#mercy summer skin

[shxwyxurself]

Heroes never drown!

Concept and art by Dana Herberg on Twitter

[oofuri2003]

Naoni’s Ring of Princess Ariadne magical girl outfit!

[sodrippy]

snap-developing an issue six hours after a doctors appointment is the cruelest thing that can happen to a girl

[pedrospatch]

run

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only. no mention of reader’s race or skin tone.

summary: When you’re given the chance to run from your captor, you don’t take it.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. MENTIONS PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). reader is described washing her hair (the exact length is not specified) and she wears a dress. she is also shorter than Joel. violence, kidnapping, reader has major stockholm syndrome, Joel is fairly soft for her but HE IS STILL NOT A GOOD MAN, brief mention of Tess and Joel being involved with each other, Tess seems like the villain but she might actually be the only one of these three who is not totally fucked up in the head. SMUT. daddy kink. size difference (no description of reader’s body type, Joel is just a big guy with a big dick, enjoy it). oral sex (female receiving), super risky unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader ovulating, Joel pulls out, don’t be be like these two, practice safe sex), creampie (yeah he doesn’t give a fuck the second time around). many, many pet names (baby, baby girl, honey, angel, sweetheart, little girl). um i think that’s it. oh, and they fuck in the dirt.

PLEASE HEED ALL WARNINGS.

word count: 8.6k

a/n: one thing about me is i WILL soften up EVERY version of Joel Miller to my little heart’s content. HUGE HUGE thank you to @endlessthxxghts and @joelsdagger for lending me their eyes and beta-ing this fic for me last night. <33 i love and appreciate you guys SO MUCH. i loved seeing you both in the doc at the same exact time lmao. this can be read as a standalone, but it is considered part of the captive universe.

Everyone in the group has a job. Except for you.

Or at least, that’s what you hear them say.

That bitch doesn’t do shit.

She never has to lift a fucking finger.

She should work for her meal—just like the rest of us.

Bitterness laces their tones when they talk about you.

Insults grow a little bolder when he’s not around.

Useless.

Freeloader.

Leech.

You might not be out there with a rifle in hand hunting game or invading camps and spilling blood for supplies—but you do in fact have a job, and that job is to make Joel Miller happy. It is your responsibility, your duty, to please him, and to keep him satisfied. Because keeping him satisfied keeps him in a good mood, and one thing you’ve come to learn about your captor is, where there is a good mood, often there is mercy.

Hell, you’re doing them a favor by keeping their violent, fearsome leader in a good mood. Because you’ve seen what he does to them when he’s not. He can be just as brutal towards his own people as he is to strangers.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. They still see you as nothing more than his coddled little whore.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He groans, his thick, callused fingers digging harshly into the softness of your flesh as he holds you firmly in place underneath him. “Oh fuck, baby girl,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips as he uses his own weight against you, pressing you down into the old mattress until you feel every uncomfortable lump, each creaking spring.

While he isn’t fucking you as roughly as he has on other occasions, he’s hardly being gentle. It’s hard, fast.

Loud.

Joel couldn’t care less about the rest of the group, the men and women on the other side of the wall, forced to listen to the sounds coming from the single bedroom of the cabin he decided they would hunker down in for the remainder of the summer season. Strings of curses and brutish grunts that came rumbling from deep within his chest, pleading gasps and whimpers that fell from your swollen, bitten lips. If anything, knowing they were listening only spurred him on—it didn’t hurt to remind them, especially the men with wandering eyes, that you were his special girl.

His good girl.

You certainly did your job, and you did it so, so well.

“Christ, sweetheart. M’so fuckin’ close—” Joel picks up speed, his hips snapping even harder, faster, the front of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. Each thrust causes the bed’s rusted, iron headboard to slam violently against the wood panel wall.

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale, yellowing sheet beneath you, each stroke he delivers knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He is so heavy on top of you, this big, broad, bulk of a man who makes you feel swallowed, smothered, and small. Joel takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

It’s a craving, a need.

Worst of all, it’s slowly becoming a want.

“Daddy,” you choke out, fisting the sheet tighter, your skin stretching taut over your knuckles. Can the others also hear the squelch of your drenched cunt around his cock as it begs him for more?

“Fuck. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Joel croons his praise. His hands abandon your hips and he hunches over you, his thrusts momentarily ceasing. He crushes his chest against your sweaty, quivering back and leans forward even further, bracing his large hands on either side of you. Then, his lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. “Y’take me so well, honey. Y’take Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ well. This pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me. She was made jus’ for me—ain’t that right, angel?”

He’s right.

Oh, how you fucking hated that he was right.

It was made for him. Your cunt. Your body. You.

Every part of you was made for him, and only for him.

All you can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

“Say it,” Joel whispers his firm command. “Wanna hear you say it. Be a good girl and use your words. Say it, say this pussy is made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan obediently, prompting him to grin against your ear. “My pussy is made for you, just—just for you. No one—no one else. Only you.” Could this really be the same voice that would break, grow hoarse from screaming for him to stop? The same voice that would beg and plead for him to set you free?

Jutting his hips forward, Joel buries himself to the hilt, eliciting a noise from you, something caught between a pained whimper and a contented sigh. His balls, heavy and full for you, rest on your clit, which is still sensitive to the touch after he’d spent a majority of the morning with his head buried in between your legs. Desiring yet another release, you try wriggling around beneath him in a silent plea for more. More, more, more.

Please, Daddy. More.

Joel’s grin widens. He places one of his hands on your soft lower belly, fingers dragging down the slope of it until he finds the slick swell of your seam between your legs where his girth splits you open. “Ready, baby?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer him, but the sound of your own groan cuts you off when his fingers firmly circle around your throbbing, swollen bud. “Oh,” you breathe, instantly sinking right into his touch. Your eyes screw shut tightly in pleasure, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder. The scruff of his beard is rough on your cheek, and it burns, the same way it had burned the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

His hips find their rhythm as you rub against his hand—you’re almost there. He knows this, you can tell by the chuckle that thunders in his chest and against your back. But you’re too busy chasing your pleasure to be embarrassed.

He’s made you a needy, greedy girl.

“Daddy,” you mewl, trying your hardest to move under him, to work your cunt up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna come—” You gasp, back arching as Joel strokes in and out, his fingers rubbing your clit with urgency.

Joel plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Give it to me, baby,” he grunts. “C’mon. Lemme feel her squeeze me.”

Feeling how close he is too, you try to hold on for just a little bit longer, at least long enough to finish with him, but Joel’s relentless, and you’re forced off of the ledge you’re both standing on first.

Crying out, your walls spasm around him, asking to be filled until he’s made a complete mess out of you, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel rasps. He lifts himself off you and he pulls out, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. His chest heaves as he fists himself, the wet sound of your slick in his palm filling the room. “Down,” he grits, and you obey him, lowering down yourself on the mattress until you’re lying almost completely flat before him. He gives himself one final stroke just as you look over your shoulder at him, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes the last push he needs. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck—” Joel spills his load, shooting thick ropes of warm cum along the soft curve of your spine.

You rest your cheek on your folded arms, biting back a small sigh.

He’s left behind an ache—you feel painfully empty.

But it was Tess, who had been given the task of helping you track your menstrual cycle, that had given him the warning earlier that morning. “She’s ovulating. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Joel. Last thing we need is for her to—”

“Relax,” he’d gruffed in response. “I fuckin’ know.”

Spent, Joel hunches over you once more and he lightly kisses the top of your head before burying his nose into your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs. Affection that once was unwelcome and unwanted, that once made you feel sick to your fucking stomach, now makes you feel something else entirely. You’re not quite sure what it is, only that it’s warm. Comforting. “Y’did so well for me, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your lips curl into a faint, tired smile he doesn’t see.

A while later, you find yourself perched on the bed with the sheet wrapped around you, quietly watching as he gets dressed. “Daddy?” you say tentatively as he drops into a nearby chair to pull on his boots.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Do you—do you think we can go to the creek today?”

Joel finishes lacing his boots and looks up at you.

“I’d really like to wash up,” you admit, softly. That, and you would like to see the light of day. He’d boarded up the windows with slabs of wood—sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get some decent light seeping through the teeny gaps.

“Not today, honey. I’ve got some things to take care of. Supplies are low, we gotta do a run. Don’t have the time to take you.” He stands and picks up his rifle, slinging the strap of it over his shoulder. Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel’s eyes soften. He walks over and gingerly cups the side of your face in his palm. His thumb strokes your cheek. “Promise I’ll take you to the creek tomorrow, sweetheart. First thing. Alright?”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands in your lap.

“Okay.”

Joel kisses your forehead, then leaves the room.

He makes sure to lock the door from the outside, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows locking you in is no longer necessary.

“I can take her.”

Joel’s dark eyes remain focused on the state map laid out on the table in front of him. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Tess?” He sees her in his periphery, but is too busy figuring out the group’s best route to look her way.

“I heard her asking you to take her to the creek so she can bathe,” she tells him. “I can take her.”

Finally, his head snaps up and he turns to her. “What?”

Tess leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Tommy can take the group, go and take care of what you have to take care of. I’ll stay behind and take her down to the creek,” she suggests casually, as if she’s not asking him to trust her with his most prized possession—the only damn thing on what was left of this fucking earth Joel Miller actually gives a shit about. “Once she’s washed up, I’ll bring her back to the cabin and put her back into the room. Easy.”

Joel stares at her, bewildered. “What makes you think I’d fuckin’ allow somethin’ like that?”

“Oh, come on.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Anytime I bitch about having to do something for that girl, you’re on my fucking case about it, and now that I’m offering to do something for her, you don’t wanna let me?”

He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “You’re talkin’ about takin’ her outside, Tess. Without me.”

“The creek’s just a mile away,” Tess reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting her there and back with no trouble, Joel.” When he says nothing, she cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “What? You don’t trust me enough to take her under my wing for a couple hours?”

Joel’s lips pull into a tight line. 

Of course he does. Tess was his right hand woman, his second in command.

He trusted her more than his own fucking brother. She had never given him any reason not to, had never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty to him. No, his lack of trust has nothing to do with Tess—but everything to do with you. He doesn’t trust you. He will never trust you.

“What if she tries to—?” He can’t even say it.

“Tries to what?” She pauses. “Run?”

His throat goes dry and he gives her a subtle nod.

Joel Miller was a bad man who did bad things, but you were his good. You’ve brought back some meaning into this wretched life of his, gave him something that felt a lot like a sense of purpose. You were something for him to take care of, to keep safe and protect.

Tess raises an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d even give her the chance? Besides, the girl’s not that stupid, Joel. She knows better than to try anything. She knows she wouldn’t get very fucking far.”

“Tess—”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for her. Besides, I think it might do her some good to be in the company of someone else for once—the company of a woman.”

Joel peers at her, taking a minute to think it over in his mind before asking, “You’ll have her back in the room before I get back to the cabin?”

“Long before then,” she swears. “All in one piece.”

He hesitates. He’s still not sure.

It’s then that he remembers that disappointed look on your sweet, pretty little face. “Alright,” he relents with a deep sigh. “I trust you, Tess.”

It always feels a bit strange to be outside.

But being outside without Joel?

It feels even stranger.

When he’d walked back into the room and told you Tess was willing to take you to the creek, the news had taken you by complete surprise. When he said he was willing to let her take you, that you almost couldn’t believe. It hadn’t even sunk in until the three of you stood outside the cabin and he was kissing your forehead sweetly in a temporary goodbye before turning to Tess.

“Never take your eyes off her,” he’d instructed her.

“She’ll behave.” She had smiled at you as she pulled her pistol from the waistband of her jeans, the gleam of the silver barrel catching your eye. “Isn’t that right?”

Swallowing dryly, you had answered with a strained, “Of course.”

She’s the last fucking person you wanted to cross. She was almost as terrifying as Joel, if not more.

“Tess? W-Where are we going?” you ask as you trudge along behind her, hoping you don’t sound as winded as you feel. Although you had no way to keep track of the time, it felt like you’d been trekking for at least an hour. Your feet are starting to hurt in your shoes—old, worn, yellow canvas sneakers that certainly weren’t made for hiking. “I don’t remember the creek being this far from the cabin.”

Tess snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“It’s just—we’ve been walking for a really long time.”

She glances over her shoulder at you. “Here I thought you would be a little fucking grateful to be out getting some fresh air,” she chuckles, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

“I am,” you squeak, stumbling over a fallen branch.

Silence falls over the both of you.

“We’re not going to the creek,” Tess finally speaks after a minute. “I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere even better. Just trust me, kid. Now hurry up.”

It takes another hour before you reach your destination, and you hear it before you can even see it, a humming sound that turns into buzzing the closer you get. Then, you feel it, a vibration in the rocks beneath your feet. “Is that a—?” Stepping around her, your mouth falls open in absolute awe at the sight before you.

The waterfall is nestled right in between the trees and surges over the rocky mountain, throwing up bubbles of spray as it plunges into the lake at the bottom, and from there, it foams into a thick, white lather at the base. On the bank, where you stand, you spot different types of vegetation you couldn’t identify even if you tried—all you know is that it’s green, and it’s beautiful.

“This is incredible,” you gasp.

“Way better than some little creek, huh?” Tess tucks her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and shrugs off her pack. She digs around in the front pocket and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of crumpled brown tissue paper. She hands it to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’d fucking open it, you would know,” Tess rolls her eyes. “It’s my last piece of soap. It’s all yours.”

Her kind generosity comes as a surprise—usually, Tess wanted nothing to do with you. But you don’t question it, and you certainly don’t turn the rare luxury down.

“Thanks,” you say, shooting her a grateful look.

Tess nods towards the body of water. “Alright, then. Go on and get to it.”

You take the piece of soap out the tissue. The scent of lavender is faint, but still very much there. Joel will like the smell of it on your skin tonight, you think.

As you start to pull the strap of your cotton blue dress down your shoulder, you feel her gaze fixed intently on you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Uh, aren’t you going to turn around?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she scoffs. “I’ve got what you’ve got. Now hurry up, we don’t have all fucking day.”

Nodding, you peel off your dress and underwear, your face on fire as the older woman’s eyes slowly drag over your naked body. Carefully, you step off the bank and wade into the water. It’s so clear that you can count the pebbles underneath your feet.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Tess calls out, “You have ten minutes! And stay out of the waterfall! Last thing I need is for you to fucking drown.”

As she lights a cigarette, you can’t help but stare at her. Her features, though worn down after the hell she had been through trying to survive the post outbreak world, are beautiful. Big, dark green eyes, a perfect nose, and full, pouty lips. There’s never been a doubt in your mind that she and Joel have been involved with one another, and lately, the mere thought of anything between them made you uncomfortable.

It’s an odd sensation deep in your gut—jealousy?

But what were you jealous of? Her having had him first?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Insecurities you have never in your life felt before seep into your bones.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s fucking rude to stare?” Tess quips, raising an eyebrow at you. She shoves her lighter into the back pocket of her jeans.

Nervously, you sink lower into the water, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “Tess? Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly fucking want to ask me?”

You hesitate.

“How—how long have you known each other?”

“Who?” Tess plucks the cigarette from between her lips and flicks the ashes. “Me and Joel?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Six, seven years?”

“How did you two meet?”

“Long story that’s none of your fucking business.”

You ask your next question before you lose your nerve. “Have you two ever—?” Unsure of how to phrase it, you stop and clamp your mouth shut in instant regret.

“Have we ever what?” Tess studies your face, and she quickly realizes what you’re trying to ask her. “You’re seriously asking me if me and Joel have ever fucked?”

Biting your bottom lip, you glance down into the water at your feet. You honestly don’t expect her to answer, so when she does, you look back up at her in surprise.

“Yeah.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then adds, “Few times.”

Something unpleasant claws at your insides. “You two were together? Like a couple?”

“Something like that,” Tess mutters, flicking her ashes once more.

“What happened?”

She looks at you, pausing before answering, “You.”

Oh.

Before you can utter another word, Tess snaps, “Quit asking so many goddamn fucking questions and finish up washing. You’ve got eight minutes left.”

Not wanting to push your luck further than you already have, you do as she tells you in complete silence.

You lather up the soap in your hands, washing your hair first, and then your face and body, using your hands to scrub yourself as best as you can. Between the calming scent of the soap, the soothing sound of the waterfall, and the warm afternoon sun, you find yourself relaxing. You try to clear your mind, live in this peaceful moment which you very well may never get again, but your mind begins to wander.

And it wanders straight to Joel.

Closing your eyes, you can’t help but picture him here, standing behind you in the lake. You can almost feel his hands on you, long, thick fingers lathered with lavender soap, sliding down your body. His lips at your neck, he cups your breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your hardened nipples until your head lulls, falling back onto his shoulder. Joel drags his hands further down, over your stomach, going lower and lower towards the place where you need them the most. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your neck, dipping one of them between your legs until you are, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. “This where y’need me?”

Breathless, you respond, “It’s where I want you.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap open.

There is a wetness between your thighs, one that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing waist-deep in the middle of a lake. You shake those thoughts away and finish washing yourself.

“Time’s up,” Tess calls. She meets you on the bank with a dry rag. “Here.”

The rag doesn’t exactly cover much surface area, but you dry yourself off as best you can before tugging on your underwear and slipping on your dress. Just as you crouch down to slip your shoes on, she tosses her pack and it lands in front of you with a soft thud.

Confused, you glance up at her.

“There’s about a week’s worth of jerky in there. Longer, if you know how to ration,” Tess explains, calmly. “And a canteen for water. I also packed you a flashlight and a pocket knife. It’s not much, but—”

Frowning, you rise to your feet. “What are you talking about, Tess? What’s going on? Why are you giving me your pack?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance, kid.”

A feeling of dread pools in the pit of your stomach.

“A chance to what?”

“Run.”

Your heart stutters a beat. “Run?”

“He’ll come looking for you. You need to get as far away from here as possible. Run away, as far as you can, and don’t fucking look back.”

All you can do is stare at her in shocked silence.

“I can help you get a head start,” Tess offers, quietly. “I can show you which direction to go in and put you on a path leading to the closest state highway—”

“But what if I don’t want to run?”

Tess places her hands on her hips, and she exhales an incredulous laugh. “Jesus,” she breathes, shaking her head in pity. “He’s really got you fucking brainwashed, doesn’t he?”

You glare at her. “I am not brainwashed, Tess.”

“You’ve gotta be if you’re telling me you wanna go back to him.”

“Tess—”

She cuts you off. “He gave the order to raid your camp and kill your people,” she reminds you. “He fucking slit your father’s throat right in front of you, then took you as his prisoner. He made you his fucking sex slave.”

“He takes care of me! He feeds me, makes sure I have a bed to sleep in no matter where we are. He keeps me safe. He—he cares about me.” You will your voice not to tremble as you stand your ground. “No. I’m not running away, Tess. I want to go back.”

Tess sighs. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Take me back,” you all but demand, your hands curled into the least menacing little fists she had ever seen in her life at your sides. “Take me back to the cabin—take me back to him, Tess. I mean it.”

Amused, she huffs through her nose. “Or else what?”

“You can’t make me run away, Tess.” As you take a step towards her, she reaches behind her and swiftly whips out her pistol from the waistband of her jeans. You halt, freezing in fear when she aims the barrel of the gun at your chest.

“Actually, I can,” she says, her finger hovering over the trigger. “So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna walk away now. And if you even think about following me, or trying to find your way back to the group, you will die.” She tosses you a tiny, wry smile. “Believe it or not, I’m doing you a real big favor, kid. Problem is, he’s got you so fucked in the head that you can’t see it.”

“Tess, please,” you plead. “Don’t do this to me!”

She begins to back away. “Remember when you’d say that to him? How you’d beg him not to do those things to you every night? Beg him to let you go?”

“Please, just take me back to him!”

You start to follow her.

“You take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, her eyes darkening. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tess keeps her pistol pointed at you until she slips into the trees and disappears, abandoning you in the middle of the forest.

He’s furious. Livid.

Joel paces back and forth on the porch.

“Where the fuck are they?”

The old, rotting wood that wraps all the way around the cabin creaks, and certain softer spots bend and buckle, threatening to give way beneath his heavy boots. Joel’s younger brother leans against the railing, which is just as fragile, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Christ, Joel. Can you fuckin’ relax?” Tommy grumbles, fishing around in his back pocket for his lighter. “You’re gonna bring the whole damn cabin down if ya don’t cut that shit out.” He sparks a flame and lights the filtered end of the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “You’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’, brother.”

“S’almost sundown, and they’re still not fuckin’ back.” Joel shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew I shouldn’t have let Tess take her. Somethin’ happened, Tommy. I just know it.” He lifts his shirt and reaches for his pistol, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. “M’gonna head to the creek myself to find ‘em. Ain’t gonna sit around on my goddamn hands and wait for it to get fuckin’ dark.”

“She’s with Tess. M’sure the girl’s fine—” Tommy stops, his eyes widening slightly. “Well, hell.”

“What?”

Tommy jerks his chin over Joel’s shoulder before taking another slow, casual drag of his cigarette. He savors the last few seconds of peace before shit inevitably hits the fan and his brother unleashes his wrath on anything, or anyone, in his path.

Joel whips around and his stomach sinks, his blood ice in his veins when he sees Tess approaching the cabin. Alone.

Both his mind and body go numb. It’s a jarring shock to his nervous system, and it takes him a minute or two to fully process the fact that you’re not with her.

“Joel,” Tess says his name carefully as he descends the porch steps and walks towards her. “I need you to take a breath, alright?”

“Where—where is she?” His voice breaks, his weakness momentarily slipping through the cracks.

Not that Tess didn’t already know you were Joel Miller’s weakness, his soft white underbelly, the only vulnerable part of his hardened self that could be penetrated—you would have been his downfall. As much as she’d like to say she did what she did solely for your own good, she also did it for his, and for the sake of the group as a whole.

It needed to be done.

He stands in front of her, a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Prepared to face whatever consequences of the choice she had made, Tess tucks her gun away and sighs. “You need to take a breath—”

Joel snatches her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. His emotions hit him all at once.

Fear, worry, anger. It’s the third that takes precedence, and before Tess can utter another word, Joel yanks her forward. She crashes against his chest so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. “Where the fuck is she?” He leans down, his nostrils flaring as he brings their faces the closest they have been in almost a year.

“Joel, take a fucking breath—”

“Where. Is. She.” His grip on her arm tightens with each word he bites out through his teeth. He’s vaguely aware the others have piled out of the cabin, gathering on the porch to watch the altercation.

“She ran,” Tess explains, calmly. She doesn’t falter, not even as his fingers sink deeper into her skin, promising her painful bruises which will take days to fade away. If he decided to let her live. “She ran away, Joel. I turned my back for one fucking second and she was gone. She even took my fucking pack. I tried going after her, but it was no use. She was too fast.”

Behind him, Tommy snorts. “She outran you?”

Her eyes momentarily flicker to him. “Her knees are a lot younger than mine,” she replies, flatly.

“Which direction did she go in?” Joel demands. When Tess doesn’t immediately respond, he shouts, “Which fucking direction!”

Tess manages to snatch her arm out of his grasp. She glowers at him, hissing, “What the hell does it matter which direction she went? You won’t fucking find her.”

His eyes meet hers, and he sees it. Feels it.

She’s lying to him.

“Tess.” Joel’s voice drops dangerously low. He studies her face, his brows creasing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, Joel. She fucking ran away.”

Without warning, Joel takes her by her throat. His other hand brings his pistol to her head, shoving the barrel of it against her temple. His nose touches hers. “Now, tell me why I have the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me the whole truth?”

Tess lifts her chin. She searches his eyes, a sharp ache shooting through her. After everything, all the hell they had been through together—he would end her life, put a bullet in her because of you? Did she mean that little to him?

Or maybe she’d never meant anything to him at all?

She’s not sure which stings more.

“Because you’ve fucking deluded yourself into thinking that she willingly wants anything to do with you,” Tess finally answers. “That’s why.”

He ignores the burn of her scorching words.

“Where the fuck is she, Tess?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from here by now,” she hisses. “I did everyone a fucking favor, Joel. That girl is just another fucking mouth to feed. And what if you get her pregnant? That’ll be another one. Not to mention, a crying baby could draw unwanted attention and get us all killed. Ever thought about that? She’s not an asset to the group, she’s a fucking liability. Besides, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all fucking tired of hearing you ra—”

Joel digs the barrel harder into her temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Listen to me. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where she is, y’understand me?”

“Or what? You’ll blow my brains out?” Foolishly, Tess chooses to call his bluff despite not knowing for certain whether or not he’ll actually pull the trigger. “Go ahead, then. Kill me, Joel.”

His finger twitches over the trigger, but he doesn’t pull it. He can’t fucking pull it. Not on her. Not on Tess.

Still in his hands, she sags slightly in relief.

Swallowing harshly, Joel Miller lowers his gun and does something she’s never seen him do before. He begs.

“Tess, tell me where she is,” he whispers. His pleading is subtle, and only she can hear it. “Please—just fuckin’ tell me where my girl is.”

Tess stands her ground and says nothing.

Releasing her, Joel shoves her aside and with nothing but his gun in his hand, he sets off to find you.

“Ow, fuck!”

You gasp, quickly lifting your bare foot off the ground.

You’d stepped on something sharp—a stick, or maybe a rock?

In a desperate attempt to try and keep up with Tess’ tracks, you had stupidly left behind your shoes back at the waterfall. But the mere seconds you had spared by not stopping to put your shoes on hadn’t given you the advantage you thought it would. She had moved much too fast, and within minutes, you’d become helplessly, hopelessly lost. Every tree and every bush, they all look exactly the same, and for all you know, you’ve probably been going around in fucking circles for the past couple of hours in your search for her footprints in the dirt.

Sagging against the trunk of a nearby tree, you take a minute to try and catch your breath, to give your poor little feet a break from hiking over fallen branches and jagged stones.

Your head falls back, eyes gazing through the canopy of trees. Dusk has settled in, and nightfall is on its heels. It was foolish of you to leave behind your shoes, but even more so to leave behind the pack she had given you—in the pack were all the things meant to help you survive. Knife, flashlight, food.

Sure, you can survive a night out here in the wilderness without any of those things—but then what? Come dawn, what do you do? Where do you go? Do you just stumble around in the woods and hope for the best? Pray you’ll make it onto a highway with signs that will point you to a quarantine zone?

Hell, maybe you’re overestimating yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about your next move. Howls in the distance remind you there’s wildlife out here, dangerous predators that come out after dark in search of their next meal. Or what about infected? It wasn’t unheard of for them to veer off the highway and lose themselves in the trees.

You recall your first few weeks in Joel Miller’s hands.

Escaping them was all you could ever think about, even though the chances of you surviving alone were slim to none, just like they are now. Never having been on your own, death would have been inevitable—but back then, in your darkest moments in captivity, you wished for it. You’d welcomed the idea of starving, freezing, or being torn apart limb from limb by an entire hoard of clickers. At least then, you’d die with your freedom.

Almost a year later, that wish has been granted.

You’re free.

You may very well die, but you would die free.

Closing your eyes, you think about Joel. His arms, that once held you down—held you still—as he did all those things to you without your consent, are arms your heart yearns to have wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Jesus,” you grit, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Maybe Tess had been right. Maybe he really does have you fucked in the head.

Joel was a monster. He had taken everything from you, including your innocence. He’d defiled you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. He was a terrible, terrible man.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you fed.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you warm.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you safe.

Another tear slides down the side of your face. What is fucking wrong with you?

You don’t know. But what you do know is, the thought of never seeing Joel again is somehow more terrifying to you than the thought of dying even the most brutal of deaths.

A loud rustling sound brings your train of thought to an immediate, sudden halt, and your eyes wrench open.

It’s darker now, but you manage to catch a movement in the shrubs, only mere feet in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, it rattles you to your very core, and even though every nerve in your body is urging you to move, you freeze, your back flush against the tree trunk. Your fingernails dig painfully into the bark as you watch the shrubs part down the middle, and a tall, hulking figure emerges with a heavy grunt.

At first, you think it’s just a figment of your imagination showing you what you wanted to see—a hallucination. Blinking furiously, you lightly shake your head, and then take another look at him. Your breath hitches when you realize it’s Joel.

He stares at you in the same manner, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re real, or if his mind is playing a cruel, cruel trick on him. Feet cemented to the forest floor, he watches you take a small, tentative step towards him.

Once adamant that you’d never look him in the eye, you find your gaze locking directly with his as you carefully take another step closer. Then another, and another.

“Joel?” It’s the first time you’ve ever uttered his name.

He seems as taken aback hearing it as you are saying it.

“Joel.” It rolls off your tongue smoother, and with more ease the second time around.

It sparks a flame somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a fire that burns differently than those ignited by carnal desires.

No, this is something else entirely, and you feel it too.

“Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “S’that really you?”

“Joel!” you cry, hurling yourself into his arms.

Joel’s gun falls from his hand and he curls them around you. Burying his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply. The scent of you, the feel of you—you’re fucking real.

Shuddering with sobs of relief, your arms wrap around his waist, and you cling to him as if you’re clinging onto dear, precious life itself.

“Hush now, s’alright,” Joel soothes, cradling the back of your head in one hand, while the rubs soft, calming circles into your back. “I’ve got you, honey. M’here.”

“I swear I didn’t want to run away,” you explain through your tears. “I begged her to take me back to you, Joel, I really did! But she left me out here—she said she would shoot me if I tried following her back. Please, you have to believe me, you just have to believe me!”

He squeezes you harder against his chest. “I do, baby. I do believe you,” he assures you. Pulling away, he takes a step backward and takes your face between his palms, peering at you in concern. “Y’hurt, sweetheart?”

“No,” you hiccup, curling your hands around his wrists. Your lower lip trembles. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. I was scared I wouldn’t,” you admit, softly.

Joel’s thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “M’here now,” he murmurs. “You’re with me, baby. You’re safe, alright?” As a late evening breeze passes through, he lets you go and shrugs out of his brown jacket. He goes to drape it around your shoulders, but you snatch it right out of his hands, then toss it aside.

Something in you snaps. You take fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him down towards you to do yet something else that takes you both by surprise—you initiate a kiss. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a little swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as you clutch tighter at his shirt, holding him in place. Groaning, Joel opens his mouth more, his tongue brushing yours.

Liquid heat pools in your belly, and before you realize it, you’ve grown frantic, kissing him with fervor. Releasing his shirt, you slide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, lower and lower until you find his belt buckle. Desperate, you clumsily fumble with it, and that’s when Joel tears away from you, his breath hitching.

You’re begging before he can even say a word. “Please. I need you—I want you. Right now.”

You cup him through his jeans, and he exhales sharply.

“Fuck.” Without giving it a second thought, his hands reach for the straps of your dress, pushing them off of your shoulders. He roughly tugs at the material, letting it slip down your body until it falls around your feet. In a tangle of limbs and tongues, you both sink to the forest floor. Your hands brush his buckle, and he catches your wrists. “Not yet, baby girl. M’still in charge, alright?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

“Say it.” His command is firm, but somehow still gentle.

“You’re—you’re in charge.”

“Good girl.” Joel guides you onto your back. He’s over you in a second, swelling your lips with a hard, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless. He moves his mouth, teeth scraping over your cheek and jaw, down to your neck where he nips at the tender, delicate flesh over your pulse point. Then, he bites his way over your collarbone and to your shoulder. “Bet she’s already wet for me,” he mumbles into your skin. “Ain’t she, baby?”

Pushing himself back onto his knees, he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small gasp from you. Hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear, he yanks the fabric down your legs. It catches on your foot, your wetness smearing against the inside of your ankle.

You’re drenched.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling your hips over his thighs. He leans over you once more, your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his jeans. He tuts lightly into your neck as you buck against him. “Such a fuckin’ needy little girl.”

Desperate, you try rolling your hips into his. “Joel.”

“Kinda like it when y’say my name.” He starts making his way down the length of your body. “Think I’ll like it even better when you’re screamin’ it. Won’t I, baby?”

Your stomach tightens as he nibbles his way down your neck again, teeth scraping over your clavicle and down your chest to your heaving tits. Taking one in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his tongue is scorching hot over your nipple. He licks the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “Oh fuck,” you gasp.

Releasing your breast with a wet pop, Joel sinks further down your body. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your tummy, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. He stops over your mound and hovers for a fraction of a second before pressing his nose into the silky soft curls there. Inhaling deeply, Joel picks up the subtle, herbal scent of the lavender soap you had washed yourself with. “Fuck, y’smell so fuckin’ good.”

He pushes your thighs open, pinning one to the ground with his hand while the other goes over his shoulder. Your foot slides down his back, toes curling despite the fact that he hasn’t even reached the spot where you’re aching to have him most. Heart thundering, your blood rushes, roaring in your ears.

Joel turns his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh in another kiss. “S’this where y’want me, honey?” he asks you. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of your skin as he draws closer, his breath like steam on your core. He glances up at you, his cock twitching against his zipper at the sight of you laying naked before him on the floor of the forest. Willing. Wanting. “Hm? Right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

Thankfully, you only have to ask him once, and then his face is buried between your legs, and he is giving you what you want.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Back arching, your head tilts back until the crown of it meets the ground, leaves and twigs finding their way into your clean hair.

Joel’s tongue flattens over your cunt in a broad stroke, then dips between your folds, collecting your slick with a harsh groan, one that sends a bone-rattling vibration throughout your entire body, from head to curled toes. His mouth opens wider—a starving, greedy man trying to eat you whole. Sliding his tongue over your clit, Joel seals his lips around it, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until it swells in his mouth.

High-pitched little cries and whines spill from your lips. Your hands shoot down, fingers tangling themselves in his dark, graying curls, eliciting a grunt from him when you tug at his roots. “Joel, fuck,” you choke, your nails scraping against his scalp. He slurps and swallows your wetness, the sounds drowning out those of the night—the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft hooting of owls are washed away until all you can hear is him devouring your pussy.

Your body starts to tremble, and you know you’re close. Joel does, too. He feels your thighs twitch, threatening to close around his head, but he wrenches them further apart with a muffled but firm, “No.” He drapes his arm over your pelvis, his large hand splayed on your belly.

Relentless, he sucks your clit, gliding his tongue over it, again and again until the muscles in your lower tummy tighten and you burst at the seams, unraveling into his mouth. Warm slick gushes out of you, a sweet mess he licks clean. You choke back sobs of pleasure, your body tensing, vision blurring with every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth over your clit.

Joel lifts himself onto his knees with a grunt and gazes down at you—his good girl, sweet and pliant and ready to be fucked full of his cock. His hands slide his belt out of its brass buckle, eyes still trained on you as he pops the button of his jeans and yanks down his zipper.

Your mind is fuzzy, still syrupy and dripping—it doesn’t fully register what he’s doing, not until he climbs back over you and you his hard cock brushes your thigh, hot velvet that sears the inside of your leg. Precum smears your flesh.

“Y’feel that? Feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

“Joel.” Hands shaking, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on yours. You whine when he catches both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Your clothes—”

“Stay on.” Ducking his head, he nips at your pulse point and mumbles, “Tell me what y’want, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts over you, his cock now resting on your lower belly, thick and heavy and leaking.

You squirm under him, hips coming off the ground, that hollow thing inside of you begging to be filled.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what y’want.”

“You, Joel—I want you. Please, please, please—”

He hushes you.

“I’ve you, baby. I’ve got you,” Joel promises. He wraps his other hand around himself, dragging the head of his cock along the seam of your puffy folds, up and down—he elicits a ragged little gasp from you when he grazes your clit and his fingers tighten around your wrists. He coats himself in your slippery slick until he’s glistening with it, and then he gives a slow roll of his hips, working himself into you.

Your mouth falls open. No words come out, no pleas for more—only jerky breaths, pathetic little pants for air as you take it.

Joel’s cock throbs, pulses like a heartbeat as your cunt welcomes him home. He presses his forehead to yours. “She’s always so fuckin’ sweet to me.” His voice is low, rough gravel. His eyes meet yours in the dark blue glow of the forest, and he savors the last moments of seeing your pretty face before the last traces of dusk are gone. Brushing his lips to the corner of your mouth, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, murmuring, “That’s it, honey. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You melt around him at his praise.

Releasing your wrists, he moves his hand, placing it on the crown of your head. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he swears. “Alright? Never gonna be apart from me again, baby girl. Never. Y’understand me?” He curls his other hand firmly around your jaw, his fingers sticky with you and him. “Do you understand me?”

“Never,” you repeat, softly.

Joel kisses you, deep and slow, almost sweet. Tender. He breaks away, his lips hovering right over yours as he pushes his hips forward, bottoming out inside you.

Moaning, your hands grasp at his shoulders. Your legs widen further to accommodate the breadth of his hips.

“There y’go.” Joel presses deep within, until your belly feels hot and full. “That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he coos, drawing his hips back, then rolling them right back into you. He takes one of your ankles and tosses it over his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck into you.

A loud cry tears from the back of your throat. “Joel!”

He grins in the darkness. He knew he’d like hearing you scream his name.

Joel’s hand settles on your leg that’s over his shoulder, your thigh already shaking. “Y’gonna be a real good girl n’ give me another one?”

You try to answer him, you really do, but your mind falls further and further away.

His fingertips sink into your thigh. He strokes in and out of you, never retreating more than inches at a time so he keeps you full. Stuffed. “Christ. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he croons, moving your leg off of his shoulder so they are both wrapped around his waist. Hunching over you, he bears down hard, using most of his weight. He almost chuckles at the little oof that puffs out of you.

Rocks and twigs dig painfully into your back, but all you can do is feel him. How close he is.

You’re right there with him.

“Joel—fuck, I’m gonna co—”

You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp.

“That’s it. C’mon, honey.” Joel slips his hand between your thighs, his fingers firmly rubbing your clit. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock—”

It rips through you like an electric current, a shockwave that has you clawing at the dirt. You come crying Joel’s name, crumbling into a whimpering, quivering mess.

Within seconds, he’s swept away by the same tide.

“Baby,” he groans, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck. He goes still and lets your tight cunt clench at him, gripping his cock as it throbs, pulses, empties into you. After a minute, he brushes a kiss to your neck before mumbling, “My sweet girl.”

Joel makes no move to pull out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your soiled fingers toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, shattered breaths slowing and piecing back together.

You gaze up through the trees at the night sky, feeling the safest you’ve ever been with the earth at your back and your whole world on top of you, his cock buried in your cunt.

Tess is right. Joel Miller really does have you fucked in the head.

You’re certain of it when you make the realization with a smile.

divider credit to @/saradika 🖤

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[assriels]

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

[anniebass]

cozy snoozin'

complimentary fluff ficlet to be read here, or in the snippet below:

To be honest, place was a total fucking dump.

But, the summer days stretched long with swimming and fishing and games and just hanging out by the lake, and the evenings lasted well past midnight, warm and abuzz with cicadas looking for a tryst, not too humid either (Eddie’s hair was a clear tell), so it didn’t really matter that the cabin they rented was a dump. For two nights, it would do. For stumbling into bed after a goodnight joint, it was enough. 

The inside was clad in wood, with dusty sconces on the wall that barely dispersed the darkness, but eh, the dark had its mercies, hid all the little imperfections, cast shadows over eyes that shone a bit too bright after a kiss. But even under that warm gluey light the sunburn stood out, new redness sheathed over the skin; not Steve though, with his good genes he tanned easily, plus sulking by the pool always gave him a headstart.

Most of Eddie’s sunburn was hidden under that dumb lavender t-shirt Steve got at the Indiana State Fair with Robin, after she insisted they’d get identical shirts, let’s be twins, Steve!, choosing about the ugliest design he’s ever seen. Of course, the ugliness delighted Eddie, so much that he stole the t-shirt from him earlier today, acting like a fucking girlfriend or something, rolling his eyes over a lit joint: you weren’t wearing it, Steve, and as enticing as it might be, I can’t be sitting around tits out in nature, mosquitoes would absolutely eat me whole. 

Then he leaned in, adding in a terrible Scottish accent: leavin’ eatin’ me whole to ye, laddie.

rest on ao3 :D

[bat-boys]

besotted

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff

summary: Rhys and Feyre have asked you to babysit Nyx for the day, meaning you get to spend the whole time enjoying one of your favourite weaknesses: your mate cuddling cute babies.

a/n: thank you so much for the love, it's been so lovely 🫶🏻. this fic is completely self-indulgent - I don't even want children but the thought of handsome men with babies? lord have mercy. My inbox is always open for a chat or fic suggestions /requests. Enjoy loves.

Velaris was truly stunning in every season, every weather, at any time of day, but for you, your favourite time in the city was during the height of summer. When the weather was perfect, the warmth not too stifling, and the evenings cool, the sun glistened on the smooth water of the Sidra, and the air was filled with the soft chattering and laughter of its citizens that lasted well into the evening.

A soft grin played on your lips as you strolled through the streets of the city you had grown up in, the warm breeze gently blowing the gauzy material of your trousers and licking at the stretch of skin exposed at the waist due to the cropped top you wore - the beautiful outfit a gift from your close friend Amren who shared your sense of style. Your confident and sure steps took you past familiar shops, filled to the brim with their exquisite wares as you approached the handful of shops you needed to visit. 

As you neared the first shop you needed to visit, you turned your head slightly when you felt one of those familiar shadows that followed you everywhere. It slipped up your arm and affectionally curled around the skin between where your shoulder met your neck. The darkness cooled your warm skin, causing a soft smile to fall on your lips when you thought of the man to whom they belonged. Since being mated to Azriel, a handful of his shadows were always with you, and you had grown very fond of your own little shadows. According to the spymaster, they had left him on their own accord, feeling as protective of you as their master did. They acted almost as a messenger service between you and your mate. 

"Are you okay, babe? One of your shadows just tapped me on the shoulder." As you entered the small shop, you spoke gently through that sparkling, glimmering thread you shared with your favourite person in the whole wide world. 

"When are you heading back?" His deep, midnight-laced voice slipped into your mind, and you had to hold back the involuntary shudder as you touched one of the children's toys hanging on a rack before you. 

"Why are you missing me already, Az?" Judging by the chuckle you heard that echoed in your head, he could practically hear the teasing smirk in your words. 

"Always, sweetheart." There was a pause, and your eyebrows furrowed. You realized that something was actually amiss, and he wanted you home. "Nyx is fussing, and I don't know what to do."

This time, you chuckled out loud as you grabbed the toy from the rack and took it to the counter at the back of the shop to pay for it. You smiled gently at the shopkeeper, who warmly greeted you.

"He's probably hungry, babe; give him one of those bottles Feyre left. They're in the fridge." Rhys and Feyre had to attend a last-minute meeting today with the Court of Nightmares and Eris from the Autumn Court. They politely asked if you and Azriel could babysit Nyx on short notice. Initially, Azriel had put up a bit of a fuss, arguing that he needed to be there at the meeting, but Rhys had reasoned that Cassian would be there, as would Mor and Amren. Plus, he would show Az everything through his daemati ability. Feyre had sweetened the blow by telling Az you and him were Nyx's favourite aunt and uncle and that they trusted him the most to look after their precious son. 

You had beamed at Azriel's shocked face, winking at Rhys as you had shared in your amusement. Azriel was absolutely besotted with the tiny babe and would protect him with his life if needed. You had no doubt Azriel would immediately sacrifice his life for Nyx, no questions asked. Privately, you had agreed entirely with the idea of you and Azriel protecting Nyx from a security perspective - both of you ready to use your extensive abilities to protect the tiny fae - but also because it meant you could watch Azriel cuddle the baby. In the last couple of months, it had become one of your favourite weaknesses when it came to the shadowsinger. 

"Oh yeah, ok." Relief washed down the bond as he moved towards the kitchen and grabbed the bottle from the fridge, remembering how to warm it and test its temperature. 

"You've babysat Nyx before, Az; you're a natural at this—trust your instincts, babe." You assured him as you passed the money over to the shopkeeper, gave her a warm smile, thanked her, and took the small bag she set on her counter. Wishing her a goodbye, you left the shop and stepped back into the warm streets of Velaris, heading towards the next shop. 

"I've never babysat him before on my own!" You could practically hear the panic in his voice, and you shook your head absentmindedly at his lack of confidence in something he was exceptionally good at. 

"You're his favourite uncle for a reason, Az! I won't be long, promise." 

"Hurry back, sweetheart. I miss you too." A warm caress reached you through the bond, accompanied by the feeling of his shadows sliding up your thigh, the phantom feeling of his hands on your skin causing you to jolt ever so slightly. Wicked little things.

You had been hesitant to leave the Town House, which you and Az now called yours, this afternoon, but with Nyx arriving at such short notice, you needed more time to get some supplies in. You desperately needed some baby stuff and food for both yourself and your mate. You were just exchanging money with the butcher when you felt another frantic pulse through your bond. 

"Babe, he's crying again! He's had the whole bottle." You sent your mate a pulse of affection through his bond, trying to calm him down as you slid the package of food you had just brought into one of your bags. 

"Sweetheart, you need to burp him now." You gently reminded him. 

"Oh shit yeah." You laughed at your mate, drawing some strange looks from passersby, which caused a slight blush to rise on your cheeks. 

"No cursing around the baby!" This time, you felt Azriel's amusement through the bond, a warm beat of laughter that you would spend forever trying to coax from him - his laughter, deep, rich and full, was one of your favourite sounds.

"He can't hear me." He reasoned, his voice now calm now that you had given him a plan of action. He thrived in coordination and planning, able to adapt in times of chaos, but he preferred a detailed and methodical approach to everything. Even in the bedroom. 

As you stepped out of the final shop, your purchases swinging from your hands, your face turned up to catch the afternoon rays as they gently warmed your face, you felt another shadow creep up your arm to practically tap on your shoulder. 

"Fuck, now he's crying so loud I think he might bring the roof down!" Azriel was panicking again, and you could imagine him running his slender fingers through his hair - tuffs of midnight black standing up in a messy array as he started to pace.

"Az, calm down - he needs to sleep." In the Town House, Azriel felt a wave of calm wash over him as he listened to your levelled voice. No hint of irritation or annoyance in your voice. Even after all these years, he still had to fight his instincts that told him you would get tired of him and his pestering, overprotectiveness or panic, but you had been steadfast the entire time. Making sure he felt supported and loved through everything, and he could never be so grateful for the connection you had built together, the love you shared and the life you had crafted with each other. 

"I've tried putting him down, but he screams louder." He sounded tired, and you had to stop yourself from teasing, knowing that wasn't what he needed right now. 

"Pick him up. He probably wants you to cuddle him while he falls asleep." If you were being honest, you couldn't blame Nyx. Nothing, and you mean absolutely nothing, compares to Azriel's cuddles. You always felt so safe, so protected, and so comforted in his arms.

"Ok, yeah, I can do that. Gods, why are you so good at this love." You chuckled at the exasperation in his voice. Azriel must have been so agitated because, through the bond, he sent you images of him gently picking up a crying Nyx, his sweet face red and crumpled as he cried, and holding him to his chest. You tried so hard not to focus on those broad, beautiful, strong, scarred hands as they firmly held Nyx, thoughts of how he had held you last night entering into your mind unbidden and causing you to stumble on the uneven cobblestones of the path you were walking, "Careful love." You felt Az chuckle. 

"Ass." You felt his amusement through the bond and his relief as Nyx began to calm down and snuggled into Azriel. "You're a natural at this, Az, though. I'm nearly home."

"See you soon, love." At the sound of his husky voice, filled with love, you felt your pace pick up as you made your way towards the beautiful home you shared, eager to get home to your waiting mate. 

…

The Town House was quiet and bathed in darkness when you stepped inside. Trying to make as little noise as possible, you carefully set your bags on the entryway floor and slipped your shoes off, the cool wooden floor of the house soothing your hot feet. 

A handful of shadows flew through the air towards you, darting around your body and playfully getting tangled up in your hair and clothes. They whispered at you to be quiet and told you that Azriel and Nyx were in the main living room. 

With a grin on your face, you tip-toed over to the doorway to the living room and leaned against the frame as you took in the heartwarming scene before you. You had to physically stop the tears brimming in your eyes as you gazed at your mate, gently napping on the sofa with a content and fast asleep Nyx resting on his chest, softly snoring in the way only babes can. 

The scene before you was so soft and sweet that you indulged yourself for a moment, picturing your own child fast asleep on your mate's strong chest. You stared for a while, marvelling at the beauty of Azriel. His strong arms were exposed due to his sleeveless top, his Illyrian tattoos proudly swirling around his dark skin - arms you know would hold you close in the dead of night, keep you standing when you were weak and protect you until the ends of the earth. His soft, slightly curled, midnight hair gently fell on his proud forehead, making him look almost boyish and not the formidable man he presented to the rest of the world. His soft, full lips that were parted slightly in sleep. His strong jaw and proud nose, his sculpted body and thick thighs. He truly was heaven-sent.  

"I can feel you staring." He mumbled through the bond, and you had to stifle a soft laugh. Of course, Azriel wouldn't be entirely asleep - he rarely was; at least some part of him was always awake and alert. You think the only times Az had ever wholly given in to peaceful sleep was those precious weeks after you had accepted your mating bond when he was so tired and content to be next to you and holding you close that he couldn't resist falling into a deep slumber. But only after he had made sure the wards protecting the secluded cabin were still secure, ever the spymaster. 

You pushed away from the doorframe and padded towards where your mate was sitting. He opened his eyes slightly, still sleepy from his brief nap, and his lips curled into a warm smile as you approached. 

"Hi, love." You whispered as you bent over the back of the sofa to grip his face and press your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Kissing Az was something you would never get over, even after decades together. The feel of his plush but slightly chapped lips against yours, his delicious taste and scent enveloping your senses, had your toes curling against the cold wooden floor. 

"I'm so glad you're back." You beamed at him as you stared at his upside-down face, gently stroking his jaw and feeling the slight stubble against the soft skin of your hands. 

"Seems like you've got it handled," you teased as you turned your attention to the sleeping child on Azriel's chest. You reached out a hand to gently brush Nyx's soft hair off his forehead, desperately holding in the coo that threatened to leave your lips as he let out a soft sigh and nestled further into Az's chest. Who could blame him, you thought? You had the exact same favourite sleeping position. 

"You're definitely better at this than me," he mumbled as you skirted around the sofa to sit beside your mate. He ever so slowly and ever so gently shifted so as not to wake Nyx so you could tuck yourself into his side. His arm curled around your shoulders to bring you closer, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. 

"How long has Nyx been asleep?" you whispered as you snuggled closer to your mate, hand reaching out to gently stroke up and down Nyx's back in a soothing manner you knew he liked.

"About 20 minutes." You hummed, proud of Azriel for handling the situation. He had been so nervous around the babe when he was first born—so conscious of the tiny, breakable fae he now felt some reasonability for.

"I'd say you've had it completely covered, babe." Nyx stirred ever so slightly, and you knew from experience that you had exactly 5 minutes before he woke up and was agitated again due to not sleeping enough. 

A soft hum filled the quiet air as you got up and gently took the sleeping child from Azriel, whispering soothing noises. He stirred slightly as you manoeuvred him into your arms. You bounced ever so slightly on your toes, continuing to hum a lullaby you had heard Feyre singing to him the other day as you walked over to the travelling crib Azriel had set up next to the sofa. Ever so gently, you lowered Nyx into the plush mattress, stroking a finger down his cheeks in a way you knew he liked as you watched him settle back to sleep. 

Azriel just sat back, arms spread out on the back of the sofa behind him, as he watched you so expertly soothe Nyx. He could practically feel his eyes turning into hearts as he watched you, almost unable to control the all-consuming feeling of love that was threatening to spill from him. He loved you so much and had done so for hundreds of years, but in recent months, watching you become so enamoured by your nephew, a new tentative love grew. 

You turned around, and Azriel offered you one of his sweet smiles before holding out an outstretched hand and silently bidding you to return to his side. With a matching grin, you took his hand and let him pull you in beside him before shifting you both, so you were lying down on the sofa, both facing Nyx as Azriel wound his arms around you to pull you flush against his chest. 

A feeling of absolute contentment flooded Azriel as you lay there, breathing in your sweet scent and kissing your soft hair. You shifted closer to him, fingers stroking over his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you close. Mirroring smiles danced on your lips as you watched your nephew and enjoyed the comfortable silence that had settled over the Town House.

"I love seeing you with Nyx Az." You whispered into the soft silence, and you felt a pulse of utter adoration through the thread you both shared. 

"Hmmm, do you, love?" He mumbled into your hair, an ear-splitting grin stretching on his lips. He was unable to deny that primal part of him that basked in the glow of your words—that you had admitted enjoying seeing him with children. 

"It's my ultimate weakness." He chuckled softly. 

"Seeing you with him is mine, too," he confessed back, his arms loosening as you turned around to face him. For a minute, you just looked at him, eyes drinking in his handsome face, flitting over his lips and his nose before settling on his hazel eyes, which were gazing at you with such emotion that a lump formed at the back of your throat. 

Slowly, lazily, you brought your hand up to trace the features of his face before gently pushing a soft curl of his hair that had fallen over his forehead. The ring he had gifted you nearly 60 years ago glinted in the dim light. 

"Have you ever considered it?" You whispered shyly. It wasn't a topic you had discussed with Azriel much; there simply hadn't been enough time. Shortly after the bond had snapped for the both of you - after years of pining and yearning for each other - Rhys had gone under the mountain. You had spent those long years trying to hold everyone together, and then Rhys had returned, and you had been focused on bringing him and Feyre back from that dark place where they had found themselves. Then, the devastating war you had all been plunged into. It had not been an environment you could ever bring a child into. 

"What?" He knew what you meant, but he wanted to hear the words come from your lips. 

"Having children of our own?" The words felt fragile between you. Deep down, you knew you were both on the same page, but still, this was not a conversation you had had before. The soft smile dancing on Az's lips soothed you, however, as he, too, brought his hand up to delicately trace your features. 

"I didn't think I would ever get the opportunity to be a father, certainly didn't think I would be a good one. But seeing you with Nyx these last couple of months…yeah, I have." His confession was soft, and you couldn't help yourself as you closed that small distance between you two to press your lips to his in a kiss that held a promise and contained all of the love you could ever feel for the male. His arms wrapped tightly around you again as he held you close and lost himself in the delicious feeling of your lips on his. 

You broke away gently, slowly, languidly, eyes still closed as you leaned in to press short kisses to his lips. Resting your forehead against his, you stayed there, breathing him in, hands softly caressing his face. "You will be such a good dad, Az. You will be patient, kind and considerate. Fun when you want to be, firm when you need to be, and comforting when they're sad or frustrated. I've thought about it too." You made sure you delivered the words whilst looking him in the eyes, conveying just how much you meant the words.

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse, and you spotted tears brimming in his beautiful eyes, your heart breaking in your chest at the fact that he had so desperately needed to hear the words. You leaned in to kiss his lips again, hand resting on his chest to feel his thundering heart as he breathed in a shaky breath. 

"I don't think I'm ready just yet. I still want to experience life with you," you whispered, an amused smirk playing on your lips. You hadn't had enough time with Az yet. There was still so much of the world to see, so many things you wanted to explore with just your mate before you put down roots and grew a beautiful family of your own. 

"I feel the same." He reassured, pulling you closer again, desperate to make sure not a single inch of space was between you two. 

"But when the time is right, when we are ready. It would bring me nothing but joy to have children together." A stunning smile you had not seen before stretched across Azriel's face, and you gasped at the powerful pulse that reverberated down the bond from your mate. It was pure light—beautiful, gleaming light—such happiness radiating from between you two that you imagined both of your skins glowing with it. 

"I love you so much, Y/N." He said reverently. 

"I love you too." The distance between your lips closed again as you placed a sweet kiss on his lips, tilting your head slightly to deepen in - determined to convey just how much you love him, how thankful you are to the Mother and the Cauldron for giving you, Azriel as your mate. You felt him moan softly as you slipped your tongue past the seam of his lips, gently licking into his mouth as you swallowed the soft sounds you were both making. You pulled away with a mischievous grin dancing on your lips, "Gods, our kids would be cute."

"Do you think so?" He asked, pushing your hair behind your pointed ears so he could see your face clearly.

"What, you don't?" You asked in mock shock and horror, causing another chuckle to rumble through his chest. 

"As long as they take after you, sweetheart, they will be the cutest children Prythian has ever seen." You laughed at him, but secretly, you hoped they looked nothing like you and took after the incredible man you had been mated to for all of these years—that they had his kind eyes, gentle smile, and luxurious locks of soft midnight hair.

"I can't wait." You whispered as you laid your head down beside him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his scent of mist and cedar, the smell of home. 

"Neither can I, my love." He whispered back to you as he held you close, kissing your hairline and temple. You both let your heavy eyelids droop as your limbs tangled on the sofa. Nyx continued to sleep softly beside you. One day soon, it would be your child in that crib, you promised yourself and Az through that golden thread deep in your heart before you both fell peacefully asleep. 

[lovelybucky1]

Listen… need more of Logan, young or old, putting you over his knee for being a brat, making use of that heavy metal skeleton to make sure you feel his hand on your ass, maybe even get a couple licks in with his belt if you’ve really pissed him off, make you think twice before defying him so blatantly, I need this man to put me in my place SO BAD I’M LOSING IT

logan, growling, grabs you by the waist and pulls you over his lap. he places one hand on your ass and the other on the back of your neck, keeping you down. he is pissed, more pissed than you’ve ever seen him and worst of all, you’re the reason for his poor mood.

you decided to play a little have, have some innocent fun, and flirt with scott. you thought it could be fun to make logan a little jealous, but you pushed it too far.

it started with asking him to buy you a drink, but it ended with you perched on his lap and his hand roming over your thigh. when logan noticed, he grabbed you buy the wrist and yanked you off of scott. you were practically dragged down the hall back to his bedroom where you find yourself now.

“just what the fuck did you think you were doing?” logan asks gruffly.

“i-i wanted to make you jealous,” you say, face burning with shame.

“jealous, huh? for what? so i’d skin scott alive for touchin’ what’s mine?”

you shake your head as much as you’re able. “no, no, so you’d…” you trail off, realizing how ridiculous you’d sound.

“so i’d what?” his voice is low, gravely, threatening. you regret this stupid fucking plan, but you’re in the thick of it now.

“so you’d… be rough with me,” you squeak out.

a hum rumbles through logan’s chest. “am i not rough enough with you?” you try to deny it, but he continued. “you want me to hurt you so bad you’d flirt with another man for it?”

“please, logan-” he spanks you, his large, heavy hand coming down hard on your skin. “daddy! please, daddy, i’m sorry.”

“too late for sorry, dollface.” he spanks you again, this time on the other cheek. “you let scott put his hands all over you. he touched what’s mine.”

“w-why don’t you take that up with him?” it’s a bad idea to talk back, but you’re already in so much trouble that it’ll be hard to make your punishment any worse.

logan chuckles humorlessly. “i’ll deal with him later. teach him a lesson about keeping his hands off another man’s girl. but right now, you need to learn your lesson.”

he spanks you again, gives you multiple hits on alternating sides. it hurts; your whole ass stings and he doesn’t give you the mercy of a massage between blows. you’re whining, crying, sobbing out apologies and begging him to stop.

logan pauses. “you need your safe word?” he asks.

“no,” you whimper.

“then shut up and take it.”

you do take it, but you find it extremely difficult to shut up about it. you don’t have a high pain tolerance and logan knows that. he knows that just a few spanks have hot tears rolling down your cheeks, but he doesn’t care. you could flood the room with tears right now and he wouldn’t stop unless he heard your safeword or he felt you’ve learned your lesson.

the one thing logan can’t stand is someone touching his property without permission. maybe he would’ve shared you with scott if you had asked. he’s a pretty adventurous guy, but he’s also possessive. too possessed to sit back and let his girl let herself be felt up by scott fucking summers.

if you wanted rough, you’rs sure as shit going to get it. you won’t be able to sit tomorrow without wincing. you won’t be able to look scott in the eyes without feeling the sting of logan’s hand on your ass. scott won’t be able to look at you without feeling guilty for the punishment you got.

“you can take it, baby. you wanted rough, remember?”

[shxwyxurself]

Lifeguard Mercy by Dana Herberg on Twitter

[tomriddleslove]

I’m here.

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Mattheo is spiralling and he needs a way out. He doesn’t expect to find it right in front of him. Alternatively: He doesn’t realise he is loved, by you.

A/N: Riddles 🤝 Internal Monologues. I’ve postponed a smut to write this because my heart belongs to angst. REQUESTS ARE OPEN 😻

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Child abuse, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Family environments, Depression. This is quite a heavy read.

Mattheo liked to think of himself as an independent person. It wasn't of his own volition, of course. He didn't exactly have the most supportive home environment. From the day he turned up to Hogwarts after the summer holidays, with scuff marks on his shoes, ragged clothing, hunger gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast and a bruise spattering the left side of his face, he learnt that the world would not show mercy on him. No, Mattheo had to do it on his own.

He did indeed feel grateful for his friends, who didn't need to utter a word in their support. It wasn't hums of sympathy or pitying looks. It was them brushing off his back when he fell, it was saving the work for him when he had rough evenings, it was pouring him a coffee when he sat down for breakfast without saying a word. Their friendship was not reflected in their words, no, for words were futile. It was in their actions. And Mattheo would be eternally grateful for them.

But even then, it was he who was surrounded by so many, who felt the most alone.

He couldn't ever speak of his issues, he didn't think he ever could. His friends loved him, but not in the way unconditional love came. It need not be romantic, no, Mattheo was not a fool. He didn't care for that when he could barely get himself together. But his deepest secret was not his family's past, nor was it the hidden bruises under his uniform.

Rather, it was that Mattheo simply, had the most terrible, incredibly human need, for love.

For the sort of love that would let you look at the most broken down, raw parts of a person, and still speak of them with reverence.

It tears at your skin. It digs its claws into your feeble skin, and it pulls, It tugs, and it screams. It bares its teeth, it etches its name into your soul. It feeds on you, it consumes you, it hurts you. It bleeds in front of you.

It bleeds, yet it does not cower under the weight of its own vulnerability, because it knows you love it. You lean down, and you cradle it as though it was the most delicate thing on earth. It shrieks in your arms, it continues clawing at you.

You hold it. You are not afraid.

It bleeds, and it makes you bleed with it.

It’s ok.

You'll clean it. You are not afraid.

It was, in its purest form, an ugly thing. Ugly, yet so undeniably beautiful. His heart could only ache, and clench at the thought of such an unconditional love. The idea that someone could see him for him, see Mattheo for Mattheo and not for his father, or for his friends, or for his loud, raucous persona that he put on, or his unhealthy habits.

But how could someone see Mattheo for himself, when he himself didn't know who he was?

He wondered what the rest of his life held for him, often. Sprawled out on his bed, a near-empty bottle of Odgens’ fire whiskey loosely clutched in his hands. His hands are cold; they never warmed.

He always had this feeling in his throat. A sort of suffocating weight, a pain that restricted him. It made it hard to swallow, and even harder to speak.

People would think he'd be out partying. Maybe getting with a girl. With his friends.

It's not that he didn't do that. He did. But it got to a point where the face of one girl blurred into another, he couldn't tell his mornings from evenings. Floating on a high that would sink into an undistinguishable low, one and the same.

He never slept. Whilst they didn't outwardly question it, his friends would jibe and jeer at him, assuming the bags under his eyes were due to his late-night rendezvous with another girl.

Would they look at him differently if they knew it came from nightmares?

He couldn't sleep, because every time he closes his eyes the depths of his mind torment him with images from his past.

His father’s hand comes down, cruel and unforgiving. The bruises mar his skin, but it became the norm. The purples and greens became akin to home more than anything else he had.

In his dreams, his legs do not reach as far as they do now. His calloused hands are smooth once more, and his eyes are wide and honest.

He is young once more, and it does not bring him ease.

He seeks out his mother, he yearns for comfort. She does not give it to him. He is met with the harsh sound of a slap resounding, and his cheek starts hurting. He's confused, and then-

Oh.

Right.

His eyes close, and they open again. He is now looking in the mirror, and he is back to the way he is now. He is standing there, and he cannot tell why he is. He looks the same, yet somehow unrecognisable. Mattheo knows himself well, but right now he feels as though there is a stranger in front of him. That can't be him, he thinks, but he has the same faded scar on his right eyebrow, and his jaw is clenched in the same way. His nose is slightly crooked from when he tried to mend his broken nose at the age of 8.

He meets his eyes in the mirror, and they stare back at him. There isn't that familiar gleam of exhaustion. There isn’t sadness, yet he isn't relieved to see it. He looks in the mirror, and he sees himself. He sees his father reflected in him.

He is watching, and a child approaches him. He is young, as Mattheo was. He barely manages to walk over without stumbling. He looks up at Mattheo - the one in the mirror. Mattheo looks down, but he does not see the kid next to him. He stares back at Mattheo in the mirror, and his reflection is looking down at the child. His stomach starts to hurt. His insides churn, and the reflection raises a hand. The child looks up at him, the same way Mattheo looked up at his mother. The hand comes down, and the harsh sound of a slap resounds throughout the room. The child cries. Mattheo's cheek hurts.

He wakes.

Gasping, sweat clinging to his forehead. His body is freezing, and his mind is reeling. His heart is pounding frantically, and he throws the blanket off him, rubbing a hand over his face as he groans.

He couldn't sleep, He was terrified of trying to do so. His eyes flicker over to the clock on his wall.

2:00 am.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees the child looking up at his reflection in the mirror. He sees his reflection raising its hand. In the silence, he hears the sound of the slap, he hears the cries of the child. It mingles with his own, he cannot not tell whose is whose.

He gets up, slipping his hoodie on. His movements are groggy because even if his mind couldn't sleep, his body still needed it.

Then again, one more night of resorting to drinking himself to sleep and he wouldn't be sure if he would wake again. His feet lead him to your room before his mind registers it. He doesn't know why he's standing outside your door, but you were his friend. Perhaps, a closer friend than the rest of them. He knew you'd be up, and he needed to not be alone right now.

Mattheo was a very independent person most of the time, but now was not one of those times.

That terrible, incredibly human need comes back again.

His hand rests on the doorknob, the cool metal still warmer than his own skin. He hesitates, but he pushes the door open.

Your door was always open for him.

As he expected, you were awake. Stretched out on your bed, propped up on a few cushions as you read a book. Your eyes flicker up as you look over at Mattheo, the confusion on your face very quickly fading as you see the state he's in.

You do not say anything, and he is grateful. You put your book to the side. You do not slide over to the side and offer Mattheo a spot next to you like you always do. You instead, continue looking over at him. Instead, you open your arms. You do not say anything, and you beckon him over.

He does not move immediately. He gazes at you for a second and once again, his feet move, and he gravitates towards you before his mind can even compute what he’s doing. The mattress squeaks slightly under your combined weight, as he comes over. He lowers down onto you, his head resting on your chest as he wraps his arms around your midsection. You cradle him as though he was the most delicate thing on earth. His cold skin meets yours, and its intransigence wavers.

He warms, and it is the most beautiful feeling.

He clings to you, as though trying to merge his existence with yours, afraid you'll slip away.

You hold him.

“I'm here,” You whisper.

It doesn't take long after that.

His head is hidden in your chest. Your fingers card through his brown curls.

You hold him.

He weeps.

You hold him.

You do not let go. He cries, and he cries till his throat is dry, and your shirt is soaked. He cries, and not once does your hold on him waver.

You are not disgusted by him. You do not look at him differently. It is amidst those tears that he comes to the realisation that he did not have to search very far. He is not just seeking comfort; he's holding onto the love and acceptance he's always craved. The raw, unfiltered emotion takes him by surprise, and he lets it wash over him. He did not cower under his own vulnerability any more, no, for his vulnerability is both liberating and overwhelming.

His sobs gradually subside, and your hold only loosens slightly when his body no longer shakes with the weight of his emotions. The feeling in his throat is gone.

He doesn't look up at you, but it's okay. You still look at him the same way. Your lips press a tender kiss against his messy hair lightly. His arms wrap around you tighter. You both remain silent. You don’t need to speak the words, because Mattheo knows.

Everything would be okay, if only for tonight.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.

Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.

(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)

The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.

At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.

(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)

On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.

The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.

(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)

You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.

The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?

He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.

(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)

The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.

(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)

You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.

.

[love-toxin]

bonus night - mike schmidt

plot: jk it's just por-//SHOT

(cws: fem!reader, FNAF movie spoilers!!!, rough sex, riding, begging, a teeny tiny taste of dom mike, tit sucking, bruising, protected sex w/ a twist, post-fnaf canon, established relationship)

wc: 2k

There's absolutely no question that it's been a long fucking day. One of many, in fact, both behind him and yet to come.

Aside from his sleep schedule still being tremendously fucked from that five night ordeal, Mike's also had the stress of landing a new job and keeping it this time. He's lucky–god, he's lucky that an old friend of his just happened to have a connection–but that just puts more pressure on his ability to keep a level head and not lose this one. Plus, with his meds cut out as well as a whole host of new traumas to keep him up at night it's almost more stressful than fighting for his own life. With today being the end of orientation and the first real shift on the job, it's finally sinking in that a new chapter of life has started but his problems are still an uphill battle.

Bills, backpay, rent, Abby's therapy, pacifying their aunt who was quite aghast at waking up disheveled on their living room floor…it's been a process to say the least. His one saving grace has been you. You. His beautiful, gentle angel, with a voice like sugar and honey and skin as soft as velvet, warm like a shallow pool on a summer's day that he'd want to float in for hours. You're so precious he can't think of a single thing he's done in life that tops being your lover, or even comes close.

Well…maybe there's one thing.

“Mike,” The squeaking of the bed beneath you just barely drowns out the high, sweet whimper that your voice has melted into. “Please baby, slow down-”

A squeaky “ah!” flies from your mouth regardless of that insistent plea, your lover's hips like stone pistons as he bucks up and topples you over to land back against his chest. He loves you there; the feeling of your tits squished against his chest as he holds your ass in an iron grip. Thumbs dig into each cheek, palms splayed out to keep you spread but still in your place–stretched enough to take him but tight enough not to let him slip out. Not even now, an hour after he carried you through the door over his shoulder, when his spit and cum and sweat have coalesced into a damp sheen spilling over his lap. Fuck the mess. He'll clean it up later, if he doesn't just throw his whole bundle of sheets into the wash to scrub away the evidence.

Each thump, thump, thump of your body thrown down rings more in your ears than his, but both of you feel it equally. Your womb kissed with hard, stinging passion on every thrust, and Mike's stomach twisting and flexing as his cockhead beats that spot raw, instincts begging him to drain all he has left inside. He's got lots of pent-up energy to spare, and on the one night that his sister's gone to a sleepover you can bet he took the chance to let some of it out. He'd barely had time to grab a condom–as eager as he was, it pales in comparison to the heat between your thighs when you see him get all riled up. If he'd let you put it on for him, you'd probably have it off in a second. Now he's just at the mercy of your needy and downright addictive pussy.

“Fuck!” Your mewls shift into a spitting, hissing curse when he bites down on one of those beautiful breasts of yours. Unlike what a weaker man would do, Mike isn't averse to leaving bruises–what else could be expected? He tries to be a gentleman in public and you always tell him he is, but the desire to put hands all over those pretty tits and mark his claim on them is second nature now. And no matter how much you'll complain about them being sore afterwards, you'll still push them in his face with that devilish look that's daring him to do it all over again.

Besides, he can't resist those things swinging right in front of him. And you'll forget the sting so quickly, his tongue will make short work of those shallow wounds you feel as he latches his lips and starts to suck. Greedily.

“Mike!”

Your hands in his hair won't stop him. But they don't really want to–as always you love to tug but you never push him back, you don't try to get any more space between you because what's already there is still not close enough.

God your whiny voice is so cute. He couldn't feel more lucky to have picked you up when he did. How would he know that the girl he helped out once for an ice cream would end up being his girlfriend? He just thought you were cute, and he felt bad seeing your face fall as you counted out your change in line, so he hadn't thought twice about the dollar he put down on the counter in your stead. Such an adorable little ditz, and now he's got you riding his lap and kissing him awake nearly every morning. If he wanted to catch a break, this is it.

“M-Mike, m'gonna cum,” Your whimpers dig into his ear and tug at the strings of his heart, his head already turned to soothe you with a low, soft shush brushed by your cheek. There there. With a stroke of your hair, you're melting again.

“Mhm,” He hums again, his warmth a lull following the furious heat that's been sparked by the friction of his hips pumping at a violent pace. “Shh, sh sh. We’ll go slow, I promise.” His murmuring muddies your head, his fingers descending quickly towards their destination. Once they reach it at the crest of your soft, pudgy mound that's been brutalized by his cock, he's glad to see you finally let that tension go as you slump forward into his chest. You just need to cling to him for awhile, and he certainly won't be complaining.

The smell of your sweat, your heat, your sleek, soft tongue wetting the bruises your teeth leave in his throat, all that whining and groaning and high, girlish squealing as your hips hump his lap–these and more are all reasons he has to absolutely worship you. Your starry-eyed gaze as you look upon him in ecstasy etches itself into his very soul. He won't ever forget this…he won't ever forget you. Not the warmth of you both being cheek-to-cheek, your hand coaxing out his end as it trails reverently from his jaw down his heaving chest.

“Pleeeeease,” You whisper, so achingly sweet he could cry as easily as cum. “Please, baby?”

Please. Such a pretty word. Prettier from your mouth most of all, so pretty it hurts–nearly stings as he digs his nails in and leaves marks on each cheek, though it will moreso for you when you wince at sitting down at your desk tomorrow morning. You're shaking, trembling more like, and even if he made you wait for it you wouldn't be able to obey. The spasms wracking through you can't be controlled, nor can the grind of your hips down as you let those strong hands drag you all the way to the base. So far that it causes a twinge in your expression as the orgasm passes, your ecstasy blotting out the stretch that you're gonna feel all the way up to your hips in the morning.

But he's got to get in deep, has to make it ache, so he's got a grip so firm it's trembling up his arms and you're shaking even harder on top of him as he digs in and lets loose. There's no question he's hit your womb, it's more curious to whether he's broken through it or not…by the way you bite down on his shoulder and bear the pressure, though, he must be nearly there. Nearly squeezing through that tight, tight wall so he's draining his seed right where it's meant to be. And you paw at him all the while, lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill, yet you won't let up on rubbing yourself back on his thighs–it just isn't enough until you've taken all he has to give, and even then he can spot that gleam in your eyes that begs for even more. The fact that the condom's split isn't even in his mind, it's floated so far away he won't think of it until it's too late to stop.

Yet all that heat hits the same end after the climax. The friction subsides, the breathing slows, and the two of you are left in content silence as you quietly come back to your senses. There's something even more intimate about losing oneself as a collective; being so hedonistic in pursuing an indulgence, yet facing the fear of baring your own heart to one you love in the process, and reaching an even more satisfying end as it all comes to a close. It's glorious. He wouldn't trade it for anything. He wouldn't trade sex for his own life now that he's had it with you. But, again, he's still coming down from the high–he’ll most certainly feel the embarrassment of losing himself so indulgently as the cool air from the AC starts setting in.

“Was that good, baby?” Your tone just drips with deliciously sinful innocence, god. You've got such a proud expression on your face as he finds the words through his post-coital haze, hands inching back down your ass to grab handfuls of it yet again. Once he's got a grip he tugs, and draws you closer to meet you in a kiss–and as wet as it still is from the exercise, the way you lean into it and giggle is just enough to send his heart burning into passionate flames yet again.

“Very. Always is.” Panting, sweaty, he'd have no trouble convincing the neighbors he was just having it out on a treadmill for the last hour. If he could afford one.

“The best you've ever had?”

“Best. Best and only. Can I get up now?”

“Mmm…” You make a show of thinking up your answer only to tap him on the nose as you lean forward over him. “...No. I like this.”

Mike claps you on the ass suddenly, the smack echoing loudly in his modest little bedroom and eliciting a squeal from you that's just as punctual. Your squirming only draws a heat up inside him again though, and he knows better than anyone that that's exactly what you want. You'd be happy if he never got out of bed again, and if he spent all day with his cock nestled nice and warm inside you.

“Up. I gotta piss. Don't make me count.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” Huffy and puffy as always, you soon relent and slip off with a bit of manoeuvring to flop into bed beside him. “Can I at least hold it?” Rather than say something equally as shameful, he just pushes his pillow over your face with reddened cheeks and ducks with laughter as you launch it back at him, already up and on his way to the bathroom to wash off–and to soon find the evidence of that broken contraception that's definitely gonna plant a seed of worry in him when he realizes. Or…maybe not. God knows how many jokes you've made about wasting his cumshots in your mouth, and how often you've jumped him with no inkling of whether he's got a rubber in reach or not.

Maybe this is just another chapter of life, one more stage he's been readying himself for unconsciously. Whatever it comes with, he's gonna be beside you either way–so in a sense, he's more prepared than he's ever been to face what lies ahead.

[chikaras-garden]

Aftercare

Sometimes, when smut gets intense, we need a reminder that we’re still safe and loved. Read this if you need a safe space after heavy smut with your F/O.

Pairing: your fave x fem!reader

Words: 1.1k

Contains: unnamed male!F/O, implied sub!reader, mentions of overstim and rough sex, aftercare, cuddles, sweet nothings, praise, doting, mushy relationship stuff, F/O calls R “sweetheart,” “honey,” “baby girl,” and “good girl,” your F/O is called “partner” so you can decide if it’s husband/boyfriend/etc.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Feel free to tell me who you imagine while you’re reading ❤️

You’re sticky, hot with sweat, and your lungs struggle to fill with air. Your eyes squeeze shut as you wriggle against the bedsheets, trying to find comfort through the thick of your own overstimulated arousal. Though your body feels numb, you’re aware of a dull ache in the back of your mind, but you can’t tell if it’s mental, physical, or both. All you know is that you just spent what felt like hours at his mercy, and that turned you into a weeping mess with a throbbing core and limbs too heavy to move.

There’s a soft sound that echoes around the room, circling you; it’s a shush, a hum, a coo that sounds an awful lot like your name said in your favorite person’s voice. You sense him before you really feel him; it takes your brain a few seconds to realize that he’s leaning over you, hands caressing up and down your sides, and speaking to you in a soft voice, using words you can’t understand.

He takes your hands with the gentlest of fingers, nuzzles each of your palms, and presses a tender kiss to each wrist. The feeling lingers like a slow-moving cloud on a summer’s day, and the tightness in your chest loosens at the sensation. You take deep breaths in—one, two, three—and fill your lungs with warm, light air.

When you open your eyes, he’s smiling at you. “Hi, sweetheart. Feelin’ okay?”

“Mn,” you half-moan, half-grunt. Though your bones ache and your skin is sore, you gather all of your remaining strength to reach for his shoulders, to hoist yourself up to latch onto him and never let go. All you can think about is how you need him, the touch of his skin, the whisper of his praise. But, he sways out of your grasp.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, grinning. “Water first.”

Biting your lip to hold back your pout, you think of phrases spoken in his domineering timbre: ‘be good for me,’ ‘tell me—tell me what you want,’ ‘good girls do as they’re told.’

Looking away, you mumble. “I need you.”

He cups your face with one hand, tilting your chin so he can see you. You can’t—don’t want to—resist, so you feel the weight of his eyes locked on yours while he reaches behind him, toward the bedside table. “You’ve got me, honey; I’m not going anywhere. ‘M right here. We’re all done. You’re safe.”

The cool glass of your water bottle meets your palms. It’s uncapped already, and you feel his hand resting on the small of your back. His fingers work into each muscle, and you only now realize how tense your posture is. 

“Need my help?” His doting eyes watching you with a worry that’s so ‘him,’ your heart flutters back to life. You shake your head, and he acquiesces; instead, he occupies himself with pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your bare shoulders.

It takes a moment for you to raise the bottle and drink. You close your eyes while a slow stream of water flows down your throat. Like the leaves of a dormant plant, you unfurl as water reaches through you. Life returns to your arms, your legs, your fingers, your toes. Even in your mind, the fog of your just-finished session begins to part, and the afterglow of your partner’s love for you is what shines through.

You take another deep breath while you lower the water bottle to your lap. Weighing the half-full container between your hands, you notice the tremble in your lip and a persistent ache in your wrists and shoulders, a chill in your bones that just now registers.

There’s a blanket waiting for you, warm from his body and smelling like his shampoo. Strong arms reach behind you, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cape. He joins its ends under your chin, smooths his fingers over the marks a different version of himself left behind on your neck.

Compared to you, he has a significant lack of coverage. Bare-chested and wearing only a pair of quickly-donned boxers, you realize he must be cold, too. “You—”

He cuts you off with an over-pronounced smooch to your cheek. “Don’t worry about me for now, ‘kay? I wanna get you cozy first.”

You give him an uncertain look, to which he just chuckles. It’s a quiet noise, like the purr of a cat; then, he leans close, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “Taking care of you makes me feel better.”

“Love you,” you murmur in response.

A sound that lives at the intersection of a shuddering breath and a delighted laugh leaves his mouth while he wraps his arms around your waist. He leans, shifting onto his hip, and tugs you effortlessly into his lap. “You did so good for me, honey. You’re the best girl, my perfect sweetheart, doing everything I asked and more. Where’d I find someone like you?”

You muster the energy for a dreamy half-smile. “I found you, remember?”

His next words flow out of his mouth without hesitation, as if he isn’t in control of them at all. “You saved me, baby girl.”

“From yourself?” You grin. “I think I’ve heard this one.”

Then, you wind your blanket-wrapped arms around his chest and nuzzle into his shoulder. It’s his turn to let out a dreamy sigh; leaning back against the headboard, he plucks your water bottle from you and takes a sip, beginning the ritual of taking care of himself, now that he’s certain you’re safe, drifting peacefully through the warmth of your bond.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Such a beautiful, perfect thing.”

“‘M yours,” you counter amidst peppering baby kisses along his jaw. 

He swallows under your lips, and his hand finds your hip to squeeze. “No, sweetheart; you’re your own. You’re just sharing yourself with me, trusting me, and I…” He gives you a serious look. “Thank you, for that.”

So gently that you barely feel him, he taps the underside of your chin, guiding you upward to kiss him. His mouth is open, but not wanting; with how slowly his lips move, it’s almost like he’s baring his belly to you, showing you where he’s most vulnerable as his way of reciprocating what you just did for him.

“Love you,” you repeat in a whisper.

“Love you,” comes his echo.

Somewhere outside of this room, in a bathroom that’s just a few steps and too far away all at once, there’s a scented bath and silky lotion waiting for you—both of you. But that’s just the thing; it’s waiting, and it can wait a little longer, because all you need for now is to remain here, at peace and entangled with the man who loves you like no one else can.

[sehtoast]

He Likes You Like This (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | Soft homie smut, riding. Gender Neutral Reader | Fic Directory

He likes you like this.

Straddling his lap. Smiling down at him as your thumbs stroke his cheekbones, fingers scritching just at the nape of his neck.

He sighs deeply, head lolling back, neck exposed. If he were a creature of prey, he’d be dead. If you were a predator, fangs sharp and serrated, he would be fully at your mercy. Perhaps that’s why he likes this so much.

Knowing you would never, ever hurt him. Your touch is love. It is kindness, warmth, and acceptance in droves– and, god… it’s everything to him.

You are everything to him.

You are the beauty in every sunrise. In his eyes, you glow more beautifully than the moon. You are a fresh summer breeze gracing him, blowing softly through his hair and kissing at his cheeks. You are the vibrancy of springtime flowers. The soothing sight of snow cascading past streetlights.

Once upon a time, Copernicus theorized that the sun was the center of the entire universe. He was wrong, of course, but Homelander would wager that it is actually you who holds it all together.

He’d bet his life on it.

His eyes flutter shut when not fangs, but soft lips press to his neck. Those soothing strokes of your thumbs trail up to his temples and he feels weightless under you.

He feels no shame in letting a smile creep onto his face. Does nothing to hide the breathy little giggle that slips from between his lips. He knows you love it.

There’s only so much of this tenderness he can take before he’s hardening. He feels your smirk against his skin, and he knows you know.

His hands travel down your back to your hips, rocking you against his need.

You kiss him to muffle your moan. Your hands snake down to undo his belt, tossing it to the side. Hips press up against you, and it’s not long before you’ve got his cock free and yourself stripped enough to take him.

He slides in like it’s his home. Like your heat was made for him, and he for you. He gazes up at you with hazy eyes and a lazy grin, faltering only when you start to move.

You ride him slowly for a time, preferring instead to watch each little twitch of his face, hear every little breath. His hands are under your shirt, palms pressed against your flesh.

He wants to feel every bit of you that he possibly can. Each time you sink down on his cock, he tries to bury his face in your neck until you finally get the hint and let him. He breathes deep, letting the scent of you overtake his senses until all there is, all there ever will be is you.

His breaths are hot and heavy, whimpers barely muffed against your skin. His tongue darts out to lave over you, tasting you down to the most base chemical level. He whines, tells you he’s close just as his hand snakes down to finish you off.

When you come on his cock, he swears he sees stars.

The air leaves his body, his muscles lock, and he howls your name against your neck. He kisses and laps at where he’s nibbled marks, promising more. Homelander holds you through the quakes of your orgasm, thrusting up into your pulsing heat as he paints your walls with proof of his love.

Oh, how you glow above him. You are more than all the stars could ever hope to be.

He holds you there. Stays inside you, runs his hands up and down your back. Whispers in your ear how perfect you are, how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have you.

In times like these especially, he’s not afraid to tell you what’s in his heart.

You nuzzle his nose with yours once you finally come down, leaning back just a smidge to gaze at him. His eyes are so soft, twinkling with adoration and appreciation. It stirs the feeling of butterflies inside, and you shine brilliantly as you smile once more.

He likes knowing he’s the reason for it.

“I love you,” you tell him.

He likes having you so close.

He likes knowing you’ll be the last thing he sees before he sleeps, and the first thing when he wakes.

“I love you…”

He likes that you love him just as much as he loves you.

[koqabear]

hiiii hope ur doing well !! this is for the "the magic is yours" portion of the 2k event: ot5 with an oral fixation that's so bad giving pleasure turns them on more than receiving pleasure.

[2K Masterlist]

ot5 x fem!reader // wc: 2.7K ; around 500 per member //genre: established relationship, smut, MDNI.

warnings: service top! txt // yj: dom!yj, sub!mc, oral (f. rec and allusions to m. rec), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, car sex, semi-public sex // sb: no established dom/sub dynamics, marking, insinuated free use and somnophilia (consensual), oral, (f. rec)  breast play // bg: switch!gyu, switch!mc, oral (f rec), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dry humping, hair pulling, (m. rec) pet names, (baby, puppy) name calling, (bitch) unprotected sex, creampie // th: dom!tyun, sub!mc, oral, (f. rec), praise kink, face sitting // hk: no established dom/sub dynamics, oral, (f. & m. rec) breast play, biting, cum eating, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare

notes: yes i know i said i was in a disastrous tyun mood and i still am, i always am, (hence the header) but then i remembered this ask and couldn’t stop thinking about txt who can’t survive a day without tasting you. Service tops will forever have my heart, thank you for this anon… you know me too well <3 (barely edited haha...)

[Yeonjun]

Yeonjun isn’t really sure when this happened— when he realized that he’d rather spend his time in between your legs rather than the other way around; he was always more inclined to receive than give in his past relationships, claiming to be addicted to the sight of his partners struggling to take him in, teary eyes and drooly face determined to make him feel good— and yeah, that’s nice and all, but Yeonjun knew he was a goner the moment he first went down on you. 

Sweet whimpers, thighs that shake around his head and threaten to close in on him, your restless body that writhes and arches against the sheets— fuck, he swore he almost came untouched the first time you had sex, eyes widening at the feeling of your shaky fingers threading into his hair and pulling him closer to your sopping cunt, grinding against him with breathless whines of his name— and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you, even when you were shaking and crying from the overstimulation, cooing softly that he’s just trying to prep you, that you can handle one more— but that’s a lie and he knew that, much too obsessed with seeing you fall apart on his tongue again to care if you believed him. 

And after months of begging to go down on you practically every hour of every day, Yeonjun finally decided to accept the harrowing truth; he’d much rather give you pleasure than receive it at all, and he’d spend eternity in between your thighs if he could— and you, well you’re not complaining at all. If anything, you took your chance to give him a taste of his own medicine and tease him relentlessly, your wardrobe piling with cute dresses and skirts that you were ready to unleash the moment summer came around. 

And when the season finally came… oh, Yeonjun was a goner. Almost popping a boner the moment he saw you come out of your home for the picnic the two of you planned out, donned in a pretty sundress that hugged and exposed your body perfectly— he almost crashed the car when he glanced over at you and noticed the way the skirt hiked up to expose the soft, smooth skin of your thighs to him.

You expected this outcome, really; unable to make it out of the car as he pulled you to the backseat of his car, spending a good thirty minutes laying on his seats and left to his mercy before you finally emerged with shaky legs, hand placed daintily on his shoulder as he guided you up the hill, one hand placed on the small of your back and the basket in the other, talking your head off about who-knows-what while you tried to pretend you hadn’t just been given some of the best head of your life. 

Yeonjun tops it easily the moment you’re settling down— he doesn’t even bother to eat before his head finds itself under your dress, licking at your clothed cunt because of how desperate he is to finish what he started— by the time he’s finally satiated, you’re entirely spent, face flushed at the way he tells you to take a nap, patting your head fondly as he shakes his head at your offers to return the favor. 

You think you’ll wear sundresses more often. 

[Soobin]

Soobin is someone who is simply unashamed of the fact that he needs to have something in his mouth 24/7. It was a cute habit that endeared you when you first met him, always spotting a lollipop in his mouth every time you saw him, whether that be on his walk to class or while he was studying— he kept a bag of it in his book bag, he told you, ears tinged with embarrassment as you laughed and cooed about how cute he was. 

Inevitably, that habit transferred seamlessly into your relationship; you didn’t think much of it, at first— to you, he was simply overly affectionate, unfazed of the way he constantly begged you for kisses, sweet tongue slipping into your mouth and messily making out with you for hours— lazily cuddling on the couch, a big hand on the swell of your ass as he kept you still, swollen and sensitive lips still pressing messy pecks against yours as you whined that you had to go to the bathroom, or you had an assignment that you needed to work on— you could never get out of his arms without hearing his incessant whines telling you not to go.

But as your relationship progressed and you slowly began to get touchier, that habit of his became more of an inconvenience to you— leaving splotchy marks on your neck without you noticing, nights where you would fall asleep with his head tucked into the crook of your neck ending with you shifting in the odd hours of the night, feeling Soobin’s pouty lips sucking and kissing at the canvas of your neck absentmindedly— and you’d have to spend a good chunk of your mornings attempting to conceal the mess he left on you, your apologetic and sleepy boyfriend clinging to you in the bathroom as he whined and whined about how sorry he was— but you really doubted it. 

So was it really much of a surprise when Soobin finally confessed his oral fixation to you with a red, flustered face? It truly wasn’t, but seeing him confide in you about it allowed him to find himself in what he liked to call his personal paradise�� in other words, the interesting little arrangement the two of you conjured up. 

One pouty look from your boyfriend was enough to have you rolling your eyes fondly and tugging your shorts off— scrolling on your phone while Soobin’s hair brushed against your inner thighs, soft lips sucking and pulling your swollen clit into his mouth as he ran his tongue along it, moaning into your cunt that only clenched around nothing pathetically— waking up in the mornings to see your boyfriend had already begun to make himself busy, legs thrown over his broad shoulders and button nose pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and slurped at your arousal desperately. Movie nights where you were innocently cuddled on the couch turning into you trying your best to focus on the movie while Soobin bit and suckled at your breasts, trying to hold back tears at the way he left them bruised and sensitive afterwards— and if you shed a few stray ones and scolded Soobin to give you a break, he didn’t really mind— he was more than happy to move onto your lips or cunt instead. 

[Beomgyu]

Beomgyu, who moans like crazy whenever he eats you out, messy and desperate and nasty that you’re unable to keep up with him, helpless against his hold as he merely throws your legs over his shoulders, practically pressing your thighs against your stomach from the way his hands remain on the underside to caress your skin, all in a feeble attempt to get closer to you— and it wasn’t as though it made much of a difference, his face already pressed firmly against your pussy and his hips rutting into the mattress as he brought you to countless orgasms, always telling you “one more, just one more baby,” but lying like the little sadist he is, holding you down and not letting you squirm away as he brought you to tears practically every night. 

“What? I just think you look hot when I go down on you,” is what he tells you when you try to question why he just can’t stop asking you if he can eat you out, giving you an innocent and puppy eyed look— but you know it’s more than that, always used to your previous partners treating eating you out like a chore— and you weren’t exactly oblivious to the times where he’s been so lost in your cunt he could only hump into the mattress pathetically, moaning breathily into your cunt and setting a pace that matched the way he was fucking desperately into the sheets— and if Beomgyu thought you didn’t pick up on the many times he was able to cum from that alone, whining against your pussy and soiling his boxers completely, he was sorely mistaken. 

This front of his was quickly beginning to irritate you; exasperatedly shaking your head whenever you’d have to tell Beomgyu no, you can’t eat me out under the table right now. Finish your food, and having to deal with his predictable pouts and whines pleading you to just give in.

So when you inevitably find Beomgyu between your thighs once more, you decide to test something out— watching with lidded eyes as he takes his time running his tongue along your slit, circling your clit and licking at it softly, eyes closed with bliss— and your hand is sneaking down to tangle in his long hair the moment you notice his hips beginning to grind, getting a good grip and tugging harshly; the broken moan Beomgyu lets out at the pain tells you all you need to know. 

“Fuck, desperate puppy just can’t get enough, hmm?” you coo out, his glassy eyes looking up at you and nodding, face twisted in a wince as you tug again— and he whines, hands rubbing your thighs sweetly as he pleads for you to let him keep going, to let you feel good. 

“Y’want it that bad?” you ask indifferently, throwing your leg leisurely over his shoulder and watching his face heat up, eventually giving you a small nod, “Fine. But I don’t want to see you humping the bed like a pathetic bitch.” and you’re shoving him back into your dripping cunt, feeling him move feverishly against you with every tug of his hair— and while he follows your orders nicely, the night ends with him almost crying the moment you tell him to fuck you; so immersed in making you feel good over and over that he neglected his throbbing and leaking cock, cumming pathetically the moment he sinks into you— and his lips latch onto your neck with every broken sob of his, leaving you to wonder if your cunt is really the only thing he likes to have his mouth on.

[Taehyun]

This man thinks he’s slick. Is in absolute denial that he has an oral fixation of any sort, just believes that it’s just because you’re really hot and he simply wants to make you feel good. He’s never experienced this with any of his other partners, so why should he care? It must stem from the dynamic the two of you have— his need to pleasure you like crazy, that is. There’s just something about you that raised his sex drive beyond comprehensible limits, and he just found it even hotter that you willingly took anything he gave you; multiple rounds? Sure, you can handle it. Being rough with you? You’re into that, you’ll take whatever he tries on you. Whatever he springs up on you, you take it like it’s nothing, rewarding him with your sweet sounds and pretty faces he ingrains into his mind. 

So the first time Taehyun eats you out, he’s hooked— your taste is so addicting and you sound so pretty, round eyes looking up between your legs to catch the way your face flushes and your mouth falls open, legs jumping and closing in on his head, threatening to suffocate him. Your hips buck up and your clit bumps against his nose when you cum, making you keen in a way that almost has Taehyun spilling in his sweatpants then and there; your nimble fingers run through his hair absentmindedly, spilling praises and sighs of his name that drive him mad. 

Fuck—! So— s-so good, so good to me tyunnie– ah! Hah, ughhh fuck, just– just like that, god, Taehyun—! 

Was it really unreasonable for him to want to eat you out every second of the day if you sounded like that? Taehyun doesn’t think so. 

Thus begins the absolute agony that is Taehyun asking if he can just please, please give you head, trying to disguise it under reasons that at some point, stop making sense. 

You look really good in that skirt— can he give you head? Oh, you’re studying, you should take a break. Can he give you head? You’re restless, unable to sleep, tossing and turning and sighing desperately— and he turns to you, startling you because what the fuck I thought you were asleep, pushing past your surprise to tell you that sex can help tire you out and sleep. Can I give you head? 

Practically jumps with joy on the days you actually agree, going down on you then and there, no matter the circumstance— dropping to his knees in the kitchen, throwing your legs over his shoulders on the couch, laying on the bed and telling you to sit on his face with bright, sparkling eyes— and he enjoys it just as much as he did the first time, letting you fuck yourself on his tongue and sucking on your clit with his swollen lips, staring at you with eyes of adoration and need each time; he doesn’t even care if he gets to fuck you at the end of it, (though that’s always a plus) all he wants to do is watch his favorite girl cum on his face. 

[Hueningkai]

This man. Can— and does— spend hours at a time between your legs; he just loves to have his mouth on you, loves to lay down on the bed, on his stomach as he lazily licks at your clit, wanting to take things slow as you run your fingers through his hair and sigh about how good it feels. Will be in bliss as he eats your pussy, eyes shut and pretty nose bumping against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, large hands placed on your tummy and rubbing it fondly because he just can’t get enough of you— he’s infatuated with you, with your soft skin and the way you moan out his name, not even searching for his own pleasure as he solely focuses on yours. 

It’s become routine for you two at this point; running to you when he’s had a bad day, wanting nothing more than to kiss you and use you as his cute little destresser. Starting it off with slow kisses, feeling the way he moves along your jawline and down your neck, lifting your shirt up to expose your breasts— and he spends quite a while there too, watching your nipples grow stiff and sensitive from the attention he give them, biting teasingly and listening to the way you squeal at the feeling— and of course, it all ends with his head between your legs, peppering kisses along your inner thighs and on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses on it as he watches you squirm and whine for him not to tease. 

Kai, who gets drunk off your pussy and doesn’t even expect you to return the favor, genuinely surprised whenever you ask him if you can suck his dick or if he can please, please please just fuck you already. And he says yes, bending to your will and giving in to your puppy eyes that are glassy with desire; he’ll be mesmerized at the way you allow him to cum in your mouth, releasing so much that you can’t help but let it bead at the corners of your lips— and Kai is quick to bring you up for a kiss, messy tongues tangling together as he groans at the taste of his lingering cum on your mouth— or pulling out immediately on the nights where he’s fucked you to the point of exhaustion, looking down to see your cunt that drips with the multiple releases of his cum, unable to even protest the moment you see him spreading your folds gently and swooping down to clean you up; warm tongue running along your slit, curling inside you before he’s circling your clit, flicking gently as he listens to the way you mewl and cry at the overstimulation.

Kai, who’s not just obsessed with your cunt, but is also obsessed with you, never failing to pamper and coddle you endlessly, telling you how good you were for him with a fond smile, kissing your cheeks and tasting the salty tears that cling to your skin.