around his hand, your cunt wet enough to fill the air with messy, indecent sounds.

Whatever trepidation you had before was quickly dissolving, a small chant escaping your lips as you two kissed, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Astarion was more than happy to oblige.

"Hold onto me darling," Astarion ordered, giving you a split second to tighten your grip around his neck before he was lifting you in the air, settling you on top of the thick railing with your legs spread wide. He made quick work of taking his weeping cock out, rubbing it along the seam of your cunt as you moaned. And then he was pushing inside, the slide soaked and easy.

You felt so tight around him, tight and sopping wet as he started to fuck into you. He bent his head down, popping one of your hard nipples into your mouth as you cried out, your nails clawing into his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his hips, trying to pull him in even closer, despite the fact that he was pressed deeply inside of you. Hitting all of your sensitive places.

He could tell that you were close, your whining getting more and more high-pitched by the second, your sweet cunt pulsing around his cock. Astarion started to rub at your clit again, at the perfect angle to make you tense up and cry out. And just like that you were squirting against his hand, breathing heavy as your orgasm ravaged through you.

Astarion grinned, popping off your breast to kiss your slack mouth. Naughty thing that you were, making a mess all over your fancy dress. He pulled back to look at you, debauched and panting, your pupils dilated at you stared up at him. You looked gorgeous, fucked out and perfect.

He started to fuck you harder, the erotic image was too much for his mind to handle. You where whining with each thrust, no doubt oversensitive as he roughly slammed into you. But you were a good girl, taking it without a single complaint as you held on for dear life, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. But lucky enough for you, you didn't have to wait long.

Astarion spilled inside of you with a drawn out moan, grinding circles into your cunt as you quivered. You pulled him in for another kiss, messily sliding your lips together as he filled you up. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, lazily kissing as he softened inside of you. It felt good, it felt right, the perfect end to a great night.

Astarion pulled out slowly, cooing at you as you gasped at the feeling. Your legs were still trembling as he set you back on the ground, bad enough for Astarion to wonder if he should just pick you up before you crumpled on the floor.

But first...

Astarion dropped to his knees, ignoring your surprised gasp as he spread your legs back apart.

"Hush darling," Astarion ordered as he pushed your dress back up, "Let me have a look at you."

Astarion was aware that he had gotten a little rough near the end there. It wouldn't be the first time he made you bleed during sex, nor the last. But he would hate to do so accidently. But no, your pussy looked perfectly healthy, if not a little swollen. Flushed and pink, your hole still twitching the slightest bit. The sight of your pussy all slick and red was nearly enough to make his mouth water.

"Spread your legs a little further pet," Astarion murmured, looking just to look. He gently added pressure to your shaking thighs until you complied, "That's it. Good girl."

His cum was already starting to leak out of you, the smallest bit of white making it's first appearance amongst your wet folds. No doubt it would be sliding down your legs soon enough. He could do something about that. But then again... the alternative sounded like too much fun.

Astarion stood back up with a smile, patting your pussy once before letting your dress fall back down, "Try to hold it in darling. We wouldn't want to make another mess, would we?"

You nodded slowly, still looking half out of it. A sweet, hazy look still plastered onto your face. You were already leaning in for another kiss, naturally desperate for more contact. Contact that Astarion was more than happy to give. He pulled you closer, kissing you deeply; your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him even closer. He wrapped his arms around your back, dipping his tongue between your lips as you dreamily sighed.

You pulled away first, to his displeasure, but you didn't go far. You rested your forehead against his, smiling softly with loving eyes, "Hi."

Astarion couldn't help but smile back, taking the time to tuck a wild piece of hair behind your ear, "Hello my treasure. Did you have fun tonight?"

"I think you know the answer to that," You giggled softly, "I'm not even sure I can walk."

That he did. And there would be many more nights like it. Though for now, he'd prefer to get you home. He felt a bit reluctant to parade you back out there for the masses eyes, so obviously debauched by his hands. No, the sight of you happy and flushed was for his eyes only. Your night would be ending here.

You squeaked as he swept you up in his arms, already muttering the magic for a portal under his breath. And just like that the two of you were gone, completely uncaring to give any good byes.

The two of you popped right into the entry hall of the estate, sudden enough to nearly scare a maid half to death. Astarion paid them no mind, too busy with carrying you upstairs to the sanctuary of your quarters.

You cuddled into his chest, looking up at him with a nervous look, "Did... Did I do good tonight?"

"Of course you did," Astarion cooed as he kicked the door to the bedroom open, trying to softly drop you on the bed, "Perfect creature that you are, what else could have possibly happened?"

But you didn't let go when he tried to pull back, clinging hard enough for Astarion to simply follow you. But he didn't mind, no he preferred you like this. Needy, wanting, and his. He twisted the two of your around, settling only when he had you laying on top of him. He would set a bath for the two of you later, but for now he was more than happy to lay here, watching as your tired to stay conscious. You always got so tired after sex, just one more silly thing that he was endeared by.

"I love you," You mumbled, your eyes falling closed, "Thank you for taking me tonight. For trusting me. I... thank you."

"I love you too darling," Astarion murmured back, kissing your forehead, "You get better by the day. I really am proud of you."

It was true. You were learning, adjusting. Give him a decade and you'd be completely immersed in your new life, all thoughts of useless things like "freedom" forgotten.

You were his. Until the end of time, you'd be together.

He'd make sure of that.

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #ascended astarion #asks #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #long fic #this took awhile #I'm slowly working through these asks but i can not make #anything simple #apparently #but i lost half of this near the end of the process and it broke me #she dirty #im telling yeah #she is

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omegalomania · 4 months

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so im sure everyones fully well aware of the magic 8 ball site fob is using to promote a contest to win some tickets to see them in nashville. the little 8ball widget theyve got in browser is also modeled on the physical 8ball that they had in the vip merch packages for tourdust's first leg, which is cool! but of particular note is the way that, to fill out the contest form, you have to pick your favorite fall out boy songs. and the sheer breadth of what is allowed is...interesting? it's not cohesive by any means, but it is really wild the selection of songs they have here because not all of them are fob songs. in fact, quite a few of them aren't.

i went directly to the source code and got a full list of all possible songs that you could input (which you can check for yourself by right-clicking and selecting "view source"). i'm going to list them here for archival purposes, with a few notes/explanations cause some of these are WILD.

there are 187 songs total listed.

bolded songs indicate songs that are demos or never received an official release

italicized songs are songs by other bands

underlined songs indicate songs that are covers

songs with an asterisk beside them (*) indicate they are from patrick's solo catalogue. two asterisks (**) are for pete's.

additional commentary by me will be [in brackets]

20 Dollar Nose Bleed 27 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen) 7-9 Legendary A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" A Nice Myth [one of the earliest fall out boy demos, found on their first ep, and only the casette version at that] Allie* Alone Together Alpha Dog America's Suitehearts American Beauty/American Psycho (song) American Made Art of Keeping Up Disappearances As Long as I Know I'm Getting Paid* Austin, We Have a Problem Baby Annihilation Bad Side of 25* Bang the Doldrums Beat It Big Hype* Bishops Knife Trick Bob Dylan Bounce [this is a song that came out on then-Decaydance labelmates The Cab's debut record, Whisper War, which patrick produced. he has writing credit and also is credited with background vocals (and also shows up in the music video)] Caffeine Cold Calm Before the Storm Centuries Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends Champion Check Your Phone** Chicago is So Two Years Ago Church City in a Garden Coast (It's Gonna Get Better)* Coffee's for Closers Cryptozoology* Cute Girls* Cyanide** [this is a nothing,nowhere song that pete did some spoken word parts and backing vocals on] Dance Miserable* Dance, Dance Dead on Arrival Dear Future Self (Hands Up) Death Valley Deep Blue Love* [song patrick did for the indie short film "spell"] Demigods Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? Electric Touch [the (in?)famous taylor swift song patrick featured on] Eternal Summer Everybody Wants Somebody* Explode* Fake Out Fame Less than Infamy Favorite Record Fellowship of the Nerd [this is an alternate title for world's not waiting, as far as i can tell] Flu Game Flu Game [yes flu game is listed twice for some reason] Footprints in the Snow [demo from the Llamania ep] Fourth of July From Now on We Are Enemies G.I.N.A.S.F.S. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) Ghostbusters (I'm Not Afraid) Golden Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy Greed* Grenade Jumper Grow Up and Be Kids [this song is on The Cab's sophomore album Symphony Soldier, which release after they left decaydance. nonetheless, pete does have some writing credits on it. give it a listen and you'll hear for yourself in the first 10 seconds or so] Growing Up Hand Crushed by a Mallet [this is a remix of the 100gecs song of the same name; patrick did some vocals for it] Hand of God Have I Got a Gift for You* [song patrick did for the horror movie black friday] Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet Heartbreak Feels So Good Heaven's Gate Heaven, Iowa Hold Me Like a Grudge Hold Me Tight or Don't Homesick at Space Camp Honorable Mention Hot to the Touch, Cold on the Inside Hum Hallelujah I Am My Own Muse I Don't Care

I Got Nothing, But You Got Something [this is the one that really perplexes me. there's no evidence of this song actually existing, other than an unverified genius post and an article on a single fandom wiki. it is inexplicably listed here despite its very existence being questionable at best.]

I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) I'm Like a Lawyer with the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You) I've Been Waiting [this is technically a lil peep song with fall out boy as a feature] I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) I've Got All This Ringing in My Ears and None on My Fingers Immortals Irresistible It's Hard to Say 'I Do', When I Don't It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love Jet Pack Blues Just One Yesterday Lake Effect Kid (song) Lake Shore Drive [this is a song patrick covered on the piano at wrigley, first night of tourdust] Love from the Other Side Love Will Tear Us Apart Love, Selfish Love* Love, Sex, Death Lullabye Mad at Nothing* Miss Missing You Moving Pictures My Heart Is the Worst Kind of Weapon My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up) New Dreams [this is a bonus track on pax am days, a naked rayguns cover] Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner Novocaine Of All the Gin Joints in All the World One of Those Nights [another song from the cab's whisper war. this one has patrick doing vocals very prominently] Open Happiness [this was a huge collaborative piece done for a coca cola commercial. patrick was on it along with big names like cee lo green, janelle monae, and labelmates travie mccoy and brendon urie] Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued Parker Lewis Can't Lose (But I'm Gonna Give It My Best Shot) Past Life [llamania ep] Pavlove People Never Done a Good Thing* Porcelain* Pretty in Punk Rat a Tat Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over Roxanne Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)* San Diego [this is a blink-182 song that patrick did some writing for] Saturday Saturday Night Again* Save Rock and Roll (song) Sending Postcards from a Plane Crash (Wish You Were Here) She's My Winona Short, Fast, and Loud Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers So Good Right Now So Much (For) Stardust (song) So Sick [this is a song patrick has exclusively covered live, so it's a fascinating inclusion] Sober [another blink-182 song patrick did some writing for] Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year Star 67 Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea Sugar, We're Goin Down Summer Days (song) [this is a martin garrix song patrick lent some vocals to] Sunshine Riptide Super Fade Switchblades and Infidelity Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today The "I" In Lie* The (After) Life of the Party The (Shipped) Gold Standard The Carpal Tunnel of Love The Kids Aren't Alright The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years) The Last of the Real Ones The Mighty Fall The Music or the Misery The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes The Phoenix The Pink Seashell The Pros and Cons of Breathing The Take Over, the Breaks Over The World's Not Waiting (For Five Tired Boys in a Broken Down Van) This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race This City* Thnks fr th Mmrs (song) [for some reason the site specifies song here, despite that not being necessary. the only other times this distinction is relevant is when songs share a title with their albums, i.e. save rock and roll] Thriller Tiffany Blews Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC) Uma Thurman Untitled 1 (Colorado Song) Untitled 2 (Jakus Song) [both of these are recently released tttyg era demos] W.A.M.S. We Didn't Start the Fire We Don’t Take Hits, We Write Them [this is a song that famously was only ever performed live. we don't have a studio recording or even a demo, as only live versions exist] We Were Doomed from the Start (The King is Dead) West Coast Smoker What a Catch, Donnie What a Time To Be Alive What's This? When I Made You Cry* Where Did the Party Go Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) Wrong Side of Paradise [llamania ep] XO You're Crashing, But You're No Wave Young and Menace Young Volcanoes Yule Shoot Your Eye Out

in conclusion i have no idea who compiled this list. it doesn't include every song patrick and pete have ever touched (notice the lack of gym class heroes, cobra starship, and hush sound discography) but it has a really weird selection of songs. i mean, blink songs patrick wrote on?? its bizarre.

anyway do you think if we mass request swing me by the rafters they'll have to do it

#fall out boy #tourdust #*making poasts #trying to format this conventionally BROKE THE POST so i did my best #i burned my grilt cheese typing all this up pls appreciate it #the weird break in the middle is cause otherwise it wouldnt post. mea culpa.

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cognacdelights · 21 days

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play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other. There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

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2knightt · 3 months

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5 things dallas winston hated about you.

—even when you were on his last goddamn nerve, you were still everything to him. is he still everything to you? after all he’s put you through?

-> in no way is this me changing my style nor should this be taken seriously…i’m just bored. and sad. and bored. and i miss my boyfriend. posted on queue!! i’m probably either studying, working on asks + event, or sleeping. either one.

(I.your snarky remarks.)

“did nobody ever teach you how to properly play uno of all games?”

you asked, a chuckle in your voice as you held your one card in hand. dallas glared at you from across your table, holding 12 cards. this was the 5th game you two played. he was never one to accept defeat easily.

“this game is just fuckin’ stupid. n’ you’re a dirty lil’ cheater.” he grumbled, staring down at his all red cards, eyes shifting back to the green 3 that you had placed down. dallas wanted to say more not-so-nice words, but knowing you fully, you’d say something even worse back. he hated that about you. you always said that it was apart of your charm, he always disagreed.

“why would i ever need to cheat when you can’t seem to count?” you snapped back, brows furrowed. you referenced the fact that dallas tried to pick up only 4 when he had to pick up 6, thinking he was slick.

dallas just huffed, picking up another card from the pile before mumbling a small, ‘go.’ there was a tug at the corners of your mouth, causing you to grin a little too hard as you placed down the winning card. for the 5th time in a row. dallas threw his cards down, clicking his tongue in annoyance. he leaned back into the chair, his head turned away from you as his arms hung off the chair.

“stop bein’ a baby and help me clean this up.”

“no. it’s your house.”

“and you’re the one who’s bumming around in it. clean up with me before i let you walk those streets. again.”

(II.how important your looks were to you.)

you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, fingers running through your hair as you starred at yourself in the window of a convenience store.

“are you serious, y/n?” he asked, pockets in hand. he stopped walking when you did. he said it was so nobody hit on you. in reality, he liked it better when he had his eyes on you 24/7. he likes knowing you were safe. even for a second.

“yes, dallas. i am.” you replied with an eye roll. you grabbed your pink lip gloss, re-applying it for the 4th time today. sure, you were willing to admit it slowed you down—your focus on your looks. but were you gonna change? no! if someone doesn’t like it, who cares?

once you were done, you continued walking, leaving dallas to rush to catch up. he walked beside you after speed walking behind you for a few seconds. your lips shined under the hot tulsa sun, eyes glowing along with them. dally couldn’t help but wrap an arm around your waist.

he grew more and more aware of the men around. he held you closer, even when they paid no mind to neither you or him. he felt almost threatened for a moment.

“are you even listening?”

you chimed in, breaking his train of thought. dallas nodded, head empty. he didn’t hear a single thing you said. was he going to admit it? no. he didn’t want these other guys to know about how terrible of a boyfriend he was.

you just hummed, walking to your house in silence. any insults, compliments, comments, or cries would fall to deaf ears as of now.

(III.how you were blindly loyal.)

“i cannot believe you right now.”

“i jus’ said she was pretty. god forbid.”

he muttered as he entered your car, sitting in the passenger seat. dallas knew it’d be a terrible idea to try and make you jealous. boundaries, you’d shout. boundaries!

“i’ve told you how many times on how uncomfortable that makes me.”

“m’sorry, doll. i…i know. it was the alcohol.”

dallas lied right through his teeth. in all honesty—he’d been hoping it’d make you want to show him off. he was stupid for ever thinking you’d so something like that.

your silence scared him. you usually would’ve spat something back at him without a single thought. a sigh left your lips as you started the car, finally speaking up.

“i know.”

you muttered quietly. goddamn, maybe loyalty was gonna be the death of you. he didn’t mind much, though. at least you knew where home was. with him…right? right, y/n? he wanted to ask over and over again. dallas wanted the reassurance. he needed the support.

for what? he didn’t know. he just wanted to make sure you still felt the same way he does.

(IV.the way you fought.)

“she got you good, y/n.”

“oh, shut up, dal.”

you muttered, washing your bloodied and bruised hands under the faucet. you stood there, spacing out, letting the water run off your hands. dallas tapped you on your shoulder, snapping you out of it.

he handed you a clean shirt, a couple of bandaids in the other. you ushered him out of your bathroom, closing the door to put the clean shirt on. ‘she got you good.’ what does that even mean? was there seriously no, ‘are you okay?’ you wondered to yourself as you opened the door.

dallas sat you down on the toilet, brushing the fresh blood that slowly streamed down your cheeks with his thumb as he placed bandaids all over your face. he kissed every single one after doing so.

he wanted to make sure you still knew he likes you. that dallas winston liked you a whole lot.

“you’ll be alright, doll.” he comforted, patting your head. he thought back to your several other fights. you fought strategically and with honour. something he’d never do. but, recently, you’d been fighting just for the fun of it.

when you fought before—he felt a little angry. he didn’t like seeing you fight, but he didn’t like knowing you were good at it. knowing you were at the same level as he was at something he took pride in hurt him. dallas was frustrated at you and himself.

maybe his bad habits were rubbing off on you. a way to remember him, as dallas thought about it. he said he’d talk to you later about it. he never did.

(V.how quickly you were able to move on. faster than he ever could.)

you realized you needed better. dallas didn’t treat you like he used to. why? you didn’t know. you tried to be the best girlfriend he’d ever have, so why did he have to ruin it? was it your fault?

you kept on asking yourself questions like this when the reality of it all sunk in. that same day, you left dallas winston.

he felt his world crumble before him. this whole, self-sabotaging thing that pony warned him about was catching up to him. dallas felt hatred for you. well, at least he wanted to. he wanted to feel angry. hatred for you.

he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. even when he watched you move onto another guy. from afar, he’d see you giggle and flirt with him. like how you used to do with him.

even when you’re with someone else, you’re still everything ti dallas. would you ever forgive him if he said sorry? would sorry even fix the way he treated you?

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x reader #this whole thing is just dallas being toxic #and just like disliking how reader is catching on #bibically accurate dallas winston technically #emotionally mature reader methinks #would modern day dallas listen to alpha male podcasts #this fic is technically me shitposting #i hate this so much #but idgaf #me coded dallas winston #queue posting my love #sleeping rn #was so not proofread #ifnore any mostakes

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j0kers-light · 3 months

Note

Innocent!reader , wearing a summer dress (I know it’s December 😭) , and not being aware of its effect on joker . Please bring back innocent!reader , need more of her 😭🩷🩷

His Lighthouse: Summatime Fine (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Summatime Fine - Oneshot

Image Credit

It’s the long awaited return of innocent!reader! Joker's sweet girl is finally back in this long awaited part two!

Its not December anymore anon and I am terribly sorry for filling this ask so late. I come bearing a lil something something as a thank you for your patience! I encourage you to listen to the song that inspired me to write this oneshot! Enjoy! 💖✨

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher @ins0mniac-whack @spaghettificationandpretzels @reneisance @alittlesmartcookie @ninacutebee16 @carydorse @jaysmentalspace

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist! Be alerted with any oneshots and the main story updates! 🖤✨

You are a f__king tease and the worst part? You were completely unaware of the effect you had on Joker.

He thought he purged that blissfully ignorant demeanor of yours, but alas you were still a virgin at heart. A part of him loved it— another wanted to fully corrupt you until nothing innocent remained. Yet you were still his sweet little doll he so desperately wanted to defile.

Your childlike view of the world was so painstakingly cute, it made him want to vomit. Your natural kindness practically begged him to destroy it. Would it be wrong if he spoiled the secrets of your youth? Santa wasn’t real, neither was the Easter bunny and gasp! Okay, he’d let you keep the tooth fairy. That one was too cute to ruin.

He loved exchanging your baby teeth for jewelry and other pretty things. Granted that it fit under your pillow.

Joker found it his mission to protect your naivety from the gruesome world. The extremely sheltered childhood you endured molded you into the person you were today. Joker could live out the rest of his days in your pink little bubble, but he knew that was impossible with his lifestyle.

You were still shy and bashful, uncertain of your own body, but the worst of them all—you were unaware of the control you held over Joker.

If you batted your lashes, he was a goner—forever doomed to follow behind you like a lovesick puppy, wagging his tail. He could come to terms better if you were intentionally trying to seduce him. He could fight back if you were in on this game of cat and mouse but that wasn’t the case.

Your body was still a prize to be had and poor naïve you did not know that the situations you put yourself in were utter torture to Joker.

Getting stuck in the dryer with just your butt sticking out? Stretching on the couch and practically pushing your breasts in his face? Or when you knelt on the floor with your mouth wide open begging for cock?

Okay, maybe that last one was a fap dream, but still!

How did you not know what you were doing to him? You still went about the apartment cooking and cleaning in those skimpy clothes, and he loved how you still bit your lip and looked away whenever he gave you a compliment.

You adored his silly jokes and that smile of yours would always make him a simp. He took your virginity, yet nothing really changed about you.

Your stupid parents protected you from anything remotely sexual and it was now Joker’s job to educate you. And boy did he have his work cut out.

He would try and instigate things, whether smacking your behind as you walked past or palming your breasts mid make out sessions, all to no avail. One night Joker dry humped you right to the edge of bliss only for you to fall asleep, leaving him raging hard and dumbfounded.

He couldn’t believe you fell asleep during foreplay. It was a blow to his ego and he had no other choice but to jerk off and fall sleep, questioning if he could put up with this for much longer.

He had to take a step back and remember your lack of experience. You didn’t know that you were horny and even after a trip to the clinic, you were still clueless.

You were a child compared to his extensive knowledge of sex. If Joker didn’t tell you his intentions outright, then his dirty comments and attempts at flirting would go through one ear and out the other.

Despite all of this, his little Bunny was smart. You craved knowledge on this secret world of sex—your subconscious actions proved that much; and what better teacher than himself?

Your first night was all about you but Joker wanted to change that. He wanted to test your skills giving pleasure. He remembered the promise he made, ‘I’ll let ya have a uhh, taste, another day Bunny.’

He was a man of his word and let you explore.

Joker was amazed to discover that you lacked a gag reflex and loved the taste of his cum. It was only natural that he teased you about it. “My sweet girl don’tcha re-mem-ber? You gave me such an attitude about how you taste. What was it? Uhh tangy and salty?”

You reminisced back to the night that you lost your virginity. Joker kissed you after eating you out (much to your disgust) and now you felt embarrassed for subconsciously craving his cum.

“I wonder.... what do I taste like, sweet girl?” Joker purred.

His words always made you feel funny.

It happened to be a kink of yours Joker explained. An idea, thing, or act that made you aroused. Every night it seemed you added more and more to your growing list.

And Joker’s influence didn’t stop there. He took educating you very seriously and found informative sex-ed material for you to read in your downtime. He wanted you to know about your anatomy and how to take care of it.

Your parents should’ve been the ones teaching you this stuff but alas.. They were absolute morons.

It was embarrassing to learn about your own body another person (even worse from a man), but you were grateful that Joker took the time and cared enough to do it.

You didn’t want to imagine the alternative of being taken advantage of due to your lack of experience. Joker was a bit rough but what else did you expect from him? It could have been a lot worse.

It was a miracle that he took the time to talk you through every step of sex and then exposed you to the wonders of aftercare.

You couldn’t ask for a better partner. It was why you did well to study hard and learn everything that you could. You actually looked forward to ‘pop quiz’ days. For obvious reasons.

Joker made you lie back on his chest in front of your giant floor length mirror. When you were in position with your legs spread wide open, the test would begin. “Mmm, whaT is this?”

You squirmed as his fingers stroked your outer lips in a v shape, making them slick with your juices. “It’s ah! That’s my labia!”

You felt, more than heard Joker’s approving hum and he didn’t waste any time finding the next body part to quiz you on.

Joker forced you to keep your eyes open and pay attention despite the overwhelming pleasure. He would bite your neck if it took you too long to remember. The sharp pain did little to jog your brain nor did his fingertips rubbing fast circles on your bundle of nerves.

“I think you know what this is.” He laughed as you jerked wantonly in his hold.

Try as you might, you couldn’t answer, especially not when Joker plunged two fingers deep into your pussy and started thrusting them. “What is this, hey shushhhh... hush now doll. Focus. What is this spongy... sensitive... ooey gooey spot that’s melt~ting under my touch?”

So what if you failed that night’s pop quiz? You disqualified yourself by cumming but you still felt like a winner.

Slowly but surely Joker was introducing you to the ways of sex with new and exciting lessons. Soon you would be the insatiable vixen he secretly desired.

If only you would cooperate. It seemed like after sex was over, you were back to your shy, timid self—hiding underneath the covers and asking J, “Did I do okay?”

All he could do was chuckle under his breath ‘It's always the shy ones,’ before tackling you with kisses.

His Princess was a handful yet no one else would have the honor of knowing you so intimately. Joker would kill anyone who dared try. Over time he coped with the fact that you would always be his sweet girl, as innocent as spring.

Which is why he dedicated himself to protecting you. Somehow you convinced J to visit a farmer’s market with you in the Cauldron.

It was a beautiful day out and the people milling around the market brought a lively festive atmosphere to the area.

The crowd was tolerable, but Joker was being a grumpy stick in the mud, preferring to be holed up in an underground hideout or better yet, in your apartment, far away from others. The things he did to make you happy. However, it wasn’t all terrible.

The crowd was an insignificant backdrop when his sweet girl dressed up to the nines stole the show. It took you almost an hour to doll yourself up, but he very much appreciated the final product. You were the focal point in all your beauty.

Your colored skin was fitted with your signature hue of bubblegum pink. Today’s summer dress had detailing that followed the curve of your back right down the bodice. He loved the puffy sleeves and the swooped neckline on you.

You had stopped to quite literally smell the roses, while Joker counted the buttons down your back. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

“J? Did you hear me?” Your sweet voice danced on the wind right into his ear. There was never a time that Joker wasn’t laser focused on you. As if he’d miss a single word you said.

“Uhhhh, yeah.” He fished out a dub for you, “Here, pretty girl.”

Ugh you loved the numerous pet names he held for you. Of course, he valued you as a person and knew your real name, but sweet girl, princess, and bunny just sparked something in you. It made you feel special.

You smiled wide and turned back around to exchange the twenty dollar bill with the vendor. It didn’t dawn on you that Joker gave you real money—the both of you were too distracted to make it into a big deal.

Little did you know, Joker was analyzing in the bun you styled your hair in. It was so perfect, not a single strand out of place. You even wore a cute pearl bow as a functional hair clip. Everything matched to create a timeless look.

He stole gifted you a pair of pearl earrings and they glistened each time you moved your head. The cutout of your dress made it impossible to wear a bra, but Joker was taller than you and could see straight down your front. Your tits looked good from any angle.

Random people in the crowd admired the living doll walking amongst them and if not for your scary guard dog (ahem Joker) anyone brave enough could’ve walked up and hit on you.

That would never happen on his watch. Only he could have you.

Joker invested so much into you; it would be a shame for some lesser man to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Joker didn’t care how he looked glued to your side; he wasn’t leaving.

You were all dressed up in pink and ballerina heels with your tall, imposing boyfriend cloaked in black and metal. A grunge king with his ethereal princess. You and Joker were opposites in so many ways, yet the relationship just worked.

He loved seeing the innocent wonder shine through your e/c eyes as he explained different kinds of knives and torture methods, and you enjoyed helping him stir cake batter after the horrific lesson. Nothing he did scared you away. J could do no wrong in your sheltered eyes.

Speaking of your innocence, it was tangible in the afternoon air. It must’ve been the way the sun beamed down on you like a spotlight or perhaps it was the dress you were wearing. Either way, Joker couldn’t stop staring.

How could he ignore the way you wore your hair? You carried yourself with a regal splendor, even if you were self-conscious almost all of the time. You were quite the sight to be seen in his opinion.

You thanked the stall owner and lifted your new bouquet of flowers to your nose.

You took in the delicate scent; Joker drank in the sight of you. Times like this he wished he carried that Polaroid camera with him more often. He could take a thousand pictures of you and still fail to capture your beauty properly.

It was the little things you did that made him want to stay with you. If he lost you? No. He didn’t want to consider the possibility. He was already insane; you were the only thing keeping him from turning into a killing machine. You and your infinite beauty, he could barely breathe right while in your presence.

You were caught in a ray of sunlight and Joker’s eyes widened in awe. Those sunlit eyes of yours… they could rival the world’s finest gems.

And somehow you were blissfully ignorant of the destruction that one single look from you could inflict. Hence the state Joker found himself in.

“Is there something wrong, J? Your eyes look really spacey.” You lowered your flowers and devoted your full attention on Joker.

And that seemed to make the situation worse. Undiscovered shades of green swirled within Joker’s eyes. He was most definitely spaced out and you were to blame. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He swore under breath and grabbed your hand. You yelped and tried your best to keep up with Joker’s long strides in your dainty heels. A few people looked on in concern, but none dared to speak up against Joker.

He was a man on a mission.

There weren’t that many options at this dumb farmer’s market, but he’d make do. He had to.

“J-J.. where are you taking us?” You gasped as he shoved the nearby park’s restroom door open and flung you inside.

The lock dial turned to occupied and his mask was ripped off. Then it was just you and Joker in the cramped public bathroom.

It wasn’t what he had in mind and definitely not the best locale, judging by your adorable pout. Both of you knew that you deserved better accommodations than this.

You didn’t have a chance to argue since Joker backed you into the door to cup your face. Your flowers fell from your grasp in order to hold onto Joker’s hair.

His kisses had a way of erasing your thoughts. Your only brain function was breathing and moving your lips to match Joker’s urgent pace.

He devoured you whole and only pulled back to catch his breath. “I need ya. Right. Now.”

He was already lifting your dress up when you replied, “H-Here?” You glanced around the stall in open disgust. Surely, he was joking. His devilish smile said otherwise.

“Are you wet for me, baby doll? Lemme check.” Joker dropped to his knees and grinned, finding a wet spot already ruining your panties.

Your mouth might deny, deny, deny but your body craved J without a doubt.

Joker peeled your panties to the side and lapped at your juices. Your instincts cautioned you to be quiet, (this was a public place after all) but Joker reached up and pulled your hand away from your mouth.

“None of that, doll. I wanna hear ya. Cry out if it uh, feels good. I know it doesss.” He resumed his focus back on your pussy and indulged himself like a starved man.

Joker’s loud slurps and eager swallows filled the hollowed room and forced you to hold onto his hair for balance. You refused to touch anything inside this place for support.

The back of your head banged against the door, “J, it feels weird.. please I can’t..”

He pulled away to lock eyes with you. “Aht ahttt. You know better, Princess. If you’re gonna cum, then... use your uhh, big girl words, ‘n tell me. None of that shy girl s__t.”

You totally forgot about Joker’s rules in the throes of passion. You were educated now, so he expected you to speak accordingly.

You mentally corrected yourself. Your pussy felt weird because Joker was eating you out with every intention of making you climax on his face. Now if only you could articulate that out loud..

He flicked his tongue against your clit, causing you to lose your train of thought. It only took a moment, but you cried out and came over Joker's tongue. He was upset that you didn’t express yourself more, but he still growled in delight before cleaning up his treat.

He stood up and bent down towards you, but you turned your head away, “Eww no kisses!!”

Now that got a laugh from your clown. You still thought your own cum was yucky. He was still chuckling to himself as he undid his belt. The sharp chime it made always got your attention.

You raised an eyebrow when he began grinding his hard on into your thigh. “J-Joker?” Did he not get what he wanted?

“I saidddddd. I need ya, Y/n. It’ll be quick, I p-prom— oh f__k!�� Joker moaned mid-sentence, feeling your wet pussy welcoming his dick inside. It felt like coming home after a long day, you were amazing.

You knew how big Joker was, you held his girth in your hands before. He was a big boy and yet he respected the size difference every time the two of you joined. Slow and steady was the game until he was flush with your hips.

He would remain there until you nodded that it was okay to move.

Just because you were no longer a virgin didn’t mean your pussy could accommodate him so quickly. There would always be a stretch to fight through and overcome. But after a while, you gave him the green light to start.

It felt criminal to depart from your warmth, but that delicious friction was sought after by the both of you. The first few thrusts were always the most intense and your toes curled in your heels as Joker pistoled back inside you with a guttural groan. He readjusted his grip on you right before he pulled out again—only to bottom out at a snail’s pace. The heavy drag of him brushing against your walls was just too good to rush.

Now that Joker pinned you to the door, you could cling onto his shoulders and relax.

You trusted him to hold you steady, like he’d ever let you fall. He loved how you buried your face into his shoulder when it became too much. It gave him the perfect opportunity to kiss along your neck and coo in your ear.

“M’sorry, Princess. I just need to.. I just need. Agh, I can’T.. get enough of ya.” Joker groaned into your ear.

His pace suddenly picked up and rattled the door against your back with each powerful thrust. Should anyone walk by the park restroom, it was obvious what was happening inside. That thought made you gush even more on Joker who immediately took notice.

“Look at yoooooooou my pretty. Little. Slut. Taking cock in some uh, public stall. You that needy doll?” His grip tightened on your waist as he sped up even more. You swore you could feel him hitting your brain, he was so deep.

The wet slap of his balls repeatedly hitting your thighs rang out in the empty stall. There was no way you were walking out of here and Joker knew it.

But how dare he blame this on you? You were minding your own business at the market before he dragged you in here! You had to put your foot down. “No! Ah, y-you’re the needy one, J!”

He was too far gone in your pussy to hear your weak cries but you finally got his attention by clenching down on his dick. He shuddered to a standstill before regaining his momentum. There was no way you were becoming self-aware of your charms and using them against him. Joker glanced your way, only to find that you were already staring at him.

He couldn’t take your fluttering walls and your smoldering eyes.

Both were just too much so he buried his face in your neck. “I know, sweet girl! J-Just uh.. f__k, meeee. Why are you soooo tight?” Joker had to catch his breath and get your permission. “I need ya to cum, Princess. Ya got one more?”

Two orgasms seemed to be your limit and it was sweet enough of Joker to ask if you could cum again instead of expecting it from you. He made sure you stayed hydrated to get the most out of your big O’s.

At this point you were cock drunk, so he took your subby uh huh’s as a yes and smiled wide. “Atta girl, go on... don’t be... nghh, shy bunny. Let me have itttt.”

The audible slaps, Joker’s praise in your ear, and the eye rolling thrusts he pounded into your pussy, it was all too much to handle.

Your whole body shook in Joker’s hold as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your nails punctured holes in his jacket, not that he minded, and you crossed your ankles over his back—locking him right where you wanted him to be.

It was a nonverbal signal for him to let go and cum inside.

Joker chanted your name as each rope of cum shot into your cunt. He never came this much; it was making him dizzy, however his grip on your never faltered. The last thing he would ever do was drop his Princess regardless of his physical state. He just sagged his weight onto the door, squishing you further into the hard surface.

The room was quiet save for the collective pants of air you and Joker took. You breathed in his exhale and vice versa until he leaned back to gaze into your eyes.

He wasn’t surprised to find they were heart shaped and hazy. He had no doubt that his were similar. “You feelin’ alright, doll?”

Was he kidding? You felt amazing! At least, the parts that you could feel. There was a numb, tingling buzz spreading throughout your body after such a powerful orgasm. You were in the arms of your lover riding your afterglow; there was no doubt you were satisfied.

You caressed Joker’s scars with a big smile. It slipped your mind that he was the one that instigated this interaction. But almost like clockwork, the sex was over, and you were reverting back to your naïve ways.

“I want strawberries, J.”

Joker almost dropped you after hearing that.

Only his sweet girl would blurtout something so random after sex. He wheezed out a laugh and with great care, carried you over to the sink area.

You made a noise upon contact and Joker rolled his eyes at your inner germaphobe having a conniption. It was too little, too late to be acting out. You did just have sex with him in a public bathroom after all.

“Calm down, Bunny. We’ll uhh, clean you up, later. Lemme fix ya back pretty. Mkay?” He waited until you pouted and eventually nodded before starting.

Joker wetted a wad of paper towels and wiped your pussy and inner thighs as best he could. The soap was abysmal, so he went without. Your panties were soiled with his cum, but it wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last occurrence. Joker secretly liked you walking around with a reminder of what he did to you.

Joker was fixing you back presentable when you batted your lashes at him. “Okay.... I still want strawberries. Can I get some, J?”

He was still confused. How could your mind quickly bounce from sex to fruit? “Huh?”

“J.... listen! I saw some fresh strawberries at the farmer’s market like a few stalls down. Can you buy me a pint? Ooh and replace my flowers? You.... you um stepped on them when you...”

The tips of your ears turned red and Joker knew why. It was far too easy to tease you.

He tipped your chin up, “When I whaT, Bunny?” A quick glance over at the floor revealed the trampled flowers underfoot.

You didn’t need to explain. They were no doubt a victim of his efforts to pound into you without abandon. The flowers were replaceable and judging by your watery eyes, he’d better buy you new ones and fresh strawberries or he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Whatever his sweet girl wants, she gets. That was his motto from the very beginning, and he considered himself a man of his word.

Joker sighed to himself, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Let's go get my gooo~oood girl a reward then we’ll errr head on home, ‘kay? I might get ya dirty again before I get ya all cleaned up.”

“How does that sound, Princess?” Joker bopped you on the nose. Your bashful nod was your only response. Now that wouldn’t do!

He bent down to kiss your cheek, making sure that the exaggerated mwah got a response out of you. Just his luck, it did. He smiled wide at the peal of laughter you let out. “Okay!”

His sweet girl laughing was the best sound in the world.

#ledger joker x reader #ledger!joker x reader #ledger joker #heath joker #black!fem!reader #joker x y/n #joker x reader #reader insert #thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#romance #cross posted on ao3 #pink aesthetic #cross posted on wattpad #innocent!reader #dark knight joker #the joker #J had too much fun corrupting poor Y/n #his lighthouse

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nerdieforpedro · 4 months

Text

Filthy Hooligans

Lucian Flores x female reader

This fanfiction and my entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Main Masterlist / Lucian Flores Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Showing up at Lucian's place at 3 am only means one thing. You both know it.

Warnings: Reader (nickname is cupcake) and Lucian are filthy, moisture, smoking, teasing, reference to public sex, exhibitionist behavior, fingering, 2 ass slaps (I think), unprotected P in V (wrap it people!), finger sucking

Notes: I came home from work last night. Fully intended to work on like 4 other WIPs I have. Fell asleep in my chair after eating something in my scrubs, woke up at 3 am. Wrote this, sent it to @musings-of-a-rose to read to over. And here were are. I hope I got the scuzz right. 👀

“I didn’t realize you were full of such bullshit Flores.”

“You’re not going to take that tone with me. I’m telling you not to come here anymore.”

“Is that why you opened the door for me, because I shouldn’t come here anymore?”

It’s your damn mouth. You always have something to say, you can never just accept an answer. Always questioning, always saying something. He needs you to understand that he isn’t saying this because he wants to. Any man in their right mind would enjoy a visit from you at 3 a.m. in nothing but a crimson silk nightgown, black kitten heels and that long black peacoat he remembered buying for you even though you said it was too much. Things are a little too heated right now, he needs to lay low and not have people coming to and from except family, which you care clearly not. Everything about you is loud, which he enjoys. Immensely, finds it entertaining, but not now.

“I opened the door because I can’t have you causing a scene in my building. I don’t need this shit right now.” Flores is barefoot and pacing. The door man knows you downstairs, he’s one of his people who knows you visit usually at night several times a week. He shouldn’t have let you in, Lucian doesn't remember off hand if he told him or not. He needs to follow up on that later.

He always has a slight sheen to him, no matter if it’s cold or warm or he’s actually inside. Hair lightly damp around the edges but still curly on top. His small soft belly jiggles over the top of his gray sweatpants he normally sleeps in. A hand at his temple, massaging it, while his other one holds his cigarette, half ash and falling onto the floor. He’s aware that this isn’t his usual calm, collected and suave self.

“Seems like you need my mouth after all Lucian.” You’re starting your game. Calling his name like that, kicking off your heels, running your cool hands across his heated back. It feels too good. He stops pacing for a moment. “Lu, please. I’ll take care of you and then go.” The idea floats in his mind. To let you do it, have that hot moist mouth of yours, he can lay his head against the back of his couch and not worry about anything while you work. Kissing, sucking, licking, smearing, worshiping at the altar he has between his legs. “Lu-cian~ Lu baby…” Your voice is deepening raspy, lips on the back of his neck, fingers tracing the gold chain that has become his signature over the years. Once he feels your tongue where his hairline starts, he turns to grab your wrists, not too hard, but so you’ll stop.

“You damn siren! Just fucking listen. You. Need. To. Go. Do not come back until I call for you. I mean it cupcake.” Releasing you he curses. This is not what he needs right not, to be worrying about you. Flores needs to be focused on a plan to get out of the mess, find where the leak is. One of the boys messed up, he needed to know which one. He expects to hear you storm out, welcomes it because then he can focus.

“Lucy~” Dammit, he hates when you call him that. It pisses him off, you know it does. He can’t engage. He’ll fall for the trick you’re trying to pull on him. Sticking his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, he goes over to his kitchen and gets a drink of water, gulping it down. Trickles of it slide down his neck, he knows it’s hitting the vein you like to nibble and suck on when you ride him. He’s been half-swollen since you banged on his door. He knew what you came here for, the same thing you’d been coming for the last three months. Lucian doesn’t expect your next move though, to have your silk, up around your waist, you on your knees facing the back of the couch and opening yourself for him. “Lucian, fill me once. Once and I’ll go.” His hands hold tight onto the sides of his marble kitchen island. Watching you. You’re just as bad as he is.

The two of you have been like this since the Burger King parking lot in your car. You’d pulled him in, got on top of him, rode him, told him you liked his gold chain and used a marker you found in your glove box to write your number on his arm. Well you tried to, he was too sweaty once you two finished so that was a good laugh. There was a speed warning ticket that you tore in half and you both exchanged numbers. You were sure your phone was somewhere in your car. He was going to meet his guys to check in and see how collections were going, you said you were going to pick your mother up and take her to the grocery store. Filth to match his grime. Different locations, indoors and outdoors. At times, ripped and stained clothing was all you two parted with. His sweat on your body, lipstick on his chest and neck. Sometimes he wouldn’t wipe it off before he went to his next stop, showing off what he’d been up to.

Flores took his time in walking over to you, watching you wiggle your ass for him. When he was behind you, he spread your thighs wider and inserted two fingers in your dripping cunt, curling them to have you call his name louder. “They slid right the hell in didn’t they? Only been two days since I was last in this pussy. You already want it filled again, don’t you cupcake?” You look over your shoulder and whine, he uses his free hands to swat your ass.

“Hell yes Lucian. I want to leave dripping again.” You grind on his fingers, making him start to pump into you slowly. “Give me your thick cock and stain me again.” A single kiss to the back of your neck is all that Lucian gives you before removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock. He feels you spread, groaning from finally having what you want. His hands take hold of your hips but doesn’t move yet.

“I mean it cupcake. You don’t show up here again without me calling you.” He feels you pushing your hips back and he pinches your hips making you yelp. “Do. You. Understand. Me?” His grip starts to loosen and you feel him pulling out of you.

“Yes! Yes Lucian I understand. Damn. I won’t be here unless you call.” Said almost too quickly to understand, Flores chuckles before making his hips flush with yours, bottoming out within you.

“You’ll only listen with my cock inside of you, it figures, cupcake.” The growl Lucian releases as his pace quickens, has your thighs dripping with your slick and his pre-cum. You’re slumped over the back of the couch, writhing your hips in tune with his. Flores has an idea and takes your elbows in his hands instead of your hips, pounding that much harder into you.

“I’ll listen to whatever you say with this cock of your Lucian,” Your head hands toward your chest, your moans are turning into squeals. He muttered soft curses in between his grunts, releasing one of your arms, placing his hand on your chest, then sliding it up to your neck.

“Will you now? My dirty cupcake, suck my fingers. Maybe I jerked off before you got here.” He commanded. His palm was now on your chin as he inserted three fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He felt your walls starting to quiver and knew with his throbs he wasn’t too far off either. With several haphazard thrusts, Lucian gave you your filling as requested. It warmed you from the inside, churned inside of you. The loss was felt when he pulled out this time, removing his fingers from your mouth and pulling his sweatpants back up. He saw you close your legs and stagger when standing up, he debated helping you, assisting you with your shoes, but not your coat. Before you closed it, trickles of his come were visible on your thighs. He smirked.

You wobbled a bit but found your footing on the way to the door. “Don’t wait too long to call Flores. I may have to get some other filling if you’re going to holed up here.” The way you smiled told him that you actually would seek out a replacement for him. The corners of his mouth turned downward.

“You see if they’ll make you wobble like that. I doubt they will cupcake. You’ll be missing this dick. If you don’t answer, there’s plenty of pussy out here.” Lucian took his pack out of his pocket and lighter, firing up another cigarette. The small flame glowed against the visible sheen of his skin and his gold chain that you’ve never seen him without. His lips around the stick making a small ‘o’ as he inhaled, holding it in before his released the smoke from his nostrils, tilting his chin up.

“I’ll probably have to try a few before I find another good fit. And I don’t know what other woman you’d be able to find that can get wet enough to handle you. See you Lu~” He watched you walk out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. You blew him a kiss and he nodded before stepping back into his apartment and plopping down on the couch. He took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed, exhaling the smoke again. He’d need to figure out the leak sooner rather than later, he’s not willing to have blue balls over this shit.

The beads of sweat on Lucian's neck 💦: @laurfilijames @avastrasposts @maggiemayhemnj @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @linzels-blog @yorksgirl @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot @magpiepills @alltheglitterandtheroar @beefrobeefcal @pamasaur @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theywhowriteandknowthings @gasolinerainbowpuddles @megamindsecretlair @daddy-dins-girl @readingiskeepingmegoing @guelyury @missladym1981 @heareball @sin-djarin @gwendibleywrites @katw474 @immarocketman @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #Lucian Flores #the uninvited #Lucian Flores smut #A Nerdie fic #cupcakes need to filled #when they would like #as one does

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ofallthingsnasty · 1 year

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Thinking about... Kaiser and Oliver manipulating you

Tags: both are 20+, gn reader, foreigner!reader for kaiser, toxic relationships, yandere themes but not quite the classic tropes, this is ugly but sfw, emotional manipulation, minors please dni Word count: 1.4k

Note: Requests are open ah- I am dying to talk nasty bllk with people haha.

I feel like both Oliver and Kaiser are highly emotionally manipulative, each in their own way.

We know that Oliver is good at putting on a calm and collected face to get what he wants - yet his true intentions always bleed through, bit by bit. Just like he got Sae to shelve Shidou, his true intentions may not be lost on you, but he still manages to get under your skin with dangerous precision.

He knows just how insecure you are about his dating history; he can tell by the way you pull a face when he's going to fancy parties on his own, how you always preen at his compliments, how you ask him in that little voice of yours “Does this look okay?” at every outfit you wear, how you're constantly looking for validation, for love. You can be so weak, so needy and he’s aware that it's because of how he used to be. It makes you malleable, keeps you with him - playing into that little insecurity of yours is so easy he could do it in his sleep. You want to prove yourself to him and play right into his little games, unknowingly.

He’ll sit you on his lap during parties and chat about his past flames and how he played them, fully aware that you are all ears. You might act like you’re trying to stab the lemon slice in your long drink, seemingly lost in your own thoughts - but you are listening intently. His teammates will try to involve you in the conversation, too, laughing along, asking how you tamed him after his wild youth, how you got him to settle down. And you’ll have to actually pay attention to them or you’ll be branded as the rude one, the no-fun one, the nag. Remember that fling or this one? Remember how it all went down, how you got busted dating those two models at once? You always sit there, laughing nervously while trying not to count the mounting notches on his belt. His friends keep fanning the flames, so oblivious to your discomfort. You’ll inch closer to his chest, grip your glass so hard it might just burst any time, take constant peeks at your phone - anything to distract yourself a little while their excited chatter washes over you.

Hell, even the media will never let you forget just how much of a playboy he used to be; every time you open your social media accounts, every time you see some tabloids at the grocery store, it’s right in front of you, an ex here, a nasty comment there - you try to ignore those headlines, the hate- but still, it sticks. And how suspicious it is, then, that you always see him with his phone tilted away from you either after a fight or when you don't quite act the way he wants you to, that he seems strangely distant after you tell him you're not in the mood for sex, how he’s out without you so often. Soon enough, everything turns into pleasing him, like some sort of competition between you and an imaginary other. You almost become paranoid, constantly eyeing him, always wondering if he's truly just laughing at something silly on his phone or at some flirty text someone sent him, if he’s hiding something from you. With time, your jealousy turns ugly - but also makes you easy to manipulate, even if you get snippy. Just one look, one smile is all he needs to keep you in line, one squeeze of your shoulder is enough to make you shut up, too occupied with the thought of him leaving you for someone else.

I can see him actively going for a darling who is insecure, who is not confident in themselves from the start. Someone who isn’t necessarily conventionally attractive or someone who has made their fair share of bad experiences in the past. Someone who easily falls into those old traps again, unknowingly, and lets him take the reins.

Kaiser takes it a little further. It's only natural that you move in with him quite early in your relationship, relocate to Germany, because that's where he works, no? He wants you close and you don’t object. Maybe you're blinded by your whirlwind romance with the handsome pro or maybe you're just easy to impress - but you willingly leave behind friends and family to be with him. Of course, he has expectations- high ones, at that. You have to be perfect for him, the ideal partner- and a big part of that is getting rid of the language barrier. He needs you to sit pretty during talk shows and interviews, to answer questions with your chic little accent and a sweet smile, he wants to truly parade you around. But no matter how much you pour yourself into your studies, it’s never quite enough.You’re taking a class? You’re trying your hardest with immersion, taking every opportunity to use your skills and hone them? Dedicating so much of your free time to learning the language that you feel like you have a second shift ahead of you when you come home? It’s all not enough.

A language isn't learned overnight, he knows as much, but his incessant badgering is something to keep you busy with, something to distract you from the way your old friends call less and less. He never stops with his needling, uses every chance he gets to put you down, to make you insecure: of your grammar, your accent, the way it still takes you a couple seconds to process someone talking to you. You’ll never be as skilled as him, a native speaker, and he lets you know as much. And his own lessons! He acts like it's some grand thing you should be grateful for when he sits you down at night to grill you on your progress, never once uttering a single word in English. Makes you repeat phrases until you get the pronunciation right, mocks you when you get the case wrong or use formal instead of informal for him. He'll flick your cheek lightly and with a strained smile on his face once you drift off, tired and no longer receptive after the long day you’ve had. “Zuhören. Du sollst mir zuhören.”, “Du hörst mir nicht zu. Nochmal.”, any iteration of those dreaded sentences is enough to trigger a queasy feeling in your stomach once you hear them. It’ll get to the point where he demands you only speak in German when you’re with him - and the little laughs at your mistakes, the corrections full of condescension will increase tenfold, as will that infuriating feeling of being disrespected, of being seen as lesser. You feel like a child, almost.

Taking you out of your familiar environment, throwing you into a foreign country with no one else but him to rely on - and him being a national superstar, known by everyone, appearing in the news daily - is a dangerous cocktail of dependence and power. Who can you really talk to except for a few sparse texts here and there to your friends when he’s being so overbearing again, constantly criticizing you and reminding you of his status, when he nags and nags and nags you for the most minuscule things. You could go back home, sure. But it’s not like you don’t love him, like there is nothing of worth in this relationship. The warm, fuzzy feeling you get from knowing you are the partner of Michael Kaiser, a breakout soccer star, that he has chosen you and no one else, the comfortable life that comes with this relationship - it’s easy to forgive him for his harshness, for his cold behavior. After all, he has a public image to uphold - that has to be immensely stressful for him, next to his work. No wonder he gets a little short with you sometimes. And with all the luxury that comes with being with him, what is a little bitterness here and there? It’s absolutely nothing, right? Even with his emphasis on the language - he’s just trying to make sure you learn it right, that you progress quickly. So you let yourself be pushed around by him, start to doubt your own feelings and try to appeal to him more and more, try to prove to him that you are capable and not stupid. He might not go for an insecure darling from the very start - but you can be sure that your self-esteem will take a huge hit once he has you in his palm.

#blue lock x reader #yandere blue lock #michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku x reader #yandere oliver aiku #yandere michael kaiser

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