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macfrog · 7 months

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you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

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Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

“If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #sex on fire

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aemxnd · 1 year

Text

the thrill of the chase | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

Aemond has a plan, whether you like it or not.

Inspired by a wonderful anonymous request — I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but I hope this is what you were looking for!

WARNINGS: consensual non-consent/dub-con, physical assault, chase play, primal play, knife use, v fingering, p in v sex, praise, degrading, profanity, breeding, aftercare, reader has silver hair for plot point, reader is Rhaenyra’s child with undisclosed father, Aemond being sinister af, sickening fluff at the end

WORDS: 5.2k

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

As fire forged steel, the gods forged your soulmate from your own blood.

Betrothed to each other by and large since birth, your bond with Aemond Targaryen was as invincible as Valyrian steel itself. Born mere weeks apart, two dragonriders watching each other grow and mature knowing you would be spending the rest of your natural lives together under the eyes of the Seven, your pledge to marry your beloved uncle was a match made in the heavens.

Filling your parents’ hearts with the first sign of contentment they had felt in years, your union intended to solidify the bonds between your two Targaryen branches at last. After all, your brother Lucerys had not ingratiated your unit with glory having permanently disfigured your husband-to-be as children. Your marriage to your kepus would salve the wounds between Viserys’ offspring once and for all, leaving behind only scars.

Having sworn yourselves to each other so young and placing an unrivalled trust in each other’s hands long before adulthood, your childlike antics sprawled long into your years of maturity. You still challenged each other to races on dragonback knowing full well Aemond had the upper hand with Vhagar, pulled childish pranks on the other and giggled your hearts out whenever King Viserys mucked up an important speech.

Your bedchamber activities were no exception — remarkably unconventional and downright blasphemous. Still children at heart, you played games among the sheets, adopted unrealistic roles and experimented with your own pleasures more than a wed couple twice your tenure. In placing such trust in each other, you decided upon a number of safety nets to reassure each other should your adventurous nature exceed each other’s boundaries. Aemond’s signal bore the form of pressing two fingers to the inside of your left wrist, to which you would respond with either two taps of your fingers to signal your comfort, or three to mark your discomfort. Failing that, you decided upon a word to utter if either of you felt uncomfortable, unsafe or unwell in the situation you created within your carnal adventures — Malvales. If those three syllables were spoken at any point, you each made a solemn vow to cease at once. The safety net this term provided had sprung open the doors of possibility between you, each night (and often day) setting a challenge to explore new heights with the reassurance that you could each call a truce at any moment.

Court’s proprietary standards bypassed you to the point your family no longer expected you both to conform. Where wed couples would typically keep a respectable distance at public engagements in the presence of others, you and Aemond were so often found stealing chaste kisses and boldly wrapping your arms around each other that more traditional members of your family became all too accustomed to rolling their eyes at your unseemly behaviour. Not that their clear visual disapproval irked you in the slightest, they only sought to encourage you in amplifying your public displays of affection with your husband to make their skin crawl even more.

At the close of a particularly monotonous family dinner and dance, Aemond’s arm snaked dutifully around your waist constricted slightly, startling you back to earth from your daydreaming. You turned to find your husband staring idly into the crowd, his violet eye desperately willing to gaze at you instead of maintaining a noble indifference for the sake of present company.

“My darling wife,” Aemond addressed you without breaking his stare into the swirling commotion at court. “Are you quite aware of how beautiful you look tonight?”

“What, this old thing?” You chuckled to yourself before mirroring his hard glare into the crowd, flicking a dismissive palm over the heavily beaded emerald dress flowing over your form. “It’s just something I threw on.”

“It is quite unbecoming of you to appear so indecently delectable when I cannot take you until we return to our chambers,” Aemond gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing eagerly. “I wish to inform you that I consider this a personal indignation against your long-suffering husband.”

Your ability to withhold a typically jesting slap to his chest was waning with every insufferably formal syllable tumbling from his irresistible lips.

“I am most apologetic, dear husband,” you declared through a sarcastic half-pout. “Pray tell, how could I possibly make a reparation for such an erroneous act?”

Aemond’s fingers idly stroked into the deep green velvet so rudely obstructing his access to your body beneath.

“I fear there is only one way to compensate for this,” he sighed softly, jaw tightening as he calculated his punishment so deeply he may as well have exuded steam from his ears.

“For you, Prince Aemond, I would do anything,” you gulped in anticipation.

“Considering the evening’s festivities are drawing to a close, I must insist on a hunt,” he leaned to hum into the shell of your ear. “A hunt where my irresistible wife shall become the prey.”

You fired a hand to your chest in a vain attempt to disguise your faltering breaths, eyelids fluttering at his implication before he embellished his ingenious plan.

“You wish to hunt me, dear husband? So what happens if you catch me?”

“If I catch you before you reach our shared chambers,” he lowered his voice to a faint murmur to avoid prying ears. “I will fuck you in any way I see fit, and I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

You swallowed thickly at the prospect. Even if you put up a resistance, Aemond would take you by force. Especially if you put up a resistance.

This unconventional demand was not without precedent. One time you feigned weak protests against Aemond’s needy advances, dribbling out half-hearted “stop”s and “please don’t”s so temptingly that you portrayed more of an encouragement than an obstacle. Immediately upon hearing your false resistance, Aemond’s violet eye darkened to a sinister pitch black and sparked an inhuman drive to fuck you harder than ever before. The mere memory of that night’s ecstasy, losing track of the times he forced you to your peak and the way he gazed at you as if you were his prey, helpless and captive in his grasp, was enough to make your knees buckle beneath you.

“Easy, princess,” Aemond hummed, tightening his grip on your waist to keep you upright. “Something tells me you approve of this notion.”

“And…,” you swallowed thickly in a terrible attempt to retain your conversation at a publicly respectable level. “What is the prize if I evade capture before I reach our bed?”

“Unfortunately I have not yet considered that outcome on account of its sheer impossibility.”

“You may maintain this delusion, your Grace,” you choked down a giggle, shaking your head dismissively and finding a new spot in the crowd to focus on. “Perhaps I shall decide the outcome myself if I am crowned victorious.”

“Considering its improbability, you may do so, Princess. Meanwhile, I see the Lannisters and Starks are bidding the King their leave,” Aemond husked, his gaze finally snapping back to you, finding his violet eye already descended into a deep lust-filled black. “So the hunt is nearly upon us. Are you satisfied with the plan, dear wife?”

“You shall hear no protest from me, Prince Aemond,” you nodded dutifully.

He quirked a brow. “Oh I hope I will.”

You gulped so loudly, you swore the entire court heard as you prepared to seek a lesser-known path through the castle to a safe hiding place. Eyes darting around the great hall for a plan of action, Aemond watched your deliberations intently, firing his tongue out to trace along his bottom lip.

“You have a head start, my love, but use it wisely,” he confirmed with a flick of his eyebrows, gently growling beneath his breath as he watched you like a panicked deer searching for a way out. Just as you started to pull away, his hand grasped yours and dragged you back to face him. “Remind me, what is our word again?”

“Malvales,” you confirmed, nodding frantically. “Y… your Grace.”

“Good girl,” he half-growled in the base of his throat, his sinister grin drawling out his final syllable. “Now I believe it is time for you to run for your life. May the Seven bless you, issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

In the moment Aemond released his grip on your hand, you demonstrably smoothed your gown and calmly paced toward your first exit.

“Ah, Y/N!” Your grandsire bellowed, beckoning you over to join his conversation with Queen Alicent. “My dearest granddaughter, how beautiful she looks in Hightower green this night, do you not think so my beloved?”

Alicent smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. “Quite, your Grace.”

You could barely hear their conversation over your thundering pulse in your ears, well aware of the precious time this idle conversation would be wasting. You glanced back across the hall to the spot where you left Aemond, clocking his lip curled into a predatory smirk. “Go now,” he mouthed before turning on his heels to disappear down a darkened corridor.

“I… I am sorry, grandsire, I must bid you farewell,” you stuttered frantically, balling your fists into the layers of your dress. “I… I am tired and I must rest.”

“Oh, of course my dear, it has been quite a long evening, please take your leave,” King Viserys pleaded, palms outstretched toward the nearest doorway.

“Thank you, your Grace, I shall see you at first light on the morrow!”

The promise sent a pang of regret through your veins the moment it left your lips while you fled for the door, for if Aemond has his way tonight, you will be quite unable to walk for the next five days straight, let alone first light.

In the throes of sheer excitement, every hallway in the Red Keep looked exactly the same. The same bronzed candlelight only partially illuminating the way, leaving all too lengthy sections of darkness in which danger could lurk. The dull grey flagstones never changed in texture or pattern, enough to leave you disoriented after the first few twisting turns in the darkness when motivated by sheer tension between you and Aemond should he find you. You broke into a run each time you faced a long, straight hallway, settling to a jog with every corner.

Your breaths grew ragged and hitched in your throat, spinning on your heels to check behind you at every turn but finding the same empty corridor as before. Your heartbeat brewing a storm in your ears prevented you from hearing even your own frantic footfalls on stone, let alone those of a predator.

You swallowed thickly as you reached a familiar hallway, recognising that you were not far from your destination and that Aemond would lose his precious hunt after all. Slowing your jogging pace to a brisk walk, your thundering pulse relaxed. It was a nice challenge while it lasted, you thought to yourself, allowing your mind to drift through the multitude of consequences you could enforce on Aemond as forfeit for losing his precious race to you. Perhaps you would tie him to your bed and leave him untouched for hours, pleasuring yourself with your fingers while he watches on with lust-blown pupils, unable to reach out and conquer your body for himself.

Suddenly, a loud whoosh behind you suggested that the shadows concealed more than the same old flagstones, but a cloaked hunter. You swooped around to catch a glimpse of the spectre but found nothing. Your heart sank at the realisation that Aemond was not wearing a cloak in the hall, eyes widening at the thought that you may have been pursued by someone other than Aemond. After all, the castle was still teeming with noblemen and women of varying families with very conflicting ideals of loyalty to House Targaryen’s claim to the Iron Throne, not to mention the looks of incredulous disgust cast in your direction for kissing your husband in front of the court. In a heartbeat, your blood ran cold as your anticipation transfigured into terror, freezing you to the spot — there is another attacker in the Red Keep.

Yet the hunter did not strike, leaving you motionless in the middle of the hall staring into shadows but finding no ambush. Trying your best to dismiss what you heard as a cruel delusion in the midst of panic, you turned on your heels and continued on your path. Only two more corners and you would be safe within your chambers, free from this torment on your nerves and senses.

Your heavy dress swooped around the final stone turns as a lead weight, dragging you down as if you were taking one step forward and two steps back. Trudging ahead, the wooden portal to your chambers came into view in the dim candlelight and elicited a deep sigh of relief from the bottom of your lungs. Whatever had been chasing you had failed, you were finally within reach of safety. Grinding to a halt as you pressed a palm to the wood between you and your safe haven, you exhaled once more, eking a slight self-satisfied grin across your lips.

The loud swoop of an unsheathed blade filled the silence and a cold breeze snapped you from your blissful stupor, you gasped against the shock of a cool blade resting on your throat and a hand firing to cover your mouth to conceal your screams. Wordlessly, your captor steered you through the portal which once offered you sanctuary in order to avoid any prying eyes in the hallway.

Your eyes darted to their peripheral points desperate for a glimpse of your captor, any glimmer of poker-straight silver locks would quell your concerns at any moment, but there was no respite to be found beneath a pitch black cloak flowing in the corner of your eye. The long fingers cupping your lips were concealed by a pair of sleek black gloves, hiding your assailant’s identity at every turn. You swallowed as shallow as you could against the restraint of the blade, jagged breaths betraying the sheer terror conflicting your every thought as you were being puppet-driven into the doors of your own chambers.

As you entered, the attacker threw you against the closing door, the wooden portal smashing into your chest as they used your body to close it. In removing their gloved hand from your mouth to click the door lock beneath you, they soon ensured no escape from your once safe haven that had now become your prison. No matter how many times you strained to see your captor, you could not glimpse any recognisable features. Whoever they were, they took great efforts to remain anonymous. Now free to cry out for help but still restrained by the threatening blade, you instead issued a soft plea to your captor.

“Ser, please…,” your pathetic pledge spilled from your lips against the wooden door, careful not to move your throat too much against the sharp Valyrian steel edge. “If it is money you seek, I can bestow riches upon you. If it be power, I can arrange it. But please, spare my life for the sake of my family.”

Your assailant did not respond, merely holding you flush to the portal and awaiting your next comment.

“My… my husband, h—he would stop at nothing to avenge me,” you cringed at the mere thought of the words tumbling forth. Whether you genuinely believed they would spare your life for the sake of a weak plea such as this was by-the-by, the waves of sheer panic flooding through you were responsible for all your decisions at this point, foolish or otherwise. “Please, ser…”

A low groan echoed from your captor’s throat, stopping just short of allowing you to identify their voice. Instead, they removed the blade from your throat and trailed it down your spine, following the path of the boning in your gown which cinched your waist beneath. Now able to breathe, your chest heaved and another growl emitted from the attacker as they observed your dress throbbing before them. While a hand reached to pull the top seam away from your body, the blade traced to the edge, pressed into you and sliced the fabric all the way down to your hips, decimating your smallclothes underneath in the process. You squeezed your eyes shut and hissed softly as the cool air of the chamber flushed over your bare back, the realisation of your fate flooding over you in chilling waves. Your captor would certainly take what he wanted from you before slitting your throat, your own Targaryen blood flowing between the flagstones of your chambers.

“Ser, I’m begging you,” you pleaded weakly, gasping at the sharp sensation of cold gloved hands rolling the ripped fabric down your shoulders so what remained of your gown pooled at your ankles. Your captor swallowed thickly behind you, consuming your naked figure and the goosebumps that prickled in the cool air’s wake.

No response came.

“W… what do you want with me?” You stuttered, petrified of the answer. Suddenly, both gloved hands clasped around your hips and steered you toward the bed in the centre of the chamber, violently tossing you head-first onto the sheets. In that brief moment, you could have escaped, should have escaped, but the fear of capture as you raced naked across the room no doubt to be stabbed by your captor froze you to the core, instead burying your face in the pillows as if to will the moments away. Maybe your ordeal would be over sooner if you accepted your fate, but that didn’t stop you kicking and flailing your limbs to deter them from attempting to pin you down.

“Please, stop…”

A rustle of leather behind you suggested your speechless captor had taken off their gloves and began fumbling with their pants while watching you bare before them, faint echoes of sobs emanating from deep within the pillows. The mattress sank beneath you as they crawled onto the bed, bare knees caging you on both sides of your bucking hips yet still evidently wearing their cape as a wave of heavy fabric sweeping up your bare thighs. In the blink of an eye, a hand reached into your hair and tugged you skyward as hot, predatory breaths fanned your hair. A faint chuckle erupted from the attacker, coiling their fist into your silver locks and revelling in the way your body so easily caved to their will, even if your mouth did not.

“No, please, my husband, please…,” you panicked, writhing in their vice-like grasp as a wave of dread coursing through you as the enormity of your situation finally hit you. You had only ever bedded your husband, only ever felt his touch, only ever felt his cock inside you, only ever felt his cum dripping from your folds. Tonight, that loyalty, that commitment would be forever tarnished. Scalding hot tears burst their banks and seared their way down your countenance to soak the pillows below as you lowered your cracking voice to a pleading whisper: “Aemond, please help me.”

Suddenly, the hand that tugged on your hair reached for your left wrist, pressing two fingers to your pulse point.

Aemond’s signal.

Your every muscle relaxed with relief, the tension in your spine loosening immediately. A sigh of contentment escaped you as you tapped your fingers twice onto the pillows beneath you, an unexpected bolt of pleasure thrumming through your core and seeping through your folds as you snapped back into the room, realising you were completely naked and pinned beneath your husband, not an anonymous attacker.

“Aemond, gods be good, I--.”

You were cut off by his hands firing straight back into your hair, yanking you back to face him. His silver locks billowed under his dark hood, the cloak clearly the only garment he was still wearing, his jaw tensed in a sinister pout and most notably, his eye patch was nowhere to be seen, enabling his sapphire eye to glimmer softly in the dim light of the chamber.

“It seems I won the hunt, Princess,” he cooed into your ear, nibbling gently on the lobe and groaning gratuitously as you bucked into his touch, your thighs squeezing together tightly. “But you resist me so well.”

With one hand wandering to part your cheeks beneath him, the other scooped around your hip to drag you up from the sheets. His motions were just as swift, curt and merciless as they were before you knew his identity, making it abundantly clear that Aemond was still very much in character.

“Aemond, I need time to still my nerves,” you pleaded weakly and unconvincingly, your back arching instinctively into his touch.

“I don’t think you do,” Aemond snapped, again tugging at your hips to pull you against him, his hardened cock tapping on your parted cheeks, leaving a light trail of his own slick in its wake. “You will do as I say, dear wife.”

“Please, at least prepare me first,” you panted, wriggling gently against his restraint but not enough to betray your own desires. The adrenaline rush from realising it was indeed your husband that ravished you had left you desiring to fuck him now more than ever. You didn’t need any preparation, he could bottom out inside you in a heartbeat and your warm walls would welcome him as ever.

“Oh, my dear sweet little princess,” he hissed through feigned gritted teeth, venturing a finger to trace through your already dripping folds. “It appears your cunt is already well prepared for me.”

A blast of heat rose to your cheeks as if a furnace had ignited before you. “Aemond, stop…”

“Tell me,” he hummed, replacing his finger with the tip of his cock lining up at your waiting entrance. “Did the thought of being ravaged by an anonymous intruder really satisfy my little wife that much?”

Frantically shaking your head, you balled your fists into the sheets in anticipation.

“This is quite a way to find out my beautiful wife is not only a liar but also a whore,” Aemond concluded, slapping his tip against your cunt before nudging inside just a little. “I’ll have to take you by force more often.”

In one swift snap of his hips, his cock slipped inside you as comfortably as the first time he bedded you so many moons ago. Both moaning in unison, his fingers dipped into the flesh of your hips and drew you back to impale yourself further on his cock, his length nestling into your spongy walls like the missing piece of a jigsaw. Your eyes bulged at the intrusion, in sure and certain knowledge that you may never get used to how big he felt, how perfectly his girth filled you, how his tip reached the furthest points inside you that felt as if he was nudging into your lungs.

“Oh gods fuck, you’re so tight,” he swore out amongst a strangled gasp, the sensation of your walls clamping around him becoming almost too much already. “That’s it, clench down on me, try and stop me fucking you.”

“Aemond please, please stop,” you let out a half-hearted protest which stoked a fire in his loins, making your husband rear back and deliver a punishing thrust that stole the air from your lungs. “Please, it’s too… too much.”

“You’ll take what I give you, Princess,” he commanded, reaching down to knock your elbows from beneath you so you fell into the pillows. His hand pressed the back of your skull ever so slightly downwards. “Scream into the pillow if it hurts, because I’m not listening.”

Muffled whimpers and yelps vibrated through the cushion as you feigned protest, arching your back and pushing up your ass to meet his thrusts. Somehow, play-fighting against his actions only heightened your sensitivity to his every movement inside your heat, and Aemond responded eagerly each time you pleaded with him to stop when every inch of your body persuaded him to surge ahead.

“I knew someday my plan would come in useful,” Aemond’s free hand fumbled to cast aside his cloak as it impeded his motions, leading him to initiate a perfectly normal conversation while piledriving your cunt and sinking your head into the pillows. “I concealed a cloak and gloves in a chamber some moons ago for a quick midnight escape if the Red Keep ever became too much to bear. Tonight, it finally paid off handsomely.”

Aemond began bending his knees to curl his thrusts, his cockhead meeting your sweet spot with every swoop inside you. Noticing his new tactic, you took the opportunity of his distraction to wriggle your hips beneath him, a false attempt to break free and stop his onslaught on your pussy.

“No you don’t, little whore,” he spat through gritted teeth, one hand grasping your hips and the other firing to pin your hands above your head. “You’re not just fighting a mysterious assailant now, issa jorrāelagon, you’re resisting your husband and we both know you could never resist me.”

Testing his theory, you writhed and flexed harder beneath him, trying to kick away his thighs behind you. “Please, please let me go,” you feigned, gasping for air now you could freely breathe above the pillow.

“Take what I give you like a good girl,” Aemond commanded, an accomplished growl spilling through his last syllables. “Next time, I think I’ll fuck you while you’re sleeping. Maybe then you’ll stop trying to fight off what you want more than anything.”

You swallowed harshly as your body betrayed your façade, hot waves of pleasure pooling in your core and building a searing tension in your walls that threatened to burst its banks with a particularly devastating thrust.

“Aemond, I’m… I’m…,” you stuttered in hopes your husband would catch your hint that you were about to reach your peak.

“No you fucking don’t,” he snarled, rearing his hips back to pull out of you completely, kicking your knees from beneath you and tumbling you on your back into the sheets. Your first full-body vision of your feral Prince claiming you by force revealed his porcelain frame beaded with sweat, his violet eye so blown with lust that in your blurred vision it looked pitch black. His jaw constricted into a fierce pout, he gazed down at your shaking body beneath him as if a man starved, desperate to reach his home deep inside your cunt once more. But in dropping to the sheets, your thighs had clamped together, battling the loss of his cock inside you.

“Spread yourself for me,” he growled like a wild animal. “Now.”

You nodded frantically, acting as innocent as possible as you opened your thighs before him, your throbbing folds reddened and puffy after his first onslaught.

“I said, spread yourself for me,” he repeated, palming at his cock as he waited for your compliance.

Your shaking hands trailed between your legs and parted your soaking folds, trails of your own slick glistening in the dim light.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised through a filthy drawl, his syllables melting together as his own heightened senses overwhelmed him. “Always such a good fucking girl for me.”

He leaned forward and plunged his length back into your waiting cunt, his eye journeying to the ceiling as your rippling walls greeted him willingly. He returned to his devastating pace all too quickly, fighting to gaze back down and watch his slick-glistened cock disappearing inside you at a breakneck speed, the lewd splashes of your coupling making a filthy echo throughout the chamber.

“Please… please let me go,” you began to falsely plead for mercy again while his punishing thrusts sent you sinking into the mattress. “It’s… too much…”

“Easy, princess, I won’t cause you harm,” he cooed softly, bending down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I only intend to break you so that the only coherent thought in that dumb little whore mind of yours belongs to me, my cock and how beautifully I split you open.”

The bolts of pleasure from his sinful words sent your hips keening up to meet his, head throwing back into the pillows and crying out his name like a sacrament to the Seven.

“Aemond, please…,” you pleaded in the brief pauses between his thrusts, gasping for air and consciousness as the corners of your vision began to blur, your eyes fluttering closed. “I’m… I’m…”

“Stay with me, angel,” he husked, curling a hand around the back of your neck and hovering his lips above yours. “Be a good girl and watch me claim you.”

His pummelling pace refused to relent, taking your approach to your peak as a challenge to chase it fervently, swooping his hips and drawing his length out as far as possible before plunging deep inside you until you gasped his name so weakly that no sound came out.

“That’s it, all you can think about is me, right?” He growled, relishing the way your mind and body had now caved to his desire, melted to his will and broken any wish for resistance. “I knew you could take it, I knew you wanted me to force you. All you needed was a little encouragement.”

With one last surge of strength, you pressed your hands to his chest and made a half-hearted attempt to push him off you. Chuckling deep in his throat at your pathetic action, his trademark sinister grin crept across the corner of his lips.

“A valiant attempt, dear wife,” he smirked, rearing his hips back so far his tip very nearly slipped out of your folds. “Now you get to watch me fuck a babe into you whether you like it or not.”

With one last devastating thrust, his tip pummelling against the perimeter your cervix, you cried out and wrapped your legs around his waist, curling your arms around his neck and drawing him in for a searing kiss as you toppled over the edge of your climax along with him, spilling his seed inside you and grunting with each string painting your walls.

The chamber filled with both your ragged breaths, slowly riding out your orgasm as if you could stay rutting up into him for the rest of time. His exhausted gaze met yours, the fierce snarl to which you had become accustomed now softened to his traditional warm smile.

As he tentatively withdrew from your folds, the mixture of your fluids dripping onto the sheets beneath you, Aemond scooped both arms under your back and pulled you up to sit upright with him. He held onto you so tightly, arms wrapped around you protectively as he dipped his head into your neck. Your body shook so gently in his grasp, the aftershocks of your experience still taking hold of your limbs.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded softly into your ear, his tone so gentle and reassuring in such stark contrast to the entire evening. “Can I call for the Maester?”

“I… I am fine,” you stuttered weakly, returning his embrace and slumping into him. “Please, don’t send for him, I really don’t wish him to see me like this.”

“I did not mean to harm you, I would never… but you didn’t say the word…”

You shook your head against his. “I didn’t need to, my love. I promise, all is well.”

“Are you sure?” His worried tone calmed as his fingers ghosted lazy, comforting circles over your back.

“Of course, please just… hold me.”

You could feel the stretch of his smile against your skin.

“Kesan ōregon ao syt mirre hen ñuha tubissa, ñuha jorrāelagon.” I will hold you for all my days, my love.

1K notes · View notes

babyleostuff · 10 months

Note

Hi! could you do svt taking caring of you when you're sick?

sick with seventeen | OT13

☾₊ ⊹ currently playing: do it like that by txt

𓆩♡𓆪 CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

turns into a nurse that’s going to take care of you 24/7

even though he is a bit clueless, will do everything you ask him to - you need an extra blanket? He’s got ten. You need more water? He’s going to get five more bottles. You want to watch a movie that he absolutely hates? He’s already waiting on the sofa

believes that cuddles can treat any sickness, so be prepared to be smothered with even more love than usual

he also gets even sulkier when you’re sick because his baby is feeling unwell and he can’t do anything about it :(((

if he’s at work, he texts you every two hours to make sure you don't need anything (also for his peace of mind because he's oversensitive when you're sick and is generally very worried about you)

𓆩♡𓆪 YOON JEONGHAN

very gentle and loving, never teases you when you’re sick (he doesn’t even want to, he’s just focused on getting you healthy again)

always has meds and a glass of water ready and he’s probably the one to remind you to take your pills

gets SO annoyed with you, if you get out of bed and go about your day as if you didn’t almost die from a cough fit five minutes ago

will run his fingers through your hair 90% of the time that you’re sick

he takes advantage of the situation and the fact that you should be resting to do a movie marathon. His real motive is not really the movies, but the fact that he can cuddle you all night, claiming that since you're lying together anyway why not cuddle

𓆩♡𓆪 HONG JOSHUA

ah yes, now the husband material, it’s almost as if he was born ready for this

has EVERYTHING you need - all kinds of medications, blankets, water, food, his comforting arms, and kisses

When you wake up with a fever in the morning, he is out of bed in a second looking for anything that would make you feel better

he gives you a lot of space, knowing that you need your time to rest, but is always there in case you need him, whether he stays in your bedroom working on his laptop, or doing something in the room next door

never complains when you’re annoyed or angry when sick, he puts up with your every mood swing, knowing that you must feel like shit because of your illness

𓆩♡𓆪 WEN JUNHUI

when you’re sick, you probably spend 95% of that time resting on Jun’s lap

is a bit clueless, he doesn’t really know what to do or how to help you but will do his best to make you feel better

spends the afternoon on your sofa after you’ve finally fallen asleep, searching for how to get rid of a sore throat and a fever

does all your chores for you, and doesn’t complain even once (generally, he'd do everything for you, just so you didn’t have to get up)

would not admit this to you, but is actually quite worried when you’re sick, even when it’s a slight fever or a seasonal flu

𓆩♡𓆪 KWON SOONYOUNG

gets so pouty, because what do you mean his baby is sick and has to stay at home for the next week :(((

one of the members that I’m 100% sure is as clueless as a person can be - you’d have to tell him everything, what meds he needs to buy, how big of a dose you need to take, what makes your throat less sore, etc.

would not hesitate to hug, cuddle and kiss you, ignoring your warnings that he might get sick as well

constantly texts you when he’s at work and if you don’t answer within 5 minutes he becomes a worried mess

takes advantage of your tired and drowsy state to cuddle you endlessly, even if you wanted to get up, he wouldn’t let you, saying that it’s the doctor's prescription to rest in bed (with him, of course)

𓆩♡𓆪 JEON WONWOO

when he arrives at your place and sees you all cuddled up in blankets asleep with a thermometer and medicine on the table, he can swear his heart breaks a little

he acts all unbothered, but on the inside, he is all freaked out

is very gentle and soft and has this urge to constantly hug you (he hates knowing that you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can do about it, so he wants to make it up to you by being by your side 24/7)

tries to make something for you to eat, but eventually gives up and either orders tons of takeout or calls Mingyu to make ramen for you

he knows you like to watch him when he’s gaming, so he’ll put you between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, with a thick blanket around you (you probably fall asleep within first five minutes, but it puts him at ease knowing that you’ll get some rest)

𓆩♡𓆪 LEE JIHOON

is always there by your side, so you know that you can always count on him and he’ll help you as best as he can

even if he’s at work, he told you that you could call him anytime you needed anything from the store or is you were feeling worse

if he’s at home though, he stays in your bedroom working, but checking up on you from time to time, making sure you’ve got everything you needed

gets so relieved when you finally fall asleep (when he made sure that you’re REALLY asleep he’d put an extra blanket around you and peck your forehead)

supports you in any way he can when you’re sick

𓆩♡𓆪 XU MINGHAO

has every type of medication you need, you don’t even have to ask for anything, he’s got everything ready to take care of you

if you’re too weak to eat or take a shower by yourself, he’ll happily feed you and help you get to the bathroom, where he’ll run you a bath, filled with different bathing salts

he will make tea every few hours, assuring you that it will help with your symptoms and make you recover faster

if you're feeling particularly unwell, but don’t want to go to the doctor, he’ll call his mom to ask for any tips (she’ll probably scold you too, but just because she’s worried about you)

may not be that enthusiastic about cuddling you, but when he sees how bad and lonely you feel, laying alone in bed all day, he’ll put you on his chest and play with your hair to help you fall asleep

𓆩♡𓆪 KIM MINGYU

he turns into your personal chef, WILL MAKE YOU SO MUCH FOOD

you won’t be able to get out of bed, he makes sure you stay there for the next week. He will do everything for you and the only time you are allowed to leave is to go to the bathroom, but that’s it

if he’s not in the kitchen he is right by your side, probably cuddling you, not being able to see you sick and unwell (he wants to spend every second next to you, comforting you in any way he can)

is so so worried, even if you reassure him that you’re okay and that it’s just a fever

you have to basically force him out of the house, so he doesn’t miss his work. He makes you promise that if you feel even a bit worse you call him, but even though, he texts you constantly, hating the fact that you’re all alone at home

𓆩♡𓆪 LEE SEOKMIN

gets so protective and caring (even more than he usually is) and insists that you stay in bed for the next couple of days

he’d sit you down on the couch, give you one of his hoodies, wrap you up in fluffy blankets, making sure that you’re warm, and give you all the medication you need

not exactly sure what to do next, but stays calm for your sake, not wanting to make you even more upset than you already were

if he was feeling particularly lost, he’d call his older members asking for any tips on how to take care of you

would be happy to cuddle you and help you with anything you needed - do your house chores, feed you, or help you shower

𓆩♡𓆪 BOO SEUNGKWAN

clueless maknae 1/3

panics, because he isn’t sure how to help you - is he supposed to take you to the doctor? Buy you meds? Make any special food?

you’d have to reassure him that it’s okay and that you’d tell him if you needed anything (he feels a bit bad that he isn’t completely capable of taking care of you, but still does his best, to show that you can always count on him)

he’d get very protective, and would throw a tantrum if you left your bed - even though you just wanted to go to the bathroom, he would still be very dramatic about it

in the end, he’d be the perfect company for when you’re sick, even though he might overreact a little, it’s just because he loves you so much and is worried about you

𓆩♡𓆪 CHWE VERNON

clueless maknae 2/3

his mind would go blank when he saw how the coughing fits was keeping you awake at night, but he had no clue how to help you

would call his mom first thing in the morning and ask a thousand questions how to help you and how to treat you, not wanting to feel so useless and actually do something to make you feel better

he would unintentionally use his humour to cheer you up and finally put a small smile on your face (he felt as if he achieved the biggest thing, when he sees that he made you smile)

gets a bit panicky if you tell him you’re getting worse, definitely would take you to the doctor immediately

𓆩♡𓆪 LEE CHAN

clueless maknae 3/3

so so so protective and caring, he would NOT let you out of bed

the second you tell him you’re feeling sick, he googles every of your symptom and convinces himself that you’re probably going to die and that he NEEDS to drive you to hospital

you’d have to reassure him a lot that your fine and it’s just the flu, but he would still take care of you, as if you were about to die

he would call half of his contact list in search for any tips - his hyungs, mom, grandmother and even an aunt that he hasn’t seen in forever (he’s just so sad that his baby is feeling sick and want to do everything he can to make you feel better :<)

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crosshairlovebot · 1 month

Text

you good? / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: crosshair returns to you on shore leave to find you unwell, so he takes care of you.

word count: 2,521

needed to write a crosshair version of the hunter one i did. i love him so much i can't even talk about it properly. hope this brings comfort to anyone who's reading and sick. you deserve a gentle crosshair looking after you.

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

Crosshair had intended to use his unexpected shore leave to surprise you. To knock on your door and see you light up at the sight of him. That feeling always made him warm inside, to see you happy that he was standing in front of you. He relished in the feel of your arms being thrown around his shoulders and wrapping him tightly. He could live inside your arms if the galaxy let him. His chest would expand with contentment when you would gush about how happy you were to see him, knowing that happiness was not only in response to no longer being alone in your cold, quiet Coruscanti apartment, but also the knowledge that he was okay, and safe, and alive in a war that only seemed to become more endless as the fighting went on.

Crosshair would let you fuss over him, give him real food, let him have a warm shower before you would both fall into bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms – feeling like he had never left. It was easy to pretend he was just a man when he was alone with you. To get lost in the normalcy of sharing a home. You’d both play pretend for as long as you could before the inevitable end of his all too brief shore leave would sneak up on you both, and he would be shipped out again, for who knew how long with only infrequent comms for both your comforts.

He had been looking forward to the familiar routine of his shore leave, to seeing your entire body lift once you opened the door to him, but those hopes were dashed when he knocked on the door and you opened it, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak, sniffly and half-closed eyes.

“Crosshair,” you croaked, excitement clear in your voice before you began coughing into your blanket. “You’re home.”

“Ca’tra,” Crosshair breathed as he took in the sight of you, concern immediately spiking inside him. “You’re sick.”

“It’s nothing,” you brushed off, sniffling and stepping aside so Crosshair could enter the apartment. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“It’s not nothing,” Crosshair scolded as he watched you press the close button on the door and shuffle into your tiny living room without even hugging him like you usually do.

You had made a bed on the couch, full of pillows and other blankets. The holo was on and playing some movie he didn’t recognise. You sat down, making a sound that made it sound like walking and standing had been a big effort for you. He shrugged off his pack and placed it by the door before he moved to crouch in front of you, hands on your knees.

“How long?” he asked, looking at you.

You tried breathing in, but your nose was blocked. “Was feeling a little off yesterday but woke up today feeling much worse.”

Crosshair stood up and he watched your neck crane up to follow his gaze. He placed one hand under your chin and the back of the other against your forehead. You were warm, but not feverish. With the coughing and sneezing, it must just be a bad cold. He knew you didn’t take much time to relax, usually opting to keep busy to distract yourself from his absence. He guessed it was all catching up with you, the exhaustion manifesting itself into sickness.

“Have you been to a med droid?” Crosshair smoothed a hand over your hair in a gesture so soft, that on a regular day, he would’ve watched you close your eyes and smile in response. Instead, you barely reacted before pulling away gently.

You were more unwell than you were letting on.

“Too expensive. Too much effort,” you coughed before letting yourself fall on your side, head hitting one of the many pillows as you groaned.

Crosshair watched you, crease in his brow. He sat down on the caf table, elbows on his knees. “Tell me what hurts.”

You huffed and curled yourself into a ball. “Throat. Head. I’m so tired.”

Crosshair looked at an empty plate on the floor next to the couch. “Have you eaten?”

You breathed through your mouth, rubbing your nose. “Small things. Crackers. Bread. Low effort stuff.”

Crosshair let out a breath. He hated seeing you like this. He’d never been sick, since clones had been engineered to be immune to nearly all diseases, but to not feel like yourself didn’t seem like something he would enjoy.

Crosshair pulled a blanket out from the many under your legs, and you frowned at him as you watched him drape it over you wordlessly. He pulled it up to your chin, the way he liked as a cadet before he bent over to tuck you in.

It wasn’t even a decision for him to take care of you during his brief shore leave, more like something he was willing to do simply because he loved you.

When you loved someone, you tried to do anything you could to make their life easier, to release them of their burdens and carry them yourself.

Crosshair would shoulder all your burdens unasked, no matter what they were. The act of caring for you wasn’t and would never be something you had to ask for. He was glad he was here, that way he knew you would be well taken care of under his watchful eyes.

Though he had become better at articulating his love for you with words, the best way for him to show how much he loved you was still with actions.

“What’re you doing?” you croaked, brows furrowed at him as he pushed the blanket around the edges of your body.

“What does it look like?” he replied tersely as he adjusted the pile of pillows you were reclining on, making sure they were supporting your head properly.

“Cross, you don’t have to take care of me,” you told him.

Crosshair only scoffed in response as he took in the rest of the living room.

It was messier than you usually kept it, with several plates and empty cups littering the floor and the caf table he sat on as well as small piles of discarded face napkins.

He started gathering up the dishes before walking them over to the sink. He hated mess, and he knew you did too, so the fact that you hadn’t at least taken the used dishes to the sink told him how sick you really were. He started rinsing them before he placed them in the small bench-top dishwasher he’d helped you pick out a few shore leaves ago.

“Cross,” you said from the couch, having made yourself sit up and ruin his perfect tuck-in job.

He couldn’t be annoyed at you, no matter how hard he tried.

Crosshair ignored you as he made his way back to the couch to gather up all the face napkins and put them in the trash. You said his name again, this time falling into a coughing fit as your breath caught in your sore throat. He grabbed a clean cup from the cupboard and filled it with some water. He came back over to you and sat on the coffee table, holding the cup out.

“Drink,” he ordered softly.

You gave him a look like you weren’t happy with him. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when he was here. It was his job to look out for the people he loved.

You wordlessly took the cup, and the bottom of it immediately went on your knee, like you lacked the strength to bring it to your lips. Crosshair sighed. You needed some proper food in you. He took the cup from you as he shuffled closer then placed his empty hand behind your head.

“Head back,” he told you. You did what you were told, and he helped you take a few sips of water. After, he ran his thumb across your lip to catch a stray drop. His hand stayed for a moment so his thumb could caress your cheek. He wished he could take this away from you.

“Cross, I’m okay,” you tried to tell him.

“No, you’re not,” he said, placing the cup next to him. “Lie down. Rest.”

“I’m not good at resting,” you grumbled.

“Too bad.”

You groaned and the strain on your throat only made you fall into another coughing fit. Crosshair gave you another sip of water before he tucked you in again, tighter this time so you wouldn’t get up.

Once he was satisfied you weren’t going to move again, he told you he’d be right back before quickly going to your bedroom. He stripped out of his armour and blacks before taking the speediest shower of his life and dressing in the spare clothes he kept here.

Now in loose pants and a threadbare short-sleeved top that smelt faintly like you, Crosshair padded barefoot into the living room again. He was relieved to see you in the same position as before, eyes closed. He watched you from the doorway for a moment and looked at how small you looked on that couch. He didn’t like the thought that if he hadn’t come home when he did, you would be suffering through this by yourself, without him to care for you.

He tried to move quietly, but your eyes cracked open once you heard him enter the room, a small smile on your lips. Crosshair returned it and came and sat back down on the caf table, facing you.

“You good?” he asked, placing the backs of his bare fingers on your cheek. You pulled a hand out from under the blanket and grabbed his, moving the backs of his fingers to your lips, kissing them gently. He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest at the simple gesture of intimacy. It’d been a long time since he felt your lips on his skin.

“Better, now that you’re here,” you told him honestly, your voice scratchy.

Crosshair smiled. He liked being here as much as you liked having him here.

“You’re all warm from the shower,” you smiled, pressing your face against his hand, holding his arm close to you.

“Been a while since I had a decent one.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. You chuckled and kissed his palm. He let you cradle his hand and arm, and he would’ve let you hold onto it forever, but he wanted to make sure you were taken care of before he wrapped himself around you.

“Hungry?” he asked. He frowned when you shook your head, nose rubbing against his wrist. “You should eat something. Even if it’s small.”

He sighed when you wrinkled your nose at the thought. He went through what he remembered from the Kaminoan training module on nat-born illnesses. “Have you taken anything?”

You nodded. “I took something a couple of hours ago when I woke up.”

“Did you eat then?”

You nodded again. He would have to be satisfied with that. Maybe he could get you to eat something when you were due to make more medication, but for now, he just wanted to let you rest. He’d try again later.

He searched your face, his mouth pressed in a line. He wished he could do something more for you, it frustrated him to not be able to fix this easily; that he had to wait it out with you. He was patient when it came to sniping, he could lie in the same position for hours before taking a shot with no difficulty. But he was not so patient when you were in pain or unwell. He felt himself scowl. It was the restless and useless feeling he hated. Crosshair never liked feeling useless.

“I feel bad,” you told him in a small voice.

Crosshair’s spine straightened in alarm. “What can I do?”

“No, I mean, I feel bad about this,” you gestured to yourself lying on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, poorly.

“You?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”

He was just silently commiserating about how bad he felt that he couldn’t absorb your pain and experience it just so you wouldn’t have to. Why would you feel bad?

“It’s your time off,” you told him, your hold on his arm tightening. “You barely get any and now it’s ruined because I’m sick.”

Crosshair let out a breath. Is that what you thought? That your being unwell was an inconvenience to him?

He shook his head. “It’s not ruined.”

“We can’t even do anything fun. I’ve been wanting to take you to this new diner that opened a few levels up. I haven’t even been there because I wanted us to go together.”

Crosshair smiled at the thought. “There will be other times, ca'tra.”

You let out a frustrated breath. Crosshair crouched down and smoothed your hair back off your face with his free hand, and you watched him with those eyes of yours that rivalled even the most beautiful of stars. Crosshair leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with slanted brows, like he was the single most amazing thing you’d ever seen, and that made his chest tight with the kind of feeling he’d only ever read about.

Never in the entire galaxy did he think he would ever be loved the way you love him.

You yawned as Crosshair stroked your cheek softly, tenderly. “You should sleep.”

You tugged on the hand you still had gently. “Lay down with me?”

Crosshair stood up and shut the holo off before lifting up the edge of your blanket. You wordlessly shuffled over and when there was enough room, he lay down next to you. His feet dangled off the edge, his frame too long for the piece of furniture.

You wriggled around trying to find a comfortable position in the narrow space of the couch, before you finally settled to lying half on top of him, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his torso, and leg hooked around his hip.

Crosshair grunted as he adjusted his position, he predicted he would not be moving from this spot for some time. He didn’t care. He’d let you lie on him until you were back to normal, and even then.

He let out a breath as he draped the blanket over you both, tucking it around your frames. You relaxed on top of him, and there was something so comforting about having your body right next to him like this. He rubbed a hand gently up and down your back as you sighed, the breath all broken with your sore throat.

“Thanks, Cross,” you whispered. Crosshair smiled and kissed the top of your head. He didn’t need to be thanked. He’d do anything for you.

“Love you,” you murmured as your breathing became deep and even as you fell asleep. Crosshair tightened his hold on you as your heartbeat pressed into his. He loved you more.

banner art by @vimse thank you reading! i love writing soft crosshair so much :') it's literally my mission to fill the crosshair/reader tag with soft crosshair fics

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727

TAGLIST FORM

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beom9yus · 8 months

Text

please. -choi yeonjun x reader

: afab!reader x yeonjun — you’re watching a movie when you notice yeonjun acting a little weird. the morning after is when things really start to unfold…

: sub!yeonjun, sex w/o condom, slapping yeonjun’s ass a lot lol…, a little bit of oral?yeonjun receiving, totally fucked out and overstimulated yeonjun of course—i know how i like to write him teehee, kinda soft at the end[no pun intended]

: 2k words — happy very late yeonjun birthday!!

Today was weekly movie night.

A night where all of you guys hung out together and watched a movie of whoever’s choice it was. Last week was your turn, and this time it was Soobin’s.

“Soobin bro, what kind of movie is this?! Why’re we watching Fifty Shades of Gray as a group you weirdo,” Beomgyu was bickering with Soobin about his movie choice.

Soobin only scoffed and crossed his arms, his bunny lips in a pout while he talks, “Hey! It was my turn this week, and this is the movie I want to watch so suck it up! It’s probably not even that bad and you guys are making a big deal out of it!” As they continued bickering, you couldn’t help but laugh at how crazy they both are. You turn to Taehyun, who’s on his phone scrolling, not paying any mind to the argument. He’s only here to spend quality time with the group anyways. You turn to see that Kai was also watching them bicker with a smile on his face, they were too entertaining.

Finally, your eyes were on Yeonjun. You were sitting next to him and he looked…nervous? He’s never this quiet, like, ever. Worried, you touch his arm, not missing the way he jumped a little while he turns his head to look at you. You wish you could stop the way your heart beats rapidly, almost scared it was going to pound out of your chest. Maybe you liked Yeonjun. Ok, you did like him, but nobody had to know. You don’t want to ruin anything, things are already perfect and you don't want anything to change.

“Y/n..?”

You finally snapped out of your hazy thinking, eyes finally looking at the pretty orange-dyed hair man in front of you. “Oh, sorry, I spaced out.” He just smiles at you and nods. “Um, but, are you okay Jjun? You seem kind of..like, nervous or something. Are you hurt? Or do you feel unwell?” Yeonjun just looks at you, finally registering your words and shaking his head quickly, “ah no, no, I’m okay, really.” Staring at him unconvinced, you tell him alright and sit back to your original spot. You see that Soobin was finally putting on the movie, even against Beomgyu’s wishes. You giggle as you hear Taehyun finally make a remark at Soobin for being a pervert, Soobin frowning and pouting, and everyone else laughing. You see that Yeonjun only lets out a dry chuckle, not really laughing. You turn back to finally talk again amongst the group, and he just couldn’t help but to look at you from the side of his eyes, thinking about things you’d probably never find out.

The movie was alright, it wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought it’d be, until it was getting to those kinds of scenes. You could tell the group was feeling awkward, from the way they coughed and were the most silent they’d ever been since you met them. There was a scene now where she was laid out on his lap, getting hit and slapped on her ass with a peg and his hands, hearing her cry out in pain and pleasure, and you felt a shift on your right side where Yeonjun was sitting. You slowly, trying not to make it too obvious, try to look at him. He had a look you haven’t seen on him before, and a couch pillow on his lap. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid eye contact with you, suddenly his face seemed way too focused on looking concentrated, staring at the screen. Weird….you try to shake off the strange thought that appears in the back of your head as you continue watching the movie.

Throughout the movie, you see and feel Yeonjun shift constantly. You really want to ask him what’s wrong.

The movie was finally over. The guys are chatting now, laughing and making jokes about it now that the awkwardness is over. “I think Soobin should never be able to choose a movie again honestly,” Beomgyu said. With this single comment, bickering erupts in the room again. Also again, you see the way Yeonjun looks uncomfortable. He makes short eye contact with you, before quickly getting up and scurrying to his room without saying a word. The group watched as he left, and once they heard his door shut, they bursted out in obnoxious laughter. You didn’t laugh, you wanted to know if the reason they’re laughing is the actual reason he left. Of course you wanted to go into his room, wanting to talk to him more, stare at him so long that maybe you’ll seem like a creep, but you can’t help it, he’s too cute. But you know this probably isn’t the right time. As you all head to your rooms, you stop at Yeonjun’s door, wanting to knock, but going against it.

The rest of the night was normal, you didn’t see him again, sadly. As you slowly drift to sleep, you imagine Yeonjun in your head, wanting to know what it’d be like to be with him.

You wake up groggily, stretching your arms and feeling the sun hit your face as you yawn. You realize it was quiet, they must’ve left to practice or something, as they usually do. It wasn’t strange for your roommates to not be at home, being in a dance group required a lot of practicing, so they were out of the house a lot. You paid it no mind, scrolling on your phone for a few minutes before you slowly get up, feeling tired for no reason.

You enter your restroom, wanting to finally get ready for the day. You were finally done brushing your teeth, until you heard a cry come from across the hall, sounding like it was from Yeonjun’s room. You felt your body still as you got goosebumps, running your fingertips against the skin, feeling fear in your stomach. What and who was that? Aren’t they all supposed to be at practice today? Are they actually home? No, like you realized as soon as you woke up, it was way too quiet for them to be at home. All these thoughts start running through your head as you tiptoe towards the room, cries and moans getting closer. They sound as if someone was getting fucked. Fear hitting you again, you start thinking, ‘what if some hobos broke in and are having sex on Yeonjun’s bed??’ Yeah, that’s ridiculous, you almost laughed at your own crazy thoughts when you hear another—moan? You slowly pluck up the courage to slowly open the door, and that’s when you see a sight you’ll never forget.

Yeonjun was naked, legs spread out on his bed while holding his weeping dick in one hand and another on his neck. He doesn’t seem to have heard you from the loud sounds he was making. Your mouth went dry as you just stared at him, unable to process what was happening. You were about to slowly leave, hoping to save both of you from embarrassment and awkwardness, until you heard your name coming from his lips. “Y/n….” You thought he knew you were there in the doorway, just watching him like a weirdo, until you realized his eyes were still locked shut. You could see the way his cheeks were a pretty pink, his mouth opening and closing as he whimpered, “Pl-please y/n…been bad…”

Huh?

He was writhing in the bed, hand still on his neck. You couldn’t believe what your ears were hearing. You could see the way his thumbed on his dark pink tip, spreading his precum around his head as he continued to jerk off. You couldn’t handle it any longer, he wanted you, and clearly from the current state of your panties, you wanted him back. You quietly get closer as you start to sit next to him on the bed, “Jjunie..”

He lets out a small yelp as he quickly opens his eyes, as they immediately land on you. “Y/N..?!” You watch as he tries to cover himself up with anything. “I-I’m so sorry…I..I thought they’d all left!! I really thought you went with them! I’m so stupid I should’ve checked your location or something…I’m really sorry. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry y/n.” You see that he puts his face in his hands. It seemed like he was..crying? You panic as you reach over and remove his hands and grab his face by his chin with one hand. His eyes were red, his cheeks still pink, and his face wet from tears, you guess he was crying from embarrassment. Cute. “Oh my poor Yeonjun,” you coo. “Why’re you crying?”

He avoids eye contact and hiccups as he responds, “was thinking of you when doing that, I know you’re disgusted and I’ve ruined everything, I’m sorry.” Seeing him in this state ignited something in you, maybe it was that one scene of the movie from last night, but the roles here were reversed.

“Jjunie, you’ve been bad haven’t you..?” You smirk down at him as he finally holds eye contact. You watch his eyes go wide as he slowly shakes his head yes against your hand, finally processing what was happening. With your other hand bunched into his hair, you pull his head back. “What were you imagining Yeonjun?” You see the way he opens and close his mouth, biting his lips in the process. He shakes his head no, he doesn’t want you to know his dirty and perverted thoughts. “C’mon, you can tell me, I’ve already seen everything.” He cries out and you see his dick twitch, making you feel a sudden urge to grab it. As bad as you wanted to, you didn’t. With your hand still holding the back of his hair, you lean down to kiss him. He immediately kissed you back hungrily, teeth hitting each other and mouths making out messily. You stop kissing him soon after as you tug on the back of his head again. Hearing him hiss at the action, you ask him again, “Jjunie, tell me what you were imagining.” He’s still shaking his head no, not wanting to tell you.

“Fine.”

In a swift movement, you have his body over your thighs now. You can feel his tip rubbing against one of them as you start scraping your nails against his broad back. “Tell me Yeonjun.” Even though he’s humiliated from the position, he says no. “Don’t want to. You’re never gunna see me th-the same.” You say nothing as your palm makes contact against his bare ass, hearing a yell come from him. You soothe over the skin, already pink, and you don’t miss the way he shakes a little after the hit. You can feel his precum start to drip down your thigh at this point.

“Tell me now. Look how I have you already, nothing’s going to change my view on you now, you’re all pathetic and nasty for me.” Hearing nothing from him as he whimpers and slightly cries, you slap his ass again. This time he lets out a strangled moan, and you see the way he bites his lips and the way his eyes roll back. “I already know you’re dirty,” you whisper against his ear as you hit him again, “look at you, practically cumming just from me hitting your ass, aren’t you ashamed?” Yeonjun just puts his hands on his face as he tries to cover up another moan, and you feel him thrust lightly against your thigh like a shy animal.

“I’m going to leave if you don’t tell me.” You see his orange hair move as his head shoots up, eyes wide, “Y/n, no!! D-don’t leave please..’m so close…please…” you stare at him for a while until you respond. “Tell. Me. Or I will leave. You want me to stay right Jjunie?” This time he shakes his head quickly in a nod, “I was..was thinking about you having me like this, bent over your lap, and you smacking me the way you are now, just like in that movie. Wanted it so bad. Also want to fuck you, please.” “You could’ve just told me you know,” you start running your hands over his body, liking seeing him shake. He licks his lips as he looks back at you, “thought you didn’t like me like this, I was too scared.”

You smile as you respond, “I’ve..liked you for some time now Yeonjun. Always thinking about you.” You didn’t realize he could blush any harder. Now he’s thrusting hard against your thigh again, whining and mewling as you see drool leave his mouth a little. You loved it, seeing how pathetic and how badly he wanted to get off. Giving him one last hard slap, you heard his mewl loudly, eyes furrowed, still rutting against your skin, he opens his mouth wide, “Y/n! Ffffuuuuck” he’s still whimpering and shaking as you felt your thigh become warm, his cum dripping down. You grab his shirt he must’ve taken off earlier and clean yourself.

You then tapped him, signaling him to lay down on the bed, and he did so, probably thinking you were about to cuddle him or something. Yeah, right.

You love seeing his fucked out face. He’s sweaty, his hair is a wet mess, drool still on the side of his mouth, trailing down to his jawline, and he’s breathing heavily. You watch his chest heave up and down quickly, still regaining his composure from his high. You get up, removing your tank top, along with your shorts and underwear, looking over at Yeonjun who still had his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. You crawl over to him and he opens his eyes now, looking up at you. He quickly glances over to your naked body, making a cute sound that you think might be a held back whine.

You smile at him like a cat, knowing what you were about to do was a little evil, but he couldn’t just leave you like this, right?

“Hey.”

He smiles back, letting out a breathless “hi.” You start to kiss him and he kisses you back, this time the kiss being slow and passionate. “Need you Yeonjun.” “Y/n…I, I can’t, need some time, okay?” You frown as you grab his soft dick and he hisses from the overstimulation. “Y/n…please…feels so overwhelming!” He once again, had his eyes rolling back as he moaned and shook. You lower your face until you’re face to face with his dick, giving him a lick. You hear him loudly grunt. You feel his dick hardening. Still giving him small licks, you look up to see him, “please Jjunie?” He looks down at you, tears wetting his face once again from how much overwhelming pleasure he’d felt. He gives you a slow nod, as you get up and start to align him against your slit. You lower yourself down on him, biting your lip and breathing deep and slow, finally feeling full from his pretty and thick dick. You press your hand down against his neck softly, and you see the way he starts to bite his lips harshly. He likes it.

You start grinding down on his dick, and you feel his hands grip your hips hard enough to give you bruises. “Feels so gooooood,” he thrusted up into you messily, becoming a slurring mess, saying nonsensical things, the only things you could make out were your name and “good.” His hair is slicked on his forehead now from how much he’s been sweating, and you could feel yourself building up an orgasm from his length hitting you right where it needed to. He regularly opened his eyes to stare at your boobs bouncing along with you, holding back from lifting up his body to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You started switching hands from getting tired of having one on his neck, and every time you pressed down on it, he would moan.

Yeonjun felt the way your soft and warm walls started sputtering around him, he was also so close to coming, but he wanted you to come first so badly. He wanted to see you encased in pleasure, only feeling good, because of him. He moved one of his hands off your hips and pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing and watching your reactions through his blurry vision. Seeing how you moved against one specific pressure and speed, he continued, loving seeing your body twitch and spasm. You start to feel the knot in your stomach come undone as you look down on Yeonjun again, seeing his face in bliss. This sent you over the edge, you start shaking hard, feeling Yeonjun’s thumb still on your clit, making the same movements. You feel your walls clench down on his dick, as if trying to milk him for his cum and he cries out, almost sobbing, feeling himself spill his seed into you.

Body tired, you slowly lay on his body, both of you recuperating from your highs and breathing hard. He looks down at you, “I should’ve told you about what I wanted sooner if I knew this would happen,” he thinks for a while and gives you a kiss on your head, “and, I’ve liked you for a while too. If a while is about two days after you moved in.” You laugh softly as you bury yourself into his chest.

You were too tired to give back a response, knowing he knows you feel the same, and simply nodding your head against his chest. You both drifted asleep, not caring about him still being in you.

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vulturv0lans · 9 months

Note

you asked for neuvillette smut ideas and you shall receive. you've perhaps seen this prompt already and that's because i am ✨unwell✨ about it.

he should have a forked tongue, he would look so good with one🫠🫠🫠 and it should have interesting uses~

OH GOD I JUST READ THAT LAST NIGHT!! let me just say i love this idea so much that i have to post it NOW when i should be asleep 🫠 i’ll add my theme & formatting later <3

i like to think that you find out about his special abilities after a night out, because there’s no way you haven’t discovered this a good few months into a relationship :) like you’d meet him at a party or at a bar, and before you know it you’re pressed up against the wall in some dimly lit back room and this man is all. over. you. in a manner that even the chief justice in him cannot control. if anyone who frequents the opera epiclese finds him like this, they’d probably question that he’d been possessed by a completely different man - so impulsive, so needy, acting out his heart’s every desire.

with the way he’s kissing you so fervently, it doesn’t take long for you to notice something different about his kisses. when he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, your eyes shoot open and you pull back a little, earning a dissatisfied grunt from neuvillette as he chases after you.

“come back here-”

you reject his advances, holding him at an arm’s length and studying his features intently. he mumbles his disapproval and tries to tighten his grip on your waist, but you dodge his kiss, choosing to find out the reason behind the completely new sensation on your lips.

“open your mouth.”

you’re not sure what you sound like at this point. an impatient dentist, maybe, or a person so desperate for something more…primal. you feel like the latter is the more correct answer.

the frown on his face soon turns into a smirk, and it bothers you on a fundamental, cellular level to see him so smug, as if he knows something you don’t-

large hands encircle yours as he brings your arm up to his lips, before licking a sensual, bold stripe up the inner side of your wrists.

and you just about melt right there when you finally notice. the tip of his tongue is forked in a manner so perfect, that you can only compare it to something straight out of the legends and storybooks.

you gasp, the wet patch on your skin now feeling cool in the exposed air and the wet patch elsewhere is now feeling…wetter.

“seeing that you enjoyed it, i can think of several ways to put that to good use, hm?”

and the rest is history. you don’t remember how you got to his apartment, nor how you ended up half naked on his couch, with the chief justice of fontaine between your legs.

you start to question if his tongue has a mind of its own, which soon turns into alarmed curiosity about where exactly he learned these maneuvers. it’s not like he has loads of free time to just experiment, right?

but when your clit is caught between the split ends of his tongue, your brain ceases to be able to function overtime and all you can think about is that you need him to eat you out at least three times a day, if not more.

the tips are nestled so perfectly against your dripping pussy, spreading you open just enough for the occasional dips inside and the expert swirls of your clit. your back arches off the sofa as your legs close around his head, earning a moan that sends vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. you reach down to pull on his hair, the white strands matted against his forehead and your inner thighs from sweat and your juices.

“i’m gonna have to punish you if you keep doing this,” he warns, and for a moment you almost believe he’ll bring down the wrath of the oratrice mecanique on you. but he wastes no time in diving right back to his feast, dipping his tongue into your throbbing hole. your insides feel like they are on fire as he tickles nerve endings you didn’t even know you had, reaching so deep into your pussy that you cum right there and then with a loud cry of his name.

neuvillette doesn’t stop. instead, he only pumps in and out of you faster, the slurping noises now too lewd for even the wildest imaginations, mixed with praise mumbled directly into your pussy. even in your dazed and fucked out state, the only remaining piece of your conscience questions if you’ll ever come down from this high as he eats you out like a man starved, large hands firmly keeping your legs spread for easy access and your juices dripping down his chin. and still he doesn’t stop, not until you’ve cummed two, three, or four more times, until you’ve squirted all over his face, until there’s nothing else in your mind except for him.

you know there’s no getting out of it until he’s satisfied, but for this time you’ll happily oblige.

—

i want him so bad wtf

neuvillette m.list | m.list | rules | inbox

#luna writes ☽#anon asks ☽#genshin impact #genshin smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette #screaming crying rolling on the floor

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mari-the-bimbo · 1 year

Text

Dorm mate Sukuna: when he’s sick

A/N: Happy Friday my loves!!! <3 it’s nearly the weekend so let’s start it with a bit of wholesomeness! Enjoy! 💗

Now it’s no secret that Sukuna is your personal driver, as well as dorm mate and boyfriend, he drops you off to college and picks you back up.

So it was part of the daily routine for you to either wake up early, ready for him to drop you off, or your lazy ass oversleeps and Sukuna has to wake you up. Today was one of those days.

You’re rudely awoken from your sleep as a harsh slap to your butt is given by the pink haired thug.

“Oi! Wake up you lazy cow or-“ but his threat is cut short as he sneezes. You snap out of your sleepy daze and notice the usually vigorous, muscular man looked slightly pale and unwell.

“Sukuna, are you sick?!” You asked in shock. Although someone being unwell isn’t a surprising idea, it was surprising when it came to Sukuna, considering you’ve never seen him sick.

“No” he says sternly as he saunters out your room, which was your second indicator that he was sick. The usual Sukuna would shamelessly suggested to watch you undress or would’ve tackled you to the bed for no reason. But it was obvious his usual playfulness was gone because he was tired.

“But you are sick Sukuna! I can hear you sniffing!”

“It’s coke!” He lies ridiculously, making you raise an eyebrow.

“No you’re not on drugs ‘Kuna, you’re just sick, I feel bad making you drive me to campus when you’re sick! Maybe I should stay at home and take care of you?” You suggest, making the man stop in his tracks.

You smile cheekily, knowing the pink haired man has a soft spot for you, and would do anything for your attention.

He turns around and leans against the doorframe of your bedroom, arms crossed against his broad chest. His tired red eyes boring into your own as he considered the offer.

“Fine” he said as you cheer, “but only if I get to use your butt as a pillow” he adds, a nasally laugh escapes him as he watches your face drop.

Nevertheless, the rest of the day went peacefully. First he slept on your butt for a few hours, as promised. Then he lay in your arms, moaning as you rubbed his muscular back for him.

Then after a few hours you made him hot chocolate. Now resting on your boobs as he drank the hot beverage. “Mm it’s good” he says as you hum happily while you traced his arm tattoos with a finger.

You look down at him to thank him and notice he’s already staring. “‘What you lookin at?” You say, imitating his voice teasingly. But he continues to stare at you silently, before his large tatted hand reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hmm you’re cute you know” he mumbles. You ears turned red in embarrassment but you give him a bashful smile nonetheless.

“I know” you reply cheekily.

“Do you know you’re also a cutie when you’re sick?” You tease, knowing the man’s easily hurt masculine ego.

His eyebrows furrow as he frowns, “don’t test me silly girl” he says firmly. “But you are!” you reply. “You’re like a cutie patootie teddy bear!” You exaggerate, further infuriating the unwell man, you reach out to boop his nose but he’s quick to grab your hand, and roughly pull it until you were pulled closer to him. His strong grip on your hand stays and he speaks “who teases their man like this when he’s sick huh?” He asks.

“Me” you reply, biting your lips to hide your smile but it was useless. Your smile is infectious as he returns his own tired sexy smile to you. “Don’t make me kiss that smile off your face y/n.”

“Hey don’t do that! I’ll get sick!” You warn with a laugh, but it’s not like Sukuna ever listened anyway. The pink haired male returned to his menacing ways as he immediately shot up, and grabbed your face in his large hands.

“Come here” he says in his deep groggy voice, shoving his lips onto your own, kissing you feverishly until you pulled away.

“See? I feel better now” he says, licking his lips, making you giggle as he lays his head in your chest once again. “I’m glad” you say as you play with his pink hair.

And as the brute drifted off to sleep while snuggled between your warm boobs, he made a mental note to be sick more often.

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tavyliasin · 2 months

Text

In Sickness, And An Elf - Halsin Comfort Short

Written for a dear darling who is feeling unwell, a short and sweet SFW piece of Halsin x Reader to comfort someone suffering from flu (or a similar ailment)

Short below the cut~ (Yes, the title is a pun, and yes I am proud of it~) --- ---

“My heart?” Halsin’s voice was soft, quiet, his hand already pressing to your forehead. “Too warm…” He muttered, already channeling a little magic to cool his hand. He was right, too. You could feel the fever burning in your cheeks, your head spinning every time you tried to move, your throat raw from the cough that woke you every hour. “Hal-”

“Shhh. There is no need for you to try so hard, my love. I have no intention of going far.” His hand smoothed back the stray hair that had fallen forwards, pushing it behind your ear before cupping your cheek. The kiss on your forehead felt achingly tender. “Close your eyes, wait here.” You nodded silently, earning another brief and chaste kiss to your heated skin before his presence withdrew. The sickness was dreadful, taking its toll on your whole body with the fever, the ache, the shivers that seemed to go from your skin and deep into your bones. Still…there was some comfort to know that the druid was near. Halsin’s footsteps roused you from an uneasy sleep you hadn’t even realised had crept back in, his face a blur as you blinked away to find him kneeling beside your bedroll. “Here, let me help you.” His arm slipped behind your shoulders, his other wrapping around your chest to brace your shoulders and help you sit up. More pillows had appeared behind you than were there when you lay down, providing a place to lean back a little. Your vision cleared more with a few blinks, the worry lines in his brow far clearer now. Golden eyes traced a path across your flush skin, assessing your symptoms quickly.

“Drink this first, my heart, it will help. Even if it does taste terrible.” The mug had a smell of fresh lemon, spiced ginger, and a few bitter herbs mixed into the brew. He chuckled softly. “I am not fond of it either, but it will work.”

Your nose wrinkled after the first sip. “I’m not sure how torture is a cure. Or is this poison to put me out of my misery faster?” “If you are good and finish it quickly, I may consider giving you a reward.” Halsin winked, a wry smile playing across his lips. “But that means no more complaining. Come, now, all of it.” The flavour did not improve, so you decided it would be better to just hold your nose and drain the lot in a few quick gulps. You fought the urge to gag, but true to his word your chest felt eased, your throat stinging yet strangely soothed by the spiced burn of the ginger. “There, that was not so bad, was it?”

“No, it was worse.” You managed a lopsided smile as you handed the mug back to him. “See? Empty. All gone.”

“Very good, my love.” He kissed your cheek, a distraction as he reached behind him. “Just my cheek?” You huffed with mock disappointment. “I thought you promised a reward.” “I do not think raising your temperature further is wise.” Halsin dabbed the sweat from your forehead with a cool and refreshing cloth, the slight scent of mint infused in the water it had soaked in. “We can save anything like that for when you are fully recovered.” “I hope your medicine works fast.” “You’re not the only one…” His reply was so quiet you might not have heard it, especially with your ears feeling as blocked as your nose, but you could have guessed how he felt from the way he shifted his position. “Now, your reward. Open wide.” You closed your eyes, trusting him not to feed you more poison, or medicine if that’s what it was. You were pleasantly surprised by the sweetness that hit your tongue, the slick treat melting down across your tastebuds. There was a slight sting as you swallowed, but it was warm and soothing. You should have guessed this was what he meant. “Honey?” “Yes, my love?” Halsin laughed, already pouring another trickle onto the spoon for you. “A little more, it’s good for you. Then we will see if Gale is done with the soup he has been preparing for you. Karlach has been helping with the bread to go with it, though luckily Wyll is there to ensure it does not burn. Shadowheart and Lae’zel were very insistent on gathering and hunting the fresh ingredients, too. Even Astarion offered to supervise the pot so it doesn’t boil over, though truth be told he may be picking the job that allows him to put in the least effort.”

“You’re all going to these lengths for me? Why?” You felt a few tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You hadn’t known them for long, and often you worried that you were bothering them with your questions or talking to them at camp. “Does it matter?” His thumb gently dried your eyes. “Let yourself be cared for this time. You have given enough of yourself to solve all of their problems, and no doubt you will continue to leap straight into the hells for any one of them.”

You tried to find the words to respond, to tell him that it was only the shared burden that kept them with you, but even in your mind that felt sour. They were putting in an effort, they were showing their care in their own ways.

“As for me,” Halsin continued, pulling the blanket up to wrap closer around you before the chill of the night air could make you feel any worse, the energy slowly leaving you again as your eyes grew heavy. “Well, my heart, that is simple.” The whisper of his affection in your ear was barely audible, the depth of his feelings reaching you at the edge of your dreams as sleep won out once more. The druid pressed one last soft kiss to your head before standing to leave. “Rest well, my love. I hope you feel better soon.”

#halsin #halsin x reader #baldurs gate 3 #comfort fanfic #short fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #bg3 halsin #halsin is just made of care #get well soon

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amourrs · 9 months

Note

Some sick!reader + Ellie headcanons I've been thinking about for you Ani <3

• You aren't too sure if it's a coincidence or Ellie is really just That girlfriend, but when you're feeling unwell, all her plans get cancelled out of the blue for her to lay on the bed next to you on her phone quietly glancing towards you from time to time to make sure you're happily enjoying the drink she fixed for you.

• She also goes above and beyond to distract you from the pain,- physical or mental; and probably talks to you to a point where you have to attack her with kisses all over her face for her to stop infodumping for a second and just enjoy the show y'all are watching

• Back rubs.. belly rubs.. arm caresses.. temple kisses.. small pecks.. knuckle kisses.. and boob holding for comfort??? Ellie-

• If you start to feel better by the evening, she tells you not to frown about the missed date and hand crafts a blanket fort "Girls night" as she likes to ironically call it and laugh about it(I'm a sucker for Ellie being traditionally girly dont look at me) She basically makes you watch old movies, does your hair and lets you paint her nails.

you don’t understand how happy this ask made me like omg. 18+ only due to suggestive content under the cut! expansion below (also featuring a couple of sneaky ai audios right at the end…) cw for vomit.

this is so cute i’m gonna cry you just understand all my daydreams!!! she’s so gf i love her… btw it’s canon that cups of watery, kind of awful tea ABOUND in your household when you’re sick and you don’t have the heart to tell ellie they’re bad. she’s looking at you and prompting you with her eyes to take a sip and you have to conceal your wince as you do it. “it’s good tea, right? dunno if i left the teabag in for long enough… google said two minutes. was that right? it’s good, right???” you wait for her to stop but she just keeps rambling and you feel so bad for her that you just have to nod along and swallow down the tea 😭😭

the infodumping… god, the infodumping. you’re just trying to focus on a show through your thumping headache as ellie drones “honestly, i think taissa did do it to allie on purpose, even if she doesn’t realise it-” until it gets to the point where you thwack her with a pillow and she pouts at you before pecking your forehead with her lips and snuggling down next to you.

also i see your boob holding and raise you tit sucking… because yes you’re sick but, well, ellie’s still ellie, and so of course she still wants to do horny things. she’d spring it on you right as you’re waking up from your mid morning nap, eyes all soft as she looks down at you all curled up in the little cosy nest of blankets she meticulously arranged for you.

“hey baby. you just wake up? i can make you another cup of tea if you want,” ellie offers happily. she must see the slightly apprehensive look on your face because her eyebrow crooks up as she continues: “or, well… i was thinking… what if i, like, sucked your tits? just a little? think it might help ease some of the aching… after all, my mouth is kinda magical, if i do say so myself.” you’re unable to contain your splutter at the terrible joke. ellie grins and keeps pushing it. “in fact, this might be a miracle cure!” she says with all the drama of someone announcing they discovered a new planet in the solar system. “you might never get sick again!” comes her next line, hands gesticulating wildly in the air as your chest begins shaking with unbridled giggles.

a fake depressive look turns your girlfriend’s lips down as she dramatically sweeps a hand across her forehead. “okay, maybe that’s a bit far… stop laughing at me. you’re gonna make yourself throw up again,” she teases, except you both seem to realise at the same moment that her last statement was probably true. your eyes lock as ellie dives for the sick bucket and you do in fact puke, her calloused hands holding back your hair from your face <3

as for girl’s night- i feel like she would probably make you a little mocktail because even though you’re not well enough to be drinking, cranberry juice is really good for you and lemonade is almost one of your five a day if you really think about it… and “mint’s basically a vegetable. like, it’s green enough, right?” when you’re forced to take the opposing side on the is-mint-really-a-vegetable debate she acts like you’ve just hit her with a hammer and insists on calling jesse to settle the matter.

“ok, i need your help with a super important decision,” ellie says, a stern expression on her face. the way her eyebrows are wrinkled in the middle looks extra cute, you think, and lean forward to kiss her. instead you’re met with a hand to the sternum and an angry glare. “damn. okay, important decision,” you agree, eyes lifting to hers in curiosity. your girlfriend sucks in a deep breath and you brace yourself… “should i paint my toenails green or pink?” ellie asks innocently. you feel like thumping her- why do i ever take her seriously?? you think, heart slowing back to its normal pace as you throw her a dirty side eye.

“wait, actually… that yellow looks kind of cool-” you cut her off with a thump to the head with your pillow. “OW!” comes her pained response, your lips tilting up into a smug smile as ellie shoots you a look of pure betrayal. “ok… OK!” THUMP! “i get it! no yellow…” the pillow lifts again as if to drive your point home for a final time and… THUMP! “ow! fuck! wait, why is your pillow so fucking solid?”

+ as promised, the ai audios… as i mentioned on my blog before, my bot isn’t anywhere near perfect yet so please excuse if these happen to sound a little funky!

#ask #elliewilliams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #the last of us #solis3clipse

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animeisfornerdz · 6 months

Text

The Secret Affair Part Three || Ciel Phantomhive

Synopsis - You find out you're pregnant with Ciel's baby.

Warnings - SFW.

Notes - Characters are 18+!

Word Count - 2.2k.

[Caffeinate Me]

It had been a few months since word got out about yours and Cie’s engagement. You moved into the Phantomhive Manor shortly after his proposal and quickly became a part of the Phantomhive family.

You woke up in the early hours of the morning feeling unwell. You felt sick to your stomach, something that wasn’t unusual for you. You trudged your way down to the kitchen and grabbed yourself a glass of water, chugging it in the hopes that it would help ease your queasiness. You sleepily walked back to bed and slipped in besides Ciel who quickly wrapped his arms around you in his sleep, pulling you close to his body. You let out a soft, content sigh and closed your eyes slowly drifting back off to sleep. When you woke up in the morning, Ciel was gone. His bed clothes were neatly folded on his side of the bed. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, looking at the clock on your bedside table. It was almost 9am. Your eyes widened and you shot up, grabbing a dress out of your wardrobe and dressing yourself quickly. You made your way to Ciel’s study to see him sitting there looking concerned.

“Ciel?” You asked, tapping on the doorframe to gain his attention. “Are you okay?”

Ciel looked up at you, a smile playing on his lips as soon as his eye fell on your form. “Y/N! You’re awake!” He exclaimed.

“Why didn’t you wake me this morning?” You asked, walking further into the room.

“Sebastian said you woke up not feeling well. I wanted to let you rest,” Ciel replied, standing up from his seat and making his way over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “Are you feeling any better?”

You shook your head. “Not really, no.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing some hair out of your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel really sick.”

Ciel placed the back of his hand on your forehead and frowned. “You don’t feel warm. Was it something you ate?”

You shook your head. “Surely if it was something I ate, you’d feel the same?” You questioned. Ciel nodded in understanding.

“I suppose.” He pressed another kiss on your lips. “I have to get back to work, but you’re more than welcome to stay if you’d like.”

You shook your head again. “I’ll leave you to it, Ciel. I’m going to get some breakfast, maybe help Mey-Rin with some chores.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow. “Is that really a good idea while you’re not feeling well?”

“It’ll take my mind off of it,” you whispered. You kissed him and said goodbye before exiting the study and heading down to the kitchen.

As you arrived at the kitchen, Sebastian was already preparing your breakfast. “Ah, Lady Y/N,” he chimed when he saw you standing in the hallway. “How are you feeling this morning, my lady?”

“Not great Sebastian,” you replied with a small smile. Sebastian’s eyes seemingly shone at your words, a mischievous glint was held in them.

“Well that’s no good,” he said suddenly as he began to plate up your breakfast. He walked into the dining room with your plate and you followed, sitting down where he had placed it. “Hopefully some food will help you to feel a little bit better.”

“I hope so!” You replied, immediately taking a bite out of the piping hot eggs on your plate. Sebastian never usually gave you this much food, but this morning you welcomed the loaded plate. You were starving.

“I must continue with my duties, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to find me,” Sebastian said before bowing and leaving you to eat your breakfast. You watched him leave the dining room as you chewed your food quickly, swallowing it almost immediately. You finished your breakfast within record time and took the plate into the kitchen to be washed. Bard was sitting on the counter tops, smoking a cigarette. When he saw you, he hopped down immediately with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Lady Y/N,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Good morning.”

“Good morning Bard,” you smiled, placing your plate into the sink. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m good,” he responded with a nod. He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I heard from Sebastian that you’re not feeling well. You should be in bed, resting up! You have a wedding to plan.”

“You know me Bard,” you chuckled. “I never rest easily.”

Bard laughed at your comment as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Well, I know Mey-Rin is upstairs if you’d like to go and see her.”

“Actually she’s just the lady I wanted to see,” you smirked. “Thanks Bard.”

“Not a problem my lady,” he said with a bow.

You smiled and left the kitchen, making your way up the stairs to find Mey-Rin. You checked all the rooms in the manor and found her in the last spare bedroom. She was making the bed as you walked in. “Hi Mey-Rin,” you smiled.

She jumped and turned around to see you, a goofy smile on her face. “You scared me, my lady! Yes you did!”

“I’m sorry!” You chuckled, watching as she placed her hand over her heart.

“It’s okay my lady, yes it is. Is there anything you need?” She asked as she placed the duvet on the bed.

You shook your head. “I just came to see if you needed any help.”

“That’s greatly appreciated my lady, yes it is,” Mey-Rin started. “But I’m all finished in this room.”

“Do you need help with anything else?” You asked as you tilted your head to the side.

Mey-Rin shook her head and sat down in a chair that was located in the corner of the room. “The only thing I have left to properly clean is Lord Phantomhive’s study.”

“I’ll help you!” You said immediately.

“No no! You should be resting my lady, yes you should!” Mey-Rin cried out.

You looked confused at her sudden concerned outburst, but thought nothing of it. “Don’t be silly Mey-Rin,” you smiled. “I’ve helped you clean Ciel’s study before.”

“Yes but this time it’s different,” she replied. As soon as the words left her lips, she threw her hands over her mouth.

“Why is it different?” You asked with scrunched eyebrows.

Mey-Rin sighed in defeat. “Sebastian told me you were pregnant, yes he did.”

“Pregnant?” You asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. You stumbled back lightly, shocked by her words. Your back hit the dresser that was pushed against the wall. “Pregnant?” You asked again.

Mey-Rin nodded and pushed her glasses up her nose. “You should be resting, yes you should!”

Realisation slowly sunk into your brain and suddenly you felt even sicker. You had only just realised that you had in fact missed a period. Your brain had been so focused on your upcoming wedding with Ciel that you hadn’t even thought about it. You placed a hand on your stomach. You had to see Sebastian, and fast! “Mey-Rin, I’ll be back to help you with Ciel’s study. I just need to do something,” you whispered before bolting out of the room. The maid stared after you, but didn’t stop you from doing whatever it was you were going to do.

“Sebastian!” You shouted down the halls of the manor. You had looked all over for him, but to no luck. So, you had just resorted to shouting his name.

“Yes, my lady?” A voice came from behind you.

You jumped but quickly composed yourself. “Sebastian. I must talk to you,” you looked around before whispering, “in private.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow in suspicion before leading you into a spare bedroom. He shut the door behind you once you entered and leaned against the door. “What’s the matter my lady?” He asked.

Your eyes filled with tears, of happiness or confusion you weren’t sure, but eventually you managed to choke out. “I’m pregnant?”

Sebastian’s eyes remained calm. “I believe so, yes my lady.”

“How do you know?” You asked, taking a step closer to him.

“I can smell it,” he replied. You had recently learnt that Sebastian was, in fact, a demon. So, for him to be able to smell such things made sense to you. It was better than going to a doctor right now.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Positive,” Sebastian responded with a nod.

You began pacing up and down the large room with a hand on your stomach. “What am I going to do?” You asked with wide eyes. “Ciel and I can’t have a baby out of wedlock! We’ll be shunned!”

“My only solution, my lady, would be to have the wedding as soon as possible. A small wedding with a few friends and family. Then, after a few weeks, announce the pregnancy to everyone.”

You thought for a moment before nodding. “I must tell Ciel,” you mumbled.

“Do you require my assistance when you tell him?” Sebastian asked.

You shook your head. “No. No, I should be okay.”

“Very well then my lady,” Sebastian asked. “Shall we go now?” You wanted time to process this, but you also knew that time was of the essence right now. You had to do this fast and methodically. You nodded to Sebastian and he offered you his arm. You linked your arm with his and began to walk to Ciel’s study. Sebastian sensed your nervousness. “You need not worry about his response, my lady. I believe my master will be overjoyed.”

“Do you think so, Sebastian?” You asked as you reached the study. Sebastian just nodded and knocked on the study door.

“Who is it?” Ciel's voice came.

“It’s me, my lord. I come with Lady Y/N,” Sebastian answered through the door.

“Enter,” Ciel droned. As soon as you entered, you removed your arm from Sebastian’s and sighed. Ciel noted your apprehension and stood up from his desk, making his way over to you. Ciel placed his hands on your shoulders and massaged them slowly. “My love, what’s wrong? You look pale. Are you still feeling unwell?”

You nodded. “Actually Ciel it’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ciel stepped back a little to get a good look at your face. His single eye meets yours, gazing deep into your orbs as if searching for something. “What is it?” He asked.

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out. You weren’t sure exactly how to deliver the newly found out news, so you did what came to mind.

Ciel scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “Pardon me?” He asked. He wanted to make sure he had heard you right.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, slower this time. You remained timid at the sight of Ciel’s face. He was showing no emotion but the second the news settled in, he smiled a little bit.

“Pregnant you say?” Ciel asked. “And how do you know this?” His gaze flickered to Sebastian who stood by your side.

“Sebastian,” you replied. “Mey-Rin told me that Sebastian had told her I was pregnant. So, I went to find Sebastian for myself to confirm it. He can smell it, my love.”

Ciel cupped your face with his hands and smiled lovingly at you. “This is wonderful news my dear.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You… You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I want nothing more than to start a family with you Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath of relief at his reaction. “I want that too Ciel,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his waist. Ciel let out a soft chuckle and wrapped his own arms around your neck, inhaling your scent. “But we need to get married as soon as possible. We cannot let people find out that we got pregnant out of wedlock.”

“I’m sure we can do this Y/N,” Ciel reassured you. “We can get married within the week my love. Just say the word and it’s yours. All of it.”

You smiled softly and felt tears of happiness well in your eyes. “I want this Ciel.”

“I want this too, my sweetheart,” Ciel responded. He straightened his back and pulled away from you before looking at Sebastian. “Come Sebastian, we have a wedding to plan for next week.”

“Yes my lord,” Sebastian nodded with a bow.

Ciel looked at you, his gaze soft. “Don’t worry about anything. I will plan everything and it will be perfect.”

“I trust you Ciel,” you smiled. You watched as Ciel left the room with Sebastian behind him, going off to plan your wedding. You placed a hand on your stomach and smiled softly to yourself. “You’re going to be so loved, little one,” you whispered, looking down at your belly. You sighed happily and went off to find Mey-Rin and tell her the news that you and Ciel would be getting married within the week. You were sure the servants of the Phantomhive Manor would be over the moon with the news of your pregnancy, and you already couldn’t wait to tell your family. You knew that this was where you were meant to be.

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