#gray hairs and massages fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tremendum · 6 months

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personal lies

[not my gif. title from the song of the same name, by Djo.] pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 5.6k requested: Hi! Your work is so insane and incredible! I've literally been thinking about Joel Miller nonstop and was wondering if you'd write a fic where reader is flirty but also has a way of getting herself into clumsy situations- like she bends over to grab something at a party and Joel turns around at the same time and he's pressed right against reader's ass- and these situations keep happening and she just bullies him about him being a pervert until he finally does something about it ;) Keep up the incredible writing!! summary: "when you were young, you'd always thought Joel was handsome - but he was just your dad's friend, someone who would make you blush strictly because he was teasing you. now, though - he makes your cheeks flush for a whole new plethora of reasons." warnings: healthy age gap (reader is around 23, Joel is like 47), DBF!Joel, Mean!Joel, brat tamer!Joel, brat!reader, dom!Joel, semi-public sex, light voyeurism, choking, light dacryphilia, inappropriate use of household appliances, use of word slut, its dirty, slight allusions to exhibitionism, brief choking, so much dirty talk (its joel), so much degradation, reader calls Joel a pervert, teasing, slight dumbification, brief spitting, rough sex, unprotected PiV, cum play, spanking. think that's it!

notes: okay once again, another mean!Joel for the soul! its a problem! im happy for this request bc it helped so much with my writer's block. pls pls keep sending requests i love them all u guys are amazing.

[other Joel fics: i’ve got headaches and bad luck but they couldn’t touch you fever landmines Mr. Miller Series ]

★

the bathroom window fogs much quicker than it used to.

it's the first thing you've realized since returning back to your childhood home - the lack of use in your old shower, now empty of all the half-used floral shampoos and body scrubs of your youth.

you suppose it makes sense, with your father living on his own now that you're five years out of the house - he has no real need to shower in the bathroom you'd once used as your own. in fact, as you examine under the cabinets and the medicine cupboard, it seems as though he's converted it into a storage room for cleaning supplies and the odd bundle of cotton swabs.

it makes you grin as you massage lotion into your legs, staring at your foggy reflection.

your father's muffled voice from downstairs shouts something and, in lieu of a response, you towel off and wrap it around yourself, cursing your father for not restocking towels that were large enough to cover yourself in a modest way to your trek back to your room; not that it much matters, your father's friends won't be arriving for another hour and a half, at the least.

you're struck with something from your youth when you open the door, though -

and it grunts in response.

the breath leaves your throat as your eyes drag over the expanse of chest which lies just in front of the bathroom, with a hand extended almost as if he were about to open the door - muscular arms and a familiar wristwatch - certainly not your father's.

you gape up at Joel Miller, who stares, wide-eyed, back down at your form.

your face floods with an immense amount of heat; Joel Miller, your father's closest friend.

you haven't seen him since last summer - and before then it was even more scarce. between college out of state and splitting summers with your father and mother, before your visit home last summer, you don't think you'd seen him since you left for university.

he's changed, but not that much - tan, with hair that curls at the nape of his neck, a nicely fit t-shirt that brings out the honey of his eyes. now, though, he's got slight smile lines on his face that compliment his striking, burly features and a peppering of gray through his hair; your mouth runs dry as you take in the large frame of thick shoulders and contoured biceps. christ.

when you were a teen, you'd always thought Joel was handsome - he was kind, funny, and would always buy you iced tea when he ran for some beers for him and your father after a day working around the house or in the yard. but he was just your dad's friend, someone who made you blush strictly because he was teasing you.

now, though - ever since last summer when you'd caught his eyes lingering on your figure a few too many times, he makes your cheeks flush for a whole new plethora of reasons. it was a thrilling game you came to know last summer - the way he’d flush and clench his jaw after every quip, each slight tease of phrase, wink, of riding up of your skirt when he walked by.

it makes your stomach flip still - and the most delicious part of it all is the smoldering glares he'd give you when you pushed him too far; last summer, you'd discovered the only good thing about your clumsy, teasing nature: Joel's reactions.

he’s everything the gentleman, always has been - even when you pushed his buttons, flustered him, he never lost his cool. only ever let his eyes wander and speak for themselves.

so when you open the door directly into him, you’re shocked to see him standing there, eyes wide.

his appearance throws you off, as there was nobody besides your father in the house when you'd stepped into the shower minutes before. tilting your head, you regain your footing quickly, heart picking up as you see his eyes rake over the length of your legs, exposed from the tiny pink towel you wear.

it’s been far too long you think, noting the change in his face when he recognizes you.

his eyes scour over every curve of your body, as if seeing you for the first time- you can’t hide your smirk. "can I help you with something, Joel?"

his eyes avert just as quick as they found you, staring at something extremely interesting just above the crown of your head. "was lookin' for some rags. your father spilled downstairs." he shifts on his feet, looking into the steamy bathroom behind your frame, "didn't realize there was anybody home..."

you hum, lifting a brow, "good thing I came out when I did," you send him a sly grin, "or else you'd have gotten a show." you tease, shooting him a gentle wink.

his eyes narrow slightly, tilting his head. he mutters your name lowly and it strikes you that you haven’t seen him in over a year and here you are, staring up at him, in a minuscule towel.

“watch it. didn’t know y’were in there.” he utters, sounding defensive as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

the rumble of your name as it leaves his lips is insatiable; it bathes you in heat as his eyes flicker down towards your chest and back up to your eyes and you smirk, a light tut leaving your mouth.

"sure you didn’t, Joel.”

he cocks a brow at your implications, his head tilting slightly, but he says nothing. your father yells something about warped wood downstairs and the moment snaps, Joel clearing his throat and you looking away.

“I'm onto you, perv." you smirk, winking once again. you don't give yourself the chance to see his reaction as you brush past him, a flick of your wet hair trailing over the green cotton of the shirt that hugs his biceps. you don't hear him move even as you slide past your door and shut it.

it’s not until you’re inside your room that you hear the bathroom door slam so hard it reverberates through your walls. you fight your racing heartbeat and dull throb of arousal, pressing your fingers against your hot cheeks.

"honey?" your dad calls as you leave your room.

“Joel's here. come say hi and help us set up."

your heart skips, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you round the stairs, where the two men stand at the bottom. feigning surprise, you start down the steps towards them. "hi, Mr. Miller." you say pleasantly, "when did you get here?"

Joel's eyes flash with something as he watches you, tilting his head as if trying to decipher what you're playing at - as if he didn’t see you in a towel thirty minutes ago.

"little bit ago." he responds, shifting on his feet and watching you with crossed arms. “when did you get here?” he counters, nodding to your suitcase, which sits still at the top of your stairs.

your dad laughs at your words, though, breaking the tension he didn't even feel before you can answer Joel’s question. "-Mr. Miller? since when did you have any manners?" your dad snorts, "been calling him Joel as long as I have." you roll your eyes playfully at him, reaching the last step, still a few inches shorter than the man next to your dad.

Joel’s eyebrows raise; you look away as you grin. “trying to be polite, I guess. it’s been a bit.” you shrug.

"guess they did teach ya something mature in college, huh?" you dad smirks, nudging your arm. you flush and shrug just as Joel swallows, "haven't seen you in a while, sweetheart." he nods, "how've you been?"

you smile, "been really good, Joel. better now that I get to see my favorite old man." you tease, stepping between the two men, eyes trailing over Joel's gaze even as you walk away. despite your dad's grunt of offense at your joke, he still grins, "you look nice, honey." he says, patting your shoulder.

you smile, not breaking eye contact with Joel as you hum, "thanks, I just showered."

the crowd is thicker than you expected.

you didn’t know your father even had this many friends.

besides your own friends who you’d invited to come catch up, you spent the afternoon chatting with nearly every person in the old neighborhood you’d ever met.

if you thought being home from school while you were a student was bad, being freshly graduated at a backyard barbeque full of your dad's friends was much, much worse.

flocks of couples, neighbors, and family friends gravitate towards you in waves, asking about your achievements and new job and oh, what's it like in the big city?

you're barely able to break away for a minute to stalk over to the side of your house, nestled up in the grass of your backyard, to grab refreshments - sure, you've already had a few beers and you're not particularly thirsty, but Joel's leaning up against the side of the house and you're drawn with a heat in your abdomen towards him.

a small group of men talk just next to the coolers, engrossed in some conversation that holds no interest to you; but he's there, and something inside you screams for his attention.

you barely brush his back to excuse yourself past the bodies, reaching down into the cooler to fish out something palatable.

but your blood runs just as cold as the ice in your hand when a sudden pressure against your ass sends a shiver of desire through you.

you instinctively gasp. the pressure of someone’s hips pressing firmly but briefly against your ass, by accident, startles you as you stand up, a pulsing desire spreading through you instantly once you see Joel, face in shock, behind you.

you swallow; he must have turned after thinking someone’d tried to get his attention, just as you’d bent over. your face heats up.

you're met with eyes that hold awkward shock and a small dark flame that flickers slowly as your shame suddenly melts into a smirk, lunging at the perfect opportunity to sink your claws into him.

"s-sorry, didn't see you there." he stutters slightly. heat pools in your stomach at the flush on his cheeks, the white ring around his knuckles spreading where he grips the neck of his beer bottle too tight.

grinning, you shrug. "it's okay, Joel. I'm sure it was an accident. you seem to be prone to them." you say sweetly, voice sounding almost simpering as you smile.

from the look he gives you, it's clear he can see right through your words. "were you grabbing a beer?" you ask, watching his jaw clench.

"no, I was-" but he stops himself at the teasing raise of your brows, shaking his head as he tries to save himself from your teasing. "sure. yeah."

but just like that, he's fallen into your trap, and you smile, “just watch where you’re standing this time, yeah?” you ask. and within a split second, you're bending over again right before him, falsely digging through ice to grab a bottle that you know he likes. you shift slightly, leaning your weight on one leg as to pop your hip slightly before straightening up and handing the bottle to him with a smirk.

when you whirl back around, his eyes are up towards the sky, jaw clenched tightly with strain as if silently praying to god; though you know Joel Miller has not once stepped foot into a church in his whole life. he clears his throat tersely, eyes meeting yours again as he grabs the bottle from you. "thanks," he mutters.

"you might want to finish that one first." you say with a grin, nodding towards his half-full beer bottle opened in his hands. he looks riled as he sends you a harsh look that only makes you smirk more, shrugging as you saunter off.

as much as you try, you can’t get the feeling of Joel pressed against you out of your mind.

and, with a shivering glance across the patio, you can tell he can’t either; while fully engrossed in a conversation with a woman close to his age, you lock eyes with Joel for a full five seconds before you break away. his gaze is heavy and intent - it follows you, watches you interact with people from the town and your friends from high school.

despite the scorching stares he sends you from across the yard, you keep your distance from Joel, too. you're engrossed catching up with a few friends from high school on the patio when your dad pulls you aside, asking you to help out bringing the food onto the patio.

bowls of chips, salads, roasted vegetables, condiments, and several different variations of sweets are brought out and spread across the folded tables outside. the smell of ribs and pulled pork from your father's smoker fills the air while you fill a tub full of water for the kids on the law to bob for apples in, watching from the serenity of your kitchen.

the breeze floats through the open window as you stare out, the scene calm as you let your thoughts linger. out near the yard, a woman leans down to pick up a discarded paper plate and the man beside her places his hand on her hip; a gentle squeeze that has your eyes glued to the motion. unable to help it, your mind wanders.

Joel's hands are large; they're rough with callouses from work and the skin gets cracked during the winter, but they're warm. you start to wonder if he's got a woman to touch like that - sure, you remember a few women who'd hung out around your dad and him when you were younger, once Sarah was old enough. but there'd never, to your knowledge, been a serious girlfriend.

you watch with desire as the man taps the woman's hip, fingers close to her ass, as she straightens, and it causes you to avert your eyes. your cheeks heat as you imagine the way it'd feel if you were out there - if the man's hand was Joel's, if he were to grab you in the middle of all these people, shove you down onto your knees-

you clear your throat, eyes snapping down to the sink where the water was overflowing from the bin with a gentle bubbling noise.

you groan to yourself in embarrassment. you need to get a fucking grip - no, you need to get laid.

the tub is filled a little too high; it's unsteady as you lift it up, hoisting it above your hips to hold against yourself as you turn around. but there's a figure behind you that makes you jump in shock, jolting the tub until it spills over yourself. you're hit with a shocking rush of cold as the water tips and drenches you; you let out a sharp yelp as one hand flies to your chest. "christ!" you snap, eyes landing on the perpetrator -

"Joel!" you snap, "you scared me."

"jesus," he mutters, moving towards you, grabbing the bin from you and placing it down on the counter, "I wasn't even close t'you, sweetheart. I was walkin' into the garage."

you swallow, taking a breath to calm your tight nerves. "I was zoned out, I guess-" you curse your bumbling hands, a light breeze catching over your wet skin and sending a shiver through you. just your luck.

you sigh, tilting your head, "what are you doing, slinking around here?" you raise a brow as you accuse him. he rolls his eyes, "ain't slinking anywhere. was goin' to find apples. your dad is adamant about those kids on the lawn. afraid they're gonna tear up his landscaping."

you sigh, shaking your head, "you made me spill." you pout dumbly, heart still pounding as you become increasingly aware of how wet your dress is- his eyes narrow, "'s not my fault you're always gettin' yourself into trouble." he mutters, shrugging as he looks down at your chest, the fabric slowly melding itself against your hot skin as the water spreads.

"says you." you retort, shaking your head. his eyes catch yours after you mutter it; a quick, intense glance that sends a strike of heat through you. a warning look.

but as always, he doesn't linger on your teasing, instead clearing his throat and moving on. it drives you mad as he hums. "at least it's water." he tries, "clean you right up." he hands you a dish towel, which you take with a quirked brow. desire burns between your legs.

"I already showered today," your voice is seductive, floating through the tense silence of the room as your eyes meet the side of his face. "as I'm sure you haven't forgot." you tease.

his hands freeze from where they were, wiping some of the water from the counter with a towel. he turns slowly to look at you, face dark. the air suddenly feels thick. "what's that supposed to mean?" his voice is low, brows drawn as he stares down at you - jaw clenched, chest heaving. his eyes dare you to say it, to let him take a bite.

you hum, "don't act coy now, Mr. Miller." you tease, watching his eyes darken with your words. "I see the way you watch me. don't act like you aren't thinking about me." you add boldly, heart hammering - if, somehow, you've made it all up in your delusional head, you're utterly fucked.

but his jaw ticks and his inhale is sharp, a flicker of his eyes down to your bra as it peeks through the wet material gives him away. it lights a flame within you that nothing else ever has.

"creeping around upstairs while I'm showering. you're trying to tell me you weren't about to slide in, take a peek?" you tilt your head to stare up at him through lidded eyes, kicking the teasing up the highest you've ever done.

you push onto your tip toes, your dripping chest mere inches from his as the barbeque continues feet away, outside. "you want to see it, don't you? feel me against you, like you did out there? I'm really warm." you mutter, drinking in his silence as he heaves his chest against yours. “and so tight.” you whisper, bold courage seeping through you as your eyes fall to the straining tent in his pants.

a rush of pride tickles you when he doesn't stop you, doesn't tell you off - so you continue, legs jelly with arousal. "I'm way too young for you, but you just can't stop yourself, can you?" you whisper into his ear, "you're so perverted, Joel."

you're throbbing with heat when you pull back slightly to drink in his red cheeks, his piercing stare that nearly kills you. his glare is molten, sharp as his gaze flickers from you then out to the party, returning with a burning malice. "go change. now." is all he says.

"are you distracted, Joel?" you tease, smirking up at him. “or just too scared?”

“shut up.” he orders, the malice behind it barely surviving his bark as his eyes dip quickly to your chest and back.

you smirk, “you can’t keep your eyes away from me. you’re a sick man, Joel.” you mutter, letting your hand drag down the neckline of your dress, exposing your breasts through your wet fabric. he nearly growls, rough hand flying to your bare arm, tugging you close to him. "take it off." he hisses.

you blink up at him, shivering from the hungry, dark eyes that seem to tear you apart inch by inch, as you breathe out a defiant, "you're not my dad."

he chuckles at that, an exhale leaving his lips. "you're damn right 'm not. and you're not a fuckin' child. go change."

you settle on a darker sundress this time, to avoid another wardrobe malfunction.

your heart hammers just as loud in your throat as it did minutes earlier in the kitchen as you stare out your bedroom window, searching for one figure in the crowd of guests. Joel's nowhere in sight, yet the kids are all huddled around a tub of water with bright red apples bobbing up and down.

with a sharp sigh, you gather your undergarments and dress to bring down to the washer, flicking off your light.

the laundry room smells fresh - a breath of clean air after the suffocating tenseness of the kitchen. the thought of Joel's face makes your cunt flutter slightly; that dark, angry stare - the rouge of his cheeks at your words. where doubt should creep in, nothing but pride fills your mind, knowing you can rile up the man just as easy as riding a bike.

you've just started the wash cycle, moving to stand up when the door slams shut, making you jump once again to be met with Joel's large frame.

you raise your brows, masking your shock and nerves with a grin, "back for more, creep? too late, I already put my panties in the wash-"

but he crowds into you so quick that your mouth snaps shut; your back hits the edge of the washer as you stare up at him, shocked. "'m tired of your shit," he sneers, eyes angry, "prancin' around, wearing next to nothin' and bendin' over for everyone to see." your stomach flutters.

he sneers his next words. "you really that clumsy, or are you just too shy to admit how bad your pussy's aching for your daddy's best friend?"

your jaw nearly drops from such bluntness coming from Joel's lips. you've rarely even heard him cuss - only during football games and the one time he burnt his hand on the grill after you'd leaned over and given him a perfect view down your shirt.

"Joel-" you start, a rush of arousal flooding the seat of your panties as you're pushed backwards. he leans into your space, dipping his head until he's in your ear. "who's the real creep, huh?" he mutters, warm breath scattering chills over your neck, "you’re sick, baby. goin' after men almost twice your age." he tuts, sliding his thick jeans between the soft skin of your thighs. “you got no idea what a man like me could do t’ya.” you gasp sharply, hands gripping his thick shoulders and he pushes you back further, your spine thrumming with the rumble of the washing machine.

“bet you think you can show me, don’t you?” you challenge, raising a brow.

"tired of your bullshit, sweetheart." he shakes his head, leaning back. "how am I gonna get you to shut up?" he asks mockingly. you swallow, canting your hips slightly as a prickle of desire rolls over you. "bet you'd love to turn this into a lesson, wouldn't you Joel?" you tease back, but he moves his leg up slightly, the rough material brushing against your heat. jolts of pleasure erupt from the spot and you let out a short mewl. his hand rises to grip your jaw, firm but gentle. his skin is hot and large against your cheeks.

"don't lie, sweetheart, you love it." he growls, "you love trippin' and spillin' shit just so I can come clean up your mess for you. 's that right? you just need my attention?" his thumb caresses over your cheek, jilting a brow as he stares down at you, "answer me."

you swallow dryly, nodding pathetically, "yes."

he tuts, condescending as he tilts his head. "where's all the teasing now, baby? you're always so talkative. did'ya realize I'm too much for you?" he taunts.

you shake your head, eyes wide, "no!" you eject, flames of heat licking your cheeks as he smirks. you try to go back on yourself, play down your eagerness, "-no, you're not too much, I promise."

he tilts his head the other way this time, eyes sharp. "so what is it, then? y'afraid of all the people out there? that your daddy's gonna come looking for ya and find us in here? see me touching you, like the pervert I am? because I'll leave right now 'f that's what you want."

you shiver as another rush of arousal floods you, twitching your hips at his words, the low drawl of his voice. you grasp him tight by his biceps, holding yourself against him as you meet his hot stare, unable to voice your desires. your blood pumps with need.

"oh." he hums, eyes narrowing as he pushes his thigh up against you roughly, eliciting a short moan from you. "or do you like that?"

you swallow, eyes lowering to where you drag your hips over his leg, pathetically desperate. he chuckles and it reverberates in his chest under your palms. "anyone could walk in here, sweetheart. your dad could be on the other side." he whispers into your ear, coaxing a moan from you - he tuts, "-an the washer's not loud enough if y'gonna moan like that."

you nod, staring into his eyes; they pierce you with their intensity. he's giving you an out, asking if this is what you really want, or if its just some juvenile grasp for attention. your mind has been made up since you found out Joel was coming today, though.

"I'll be quiet for you, Joel." you whisper, nodding, "I can handle it."

you can tell, he likes that; he presses to you fully, his hardening cock pressing against your side. you sharply inhale, the reality settling in as you drip with desire, aching for his touch. boldly, with a breath of fresh desire, you snake your hand down to palm him through his jeans - he's thick, straining against his jeans as his grip on your jaw tightens.

"how long have you been this hard, Joel?" you tease, confidence sudden as you smirk, "bet you've been thinking of me since you tried to sneak into the shower earlier for a peep show."

his hand slides down to grasp your throat as your sentence tapers out: a squeeze causes a rush of pleasure through you. "quit it with the fuckin' lyin'. you're already desperate enough." his breath is hot on your face. with a grin, you accentuate a squeeze on his bulge, coaxing a short grunt from him. "says you, old man?"

this pushes him to the edge.

rough hands leave your hip and throat to flip your body over, pushing you until you're bent over the washing machine, its vibrations tremoring your whole body. "eager, are you?" you tease, gasping when one hand presses you from the base of your neck.

his voice is sharp in response, "tired of you, sweetheart. gonna fuck all the teasin' right out of you."

your cunt flutters at his words, wiggling your hips until you press against his crotch, feeling the hard thickness of his clothed cock over your panties. "-and you'll probably love every second of it too.” you mutter against the cold white surface of the washer.

a harsh swat on your ass makes you yelp slightly, the pleasure smearing arousal between your thighs, legs shaky with anticipation. you swallow heavily when your dress is shoved up over your hips, exposing your skimpy panties to Joel as his large hands splay over the flesh of your ass.

his hands grip and squeeze your skin, teasing you, as slowly his fingers graze over the seat of your underwear, toying with the ruined, soaked fabric. "you're dripping," he taunts you, the stark words causing your eyes to widen, a short whimper leaving your lips. "eager, are you?" he parrots your words.

you let out a shuddered moan, swallowing as a finger falls to rub feather-light circles over your throbbing, clothed clit. the sensation has you bucking back against his touch, but his own grip on you prevents your movement; a harsh grip on your neck, forcing you down against the vibrations of the machine.

"tell me what you want." Joel mutters, voice commanding. you resist the urge once again to roll your eyes as you grit your teeth; your own medicine tastes bitter as he feeds you spoonfuls. "come on, you've always loved to talk." he sneers, his voice taunting, as if recalling all the times you've teased him, secretly aching for him. "you had such good manners in front of your daddy earlier, didn't you? so where's that pretty please? say pretty please, Joel, please fuck me on my daddy’s washing machine." he adds, thumb pressing down slightly harder on your clit. a strangled noise escaped your throat, your eyes wrenching shut. “say you want me to use you.”

"fuck- pretty please- J-Joel, please use me-“ you whimper, giving up as he hums at your words. a squeeze on your throat.

“y’gonna knock it off with the desperate teasing?” he asks sharply, holding you towards his mouth. you swallow, trying to hide your grin at the wall and hoping Joel can’t see it.

“yes, Joel, just please, please fuck me.” you submit to his request, throbbing with desire.

you feel his chest as he leans over you, breath against your spine. "begging your dad's best friend to fuck you? you’re so dirty, baby. you should be ashamed." he tuts, kissing your spine in a feather-light touch as his other hand slides your panties to the side, your arousal already dripping down your legs.

your cheeks flush as you nod wordlessly, wiggling your hips slightly, cunt aching for him.

he doesn't make you wait any longer; his cock is thick and heavy as he pulls himself out of his jeans, running his shaft through your molten heat.

your gasp is strangled as his tip nudges your clit, a groan from his lips rumbling and low as you hold your breath in anticipation. he rocks his hips again and your legs soon tense up, cold against the washer as your hands grip the sides, "hurry, please." your voice is breathless and cracked as you ask it, exhausted and driven wild from his teasing. "need it so bad.“ you whimper breathlessly.

he has the audacity to chuckle lightly, his thickness spreading your juices and notching just at your entrance before sliding past in tease. your nails scrape the metal as your eyes clench shut - he's so big; a flood of nerves rolls over you.

"i know you do, sweetheart.” he mutters; you almost consider slapping him, but then you're sharply inhaling at the sudden sensation of his spit, dripping down onto your pulsing, aching heat. you can't help the moan at the feeling; there's a moment where Joel's hand caresses your cheek gently and you can't help but lean into his warm skin, keening at the touch, until it slides over your mouth and you realize he's muffling you.

and then he pushes forwards, breaching your tight, hot cunt.

and you’re gasping. simultaneously, you suck in breaths at the sensation, his own groan so low it may be a growl.

your brows pinch together at the tight fit; he's so big and you're tight with desire as he slowly inches himself inside, relishing in the agonizing pleasure of him nearly splitting you open. "Joel," you whimper, voice completely muffled by his tight hold on your mouth.

he whispers hot against the shell of your ear, "you better be quiet."

his voice sends a flood of arousal through you, coaxing his cock further into you, enveloping him into your warmth as his cock presses against the spongy part of you that has your back arching in a gasp. and then he's dragging himself slowly out of you, thrusting back in deep and slow.

he lets out a shuttering breath into your collarbone as your nails dig into metal. you squirm at how deep he is; sweat lines your brow as your body is forced against the machine, barely able to accommodate his size. you let out a breathless, broken whine into his palm at the feeling, his length nearly splitting you, the sounds of your arousal slicking him and coating you both as he starts to thrust with a deep pace.

he holds you hard against the machine, ensuring you can't buck your hips, the other hand sliding to your neck, keeping just where he wants you at the angle that has both your eyes nearly rolling back.

he growls as he starts to fuck into you hard and rough, the washer shaking with his thrusts. "take me, that's right." he grunts - the sentence sends your toes curling in pleasure. "fuck-" he grunts, "dirty slut, letting me fuck you right here- practically begging me all night-"

the vibrations from the washing machine send tremors of pleasure through you and with wide eyes, you can feel your orgasm growing quickly. you can't help the gasps as Joel hits the spot in you that has tears brimming at the edge of your vision.

"you close already, sweetheart?" he taunts, hand grabbing both your wrists to pin them against your back. you can't move as he pumps into you, the machine hitting the wall as the fire writhes in your abdomen.

you nod, tears almost spilling in pleasure. the vibrations are bringing you so close to the edge as he hits the spongy spot inside you that nearly makes you scream; he chuckles darkly. "you need a little more, baby?"

you nod, wailing gently against him as you try to move against him, toes leaving the ground as he fucks you into the machine. "you wanna cum, hm?"

you nod furiously, yelping, "yes!" through his muffling.

you feel a familiar warm feeling in your abdomen after a several deep thrusts and you moan out as he lifts your leg slightly up, hitting a new angle that nearly sends you over the edge. "fuck." he hisses.

his hands grip your wrists tight, "you know how t'touch your clit, don't you, baby?" he asks. you nod, looking towards the wall as you can't crane your neck further to see him. he doesn't let up on his thrusts, even as you glare at the wall, nodding with a whimper.

"why don't you touch yourself, then?" he asks, teasing with a dark lilt in his voice that sends thrills through your body. you flutter and clench at his condescending tone, his hand pinning your wrists back as you struggle to move your hand to where you most need it.

"c'mon, sweetheart, try harder. work for it."

a tear falls onto the washing machine as he thrusts deep, hard. he hums low, leaning over and hitting a new angle, lips against your neck. "you gonna stop slutting yourself out? an’ stop callin' me a pervert when you throw yourself at me?" he asks, taunting. you groan, nodding enough that your neck hurts as you keen your back towards him, on a desperate edge of something brilliant.

he hums, "'kay, baby. touch yourself. want you to cum on my cock."

your hands are released and frantically your fingers find your sensitive clit, yelping as he presses his hand harder to your mouth. the feeling is blinding.

your cunt flutters as you hit your high not two thrusts later, your whole body tense. you let out a long, loud whine of his name as you nearly short circuit.

“f-fucking tight-" he grunts, his own thrusts sloppy as he chases his own orgasm, already moving on from yours as you go limp with pleasure in his grasp.

overstimulation sends your legs quivering as he grips you tighter, fucking into your throbbing heat. your cunt, still sensitive and contracting, drives Joel crazy - though you tense as you hear a familiar voice calling out Joel's name from the patio.

your eyes widen, but Joel doesn't stop - not when your dad yells his name louder, as if he's entered the kitchen.

and, to your horror, your dad calls out for Joel, asking if he's seen you.

you don’t miss the coincidence of your dad yelling into the house in search of you while his best friend cums inside you. a groan quiet in your ear as Joel suddenly stills deep inside you, hot spurts of his cum pumping into you, both your breaths heavy. he rocks into you, shaking breath as your father once again calls for him.

when Joel pulls out of you, he caresses your spine, releasing your mouth. you suck in a breath, shuttering when his thumb slides over your ruined cunt, thumbing his cum back inside you gently, lowly groaning.

you don't say anything, too shocked to speak as he pulls your panties back over you, dragging your dress over your ass.

releasing you from his grip, he hums into your ear, "now you’ll quit your fuckin' teasing, you hear me?"

and then, within seconds, you hear him returning outside, calling back your dad's name while you try to stand upright on shaky legs.

shit.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

taglist: @satansgoatt @elissaaa @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspasms @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @casssiopeia @wannab-urs @redhotkitchen @joelapologist2001 @silkiers @alltheseperfectimperfections @whorror-s @scarletthefierce @

message me if i forgot to tag u. requests are open.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

#joel miller smut #joel smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #the last of us (tv)#the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #pre-outbreak!joel miller #joel the last of us

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astralnymphh · 7 months

Text

kneeling for her ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x fem!reader sucking her strap hcs/scenario! ༻ ☽𖤐☾

(ellie image from kittaeria on pinterest)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: had the most random scenario blossom in my head yesterday so i wrote it per usual, went a lil more risqué with this one 😜at least to my standards

cw/tags: NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! ellies a lil goofy in the beginning, blunt/straightforward-ish reader, not a fully wrote out fic, small time skips, sitting on lap, cursing, takes place in jackson but not specified to be before seattle (readers choice) soft-dom leaning ellie (except maybe less soft in one instance, nothing rough tho), guiding you verbally and with hands, praises, petnames; (good girl, baby, slut) sucking/choking on strap, clit stim (giving) strap-vag insertion, flatiron position, rewarding, gripping head/hair, deepthroating.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

setting the scene

༻⛧one dusty orange sunset, cooped up in ellie's makeshift 'garage house' relishing a simple meal she whipped up for the both of you, albeit can you really classify her attempts at the art of culinary as five-star cuisine? regardless, the two of you slumped into the gray sofas' sufficient padding and dined like kings; in apocalyptic standards. no conversation had been rustling the space between you until a rather, interesting, unordinary, dare say- scandalous? scenario had implanted its peculiar self into your thoughts.

"hey babe?" you quell the silence, tone arching in curiosity.

"mhm?" ellie garbled through shut lips, chowing down her food.

"you know.. we should- try something new-"

"ooh~ like what?" she instantaneously hunches her back closer to you and tosses her barren plate aside, avid to hear your words go from mind to mouth. she invariably dotes on your ideas.

"uh- it's like.. related to.. bed stuff."

"like sleepin- wait! can we pleaaasee build a display shelf for my comic books above my bed-"

"ellie."

"sorry." ellie, even being an adult, is still crazy about her long-kept hobbies.

"uh- anyways. I'm talking 'bout like.. sex." you impenitently tell.

her eyelids dim, sloping her head to the side in adorned interest, "sex? that's one way to ask."

"no ..seriously, I have an idea.." you stow the plate atop a stubby heap of books, conveying a genuineness in your stare.

ellie sails her tongue briskly through her lips, anchoring her torso back onto the sofas' arm, lengthening her legs out with a faint bend at the knees. her palm drops to her thigh, patting it twice.

"c'm over here." she coaxes sweetly with an alluring gaze, imbued with a pip of power in her vowels.

a suffuse of blush overlies your midface, crawling your body towards her beckon.

her hands steady your hips down on her lap, finding refuge on the back of your thighs thereupon settling.

"what's the idea, then?" the moods' been shifted, emanating one of sensuality.

you nestle near her headspace, whispering, "y'know ur' strap?"

"yeah.." ellie likes where this is leading, clearly by her rapt smirk and tune of chords rising in tempt.

"what if I sucked it?"

⛧ oh boy, that set off a night she wouldn't be forgetting for the inbound days ahead. immediately you found yourself levitating up from the couch by her arms and bouncing on the mattress. a makeout session leads to fated stripping and now, your kneeling in front of her at groin-level and a hunter green mass protruding towards your nose bridge.

her optics glare down at you, the sight of you so keen and willing to do this. sure, it's not the real thing but the sight should and will be fucking exhilarating.

"c'mon, what're you staring at?" ellie's hand gently smacks your cheek and splinters your blurry-minded trance.

you deduct a reply from your mouth, instead, taking a solid grasp of the strap and wrapping your lips round' the tip, all while preserving unwavering eye contact.

"shit.."

her hands ease and twine the locks on each margin of your head, massaging the pads of her fingertips tenderly. her arousals' climbing new peaks every second at this rate. she presses her pelvis further upon your lip, steering you to open up.

your lips part and welcome the rotund tip in, stroking along your front teeth. the weak grasp on your head pushes the strap languidly to a greater extent that bounds it to the back wall of your throat.

"ach-" you jab out a cough.

"good girl, take that shit in.."

⛧she's one to be in control, but it's nothing rough. her hands guiding you back n forth gently as the strap summons spurts of tickles in your throat each time it prods the back of it. it'd be far enough to chafe the hilt against her clit, per usual any time she wears the contraption, so you'd always hear quaint whimpers, curses, groans, etcetera, from above.

"mhh~ fuuhhhhckkkk.." ellie draws out a long euphoric groan, straining her neck back and exposing the mild protrusion of her adam's apple.

catching up with the motion, you begin bobbing your head on your own accord. her hands dull their hold and hover above, letting you work your utter sorcery, mouth wide open and drooling for her.

her head recoils down, "such a slut- oohh~ fuck.."

⛧again, she's not rough without consent and a special occasion, but she'll clutch your hair firmly enough. to you, it's like her non-verbal sign that says 'go faster'.

thrusting your head faster, her own moans begin to burgeon and crowd the room over your sucking and popping noises. she looks so fucking hot from your angle, a clement sweat, fucked out face, leaning slightly back so her pelvis projects closer to you, a solo hand supporting on the back of her thigh, the other latched onto the apex of your head and knotting strands of hair around her fingers. it's all getting to you.

"oh- baby, fuck- keep goin'n.. uhn- shit!" the climax augmenting within her hips jitters the shit out of her knees, begging to just buckle underneath her and collapse on the bed.

"gh- hn.." your words fumble around ellie's cock, still putting your all into pleasing her. adding a grip on the strap and stroking it was endgame for her, the adjoined knocking against her swelling bud ruined her.

⛧ellie's definitely more of a groaner and a huffer when she comes, it's not growling level but it's certainly not fake exaggerated ones.

⛧i think she's also the type who'd want you to come as well, like, there is not a single night where she's the only one getting pleased, she has to see you unravel and lose your shit under her.

"stop, baby- stop.." ellie hastily hushes through heaves of breath, pulling your head from the strap to which it springs off your lips.

"huh..?"

"m'not cummin' without you- fuck.." her fingers take a grapple at your jaw, guiding you up onto your feet.

you give her a blank stare until it's washed away with a surprised one as you're cast onto the bed, stomach down, ass up. she shambles over you and flattens you out till your hips settle in the cloudy mattress.

she mounts your thighs and inclines her crotch to yours, slowly inserting into your cunt from the back. her nails chisel into your plush hips, thumbs notably indenting on your ass.

"oh-my gmm.. ellie.."

"god damn-" she mumbles to herself, cuffing out a quick chuckle, "you earned this.." positively rewarding you for your work.

insert a loooong night spent railing.

⛧random conclusion hc but I feel like in this position where she's behind you she'll litter you with kisses and bites on your shoulder-neck region, especially for being so good and disposed for her.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

MASTERLIST

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willowbelle · 4 months

Text

Unravel For Me

❤︎ trafalgar law x reader ❤︎

(no pronouns mentioned)

𖤐₊˚.༄ (nsfw, 18+ only) 𖤐₊˚.༄

cw: sub!(ish) law, oral (m receiving), very very slight voyeurism, begging, throat-fucking, basically just a fic about sucking off trafalgar law-!

summary: established relationship, heart pirates reader, law is overworking himself (of course), reader wants to help him relax (i wonder how? hehe), law is flustered, law is a teensy bit subby in this one (awe)

word count: ~2,500

celebrating my 20th birthday by writing a fic about my husband! ♡︎

i hope you enjoy (>ᴗ•) !

Unravel For Me

It was a record-breakingly chilly night in the Polar Tang. Winter had only recently gnawed autumn away, piece by piece, and the waters surrounding the submarine were icy cold and unapologetically still.

For you, comfort resided in the mug of hot tea in your hand, and the fluffy blanket that enveloped your body. And of course, you found the most solace in knowing that your partner (and captain), Trafalgar Law, was only a glance away.

He was seated at his desk, his lanky form hunched over the piece of furniture riddled with countless papers and books.

He was on his umpteenth medical textbook of the night, dark gray eyes religiously scanning back and forth through the pages.

You didn’t even need to look up from your own reading to know that his back was straining.

“Posture, Law,” you chuckled softly, shooting him an amused glance.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, just grunts something unintelligible under his breath and takes your advice, setting his book down and placing his hands on the armrests of his chair. He raises his chest, stretching his back and relieving his body from its former hunched state. He knows you’re right. He’s been working too long, as always. His body needed rest, he knew that. It needed release.

You watched as his toned body stretched, entranced by his every move. The way his lean muscles twitched as he extended his long limbs, his tan skin glistening beneath the warm lights of your shared bedroom.

“Sweetheart,” you started again, your soft voice always broke down his stoic facade and tugged at his icy heartstrings. “You need to rest. You’ve had your nose buried in that boring textbook for hours now. Come lay with me.”

You moved on the bed to make room for him, hand patting at the now empty space, silently beckoning for him to sit.

“Y/N,” Law began, sighing exhaustedly, “You know I need to finish this,” he ran his inked fingers through his thick scalp of hair as he spoke, picking up his book once more. “I promise, once i’m done with this one, i’ll stop and come lay with you.”

In response to his fatigued protest, you unwrapped yourself from your blanket and rose to your feet, making your way over to your captain.

You stood behind him and placed your delicate hands on his strong shoulders, massaging them gently in order to soothe his tense, worn muscles.

“I know you know that’s bullshit, honey,” you sighed softly, “you’ll be done with this one, then move right on to the next task without letting yourself rest. I know you, Law.”

You leaned down to kiss his cheek, humming softly into his skin.

“Law,” you spoke his name again, this time softly in his ear, running your hand down the front of his chest, “let me help you relax.”

You felt Law’s body heat up beneath your fingertips at the insinuation, and you didn’t miss how a slight blush now dusted his cheeks.

He leaned back, the top of his head now leaning against your stomach as he gazed up at you. His beautiful gray eyes took on the toll of displaying the majority of his tiredness, dark eyebags adorned beneath them for all to see.

Even from miles away, anyone could see how hard Trafalgar Law worked. Your heart swelled at the sight. You wanted to do anything in your power to help him, to give his diligent, persistent brain a rest.

You moved from behind him, and he instinctively moved his chair back so you could step between it and the desk, now standing in front of him. You looked down at your boyfriend, eyes lust-blown and determined. His tired gaze never left your face as you sunk to your knees before him, looking up at him and giving him a knowing smirk.

You watched his adam's apple bob as he gulped, flustered at your boldness.

“Law,” you purred, rubbing your gentle hands up and down his thighs, “You can keep working if you’re worried about it, but please, just let me make you feel good, at least.”

Your captain’s face flushed a deeper red and he nodded shyly before moving his strong hands down to work at his belt, getting the message loud and clear.

You bit your lip, blush now decorating your face as well.

His icy gaze never leaves your lust-ridden one as he removes his belt, fingers now working at his button and zipper.

Aiming to tease him, you begin to kiss along his crotch, feeling the tightness of his jeans intensify as the result of his growing erection.

His breath hitches in his throat as you begin your magic, your delicate touch never failing to make him melt beneath you.

“And Law,” your voice a seductive whisper, “tonight, your only job…” you continued kissing his growing erection in between words, “is to sit there and let me please you.”

You smirked at the blushing man before you, amused at how easily you got him flustered.

He says nothing, just stares at you and nods, his handsome face flushed red.

You opt to help him, hooking your fingers beneath the wasitbands of both his jeans and briefs, pulling them down in one swift motion, freeing that beautiful, aching cock that you loved so damn much.

You blushed deeply and bit your bottom lip at the lewd sound of his long cock springing free and slapping against his toned stomach, the action proving just how fucking rock hard he was. It makes Law blush, too, and you smirk as you watch him turn away, embarrassed. You extend your arm up and take his chin in your hand, making him look back down at you.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,” you purred, taking his throbbing cock in your hand and dipping your head down to lick along his aching tip, eyes never leaving his.

This little action caused Law to groan, even louder than you thought he would, hands gripping the armrests tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“y/n…” he groaned your name seductively, goosebumps decorating his skin. He tried his hardest to continue his work, leaning forward to pick up his book again. He scanned over a few words before ultimately realizing that the sentences were simply passing through his head, none of the concepts becoming concrete in his brain. He groaned, a bit frustrated, before giving in and setting his book down again. It was pointless, he was too distracted.

His mind was too full, stuffed to the brim with nothing but you, you, you, with no room for anything else. You took up all the space in his brain, and for once, he pushed work and learning aside and let you hold your reign inside his skull.

You only hummed in response, parting your wet lips to welcome his desperate tip. You swirled your tongue around his precum-soaked head, gently suckling on it.

Law rewarded your efforts with another strained moan, throwing his head back in ecstacy.

“N-Nghhh, y/n…” he moaned, your name drawn out and almost slurred as it left his throat.

You continued your dirty work, taking your cock further into your warm, wet, skilled cavern.

His head felt hot and fuzzy and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth as you took him in further, his hands immediately finding themselves in your hair, tugging on the strands, silently begging you for more.

“Sh-Shit, y/n-!” your captain groaned, breathless, head still thrown back, his eyes shut tightly.

You pressed on, your hot, slippery tongue sliding against the underside on his veiny cock. You took him in further and further, until his entire cock was encased within your hot mouth, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

“F-Fuck-!” Law cursed loudly as you took him down your throat, shaking beneath you.

His brain was swimming, drowning, even, at the feeling of your tight throat and hot mouth wrapped around his desperate, throbbing cock. He instinctively began to buck his skillful hips, his blunt tip hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

“M-Mmm!” you moaned around his length, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes at the feeling of him hitting your throat so deeply.

“Y/N-!” he groaned beneath you, “You feel s-” his sentence was cut off by the sound of rapid banging on your bedroom door.

“Captain! Captain!” a familiar voice cried from outside the door, “Are you in there? I need help finding something!”

You felt Law tense beneath you, twitching in frustration.

“Shit,” he groaned, voice riddled with annoyance, “Bepo, of course.”

You removed his cock from your throat, but continued to lick his tip to tease him and keep him stimulated.

You looked up and him and giggled softly, still gripping his now-wet cock in your hand, “Of course,” you toyed, stroking him idly.

He moaned softly and stared down at you as the rapping on the door continued.

“I-I’m busy-!” Law attempted to make his voice sound as normal as possible, but failed miserably. He was clearly hot and bothered, and his usually stern, cold voice now sounded undeniably pleasured and desperate.

You thought you could just make out the sound of a slight chuckle from behind the door.

“Got it, Captain!” Bepo replied, “Loud and clear!”

Law threw his head back again, this time in both frustration and embarrassment, his inked hands flying up to cover his flustered face.

“Fuck,” he groaned into his hands.

You snickered softly to yourself at the stupidity of the situation, but instead of teasing Law about it, you chose to rub small, comforting circles into his thigh.

“Law,” you began, your voice pulling him to you, causing him to remove his hands from his face and look down at you once again, his face perfectly displaying his undeniable embarrassment.

“We don’t have to continue, I know you’re flustered,” you reassured him.

You saw your captain’s eyes widen. Although he was embarrassed, the fear of losing you from between his legs was a much worse feeling.

He took your chin softly in his large hand, face burning red as he stared down at you, desperate.

“Please, y/n,” your captain pleaded, “Please don’t stop,” he whined.

You eyes widened as you stared up at him. You had never heard Law beg. To be honest, you never thought you would. He was always the dominant one in the bedroom, and usually you were the one pleading for him to fuck you. But now, Trafalgar Law was completely at your mercy, begging for you as he trembled beneath you, his throbbing cock still in your grasp.

“Please,” he pleaded, gripping his armrests, knuckles growing white again.

“Oh, Law,” you began, smirking, your voice tinted with a bit of smugness, “Are you really begging for me to suck that pretty cock of yours~?”

“I-I…” Law stuttered, stumbling over his words, “I am,” he admitted, “Please, y/n, please suck my cock, I need you…”

You bit your lip at his confessions and placed your hands on your captain’s strong knees, forcing them apart, giving yourself more access to his intimate region.

This intense action made Law blush uncontrollably, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan.

“Say no more, Law,” you whispered seductively before taking him into your mouth again, all of him.

“F-Fuck-!” Law cursed, the obscenity drawn out and desperate as it fell from his tongue.

With his long, thick cock enveloped entirely in yout throat once again, you began to bob your head up and down, earning more intense groans from your captain.

“O-Oh my god, this feels so good, mmm-!” Law whimpered loudly, his pleas and praise causing you to blush, he had never been so vocal before. Law made noise in bed, of course, mostly groans and heavy breathing, but nothing like how you had him now.

You had Trafalgar Law wrapped around your finger with the way you were slobbering and sucking on his aching cock.

He was unraveling beneath your touch, but for the first time in his life, your tightly-wound captain didn’t mind coming undone.

He could feel all his pent-up stress seeping out of his skin with each well-timed touch of your hands and each flick of your skillful tongue.

As you continued to bob your head, the lewd sounds of wet suckling and gagging filled the room, your saliva spilling from your mouth around your boyfriend’s desperate cock, traveling down and coating his aching balls.

“Sh-Shit, y/n!” Law cried, trembling, his voice shaky.

You could feel him preparing himself to burst.

He continued to buck his hips and thrust into your mouth, quickling abandoning his grip on the armrests of his chair in order to grab your head, forcing you up and down harder.

“M-Mmm-!” you moaned around his twitching, frustrated cock, sending vibrations through his body.

Law was sweaty and hot, shaking beneath you. His desperate thrusts started to become sloppy as he chased his fast-approaching orgasm, relentlessly forcing his cock into your throat over and over and over again.

Tears spilled down your face as he face-fucked you, his grip still tight on your head.

With one final, particularly brutal, thrust into your face, Law felt himself come undone to your efforts, letting out a loud, erotic moan,

“A-Ahh-! y/n!”

Law held your head down as he orgasmed, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your throat, causing your to let out a startled whimper around his throbbing, exhausted cock,

“Mmm!”

You could hear Law breathing heavily as you swallowed every last bit of what he gave you, pulling off of his cock with a satisfied pop.

You gazed up at the beautiful man before you, his head thrown back, eyes shut tightly, body glistening with sweat, his toned, tattooed chest rising and falling with every exasperated breath.

“Law?” you began, slowly rising to your feet on a shaky legs, “Do you feel better?”

One look at your captain and anyone could tell he had been pleasured to the point of euphoria, but you wanted to hear the praise from his mouth.

Law slowly opened his eyes, a tired smirk tugging at his lips, his face filled with rapture.

“I’m thinking maybe I should start overworking myself more often, if that tells you anything,” he toyed.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his teasing, “as if that would difficult for you,” you chuckled.

He smiled, a rare sight, but one you cherished deeply. He then motioned for you to sit on his lap, which you did so happily.

Settling into his lap and laying your head on his inked chest, you looked up at your boyfriend, your eyes wide and curious,

“Seriously though, about what happened earlier,” you motioned to the door by shooting your eyes in its direction, “are you going to get hell for that?”

Law chuckled and ruffled your hair, looking down at you,

“He’ll be fine. Might even be happy that I’m relaxing instead of working,” your boyfriend smirks at you.

“All the more reason,” you purred, gently nipping at his neck, feeling his worn body tense beneath you all over again.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

©this work belongs to willowhaze26.

do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms.

comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

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queenof-curses · 5 months

Text

Owned

Miya Twins x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Miya twins have been watching and waiting. What happens when they finally catch you alone in the gym after practice?

Tags: Minors DNI! Explicit in all ways. D-P. Dub con. Yandere themes. Obsessive personalities. Ownership. Str8 up smut. No plot really. Mind break. Overstimulation. Please read tags! Fic located under the cut.

w.c.-2.1K

Masterlist

“So fucking pretty for us- isn’t she samu?”

“God- sh- she’s so tight…” the gray haired twin moaned.

You couldn’t give anything more than a soft whimper as you got lost in your own pleasures.

“That’s right baby- your ass is so fucking tight.” The blonde said.

You were smashed between the two brothers, with Osamu under you. He was currently buried to the hilt in your cunt, relishing the feeling of your warm walls gushing around him as you squeezed his cock tight. He softly thrusted upwards, languidly fucking into you from below as the more feral of the two brothers took control from behind.

Atsumu had you bent over his brother, holding your hands against your lower back with just one of his own. The other was holding your jaw- two fingers hooked into your mouth as he gagged you on his digits like a fishhook. He was always the rougher of the two, and he couldn't help himself as he used your body as his own personal toy.

Not able to get more than your own moans out, you were stuck in the position as the brothers ravished you. Atsumu buried himself into your ass, you could feel the way the thin layer between your ass and cunt stretched as the twins filled you with their cocks.

You felt so lost…yet so- full.

- -

It was just a moment ago you finished up your own volleyball practice, your last college season coming to a close soon. Emerging from the locker room, you noticed the twins cleaning up the gym. You offered your help, since it was shared space between the boys and girls team- but little did you know that you’d end up caught in the Miya’s trap.

At first it was a harmless conversation between the three of you- them inquiring about your intense practice schedule compared to their own. Soon the conversation turned into banter. Atsumu teased you about your love life- how volleyball was your entire life and left your boyfriend high and dry. You were quick to remind them that you didn’t have a boyfriend, that you hadn’t for a year or so now.

Of course they knew you didn’t have a boyfriend- it’s the answer they were looking for as Osamu moved in for the kill. Offering to rub your shoulders after noticing how tense you were after folding the net up.

In the end, you let them have their way with you. Giving in to their temptations as the siren twins lured you into their trap; slowly removing your clothes for a “deeper massage.” At that point you were undone; and when Atsumu leaned in for a kiss, you found that your previous hesitations flew out the window and you ultimately ended up opening your body to the brothers.

- -

“We’ve been waiting for this, baby… you were made just for us, ya know? …we’re never giving you up now.” Atsumu tells you from behind.

Each delicious drag of their cocks against your most sensitive parts sent you into overdrive. You were a mess between them. Osamu kept his eyes locked on yours, the deep pools of grey staring into your own as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.

“You’re doing so well for us, such a good girl,” he tells you as his hands take control of your hips. The tip of his swollen cock teases your womb, fucking up into you from below at a set pace. His grip was tight, no doubt leaving bruises as a reminder of their capabilities.

“Oh god, Samu- Please!” You beg.

“Shhhh, sweet girl, you’ll get your fill.” he hushes you. He drags your hips up and down his cock, your clit grinding into his pelvis and sending your mind reeling with every thrust.

Osamu feels you tighten around him, the clench of your tight heat being his undoing as he tilts his hips slightly. The action causes you to see stars as he pounds up into your g spot.

“Oh-fuck!” you scream, lost in ecstasy. You grip his shoulders, digging your nails into his chiseled arms as he rips your orgasm from you.

“That’s it Princess, cum for us- show us how good we make you feel,” Atsumu says from behind. He feels your asshole clamp down as you begin to finish around both their cocks.

Your vision goes white as you scream, coating Osamu’s cock in your finish. He takes the opportunity to bring your mouth to his. Warm lips take in your cries as his tongue plays with your own, swallowing each whimper and moan that left your being. Wet sounds filled the gymnasium as the three of you danced in bliss. After a moment you go limp in Osamu’s arms, having no choice but to take what the two gave you- an onslaught of pure ecstasy.

Osamu needed no further push as he planted his feet on the mats below your bodies. Gripping your hips tight, he thrusted up into your heat, sending shivers down your fucked-out body as he slammed into your cunt from down under.

“Shit-I’m close, this pussys just too fucking good. Want my cum, babe? Yeah- you fucking do, gonna bury my fucking cock deep in this pussy.” He tells you, words fumbled as he loses himself in your tight grip.

Atsumu lets his twin take the reins as he relishes the way your ass takes hold of his shaft- using the opportunity to admire the way the fat of your behind bounces with each thrust of his hips. The blonde was mesmerized by the way your body took his length, all the way down to the hilt as his balls slapped against the bit of skin separating his current territory from his brothers. He feels close to cumming himself, but he holds back- wanting to finish in your cunt just like his twin. The thought of him and brother’s cum mixed inside you made him groan.

They wanted to own you completely; tired of waiting on the sidelines for you to notice one of them, Atsumu was glad they took the risk today to try and catch you alone in the gym. It had been well worth the wait.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m cuming!” Osamu moans, pulling Atsumu from his dark mind.

You feel the heat of it before you register what was happening. Your mind is clouded in a lustful haze as you realize the gray haired twin was cumming inside of you, filling your deepest parts with his hot seed as he slowly thrusted his finish into your womb.

“O-Osamu,” you whimper, the sensitivity of your flesh high as his shaft begins to soften inside of you. He takes a moment to relish in your warmth before pulling out of your soaked hole, knowing his twin was eager for his turn.

“Shhh baby, you’re such a good girl…” he’s sure to comfort you, hearing your whimpers and soft cries- he knows how sensitive you are.

You cry out at his praise, relishing the way he reaches to caress your hair as the blonde twin slowly pulls out of your other abused hole.

Feeling Atsumu lift himself from your body, Osamu helps maneuver you. You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but the twins treated you as if you were made of porcelain. Carefully, Osamu sits up and moves you to lay on top of his body. With your back to his front, you were now facing the blonde twin.

Resting with your full weight on Osamu, you feel his strong hands grip behind your knees and pull your legs up. You were practically seated in his lap with nowhere to go. He opens your core up towards his brother, who sits between your thighs and admires the way his twin’s cum drips out of your pussy.

You look down and realize how hard Astumu still was… his angry red tip leaking precum as you admired the veins that dance down his long shaft. He spares no second thought as he positions himself at your opening, pumping his fist up and down his shaft in anticipation.

Slowly, the blonde feeds his cock into your wet cunt. With yours and Osamu’s juices acting as lubricant, Atsumu was quick to resume the pace he had set on your ass- chasing after his own orgasm.

He buries himself balls deep inside of you immediately- the tip of his cock slamming the exact same spot his twin brother’s did moments ago.

You thrash in Osamu’s grip, another orgasm creeping up fast as his strength holds you in place to his sibling’s harsh thrusts. He holds you open for him, the blonde taking no more hesitation to bring his thumb up to your swollen clit. He fondles it slowly, the bundle of nerves pulsing and bringing a coil of heat to the pit of your stomach.

“I- I’m cuming, oh god!” you cry out to them, not able to hold the pressure any longer.

Your words make Astumu smirk, the blonde proud to see you break so quickly under his grasp.

The action on your clit was your ultimate undoing, you feel yourself clamp down on his member, a field of white flowing into your vision as you wet yourself and both brothers. You squirt hard, screaming in Osamu’s grip as you coat Atsumu’s cock with yourself.

Atsumu watches as you juices cover himself and Osamu, absolutely hypnotized by both the image and feeling of you wrapped around him. It was messy… nasty even- and he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Fuck- that was so hot Princess, I’m close- you’re too fucking tight, ya know?” He tells you as he picks up the pace of his movements.

Osamu whispers praise into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, that this is how you deserve to be taken- like this each and every day.

“From now on, you belong to us- Okay, Princess? Me n’ samu are gonna make sure you’re all taken care of from now on…” he tells you, voice ruff as he nibbles on your earlobe.

You moan in response as Atsumu gives a final thrust into your cunt, burying himself just as deep as his twin did moments ago. Emptying himself into you, he pulses his hips, ensuring his cum sticks to your deepest parts. If you got pregnant, he wanted to ensure it’d be his seed over his twin brothers.

He plugs you with his cock, keeping himself seated for a few moments as he relishes the way your warm cunt pulses around his shaft. He feels his balls tighten up against your opening, now empty and content.

“Oh fuuuuuuck,” Atsumu groans, finally removing his semi-hard cock. He admired how soaked he was, with not only his and your juices, but Osamu’s as well.

It was a sight to behold as he watched his brother release your legs from his tight grip, moving to a seated position with you upright and between his legs. Your knees fall apart, and Astumu catches the way your glistening cunt starts to leak the cum that was just buried deep inside of you.

“Ah ah ah- not on my watch,” he teases you and moves between your thighs.

The blonde twin reaches down, taking a swipe of cum and fingering it back inside of your cunt.

“Oh God, Sumu… it's too sensitive,” you cry out, attempting to move away. Osamu was quick though, holding you between the two of them with stern hands.

Your words don’t stop Atsumu’s actions though, and soon after it’s Osamu reaching from behind you to rub your little clit as his brother finger fucks you. It was embarrassing the way your pussy gushed; you were soaked and still wanted more... You could feel your cheeks heat at your compromised position, attempting to hide behind your hands.

Tears fill your eyes as you and Atsumu look at each other through the space of your fingers. He knew you wanted more- that you could handle both of them with whatever they gave you. This was their plan after all.

“This is how it’s gonna be, Princess. From now on…” Osamu whispers into your ear.

“You like one of us, you have to accept both of us. We’ll make you feel double good, baby”

Thanks for reading! :) Comments/Reblogs/Likes are all appreciated.

#miya twins x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu #miya atsumu #queenofcursesfanfic #haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu #Yandere miya twins #miya twins #haikyuu #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader x atsumu #haikyuu x you

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casualhedonists · 3 months

Text

into the mist, into the clouds

pairing: lucy gray x fem!reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: very few; fluff, angst, mystery and intrigue etc, post tbosas lucy gray

playlist for this fic • main masterlist

a/n: my first non-smut fic on here! title from carolina by taylor swift, which this fic is very much based on. this is one of my favorite things i've written in a very long time. enjoy 🤍

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

“You didn’t see me here.”

Whispered words fill the space between you. Your head rests in her lap, dress crisp and clean and smelling like you, like your home. She looks at you with a sense of urgency, one you’ve seen all too many times before.

“What? Lucy Gray, you’re not…”

She can’t be leaving again. She only just arrived. The morning had brought dew and her muddied boots on your porch for the first time in months. Your mother was gone for the day, it was almost like Lucy Gray had known. Her dress was covered in dirt and grass stains. You piled it into a hamper, washed it in the fresh water of the creek down the hill from your house, scrubbing away while she collected firewood.

“I am. Tomorrow. Dawn.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s not safe, my love. I can keep myself protected if I’m alone. I’m startin’ to get real good at it.”

You don’t ask if she’d come back. Neither of you ever know the answer to that.

“Will you do something for me, Lucy Gray?”

Your voice drops. The fire crackles, the pine cones you’d collected together popping as they burn. She likes the sound, she told you. It was safe, comforting. Homely. You’d wondered if she was really talking about the fire, or you, the girl who sat with her in its warmth.

“Anything. You know I will.”

“Would you leave before I wake up? I’m not sure I can say goodbye to you again.”

She smiles, soft and sad, and gazes at you like you’re a song, or something she wants to memorise.

“Of course I will. It’ll be like I never came back here at all.”

The glow of the flames dance across her face.

“I don’t want that.” You whisper. “I hate feeling like you’re slipping away from me.”

She lowers her head to yours, your foreheads touch. You hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You’ve learned not to waste your time in tears, when she’s going to leave. There are better ways to spend those last moments, eyes dry and focused on tracing the lines of her face, committing it to memory for the last time in who knows how long. You sit up, curling into her, pressing your lips to hers, her hair still damp and smelling like the bar of soap you’d lent her when you fixed her a bath, your pruned fingertips massaging her scalp as the water began to cool. You make it to bed, sleeping soundly with her arms around you.

True to her word, she leaves in the morning. Leaving no trace, no proof she was ever there in the first place. But you feel the warmth of the sheets next to you, and you know.

She finds you the next summer.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze, long grass up to your knees, long skirt swishing as you wade through the field, sun blaring down on you.

A pair of warm hands press softly over your eyes.

“You’re back.” You beam, spinning around, taking her head in your hands, eyes shut, just listening to her breathing. You press your lips to hers.

“I sure am.” When you break away to take her in, look at her sunkissed face, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her smile wider. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she got more beautiful every time you saw her.

You lie sun-drunk in the shade of the tall grass, lazing against each other as you go over your birthday, the village gossip, and she listens. Always listening, drinking up your words like she’s parched.

You’ve learned not to ask Lucy Gray where she’s been hiding, you both know it’s safer the less gets said. But she presses on, ever gentle, asking you for details when you fill her in on your life.

You jump at a movement in the grass beside you, but she just laughs. Picks up the snake, humming as it wraps and twists itself around her hand.

“These ones won’t hurt you, darlin’. They’re docile, see? Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

She lifts the snake to you slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You reply instantly, like you’ve waited your whole life to hear the question.

“Then hold out your hand.”

You reach out.

“Close your eyes.”

You do. After a second, you feel hers, pressing into your palm, and an oddly warm sensation, smooth.

“It feels… dry.”

You open your eyes. The snake twists and drapes between the two of you, loosely binding your hand with Lucy Gray’s, holding you together.

She laughs, bright and sweet, like music.

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” You confess. “Maybe for it to be wet? Slippery?”

Her laughter chimes through the field, a low gust of winding carrying it away. You stay like that for a few more hours, until night begins to fall, and the summer wind carries her away, too.

A year passes. Then another half.

Your mother gets older; she gets sick. You venture outside the bounds in twelve, slipping under the rusted wire fence with a basket, collecting herbs you’d started to read about but couldn’t afford. You make tinctures, teas, you light incense and fill the house with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. It slows down the sickness that tore through her like wildfire. When she passes, it’s beautifully peaceful, like a candle being blown out. You carry her ashes to the lake and you spread them, lingering by the Covey’s cabin. Hoping.

She doesn’t come. You walk home, humming something you think you remember her singing years ago. You start to wonder if she was just something you dreamt up, an old folk song you sing to yourself each night before you fell asleep.

Spring rolls around, and your empty house gathers dust. Your way with herbs and remedies gets around, starting with a few bottles gifted to a neighbour with influenza. Her granddaughter comes to your doorstep with the empty vial and a bag of potatoes. You smile and thank her.

“Are you a witch?” She asks, barely ten years old and looking up at you with dark, mistrusting eyes. You laugh.

“I’m not too sure about that, hon. Did the herbs help?”

She nods, a frown etched along her features.

“Then perhaps I’m a good one.”

Before you know it, word gets around that you cured the old woman. You make a living collecting herbs, crushing them down, and people line up outside your door most days. You find a slice of peace in it, in the routine.

But winter is cruel, and the house turns cold. The house that was once the perfect size for you and your mother now feels like too much money and work to heat, and things start breaking, and leaking. You hear from your cousin in Seven, you’ve inherited a log cabin and a slice of land on the edge of some woods from a great-aunt you never met.

You weigh your options. You go to the lake and skim stones in the icy water, mulling it over.

To leave Twelve is everyone’s dream. But Lucy Gray. The gentle ghost who lingers over your shoulder. How will she find you, if she ever comes back? You can’t stay here waiting forever. One bad frost kills your crops, the chill sets into your bones, and you make up your mind. You pack up your herbs and bottles, your books and your clothes, the pinecone you keep beneath your pillow, the silver snake bracelet she gave you many years ago, and you leave. A simple, smudged note sits under the plant pot on the porch, your old hiding place for the spare house key where she’ll know to look:

I’m in the trees. Come find me.

District Seven has more trees than you’ve ever seen. Twelve is known for it’s forests and fields, but these woods are expansive, spanning over miles, trees lined up perfectly, the smell of freshly chopped wood filling your senses.

Every step you took made you wonder if Lucy Gray been here, if the birds in these trees had heard her saccharine voice.

Your herbs sell a lot better in Seven. It’s enough to buy new clothes, and the village is better kept. The people are kind, warm and friendly. You can finally afford to eat your fill. Your cabin at the edge of the woods stays warm and comfortable, the wood is plentiful, you chop your own from the land that’s now yours.

Sometimes when your head spins from the weight of the axe you see movement in the woods, and you wonder. Sometimes you peer inside, certain that it’s her. But she feels so far away from you now, that you can’t help but feel you’ve abandoned her.

You take walks through the forests; you whistle to the birds and listen for the ones who might sing back. You hear nothing. One day, in the town, you walk by a window display with an old, beat-up guitar. It looks well-loved, and something draws you to it. Faded gold paint around the sound hole, strings messy but you go inside and barter, and take it home with you.

You hum some of the old songs she used to sing, try to piece together chords on the strings that aren’t snapped. It sounds like a mess but you play anyway. It feels like a piece of her that you want to keep close to you. You’ve learned to become a collector of sorts.

You’re kept warm through winter, and spring fades into summer. You take the little fishing boat that came with the cabin out on the river, and hike through the forest. You take your guitar with you, and one day, finally, you hear it.

A mockingjay.

It sings your broken tune back to you, bouncing through the pines. A smooth voice cuts through the birdsong.

“Did you miss me?”

Lucy Gray.

Your head spins around. And there she is, smiling, and you fall into her arms.

“I was so scared. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I know. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I would either.”

“But you’re here, you found me! My note, I didn’t know if…”

“The trees.” She grins. “District Seven. It made perfect sense, my love.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. Lucy Gray, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“Oh, I think I do. If you think for a second you’re alone in that, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now,” she adds, nodding at the guitar, “what do we have here?”

You take her onto the river, safer in Seven than you’d ever been in Twelve. She watches as you grind up lavender, the smell filling up the cabin, fascinated as you explain the hobby that you’d turned into work. She fixes your guitar strings, teaches you some simple chords. You sit on the porch, playing while she sings.

“It suits you here, you know.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She pauses. “I was so sorry to hear about your ma. She was a good woman. She was always kind to me. To everyone.”

“Thank you. I’m okay now, really. I like it here. It’s quiet, peaceful. I think that’s what she’d want for me.”

When she stares up at the sky, birds soaring up above, the rush of the wind through the trees, you can’t help but ask. This is all so perfect, and after so long you can’t bear the thought of her leaving again.

“Do you know how long…”

She smiles.

“Maybe a day or two? If that’s okay.”

You can’t hide your grin. You nod, and she glances up at you.

“Of course that’s okay. More than okay.”

Her fingers press over yours as she demonstrates a final chord. She sits behind you as you strum, grinning at her, head spinning around and she’s so close, it’s almost surreal.

“You did it!” She’s beautiful. Vivid like a daydream, all technicolor.

“That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it. Just play those four over again and you’ve got yourself a song.”

Your fingers intertwine, hand slipping from the guitar.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You whisper with a smile.

“You’ll remember it, won’t you?” There’s a solemness to it.

You frown.

“Of course I will. I’ll practice all the time.”

“You promise?” Her voice is desperate.

You slide the guitar to the floor and take her hand in yours, clasping it to your chest. Eyes making a silent oath.

“I won’t forget, Lucy Gray. I promise you.”

She nods, corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. You sigh.

“You know I’ve kept everything, don’t you? All of it. Everything I have that reminds me of you.”

“I saw the pinecone on the mantelpiece. Was that from-”

“The time we made the fire in 12? Yeah.”

She lights up.

“You’re such a romantic. I love it. You-”

Your lips press to hers, suddenly overcome with emotion. When you pull away, she sees the tears on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You cry. “I really didn’t, and… I don’t want you to leave, I-”

Her wide eyes fill with apology.

“I know. I wish I didn’t have to leave, sugar. I’m sorry it took me so long this time. I wish I could tell you how much it hurts to be away. It feels like I never really rest, until I’m back with you. Does that make sense?”

You nod, blinking away your tears.

“Will you do something for me, my love?” She presses, soft hands brushing away your tears.

“Anything.”

“Until tomorrow, can we pretend I’m not leaving? Pretend like this is our normal. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

You close your eyes, then look at her again, just as quickly, not wanting to waste a precious second.

“All the time in the world.” You whisper back.

True to your word, you make the most of it. She leaves you the next morning. You say a proper goodbye this time, holding her like you’ll never let go. But you do.

Weeks stretch on and you can feel her slipping away again. The birds ease the pain, singing her pretty melodies back to you, like a worn-out record you’ve played on repeat. You throw the windows and doors open, filling the house with summer’s balmy air and the sound of her voice bouncing through the rooms as if she was still there. But soon enough, they forget her dulcet notes, and you’re alone with yourself again.

You track the time through seasons, like you always have. The summer draws to a bittersweet close, and you miss it before it’s fully gone.

You slip back into your routine. You take the boat out alone. The schoolchildren sneak up to your door at times, you hear them whispering. The witch rumours are back in full swing but you don’t mind them. You think it rather suits you. You open the door, much to their horror, and offer them some cookies. They come dutifully back for more on Saturdays, and you appreciate the bit of company.

You keep your promise, and it keeps her alive. You practice the chords she taught you, rough calluses starting to form on your fingers. You trace them at night when the world gets too quiet, and as winter closes in again it gets quieter still. The birds fly away to escape the cold, and you wonder if out there somewhere, she might see them. You find yourself praying the winter isn’t being too cruel to her, wherever she is.

One day, at the market, you’re sat at your stall selling chamomile and sage tea, and you hear her name, like a question in someone’s voice. They remember. They remember her. Your heart swells. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, it’s her. She is the girl you love.

She appears more and more in your dreams, some nights you’re restless, dreaming of her scared, running from something in a dark forest, sometimes you’re there by her side. Other times you wake with a start thinking she’s knocking at your door. You sprint outside into the darkness, barefoot on the damp grass, turning in circles before you catch your breath.

You could make yourself some valerian root tea as a remedy, but you don’t. You don’t mind her living on through your dreams. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

You’re comforted by this haunting.

She finds you again. She always does.

“I saw the Covey a few months ago.” You tell her, the first night you spend together, lay in your bed, arms and legs a tangled mess, her hand in your hair.

Her eyes light up.

“Did you really? Close to here?”

You nod.

“They weren’t here for long. I’m not sure they recognised me, I was at the back of the room. It was pretty dark.”

Her eyes are wistful, filled with something you think you understand now.

“It all feels like so long ago, doesn’t it? I forget sometimes, just how long it’s been.” She looks to the floor. “And Maude Ivory – was she there? How’d she look?”

“She was.” You grin. “She looked happy. Healthy. She was smiling and dancing the whole night, like she always used to.”

You pause for a second, wondering if you should go back, mention that she, much like you, must still have an emptiness, a gap in her life even after all these years, but it’s like Lucy Gray reads your mind. Always one step ahead.

“That’s good.” She says decidedly. “It’s all I ever wanted for her. To be happy. Free. Thank you for telling me. I… I think about them a lot. About all of it. But I always hoped they’d move on without me.”

You’re quiet when you speak again.

“Lucy Gray, I don’t think anyone could ever move on from you.”

It lingers in the air. You speak up again.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“When I saw them that night, I stayed for the whole set, because… well, it’s silly,” you confess, “I couldn’t stop watching. I kept thinking that you’d show up. Like they’d just announce your name and they’d all cheer like they did in Twelve. Like you would get up there and sing, and see me in the crowd, and just… smile. Like you’d asked me to be there that night.”

It’s back again, that wistful look of hers.

“I sure wish I had been, sugar. But I think I’d rather be here with you than up on that stage, these days.”

Warmth fills your chest. “Yeah?”

She takes a breath.

“It’s important that people forget me. It’s safer this way. I don’t know what they’d do if they found me, but I know for certain I don’t plan to find out. Maybe one day… well, we’ll have to see. But for now, I could stay a little longer. Would that be okay? If I stayed until the week ends?”

Stay forever, you want to say. But you nod, holding her like she’s already gone.

When she leaves, it’s too soon. Always too soon. You stand in front of the cabin, wishing you could mold your hand around hers and never let go. You kiss her goodbye.

“You didn’t see me here.” She whispers against your lips.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” You respond, and her lips turn into a half-smile.

“Now. Close your eyes.”

You press them shut, feeling her hands slip from yours. When you open them, she’s gone again.

As the years go by, you stop hearing the name Lucy Gray altogether. She starts to feel more like a folk tale; a messy, ink splashed cursive on old parchment. You yearn to speak of her, to keep her legacy alive, but you can’t. You don’t. You remember, though. The world could forget about Lucy Gray Baird, but your memory of her lived on like a still-beating heart, and in turn it kept her alive. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t keep you alive, too.

You make quite the name for yourself, your apothecary bringing in customers from across Seven, sometimes further. So much so, that sometimes you wonder if when she passes through Twelve or Seven, she hears about you and remembers, counting down the days until she gets to come home.

She still haunts your dreams, slipping away as soon as you wake up. But she’ll come back. No matter how many times she leaves. Wherever you go, she’ll find you. She could go anywhere in the world, but she’ll always come back home to you. And you’ll be waiting for her, even if the world curses her name, even if the Covey forgets her too. You understand now. She’s as much yours as you are hers. And when she comes home, it’ll always feel like she never left. And that’s enough for you. It was always enough.

You leave your porch light on.

taglist: (i'm just gonna tag people who showed interest in the excerpt/might like this!) @etfrin @darby-rowe @ohstardew @ohmeadows @sabrinasbd @ctrlovertheworld

#mimi writes! 🕊️#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x you #lucy gray baird x you #the hunger games x reader #tbosas x reader #thg tbosas #the hunger games fanfiction #x reader #x you #x you fluff #x you angst #reader insert #itmitc

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floralcyanide · 5 days

Text

ɪғ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ — ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ (Part Two)

john “bucky” egan x fem!reader (nsfw)

You finally have that dinner Dr. Egan promised.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23-25, Bucky is in his 40s), smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, face riding, cum eating

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: as requested, here is the second part of the fic part of the series!! I hope yall enjoy (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | (If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Wanna Be Right - Barbara Mandrell

(the use of "Dr. Egan" is dropped by pov towards the end of the fic.)

You’re very much aware of Dr. Egan’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You had decided on a nicer dress for the dinner that your superior had promised. And ever since you’ve arrived at the table he had reserved, his eyes have done nothing but wander. You couldn’t help but stare as well, admiring the patch of chest revealed by Dr. Egan’s button-down. He had some graying hair there, and from what you could see, he was still very toned. Dr. Egan had let his hair be natural today without much product, and it curled stunningly. You wanted so badly to run your hands through it. You had not forgotten why he had offered dinner in the first place. And apparently, neither had he. After you had finished your meals and glasses of wine, you felt a hand on your knee.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

So here you are, walking into Dr. Egan’s home yet again. This time, the purpose is different, and the tension is thick. He walks over to the record player and puts on something before sitting on the couch. He pats a hand on his thigh, motioning for you to sit. You nervously walk over to where Dr. Egan sits and slowly perch yourself on his thigh. His hands find your hips, comfortably massaging your flesh through the fabric of your dress. You look down at him- there’s a small smile resting on his face and something gleaming in his eye.

You boldly take hold of Dr. Egan’s face, eagerly pressing your lips to his. You can feel his light stubble underneath your palms. He moves you up further along his thigh until your knee is flush against him, and the contact makes him groan into the kiss quietly. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue through Dr. Egan’s lips, battling him for dominance. You willingly let him take over, nearly jumping out of your skin when he presses your hips down against his leg. But your shock is quickly replaced with pleasure as Dr. Egan guides your body against his thigh. The movement of your hips brings your knee into his slowly hardening bulge at a delicious angle.

“Just like that,” Dr. Egan sighs, “So pretty sitting on my thigh like this.”

“I’d be prettier sitting somewhere else,” you say out loud, not entirely meaning to.

But your words hang in the air like a promise.

Dr. Egan pauses his movements, his grip stilling on your hips, “Like where?”

You gulp, bravely running your hands across his face and through his hair, “Here.”

“My face?” Dr. Egan smirks, and you feel your ears burn.

“Yes,” you bite your lip, “Is that okay?”

“Couldn’t imagine anything finer,” Dr. Egan grins, moving you off his lap so you could stand up and he could lay down on the couch.

He takes a pillow and shoves it under his head as he makes himself comfortable, his hand reaching out for yours, “Ready?”

You slip your fingers underneath the band of your underwear, letting it slide down your legs before you step out of them and your shoes. You carefully climb over Dr. Egan’s face, planting your knees on the sides of the pillow as you hover. He grabs your thighs, pulling you down flush against his mouth, where his tongue immediately darts out to lick a stripe up your slit.

“So wet already? All for me, hmm?”

“All for you, Dr. Egan.”

He pulls away momentarily, “I told you to call me John, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, wiggling your hips against his nose, “Okay, John.”

John hums contently as he laps up your wetness, moving his tongue to swirl your essence around your clit before he suckles it gently, making you moan quietly. He does the action again, suckling a little harder to make you moan louder. He succeeds, and your hips buck against his face as you grow louder with every sharp suck of your bundle of nerves. John starts fucking you with his tongue, letting his nose prod your clit. as you ride his face without shame. Your fingers grip his curly hair harshly as John eats you like he’s starving, and your cunt is his first meal in forever. You feel yourself growing close to the edge as the older man doesn’t let up on eating you out.

“I’m close,” you warn, panting as you snap your shaky hips forward.

John moves his head from side to side, flattening his tongue against your clit as he brings you to your orgasm. You feel yourself gush on his tongue as you ride his face slowly, letting your orgasm fizzle into a high. John licks you clean of your cum and arousal, despite your mewls of overstimulation.

“Your turn,” you say, catching your breath as you climb off John’s face and settle on his lap.

You palm him through his dress pants, causing him to grab your wrist.

“I wanna ride something else now, John,” you say, a mischievous smile taking over your features, “Is that okay?”

John’s grip on your wrist loosens, and he allows you to unzip his pants and pull him out of them. You lazily stroke him a few times before moving up on his lap, gathering your wetness on the tip of his length before slowly pushing onto it. John hisses at the feeling of you enveloping him, your cunt swallowing every inch of him greedily. His hands grip your hips as you take him fully.

“Been thinking about this view for a while,” John admits, and you can’t help but smile.

“Really?’ you ask, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him inside you before pulling off and slamming back down, “How is it?”

“Fuck,” John curses, “It’s good, very good.”

His hands move to squeeze your breasts through your dress, and much to John’s delight, you aren’t wearing a bra underneath. His thumbs brush over your pebbled nipples as you gain a steady rhythm, rocking yourself against his hips. John runs his hands all over your clothed body, wishing he could see you naked. But he’s too distracted by the dragging of your walls along his length to think about doing anything else.

“I’m glad to impress you, John. Or should I say Dr. Egan?”

John growls lowly at that, snapping his hips upward to match your pace.

“I hope my performance is everything you hoped for,” you tease, your hands finding the buttons to his shirt and popping them open. You let your palms move across his chest, your nails grazing the hair that scatters the expanse of it.

“Never thought I’d see the day that my star pupil would be riding me,” John plays along to your professor-student comment, “I’d like it even better if she came on my cock like the good girl she is.”

Your moans are audible by now, the pleasure becoming too much to remain silent. The feeling of your older counterpart hitting your cervix dead-on is dizzying. Your nails start to press into the skin of John’s chest as you feel your second orgasm creeping up into your abdomen. You raise your stuttering hips up almost entirely off of John’s body before pushing back down as hard as possible, fucking him with what energy you have left.

“You relax, baby. I got the rest,” John flips the two of you over, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as he pounds into you.

This maneuver takes you by surprise, but you allow him to take you on the couch like you dreamed of ever since you felt that spark between you. You never would have guessed your pursuit for your M.A. would end up like this, but the feeling of you sinking deeper into the couch with every thrust makes it worth it. John feels himself losing control as your cunt flutters around him, on the edge of convulsion as your orgasm begins to take hold. You cry out, gripping John’s biceps as you feel him hit the spot inside you perfectly, and it sends you to the point of no return. You cum around him hard, causing him to finally spill inside you with a groan.

You’re gasping for air as John pulls out of you, rushing to the restroom for a hand towel to clean you with. He’s gentle and waits for you to come back to Earth on your own time.

“You alright, doll?”

You nod, putting a hand on his cheek as he leans down to give a soft kiss on the lips.

“I just thought I’d remind you your thesis is due to me next week,” John cracks a smile, and you throw the pillow behind your head at him.

“Ruined it,” you roll your eyes, “Ruined my high, John. But thanks for the reminder.”

Then you realize you have another year and a half to spend working alongside John- Dr. Egan. And you wonder how that will work out after all of this.

#mota #masters of the air #masters of the air au #john bucky egan #john egan #bucky egan #john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #masters of the air fanfic #callum turner #callum turner x reader #john bucky egan smut #john bucky egan x reader smut #john egan smut #john egan x reader smut #bucky egan smut #bucky egan x reader smut #floralcyanide writes

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

Text

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

#joel miller x reader #tlou #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers

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hd-junglebook · 1 day

Text

Does He Know? '

Part 1 - Word Count 4075

Masterlist

Authors Note: before you scroll away this is a Jack Hughes fic, I know Vince is the gif BUT I WILL NOT BETRAY OUR MANS JACK! and lets pretend Vince is not a hockey player for the plot.

Summary - In this you will meet Vince and Y/N, the beginning is so cute ngl I was kicking my feet imagining this in real life. Jack is introduced later, pls lmk what you think after you read. Enjoy !

warning - cuteness, hot men, cursing, men being men. the rest I cannot write because it's a spoiler.

Next Chapter Link Here

Y/N and Vince were snuggled up on the plush, charcoal gray couch in their cozy apartment. The living room was bathed in the warm, soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors.

On the television, an episode of "The 100" played, the sound of the dramatic post-apocalyptic dialogue filling the room. As the show cut to a commercial break, Vince turned to Y/N, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light from the TV screen.

A thoughtful expression crossed his handsome face, his brows furrowing slightly as he contemplated his next words.

"Hey, I've been thinking about something lately," he said, his deep voice barely audible over the background noise of the television.

She shifted slightly on the couch, the soft fabric of her oversized sweater brushing against Vince's arm. "Mhmm? What's on your mind, baby?" she asked, caressing his curls.

Vince took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What do you think about the idea of starting a family? Of having a baby together?"

Y/N's eyes widened. A mix of joy and excitement washed over her delicate features, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. "Really? You want to have a baby with me?"

Vince nodded, his smile growing wider, revealing a hint of the dimples that Y/N adored. "Absolutely. I can't imagine anything better than creating a life with you, raising a child together."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and happiness that swelled in her heart. She threw her arms around Vince, hugging him tightly. The delicate clink of her silver Pandora bracelet filled the air as she caressed the soft strands of his hair.

"I would love that," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I've always dreamed of being a mom, of having a family with you."

Vince held her close, his strong arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. He stroked her hair gently, his fingers running through the silky strands.

"Just think about it," he said softly, his breath tickling her ear. "When you're tired from a long day, I'll come home and rub your feet, just like this."

He reached down and took Y/N's feet in his hands, massaging them gently. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin. The sound of the television faded into the background as "The 100" resumed, the dramatic music and dialogue a distant hum compared to the intimate moment they were sharing. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin.

"Keep going," she encouraged, sighing in contentment.

Vince grinned, continuing his ministrations, his fingers kneading the soft skin of her feet. "And whenever you get cranky or have cravings, I'll go to the convenience store and grab all your favorite snacks. I'll take care of you, every step of the way."

Y/N felt her heart swell with love for this man, for the future they were planning together. She gazed into his eyes, seeing the reflection of their dreams and hopes mirrored in their depths.

"And our baby," she said softly, "they'll have my face and your hair." Vince chuckled. "A perfect combination. They'll be the most beautiful child in the world."

They were in love, they were happy, and they were ready to start the next chapter of their lives together.

…

Four months later…

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft rays of gold across the spacious living room of Y/N and Vince's upscale apartment in Hoboken. Y/N stood by the window, sipping on a cup of coffee with way too much milk, her gaze fixed on the bustling city below.

"Vince," Y/N called out, turning away from the window to face her partner, who was hastily getting ready for work. The sound of Vince throwing his pajamas on the ground echoed through the room, a subtle indication of his frustration.

Y/N watched as Vince moved around the room, gathering his things and preparing for the day ahead. "Can't you stay for just a few more minutes? We barely see each other anymore."

Vince, already halfway out the door, paused for a moment, a hint of frustration flickering across her features. Vince's dark brown hair sat perfectly, catching the sunlight as he turned to face Y/N. The olive hue of his skin seemed to glow in the morning light.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Vince replied, his voice tinged with resignation. "I've got an early meeting today. I can't afford to be late again."

Y/N's heart sank at the familiar excuse. It seemed like work always came first for Vince, leaving little time or energy for her relationship.

This became an everyday occurrence, her begging for the bare minimum and him pushing her away but always finding a way to make up for it in the bedroom. And even that had gotten boring. She forced a smile, masking her disappointment.

"That's what you always say, Vince! It's always about work with you. What about us? What about our relationship?"

Vince's eyes narrowed. "You know how important my career is to me, Y/N. I'm doing this for us, for our future."

"But what kind of future will we have if we never spend any time together? You’re not doing this for us, it’s for you," Y/N countered, her voice rising. "I feel like I'm living with a ghost. You're never here, and when you are, you're too tired or distracted to really be present."

"That's not fair," Vince argued. "I'm working hard to provide for us. I thought you understood that."

"I do understand, Vince. But I have a hard job and I’m not neglecting you. There has to be a balance. I need more than just financial security and whiskey dick every once in a while. I need a partner who is actually present in our relationship."

Vince glanced at his watch, his impatience growing. "Look, Y/N, I don't have time for this right now, I can’t stand your nagging so early in the morning. Can we talk about this later?"

Y/N threw up her hands in exasperation. "When Vince? When will you have time for me, for us? Because it feels like that time is never going to come."

Vince sighed heavily. "I promise I will come home early tonight, and we will talk. I'm doing the best I can, Y/N. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you."

With that, Vince turned and walked out the door, leaving Y/N standing alone in the bedroom. She wandered back to the office, where her computer sat waiting on the desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N sank into the chair, her mind filled with thoughts of the growing distance between her and Vince.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Her eyes wandered to the framed photographs scattered throughout the room, memories frozen in time—vacations, celebrations, moments of laughter and love shared between them and Vince.

Each image seemed to mock Y/N, a painful reminder of the happiness they once shared. After a moment of introspection, she finally rose from the chair and made her way out into the hall, heading towards her office.

She busied herself with work, trying to drown out the nagging doubts and insecurities that gnawed at her mind. Hours passed in a blur, the click-clack of the keyboard the only sound in the silent apartment.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N's phone chimed with an incoming text. Her heart leapt for a moment, hoping it was Vince with good news, but her hopes were quickly dashed. "Working late again tonight. Don't wait up. - V" the message read.

Y/N sighed heavily, disappointment washing over her. It seemed Vince was always working late these days. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had a relaxing evening together, just the two of them.

Trying to shake off the melancholy thoughts, Y/N decided a hot shower might help clear her head. She made her way to the master bathroom and turned the faucet on, letting the water heat up as she undressed.

Steam began to fill the room as she stepped into the tub and slid down until she was sitting, knees pulled up to her chest, letting the spray of water cascade over her.

The heat seeped into her tense muscles, Y/N's mind drifted to happier times with Vince. She thought back to their early days of dating, how attentive and affectionate he had been.

Weekends spent exploring the city, lazy Sunday mornings tangled up in each other, stolen kisses and inside jokes. They had been so in love, so sure of their future together.

But somehow, over the past three years, they had gotten off track. The demands of both their careers meant less and less quality time together.

At first it was just dinners cut short or date nights postponed. But soon, it felt like they were two ships passing in the night, occasionally sharing space but never really connecting.

Silent tears mixed with the rivulets of water running down Y/N's face as she sat there lost in thought. How had they let things get to this point?

Was there still a way to find their way back to each other? She wasn't sure anymore. But she knew she wasn't ready to give up on their marriage yet, even if it felt like Vince already had.

With a sigh, Y/N reached forward and shut off the water, watching the last of it swirl down the drain. She couldn't hide in here forever.

Grabbing a fluffy towel, she stepped out and began drying off, resigned to another solitary evening.

…

Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with Vince. In the week since their argument, his behavior had only become more erratic.

Late nights at the office were becoming more frequent, and when he was home, he always seemed to be on the phone, speaking in hushed tones and ending the call abruptly whenever she entered the room.

She had tried to convince herself that it was just work stress, that Vince was dealing with a big project or a demanding client. But the canceled plans and missed dinners were starting to pile up, and Y/N's suspicions were growing.

Y/N felt like a detective, piecing together clues and trying to unravel the mystery of her husband's behavior. But the picture that was emerging was not a pretty one.

Deep down, Y/N feared that Vince was hiding something from her, something that could shatter their already fragile marriage.

Amidst these swirling doubts, Y/N found herself at a family gathering, surrounded by well-meaning relatives who were all too eager to pry into her personal life. Her mother, who had never been a fan of Vince, was particularly persistent that night.

"Y/N, dear, have you met Ellens second son?" her mother asked, practically dragging a tall, handsome man over to where Y/N was standing. "He's single, successful, and quite the catch if you ask me."

Y/N's mother dragged her towards Jack, who was standing next to the piano with a champagne flute in hand. Y/N cursed under her breath as she walked hastily beside her mother.

As they approached, Jack looked up, his eyes as clear as the ocean. Y/N found herself momentarily transfixed by his gaze, a mix of confidence and intrigue.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," she introduced herself, trying to maintain her composure. "I'm sure you already know my mother." Y/N plastered on a polite smile, trying to ignore the twinge of annoyance she felt at her mother's meddling.

But as Jack started to talk, she found herself drawn in by his warmth and charm, forgetting all about the encounter.

Jack's lips curled into a small grin as he extended his hand. "Jack," he said simply, his voice smooth and inviting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

They shook hands, Y/N couldn't help but notice the firmness of his grip, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was something electric in his touch, a spark that made her heart skip a beat.

Her mother, sensing an opportunity, quickly excused herself. "I think I see Ellen in the crowd," she said with a knowing smile. "You two get acquainted. I'll be right back."

Y/N watched her mother disappear into the throng of guests, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her. She turned back to Jack, who was watching her with a curious expression.

"So…" she began, taking a sip of her margarita. "How come I haven't met you yet? I've met Quinn, but I've never seen you before."

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I guess we just run in different circles. Quinn's always been the social butterfly of the family." Jack sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "And what about you? What's your story, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to reveal to this handsome stranger. But there was something about Jack that made her want to open up, to let down her guard.

"Oh, you know," she said with a wry smile. "Just hangin around. I don’t really do much just work and sleep. Navigating life.

Jack's grin widened. "Aren't we all?" he said, raising his glass in a toast. "To the adventures that await us."

Y/N clinked her glass against his, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation. There was something about Jack that made her feel alive, made her forget about the troubles and doubts that had been plaguing her.

He had a quick wit and an easy laugh, and Y/N found herself relaxing in his presence. Jack seemed genuinely interested in her, asking questions about her life and her interests. It was a stark contrast to the distant, distracted Vince she had been living with lately as they sipped their drinks.

As the evening wore on, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Jack's eyes lingered on her, the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for a drink. There was an undeniable attraction there, a spark that she hadn't felt in a long time.

But there was also something else about Jack, an edge of fun and mystery. He had a bit of a bad boy vibe, the kind of man her mother would normally warn her away from. Maybe that was part of the appeal, the thrill of a chase.

As the party wound down and Y/N said her goodbyes, Jack slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "My number," he said with a wink. "In case you ever want to grab a coffee and chat."

Y/N tucked the paper into her pocket, feeling a mix of excitement and guilt. She knew it was wrong to even consider reaching out to Jack, not when she was still married to Vince. But the seed had been planted, the temptation was there.

“I’m married, but I hope this isn't the last time we cross paths." y/n said as she took his hand in hers once more. "It was great meeting you, Jack."

"I hope not either," he said softly, meeting her gaze.

With a final squeeze of her hand and a roguish wink, Jack turned and melted into the crowd, leaving Y/N standing alone with her thoughts and her racing heart before she composed herself.

…

The soft click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment as Vince stepped inside, a bouquet of vibrant red roses in one hand and a rustling plastic bag filled with Y/N's favorite snacks in the other.

The sweet, floral scent of the roses mingled with the aroma of buttery popcorn and rich chocolate wafting from the bag, creating an enticing blend that filled the entryway.

Vince's footsteps were muffled by the plush, cream-colored carpet as he made his way into the living room. The soft glow of the table lamp cast a warm, inviting light across the space, illuminating the cozy leather armchair and the intricately patterned throw blanket draped over its back.

As he rounded the corner, Vince's eyes fell upon Y/N, curled up on the overstuffed sofa, a well-worn paperback novel resting in her lap.

She looked up at the sound of his approach, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of him standing there, an apologetic smile on his face and his arms laden with gifts.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, a myriad of emotions passing between them in the silence. Y/N's gaze flickered from the roses to the snack bag, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

"What is that?" she asked, her voice soft and tinged with curiosity.

Vince took a step closer, extending the bouquet towards her. The crinkle of the cellophane wrapping seemed to punctuate the moment as he held them out, a peace offering.

"I'm sorry I ditched you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I'll be home more from now on."

Y/N's expression softened as she reached out to take the roses, her fingers brushing against Vince's as she accepted them.

She brought the blooms to her nose, inhaling deeply, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as she savored their delicate fragrance.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a hint of forgiveness in the curve of her mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured, setting the roses down on the coffee table with a gentle thud. The polished wood gleamed in the lamplight, reflecting the deep scarlet of the petals.

"And the snacks?" she asked, eyeing the bag with a mix of amusement and appreciation.

Vince grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sensed her mood shifting. He plopped down on the sofa beside her, the cushions giving way beneath his weight with a soft whoosh.

"All your favorites," he said, rummaging through the bag, the crinkle of plastic and the rustle of packaging filling the air. "Popcorn, those little chocolate truffles you love, and..." he paused for dramatic effect, pulling out a small, familiar blue box, "your favorite tea."

Y/N let out a small, delighted laugh, the sound like music to Vince's ears. She reached for the box, turning it over in her hands, the cardboard smooth beneath her fingertips.

"You remembered," she said, her voice warm with affection.

"Of course I did," Vince replied, his tone light and teasing. "I may be forgetful sometimes, but I could never forget the little things that make you happy."

Y/N leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek. Vince wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, the heat of her body seeping into his own.

For a moment, they sat there in comfortable silence, the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle and the distant hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the room.

"I really am sorry," Vince said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I haven't been around as much as I should be, but I promise, that's going to change."

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes searching his face, a glimmer of hope and love shining in their depths. "I believe you," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin. "We'll make this work, together."

Vince turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to her palm, the warmth of his lips a silent promise.

…

It has been two weeks since her encounter with jack, now here she sat at her desk. She couldn't deny the spark she had felt, the way he had made her feel seen and desired in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time.

But even as she replayed their conversations in her head, a nagging sense of guilt tugged at her heart. She was still married to Vince, even if their relationship had been strained lately, he had done his best to come home earlier but duty calls.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Y/N turned her attention to the pile of mail on her desk. She began sorting through the envelopes, her mind only half-focused on the task.

Bills, junk mail, a postcard from her sister's latest vacation...and then her hand stilled on a plain white envelope with no return address.

Frowning, Y/N tore open the envelope, her curiosity piqued Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half. As she unfolded it, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

It was a hotel receipt, dated from last weekend. The name on the receipt was Vince's, but the room was booked for two people. And there, at the bottom of the receipt, was a charge for a bottle of champagne and a couples' massage.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as the reality of what she was seeing sank in. Vince had been at a hotel with someone else, someone he had been intimate with. The betrayal hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs.

With shaking hands, Y/N reached for her phone. She scrolled through her recent calls until she found Vince's number and hit the call button.

It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. "Hey babe, I’m really busy right now, can I call you later?” Vince's voice sounded casual, unaware of the bombshell that was about to be dropped.

"We need to talk," Y/N said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Can you come home please? It's important."

There must have been something in her tone that alerted Vince to the severity of the situation because he agreed without hesitation. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Y/N hung up the phone and took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn't know how she was going to confront Vince, what she was going to say.

All she knew was that their marriage, their life together, was about to change forever.

…

When Vince walked through the door, Y/N was waiting for him in the living room. His clothes were scattered around the apartment and their photos had been broken, the glass shards still remaining on the floor.

The smell of a floral perfume that definitely was not hers wafted into her nose.

She held up the hotel receipt, her eyes filled with tears and her voice shaking with anger. "What is this, Vince? And don't you dare try to lie to me."

Vince's face paled as he realized what she was holding. "A receipt?”

"No, you idiot!” Y/N cried, the tears now flowing freely down her face. "You've been cheating on me? You've been lying to me, sneaking around behind my back?"

"It's not what you think," Vince tried to defend himself, but his words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"It's exactly what I think!" Y/N shouted. "How could you do this to me, to us? You were out getting rub downs at some hotel, Vince. I loved you."

Vince reached for her, but Y/N recoiled from his touch. She couldn't bear the thought of him touching her, not now, not after what he had done.

“I would cry myself to sleep next to you and you would turn away and complain. You didn’t care that you weren’t loving me the way I deserve to be loved!”

"Y/N, please," Vince pleaded. "It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I’ll end it right now, just...just please stop crying."

But Y/N wasn't listening anymore. She was lost in her own pain, her own sense of betrayal. The man she had built a life with, the man she had trusted with her heart, had shattered everything with his infidelity.

Y/N shook her head. "I don't know if we can fix this one, Vince. I don't know if I can ever trust you again. What am I supposed to do?" she questioned, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked up to meet his eyes with more emotion she had ever felt in her life.

“How long has this been going on.”

Vince's gaze faltered, his expression clouded with guilt and regret. He looked down at the cream-colored carpet, unable to meet Y/N's gaze. "Remember when I asked you to start a family?" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A flood of memories washed over her—dreams of a future together, plans for a family they had once shared.

…

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gorejo · 2 years

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

≡ gojo satoru x f!reader

↳ He’s in need and you aren’t willing to give. He’s in the mercy of your hands, but you’re a victim of his play. Gojo Satoru does what he wants, and gets what he needs — reversing the cards to his so called game he liked to play of tease — so that you’ll always be the losing game.

tw/cw: smut, gojo sending an explicit video, teasing, explicit language, mentions of office sex, cream pie. masturbation. teasing. fingering. reader called: babe, princess, my/good girl. mentions of gojo watching porn. gojo called good boy. self-overstimulation. mentions of unprotected sex and deepthroating. gojo calls himself daddy to tease.

✉ : the bane of my existence, here is gojo satoru for the first fic to launch this blog ( : likes, reblogs, comments are all very appreciated !!

link to main masterlist

Never did you wake up earlier than normal just to read a magazine before heading off to work. And rarely did you need to catch the morning rush hour on the train, because some lovesick man thought it would be nice to pick you up from home and drive you both to work — all with the favor of also having your favorite pastry and coffee ready for you.

But here you were, in front of the train station, holding the most recent edition of Times where the cover of the page beheld a rather familiar face with the clock reading 7:43 am.

A perfect shot of him simply sitting on a stool, his pants tight on his thighs, dressed up and groomed with his crystal white hair pulled back, his forehead handsomely accentuating his perfect features — especially his cut jaw and clean hairline. With his sleeves pulled to his elbows, buttons undone at the upper two — his thinly defined neck and godly collar bones underneath the fabric — smiling innocently, even candidly in the shot.

Remembering moments before his shoot he fucked you in his sports car, cramped and sweaty as he released his seeds into you, as your soft walls wrapped him fully while his hands massaged your mounds. Gojo Satoru watched you squirm, going far as to wink and shoot you his wickedly handsome smile, lightly mouthing as you watched afar from the back set, “be good and keep it all in.”

“Good morning, pretty.” His voice rang softly and sweet through your earphones, as you sipped on a cup of coffee with a pastry in hand, reading a rather interesting portion of the magazine.

“You didn’t take the car?” He questioned as he scanned over your background, unhappy that you chose to decline his favor of you taking his car to work, yet still delighted that you were taking care of yourself with some breakfast.

“Good morning! Ah no… you’re finished for the day, right?” You responded back, eyes barely making contact with your screen as you scanned through the article, time to time glancing at his photos and mentally noting how hot he was.

“Yea, exhausted and I’m just about to get din —” briefly chuckling as he noticed your rather lack of attent, “hey, my face is over here if you don’t mind? Your poor boyfriend’s been waiting all day for this time. Focus on me.” Gojo whined with a faint pout on his pink lips.

You couldn’t tell if it was the heat piling in your core from seeing how good he looked in the magazine, heart palpitating as if you’ve seen your favorite celebrity, but one thing for sure was that even in his winding down, with his hair dropped low from his shower, his face tired with small bags under his eyes, his thick hands placed over his jaw as he looked at you through the screen, Gojo Satoru was hot.

“I am, I can hear you just fine Satoru,” you responded back as you continued to read the last couple of paragraphs.

“What are you reading?” Gojo huffed as he leaned back on his chair, his elbows resting on the armrest, clothed chest softly moving up and down as he played with the strings of his gray sweats. With no response but a simple hum, Gojo gave up on trying to win over your stubbornness but instead chose to focus his time someplace else — you.

Pretty. You looked so pretty, Satoru thought.

By this time he could’ve been holding your hand, taking his time while driving to work as he basked in the quiet of your morning hum, listening to the obnoxious honking of the city cars on the chaotic streets of Tokyo as he occasionally answered your questions about his impending day, while his thumb mindlessly brushed against the back of your hand… where his thoughts would soon slowly venture to the times where he kissed you in the copy room, where he secretly held your hand in a room full of your coworkers on the elevator, where he thoughtfully planned out lunch dates in his office, pondering especially to the times where he fucked you in different places of the office building leaving you a panting mess as you always complained that you had to fix up your makeup because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants for a couple of hours… imaging of his long time goal to have you suck him off underneath his desk as he met with his workers.

Where your muffled pants rang through his ears, and the thrill of getting caught exhilarated his endorphins shooting straight to his cock… where the most recent rendezvous you both at the empty echoing stairway had filled his mind causing him to clench on the steering wheel as his pants started to feel painfully tight and stuffy, as he chucked like a maniac.

Thoughts of when he fucked you dry on top of the conference room, his cum dripping out of your pussy — clenching tight with your inner walls soft and quivering against his sensitive pulses as he matched his hips with yours, cradling you in his arms as he sat in the president’s chair — his soon to be throne as the next heir of the biggest tech conglomerate of Japan — envisioning himself making love to you in front of everyone in the room, boldly proclaiming that he was your person, to reveal to the world of a special relationship — his love for you.

Throwing him off from his trance, as your next words pricked his interest, “Hmm.. the recent Times magazine, the one you did an interview for last month.”

“Its out already?”

“It came out today, got it while waiting for the train.”

Cocking his head to the side, wondering about why that damn magazine was so interesting that he couldn’t have a moment of your attention. Maybe it was your payback of fucking you before he got prettied up, or maybe it was his due to pay for having you walk around with his cum dripping down your pretty cunt, pooping in your lacy panties. But either way, he did recall that fucked you good.

Yet what he didn’t recall was stating anything so drastic in the interview for you to be reading so intently.

“So, babe what does it say about me?” Gojo questioned.

To other parties, Gojo Satoru was a dependable man. He was excellent, he was charismatic, and he was charming. He effortlessly pranced upon the world of business with his sheer natural talent and paved through the havoc of corporate, ending up as the most eligible ‘Bachelor of the Year’ underneath the fine print of also being wickedly handsome — the beholder of the most beautiful pair of crystal blue eyes that could…

“Steal the heart of any person he placed his eyes upon...” Your voice echoed over to his line, where the audio was a couple milliseconds off from the movement of your lips.

Ridiculous. Downright a crime that your lips still looked so beautiful and just so kissable even through the screen of his phone, Gojo thought.

“What can I say, people think I’m hot, babe,” Gojo smirked as his eyes quickly flashed to scan your facade — beautiful, and sexy, the utter desire to have you with him was all that rang through his head. He could’ve had you with him, he could’ve had you pinned onto the mattress by this time — crying, clawing, desperately both yearning for more as he kissed your tears and showered you with his love.

But you weren’t, because you actively declined whenever he would ask.

“Well those people must be blind then Satoru.” You nonchalantly responded with no aspect of your expression breaking in front of your boyfriend, yet the fact of what he said was rather true.

You stared at your screen, seeing the smug face of your boyfriend —the beloved Gojo Satoru of Japan — looking back at you with his arms crossed to purposely show off his flexed biceps under his rather tight white collared shirt that peeked of his toned chest and collar bones from his effort to seduce you.

“You sure?” Gojo challenged you as he combed back the front ends of his hair, exposing his handsome forehead, offering you a small smile yet full of a tease — the one that he knew made you incredibly weak.

“Mhm, most entirely sure,” you calmly stated, mentally noting and absorbing the visual art of your boyfriend in front of you, yet stating the opposite despite the lower heat of your stomach building up and your womanhood clenching in utter desire.

Seeing that you weren’t going to give up on your pride, he decided to throw in his white flag in an effort for you to maybe take pity him, maybe take back on your decision, and just maybe… take up on his offer to send you a private jet over to bring you to him.

“YN?” His voice rather lacking his usual tease and confidence.

“Yes?” You responded, eyes softening as you observed his tired face but yet his cerulean eyes still sparkling and bright.

“Miss you.”

“How much?” You heart softened at the hint of loneliness in his voice. Gojo was always honest with you. Whether it came to his feelings or what he thought, never did he seem to have a filter over his thoughts, or maybe it was simply his due to pay for loving you so intently.

“Just enough that I’m about to board a red eye just so I can have you in my arms tonight,” sweetly winking and lips smiling.

“You’ll be back soon… the month is almost over, just wait a little more.”

“A month too fucking long,” Satoru grumbled under his breath, “do you not miss me? How can you be so normal right now, YN? I’m literally about to die because I’m not inside of — “

“Say another word or I’ll make you wait another month, Satoru,” you quietly warned, face heated knowing what his next words were going to be as you looked around just in case no one heard him through your earphones.

“Bully… they can’t hear you…” he grumbled.

“Still just making sure," you muttered while looking around for any eavesdroppers.

Raising one of his brows, enjoying you squirm at his honest zeal in wanting you, he decided to tease you one last time before you’ll have to end the call, and for him to be met with multiple unanswered texts, mostly of him whining that he missed you, as he waited for your one response during your short coffee breaks.

"When's the last time you touched yourself, YN?"

"Last week," you answered honestly.

"Good girl, thinking of daddy?" Gojo joked, his deep chuckles radiating through your earphones, reminding you of the many tender times when he would call you such during intimate moments in bed.

Glaring through the phone, despite knowing he wanted to get a rise out of you, you still fell into his trap.

“Shut up, I know you didn't last longer than a day” you growled as the apple of your cheeks started to feel warm.

"False, I didn't last longer than an hour. Fucked myself on the plane because I thought of the time we you know what on my private jet."

Rolling your eyes, as you shook your head while you made yourself in the cramped train, "you animal."

“And also, you’ve been sending me the same texts asking to do you know what."

"have you thought about it?" Gojo questioned.

"I have, and although it sounds rather enticing it's ... improper."

"... YN you do realize we did a lot more improper things right?"

"But we did it together, Satoru... it's embarrassing to do that alone..."

“Well, I wouldn’t have asked if you would've just come with me,” Gojo countered.

“You can wait a couple more days Mr. Gojo, your work is more important. And plus... you, me, us? Did you forget?”

“You have too much faith in me to believe I can last a couple more days, legit about to bust a nut looking at you," Gojo stated with a special emphasis on the last few words, “… and no. How could I forget when you almost chewed my ear off listing the reasons as to why you couldn’t just come with me.” Your boyfriend glared with a cute pout on his lips, resembling close to that of a lost cat simply looking for attention and love.

“Good boy, you want a cookie for knowing the answer?” You teased.

Face deadpanning, you saw his breath hitch and his breathing become more audible, as his torso flinched at your innocent tease, with his voice lowering to a more serious tone — you swore you didn't mean it.

“Babe… why would you do that? You just turned me on…”

“O-oh my god, goodbye Gojo.” You stammered, taken aback from his honesty.

Quickly raising your thumb to press the red button, you saw your boyfriend trying to get your attention before…

“Wai — “

… The line cut off and you were met with the reflection of yourself through a darkened blank screen.

You missed him, it would be a complete lie to say that you didn’t feel the void of his presence.

Yes, you could’ve easily followed through with his plan — to take extra precaution of any sort of paparazzi. But you saw how the media absolutely destroyed his other rumored girlfriends whenever they got a chance to snap a photo… and quite frankly, you weren’t confident to deal with that attention, hence why you asked if this relationship could be kept a secret.

Despite having no rumored girlfriends, despite being in a relationship with this man for years, despite the rumors of him being the infamous playboy of the conglomerate world, Gojo Satoru was yours.

Usually, his business trips ended no longer than a week… well after the desperate plea from his secretary, it was revealed that he worked nonstop for the week to course through all his work without a break, in order that he could make it back home in a week… because to his argument, as his lips trailed against your skin, as his hips pushed into your buttocks as he cock ventured inches deep within your caverns, heat piling in his core as he watched your ass giggle with every thrust, growling as the desperate pants of his breath felt vigorous and unstable…

“S-slow down Toru!” You moaned into his bicep, biting into his flesh as the knot in your lower stomach increased as his other hand ventured down to rub against your hardened bud as he fucked you against the wall.

… well to his defense… he would always state,

“I thought I was gonna die without this fucking pussy,” as he pounded into you, only to joke as you both later cuddled in bed reminiscing off the post-sex hormones,

“Babe, it's called withdrawal.”

He’s never gone more than a couple of days without seeing you, and the fact that you weren’t within arms reach, made him want you even more. Sure, he would call you at the most random times asking if you could facetime. With conversations starting off with, “I just wanted to see you,” or, “I miss you,” to “can you just fly over? I can’t go another day without you…” to him shamelessly asking, “hey babe, let’s have sex.”

For Gojo Satoru the more you declined his plea, the more he was adamant on asking.

And the more you ignored his desire, the more he pressed forward.

Gojo Satoru was stubborn. If he had his eyes set on something, he had to have it — his golden trait of being a successful businessman. Whether it be his next business sanction, or whether it be obtaining the next release of the luxury goods only available for select persons or made in very finite quantities — Gojo Satoru always got what he wanted… well, until he met you.

You never simply gave him what he wanted; no, you made him work for it.

The thrill of the chase, pinning after you for a couple of months only for you to accept his offer for a casual, simple date after not only once, not twice, but after the third time he was rejected by you… surely, you made his waiting well worth it.

But this time… this was different.

It came to the point where you had to deliberately ignore his calls, because he would call whining that he needed you. And when that didn’t seem to work, he would send you multiple text messages at the worst times, showing you a picture of his erect cock — his tip fiery red with the veins on his shaft just ready to burst from his overstimulation — as his veiny hands palmed against his length, making sure to show himself playing with his slit as he rubbed his precum along his head, heftily groaning that he couldn't cum without you.

But the worst of it all… He really seemed helpless, downright in agony that he couldn’t reach his satisfaction without you.

You weren’t no saint. If you could have the option to fly over and have his cock in your throat as he praised you for being ‘so good,’ as he kissed your tears just before he fucked you in his hotel bed, with your clothes littered across the room, trailing towards the bed, with your panties pushed to the side as he desperately pistoled his cock within you, splitting your folds out, locking your thighs down with his strong arms, as he kneeled down to taste you with your fingers carded through his hair.

But no matter how much you wanted it, no matter how much you wanted to be with him — to be in his arms, to feel his hot breath brush against your face while making love, to have your limbs entangled under the sheets as you both talked about your days… you just couldn’t.

From: S

sent at 7:51 am: Do you want me dead, how could you end the call like that?!

sent at 7:51 am: You’re trying to kill me huh?

sent at 7:58 am: BABE! STOP IGNORING ME

From: S

sent at 8:11 am: Baby, please let’s try today… hmm?

sent at 8:21 am: I just really need you. I wont ask for much, please.

To say Satoru was frustrated would be a mild statement. Especially after the way you abruptly ended the call, he felt his crotch area becoming increasingly more tight and uncomfortable as seconds passed.

Satoru wasn’t frustrated, he was absolutely over the edge of sanity marking into the territories of carnal lust that glassed over his beautiful crystal blue eyes into something much darker while his long fingers gripped onto his phone as he mentally counted the seconds of how long he had to hear the phone go on dial.

The caller you have called is not available —

“Fuck…” Satoru groaned as he threw his phone to the side just before plopping down onto the bed with his arm covering his eyes.

Porn? No, that wasn’t an option — it was frantically impossible.

He gave up porn the moment he started dating you. Where once upon a time, his cock easily did its deed whenever he popped onto the app to watch his favorite homemade videos — allowing him to cum just before bed whenever he couldn’t get himself to sleep. But now, as if his lonely friend had a mind of its own, it wouldn’t stand no matter how hard he palmed himself.

Damned him.

He could've popped upon some recordings you both made, but he cleared out his laptop and forgot to bring the files with him.

But desperate that he was, Satoru picked up his phone to try again. He tried, he really did… even going as far as to scroll through his old twitter feed just to find his most watched, with a personal high success rate of making him cum.

Groaning as he pulled his pants down to his knees, playing with his limp cock, as he fondled his balls, "fucking god... YN you'll be the death of me."

Satoru tried his absolute fucking best. Fucking his fist by trying to emulate you, spitting on his hand to lubricate his cock just so that he could feel the same at how wet you would become as you grasped tightly around his length whenever he pushed in. He thought of how your spit would travel down your chin whenever you gave him a blow job, how your delicate juices and his cum would stain the silk sheets, or how your pussy glistened under the moonlight as he reminisced of your figure from above while rubbing his length on your puffy folds just to see how far he could reach within you while he touched your lower stomach.

And as he watched the woman in the video get railed by another man, all he could see was how you would look in that same position, with his firm hand gripped onto your waist while the other pushed your torso down. And in between heaving breaths, sweat pebbled down his lobe, he’ll mutter how good you were to him, how your pussy was divinely made just for him, how perfect you were for him, how thankful he was to have you… how much he loved you... and if you felt the same.

"you love me?" Gojo would ask in between kisses, panting while he tried to grasp more of your body, pushing himself further into you.

"Only you," you'll respond, kissing up his neck and making your way up to his lips, "only you my Satoru."

And just when his erection seemed to come alive, springing forth into full glory just like usual… the moment he heard the woman’s voice through the audio, Gojo felt a wave of repulsion travel through his blood ultimately ending his impending high as he listened to her obnoxious moans, leaving a sickening aftertaste in his mouth.

That woman wasn’t you. She didn’t have your gentle touch, she didn’t have your breathy moans that absolutely knocked the wind out of his lungs whenever he hit the plush of delicate walls. She didn’t grasp onto his wrists, desperately trying to stay sane as he pounded you from behind whilst he kissed the back of your neck and nipped at your shoulders. Your moans and your tears were genuine and raw reflecting the cries of your heart, and the intoxicating euphoric pull of your sex, where every neuron and fiber of his body has been wired for you.

“Fuck!! Harder!! Feels so good… j-just like that!!” The horrid audio echoed through his empty room.

The woman in the audio didn’t want him, but you were the one that always held him close during the fine hours of the night, both drenched in the aftermath of post sex hormones, the thick scent of sex in the room intoxicating you both again. Where his strong lengthy arms were wrapped around your waist, his face within the caverns of your neck, allowing him to smell your sweet pheromones, where you’re both cuddled together while you whispered sweet nothings to his ear as you combed through his wet hair with your gentle touch.

And looking down at his palm was nothing but a limpy piece of flesh that absolutely refused to become hard.

Picking up his phone, the time currently being way too early to call you on your way back home, yet way too late for him to still be awake, there was no other way to go around this, he had to do it.

Gojo wanted you to know just how much he needed you, and if it meant that he needed to go as far as doing the deed alone… he was willing to because he knew… just as much it’ll get him off, it’ll do the same for you — well he hoped that it would.

His next movements were fast, he needed to get this done just before the next time you would check your phone — which would most likely be during lunch, so close to an hour or so.

“I got some time…” Gojo muttered as he grabbed his towel to head in for another quick shower, stripping himself bare as he made his way to the washroom.

With his bathrobe loosely tied at his thin waist, with his chiseled torso and collar bones out in hinting display as the small droplets of water traveled down his neck, sparkling on his milky skin, Satoru grabbed his phone and pulled up his camera to hit record.

Setting the lens in front of him, with the front view on so that he could monitor himself, he then settled down comfortably onto the bed.

The lighting of the room was decent, dimmed and faint, but just enough to highlight what he wanted to show.

And slowly untying the soft fabric to remove his garment, without making noise, he was, fully naked with his hair wet. In natural form, where the delicate contours of his heavenly sculpted body were out in full display, his pretty nipples perked up and hard… where the thought of doing this alone ravaged his mind in complete euphoria as his breath picked up its pace causing his muscle fibers to become more defined with every inhale and exhale he took.

Wetting his palm with his spit, graciously coating his cock with his saliva, settling himself into his cold sheets, sinking his head into the soft pillow, he started to play around with his softened dick as the thought of you ran through his mind.

“Fuck…” Gojo puffed out as the first thought that came to his memory was the day he and you shared your first night together. The night was soft and pure — heavenly — both young and naive with breathy gasps and shaky hands as the harshness of the world didn’t impede your conscious and the only thought was to please the other person. Intoxicated and in love, as you both ventured into the realms of having your souls tied together.

The day when he finally got to see your naked silhouette, being able to run his lips across your soft skin, touch you in places that he dreamt of as both your clothes laid littered across his apartment, making a trail to the bed. Where your lacy panties would sit so prettily on your body as he watched you from below while he played with your folds and his tongue explored your sex.

He imagined you moving your delicate hands around his cock, where it felt warm to the touch — wrapped with just enough pressure and tease as you gave his head small open mouthed kisses, and kitten licks along his shaft as he groaned out your name while running the back of his index finger across your cheeks.

“YN… just like that,” Satoru groaned as he imagined your mouth always having difficulty swallowing him whole. Harshly gagging whenever he would thrust his hips into your mouth, just enough that he could see the outline of his dick protruding from your throat, as the tip of your nose met with the base of his pelvis, his light pubes tickling while his balls slapped against your chin.

He thought of your tears and how you still asked for more, yearned for more — desperately clawing at his back while marking up his neck and torso with marks of your love for him.

Gojo Satoru felt loved in your arms — a feeling, an emotion he’s never been able to experience. A deep desire and want that he’s always longed to have.

With brows furrowed as he pushed the front pieces of his hair to the back, exposing his sculpted forehead as he closed his eyes shut, he tried to remember the time where he would spread your cheeks wide, seeing your other hole pucker just right after he would thrust his length inches deep within your caverns as he absolutely thrived over the sight of your cute tight rim stretching the more he pushed in his cock, brushing past your delicate walls of your womanhood.

He recalls the time his fingers drew circular patterns over your clit as you desperately grasped at his hand to slow down, yet his fingers moved even more vigorously as he kissed the sides of your face with his bruised lips, sucked on your earlobs, and ran his tongue along the line of your spine — feeling your thighs shake and your body vibrate in ecstasy, as he whispered, "more, give me more YN."

Remembering the high he felt as your walls quivered over his length as he shot his seeds deep within your walls, how close he felt when he held you in his arms with his teeth sinking into your skin as he came down from his release, how you embraced him into your panting frame, allowing him to melt into your touch, as he heard the loud, honest, beatings of your heart.

With his palms firmly gripping his cock as he bucked his hips up, where the tip of his head protruded out from the end, moving his hand up and down his hard member as he groaned out your name,

“fuckk… YN,” the sound of your name leaving his lips felt sweetly melodic, enchanting even, while a fire in his core set ablaze as his heated breath filled the room.

Totally forgetting about his phone as the knot in his lower stomach increased in pressure —that if he just fucked his fist a bit more, he’ll come to see the end of the day. Bucking up his hips to the point where the curvature of his ass was visibly seen as he clenched his muscles, as his thighs quivered in the pain of keeping in his high, as his stomach flexed — curving inward while his chest hitched with each breath as his pretty lonesome lips formed a soft O as he let out his moans.

Unlike your smaller hands, his were big enough to wrap around his cock with one with ease, but his weren't soft nor warm like yours. Chuckling at how hard it must’ve been for you to wrap yourself around his girth and length, furrowing your brows as you sunk down on his cock from above, gasping while gripping the sheets whenever he would slowly draw himself into you.

Taking his other empty hand to run circles along his slit, painting the head with the clear viscous liquid of his precum just like how you would run your tongue along the head of his crown — swirling his thumb and running his fingers at his frenulum to mimic the motion of your heavenly mouth.

Shooting his head back into the pillow, arching his back up as he anchored his feet into the mattress as he chased after his climax, Gojo pushed for more. His cheeks felt hot, and his body trembled as droplets of sweat trickled down his forehead and littered his chest.

It never took this excruciatingly long when he was inside you, hell… the moment he stuffed you full as his balls were pushed to the base of your entrance, splitting you open as he settled himself it, he wanted to cum. But today, no matter how hard he tried or how much he thought of you… he just couldn’t cum.

Squirming at the tortuous frustration yet entranced with his lust for you, desperately wanting to let go as he enjoyed the pain of his self overstimulation as his cock pulsated in his grip, Gojo released a small tear from his eye as his lips released a quiet sob mixed in with his breathy moans as he struggled to take in his next breath; Gojo finally felt good — the best he’s felt within these last couple of weeks away from you.

The movement of his hips and the pacing of his hands grew increasingly fast — no reservations, no damned care if anyone heard — absolutely nothing holding him back.

“oh god… YN… I'm gonna cum,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

The fibers of his muscles became more defined as he pushed his hips up, with his head planted into his pillow, and while his other hand gripped onto the soft sheets. He remembers the pace you would keep as you rolled your hips from above, how strong you tightly gripped on his cock as he pistoled his length from below when it wasn't enough, and just how soft yet domineering you would get whenever he let you ride him — your nails drawing at his chest, and hands lightly wrapping against his throat as you called him mine.

He recalled where you placed your hands when you kissed him.

He remembered how you would brush your lips against his lips, purposely teasing him as you reached below to massage his clothed erection.

He's memorized the exact areas of your body that would make you tremble, and studied every crevice of your body to know it fully.

And he reminisced the vulnerable moments of you in his arms while yours were locked over his neck, looking directly into each other's eyes, a loving mess as he pushed himself inside, a ticking bomb of the impending release of an erotic high.

And Gojo Satoru tried his best to mimic it all.

“fuckkkk,” Gojo trembled as he breathed out.

He remembers just how perfect your tits would fill his mouth and how good you tasted when we savored you from below. And just how perfectly your mounds would ripple in unison to the thrusts that he made, causing your body to catapult forward by his force.

“L-let me cum…” he whimpered out.

And that’s when he remembered, right when he was about to release, how you would whisper into his ear just before you would place your puffy lips onto his, to muffle his cries when he shot his seeds into you,

“Cum baby for me baby, I’ll hold you.”

And there he was, palming his length as a white streak of cum finally shot up to his torso, while the remnants dripped down his shaft — coating his hand into a creamy color of white as he continually massaged his member with his chest heaving and lips mildly bleeding as he accidentally bit himself from his release.

Trying to catch his breath, as he leaned over to his side in a fetal position, his body softly quivering from the aftershocks of his climax as he laid naked in the emptiness of his room where nothing filled his mind except you — a reality where you weren’t there to hold him.

When he finally managed to trace his mind back to the present, looking down at the mess he’s made, his cum was thick and concentrated when normally it was almost watery and clear from the amount of times he’s fucked you.

“Goddamn…” Gojo muttered, soon chuckling at himself from the pure bliss he felt from getting a good release. The good type of happiness where his body felt weak, and his eyes felt droopy with every blink. Where every essence of strength in his body melted away as he laid quiet and bare on his bed. With sleep slowly overcoming his strive to stay awake, Gojo let out his final whisper,

“Goodnight… YN, I love you.”

...

It was odd that Gojo didn’t text you throughout the day. It was even more unlike him when he didn’t pick up his phone when you called him during your lunch break.

The person you're trying to call isn't available. Please leave a message after the beep.

“That’s weird…” You muttered.

Remembering just how tired he looked when you facetimed him earlier, you decided to not think much of it but to text him back.

To: S

Text me when you're awake, miss you baby <3

… and it wasn’t until you were getting ready for bed that you received a text from your boyfriend.

Maybe he was awake now, maybe it’ll be a simple good morning text telling you he was sorry for not taking your calls, maybe he’ll greet you with a loving smile as he asked about your day, listening to every word you said unlike how you completely blew him off in the morning… maybe it would be him whining again asking if he could finally have phone sex with you…

But it was none of the above.

And all that was sent was a blank icon video file with an underlying text:

From: S

good morning, baby. Aww... you missed me? How cute 😘

unnamed.mov

hope you like it ( : Daddy’s off to work to make lots of money 😉

And to your fucking surprise as you opened up the file, you were met with your fully naked boyfriend, where all 8 min and 34 seconds were of him masturbating seconds close to his release as he called out your name…

Where soon your sex felt hot as your body immediately craved for him and your mouth felt dry in desire. Your hand immediately made its way to your pussy, making small circles to your clit and as you played with your folds just like how Satoru would. You focused on his movements as you heard his breathy moans, as his fists pitifully tried to fuck himself, as his body laid glorious and vulnerable before you.

He was close… just a little more...

“YN…” you heard his voice, only to soon thereafter hear a lowly growl as he gave his hips a final thrust — end.

Just like that, the video ended.

“What?... No fucking way…” you puffed in disbelief.

You replayed the video just to see if you skipped over the ending, only to be met with the same closure… nothing.

And quickly typing up a response, your hands trembling as adrenaline pumped through your veins, knowing just how much your boyfriend was thriving at the idea of you possibly touching yourself, of your cunt dripping wet, pitifully clenching tight with nothing inside of you, and squirming for his touch when he was nowhere around, absolutely begging to have him.

To: S

“Gojo fucking Satoru… send it right now.”

A couple minutes later...

From: S

I'm guessing you liked it?

We can watch it together when I get home in a week.

Gotta go! love you, princess!

Throwing your phone to the side, knowing you lost, your thoughts shooting back to the video you just watched.

It wouldn’t hurt to watch it one more time, would it?

And just when you were about to near the end of his video, your hips bucked from the mattress up, and moans filled the room, your panty helplessly dangled at your ankle, eyes half lidded and brows frustrated, with your cunt dripping down your wrists as your fingers easily penetrated through your entrance, you felt close to your release.

But as if he simply knew.

As if he could read your mind, you were stopped by an alert — a message that would leave you even more frustrated than before, a losing game that you couldn't deny any longer.

From: S

Aint karma a bitch 😉 send me a selfie after you're done, princess.

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giggly-bun · 4 months

Text

Butt Of The Joke {KaveTham}

A/N [WARNING THIS IS A TICKLE FIC] if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Sorry for any mistakes that i’ve made but i hope if you read this I hope you enjoy it. happy new year my loves! i hope you all have a fantastic year and ily all so much. this fic is mildly suggestive however is still sfw! :D - bunny 🔮

The air was heavy and thick with lust. Hot breaths and whispers of sweet nothings hung in the air as the two came down from their high. Alhaitham and Kaveh lay next to each other on their shared bed, sheets scattered this was and that as their bodies clung to each other, in desperate need of the other’s touch. Their pants mixed together in perfect harmony, limbs intertwined like they were made for each other.

“Archons above, Haitham, do you always have to be so rough?” The blond groaned out, reaching round to rub at his lower back that burned as he moved. “I feel like you’ve broken my hips in two.” His counterpart chuckled.

“Don’t act like you weren’t begging for it to be like that. ‘Oh, Haitham, more. I need you, Haitham, ah-‘“ A pillow to the face interrupted his mocking of the architect as Kaveh sat up, face a crimson red and glaring.

“I do not sound like that! I’ll have you know I am absolutely more dignified than that, thank you very much.” He said as he started pulling up his boxers. As he sat on the end of the bed, there was a pause in his movements that made the scribe observe him carefully.

“Kaveh?” He questioned.

Silence.

“I can’t stand…”

The hilarity of the phrase made Alhaitham bark out an unexpected laugh, throwing a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Kaveh burned with embarrassment.

“Oi! Don’t laugh when this is all your doing. Would you just fix this!” He demanded, though his tone was shaky as he battled through his humiliation. His lover hummed and moved to sit behind him, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. The shorter felt a swift kiss pressed against the crook of his neck.

“And what can I do to help you, love?” He said, tone sultry as he let his finger roam the other's waist. The furious blush on Kaveh’s cheeks spread to his ears.

“W-Well, I don’t know. How about you give me a massage, since my back feels like I’ve walked from Sumeru to Inzauma on foot.” The blond huffed. Alhaitham smiled, seductive as ever.

“Lie down then.”

There was something so satisfying about the way Haitham kneaded his hands into Kaveh’s back as he lay on his stomach in pure bliss. With every pressure point touched, he felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he adored the feeling. The gray haired male peered down, smiling softly at the sight of Kaveh with half open eyelids and a pink hue on his cheeks. He was enjoying this.

“Someone’s enjoying this, aren’t they?” The younger teased. Kaveh stuck his tongue out, half-heartedly.

“Oh, shut up. This is the least you can do for me after what you put me through, you heathen.” But he couldn’t hide the content sigh that he let out when his boyfriend worked his hands into his lower back, hitting the tender part right about his butt.

“You wound me, habibi.” Haitham said. “And to think, I do this all for you.” To enunciate his point, Alhaitham pinched the underside of Kaveh’s butt. A small gesture, meant to just annoy the other, and yet his reaction was something that Alhaitham didn’t expect. Kaveh flinched, his body jerking, and something akin to a squeal flew out of his mouth before his brain had even registered the sensation.

“Don’t do that!” He said. The silence that followed was nerve wracking. Alhaitham began to wonder if he really had hurt Kaveh, with a reaction like that, until he pieced it together. He smirked.

“There’s no way.”

“Alhaitham.”

“Kaveh.”

“No-“

“You can’t possibly be-“

“Don’t you dare!”

“Here?” The question came out in confusion and amusement because the scribe truly couldn’t comprehend this discovery.

“Alhaitham, so help me god, if you even think about it, I wiHILL d-don’t- nohohoho!” Before another threat could be hurled his way, Alhaitham experimentally skittered his fingers up the swell of Kaveh’s butt, simply testing the waters. The result? Surprised giggles began to flow out of his mouth, body slamming forward onto the bed as he wiggled his hips away. Haitham snickered in astonishment. His fingers paused as he watched Kaveh whip his head round.

“What did I just say?! Alhaitham get off of me this instant I- stahahahahaAHAP! ACK- plehehehease!” He cried when he felt the fingers tease at his skin over his boxers again. The feeling was maddening, so sharp and so ticklish that it made him grab a handful of the bedsheets in an attempt to regain composure.

“I knew you were ticklish, but I didn’t even know a person could be ticklish here. How is that possible, Kaveh?” Perhaps if he wasn’t lost in a sea of his own giggles, the elder would’ve cursed him a little. He reached his hands behind his back to try and grab at his lover’s devious digits.

Big mistake.

With astounding ease, Alhaitham grabbed both of his arms and pinned them to his back. Kaveh’s stomach dropped at the low chuckle he heard. “You’ve made this a lot easier for me, you know?”

Kaveh shook his head vehemently. “yohohohou bahAHA- bahahahastahard! l-lehehehet mehehe go! eheheEHEHE!” Alhaitham had switched his tactics from swift scribbles to kneading and squeezing the hypersensitive skin of the blond’s upper thigh, right under his ass. Kaveh kicked his legs out and tried to take back control of his arms. He bucked his hips at the sensation and arched his back when the squeezing travelled all the way up his behind. It was such a jarring feeling, it made his vision hazy and only added to his previous exhaustion from their frivolous activities.

“How embarrassing this must be for you, Kaveh. Such an unusual spot to be so ticklish on. This would be quite humiliating if any of your friends found out about this, don’t you think?” That bastard. He knew how to press the other’s buttons the right way; all the things that get him worked up and flustered. Kaveh wheezed out a plea and a cry before burying his head back into the pillow and succumbing to the sensations. His face was alight from the teases and he couldn’t bear to look at his boyfriend.

“Hahahahaitham p-plehehe- I cahahahahan’t! H-HahahBIHIHIBI!” He cried, catching his junior’s attention. “Nohoho MOHOHOHORE I behehehehEHEG!”

Oh, alright, he’s had his fun.

Alhaitham brought his hands to a still, merely tracing light lines across Kaveh’s back to keep him tittering as he smiled down. The younger eased off of the latter’s back. He watched as he rolled onto his side, letting residual giggles fall from his swollen and parted lips. His skin was brushed with a red tint, and his blond hair fell unceremoniously in his face. What a sight.

“Y-Yohohou are nehever allowed to give me a massage agahain, do you hear me- mhmph.”

Alhaitham had encased his lips in a sweet kiss before he could continue his mindless threats, soaking in the last of his laughter. Kaveh melted at the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips on his and for a split second, thought that maybe, just maybe, it was all worth the pain.

#tickle fic #tickling #genshin tickle #lee!kaveh #ler!alhaitham

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bhaalbaaby · 5 months

Note

hi! if you don't mind i would like to make fic request :>

Just some short smut fic about Gale/female wild mage sorcerer elf Tav with some bdsm where Tav is dom.

I would be very grateful!

Title: Lay Me Down (1740 words) Pairing: gale/f!reader Warnings: bdsm, rope play/shibari, dom/sub, handjobs, oral, aftercare A/N: sorry about the delay! this was a very fun prompt and i hope you like ♥

Read on AO3!

Mage hand has many magnificent uses. You smile down at Gale, the indigo ropes wrapped snugly around his body, arms tied behind his back. Having the extra hands came in handy as the Wizard likes to wiggle around, claiming to be ticklish.

You squat down in front of him, his big brown eyes so round as he looks into yours. "Now, you'll be a good boy for me, pet?" You ask in a husk whisper, your breath tickling his neck as he squirms.

"Y-yes, mistress," Gale murmurs, still squirming in his restraints.

"Are you comfortable?" You tilt your head to the side, the rope hugging underneath his hairy chest. You gently rub your fingers over his nipples, watching his face as he bites his lip.

"Yes, mistress." He says clearer.

You stand up, stalking around him as he bows his head. You glance at the waiting hand, flicking your eyes to your subject. The hand obeys, gliding down between his thighs, and rubbing his bulge through his underwear. He sits straighter, breathing deeply.

You stop circling him, stopping in front of him as he trembles at the phantom caresses. Your fingers drag along his scalp, gripping the soft brown and gray strands as you force him to stare at you. "Open," You command.

Like the eager pup he is, he opens his mouth, panting as you mentally intensify the hand. You grit your teeth, feeling your magic trying to spill out by the simple command, like a sneeze. You instead guide Gale's head to your panties, rocking your hips against his tongue. You stifle your moan, gripping his hair tight. He needs to earn hearing your moans.

He closes his eyes as he moves his head in a circular motion darkening the fabric. You hold his head still, grinding yourself against his mouth. He moans, sucking on where he thinks your clit is through the fabric.

Your breathing catches as you pull his head away. "Not yet, pet." You tut as he opens his mouth again.

You slowly bring your hips back, feeling his restraint not to lap at your wetness. You bite your lip as you look down, your hair falling forward on your shoulders.

You need to concentrate as the mage hand slips in his underwear, wrapping around his cock. You can see it in your mind, rubbing his shaft. He shifts, whimpering against your panties as you grind your hips against him harder. The thumb brushes over his tip as it languidly strokes him. He quickens his tongue again, this time, pressing his tongue upward towards your entrance. You squeal in surprise, moving your hips away from your keen lover.

"Please Mistress..." He pleads, his eyes flicking between your face and your panties. You quicken the mage hand, focusing the movement around his swelling tip.

"Please what?" You ask, stepping away from him as he trembles, a dark spot on his purple underwear as he leaks pre-cum.

His face tenses as he tries his best answer, to hold on to his orgasm. You wait patiently as the hand squeezes the space just under his tip. You can almost feel the wet stickiness as it coats the mage hand, but the magic is waning.

You take the risk, summoning another hand to assist with the undoing of your Wizard. With a poof, the phantom blue hand appears near Gale. You smile as you start to command the new hand to massage his peck when darkness befalls you both. You curse at the magical darkness, not being able to see anything.

You step closer to Gale, deciding to give him what he wants due to your Wild Magic Hubris. You drag your ruined underwear down, kicking them to the side. Gale mewls in response as you drag his face to your exposed pussy. You close your eyes as his tongue laps at your folds, moving higher to find your clit. His tongue flattens against the bundle of nerves before he presses kisses on your labia, making a trail up to the tuft of hair on your pelvic bone.

"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much." He purrs, nuzzling your lower stomach.

You chuckle as he returns his mouth, lapping at your clit. You moan softly, ordering the mage hands to stroke him as fast as it can, the other to pinch his nipples. His moans are muffled as he tries to match your passion with his tongue lapping and suckling your clit. You whine, wishing you could see the flush of his skin.

You lift your hips, his mouth searching for your pussy as you slow the hands, deciding to wait for the darkness out. "I want to see you come, pup." You state as he whines, his breathing more pronounced. "Do not come before I say so." You add.

"Tav, you have me on the precipice. How can you be so cruel?" He gripes, panting as you stop the hands completely. You giggle, rubbing yourself with your hand, deciding to tease your pet, knowing he could only hear you. You moan softly as your fingers caress your clit before dipping inside, fucking yourself.

He whimpers again, "Mistress..."

You don't answer, only moaning as you spread your legs, your fingers fucking you so deliciously, wet noises escaping with each thrust. Pressure grows in the pit of your stomach as you imagine riding Gale's cock, but not today. He hadn't earned that today—only his mouth.

As you get yourself close to orgasm, the darkness starts to clear. You drag your fingers from yourself, seeing Gale's puppy eyes as he gulps air. The mage hands surprisingly stay during that duration and you command them to start again. You suck on your lewd fingers as you make your way to him. He winces, leaning back as he spreads his legs, his cock hanging out of his underwear now, the wet mess on his thighs. He doesn't wait for you to tell him to open his mouth, his tongue out and ready.

"May I please make you come, Mistress? I-I-I want to make you come before me."

You smile as you spread your lips, making your clit more accessible. "You may, pet. How sweet you are," You coo as you let him do as he wishes.

His tongue quickly slashes along your clit before switching from side to side. You bite your lip as you watch, a blush come to his cheeks as he continues to work his tongue magic. His cock stands ready as he sucks your sensitive nerves, making your hips jerk. You command the hand on his chest to come to you, thrusting two digits inside of your wanton hole.

Your brows knit together as you give Gale the reigns of this hand which he eagerly accepts, fucking you hard and fast to match his tongue. You cry out, your legs trembling as he leans against your thighs burying his tongue in your wetness, the fingers curling against your g-spot. You wrap your mage hand around his hard-on tighter as you focus on his tip.

"Just like that, Gale. Fuck, you're gonna make your Mistress come." You moan, reaching down and pressing his head against your sex, your hips jutting towards him. He moans something back, though you can't make out the muffled words. His tongue wraps around your clit as he adjusts to three hands, stretching you to your limit.

You stand on your tiptoes as you look down at your sweet sub, your stomach tensing with each thrust, the pressure almost too much for you to bear.

You pull your hips away from his mouth at the last moment, releasing your pent-up pressure as you let your orgasm take over. He continues to finger you through it as you almost fall over, your knees buckling as you squat, your eyes rolling back.

You take over your mage hand, stroking his leaky cock, matching his frenzied thrusts. You two can barely look at each other as he brings you to the brink of another orgasm. "Come with me, Gale. You may come." You say, seeing his brown eyes light up at the permission.

His moan is deep within his chest as he erupts in your hands, spilling out on his underwear and thighs. You lean forward, pressing kisses on his clammy skin as you continue to milk his cock. His mage hand between your thighs wanes finally as you gently suck on his neck.

He rests back on his haunches once you let go of him. You look at your wet sticky hands, smirking as Gale pants, trying to catch his breath.

"You're so cute, Gale." You purr as you stand, going to the dresser for a linen to clean up.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "I don't know if I want to be cute, Tav." He says, patiently waiting before you come over with a rag for him.

"You don't want to be cute for your mistress?" You tease as you wipe his legs.

He doesn't answer, holding his breath as you clean his now limp cock. "May I kiss you?" He asks after a moment.

You oblige, pecking him quickly before moving behind him. "Time to free you." You say in a sing-songy tone, undoing his arms. You smile to yourself, your rope work getting better, the indentations on his skin delicious.

He stretches out, yawning as he stands. "I know you don't like when your magic surges, but that darkness..." Gale starts, his eyes inquisitive. "It took all of me to hold myself back when I heard you, Mistress." He says, stepping closer to you, his hands resting on your hips.

"Then, perhaps we'll have to get you a blindfold next time." You rest your hands on his chest, the red marks of the rope getting covered by the dark hair there.

His eyes light up as he licks his lips. "You indulge me so much, Tav." He leans forward to kiss you but you put your hand on his lips.

"If you earn it."

His jaw clenches as he nods, "Of course. Yes, Mistress. Thank you." He bows his head slightly as you kiss his cheek.

"Good boy. Now, go get cleaned up."

He looks down at his ruined wet underwear, exhaling deeply. "Yes ma'am!"

You laugh softly as he walks out of the room to the bath, resting your hand on your chin. Maybe he did earn it, at least in this moment.

taglist: @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @razrogue @thedancingbun @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #nsft #tav x gale #gale x reader #gale #baldurs gate gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale x tav #gale bg3 #writing requests #writing #asks

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gretavanbear · 11 months

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The Professor - Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

MDNI!!! 18+ !!!

warnings : smut (;

[a/n: hi people. i just wanted u to know i love u guys sm and i appreciate every like and comment and anon ask about this fic. it warms my heart knowing people enjoy reading my silly little story. anyways.. enjoy!]

SCREENING #5 : The Big Hearted Will Take the Bride

“Good morning, everyone!” Josh walked in with a big smile, waving at the students in his class. As he walked by your row of seats, his eyes fixated on yours, staring for a couple seconds before looking down at the steps in front of him. You bit back a smirk thinking about the way his bed sheets felt against your skin and wondered if he pushed back that thought as well.

“I hope everyone had a lovely weekend. I know I did” He chuckled.

He opened his notebook on the podium and checked his class notes for the day. You inspected the way his hair fell perfectly into place, his glasses sat on his nose and left little marks on it at the end of the day. He wore a gray button down with some dark pants today, with his usual brown vans. He looked cute, comfortable. But your mind wondered back to that night, the camera in his room...

“Today’s screening is The Big Hearted Will Take the Bride. This is an amazing film and I want us all to focus on the mise-en-scene for the scenes we’re going to be witnessing. Try to notice how they frame the characters, how their dances and scenery creates a portrayal of these people’s cultures. This film is pretty long and so if any of you feel the need to walk out and take a small break feel free to do so. Enjoy!” He spoke. His voice was so calming, and you wish he’d just talk to you instead of screening the movie, but you remembered you were here to learn and you wanted to be like him.

As the lights turned off, Josh sat diagonal to you, in front of you to your left. You watched as he turned his head back and shot you a soft smile before resting his head on his arm as the movie started playing.

***

You turned to face him as the sunrise illuminated his bedroom. His bedsheet draped over his thighs and stopped right under his v-line, which let you have a moment to see his tattoo. It was a small little half-moon with a music note in the middle of the little curve. You wondered what it represented as your pointer finger traced the little black lines.

“Good morning” Josh’s groggy morning voice caught your attention.

“Hi” You smiled shyly as you looked up at him. You rested your head on his stomach, facing him. His hand caressed your head and massaged it with his fingers in your hair which made you want to purr, his touch felt so warm.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked softly, his lips pink and pretty. You studied the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, the way his lips were always a little upturned, the little gap between his two front teeth.

“I slept okay, thank you. How did you sleep?” You returned the question, sitting up and caressing his stomach with your hand.

“Amazing. I always sleep better when there’s a pretty lady in my bed.” His answer made you blush, giggling to yourself quietly as you leaned in for a soft kiss. He returned it immediately, his hand still in your hair as the two of you kissed passionately.

You pulled away to catch your breath, looking down at him as he smiled softly. Your eyes watched the way his chest rose and descended, the way his skin looked so delicate and pretty under the sunlight which seeped through his big windows. You looked at the hair on his arms, the beauty marks on his shoulders, how every little detail about him was perfect and you were so entranced by his looks that you didn’t notice him playing with your hair.

You hummed as his fingers caressed your scalp, making you rest your head on his chest. Your fingers found his tattoo once again and traced it’s lines.

“Josh?” it felt weird to speak, you thought you were dreaming.

“Hm?” He spoke, his voice so gentle.

“What’s this mean?” Your fingers caressing the little mark on his lower stomach, the moon and little music note. You wondered if it was a meaningful tattoo to him, and why did he decide to get it.

“I got it with my brother when we graduated together.” He said. You turned your head to face him and he looked down at you, resting his head on his free arm.

“Are you close with him?” You asked, resting your head on your arm now, mirroring him. You watched his eyes light up as he prepared himself to answer, licking his lips.

“We are. He’s my best friend, my other half actually… He’s my identical twin.” He spoke with a smile. You smiled big as you learned more about Josh, he was so special.

“We studied education together. He’s a music professor now. Before heading off to university we’d always play in our garage with our younger brother Sammy and his best friend, Daniel. We always dreamed of becoming this huge famous band someday, but it never happened. I know Jake, my twin, always holds out the hope that it’ll happen but he understood my dream to teach.. As a deal we got those matching tattoos- to remind us that we’re still there for each other.” He explained.

“That’s beautiful.” You replied, placing your hand on his chest and resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ve seen him around campus, he’s always swinging by my office.” Josh chuckled.

***

“Professor Kiszka?” You spoke, knocking on the open door.

“Yeah?” He spoke, before looking up from his work and smiling at your presence. “Oh hello, you” he spoke, getting up and meeting you at the door, closing it behind you. “Need help with your homework, doll?” He asked with a smirk, holding your hand and bringing you to his desk.

“Yeah… I just.. Do nooot understand what you taught us today, professor.” You spoke with a small smirk as he sat you on his lap, his hand on your thigh.

“Hmm, what do you want to know exactly?” He spoke, his lips finding your neck softly, leaving small wet kisses on your warm skin. He spun you so you faced him, making it so you were straddling his lap, his thumbs caressing your inner thighs. “Tell me, what can I teach you?” He said softly as his hands made their way to the hem of your long sleeved shirt, his fingertips leaving goosebumps down your spine.

“I want you to teach me how to please you..” You whispered against his jawline as his hands made their way to your breasts- you had not worn a bra with the hopes that he’d notice. He did, he noticed quickly as his fingers found your nipples, teasing them a little while his lips found yours. He kissed you passionately as his cock grew harder in his pants- you could feel it through his pants which made you want him so badly.

“I know how you can please me.” He breathed out, pulling away so he can make eye contact. He looked down at the space between the two of you, then back up to meet your gaze slowly. “Get on your knees.” He ordered. You listened, getting under his desk and waiting for your next command. You watched the way his fingers snuck to his belt buckle, undoing it and removing it, unzipping his pants. Your eyes focused on the shape of his cock through his gray underwear- a little wet spot at the tip. He was so perfect, and you couldn’t stop yourself but you started salivating at the sight of him pulling it out. It was so beautiful under the sunlight, the shape was perfect, the way his veins traced it’s figure just made you want him even more.

You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a few strokes and watched his reaction. He gasped softly and his eyelids fluttered, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he felt you swipe your thumb over the tip, which made him buck his hips up, needing more. You kept eye contact as you kitten-licked the tip, slowly making your way around wrapping your lips completely over it, sucking softly.

“Fuck.. hmm, just like that, doll.” he sighed, his hand caressing your hair. You purred gently around his cock- slowly bobbing your head up and down on him as your hand stroked the bottom. You felt the need for his cum down your throat, you wanted to feel him all over- you needed him all over. His cheeks grew redder and redder by the second, his lips dark and a deep red from biting them. His hand pushed down your head slowly, almost as if he asked for permission which you gladly granted as you took him in deeper, faster.

“God… you’re so perfect.” He breathed out as he began thrusting his hips into your mouth, needing you deeper. “I’m close.. God.. take me, baby… show me how much you want it..” He breathed out, his thigh twitching. You could feel him pulsating in your mouth, practically down your throat at this point. You could feel him about to release- giving you what you’ve wanted for so long…

Interrupted by a knock. Fuck.

He gasped, his eyes growing big as he let go of your head, placing his hands on his desk. He looked at you for an answer, what the hell do I do? His eyes spoke as another knock interrupted his thoughts. You kept your mouth wrapped around him as he cleared his throat, his mind doing flips as the anticipation of who was at the door grew around the room, making his office feel tense. You didn’t want to stop, you needed him, the pool in your panties caused by him needed him, too.

“C’mon asshole, I know you’re in there.” The voice spoke through the wooden door. You saw the way Josh mouthed ‘fuck’ and looked down at you quickly, shooting you an apologetic look before clearing his throat once again.

“Yeah?” He spoke loudly. He rolled his chair closer to his desk, trying to keep you hidden, needing you all to himself, and also not wanting anyone to notice his whole cock in your mouth. You heard the door open loudly and you closed your eyes, his cock still pulsating in your mouth as you felt his breathing shift.

“Midterms are killing me.” The voice spoke, you heard the person sit down behind you, the chair facing Josh’s desk. You began bobbing your head up and down- which made Josh choke on his words for a split second.

“Yeah.. me too.. Now’s not really a good time, Jake. I-” He tried to cover up a groan with a cough as you swiped your tongue against his length, your hand finding his balls and massaging them a little. Being hidden under the desk like this was so sexy to you, being Josh’s dirty little secret- it fueled you, it made you want to be bad. “I have like thirty essays to grade by myself” Josh spoke. You felt grateful that his desk reached all the way to the floor, no one would be able to see you except him. You lowered your head until his head reached the back of your throat, massaging him a little heavier now. You saw the way his breathing became heavy and how his hand gripped the armrest on his chair.

“Hm, yeah you do look pretty.. Stressed I guess. Listen, come over for dinner- I’ll help you grade them.” The person spoke, which you assumed was Jake. That didn’t stop you, you needed Josh and you wanted to make him feel good no matter who was there. You swallowed around his tip which made Josh have a vocal reaction, which he tried covering up with a cough again.

“Yeah.. mhm good idea. See you later, Jake.” Josh spoke quickly and Jake chuckled and left the room, closing the door behind him. With the security of being alone with you, Josh backed up his chair with his eyebrows raised, a smirk on his face.

“You… you’re fucking naughty, edging me like that. Are you a nasty, dirty girl, hm?” He spoke, wrapping his fingers in your hair and pulling you up. “Are you my little cumslut? Hm? All that just so you can feel me all full inside you? Well I’ll show you full, sweet girl.” He groaned, pushing you over his desk and pulling your leggings and underwear down.

“Fucking soaked. Just how I expected.” He said, a smug expression in his tone. You could hear him lower his pants more, and then feel his warm tip rub against you, your juices coating him instantly. He pushed himself inside you slowly, pressing his body against yours, pressing you down on his desk. “Feel me now? Hm?” He groaned in your ear, his voice low and dominant.

“Feel how fucking hard you’ve made me, princess, let my cock show you how happy you made it.” He spoke before pulling away and placing his hands on your hips, thrusting his against yours at a fast pace. You knew he was close, and so were you- squeezing around him, showing him how much you needed his cum.

“Fuck.. ‘m gonna fill you up, god.. Baby, you did so good.. Such a good girl.” He breathed out, thrusting faster, pulling you over the edge with him as he crumbled over you, shuddering breaths against your neck as his cum coated your walls, his hands still on your hips squeezing them tight.

The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breaths as Josh pulled out slowly, sitting back down on his chair and grabbing a tissue- cleaning you up gently. He pulled up your leggings and underwear before fixing himself, sitting you down on his lap.

“Thank you. I really needed that.. I’ve been so stressed with homework today.” He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “Can we do something tonight? After my dinner..” He asked softly with a gentle smile, his brown eyes looking up at you as his hand caressed your hip gently, right over the spot where he was squeezing not long ago. You nodded shyly and looked down at him with a small smile.

“Yeah? You’d like that?” he cooed, you nodded while his thumb caressed your face before leaning in and leaving a soft ‘bye’ kiss on your lips, before you got up and grabbed your schoolbag.

“See you later, professor.” You spoke, turning back to him before opening the door and walking out. You kept a smile on your face as you could still feel him leaking out, a part of him still with you.

“That’s an interesting way to get extra credit.” You heard before placing your earphone in your ear. You snapped your head back to be met with a brown eyed man. He had soft features, like Josh. The same nose, same heart shaped lips. This must be Jake.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You responded dryly, trying to hide your nervousness.

“Hmm, I was just in that room and he was alone. Yet I just saw you exit from the same door I did.” He said, a smirk on his face.

“I must've came in after you, then.” You replied, your heartbeat steady in your throat.

“I’ve been sitting out here on this bench reading through my notes waiting for Professor Kiszka to come out of his office, I would have seen you pass by.” He spoke. He was an attractive man, no wonder he was related to Josh. He wore a nice maroon suit, black shoes, his hair was long and wavy but kept clean and styled. He seemed really organized, much more than Josh.

“You must’ve just not seen me.. I tend to blend in with the background most of the time..” You spoke, hoping he’d drop it.

“Hm. Okay, then. Carry on.” He spoke, smiling softly with a smirk hidden behind the soft smile, his eyes looking back down at his notes as you quickly walked away.

Fuuuck. Did I just get caught?

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deadmenandthedivine · 9 months

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DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter two: a father’s praise

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4020

Upon arriving at her chambers, her heart warmed at the familiar sight of Ser Eddrin Tollett guarding her door. He had been sworn to her since the royal wedding of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, when she was merely a single year in age. He had been one of her mother’s knights, telling her once that he and her mother grew up together as he was a ward at Runestone in his youth. He had squired for her mother’s brother before his death. Ser Eddrin was perhaps the most noble knight there was. Princess Maetilda breathed a sigh of relief as she came face-to-face with him. He smiled down at her warmly before greeting both her and Prince Jacaerys at her side. It was hard for Maetilda to contain her joy around Ser Eddrin. She smiled widely at him as if he were a father to her. His presence brought her a deep sense of peace and security that she had felt all her life. For as long as she could remember, he had been diligently and dutifully at her side. The knight’s sandy hair had grayed over the years. His face had scruffed and wrinkled. Regardless, it never lost its familiarity. His warm brown eyes never lost their gleam. The crows feet next to his eyes always dug deeper when he smiled. His laughter never lost its brassy bark. Now in safe hands, Prince Jacaerys bid his stepsister adieu, bowing to her politely before excusing himself to his chambers. Ser Eddrin opened the chamber door for the Princess to enter, which she immediately did.

“I will let your maids know it is time to get you ready, mi’lady. Ser Gunthor will be your escort to dinner. He’ll switch off with Ser Wyllam in the night.” the knight informed her briefly.

The Princess nodded in appreciation, “Thank you, Ser Eddrin. I hope you rest well. This place is…”

“Compensating for something?” He tried to finish for her.

She nodded, “Keep your eyes and ears open, will you?”

“Not to worry, mi’lady. They always are.”

“With the Velaryons too.”

“Of course.”

Without another word, the door was shut and the knight’s footsteps echoed off down the hall. Even while alone, Maetilda could not shake the tense feeling from her shoulders. She tried to roll them, reach her arms around and massage them, but nothing seemed to help. She felt like a sitting duck. She paced in the orangely decorated bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Nothing seemed safe. Part of her felt shameful for thinking her father was exaggerating his disdain for the Hightowers all those years before, but she could no longer deny it. They were in the middle of a wasp nest in a high tower. Soon enough, there was a knock at the door and two handmaids scurried inside. They both curtsied and smiled softly at her. They reminded her nothing of her handmaids back at Dragonstone, who had stayed home with their families. The taller one was broad shouldered and curvy. She had to be around five and ten years of age. She was dark blonde haired, beige freckles dusted her nose. She had amber brown doe eyes that screamed with hesitation and uncertainty. The shorter one was boney and sharp-featured. She had to be around seven and twenty. She had curly dark brown hair and piercing dark eyes, with a far more determined and self assured gleam. They wore the same uniform, but they somehow looked entirely different just in the way they stood. The younger slouched while the older stood pin straight.

“Good evening. It is lovely to meet you both. What are your names? Will you be serving me for our entire stay?” Maetilda tried to smile as if nothing was wrong, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was asking too many questions.

“Yes, we’ll be here the whole time, Princess. I’m Noarysa. This is Adelyn.” The older one stated with a reassuring smile. The younger one nodded next to her.

“Was it some sort of demotion to have to serve me?” The princess attempted to joke.

Adelyn giggled, but Noarysa quickly pinched her side, “Not at all, Princess.”

Maetilda could not help but frown at the older maid’s actions. She hated that they were expected to be so stiff all the time, especially behind closed doors. Regardless, she gave a slow nod, “Very well. I’m thinking about one of those cascading updos that the Queen used to wear when I was younger. Do you remember what I’m talking about, Noarysa? Get it out of my face and off my neck, but I still want it curly and long. With braids, of course! Like a true Valyrian.”

Just like that, the two maids went to work. The princess’s silver honey hair was decorated with braids that pulled the front out of her face. The three, four, and five strand weaves circled around her head, some of them serving to lift the rest of her hair off of her neck. Allowing the bulk of it to cascade down the back. The style showcased the thickness and length of her hair, as well as her curls. Yet, Maetilda always appreciated the functionality of it. Noarysa and Adelyn were masterful braiders. They worked quickly and eagerly. The uncertainty in Adelyn’s eyes slowly melted. After the princess’s hair was done, Adelyn oiled, perfumed, and powdered her while Noarysa went over to Maetilda’s unpacked wardrobe. Maetilda watched as she thumbed through her gowns with a pensive look on her face. Noarysa pulled out a wool burnt orange gown with a squared neckline, long batwing sleeves, and bronze runes embroidery. Maetilda could still remember the look on her father’s face when she had it commissioned. He grumbled about it for days, but the princess insisted that she needed to display pride in her house as heir to Runestone — whether she had been to the keep since she was a babe or not. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam had selected the specific ruins themselves.

“Do you know what these symbols mean, Princess?” Noarysa looked pained as soon as she realized her thoughts had slipped out her mouth.

Maetilda giggled before admitting, “No, my knights do, but they won’t tell me. They want me to read about them myself. But I have such a hard time with books, my thoughts are too loud.”

“Forgive me, Princess. But could you not command them to tell you anyway? They are your knights.” Adelyn responded.

“If I did, that would ruin the fun of it. They enjoy teasing me too much.” The princess smiled in admission, “That dress is perfect. Good pick, Noarysa.”

“‘Thought the orange would suit the little bit of blue on your eyes.” Her cheeks tinted pink.

“I think we’re going to get along quite well over this coming fortnight.” Maetilda smiled brightly.

“It’s in the details!” Adelyn interjected, “That’s what Noarysa always likes to say.”

The three girls giggled together as they worked together to dress Maetilda. The burnt orange dress had many bronze buttons, and Adelyn was overjoyed to decorate the princess in stacks of bronze jewelry — rings, a necklace, bracelets, hair pins, a belt with dragons and tourmaline stones. They kept her shoes simple as they could not be seen beneath the hem of her gown, but Adelyn wrapped a bronze anklet around the right shoe’s ankle for good measure. Maetilda thanked the girls before she dismissed them and stared in the looking glass one last time. Her reflection made her smile. The girls had done wonderfully on her hair. With her head held high for the first time since arriving to King’s Landing, the princess exited her room.

Ser Gunthor Stone stood on the other side of the door, just as Ser Eddrin had said. Ser Gunthor was born in the same year as Maetilda, a bastard son of the master-at-arms at Runestone. When they were six and ten, he left his father in the middle of the night to seek out the princess he had been told so many stories of in his youth. He had arrived at Dragonstone in a fishing boat. Sers Eddrin and Wyllam recognized him immediately, stating the resemblance to his father was uncanny. The knight had dark auburn hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes that had a ring of sage green around the pupil and a darker hazel ring on the outside. His eyelashes were long and mesmerizing. His stubble was a lighter ginger when he didn’t shave. His lips were pouty and pillowy, the top one fuller than the bottom. He was tall and built like an ox. The princess would be lying to herself if said she didn’t find him attractive. The knight was utterly beautiful. She smiled at him and began to feel hot as she thought that perhaps she had been staring at him for too long.

“You look ruinously beautiful, mi’lady. Get it? Ruinous, runes.” Ser Gunthor teased.

Maetilda laughed, “Yes, I got it! It ruins it when you explain the joke.”

“My apologies,” Ser Gunthor smirked, “‘Didn’t think you laughed hard enough.”

Maetilda giggled more before half-heartedly scolding her sworn knight in a whisper, “You best hold your tongue, you oaf. You have to be careful around the wasp nest. Best behavior.”

“Of course, mi’lady. From this moment onward.” He smiled.

“Shall we go?” The princess teasingly rolled her eyes.

The corridors were like a maze. The princess found herself utterly lost as the knight more or less led the way to her parents’ chambers. She wondered how he could possibly know his way around, but she didn’t want to risk more jokes and teasing. They passed by too many other lords, ladies, and servants on their path, and the princess did not want to risk their whispers lest they overheard something they did not understand. Thankfully, Ser Gunthor had always been good at following instructions. She kept her head held high and her back straight as they walked. Her family was to be a symbol of unity and excellence. Princess Rhaenyra had warned them correctly. There were two guards on each side of the door when they reached the future Queen’s chambers. They bowed upon her arrival, knocked, waited for a response, and then each opened a side of the double door. Ser Gunthor bowed to Maetilda as he was to wait outside for her. With a curt nod to the knights, she entered the bedroom.

Inside, the fireplace was lit as well as several candles on every surface that would have them. It was warm and light. The sound of her brother’s laughter hit her like a bell toll. Her father sat at the head of the table while Princess Rhaenyra sat across from him. The table had been turned so that her chair would be the closest to the fire. Jacaerys and Lucerys sat next to each other on their mother’s right while Joffrey sat to her left. Maetilda bowed to each of her family members before she filled the empty chair between Prince Daemon and Joffrey. The three boys each held a hand to their mouths as they failed to contain their laughter. Regardless, they each nodded their heads back. The future Queen briefly smiled at her before returning her gaze to her husband. He, on the other hand, did not break his trance to acknowledge his daughter. Awkwardly, the princess cleared her throat, but it was in vain. She resorted to staring forward blankly, folding her hands perfectly in her lap. Dinner was served without another moment. Spiced mutton, buttered bread, freshly cooked potatoes and greens. The smell made their stomachs growl and their mouths water. The boys were about to dig in like they would back home before the future Queen cleared her throat. Stopping them in their tracks.

“Remember that if we are at an official meal, you wait for the ruling monarch to eat first. Then you may dig in.” She instructed with a soft smile.

The boys eyed her eagerly as she sat at the table with an empty plate. She smiled at them innocently before taking a slow sip from her wine. Little Joffrey let out a pained groan in anticipation. The other two giggled at their mother’s antics. Even Prince Daemon snickered.

“I do believe you’re torturing them, my ruling Monarch.” He chided playfully.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra smirked before grabbing a roll and a leg of mutton.

Before one could blink an eye, the boys had launched out of their chairs. Their hands greedily grabbed at whatever food they could. As if sharing a brain, Maetilda and her father sat back and watched them, waiting for their frenzy to die down. The three boys stuffed their catchings into their mouths, moaning with delight at the flavor. Once Maetilda and Daemon finally dug in after the rest of them, a silence settled amongst the table. Nothing but the sound of chewing and cutlery scraping on plates. The Rogue Prince’s stare remained fixed on his wife while his daughter watched him. She remained observative as he took his simmering anger out on the food he cut into smaller and smaller bites. He did not always eat like such a royal. He spent too many years at war and in pleasure houses to hold onto his manners. When he was in better spirits, he ate with his hands.

“How are you all finding the castle so far? I suspect we shall be calling it home before winter comes.” The future Queen’s shoulders slumped at her latter statement, the realization that her coronation meant her father’s death hanging heavy upon them.

“It’s, uhh, different.” Jacaerys tried.

“The dent from the morningstar incident is still there!” Lucerys exclaimed.

“Oh please, don’t remind us.” Rhaenyra held back a breathy chuckle.

“The morningstar incident? I don’t know if I’ve heard of that one.” Daemon teased.

“No, please! Anything but that.” The future queen pleaded again, “Please, something else!”

“Well, uhh, my handmaids are sweet.” Maetilda spoke the first words that came to her mind.

“Wonderful! I’m pleased to hear you approve of them. They had big shoes to fill.” Rhaenyra smiled.

“Yes, I see they found the gown I have — is it thrice now? — ordered to be burnt. Way to show your unity, daughter. Qogralbāre rōva ribazma.” (Fucking brilliant) Daemon grumbled, taking a large gulp of honeywine. “Issi īlon mirre isse se sigils hen īlva muña sir?” (Are we all to wear our mothers’ sigils now?)

“My belt has two dragons, one on each side. Just because your parents—” Maetilda spit back.

“I must say, that color suits you, sister.” Jace interjected.

“You look very pretty, Til!” Luke joined in with a joking tone and a genuine smile.

“Very, very, very, very, VERY pretty!” Joffrey added.

“Very, very, VERY sweet of you boys. Your sister does look beautiful. As always.” Rhaenyra smiled. Joffrey giggled uncontrollably at her mimicry.

“‘Got that from our side, didn’t she?” Daemon smirked, finishing off his cup.

“My mother was pretty enough for me to happen, father.” Maetilda retorted sharply.

Jace and Luke simultaneously choked on their drinks. Joffrey continued to make a mess of his food, not being one to eat when the room was tense. Rhaenyra’s body froze as her head whipped around to see her sons’ reactions before her eyes finally landed on Maetilda. The future Queen’s eyebrow hiked upward as if to question how Maetilda knew of such matters. Daemon merely laughed into his cup as memories ran passed his violet eyes, “Iksā paktot va bony.” (You’re right on that one.)

“Did you all see anything else in the training yard?” Rhaenyra quickly changed the subject.

“We did!” Maetilda answered hotly while the two others were still recovering from the last time she opened her mouth, “The Cargyll twins were sparring together, along with Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole. With just a sword and a shield, the prince bested Ser Criston with his morningstar.”

Her father visibly tensed. Only then had she realized the sensitive subject she stumbled upon. Ser Criston had bested him at the Heir’s Tournament. Her father had never gotten over it, although that is not what he wanted the Realm to think. Whenever he got drunk in Pentos, he would rant about the occasion extensively to Lady Laena, who pretended to care. She could not count the number of times she had heard him aggressively ramble about how he was incredibly disadvantaged. How he had spent all his energy on the Hightower cuck. How he had been blinded by the sun. How Cole had spooked his horse.

“You should have seen it, Daemon! Ser Criston wailed his morningstar at the prince’s shield until it completely fell apart!” Lucerys recalled, completely unaware of the salt he was pouring in Daemon’s wound.

“The prince didn’t even flinch! ‘Had the kingsguard by the neck in only a few more strokes.” Jacaerys further explained.

“He, uhh, wears an eyepatch now too.” Luke added, voice dripping with hesitation and guilt.

The two at the heads of the table shared an unreadable look. It was broken by Princess Rhaenyra who pulled away to look back at the children. Maetilda could not help her itch to continue speaking. That was not all they saw, “Lord Vaemond Velaryon had made his entrance through the gate in the training yard as well. Lords and ladies were even present to observe his arrival. I must say, having never spent much time at this place in my life, this Keep seems upside down.”

“Sȳrje ūndegīon hen ao, tala.” Daemon rolled his eyes. (Very observational of you, daughter)

“That sounds like quite the sight! I must have a word with the Queen. A royal arrival shall not be overlooked in favor of Lord Vaemond.” Rhaenyra tutted.

“It is interesting he entered through the training yard gates, you know,” Daemon conceded a bit quietly, “That entrance would have a direct route to the byka rhaenagon tistālion. We shall see qilōni iksis dārys isse jēda.” (small council chambers; who is king in time)

“What does that mean?” Joffrey inquired, only half listening.

“You’ll know when you’re older, Joff.” Daemon teased.

The Rogue Prince stared at his wife with a new sharp intensity as Joffrey began to descend into his cries of ‘why.’ Maetilda watched her father’s stare intently. His look held a thousand words. A thousand silent words that Princess Rhaenyra missed as she gazed down at the table lost in thought. The princess-by-title suspected the worst. Perhaps the Hightowers already had Lord Vaemond in their purse. What she had told her parents was valuable, she could see it in their reaction, yet neither of them moved their mouths to acknowledge it. Her insides twisted at her father’s utter refusal to admit she had done good. It was as if the Gods would strike him down dead on the spot if he were to tell her ‘well done’ even a single time. She hadn’t heard it since he had taught her High Valyrian as a girl. He knew she could understand what he was saying. With a silent huff, the princess-by-title broke her stare from her father. She allowed her eyes to scan the table only to meet those of her two stepbrothers. Their eyebrows were raised in surprise as their blinking significantly decreased. It was as if they were surprised by her observations, like they had not witnessed the same training yard, yet this had not been the first time. Perhaps the two had been taking too many pages out of her father’s book. Not being able to lose attention for long, Daemon sighed as he clapped his hands on the table.

“Children, you should all stay away from Princess Rhaenyra’s siblings… for the time being.” He spoke resolutely.

“Stay away?” Lucerys gasped, “As in avoid them or shun them? Are you joking?”

“You can’t be serious!” Jacaerys echoed.

“Avoid them at all costs. We all have noticed how freakish this keep has become. ‘Don’t want to catch whatever disease they have. We must trust no one.” Daemon doubled down.

Rhaenyra seemed to be at a loss for words before she could finally let out, “Mijegon másino, se riñar issi daor qrinuntyssy, Daemon.” (Certainly, the children are not guilty)

“Mēre-Laes pyghagon se qogralbar azantys,” He growled. (One-Eye beat the fucking knight)

“Se valītsos iksis iā sȳz egros. Ilagon hen ziry,” She countered. (The boy is a fine sword. Lay off it.)

“Ȳdra daor sagon doru-borto, Rhaenyra.” He sneered back. (Don’t be stupid)

“Hae hembar jentys hen Sīkuda Dārȳti, kesan sagon skoros jaelan.” (As next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, I will be what I want)

Maetilda crossed her arms grumpily as the future Queen and King Consort went back and forth in High Valyrian. Jacaerys and Lucerys were nowhere near fluent enough to keep up while Joffrey didn’t speak the language at all beyond a few sprinkles of keywords. Of course, this is how the two would often argue – in spats of their ancestral tongue. As if no one else could understand them and they were the only two people left in the world. Her father continued to down his cups as he banged his fists against the table. Yet her stepmother did not flinch, she did not back down. She never did, always seeing him for the boy he was. Most others were afraid of the Rogue Prince, the alleged murderer of his own daughter’s mother, but his third wife was not. One could not simply intimidate a dragon.

In the back of her mind, Maetilda had already begun to spin plans for what she was to do for the next days leading up to the trial. Despite the expanse of the castle, there was not always a lot to occupy one’s time with. Visiting the library was of no interest to her and wondering about the halls sounded beyond tiring. One could pace the gardens only so many times, and no brown garden would ever compare to the gardens of the Free Cities in her childhood. Hunting down Princess Helaena would have naturally been at the top of her list. Not to mention, the two princesses had gotten along well the last time they had seen each other at Driftmark. Their friendship had only seemed to blossom. After their meeting as children, they would often send small cuttings of their embroidery back and forth between each other. Allowing them to see the other’s progress, and add little motifs to the corners if they so choose. Maetilda would send her royal cousin all sorts of designs – dragons, flowers, quotes from poetry books, insects, and animals. Yet Helaena would only ever send back different stitchings of the same bug, a silverfish. Sometimes it was accompanied by beetles, spiders, and other small creatures. Most recently had been a silverfish and an earwig. She had kept them all together in a chest. Not one piece sent to her was missing the little bug, there was always a silverfish. The princess-by-title never knew what it had meant, but she admired how they increased in intricacy over the years. Certainly they were not Helaena’s favorite as the King’s second daughter did not keep one in her collection. Maetilda longed to ask the princess about the stitchings and their meanings in person as she was always so vague in her letters. Perhaps she knew something too, the girl was certainly smart enough to code her messages or at least never write something that may give away suspicion. The princess-by-title could not quite put her thumb on the feeling that prickled inside of her. Her heart hurt and her stomach ached. Certainly there could be nothing dangerous about Helaena, not anything that the princess-by-title couldn’t handle. As she continued to turn over the silverfish embroidery in her mind, Maetilda concretely decided to disregard her father’s warnings. He was overly paranoid and bitter from war, being widowed twice, and old rivalries. He was being irrational. She was going to visit Helaena on the morrow, whether the Rogue Prince approved of it or not. The worst he could do was try to stop her.

A/N: so this is gonna be a more dark!daemon fic. i’m still deciding how dark/grey! aemond will be. i spammed these first few chapters, but i may start spreading them out as i don’t actually write this fast. but posting these has gotten me super excited so we’ll see!

xoxo messy

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen #dad!daemon #stepmom!rhaenyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #dead men and the divine

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