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simpingforstardew · 30 days

Note

a mini cozy harvey smut would be amazing if possible ❤️ 🤭

no pressure of course!

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: one mini cozy harvey smut, coming right up~ just some fluffy smut, pretty much no plot ♡ i really hope you like it !!

warnings: 18+ smut (minors dni), reader is described as having a vagina, oral sex (reader receiving).

word count: 1.3k

Sparrows chirp outside as rays of the spring sunrise filter through your sheer curtains, casting a golden glow into the room. Beneath the layers of yarn blankets enveloping the bed, you luxuriate in their comforting embrace, basking in the tranquillity of the early morning.

Beside you, Harvey stirs, stretching languidly while he haphazardly pushes the duvet off his body. As he arches his back slightly, the fabric of his white t-shirt obediently follows the movement, riding up to reveal a glimpse of his belly underneath and the happy trail that adorns his midsection. Your eyes follow the trail down to his green plaid boxers, hanging loosely on his hips.

“Darling, you’re staring.” Harvey whispered through a grin, his morning voice more gruff than usual; his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

You smile in spite of the blush that warms your cheeks, “I’m allowed, aren’t I?”

The doctor rubs his heavy eyes as a soft chuckle escapes his lips, “Shh, come here, you’re-,” A yawn interrupts him, “You’re so far away.”

“I’m only on my side of the bed, Harv,” You giggle, shuffling towards your boyfriend, “‘s not that far.”

He wraps you protectively in his arms, one hand lightly massaging your back while the other finds itself on the back of your head, pushing you comfortably into the warmth of his chest. Harvey’s chypre scent was just as comforting as the embrace. Your calloused fingers trace shapes into the skin under his t-shirt, trying to remember where each mole and freckle is.

“I love you, y’know?” You whisper, looking up at him as another smile tugs on his lips.

“Of course, I just hope you know that I love you more.” He kisses your forehead. You still weren’t used to the tickle of his moustache.

You reach a hand up to caress his soft cheeks, while his viridescent eyes scan your face— as if he was memorising every feature. Harvey’s strong arms pull you impossibly closer as you stare at his mouth, your thumb delicately brushes along his lower lip.

Before you could tease him for the flush that was quickly colouring his cheeks, he leans down to kiss you.

His lips, soft and yielding, already carried the faint taste of coffee; it was intoxicating. A soft whine escaped his lips as you threaded your fingers through his dark hair, still tousled from sleep. Touching him feels like heaven; tasting him is like indulging in a forbidden fruit. It was the kind of adoration that devotees created worship for.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until this moment, a moment in which you two are the only people awake in the valley. Every sensation seems to converge into a single, overwhelming need for closeness.

Harvey’s large hand moves down to your thigh as it rests on his hip, tugging you desperately towards him, as he deepens the kiss. This kiss is nothing like your first just weeks ago: a gentle, yet nervous confession. This is carnally unrestrained; honest.

“Please I-,” the whispered plea slips out of your kiss bitten lips.

“Fucking insatiable,” Harvey chuckles softly, his lips still brushing against your own, before rolling to cage you between his arms. With your back now pressed against the plush sheets, Harvey took the opportunity to tug off his wrinkled t-shirt, fumbling with the hem before discarding it on the floor. With anybody else, at any other time in his life, perhaps he would have been too insecure to do so.

Harvey’s large frame hovers over you, his hand gentle on your neck as he leans in close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers; you feel the warmth of his breath caress your ear, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me here— Please, I…” you beg, voice reduced to a hoarse whisper, “I need you, Harvey.”

He kisses down your neck, nipping just to see you squirm, as his hand caresses your chest beneath your t-shirt.

“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate,” he continues to praise you between kisses, marking your most sensitive areas as he makes his way down your body, “So pretty.”

As he shuffles down the bed, he lifts up your t-shirt to kiss your belly— blowing the occasionally raspberry in response to your embarrassed whines. You look down to see him comfortably snug underneath the duvet, kissing your inner thighs with delicate reverence before meeting your gaze.

“Hi.” he smiles, chuckling as he looks at you longingly.

“Hi.” you respond breathlessly, stroking the brunette waves of his hair. You involuntarily tighten your grasp when you feel the warmth of his breathe tease your clothed pussy; a sinful moan escapes his lips in response.

“Careful, darling,” Harvey exhales, “You don’t want me to come that fast, do you?”

Your breath hitches as you hopelessly buck your hips, feeling both of Harvey’s large hands reach to grab your ass “N-no, fuck— sorry.”

Your wetness soaks through your underwear as you feel Harvey’s deft fingers rub slow circles on your clit; his other hand moving to diligently massage your tense hips. Despite the doctor’s dominant act, you could feel him grinding against the soft mattress as he pants pathetically. He glances up with puppy dog eyes, through the hair that had cascaded down his face, to watch for your reactions.

“Do you-,” you whimper, interrupted by the increasing speed of your boyfriend’s fingers, “Do you want to fuck me, puppy?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything,” Harvey sits up, tugging off your underwear, “but right now, I need to taste you.”

Harvey is quick to begin lapping up your juices, occasionally moaning to send vibrations through your sensitive cunt. He is committed to satisfying every inch of your sex so much it almost overstimulates you. His hot mouth, his coarse moustache, his wet tongue, all determined to make you climax.

“So gorgeous for me like this, darling,” Harvey gasps; all you can do— all you want to do— is whimper and moan as you weakly grind against his face.

Slowly, he pushes two fingers inside you— the mess of your anticipation from Harvey’s unrelenting praise making the perfect lube. The delectable stretch just barely satisfies the heavy ache in your pussy; so you roll your hips in time with his digits as they slide in and out, hitting just the right spot. With his fingers fucking you, he continued to eat you out like a man starved. You spread your legs further when he pulls you closer to his face, resting one thigh on Harvey’s shoulder.

“Mmm, p-please.. Fuck—” your moans were becoming unintelligible, your boyfriend’s ministrations unravelling you completely, “Please, Harv’— I’m so close.”

Snapping your hips back and forth, Harvey’s nose nudges against your clit as he groans beneath you; you quickly came undone. As you stumble blissfully towards your release, your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls slack; wanton cries fill the room. You feel your legs continue to shake when Harvey pulls his fingers out, the absence of his touch making you whine.

“So good for me, I got you. There you go—,” Harvey soothes; as you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the sight of him sucking your juices from his fingers. His unwavering eye-contact leaving you breathless, “All for me.”

He makes his way back up the bed, bringing you back into his arms as you catch your breath; after a few moments, your light-headedness fades as you ground yourself in his embrace.

“Wait, Harv—” you mumble, “What time is it? You don’t have to be in the clinic today do you?”

“Shh, don’t you worry, Maru has everything sorted out for today,” he traces shapes in your back, almost lulling you back to sleep, “How about I get you some water while you go to the toilet, then I can make us some breakfast? Is that ok, honey?”

You nuzzle into his chest, nodding emphatically to his morning plans, “Sounds perfect.”

#sdv fanfic #stardew valley #sdv harvey #sdv x reader #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley x reader #sdv harvey x reader #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv x y/n #sdv harvey x y/n #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #smut #sdv harvey smut #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley harvey smut #ao3 writer #sdv

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 7 months

Text

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down.

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern.

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips.

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard.

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out.

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #no outbreak au #joel miller oneshot #the last of us oneshot #fuckyeahshorts

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auteurdelabre · 2 months

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As long as you want - Part 2 - Joel!Miller x f!Reader

pairing: Joel!Miller x f!Reader

words: 4.5k

Rating: PG13 (some adult themes)

Summary: You try to ignore the growing attraction you feel for Joel Miller as he shows you his softer side.

Tags: Enemies to friends/lovers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, mentions of pain medication, stubborn reader, Joel POV in parts, Tooth-Rotting sweetness in parts, allusions of male masturbation/fantasy, sexual tension, NO y/n.

a/n: Originally gonna be a one-shot but y'all wanted more and I can't say no to ya!

Dedicated to @katiexpunk once more because there's a good chance if she didn't reach out to me the other day, I was about to quit tumblr altogether.

part ONE here

------------

You wake with a start hours later. The blanket over you feels heavy and the ache in your ribs is sharp. You squirm to relieve the pressure and pause when the sound of light breathing reaches your ears.

You're not alone in your bed.

Your eyes crack open to see a familiar face tilted towards you. Eyes shut languidly, mouth parted, face slack with sleep.

Joel Miller.

Up this close you can see the bits of grey in his beard and moustache, the lines at the corner of his closed eyes, the gold of his skin.

His jacket is slung over yours on the chair and a quick glance down tells you he's taken off his boots and is sleeping on top of the covers. As you take this in you also see that your hand is clasped in his, fingers laced.

How did Joel fucking Miller end up in your bed? And how did your hand end up wrapped up in his?

You want to mull on this further but the acute ache in your ribs has started to throb. You let out a small whimper at the pain and like he's been shot Joel jerks his head up from the pillow, awake like a broad-shouldered bear, bleary -eyed and blinking. You drag your hand back from his loosened grip.

"You in pain?" Joel murmurs voice thick and mind fuzzy with sleep. He licks his dry lips, clearing his throat. "Need me to grab you another pill?"

The way he speaks is so casual, as if the two of you were lovers waking from a dreamy night together. So opposite to what you really are: two people who can barely stand each other.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bed, Miller?" You snap sharply.

Miller.

No more Joel. No more soft eyes and softer smile for him. As Joel suspected the pill did a number on you and you can't remember much. You don't remember begging him for a kiss and asking Joel to lay with you. You don't remember your murmured acknowledgement that you felt better with him nearby.

It's back to how it's always been.

Joel manages to swallow his disappointment before clamoring off the bed, hearing the cheap springs creak in your mattress as he does.

"Sorry about that," he says gruffly as he pulls on his boots. "Was just tired I guess."

"I'm sure your own bed is perfectly adequate," you snap, the pain making you even more irritable than usual. You hiss, holding your side. Joel frowns.

"I'll head out, just lemme grab you a pill first."

"Just g-"

"Quit it," Joel insists roughly. "You're in pain and this'll only take a sec."

His head is woozy from waking so abruptly. He blinks again before he spots your jeans on the floor. You watch him crouch down, pulling the small white pill from the pocket before he comes back to you, the small pill balanced on one wide fingertip.

"Take it," he instructs.

But you're in too much pain to move, to take it from him. You're also too proud to admit it, hating that he's already seen you in such a vulnerable state. You want him to leave so he doesn't witness more of your wincing and the way your face is gone sickly pale with perspiration beading at your forehead.

"Just leave it on the table."

"You need it now. I can see you're hurtin'."

"Joel just-"

He takes advantage of your mouth open in complaint, slipping his finger between your parted lips and placing the pill onto your tongue as your mouth closes around his forefinger in surprise.

The sensation of Joel's wide finger on your tongue startles you into silencing, lips quickly circling his digit. Joel forces his focus to your eyes, knowing if he sees your lips around his finger he's going to lose it.

You feel his heavy gaze on you as he towers above you standing next to the bed. You watch the way his eyes seem to grow darker.

"Swallow."

Your own pupils blow wide at the rasped order. He feels the soft of your tongue dabbing against the pad of his finger.You stare up at him in shock before you feel the pill being pressed to your tongue and only then do you swallow.

Satisfied Joel slides his finger out of your mouth before letting it rest on the plump flesh of your lower lip.

His eyes never leave yours.

"Frustratin' woman," Joel murmurs, finger lingering on your lower lip as he stares at you. Your cheeks heat as your eyelids flutter briefly.

Then suddenly he's walking away from you, his hand stretching before turning into a fist. You watch his tall form lope out of your bedroom and then he's gone from sight.

///

Kiss me again, Miller.

The words haunt him. The memory of your lips snagged between his own. The way you'd sighed as you snuggled up against him.

How is he supposed to forget that? How is he supposed to pretend things haven't changed?

He throws the front door open, thankful it's empty. Ellie must be at school. He goes to pour himself a drink, even though it's a bit early for it.

He can still feel your tongue against his finger, the way your mouth was so warm and wet and fuck... He's so hard he can't stand it.

He moves to his bedroom, his breathing labored as he shucks off his jeans and shirt, collapsing onto the bed with a growl.

He takes himself in hand and tries to picture you and your soft mouth. The mattress squeaks under him as he starts fisting himself to the memory of your murmured confession, to the sensation of your mouth under his.

I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Miller.

But it doesn't work, he can't get there no matter how much he strokes and focuses. You weren't yourself when you told him that. You weren't in your right mind when you kissed him. It doesn't feel right.

He lets himself go with a frustrated growl. And even as he pulls his clothes on and goes about his day he can't get you out of his mind.

There's a softness to you that he's uncovered. Something you keep hidden. Something he desperately wants to unearth in you again without the aid of pain medication. But then he remembers the horror on your face as you found him in your bed and he feels the shame suffuse him.

"Stop it," he tells himself as he heads out into the cold. "Just stop it."

///

The night moves sluggishly with you attempting to nap for most of it, your pain pill thankfully knocking you out for most of it. You wake to the rap of your front door.

"Come in," you offer hoarsely.

You hear tentative footsteps and try to swallow down the pain blooming in your ribs. Gemma is at your door with a bowl of what smells like soup and smiling gently. You notice that her hair is flecked with fresh snow.

"Hi there," she says approaching you. "Thought I'd check in on my patient."

You try to bring yourself to a sitting position but end up crying out. Gemma places the soup on your bedside table, her hand flying to your forehead before she's gently moving up your shirt, eyeing your bruise.

"No fever, thankfully. Swelling is as expected." Her eyes flick to your agonized expression. "Pain bad?"

"I'll survive."

"Good thing Joel was in the stables with you yesterday morning."

"Mhmm."

That's all you'll offer. You have no desire to tell her about waking up to finding the man in your bed.

You feel your stomach gurgle as the scent of the soup wafts over to you. Gemma gives a sympathetic look before passing you the other pillow.

"Squeeze this. I'm gonna sit you up."

You do so; a yelp of pain is bitten back before you're propped up in your bed against the pillows. You're still at an angle but it's do-able. Gemma brings a chair to the side of your bed, eyes alighting to your face.

She does a few more examinations, fingers pressing against your side, her cold stethoscope pressing into your sternum.

She produces an ice pack wrapped in fabric that she presses to your bruised flesh. You yelp at the sensation despite her warning that it will be cold.

"Sorry," she says ducking her head. "I know it's chilly. Gotta wear this twenty minutes, two times a day. Keeps the bruising down."

"Fine."

"You been drinking fluids?"

"Yep," you lie. You have No desire to share with her that the reason you're not drinking is because then you'd have to get up to pee. And the thought of getting up out of this bed seems torturous.

"Looks like its just rest you need then," she tells you as she digs around in her pocket. "Now I brought some more pills-"

"I'm not taking any more pills," you interrupt her firmly, even as sweat beads at your temple.

She goes to reply when there's another knock sounds at the door.

Who is it now? The fucking Jackson City welcoming committee?

"Come in," you sigh.

You hear the scuffle of heavy boots and your heart jumps when Joel appears at the door. He's holding a bowl of soup, the same as Gemma. Almost immediately you feel the air change when your eyes land on his before they skitter away anxiously.

"Uh, thought you might be hungry." Joel glances over at Gemma. "How's the patient?"

"She's fine," you snap.

"Stubborn," Gemma sighs. "She won't take the pain pills."

"You barely have any," you say to her, ignoring Joel standing awkwardly in your bedroom doorframe.

"Well if you'd let me finish you'd know we learned about a shipment delivered in Teton Village," Gemma tells you patiently. "Gonna grab it when the snow clears."

Joel perks up when he hears that. He can see by the blanching of your face and the way you're gripping the bed sheets that you're in a lot of pain. But you're scowling at the news, not looking the least bit impressed with Gemma's news.

"That could be weeks with the snow," you inform her. "The snow is brutal this time of year, not to mention the freezing winds. No one is gonna wanna go out to get it."

"But the point is we have a supply on route," Gemma argues. “So you can take these.”

"And when that shipment is brought back to Jackson and we see how much is in it, I'll take some pills then."

"You're in pain," she tells you firmly. "A lot of it."

"I'd be in more pain if I knew I was taking everything from the community," you snap back.

The pain is not just in your ribs, it feels like it's everywhere. Your head is throbbing, your body aching and you want everyone to just fuck off.

"You need sleep to heal-"

"You really wanna help me?" You grunt out through waves of pain. "Send me over some booze so I can get shitfaced and pass out."

Gemma can tell there's no reasoning with you.

"I got whiskey at mine," Joel offers softly to Gemma. "I can bring it over if she needs it."

"She doesn't need whiskey," Gemma sighs. "She needs medication so she can get proper sleep and start to heal."

"I'm right here," you grumble, hating how they're talking about you as if you don't exist. You slam your eyes shut.

"If you're not getting me whiskey I'd like to politely ask you both to leave so I can sleep."

You hear the two of them pausing, likely exchanging exasperated looks before you hear their dual footsteps head out the door.

///

Hours later your side hurts so fucking much that you're almost tempted to crawl over to the Jackson clinic and beg for those pills but you stop yourself. You did this to yourself; you went into that fucking pen.

Taking all the community's painkillers would be so impossibly selfish a thing to do because of your own stupid actions. You can't do it. Maybe when the new shipment of medication comes by.

There's a gentle rap at the door and desperation is making you consider asking whomever is at the door to get you some dinner. You're starving and so thirsty. Your mouth is like a desert. It's so dry you can barely call out to whoever is standing outside your door.

There's another knock and you can only offer a mournful sound of pain in reply. You hear the door opening and those familiar heavy footsteps thud to your bedroom.

He's so broad, so tall, so serious looking. His shoulders nearly take up the frame of your door.

"What do you want Miller?" You croak.

"Nothin'," he replies in that familiar raspy tone of his, like dry leaves in autumn.

"You sure?" You sneer. "Thought you might be coming over for another slumber party."

Joel's cheeks go pink at that but he just swallows and comes to take the seat Gemma left beside the bed earlier in the day.

"Nah I'm all rested up," he tells you smirking. It's then that you notice the amber colored bottle in his left hand. Your brows rise.

"Is that whiskey?"

Joel nods. "You got clean glasses?"

"Glasses yes," you wince as you squirm and feel a stab of pain go through you. "Clean? Unsure."

Joel smiles before his attention is drawn to the two soups at your bedside table, still untouched because you can't move enough to get at them.

"You eat yet?"

"No."

Joel nods before he replaces the soup bowls with the whiskey bottle and strides from your room.

"What're you doing?"

"Gonna reheat it."

"Just hand me the whiskey bottle."

You know you sound petulant but you don't care. You want something that will help take the edge off.

"You're in no position to be givin' orders," Joel tells you over his shoulder as he approaches your small hotplate.

He looks around your space, finding his lips curling into an amused smile. He didn't really notice the other day but your kitchen is a disaster. Bowls, plates and forks are piled on top of each other in the sink. Your counters are littered with crumbs and pencils and odds and ends.

"Your place is a mess," he calls out to you.

"Yeah well I've been sort of busy the last twenty four hours," you snap back loudly. "Haven't exactly had much time for housekeeping."

Joel huffs a quiet laugh to himself before moving to look at your cooking surfaces.

Your hotplate is in decent shape, probably because you take most of your meals in the dining hall. He knows because he often finds you eating with Ellie there. The two of you get along well. You're one of the few people she seems to stand without too much trouble.

Joel catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. He sees the gentle smile on his face before commanding it into a frown.

Why the fuck am I here? She can barely stand me.

But he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you. He needs to know you're okay, needs to know you're being taken care of. He knows you live alone, that you're more stubborn than he is and he's been anxious all day that you've needed help.

That you've needed him.

Back in your bedroom you hear Joel moving things in your kitchen, locating a pot, finding a mixing spoon (when he does you hear him mumbling to himself and then the tap running).

Eventually he comes back with the soup in one of your clean bowls and a spoon. He looks at you critically laying half wedged before he puts the bowl on the table.

"Hold the pillow to your stomach."

You want to argue that you can eat perfectly fine like that but the smell of the tomato soup has your mouth watering. You do as he says, holding the pillow tightly to your midsection.

Your eyes widen as Joel leans over the bed, wrapping his muscled arms around you by the middle, holding you tightly to him to keep you stabilized, the pillow between you.

"Gonna help you scoot up," he murmurs at your temple. "Ready?"

"'Kay."

You feel breathless as Joel slowly pulls you to a sitting position. And despite how gentle and slow he is with his motions, the pain still takes your breath away.

You let out a shattered cry before your forehead crashes into his shoulder. Your body is tensed, aching.

You're so angry, so frustrated, in so much pain you just want to cry and scream.

"S'okay," Joel soothes. You feel his hand cupping the back of your head. "Go on and let it out."

You don't even hesitate. You let out a small scream of exhausted pain against where his shoulder and neck meet, tears springing from your eyes as you do. All are muffled by the flannel he wears, coming out suppressed.

"I know, I know," he soothes as he feels your tears soak his shirt. "I know that pain. Makes you feel angry at the whole world, right?"

You give a whimpered reply of agreement.

He's right. You are. You're angry at the horse, you're angry at yourself, you're angry at the clicker is you're angry at Joel and Gemma and anyone who's ever talk to you. You're also mad at yourself for getting you into this position. You just so fucking angry and in pain.

Joel sees you gripping the sheets as he holds you.

"Just breathe," Joel tells you quietly.

"Can't," you mutter against his shoulder. "Ribs."

You hear a soft chuckle from him and it reverberates into your body, despite the pillow. It makes you almost want to smile. He releases you gently against the pillows, looking at your red-rimmed eyes and holding in a sigh at your exhausted countenance.

He takes a seat in the chair and you watch Joel spin the spoon in your soup, before placing the bowl under your chin and bringing the spoon to your mouth.

"I can feed myself," you tell him shortly, but there's no ire in your tone.

He nods and you take the spoon and bowl in hand. He sits back on the chair watching you eat hurriedly. He opens his mouth to tell you to slow down but clamps it shut again.

He leaves and returns with a glass of water that you take eagerly and finish with a gulp. Joel refills it three more times and you finish each with gusto.

He takes the empty bowl and spoon from you, taking your dishes to the kitchen and then returning.

"Better?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was."

Joel continues to look at you with a strange little smile on his face. You feel like you're being studied by him and it makes you frown. You're about to ask him if you have something on your face when a sharp pain goes through your ribs and you grasp at your side wincing.

"Alright you did good with eatin'," Joel reasons. "You kept your end of the bargain so I will too."

He pours you a small glass of whiskey in a clean glass before handing it over. You take it greedily, throwing it back. It burns all the way down, a delicious sensation that has you grinning into your glass.

"Was wonderin' if I'd ever see that again," Joel muses before pouring a first glass for himself and a second for you. You bring the glass back to your mouth, confused.

"See what again?"

"Your smile."

You don't know how to respond to that so you just look at the bottom of your refilled glass awkwardly. Joel takes a small sip of his whiskey, watching as you throw your second glass back as well.

"Slow down," he urges gently. "No point in doin' this if you're just gonna throw it back up."

He has a point. He pours you a third and gives you a stern look when you take the glass from him.

"Sipping only."

"Don't order me around, Miller," you say sharply. "This isn't patrols."

Joel rolls his eyes at you, amused and exasperated all at once. You're such a hard little shell, so impenetrable at times. Joel thought he was guarded, but you're something else.

The two of you sit in quiet, listening to the sound of the whistling wind against your home. You sip the whisky, wishing you weren't in so much pain when you breathed. You glance around your room, wishing it was tidier.

Joel watches you, sees the way your eyes flit around the room and wonders if he could ever bring up the other night without you being horrified.

"Why're you being so nice to me?' you ask suddenly, breaking the spell. "You're never nice."

"Sure I am,” Joel says looking affronted.

"Not to me."

"I brought you home didn't I? Brought you whiskey? Cooked you dinner? I ain't all bad."

"You didn't cook me dinner. You heated it up."

"My favorite kinda cookin'," Joel reasons with a smile. The whiskey has him feeling warm and relaxed.

You feel an amused smirk start at the corner of your mouth. You suppress it with a gentle sip of your drink. You let it coat your tongue slowly before you let it drip down your throat.

"How come you're so mean to me?" Joel offers, though his tone is light.

"I am not!"

He sees the flash of irritation in your eyes immediately and he can't help but be amused. It's very easy for him to rile you up.

"Are so."

"You started it!" You insist, wincing and the words come out louder than anticipated, the force of your irritation causing your ribs to ache. Joel is still leaning back insouciantly in his chair, regarding you with gentle amusement.

"How'd you figure that?"

"My first day on patrols, I was trying so hard to be nice and do you remember what you said the second you saw me?"

"Nope."

"You said; Don't know why they'd stick me with a newbie,” you say trying to imitate his raspy baritone.

"So?" Joel looks genuinely perplexed. "You were a newbie and I didn't know why they sent you to do patrols with me. Didn't know you were an experienced rider at the time."

You falter a moment. You hadn't been expecting that response.

"You were so rude," you insist, irritated that he's trying to pretend like he wasn't in the wrong. "Telling me I was holding my gun wrong, making fun of how I was riding."

Joel takes a moment, looking at the ceiling as he tries to recall your first meeting. He knows he thought you were attractive, he remembers that he was confused they'd paired the two of you up until he'd seen you ride. Your form was comical, but you were good on horseback, even better than him.

But he doesn't remember disliking you that first day.

That came later, after your snide comments and rolled eyes. When you shouldered past him in the dining hall and ignored him when he tried to greet you as you walked by him in town. He'd thought you were an uptight brat, a rude woman who put on airs. He'd had no clue he'd offended you that first day.

"From what I recall I suggested a different way to hold your gun because each time you shot it knocked your shoulder," Joel says remembering. "And as for the riding... Well, you do look funny when you ride. Even if you're good at it, you bounce too much."

"Better than that stupid way you roll your hips," you bite back.

You can picture it now, one hand on the reigns, tilted back, hips rolling with each step of the horse. Joel raises the glass to his mouth, eyes stuck on yours.

"Why're you watchin' my hips?"

His voice is a low purr and there it is again. That thread of teasing that borders on something else. Something... Enticing. It reminds you of the other day in the stables, before everything had gone pear shaped.

You think I'm handsome? You sure, darlin'? You’re gettin' mighty flustered

"Hard not to when you're always going first," you sneer into your glass, taking another sip and feeling your cheeks heat.

"Wait, so that's it?" Joel laughs. "That's your reason for bein' so prickly t'mer? 'Cuz I didn't know why you were assigned to me and because I tried to help you with the way you held your gun?"

"And the riding, thing," you comment lamely. It all sounds pretty pathetic out loud. Is that really why you've been so mean to him all this time? Because of a misunderstanding?

"That's why you hate me?" Joel chuckles as if reading your mind.

"I don't hate you," you mumble. "You just... Get under ... my... skin."

You feel like you want to talk more, but your third glass is drained and your eyelids feel heavy.

"I think...I..."

You feel Joel take the glass from your hand. He keeps you slightly tilted, your head rolling back drowsy against the pillows. You feel his whiskey tinged breath fan across your cheeks.

"How's the pain?"

"S'okay," you slur. "But I know it's gonna hurt real bad tomorrow."

Joel goes to rearrange your pillow slightly so that your head is better positioned on it. His hand hovers beside your face as he does this and you tilt to face it.

"Thanks for the whiskey, Miller."

Unthinking you nuzzle your cheek against his arm before slipping into a drowsy slumber.

Joel pulls back and sits on the chair, watching your placid face, your chest rising up and down under the sheets. You look at peace and he feels a rush of affection go through him at the sight.

But you're in pain. A whole lot of it and he wants to fix that. Even if you don't want him like he finds himself wanting you. He needs you to be okay. Wants you back to your normal self.

What would have happened if there had never been that misunderstanding that day? What if patrols had gone on casually, the two of you amiable?

Would he have asked you for a drink? Would you be in bed together right now? Would his mouth be between your thighs, your fingers gripping his hair? Or would he have you under him, arms held by him above your head moaning his name - his real name, not Miller - as you gazed up at him?

The thought sends a shiver directly up his spine.

He stands; pulling your sheets up, making sure you look comfortable and settled before he leaves your home.

He thinks about your conversation the entire walk back to his place. He thinks about how things could have gone differently.

If only you'd both made better first impressions.

If only that's how it had gone.

If only.

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Nineteen - They Tell The Kids

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.4K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

Normal text = Reader Italics = Daniel

"Milo."

"Olivia."

"I need to talk to you about something."

"There's something we should talk about."

In two separate houses, Milo and Olivia looked up at their parents. Olivia looked at her dad with curiosity as he sat with her on her pink, princess bed. Milo couldn't describe the feeling of anxiety that bubbled up in his stomach as he and his momma sat at the kitchen table. He'd never felt like this before.

Daniel grabbed one of Olivia's teddy bears. He played with it fidgeting with it as he spoke. "You know how Milo and his momma are coming with us to Monaco?" He asked and Olivia nodded her head. "Do you know why they're coming with us?"

"Munchkin," Y/N began as she placed Milo's hot chocolate down in front of him. "You know how Mr Ricciardo invited us to go to Monaco with him and Olivia?" She asked and Milo nodded his head. "Well, there's a reason they invited us to go with them."

"Is it because you're dating?" Olivia asked her father. She grabbed the teddy bear Daniel had been fiddling with and held it close to her body.

Milo grabbed his hot chocolate, the chocolatey liquid hidden by cream and marshmallows. "What's the reason, momma?" He asked and sipped at his drink, leaving a small whipped cream moustache on his top lip.

"Yeah, Badger. Did Milo say anything?"

"Well, Miley, Mr Ricciardo and I are... together."

Olivia shook her head. "My mummy was asking me if you and Miss L/N are together."

Milo damn near choked on his hot chocolate. His hands were shaking, perhaps from how hot the mug was, as he put it down onto the table in front of him. "What does that mean?" He asked, somewhat hesitantly.

Daniel couldn't stop himself from frowning. "Your mother has been asking about Y/N?"

"Well, Munchkin, we are gonna be spending a lot more time with Daniel and Olivia," Y/N said.

Nodding her head, Olivia put her teddy down. She perked up instantly. "So does that make Milo my brother?"

Milo looked down at his lap. He sucked in a breath, trying his best not to cry. He hated crying. He hated how tight his face felt, how heavy his chest felt after he cried. "I-I don't want that."

Daniel laughed. He stood up and grabbed Olivia's hand as she jumped down from the bed. "Not yet, Badger. Maybe one day," he said and took down downstairs.

Y/N stood from her seat and walked around the table. "Milo, munchkin," she whispered as she crouched down to his height. She opened her arms wide and let her fall into them. "Talk me through it, baby, c'mon," she said to him as she rubbed his back.

"So, is miss L/N telling Milo right now?" Olivia asked as she and Daniel sat down for dinner.

"I don't want a dad," he said, crying against his mothers shoulder. "I know how to have a dad."

"I bet she is, Badger. What do you think of Y/N?" He asked her.

She held Milo tight, moving her fingers through his short hair in a soothing manner. "Mr Ricciardo isn't gonna come in and try and be your dad. He's not gonna be scary and loud and he's not gonna try bossing you around. He just wants to be there for us, just like we want to be there for him and Olivia."

"I like her," Olivia said as she twirled her fork in her spaghetti. She tried to eat the same as her father, but there were some meals she couldn't stand. So, while Daniel had his incredibly healthy meals designed for athletes, she was eating spaghetti and meatballs. "She's really cool."

Milo sniffled, but his crying had pretty much stopped. "Do you think we could try it?" Y/N asked her son. He nodded his head and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. If he was really unhappy, she'd leave Daniel, put Milo first.

"Can we all go out to dinner soon?" Olivia asked, pushing her meatball through the spaghetti sauce.

"We're gonna have a great time in Monaco with Daniel and Olivia, Munchkin," said Y/N as she got started on dinner. "Are you looking forward to it?"

"We'll take them out for dinner in Monaco, yeah Badger?" Daniel asked and Olivia quickly nodded her head.

"Yeah, momma," said Milo, but he didn't sound as excited as Y/N hoped. She didn't comment on it, instead sending him to go and get his colouring books while she made dinner.

***

It was their last day of daycare, the last time Y/N and Daniel would be picking the kids up from daycare. She tried not to get emotional as she and Daniel waited for them to walk out of the gates.

It had been a week since they had told the kids about the beginning of their relationship. Where Daniel thought telling them would mean he and Y/N could stand together, he could hold her hand or have his arm around his shoulder, she stood just out of reach.

But then she started getting emotional. "Fuck," she whispered before the kids walked through the gates.

Daniel rolled his eyes. In the least judgemental way, he rolled his eyes at her. "C'mere," he said and placed his arm around her. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. He got it though, he understood. Their kids were growing up so fast.

Milo and Olivia walked out of daycare side by side. They each had these giant folders full of their art work from the last year. "Momma!" Milo shouted. He went running towards his mother, holding his folder out towards her. "I got all of my drawings back!"

Y/N quickly wiped under her eyes. "That's great, munchkin!" She said and took the folder from him. "Do you wanna show me when we get home?"

He nodded his head and grabbed a hold of his mothers hand.

Daniel grabbed Olivia's folder from her. "Hey Badger," he said, grabbing her hand. He crouched down and turned his attention towards Milo. "Are you all packed for tomorrow, Milo?" He asked, his smile kind.

Milo nodded his head.

Deciding not to push him for more, Daniel stood up straight. "You guys can come stay tonight," Daniel offered Y/N. "If not, it's okay. Olivia and I can pick you guys up in the early hours of the morning."

Y/N looked down at her son. He was gripping his mothers hand, standing so close to her. "I'll let you know," she said and squeezed Milo's hand.

They didn't kiss and say goodbye. Even if Daniel wanted to kiss her before they went to their cars, he didn't. He held back, didn't want to upset Milo in any way.

Y/N took Milo to her car and Daniel took Olivia to his. He buckled her in, placed her bags in the back and set off home. "Let's get you packed for Monaco and Texas, yeah Badger?" Daniel said as he pulled out of the car park.

"Daaaaad," Olivia started, kicking her feet. He looked at her in the rear view mirror. "Can't Milo and Miss L/N come with us to Texas?" She asked.

Daniel shook his head. "Sorry Badger, but Y/N has got to work. She doesn't get the same break as I do," he said.

"Why doesn't she just do your job then?" Olivia asked, wearing a frown.

Daniel let out something like a sad laugh. "I don't think she wants to be a Formula One driver, Badger."

"Well, I do," Olivia mumbled under her breath.

In Y/N's car, she took her time buckling Milo into his car seat. "Munchkin, do you wanna have a sleepover with Olivia?" She asked. She had finished buckling his seatbelt and stayed there for a moment, just talking to him before they drove off.

"Yeah, momma," Milo said quietly.

This time, that wasn't good enough for Y/N. "Come on, Munchkin, talk to me," she said, moving his hair away from his forehead. "What's upsetting you?"

Milo shook his head. "Can I take my colouring books to Monaco?"

"Of course you can. Maybe you and Olivia can do some colouring together."

Milo nodded his head. "I'd like that," he said. It was only when a small smile graced his features that Y/N stood up and climbed into the drivers seat of the car, taking him home.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lily-ann-b @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciarod x reader smut #daniel ricciardo x you #dr3 #dr3 imgaine #dr3 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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morallyinept · 2 months

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Imbued - A Frankie Morales One Shot - International Women's Day

Dedicated to @undercoverpena whom is one of the most amazing, badass women ever. Happy International Women's Day, Jojobean! 🖤

I used a prompt from this list here. Prompt is marked bold in the story.

Summary: Frankie worships you and makes you feel like a Goddess. I mean, you are, aren't you?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, Reader speaks and understands Spanish.)

Word Count: 2k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/face riding/facesitting/multiple orgasms/some mild squirting/body worship/Frankie eats you out because he's the 🐱👑

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Happy International Women's Day! What better way to be celebrated than by Frankie worshipping you! 🫠

☝🏻Whilst we don't need men to make us feel powerful, I hope you know that you're amazing, independent and gorgeous, no matter what! The world is yours for the taking, Queen. Today is to celebrate and empower all the incredible women/trans women/bi women from all walks of life. No matter your ethnicity, your background, physical capabilities, your age - YOU matter. Be proud of who you are and know that every day, you are incredible, and you are strong. 💪🏻🌎🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Frankie is a sight to behold in the mornings.

Almost ethereal as the sun kisses those beaming streaks over his tan, warm skin and muscles that envelope you in strong, cresting arms.

Pink lips that truly steal the show, full and inviting, they curl into a dreamy, crooked smile that hints at a mischievous spark lurking just beneath the surface of a bruised man, who wakes with you in crumpled sheets with entwined limbs, clammy with sweat.

Sleepy orbs of polished obsidian regard you in the oncoming glow of the golden dawn, flooding through thin linens and filling the room with an aureate haze. Thick, rough fingers glide against your cheek as the heat from his breath settles into your eyelashes.

“Hueles tan bien,” (You smell so good) he grazes to you, nose running the arch of your shoulder. “Siempre te ves muy bien por las mañanas.” (You always look so good in the mornings.)

“Mmm,” you hum, relishing the hard prodding of him in between your cheeks.

Smiling, your arch like a feline, stretching and working out your back from hours curled into comatose, rigid shapes around him.

Deft hands felt around your waist pull you against him. You feel him subtly grind; a thickness rutting against you, separated only by flimsy cotton and worn elastic.

Twisting to face him, you lick up the side of his jaw, tasting the salt in his greying scruff; the silk of it smooth on your tongue as you make wet tracks through the forest of grizzly hairs. Exploring all the prominent contours of his rugged masculinity, as his tall and broad body slowly cages over your own and starts his own explorations.

His lips find yours, tongue delving in and groaning around the kisses he pelts you with, tempered with soft lips under a satiny scratch of his moustache.

“Dime qué quieres.” (Tell me what you want.) He always knows what you want, delivering satisfaction in abundance. But hearing you tell him that you crave him never gets tiresome.

Frankie kisses down your body slowly, dragging his lips, lingering in places he knows will rile you. Collarbone, nipples, hips… smooches with a swipe of wet tongue appeasing as your hands follow his head, twirling curls around your index and middle.

Parting your legs, he kisses down your thigh, up the other one, eyes darting to yours. Soft, muddy irises, pupils already blown wide as he smirks at you.

“Bésame.” (Kiss me) You say, as he stretches up to find your lips again.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders. “Bésame ahí,” (Kiss me there) you iterate, guiding him by the chin down to your centre.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he groans, almost pained in its tincture.

Frankie smiles immediately as he licks up the centre of your crotch over your panties. A wicked glint in his eye as you gasp and grin down at him.

He then slides off your cotton underwear, patched damp, without hesitation.

“Sé lo que quieres.” (I know what you want.) Frankie husks with a grin that will scorch the sun.

Already swollen in anticipation, he licks around the outer lips of your cunt, tingles travelling deep into the layers of skin as you shudder; warm breath creating cool tracks as he goes.

He nestles, aquiline nose curved perfectly to brush against you, nuzzling gently over the protruding bump of your clit as it throbs almost painfully. Ghostly mouthing, you can barely feel it as he coats you in tepid breaths; teases and prolongs the agony until you tug on the curls behind his ears sharply with a pout.

“Then give it to me,” you demand softly. And he can never resist.

He starts his complete annihilation of you with slow precision. Skilled tongue curling out, the tip brushing over your clit faintly. Watches you keenly with those soulful eyes sitting under thick, expressive eyebrows, perfectly arched to accentuate the intensity of his gaze, as that singular stroke engulfs your body with a jolt as you moan, ragged and wanting.

He does it again. Flick.

And again. Flick. Flick. Flick.

Tongue flicking faster, rumbling back and forth with speed, your thighs jerk, ripples of skin humming.

Settles into a soft rhythm of his tongue lapping and padding delicately over the tip of your clit. An explorative make out session with your pussy as he slides his tongue around the most sensitive parts, waking them up with gentle prods and flickers.

Circling around and around, looping figure eights, spelling out his name, before his lips sink further into your folds, and he suctions around that bud, sucking on it with a deep pull.

He works you up; your fingers gnarling in his hair, fisting in the sheets, pulling around your nipples as the frenzy begins to unfurl from a deep slumber.

Frankie licks down, tongue trailing the length of your slit, finding the indent of your hole that’s pooling for him. Scoops up the clear, dripping honey with the curve of his tongue and deposits it around the hilt of your clit as he sucks on it again.

Orchestrating the delicate interplay of pleasure and longing. With each passing moment, the music swells, growing in intensity and depth, like the rising tide of an ocean before a storm.

He feels you raking in his hair; dark and tousled from sleep, framing his face in a halo of unruly waves that are only tamed into submission by his cap. Fingers exploring and gripping tighter around the back of his skull, wanting more, craving the pleasure he’s conducting within your core.

You’ll crash all over him.

“I want you to come, come for me, hermosa. Déjame probarte a ti.” (Let me taste you.)

His serpentine tongue squelches through your lips quicker, drenched with his saliva, foaming with your bubbly secretions. Sticky chin, silvery hairs darker with the wet coating around his lips and cheeks, as he buries his face fully into the shrine of your cunt.

He’s done teasing, he needs you to come. Needs to taste you flooding his mouth.

“Oh fuck, oh my god, yes baby…” you drone, you babble, you speak in tongues. Your voice rasps as you tense and shudder.

With each passing moment, with each practised flick of his tongue, you feel yourself drawing deeper into that whirlpool of pleasure, your senses heightening to a fever pitch. Feeling the tension coiling within you, a tightened spring ready to snap at the slightest touch, cinching and pulsing.

A white noise getting louder in your ears.

Sticky, inflamed lips rolling back, Frankie spreads you open with his blunt, stubbed thumbs; exalting in the exquisite taste of your most intimate flesh beneath his nose.

He hums in appraisal, eyes sinking back into his sockets as he closes them in rapture at his morning feast spread before him. Tonguing your hole, contracting around nothing, desiring to be filled with him, but denial is the path to imminent release.

“Damn, you look so amazing right now,” he breathes with a husk. “Eres tan malditamente hermosa.” (You’re so damn beautiful.)

You tug at his hair more, sleep-billowed curls tightly wound around your fingers as you grind against his face chasing your oncoming release. Thighs threaten to suffocate him as he puffs out of his nose and looks up at you with molten browns.

Your back arches, a perfect curve off the mattress as you dive head first into the sun, burning up as you explode.

He’s all speed and eagerness as he has you positioned above him, quicker than you can comprehend, and begs you to sit on his face.

Pulling on his hair you smother him and he groans like a dying man; fingers pressing bruises into your ass as he rocks you onto his awaiting mouth. You flex and grind, moving against him as you feel it build all over again.

“F-Frankie!” You judder, your voice a lump in your throat you can’t swallow as you gasp for breath around it.

He rolls out his tongue; a thick, wet muscle for you to fuck and use. You rock against it, feeling it slide through your folds as you scrape back his hair, fists stuffed into the pillow.

You take from him, seek your own pleasure and finish without his cock, without his fingers. Just worshipping you with his tongue. A simple man, flat on his broad back, his queen throning on his face.

He imbues you with strength, the confidence to discard shame and revel in your sensuality as he watches you arch and let your hips do all the work. He encourages it, feeds it to you impassioned with fascination, desire and a keen sense of empowering your womanhood to bloom and blossom.

This is his happy place, an exquisite drowning in you that he conveys through sleepy, subdued eyes and satisfied, wanting groans that haunt your blood.

He could die like this, your cunt leaking into his mouth as you fuck it, unabashed and free.

Strong, deft hands pull you forward, down fully onto his face until he can no longer breathe. Snuffles of misty breath fan against your mound, as he lets his tongue swim inside you, lips suctioned around you.

He knows that even without him, you're solid granite. A force to be reckoned with. Impenetrable steel holding yourself up with the power you command from within. He’s only proud that you allow him to bask in your light, your love. The divine femininity that you let him drink mouthfuls from.

Frankie knows you don’t need his love, you choose to have it and that’s what makes him love and worship you even more.

Rocking your hips back and forth faster, your clit brushing against his nose, the hairs on his face are felt everywhere with a pleasant scratch and tingle.

You feel his digits pulling on your nipples, rolling them between his finger and thumb as you start to let go again. Start to feel the vestiges of your orgasm seep out of the lush garden of your ribs.

You feel it building, crushing against your abdomen as you let go. As you give him what he covets from you.

You give him respite, the chance to breathe as you lift yourself up for a few seconds before he pulls you back down on him with a growl, greedy for more.

He doesn’t need to breathe - he just needs you coming all over his face.

You squirm, convulsing as you come; his arms pin you onto his face not letting you escape.

“Frankie! Fuck!” You wail as your body shakes itself of its own volition.

You lean back, supporting your hands on his chest as you ride his face through it. The head of his cock is poking out the top of his waistband, flush and leaking onto his stomach as you reach for it. He gently taps your hand away.

His face is soaked, the pillow drenched as beads of your slick gush down his cheeks and into his hairline and ears.

Drowning in you, pulled under that wave, succumbing.

No, this is about your pleasure only. Your undoing.

You, you, you…

His head shakes back and forth with abandon as you grunt and shatter above him - Frankie grunts hungrily. Giant hands splay you open so he can get to every part, drink you all down.

He whines and groans as your hand slides back down his stomach, grabbing handfuls of his pudgy hips and waist with greed.

Your fingers delve into a wet, sticky puddle of his own release spurted over his soft paunch.

Your body, like wibbly jelly, collapses onto your back into the creases of the damp sheets, the sun in your eyes like a gold strobe.

You smirk as the waves roll off of you, bite your lip at how a man as strong as he is, is reduced to nothing but a wet, softening mess beneath you, ejaculating on his stomach at the mere taste of you.

Desperate for you, whining, keening and clawing for more of you against his mouth.

“Más?” (More?) Frankie grins into your face as you pant, his fingers slipping into your greased folds and teasing at your sensitive clit.

He sucks on a nipple, tonguing it stiff as you groan, watching as he looks up at you with those beguiling eyes. Melted chocolate chips that you long to taste, cloying and sweet.

“Siempre más,” (Always more) you chime, as he trails that skilled tongue back down your body, pulls your thighs over his shoulders and takes you apart with his mouth, over and over again.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this story. Happy International Women's Day! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #international women's day #jett's writing

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evansbby · 2 years

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➳❥ 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐝𝐞��𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Lloyd Hansen x innocent!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubcon, noncon, dark, minors dni, daddy kink, age gap - reader is early 20s, Lloyd is late 30s, coercion, dark Lloyd taking advantage of super innocent reader, like seriously reader is very innocent, corruption kink, babying, extreme dumbification, dd/lg undertones, mention of gun, use of gun in sexual context, choking, spitting, kidnapping, dacryphilia, loss of virginity, blood mention, killing mention, manipulation, gaslighting

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words: Lloyd pops your cherry).

𝐀/𝐍: This is really fucking depraved. Please, please be warned.

“My dad’s gonna come for me!” You burst out tearfully, tiny fists clenching at your sides and nails digging into your palms, “H-He loves me! And… And I’m not scared of you!”

Lloyd yawns, “Honey, this whole heroic act was cute two days ago. But now you’re just boring me.”

“N-Not acting!” You lie, jutting your chin up and hoping he can’t see how your hands shake and lower lip wobbles. Your dad had always taught you to be brave in the face of evil. And the man sat in front of you, with his neatly trimmed moustache and perfectly styled hair; his elegant white pants and tight black turtleneck that showed off every ridge of muscle on his body…

This man was definitely the face of evil.

“As I said, boring.” Lloyd practically sing-songs, crossing one leg over the other, his blue eyes gazing at you from where you sit on the bed with the pink satin sheets. “Why don’t you try a different schtick, sunshine? Maybe be a bit bratty? Gimme a reason to rough you up a bit before I send the videos to your father?”

Brows knotting together in confusion, a pout forms on your lips, “What videos?”

Lloyd can’t help his gleeful smile, “You’ll see.”

He gets up from the gilded armchair that he usually sits on when he comes to ‘visit’ you, making his way over to the four-poster princess bed where you sit cross-legged. The whole room that he’s put you in is soft, pink hues with gold accents – admittedly the prettiest room you’ve ever lived in. You’re thankful Lloyd didn’t throw you into a dark, scary basement when he kidnapped you – but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to leave.

Dad’s gonna come for me, you assure yourself.

But right now, it’s just Lloyd (and the guards stationed outside your room). Your captor casually walks towards you, twirling his gun in his hand in a way that makes you cringe in fear. He smirks when you exhale sharply, your eyes widening when the brunet takes a seat next to you on the pretty satin sheets.

“Why, honey. You’re hurting my feelings – I thought you said you weren’t scared of me.”

You swallow harshly, “N-Not scared!”

“Then why are you shuffling away from me like a kicked puppy?” Lloyd licks his lips, suddenly grabbing your calf and dragging you over to him. He’s so much bigger than you, so much stronger too – with those muscles that bulge out of the tight shirts he wears. You squeal in pure fear as places you neatly on his lap, arms encircling around you.

“Shhh, baby. Just shut that pretty mouth up for me, okay? I need to tell you something.”

Immediately, you clamp your mouth shut, sitting rigid against him while he strokes your hair. You’d never tell him this – but he’s the scariest man you’ve ever met. In the two days that you’ve known him – from when he stole into your bedroom in the dead of the night and took you up until now – you’ve seen many different sides of him. He can go from soft to insane in two seconds flat, and you’ve even seen him kill people.

“M-My dad said we shouldn’t play with guns.” You can’t help but point out when you see Lloyd continuously twirling his loaded gun with his fingers. And he’s doing it so dangerously close to you, as if he doesn’t care at all if he accidentally hits the trigger.

Lloyd snorts, “That’s because your dad’s too busy playing with his tiny dick, sunshine.”

You gasp at his crassness, and the older man can’t help but laugh at the expression on your face.

“God, you’re a little airhead, aren’t you? Makes me almost sad about what I’m gonna say next.”

Ears perking up at his words, you shuffle around on his lap until you’re facing him, blinking up at him shyly and waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve decided I’m going to let you go.”

Elation fills your trusting heart, and you bounce up and down in his lap in excitement, not noticing the way he suppresses a growl and steadies you with his large hands on your hips. “Really? Oh, Mr. Hansen, thank you!”

“Yes, sunshine. Thank me indeed. Turns out your father’s useless, and by extension, that makes you useless. And do you know what I do with useless people, baby?”

Eyes wide as saucers, you shake your head.

“I kill them.”

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the loaded gun in his hand, the one he so callously plays with all the time. Blood running cold, you gulp up at him, “B-B-But…”

“Shhh, baby.” He presses his finger against your lips. “You didn’t let me finish. I’m feeling nice today, honey. So instead of killing you, I’m going to let you go. Isn’t that nice of me?”

He’s giving you whiplash with his words, but you nod quickly, “Y-Yeah! My mom says to always see the good in people, so I think you’re being really nice, Mr. Hansen. Thank you! When do I get to leave?”

Lloyd almost moans out loud at your innocence, digging his boner up into your ass while you blink up at him, so deliciously unaware of his intentions.

“Now sunshine, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Lloyd clicks his tongue, finger tracing shapes on your bare thigh – you’re still in your little pink nightie that you were wearing when he kidnapped you. “I’m doing you a huge favour here. In fact, I’ve done a lot of favours for you in the past two days, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Huh?”

“Aw, you’re a dumb little baby, aren’t you?” He chucks you under the chin, loving how goddamn innocent you look, how your perfect little lips form the shape of an ‘o’, how you look like you’re hanging on to his every word, “I kept you in this pretty room instead of the scary basement, I gave you food and a soft princess bed to sleep in, didn’t I?” He pinches the flesh of your thigh when you don’t reply, “Didn’t I?”

“Ow– Yes! Yes, you did!” You cry out.

“So then it’s only fair that you repay me before I let you go.” Lloyd is vary casual with his words, making it sound like this repayment is so painfully obvious. He’s playing with the strap of your nightie now, pushing the silky strap down your bare shoulder and making you shiver.

“I… I guess so.” You’re confused, but your dad has told you in the past that if someone does something nice for you, then it’s always a good idea to repay them for their kindness. And although you’ve seen Lloyd scream at the guards and his other men (as well as maybe shoot a few people), he’s never really been mean to you. You sit up straight, nodding your head as you feel a bit more confident. In fact, you’re sure your dad would be proud of you for how you’re negotiating like an adult right now, “Okay, Mr. Hansen. What kind of repayment would you like?”

The corner of Lloyd’s mouth curls up, his large hands rubbing up and down your arms in a way that has you feeling kind of light-headed and warm, “Call me daddy, sunshine.”

“What? But you’re not my dad!” You giggle softly, not understanding why you’ve suddenly got this throbbing feeling between your legs. And it only seems to increase when his hand slips down, now casually playing with the lacey hem of your nightie.

“But I took care of you, kept a roof over your head these past two days, and also kept you fed, didn’t I? That means I’m your daddy.” Lloyd says it slowly, as if he’s speaking to a toddler.

You mull over his words, “I guess that makes sense…”

The brunet runs a hand over his perfectly styled hair, trying not to get too excited over the fact that he really has lucked the fuck out, a sweet-looking broad with a head as empty as yours sitting pretty in his lap, believing every single word that comes out of his mouth. It’s almost too good to be true.

“It makes perfect sense, cupcake. You’re just a dumb baby, so maybe things aren’t so clear in your head. But a man who takes care of his girl is known as daddy. So, you better call me that from now on.” He trails the muzzle of his gun against your bare skin with an air of indifference that makes you whimper softly.

“O-Okay, daddy.”

Lloyd almost moans out loud when he hears you say it, his pants now uncomfortably tight and he wonders just how much of an airhead you are to not notice his hard fucking dick right underneath your ass.

“Now honey, I want you to listen carefully to what I say next. Because this is how you’re gonna repay me before I let you go.”

He takes your hand; your tiny, dainty little hand, and squarely presses it down on his hard crotch. And it’s almost music to his ears when you gasp, snatching your hand back in record time.

“I can’t touch you there! That’s your… thing!”

“Oh princess, you’re allowed to touch your daddy’s cock. It’s only natural.” There’s something about the lull in Lloyd’s tone, this soft, velveteen quality of his voice, that makes you want to listen to him. Plus, your curiosity gets the best of you, because you’ve never touched a man’s thing before… Slowly, you replace your hand on his crotch, gasping when he thrusts up into your palm.

“Daddy, why is it so hard?”

Lloyd’s played with dumb little girls like you before – so none of this is new to him. But it’s also safe to say that none of those other girls were quite as innocent and lovely as you, with your wide eyes and open mouth, gaping down at his dick as if it’s about to come alive and eat you.

“Honey, this is where your repayment comes in.” He grabs your hand once more, making you stroke his clothed dick slowly, “Daddy’s cock is sick, that’s why it’s so hard. And only you can help me fix it and make it soft again.”

“Only me?” You echo prettily, looking scared and honoured at the same time.

“Yes, sunshine. Despite the fact that you’re dumber than a brick, it has to be you.” With one hand holding yours and making you stroke him, he uses his other hand to brush your hair out of your face, being all deliberately tender till you’re looking up at him with shining eyes, “My dick’s so hard that it’s causing me pain. And you don’t want your daddy to be in pain, do you? Specially when I kept you so safe and comfortable during your stay with me?”

Again, you mull over his words. Lloyd could have thrown you in the basement or one of his torture chambers where he took the other bad guys (you’d heard the guards talking about it once). But no, he’d kept you in this pretty pink bedroom with the soft satin bed and fuzzy carpet. Lloyd was nice, so it wasn’t fair that he was in pain.

You nod slowly, “Okay, daddy. I’ll help you with your pain.” And then you pout, “But I don’t know how!”

He repositions you in his lap so that you’re straddling him, your knees on either side of him and the hem of your nightie running high, your pantie-covered crotch flush against his, making heat rise to your cheeks. You’ve never been in such an intimate position with a man before. But Lloyd is your daddy, and he’s a nice man and he’s going to let you go, so you will yourself not to be scared.

He cocks his gun, pointing the muzzle of it right between your breasts where the neckline of your nightie dips. You inhale sharply as he leisurely trails it down, leaving goosebumps in your wake as you feel the weapon slide down your body. All the way down to between your legs – the source of all the throbbing – and he presses his gun against your private place, making you jolt with a surprising thrill that courses through your veins.

“Do you know what this is called, sunshine?” He asks softly.

You gulp – of course you know! You’re a big girl, after all. “Y-Yeah, daddy. That’s my vagina. But I’m not allowed to have anyone touch me there. My dad said he’d kill whoever even tried.”

“Cupcake, your dad’s a fuckin’ tool.” Lloyd flexes his arm suddenly, pressing his gun against your core and you convulse from the contact. “Now, little girls like you can’t use the word vagina. That’s an adult word. Babies like you need to say princess parts, got it?”

Princess parts. That sounded pretty, and you’ve been living in this pink princess room with a princess bed and princess sheets, so it only makes sense; so you nod in agreement.

“Princess parts.” You say softly, liking how it rolls off your tongue, “I like that, daddy.”

“Of course, you do, sweet sunshine.” Lloyd smirks, gun still cocked between your legs while his other hand slips behind you, unzipping your nightie slowly. “Now, do your little princess parts ever get creamy, baby?”

Creamy? You widen your eyes in alarm – how could he possibly know?! Gulping, your hand freezes on top of his clothed dick and you bite your lip, ducking your head down in shame.

“I… I do get wet down there sometimes.” You confess, because Lloyd said he’s your daddy and surely, he won’t tell anyone. “But it’s not pee, I swear it’s not, daddy!”

Lloyd licks his lips like he’s the big bad wolf; and honestly, he might as well be with how he plans to take advantage of your innocence. Having unzipped your nightie all the way down, he lifts your straps and slips them down your arms. You’re too mortified over how he knows about your princess parts getting wet that you don’t even notice him doing it.

“Tell me how you got wet.” He orders you simply, a look of almost unrestrained lust on his face, “And you better tell me the truth, or else I’ll change my mind about letting you go.”

You squirm, “Well… Please don’t tell anyone, but once I was watching this movie on TV, and it had a…uh… a scene in it. A dirty scene.” Scrunching your eyes shut, you can’t help but replay the scene in your mind, the actor so handsome and ripped – although not even close to as handsome and ripped as Lloyd is. “And I know I should’ve turned it off, but I was curious.”

Lloyd’s thumb brushes against your bare nipple, dick so unimaginably hard underneath you at your innocent story, and also because he’s now got you topless on top of him and you haven’t even noticed. God, you’re so fucking dumb and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Th-Then I had this strong urge to go pee, but when I got up, there was a wet spot on the couch. And my p-panties were all wet too!” You lament, and you can’t help but bury your face in Lloyd’s strong and sturdy shoulder, embarrassed because a man as sophisticated as him shouldn’t have had to hear such a stupid, shameful story.

“Oh, honey,” Lloyd coos, humping up against you because he knows you’re too distraught to notice. “You’re such a dumb little baby, not even recognising your own princess cream.”

You hiccup, blinking up at him with huge doe eyes, “P-Princess cream?”

“Yes, sunshine. Princess cream. Babies like you get all wet and drippy down there with princess cream, and you’re meant to gift this cream to your daddies to make them feel better. Everyone knows that.”

You nod, finally understanding him, “Is that how your… thing… is gonna feel better? With my cream?”

Lloyd taps your cheek condescendingly, “Guess your head’s not completely empty after all.”

And that’s how you find yourself lying down on your princess bed, the satin sheets so soft underneath you as a man almost double your age hovers over you, taking your nightie off and leaving you clad in only your little pink panties.

“You know, sunshine, after you’re done helping daddy here, we can go into my room. I’ve got a huge TV, and we can watch all the dirty movies your little heart desires.” Lloyd is feeling nice after your little confession. Not so nice as to not take advantage of you, but nice enough.

“Okay, daddy, that sounds– Hey! Aren’t you gonna take me home after this?”

Lloyd chuckles, choosing to ignore you as he surveys your almost nude body, how it quivers so prettily. Rolling your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he then brings your hand over to his pants once more, “Unzip me, baby. Daddy’s dick’s hurting a lot.”

You take a deep breath, not knowing where this is going but knowing that you want to help your daddy because he’s going to let you go after this and you’re so super thankful for that. Fingers shakily taking hold of his zipper, you undo his fly with baited breath and a thumping heart.

Lloyd’s eyes are so dark, it looks like he’s about to eat you up. “Take it out, baby. Take daddy’s dick out.”

Biting your lip in concentration, you think about when you’re in pain. Like the time you tripped and fell down the stairs when you were younger. You’d twisted your ankle and it had hurt a lot. It’s sad to think that Lloyd is hurting like that now, and you’d help just about anyone to stop them from hurting.

Your eyes widen when you pull his cock out, because your fingers don’t even fully wrap around it. He’s thick like a soda can, and long too. And so, so hard. Angry and red looking, with veins running down the side. You wonder if all men are as big as he is, or if he’s special.

“So… So big, daddy.”

Lloyd can’t help but stroke your cheek, “Take your panties off, sweetie. Can you do that for me?”

He sounds so soft and nice, voice so beguiling that you don’t think twice in obeying. But maybe it’s because you’re so distracted by the darkness in his eyes, by his handsome face so close to you, by his dick that scares you every time you sneak a glance at it… But you’re slow in tugging your panties down, and Lloyd taps you harshly on the cheek.

“Faster, you dumb fucking baby. Unless you want me to hurt you.” He gestures towards his gun which rests on the satin bedsheet next to you. You don’t understand why he’s kept it so close – it’s so scary and you hate it, but the threat works. Tugging your panties off, you go to hand them to him but he shakes his head.

“No, baby. Wrap your pretty panties around your hand and then hold my dick.”

His instructions are clear, but you still look up at him dumbly, “H-Huh?”

Lloyd rolls his eyes, patience running thin. All he really wants to do is shove his dick up your virgin pussy but he knows half the fun is building up to it. “It’ll help with the pain, sweetie. You wouldn’t understand because you’re too dumb. But don’t fucking question your daddy again.”

The satin of your panties and your soft, hesitant fingers feel like heaven around Lloyd’s dick. His own calloused hand grabs onto yours, moving your palm up and down on his big dick until you get the hang of it and don’t need his help anymore. And fuck, he doesn’t know where to look now because your tiny hand on his fat dick makes him want to bust a nut, but the look of determination on your face gets him going too.

“Is your pain getting better, daddy?”

He grunts, “Slightly, baby. But the real pain relief is inside your princess parts.” Licking his lips, he gives his next order: “Spread your legs, dumb baby. Wider. Wider, I said.”

You yelp when he slaps your inner thigh hard, pussy glistening and on display for him as you spread your legs as wide as they’ll go. And now it’s like Lloyd can’t restrain himself – how can he when there’s a five-course fucking meal about two inches away from him? All quivering and wet and untouched?

Quickly, he shoves your hand and panties off his dick, replacing it with his own as he brings his dick up to your wet folds. And you suck in a breath when his tip glides against your slit, up and down, making shivers run up and down your lower body, and you jolt upwards to create more friction.

“Ah– daddy, that feels funny!”

Lloyd’s no longer in the mood to humour you, it’s like he’s reached his quota of niceness for the day and now he just wants to get his fucking dick wet with virgin pussy. The thought makes him salivate – he hasn’t had a virgin since his days at Harvard, and never one as sweet and naïve as you.

“Shut up,” He breathes, leaning down till his chest is flush against your breasts, one hand easily trapping both your wrists above your head. He aims the tip of his dick against your clit, nudging the sensitive bundle of nerves and loving how you gasp. God, virgins were just too easily excitable.

“Oh, daddy! D-Do that again, maybe?”

That makes Lloyd bark out a laugh. “Naughty baby, you’re meant to be helping daddy out, not giving me demands.”

You hang your head in shame, “S-Sorry, daddy. I just can’t h-help it sometimes! My princess parts feel so tingly. J-Just wanna touch more– ah!” Something feral takes over you, and you reach down to grab his dick, positioning it in front of your leaking hole as if you really can’t help yourself.

Lloyd almost busts a nut right then and there, but he has enough willpower to smack your hand away, laughing when you pout and begin to cry.

“Don’t know what’s happening to me, daddy! Wanna feel you more! Feels like I’ll die if I don’t!”

He loves how prettily you cry, how you want to say you’re turned on but you can’t find the words to explain how you’re feeling. The tears welling in your eyes make him even harder and your soft cries are music to his ears.

“You ready to end daddy’s pain now, sunshine?” He asks you, leaning over you and a strand of his perfectly styled hair breaks free, brushing against your forehead. And oh my gosh, if he isn’t the most handsome man you’ve seen in the whole world! Like the heroes in the movies, or in those romance novels your mother is always reading.

“I’m ready, daddy!” You confirm, unknowingly bucking your hips upwards to meet his hard dick. But when he pushes his dick inside your hole, you gasp and push at his chest almost immediately. “D-Daddy, this is… this is sex. We’re gonna have sex?”

Lloyd really can’t believe how dumb you truly are, he gazes at you incredulously, and you bite your lip again.

“You said you would help me, sunshine. You can’t go back on your word now.”

“I’m not! I’m not!” You swear, “It’s just… I’m not supposed to have sex until I’m married. But I really want to, daddy. I wanna help you and I wanna have sex with you – I just don’t want my parents to be mad!”

Lloyd’s bored now. In fact, he’d grown bored a good five minutes ago. Maybe he could tell the guards outside to get him some ductape so he can shut your fucking mouth once and for all while he has his way with you. Or he could drug you. But then he wouldn’t be able to hear your pretty gasps and cries when he finally pops your cherry.

Decisions, decisions.

“Look, honey. I’m gonna fuck you now – whether you like it or not.” Lloyd gets straight to the point, “So unless it’s to moan and beg for my dick, I’d suggest you shut your fucking mouth.”

You pout – why is he being so mean? Isn’t Lloyd meant to be nice and caring like how he said all daddies are? You decide it’s probably because he’s in pain. Oh! His pain! You’d completely forgotten that you were doing this to help ease his pain, and you mentally kick yourself for being so selfish.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” You say pitifully, but Lloyd’s too busy fondling your breasts, leaning down to lick around your nipple before taking the hard nub into his mouth and giving it a noisy suck. And the simple action has you squealing in pleasure and excitement before he stops and gives you a wolfish grin.

“Okay, sunshine. I’m in a good mood so we’ll take this nice and slow, okay?” You nod happily and he continues, “I want you to count up till five. Can you do that, honey? Can your little baby brain count up till five?”

“Y-Yes.” You squeak, “One, two, thr– OW, OH MY, AH, AH, AH! DADDY!”

Lloyd doesn’t give a shit if he’s being cruel, but he’s not about to ease his dick into you when your drippy, tight cunt is right there in front of him. Which is why, in one hard and unforgiving thrust, his pistons his fat dick into your virgin pussy, ignoring the tightness that tries to squeeze him back out.

“God fucking damn,” He grunts, because your tight walls are squeezing him like a vice, “Goddamn this fucking baby cunt, fuck!”

And you’re crying and crying, chest heaving and limbs flailing at the intrusion. He’s so big, so, so, so big. How has he managed to fit inside of you? It’s the worst pain imaginable – and it’s indescribable how full you feel. So full of Lloyd’s girthy, fat dick – the only dick you’ve seen, the only dick that’s ever been inside of you.

“Hurts!” You cry, “Hurts so bad!”

Lloyd couldn’t give less of a shit if it hurts for you – because it feels fucking amazing for him. But seeing your eyes scrunched shut and tears dripping down your cheeks, he can’t help but lick up your face, gathering the salty tears on his tongue and groaning with pleasure as he bottoms out inside of you.

“Open those eyes, sunshine.” He says softly against your lips, “Open those eyes and cry harder for me. Like a fuckin’ baby. Daddy loves that shit.”

“Y-You said… You said…” You choke back tears, tiny hands gripping at his bulging biceps, and Lloyd can’t help but laugh at your broken voice, “You said to count till f-five!”

“I did? Oh, sunshine, I guess I lied.” Lloyd’s barely even paying attention to you, his gaze shifting down to where you two meet. He pulls his dick out of you slowly, savouring your tightness and moaning internally when he sees his dick coated in your cream and your virgin blood. Fuck, if that ain’t the prettiest thing he’s ever seen…

“Not nice!” You sob harder, bracing yourself when he pushes back into you. And it hurts all over again, you just can’t wrap your head around how big he is, “Ah, why are you be-being so mean?”

Lloyd doesn’t bother answering your dumb question, instead grinding his hips down before pulling out and slamming back in. Grabbing your thigh, he pins it above his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck you. And he thanks his lucky stars that he didn’t use a condom, because fucking your baby cunt bare is nothing short of heavenly.

And he’s not completely opposed to the idea of knocking you up either.

“My dumb little baby,” Lloyd coos, cupping your face in his hands, “How does it feel to finally get fucked? I bet your old dad would be so proud of you, huh? Fucking his worst enemy because you think I’m gonna let you go after this.”

You shake your head, focusing on Lloyd’s navy eyes that are both so beautiful and so cruel. His pale skin smattered with scars from old battles, his strong, bumped nose and full pink lips. His moustache that tickles your face when he leans down over you.

“Daddy,” you cry out softly, dull thrill rippling throughout your body as he continues to thrust into you, the tip of his dick hitting a certain part inside you that has you gasping with pleasure. “Oh, daddy, still hurts but… f-feels all tingly again!”

“I’ll bet it fucking does,” He growls, picking up his pace and going into full jackhammer mode, wanting to see your cunt all messy and ruined, suddenly wanting to wreck you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that there was going to be anyone else getting between your legs. “Baby, say this is daddy’s pussy.”

“Th-This is daddy’s pussy!” You cry, all thoughts quickly leaving your mind except for Lloyd – his arms, his body, his dick, him. “Nngh, ugh! Daddy!”

There’s this pressure building up inside your lower belly, and every time his dick hits that spot inside you, the pressure mounts up further. You gasp when Lloyd forces your mouth open, spitting on your panting tongue and smirking when you look up at him in fear mixed with lust, his saliva sitting pretty inside your mouth.

“Swallow it.”

You do as he orders you, completely submissive and slowly going dumb for him. God, it’s the prettiest sight in the world, you being so docile even when he’s fucking you so roughly despite it being your first time.

“Tell me you love my spit. Ask daddy to spit in your mouth again.” Lloyd grunts out over the lewd sound of his balls slapping against you with each hard thrust.

“L-Love your spit, please spit in my mouth again, daddy!” You beg him, and God, you sound so needy. Lloyd reaches out to pat your cheek, loving when your head lolls to the side. You’re gone. Fucked completely dumb and he’s barely even started.

Using his thumb and forefinger to pry your drooling mouth open, he once again spits, and then again. The first lands straight in your mouth again and you swallow like an obedient baby. The next glob of saliva lands on your cheek, and God, you look so messy. So messy and slutty yet innocent at the same time. Fuck. Lloyd wants to devour you.

Hand slipping down, he swats your ass once, twice, three times. The harsh smacking jolts you back into reality, and now you’re screaming in earnest. Your little princess bed is rickety underneath you, the headboard banging noisily against the wall as Lloyd fucks the living daylights out of you. Your pleasure is building up with each slam of his dick, his tip hitting your cervix and making you cry out his name needily.

“Yes, baby, give daddy your cream,” Lloyd finds himself coaxing you, his fingers wrapping around your pretty little throat and loving how you squeeze around his dick when he does that, “Mm, you’re a fuckin’ depraved little baby, aren’t you? You like it when daddy chokes you, huh?”

You let out incoherent gurgles and pleas, humping upwards to meet his thrusts as your eyes slowly begin to roll to the back of your head. “L-Like it, daddy! Don’t know – ah – don’t know why, but I like it – OOH, DADDY! FEELS TINGLY, FEELS SO – AH!”

Lloyd loves the look of pure bliss and confusion on your face when you clench around him and give him your first ever orgasm. He really loves the power trip that comes with the fact that he’s given you your first ever feeling of such intense pleasure, and you’ve squirted around his dick. He pins your hips down as your limbs flail uncontrollably, fresh tears in your eyes and moaning like a broken record player: “oh, daddy, daddy, daddy!”

“God, so fuckin’ tight, sweet baby,” Lloyd hisses, feeling his balls tighten, “Squeezing daddy so good, aren’t you? God, I love your fuckin’ baby cunt and how it swallows daddy’s fat dick. Little fuckin’ virgin cunt all messy and ruined, fuck! Make a mess on my dick, you little cry baby. Fuck!”

One hand gripping his bicep and the other fisting the pink satin sheets underneath you, you come undone in what is the most earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever had. It’s also the only orgasm you’ve ever had, and you scream so loud, his name on the tip of your tongue, “Oh, daddy! Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD!”

“Not God, you dumb baby, just me.” Lloyd slaps your breast before squeezing it hard. With an almighty grunt, he releases inside of you. Filling you with his hot, searing cum, ropes and ropes of it, so thick and making you feel so full. You feel it inside your very depths, claiming you, making his mark on your body.

With a shudder, he collapses on top of your weak body, and you’re so frail and spent, breathing hard and eyes glassy like you’re about to pass out. You can’t even form a single thought, all you can feel is your body shaking from the remnants of your powerful orgasm, and Lloyd’s cum which doesn’t even fit inside you, dripping out lewdly from your used fuckholes and onto your princess sheets.

“My baby, all mine,” Lloyd croons, kissing up your neck and pecking your lips, “Can’t believe how easy it was to pop your cherry.”

You blink, completely dazed and unable to form any words, just gaping up at him and trying your hardest not to black out. His sweet kisses trail up your cheek, gathering your tears along the way.

“And you know the best part, sunshine?” Your captor sings, cupping your cheek with his calloused hand, “I’m never letting you go. And guess what? Your douche of a dad is downstairs. In fact, you can say hi to him because the camera’s right there.” Lloyd twists his body slightly and points up at the red light above the dresser.

You feel your blood run cold, but you’re still too fucked out to form a sentence, “Wh-What–”

“He’s been watching us, baby.” Lloyd says proudly, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger and making you forcibly look at the camera, “Bet you didn’t think your first time would be livestreamed, did you, sunshine? Bet your dad sang like a canary once he saw his worst enemy fucking his daughter while he sits downstairs, handcuffed to a chair and completely helpless.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, but your legs are still shaking from your orgasm, and you don’t have the energy to push him off you, “H-How could you?” You cringe away from the damning red light of the camera.

“Because I can.” Lloyd answers simply, “But don’t worry, baby. It wasn’t all business. Your tight little baby cunt is something I could get used to. I think I’m gonna keep you, once I’ve questioned your dad and gotten rid of him, of course.”

He covers your face in kisses, his moustache scratching your sensitive, tear-stained cheeks as you lie underneath him, stoic and shocked.

“What do you say, sunshine? Ready to be your new daddy’s little girl?”

THE END! What do you guys think? I wrote this all today because I was rewatching some The Gray Man scenes and got super inspired! Please, please, please, feedback is so important so do tell me what you think! Please share with anyone you think might enjoy this, and any Lloyd enthusiasts! Reblogs means the world to writers, so please reblog and share! THANK YOU! ILY!

#lloyd hansen #Lloyd hansen x reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader #the gray man #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans smut #dark lloyd hansen

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cursedmoon-doll13 · 10 months

Text

If It Serves You.

(Headmaster!Severus Snape x Reader)

Cw: Non/Dubcon + Aftermath, Afab Reader, Dark-ish Snape, Unprotected Sex, Powerplay, Sex as Bargaining, Facefucking, Crying, Fingering, Creampie, Begging, Degradation (use of slut) and Praise, Reader calls Snape ‘Headmaster,’ Former Student Reader, Mentions of Torture/Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings.

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: As a professor of Hogwarts, your past ambitions, your fragile hope and unrelenting diligence have all led to nothing. Now, you are powerless beneath the rising force of He Who Must Not Be Named and his army of Death Eaters. The only thing left you have to give is your pride; your weak and vulnerable body.

Or, you beg the new headmaster to show mercy to your students in exchange for sexual favours.

Dividers by @/saradika

Of course, there was no pressing need to check and recheck the potions’ storage. Certainly no need to catalogue it twice. You did almost it out of instinct, or force of habit. Yes, It’s healthy to maintain a routine, including routine inspections, just like- just like-

“Professor ___,” comes a gruff voice from behind. In your nervous state, you imagine it is a Carrow, and freeze in panic. “Why are you here?”

You whirl around. No. It’s Professor Slughorn.

“Oh,” you straighten your robes. “Horace. I was just taking inventory.”

“Were you? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He says brusquely.

“Of course, of course you can.”

Your voice carries the same placid, appealing tone with which you’ve used to calm your pupils. You wince at the sound of it. Then, his expression loosens. Not immediately, but little by little, settling into the creases and wrinkles of stress and age. His walrus moustache droops into a familiar frown.

“I’m… I’m very sorry, ___,” he says. “Whenever I leave my storage unattended for too long, I take this terrible notion that some very bright and brilliant student is going to brew a polyjuice potion. Heh.”

His laughter rings rather hollow.

“Yes, those were my thoughts exactly,” you concede, heaving a sigh. “It would be so simple. Not for all of them, but some of our best could do it. And then they would make a reckless attempt at escaping, or even try to impersonate one of those Death…”

You stop yourself, and peer carefully into his face.

You’ve noticed how Horace has visibly deflated, how he has lost his colour over the past few months. How could you not? You would never accuse the Slug of being slovenly, but you’re well aware that beneath all the powder his eye-bags are as sunken as yours.

“It is unfortunate that one of my… One of our best…” It seems that he cannot finish his sentence. Nonetheless, you know who she is.

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” Professor Slughorn mutters idly. “Very unfortunate…”

He’s fiddling with a ring on one liver-spotted finger. His lips purse periodically, as if a throb in his temple is threatening to burst.

“Horace, It’ll all be alright,” you try to reassure him, knowing you cannot guarantee this.

The only response you receive is a distant nod. He does not stop fussing over his ring. Then, he turns abruptly stony again:

“Well, then,” he says. “You’d best be on your way.”

He dismisses you as curtly as he would a student, but you don’t protest. You know that when you leave, he will pacify his anxiety with a sleeping draught.

As you exit the dungeon and traverse the silent halls, the early winter chill rattles straight through your bones. It seems that Hogwarts grows colder each passing day; colder and emptier. Even when teaching, your classroom is as quiet as death.

Alchemy has never been a popular elective, and now you are down to very few students. Some had also disappeared completely over the Summer, mostly those without Pureblood status or families to support them… You try not to ponder too deeply on it. For their sake - and perhaps also for your own - you keep it together.

Yes. You must stay stubborn and strong. Especially considering what you are about to do now.

You shiver in your thin robes outside of the Headmaster’s office. The griffin sentinel glares haughtily down at you, and for a second you fancy it alive, judging you guilty for some crime. Thinking this, You glance this way and that, wary of onlookers.

But all of the students are asleep; or at least, they should be. Most of your coworkers have also retired for the evening. You here stand alone.

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Sugar Quill.” Your voice echoes eerily.

The griffin does not budge. The new headmaster has changed the password, of course. You suspected as much, but it was still worth attempting.

“Amortentia,” you try next. No response.

You shift, acutely aware of how ridiculous you must appear; a Hogwarts professor stumped by a statue.

“Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Bezoar… Asphodel.”

Nothing.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you huff, already spiked with tight, uneasy tension. “It was so much easier when Dumbledore…”

A low, heavy rumble breaks your train of thought as the spiral staircase emerges. You quickly mount it and climb upwards, boots clattering on the rising stone. It gives way to a large study lined with bookshelves.

You’ve made it into Dumbledore’s office.

Except it is no longer his. You must remind yourself of this fact often, and each time it stings, like a tiny pricking thorn ingrown into the heart. The study is far draughtier than you remember; devoid and bereft in the absence of Fawkes.

No, Albus is not here. Instead, what scowls over at you from behind the Headmaster’s desk is the unmistakable face of Severus Snape, and he does not appear pleased to see you.

“Kindly inform me why you are in my office.” His voice is slow and measured, but you can sense the venom lurking underneath.

“I don’t remember ever giving you the password,” he continues, alighting from his chair. “Or have you picked up that nasty eavesdropping habit from one of our pupils?”

He spat that last word as if it was a curse.

“No, Severus,” you say quickly. “I guessed it.”

Severus. Or Professor Snape. But now…

You think you catch him pale ever-so-slightly, or perhaps that is the dim lighting of the room, casting dark, creeping shadows across the floor. While there has never been a cordiality or warmth to your relationship, you recognise that you have been spared the worst of his barbed hostility.

Before now, that is; now, the distance between you is far too great.

“Did you now?” He sneers.

In response, you draw up, mindful not to appear challenging as you tip your chin.

“I’m here because I have a proposition for you,” you announce clearly. “I hoped you would be reasonable and hear me out.”

Snape’s eyes narrow icily and suddenly you are in his Potions class again, overseen with strict authority. One wrong move, and the concoction will spoil and poison you. His black robes billow as he approaches, expanding like the hood of a cobra.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me,” he says, folding one shrouded arm over another. “And so there is nothing to discuss. Leave.”

Your nerves are strung so tight, you can’t help but object: “The Carrows are far too cruel in their methods! Too brutal. The students-”

“Are very fortunate to have been granted mercy by the Dark Lord,” Snape interrupts, and you swallow thickly. Of course, you could not have forgotten the festering dark mark that now itches underneath his robes, writhing and serpentine.

“But it isn’t enough,” you say, throat sandpaper dry. A rush of urgency floods your system. Now. It needs to be now, before you lose your courage.

(A gash on the cheek, a row of dark-purplish bruises and welts, a swollen eye, whippings and burns, scars from chains, all so frightened, but brave still.)

“If you agree to grant my students your protection,” your voice falters. “I will give… Myself to you.”

The silence that follows is agonising. His expression is indecipherable; taut and stiff. You’re beginning to think that maybe you weren’t transparent enough.

Your trembling hands drift towards your top buttons, and you start to undo them bit by bit.

“Stop,” Snape orders.

At this, you freeze. Your heart plummets starkly into your intestines. Oh. You hadn’t even considered that he would - or could - reject your offer. You fear you may have tipped the bubbling cauldron over and left it melting through the carpet. As you linger numbly, Snape’s tongue darts between his lips. Light flashes behind his stern black eyes.

Perhaps he’s considering it, perhaps…

“Come here,” he says sharply. You obey.

Shuddering in the winter chill, you watch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, the twitch of his lids as his gaze dips steadily downward… Snape’s forefinger comes to brush the fabric from your shoulder, his knuckle grazing your collarbone, and your pulse quickens anew.

“I’ll do anything,” you plead. “Please, Severus.”

“You will refer to me as ‘Headmaster,’” he corrects.

“Headmaster…”

You suck in a shaky breath. Standing this close to him, you can make out the lilac rims of his sunken eyes and the worry lines on his forehead.

He’s tired… The thought springs to mind, unbidden.

The hand that tends to the rest of your buttons is not rough, but the coldness of his touch makes you flinch. Snape pulls down your outer robes in one swift motion, and you can’t help but gasp. Your nipples perk from the chill, skin prickled with goosebumps. Underwear was unnecessary, and though you knew that from the start, you are stripped so quickly it still leaves you cringing. He moves to fondle your breasts, and your breathing shallows. You stare desperately towards the floor, towards some old, faded tea stain.

“Fall on your knees, ___,” he tells you.

You kneel quickly in front of him, and he moves to cup the nape of your neck. You don’t need to be instructed; you do your best to steady your hands and unfasten the button over his crotch. You nudge out his dick, and see that he’s already half-hard.

Before he changes his mind, you spit into your palm and use it as lubricant as you get to work jerking him off. You can feel him watching you, silent and still. This situation is completely wrong, all wrong, but the awkwardness of it is almost juvenile.

“___,” he calls above you. You stiffen. You know that cautionary tone. “If you have enough cheek to wag your tongue at me, you can also use it for this.”

You nod faintly, licking your lips. Of course, you should have prepared for this, too, but you have barely even steeled your nerves. Hesitant, you lean forward and run your tongue along the shaft, tracing a vein. Your movements are practically mechanical; dispensing small, kitten licks over the tip, continuing to stroke him. This is now a kind of out-of-body experience for you, the sort of bizarre circumstance you can only encounter in a very strange dream.

But then, Snape decides your next course of action for you, clutching your jaw and muffling your whimpers as he sinks into your mouth.

A teardrop falls softly onto your chest, and it only occurs to you now that you’re crying. You gag out a sob as the tip of Snape’s cock hits the back of your throat, unable to prevent loose spit from dribbling down your chin. Above you, his breath hitches.

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

You didn’t know you had closed them; squeezed them tightly shut. You peek up at his pale face.

His pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black. Snape forbids you to keep eye-contact with a firm grip over your head, and you gag again as he rocks his hips. You clutch his thighs for purchase while he fucks your face, tears streaming down your cheeks. For distraction, you try to focus on him, and his pleasure-stricken expression lulls you in like hypnosis; the tightness of his lips, his dark brows slightly furrowed, the minute twitches in his jaw.

Snape’s thrusts begin to stutter, but he tightens his hold on you and forces you to take all of him. He drags in a sharp intake of breath, and warm, slightly bitter cum pools onto your tongue.

“Swallow it. All of it.”

You gasp for air, gulping it down hastily.

“You'll be getting used to the taste of me. Stand.”

Snape urges you up and steers you over to his table. Before you can blink, you’re whirled around and caged against his desk. The edge of it cuts harshly into your naked thighs, and you yelp. You can feel his long black hair sweep over your neck, a sensation that is almost ticklish. Snape yanks down your robes and they fall limply around your boots. Now, you are truly exposed, shivering and naked. The only source of warmth is his body heat pressed into your back, the starched, dark fabric of his clothing.

His cool hand dips around and feels down your stomach, and your breath hitches as Snape unexpectedly plunges several fingers into your pussy. You shock yourself with how slick you are, mortified at the way he tsks behind you:

“Little slut. Is this what you’ve always wanted?” Snape hisses into your ear, spreading the pads of his fingertips over your labia, teasing your clit.

“Yes!” You choke out.

“Yes, Headmaster,” he pinches your clit warningly and it feels like an electric shock.

“Yes, yes Headmast- ah…!”

He starts to rub in rough, merciless circles, and you immediately try to stifle a cry against your wrist. Snape rips it impatiently from you.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I can feel how wet you are.”

It’s surely not the truth. Surely, you tell yourself...

One long, deft forefinger slips into your slit and pumps steadily in and out. You let out a soft moan, unable to resist the quivering thrill that coils in your abdomen. You didn’t realise he would even try to prep you, and, against your will, you feel some of your fear dissipate.

“You think I didn’t notice, did you?” He scoffs. “Always so desperate for my attention, always clamouring for a better grade.”

Memories of your seventh year at Hogwarts resurface and spiral dizzily in your head. The newest, youngest professor, but strict and competent, and—

Dark, sweeping cloak, black hair, black eyes…

I even once wished I could brush away the strands…

Then he retracts his fingers, slowly, torturously, You hate how you yearn for his touch in its absence, how you crave the buzz to smother your discomfort.

Snape bends you cleanly over the polished table, your still damp breasts pressing into the hardwood. He traces a long, thin finger down your back, tracing languidly across your spine; you could almost believe his touch is tender. Almost. Instinctively, you try to turn your head to face him, but he denies you with a firm hand gripping the base of your neck. You whimper as he lathers cold precum on your thighs, positioning his straining dick over your entrance:

“…Or was it praise you were hoping for?” His voice is low and subdued. Snape’s breath fans over you, and for a moment you falter.

No, of course you don’t expect—

No, not from Professor Snape. Only your best was acceptable. To elicit a nod of approval, or even a commending glance, you couldn’t possibly hope—

“Headmaster, I— I only ever wanted you to…”

“Beg for it,” his tone sharpens again.

Snape slips the tip of his cock inside your folds. But then, he stops, and does not move. You are trapped between his desk and him, left pitiful and squirming.

“Headmaster,” you say weakly. “Please.”

“Please what, ___?”

You grit your teeth, still bristling at the indignity of it all. But you know that, whether he’s enjoying himself or not, Snape has the patience to wait this out.

“Please, fuck me!” you plead.

You gasp as he grips your thighs and slides himself in further with a lewd, wet sound. Your walls stretch around him as you adjust to his length. He groans softly and rolls his hips, sinking deeper into your cunt, until you’re utterly full of him.

Despite it all, it feels sinfully good, but his movements are so sluggish that you can’t help but whine pathetically into the wooden table.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve always wanted?”

What I always wanted, when I was in Potions class…

“For you to p-praise me, Headmaster.”

In an instant, you realise this is true. Deep down, you have always hoped for his sole attention… And now he’s invading that dark, primordial world in between, spurring on those secret and forbidden desires you should never have conceived.

Snape slowly pulls out, dragging every inch of his cock, and then snaps his hips back in, briefly hitting that sweet, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars.

“Please!” You add, letting out a shrill moan.

“And do you? Do you want this…?”

He mutters so quietly, it almost sounds like he’s begging you. Snape’s pace is set now, rocking powerfully into you as you fill the air with loud, desperate whimpers.

“I do!” You breathe, mind-numbingly uncertain.

But it doesn’t matter anymore if you want it or not; the sensation is so overbearing and so ruthless, unforgiving and unfair, just like him. You’re barely cognizant of the arms that curl around your naked waist, almost embracing you, until they provide cushioning against the sharp desk.

“You take me so well,” he murmurs, “So well.”

Your head spins, threatening to give up on you completely. You could never have predicted such a drastic change in demeanour. The way he’s treating you now is so different from his earlier cruelty; his affectionate caresses might be almost loving.

“So tight, so good for me…” He groans again, heavily, and the vibrations thrill up your spine as he spears you on his dick. “You’re doing perfectly.”

He kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, sighing blissfully. You can feel the spiking thrum of Snape’s heartbeat, the soft touch of his lips on your neck, kissing reverently over your shoulder blade. You wish you could just see the expression on his face, if you could only see Severus for one moment…

“Headmaster,” you pant, craning your head.

“Don’t,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t look at me.”

Snape doesn’t relent, forcing you firmly in place with a hard squeeze on your shoulder. There’s something thick and vulnerable in his voice that you can’t place, but all you can respond with is a needy cry as he speeds up, angling his thrusts just right. You can feel the familiar shock of pleasure coiling up in your belly now, surging from how deep he reaches.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” He snaps without warning, bursting with emotion again. You can only nod frantically in response.

“Yes, yes, Headmaster!” You sob, your eyes stinging with tears again.

Snape’s movements only grow stronger, his breathing heavier and huskier. His fingernails are digging small, half-moon indents into your skin. You don’t try to stifle the wanton moans that spill from your lips anymore, clawing for purchase at the wood.

“___… When you cum, you cum for me.”

Uncontrollably, you arch into the table. Your leg is cramping up from the exertion, muscles pulled taut, and you’re going to, you’re going to—

Your orgasm drowns the rest of your thoughts in static, white, hot bliss that smothers you. Snape shudders and moans as he buries himself to the hilt, pumping you full of his seed. His black cloak sweeps over you as he pulls out, far too soon, leaving you quivering and dripping with his cum.

The last, mangled strands of lucidity swim hazily in your mind. It takes a moment for you to remember why you were here at all.

After a few seconds, he releases you from the confines of his desk without a word. You bend down and hoist the ring of fabric up past your hips again, though your skin is sticky and damp. After a deep, shaky breath, you dare to glance at Snape.

There’s a thin sheet of sweat beading his forehead. Snape helps you pull your robes over your shoulders. He silently fastens your buttons back up again for you, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. You don’t rebuff him. Your hands are trembling enough as it is.

“Promise me that you’ll…” You halt.

Your vision is still blurry, but you could swear he looks like the old Severus. Not the figurehead or the professor, but the man. The Severus you once knew.

There’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t understand, and maybe you never will.

You’re so dead tired you can barely drag your feet back to the staff’s living quarters. You wake Minerva— or, no, she is already occupied by her usual routine of restless pacing, tugging at her tartan dressing-gown. While she does interrogate you a bit crossly, you can tell she empathises with your ‘insomnia.’

After that you gulp down a contraceptive and stumble into bed, boneless and weary. You don’t cry at all, though you feel that you probably should.

In a way, you’re glad that Minerva doesn’t appear concerned or worried for you. That means she hasn’t found out. There was a persistent paranoia in the back of your mind that she had, that Minerva had seen or heard or sensed it somehow.

You wonder if she’d feel disgusted, or if she would simply pity you. Maybe that would be worse.

You flick your wand and flush out the light.

No. No one needs to know what you’ve done.

A month passes. The grip of winter releases its hold, and spring emerges in its wake, fresh and pure. It’s as if you can finally breathe again.

You hope that you do not imagine the way your student’s faces regain some semblance of warmth. You hope you do not imagine the unmarred bodies, mercifully free from wounds. You also hope that it is not their own schemes or plans that embolden them.

They should leave those matters to you.

Somehow, it feels like the nightmare is almost over. But not yet. Not yet. You still await your orders, and nurse lofty dreams of freedom in your heart.

When night falls, you strip off your underclothes and climb the spiral staircase once more. It is not excitement that tightens your chest, but it is also not dread. Perhaps something else you also do not understand, and cannot afford to think of now.

Headmaster Snape is standing by his desk. You realise he’s been waiting for you. He has that strange, mystifying look in his eyes again.

He offers you a hand.

“Come here,” he says.

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slvtforoldermen · 25 days

Text

Birthday Morning

Masterlist

Summary: Javi’s birthday morning is always calm, considering it’s the only time of the day he’ll get this tranquility

Pairing: Retired!Dad!Javier Peña x Fem!Mum!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: suggestiveness ;) gasp! Mads not writing age gap for once, oh my goodness!

Word Count: 436 (only a drabble I’m sorry)

A/N: My second one shot for Pedro’s birthday, a gift from me to you to spark our love for him 🩷 I love you all my loves

The light through the blinds from the sun wakes Javi from his dreamless sleep, it warms his back as his eyes flutter open. He rolls over but the sight of his wife isn’t there, just empty sheets. So Javier did what any man would do: he laid there for a few minutes, waking himself up, before pulling on a pair of sweatpants, that were strewn on the floor from the night before, and trundled his way around the house to find his wife.

And the kitchen was where he found you. Multiple pans sizzling and the coffee machine boiling. You’re humming a sweet tune as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder.

“You smell good,” He murmurs, placing a kiss in the crook of your neck.

“Really, I haven’t showered yet?” You smile and he chuckles.

“Where are the kids?” He asks, noticing the unfamiliar quietness of the house.

“School, I took them in a few hours ago,” You explain. “Thought you could use the sleep.” Javi chuckles again. “Then I got back and thought I should make you some breakfast.”

“Well, who needs breakfast when I’ve got you…” Javi smirks, the bristles of his moustache tickling your neck, both this sensation and his words cause you to shiver.

“Well you’ve got from now until tomorrow morning to have me,” You chuckle. “So why don’t you wait five minutes?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“I managed to convince your dad to take the kids for tonight, but if you get tired of me, then I have no problem going and grabbing them,” You smile cheekily, Javi laughs.

“When could I ever get tired of you?” He asks, placing his hands on the back of your thighs. “They sore?”

“A little… I had trouble walking this morning,” You chuckle. “Had to lie to Bailey’s teacher that I had been riding a bike for too long—“

“Should change my name to bike.”

“Yeah,” You scoff. “Then Bailey looked up at me with suspicious eyes and said ‘But mama, you don’t have a bike?’ And then ran off to go play with their friends, so I turned around and said, ‘Better get home to bike, it’s his birthday’.”

“Well, drop off will be extremely awkward tomorrow,” Javi chuckles as he takes the coffee mug from the counter and sips. “Javier ‘Bike’ Peña.” You let out a laugh and kiss his cheek.

“How do you feel, now that you’re old?”

“Oof, you’re not that far behind me,” He smiles.

“Yet, still not 49,” You grin before kissing him softly, you hear the coffee mug being placed back on the counter before feeling his hands slip round your waist. You pull away jut for a second to whisper against his lips. “Happy birthday Javi.”

#slvtforoldermen #pedro pascal #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena fluff #no smut for once :0 #happy birthday pedro my love 🩷🩷🩷#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff

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squishycheekanon · 21 days

Text

La da de da viking Price for the win🛡️🌺

Your heavy snow boots trudged through the thick mounds of pure white snow, the freezing breeze was pinching and nipping at your cheeks. The cold had began to hurt your nose as you breathed, the back of your throat dry. Trying your hardest to keep warm, you shove your chin and mouth further into the top of your coat and breathe out hot air.

You only wanted to hunt for food and go back home, but seeing as you couldn’t find any animals near your little cabin, you had to venture elsewhere for the hunt. Something you annoyingly regretted the further away from home you got.

An exaggerated sigh left you for the twentieth time today as you knelt down on the ground feeling the snow start to soak into the material of your trousers. Pulling your bow off of your body and an arrow from the quiver that was strapped to your back. You drew back the string of your bow, holding the arrow steadily in place.

Closing your eyes, you waited. Listening oh so carefully, for anything. The sound of any animal to make itself known to you. A while passed, all you could hear was the soft wind and a nearby steam trickling quietly.

Until the snort of a deer had your eyes shooting open and your weapon aiming at the creature. Exhaling slowly, you let go, the arrow whipping through the air heading straight for the unknowing animal but ultimately hitting a different target. A huge gasp left you as you watched the arrow go straight into the chest of a man, the deer snorted before running off.

You grunted annoyed and dropped everything to run to the injured man. Your eyes set upon his figure. Large and strong, you recon if you’d hit anywhere else on him that’d he probably wouldn’t have collapsed. Probably would have grabbed the end of the arrow with his big sturdy hands and pulled it straight out like nothing happened. Probably.

The realisation started to set in the more you stared at him, you just shot a man. “Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry!” You panicked falling to your knees next to him where he was on the ground. His blue eyes meeting yours, looking at you as though you were an alien. His nostrils flared as he quietly grunted, feeling the pain begin to spread throughout his chest and body.

“I was hunting and….and you…y-you stepped in front of the deer. I’m so sorry.” Your hands hovers over his injured while your mind began to become frantic with how to proceed. You eyed the expensive leather that graced his bulky figure. Wrapping around every muscle eagerly. The fur cloak that was spread around him, clearly from a hunt.

It did little to hide the tattoos on his arms. Further up chainmail covered his shoulders proving how sharp you’d made your arrows for it to pierce the chainmail that presumably sat below his tunic and leather. You took note of his face better now, thin lips almost covered by a bushy moustache all connected with thick mutton chops and a full, long beard that caught your attention a little too much.

“Are ya’ done ogling me lass?” He gritted his teeth, wrapping his hand around the arrow and yanking it out. He groaned loudly, deep and rough just like his voice when he spoke. It sent shivers through your body in an unholy way. Nothing like you’d ever felt before.

“Are you a royal from the mainland?” You asked, worry underlining your question.

He bellowed at that, “Ne’er erd’ that one before.” His laugh trailed off as he pressed his fingers into his wound and pulled them away watching the blood drip down his hand.

“My bag.” He was gesturing to the bag that lay a few meters over from where he was. You scrambled to grab it, desperately trying to pull it open. The leather satchel was medium size with about a hundred strings tying it shut.

“W-What do you need?” You were stumbling over your words as you took noticed of the blood that was seeping out of his wound and staining the snow beneath him.

The man grabbed your shaky hands in his and whispered “Breathe.” You listened hesitantly, taking a deep breath.

“Y’know I think I’m supposed to be reassuring you.” A breathless laugh leaving you sounding more like a scoff, he let out a chuckle his face scrunching up in pain.

“In the bag, the bottle with the red liquid.” Nodding quickly, you searched through the bag and pulled out the bottle, pulling the cork out with your teeth and looking at him for instructions. He took the glass container and poured it over his wound and drank the rest of it.

You watched as his heavy panting of pain began to level out. He soon sat up and looked at you curiously, “I’ve ne’er seen ye round these parts before.” He states though you’re pretty sure it was a question, you simply shrug and stand up. He followed suit, a shock jolting through you when he stands only to tower over you greatly.

“I, um really am sorry. It truly was an accident.” You wring your hands together before offering one of them to him. He looks surprised and you don’t blame him, you’re sure a woman has never made this gesture to him before.

“Svo fallegt,” he seemed to look over you for a moment then let his large hand wrap itself around yours with a shake, “S’okay.”You nodded letting go of his grip and making your way to pick up your bow and quiver.

“What’s ya name?” He asked suddenly feeling a wave of panic as he watched you walking away from him. You answered, waiting for his in return. “Price. John Price.”

Now where had you heard that name before?

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fanaticsnail · 5 months

Text

Let Me Take Care of You

Even though I have all of the one-shots planned out and added to the Masterlist, mapped out several other plot points, and attempted to prioritize fics that I've desperately been putting off - I feel like we all needed this. TLC for our broody warlord. He needs to have his burden relieved in a SFW way (for once, regarding my writing!).

Word Count: 4,323

Warnings: semi-sub-Mihawk, switch-behaviour, moaning, kissing, pining, massaging, swearing (once), barely proof-read, fluff.

Song suggestion: Older - Isabel LaRosa

The amber-coloured eyes of the warlord shut tightly as he rose the maroon-coloured liquid to his lips; barely a whisper of a flinch perking up to his crows feet as he sipped at it. He rolled the bitter liquid over his tongue, savouring the flavour of the tart tannins before relinquishing it down his throat. The alcohol trickled down his neck to pool in a heat at the pit of his bare chest and stomach as he listened further to your melodical voice speaking with expert precision his readying schedule.

“Praises of your battle have already been sent in from the World Government’s head office,” you nodded, relinquishing the rolled newspaper from beneath your arm to present to the warlord while expertly holding your clipboard up to your face.

Mihawk rolled his neck, reopening his eyes and grasping the wafer-fine paper roll from your outstretched hand. Fingertips barely whispering a small touch, you retracted your hand from his once he clasped his hand around the material.

“Go on,” he commanded in a lazy tone while unrolling the paper to begin reading it. A glimpse of agitation fell to the warlord’s brow as his eyes narrowed, skimming over the pages while you continued to relay his schedule to him.

“You expressed interest in tending to your vineyard later today: I’ve already sent for your stable-hand to brush down your Clydesdale for a ride,” your eyes narrowed as you examined your boss, “also, the horticulturalist and viticulturalist have scheduled a meeting with you and the cellar hands to ready the next vintage of Tokaji for you to sample.”

Mihawk hummed in response, his nose hissing in a small, sharp inhale afterwards.

You were accustomed to his surliness as his personal assistant; your roles being from administrative roles regarding: scheduling, to managing his liaisons with the world government contacts to running his large homestead and farmlands with his many staff; alongside his sales associate for his Tokaji distribution and growth on Kuraigana. You were on first name terms after several years within his service, but chose to remain formal while you were within working hours.

“Sir?” you asked him, sharply. He snapped his unblinking eyes to bore into your own.

“Yes?” he questioned in a bored, drawn out tone.

“You are less like yourself today,” you noted, pulling the clipboard away from the front of your torso and placing it down on the table to lay it before him, “you normally rise at the opportunity to indulge in your samples. Is there something I should be made aware of? An injury perhaps?”

A small scowl drew itself upon the lips of the warlord; something akin to a pout below his well-maintained moustache.

“If any of them had the skill to land a single blow, I would have made you aware of such an occurrence,” he taunted you, agitation again falling to his brow. He floated his hawk-eyes back to the newspaper, shaking it to stabilise the material with a firm grip.

You cocked your chin sharply at his challenge, quickly raking your eyes over his body to check it for injury or slight dishevelment. Your sights fell to his righthand shoulder; zeroing your eyes with a precise beam against his upper body.

“You’ve pulled something,” you noted through pursed lips, “an overexertion wielding Yoru, no doubt while-.”

“-I have no such ailment,” he spoke over you in a sharp tone, his eyes snapping to yours over the top of the newspaper with a scowl. You held your narrowed gaze against his own with relentless resolve, choosing to step towards him as he withdrew his sights to fall back to the newspaper.

“As you’ve been priorly informed, sir, I have quite the resume,” you began, bringing your fingertips to curl down the top of the paper Mihawk was grasping, “you are aware of my history as a rehabilitative remedial therapist, and I am glad to offer my hands to you should you ever require them.”

It was true. Your vast experience was why Dracule Mihawk hired you. Your resume was unlike anything he had encountered prior, which is why he chose to keep you close. Swordsmanship, dagger mastery, martial combat, administrative duties, expert skills in the realms of viticulture and remedial massage occupied the majority of your time in study – undoubtedly the reason you never acquired the opportunity to settle down and home-make with a partner of your own, and chose to accept the role of assistant from the great swordsman.

Mihawk chose to ignore your hand pulling the paper downwards and continue to skim his eyes on the lower edges of the page to avoid your statement. You quirked your brow at him in question before sighing and retracting your hand from the pages.

“If that will be all, sir,” you began with a curt nod, “I shall retire to my duties managing your staff.”

As you turned to flee from the large dining hall, a voice softly addressed you.

“Fine,” Mihawk uttered in a low tone, prompting you to halt your next step, “I admit it. Wielding Yoru has taken its toll recently and I may have strained myself under the weight.”

You smirked before turning back towards your boss. Tilting your neck to relieve a small ‘click’ of pressure, you dropped your smirk and turned back to face him once more.

“Would you like me to rid that burden from you, sir?” you asked him, approaching the table once more while reaching for the newspaper and wine glass from his hands, “take the weight from your shoulders?”

He sighed, dropping his head and relinquishing his grasp on the two objects and handed them over to you.

“Yes,” he admitted in a exhaled whisper.

A soft smile drew itself to the corners of your lips as you placed down the objects on the table in front of him. You had never before crossed this particular boundary between you and Mihawk; fondness in professional comradery being the only true establishment in your relationship before the years and depth of professional curtesy blossomed into true alliance.

As your tenure drew close, your relationship did begin to deepen over a glass of wine or two after you had completed your duties of the evening. He had begun asking for your opinion after your third year of service. Your fifth year, he trusted your judgements in a variety of tasks; relinquishing them completely to you.

Within the eighth year of employment, he would often seek you out for conversation regarding his staff; often seeking, in his own way, gossip amongst the members he employed. This being your ninth year of employment, you could easily find the word ‘friend’ from falling within your thoughts regarding the dark-haired gentleman before you. You held a fondness for him, often desiring to see him thrive in achieving his combatant goals and maintaining his title of world’s greatest swordsman. You could even go so far as to say you loved him; pining for him through subtlety caring for him in all ways in your duties.

“Say no more,” you responded, reaching your hand towards his own; gaining his full attention in a curt snap of his chin upwards. He gazed up at you, you almost stooping towards his seated form. His eyes held the depth of his ailment.

“Go and ready yourself in the bathing quarters; dress down but remain covered,” you nodded to him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in affirmation, “I’ll have your itinerary cancelled for the day and rescheduled for the following week. And between us,” you reached your other hand to smooth over his cheek in a gentle caress, “the grapes would do well with maturing on the vine for a little while longer.”

He hummed against your hand, eyes closing and leaning into your caress. You were taken aback at his unwithheld expression of fondness for you. Helping to guide him to his feet, you ushered him throughout the doors, noticing his usually strict and rigid posture had begun to slouch against the burden on his shoulders.

You shook your head with your soft smile remaining, watching him as the final shadow of his body fell away from view. Arrangements made through den-den-mushi calls and vocal commands to your underlings; you widened your fingers to ready themselves to rid the warlord of the burdens he was carrying in the knots littered along his back and shoulders.

Walking along the halls, up the many steps and winding along the corridors; you found your feet falling to the large bathing quarters of the large, darkened castle. You knocked on the wooden door with a tri-fold, curt rap – the inner room welcoming you with a small groan beckoning your arrival from within.

You opened the door, truly not quite prepared for the sight befalling you.

Dracule Mihawk, clad in nothing but a white towel hanging from his hips: his hat, necklace and sword being nowhere in sight. Your eyes met with his curled, dark locks as his head hung lowly; his hands clasping the marble, low-lying table beneath his palms. You could almost visibly see the waves of tension falling from his bare shoulders, prompting a small gasp of empathy to fall from your lips as you shut the door behind you.

“Why did you not say something sooner, my lord?” you asked him, approaching him swiftly. He sighed in response, holding his eyes fixed to the polished tiles beneath his bare feet.

“I do not readily present vulnerability to those I employ,” he uttered through clenched teeth, “why should you be any different?”

Your brows fell to a firm frown, eyes narrowing as you uttered: “I would have thought after nearly ten years of service, we would call each other ‘friend’ by now.”

He sighed again, shoulders slouching further under the weight of his burden.

“Okay, friend,” he mocked, bringing his eyes up to meet with your own, “if you would be so kind as to hold true to your promise. Fix me.”

You folded your arms over your chest and widened your stance in stubbornness.

“Ask me more politely, friend,” you sternly challenged him; “and I just may find it in my heart to do so-.”

“-please,” Mihawk whispered through baited breath in a tone you could only just pick up on your registry.

“Beg, pardon?” you asked him, not truly processing the words falling from his lips.

“Please,” he stated a little more firmly, his eyes almost wide and pleading with you, “please fix me.”

You were shocked. Taken-aback. Flabbergasted. Holding true to your promise, you relinquished your shoes from their presence wrapped around your feet and placed them neatly by the door.

The next item you removed was your socks, placing them within the soles of your shoes. Removing your coat and placing it by the door, you turned back towards your boss and began your approach. You stood in front of him, his head bowed low once more to reveal his broad shoulders towards you.

“If I may assess the damage, sir?” you asked, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder.

“By all means,” he mocked you, a small chuckle almost leaving as you touched your palm to his shoulder while remaining strong in front of him. Feeling the warmth radiating from his body, an audible gasp fled your lips alongside an empathetic wince.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling the muscle below his skin. It was completely solid. There was no ‘knot’ to work out; his entire shoulder was one large intertwining vine of tension and pressure.

Another sigh fled from his lips at your reaction, his voice addressing you; “is it truly that bad?”

You clicked your neck from side to side, retracting your hand from his shoulder and drawing your fingers to intertwine within each other to stretch them in preparation.

“Sir,” you addressed him, his eyes drawing again to yours from their down-focussed position upwards.

“Yes?” He challenged you, his tone once again mocking you with his pained smirk lingering beneath.

“You-,” you collected his chin within your fingers to hold his gae against your own, “-are going to absolutely hate me after this.”

“I doubt that,” his smirk widened.

“Oh,” you shook your head, relinquishing your hold on his chin and returning to your pile of clothes, “you are either going to fire me-,” you said, undoing your belt and untucking your shirt to have it fall below your underwear to keep you shielded, “-or propose to me after this.”

“What are you doing?” he asked you, his shoulders stiffening upright and alert at your movements. A snarl fell to his mouth as you pulled your pants from your hips downwards to pool at your feet.

“Calm down-,” your face was completely serious, your air of command falling freely from your lips in reaffirmation, “-I am going to need my knees for the job to be properly performed. Judging from the knots on your shoulders; I’m assuming the rest of your body has been equally as ill-maintained in care.”

His snarl lessened, his jaw almost falling slack before he tensed it.

“If you insist,” he relinquished his hesitation, “you know what’s best.”

“That I do, sir,” you nodded to him, again approaching him once more with a fresh towel in hand, “use this to prop your head and lie face down on the bench. Let me take care of you.”

He immediately snatched the towel from your hands and in one swift movement, he fell immediately to lie on his stomach with his arms bent outwards to prop below his chin. You couldn’t help the small giggle to fall from your lips at his eagerness, but as you were reminded of your prior experience feeling his marble-like stiffness below his muscular definition; you would be exactly as eager to be rid of your burden as he currently was.

“Get on with it, then-,” he commanded you, halting as your firm hands gripped his shoulders and began to search his muscles for the source of the tension. His spine, shoulder blades, rib cage and biceps were all stiff and rigid; a plate of stone ready to be carved under your expert and precise skill to be restored and moulded into his glory.

You winced as you located the large knot, a place in the crevasse between his shoulder blade and spinal collum close to his upper neck. You tested the pressure with your thumbs, syphoning an unintentional moan to wince through the lips of the warlord. Mihawk tensed at the shock of the sound you managed to pull from him, opening his mouth to speak; only to be cut off with your verbal reprimand.

“There is no shame in sounds here, my lord,” you informed him, pushing down further against the knot and rotating your thumbs expertly in a circular motion, “I can tell how much this pains you, and I can sense the relief you will come to feel once I rid you truly of it. If it causes you more tension to withhold your vocalisations, by all means do not restrain yourself.”

Replacing your thumb with the precise point of your elbow had Mihawk arching back into your touch with his bottom lip clenched between his top teeth; his breath hissing out in an attempt to restrain his audible moan. You continued to utilise your left arm to drive down your right elbow for a firmer pressure; finally withdrawing a completely unrestrained whimper to escape from the lips of the warlord below you as he humbled himself truly under your ministrations.

“Well done, sir,” you praised him, dragging your elbow to the mirrored point on the other shoulder to relinquish the lesser knot on the other side, “you’re doing wonderfully-.”

“-Do not treat me like some incapable- ungh!” his words were stolen from him as you continued to work your remedial magic against his knots; battling with them and overcoming them in combat beneath your skilled hands.

“Stop holding back,” you commanded him firmly, lying your right forearm directly onto his spine and baring down your weight onto it, “the more you withhold your humility, the more tense you become. Let me help you.”

Under those final four worded commands, Dracule Mihawk became a mewling, gasping, sighing mess beneath your talented hands and forearms as you continued to detangle the firm vines of his hardened knots beneath his skin. You remained professional under the sounds you pulled from him, fighting the warmth that began rising upwards from your chest to your cheeks.

You leant down towards his ear, his dark curls brushing against your cheek as you brought your lips towards his ear.

“I am going to stand on you now, my lord,” you informed him as you continued to put pressure against his left shoulder, “if that is alright with you-.”

“-Yes,” he sighed, his eyes met with yours with his pupils completely blown with unbridled satisfaction and anticipation, “please.”

His jaw was slack, his breath fleeing his lips in shallow pants as he was guided within a place somewhere situated with the most pain his body had been within while chasing the biggest release of complete relief and descending his burden onto you.

“As you command it, sir,” you nodded to him with a warm smile, placing your palms flat on his back and jumping to situate your feet beneath his thighs as you crouched lowly. You placed your bare knees against his glutes and bore the brunt of your weight first onto those pressure points.

Another relentless whimper fell from his lips before he allowed an unbridled moan to fully escape from his lips as the pressure became completely withdrawn from his muscles; leaving his body completely exposed and mouldable below your ministrations.

“I’ll be placing my feet on you now, sir,” you informed him, testing his lower back with your left foot as you rose from your kneeling position, “if you could trust my leadership for this next experience; I will guide you on when to inhale and exhale to relieve your body completely of the tension. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” he sighed. His tone caused you apprehension as you began to have the warmth from your chest truly spread itself in reaction to his vocalisation. You mentally scolded yourself, reminding yourself that you were a professional and this was your job; Mihawk was your boss, not some lover or object for you to fixate your desires upon. You shook your head and began to rise your body while baring your weight against his back beneath your feet.

“My lord-,” you began, halted only by his next words.

“-Mihawk,” he corrected you, “call me Mihawk, please.”

You nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly to not read into his correction further than needed to be.

“Okay, Mihawk,” you spoke, a smile rising against your lips as you savoured the flavour of his name rolling over your tongue, “inhale.”

His torso rose upwards to completely balloon his chest upwards as you placed your left foot steadily against his spine.

“And slowly exhale,” you directed him, chasing after his breath with your weight. You felt the satisfaction of a loud ‘crunch’ below your toes followed by a cry of complete abandon falling from the lips of your boss below your feet.

“Good job, Mihawk,” you praised him again, “you’re listening very well.”

He moaned again against your praise as you trailed your feet upwards to fall against the mid of his back; “let’s do it again. A big inhale for me, please.”

Again breathing in a long inhale, you chased his breath with your weight while commanding him, “exhale now, Mihawk.” ‘Crunch.’

As a baker would roll out and form a crusted pastry; you were spreading out the torso of Mihawk against your weight, pulling moans, groans and cries of bliss from his lips as he listened intently to your every command. Each time he would gift you with a satisfactory ‘click,’ ‘crack,’ or ‘crunch,’ of his back and spine; you would offer him praise to follow. “Well done, Mihawk,” “you’re doing so well,” or comments of “oh, I bet that felt so good,” would fall from your own alongside an empathetic groan of pleasure at the relief he should surely feel beneath your feet.

As you fell to his shoulder blades, you stood on the tips of your toes and began to shuffle your feet to rid the flesh of any tension before you fell your feet back to drop to a kneeling position: your knees falling against his shoulders with your fingertips spread wide to brace your weight fully onto his body.

You rocked your knees against his shoulders, Mihawk’s mouth fully falling slack at this stage and brows furrowing in bliss with his eyes shut tightly. You craned your head to the side to get a full picture of his face; your brows again falling to a frown at his tension.

“Mihawk,” you verbally warned him, his eyes clenching tighter in response, “give yourself permission to be truly vulnerable beneath me.”

He sighed out a sharp exhale, his face contorting again; prompting you to apprehensively reach your hand forward to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered open with his brows remaining furrowed. His beard felt coarse beneath your hand as your thumb soothed his cheek with small circles.

“I promise,” you moved your hand up to rub your thumb over his forehead, “you will feel much better once you just let go.”

His gaze fell to your lips before reluctantly pulling it back upwards to land on your eyes; his own eyes softening as he nodded subtly.

“Good man,” you praised him with a warm smile, removing your hand and leant backwards onto your feet once more closer to his shoulders, “now inhale once more.”

With a shaken breath, he inhaled again; feeling the tips of your fingers firmly against his neck, your knees against his shoulders and the balls of your feet perched on his lower back.

“Now exhale,” you softly commanded him, rolling your weight to your knees and chasing his relief with your body. ‘Crack.’

A low, rumbly groan of pleasure exited from the lips of the warlord in complete bliss as his tension had been successfully relieved beneath your skilled ministrations.

You smiled, slowly bringing your feet to the cool, tiled floor beneath your feet. Briefly sitting yourself atop his back, your white shirt rising slightly to reveal your underwear against his bare flesh, you hopped yourself down from your perch atop him. Reflexes overtook you as you reached your hand forward to rake through his dark locks, ruffling them beneath your fingers as you drew patterned circles against his scalp.

“Do you feel better?” you asked him, tilting your head downwards to check over his face for any further discomfort. In response, Dracule Mihawk immediately sprung to his feet; his hands falling beneath your shirt to grasp at the flesh above your hips. He dragged your pelvis to lie flush against his own, angling his chin downwards and entangling his lips against yours in a dance of passion.

Your eyes widened, your hand continuing its woven position within his hair as his moustache tickled your upper lip. You squealed out in surprise as his tongue protruded and caressed your lips as he circled his chin upwards to deepen his embrace. Raking his hands further beneath your shirt and circling around your back, he fully caged you against himself as a hawk would carry his prey within his talons.

He retracted his lips from his caress against your own and began trailing affectionate, fluttering kisses against your chin and jawline towards your ear; cradling your body completely against himself with a small, gleeful sway. You felt him smile against your skin, prompting more shock to rise to your face. Your fight, flight and freeze reflexes truly all engaged as this completely unprompted response from Dracule Mihawk continued in a dance of balancing lazy and abandoned sensibilities with a passionate and calculated engagement against your body.

He walked your body backwards towards the wall and fell himself to brace against it with his head fully falling against the arch between your neck and shoulder. He allowed another moan to fall from his lips as he bore his full weight against you; your arms reactionarily falling beneath his arms to catch him.

“Sir,” you addressed him in a warning tone, “I would not have gotten up that quickly. You needed time for your body to readjust to your new alignment before you bore your full weight onto yourself.”

“Patience is not my strongest suit, dear,” he chuckled against your shoulder, pressing his lips against your clothed body, “especially when it comes to expressing gratuity to my beautiful friend.”

You giggled, bracing his body completely against your own and in turn walking him backwards to knock the point behind his knees against the marble benchtop. He fell to a seated position, his forehead remaining connected to your stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hands falling to the back of your exposed thighs and holding your body against his forehead, “can we draw up more of those into our schedule?”

You furrowed your brows at him, reaching your right hand to retrieve his chin to tilt his head upwards to gaze into your eyes.

“My hands are yours, sir-,” you began, Mihawk bringing his left hand up to cradle your right hand within it; pressing a deep kiss against your palm while correcting you.

“-Mihawk,” he uttered, pressing another chaste kiss against your palm looking down at your hands affectionately, “please. When we’re alone like this, I am Mihawk to you.”

“Need I remind you, Mihawk,” you warned him, chasing his gaze with your own, “I am your employee, not your spouse.”

“Allow me to alter that arrangement,” he smirked against your palm, flittering his gaze upwards to meet your own once more. You shook your head at his statement with a small, half-smile.

“Firing me?” you asked him coyly, your left brow arched upwards in question.

“Courting you,” he corrected you, beckoning for you to arch downwards with his chin to rejoin your lips against his once more. Smiles and sighs in satisfaction of finally giving into your desires for one another falling from you both in unified harmony.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #fluff #mutual pining

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Note

Omg? Price fucking his wife on his desk while holding his hand over her mouth because he has a reputation to uphold but she can’t stay quiet cause he’s fucking her dumb :(

I see your cockdrunk reader and I raise you Price who literally cannot keep his hands off her

warnings: mdni(18+), smut, pinv, creampie

Your back is pressing into the wood of his desk, your hands gripping above your head as he holds your thighs, pounding into you.

You can see his face, his cheeks tinted pink as his forehead a little sweaty as he just stares down at where the two of you meat, the sight alone makes you moan, his attention snapping up to you.

He leans over you, pressing his lips to yours and his moustache is scratching at your skin,

“Gotta stay quiet love, I’m the boss around here”

If he hadn’t made you cum twice already you probably would’ve listened, but now, your muscles are weak and your mind is clouded, his words don’t process in your head as a string of moans falls from your lips.

Price grunts as he thirsts into you, the wet sounds filling the room, you manage another moan before he presses his palm against your mouth, your hand instinctively moving to cover his with your own.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he grabs one of your thigh, lifting it to allow him deeper,

“Ahh S’alright love, doing so well for me”

He pushes his thumb past your lips and your tongue teases over the digit, whimpering around it as he quickens his pace.

He removes his hand and your head lolls to the side, his assault on your pussy making you feel weightless.

His fingers move to circle your clit and you jerk your hips from the stimulation, whimpers escaping your lips.

“Need you to cum for me, one more time, but you have to stay quiet”

You manage a nod his fingers working over your bud as his cock drags against your soaked walls, you’re a puddle of moans and Price leans over your body, his large hand once again covering your mouth.

“Takin me so well baby, so fuckin tight”

His words elicit another moan from you, turning your head so you can see him, his face a few inches from yours.

His palm is firm over your lips, muffling your moans as you arch into him, your orgasm threatening to tear you apart.

You sob into his hand, your fingers gripping at his arms as you cum around him, he fucks you through it, letting you ride out your high,

“That’s it baby, such a perfect little pussy”

There’s tears pricking your eyes when you open them,

“Can’t wait to get home so I can hear all your pretty noises”

He grunts in your ear, his thrusts getting shallow as he reaches his own orgasm, a moan escaping his lips as he cums, shooting his spend into your core, the sensation elicits a sigh from you covered mouth.

He pulls out slowly, helping you to sit as his hands steady you, he leans in and kisses you, you practically melt into him.

He helps you dress, offering you water and sitting with you as you regain your strength, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

“You think anyone heard?”

“If they did they know better than to ask questions” He laughs

“Not my fault you fuck me like you haven’t seen me in months”

“Mm just wait till we get home” He teases in your ears and you can already feel your arousal pooling in your core.

#cod mw2 #cod mw x reader #john price smut #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price smut #reqs💌

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dreamauri · 5 months

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ok so i saw your sub!lando post and for some reason the only thing i can think abt is if the roles were reversed??? j a clingy and cuddly reader (i love the fact that she’s gonna be clingy when lan’s streaming) and dom!lando cause brainrot 🤧 ok bye ilysmsmsmsmsmsm (please don’t feel pressured to write this if you don’t wanna!!)

♪ — 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗨𝗖𝗛 𝗔 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 lando norris x girlfriend! reader (smut) “. . . being clingy and teasing can lead up to something.”

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests | taglist )

You snuggled further into Lando's chest as he gently stroked your hair. You were finally in pyjamas, sitting on your boyfriend's lap as he played games with his friends on stream. and you watched quietly. You didn't want to disturb them. but you didn't want to be away from Lando either.

You didn't need him giving all his attention to you. Leaning your side to his chest with the occasional kiss and affectionate touches was enough. You were feeling tired and sleepy anyways and you felt like you'd doze off any moment now.

"Well—" Lando cut himself off with a yawn. "The puppy that has claimed my lap as her own personal property and real estate has a very contagious desire for sleep." And with that he signed off the live stream, pulling you to straddling his lap. Your first instinct was to nuzzle in his neck, pressing soft kisses against his nicely tanned and warm skin.

"What are you doing?" He sucked in a breath feeling you wiggle on the spot. "Getting comfy." You chuckled, tone holding a slight tease as you leaned up to connect your lips with his. It was a sweet and soft kiss. Until you felt the brit thrust his hips up slightly. A small tiny moan left your mouth. And that was all it took to trigger Lando.

The kisses weren't short and soft, but longer and more passionate. You even struggled to try and keep up with Lando, the hungry pace he was going with was too fast for you. "Lan." You tried to stop him when you felt his hands trail up your thighs and under your shirt.

A yelp sounded as he lifted you up, carrying you all the way to his room and his bed. He was too quick to pull your clothes and half of his own, too desperate to feel your skin on his. "Stop." You giggled feeling ticklish as he pressed kisses to your tummy and hips.

"What?" Helooked up at you with clear concern. He thought he hurt you, but thankfully not. "I'm not having sex with that." you motioned to his facial hair that he was growing. "What, you don't like it?" He crawled up, leaning his forearms on either side of your head. "No. It tickles. And I wanna have sex, not laugh." You argued trying to hold in your smile while looking Lando deep in his eyes. You watched him as he stroked his chin proudly, going back down to where you needed him most.

"Lando no," You laugh, pushing his head away as he tries to catch your clit on his lips. "Hey—" The brit scolded you, pushing your hand away. "Let me work." You laughed at the statement, ready to mock him when a moan broke from your throat. “I take my job very seriously, thank you very much.”

"Fuck— ok ok, I'm sorry." You went to push his head away, feeling him lap and nibble on your bud. The brit made sure to hold your wrist, stopping you from sabotaging him in any way. "Lando-" "Be a good girl." His muffled voice was stern as he held your thigh, gently stroking his thumb against your skin to at least comfort you as he tongue fucked you.

His nose and little moustache were doing your clit no justice. And Lando knew it. He watched you squirm and moan his name, a jolt running up your spine every time he nudged you. “You’ll be good?” You nodded quickly, trying to hold his hand at least. But he held your other wrist too, confining you completely under his mercy.

“Can’t hear you, my love.” “I’ll be good. I’ll be super good.” You nodded, starting to heave as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. “You’ll be a good girl?” “I’ll be a good girl, a very good girl. T—the best girl.” You promised, squirming each time you felt him intentionally drag his tongue on the spot that made you see stars.

“I’ll take your word on that.” He hummed, letting go of your wrists, concentrating on your sensitive bud since he knew you were more prone to a quick orgasm from there. Your fingers were quick to tangle in his hair, not really pulling. But since his hands were too busy trying to take off his pants, the soft curls would do for now.

“Lando, no.” You whined, leaning up on your elbow to look at him. You were almost there, seconds from a climax that would’ve left scratch marks on Lando’s shoulder. Your eyes were teary and your chest was heaving. You got up shakily, helping him pull his pants down. A gulp went down your throat seeing the size of him, hesitantly pulling his boxer shorts down as well.

“Go on.” Lando leaned back on his elbows, waiting for you to settle between his legs. “But it was my turn.” You looked up at him, begging slightly. You need him, you couldn’t wait any longer. You crawled up, sitting on his lap, a desperate look on your face as you looked between his sky coloured eyes. Lando looked at you, a smirk on his lips as he pretended to be thinking. “I’ve been a good girl.” You begged again, kissing him gently yet passionately. “Please please please.”

Lan tilted his head, smiled even wider, glancing down at his dick then you. No words or explanation was needed. You knew what he was asking you and you weren’t going to deny him. Your mind was too foggy and if it took giving him an orgasm first to receive your own, then so be it. You shifted your body between his bent knees, getting comfortable as you took his length in your mouth inch by inch. The noises he made were not helping with your situation at all. Lando’s eyes grew heavier, he was determined to watch himself disappear in your mouth and reappear, again and again.

And for the next few minutes, you picked up the pace. You even added tongue which you knew would speed up the process. But apparently not. You were suspecting he was holding back on purpose. His moans and grunts were loud, and with the occasional shift or thrust you’d think he’s on the edge. But he can’t be on the verge of an orgasm for 5 minutes straight. Looking up at him, his face was scrunched up and jaw tense, breathing through his teeth.

“Okay, okay! Enough! Enough. I’m dying.” He gave up, gently cupping under your chin and pulling you up forcefully. Your eyes were wide as you looked at what was just in your mouth. Lando slumped back on his back, breathing heavily. “I came like 7 times, Y/N.” He scolded tiredly, body practically shaking on the spot. You crawled up to him, looking at him confused. Nothing was in your mouth, you were pretty sure. Did he cum dry? You didn’t say anything, you instead gently pressed kisses to his jaw and neck. Once you lay beside him, you let Lando recover, watching his breath even out. He opened his eyes looking at you. “Sorry.” You whisper. “You should be sorry, how am I going to compete with that?” The two of you giggled softly, sharing soft kisses.

With a deep breath, Lando sat up, sitting with his back against the wall, patting his lap for you. You got on with no hesitation of course. Wrapping your arms around his neck as you slowly sunk on his length. “Awh, that's a good girl.” Lando’s praises went straight into you, a moan echoing in your throat as he connected his lips with yours.

The thrusts started shortly, gaining speed within a certain pace. You even switched positions a couple of times; on your side and back to prone, which was a little more frustrating because he was pressing all of his weight into you. You were too out of it to even unhook your heels from around his abdomen.

“You’re so fucking tight, Y/N. You’re such a good girl.” Lando huffed, arms wrapped around you as you messily made out. He eventually slipped, accidentally falling on you. All his weight now on and inside you. That was all it took for your body to rock from an intense orgasm, helpless moans and whimpers following suit. “Fuck, baby. I’m sorry.” he kissed your jaw gently, but you were practically putty, head rolling on your side as he pressed kisses, fucking you through your high.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“One, two, three.” Lando pulled out quickly, a pained moan slipping from your mouth. Your walls were too sensitive, even the action of Lando just whipping you clean felt overwhelming.

That feeling was quickly over though and you were thankfully just left with your boyfriend and yourself, cuddling under the fuzzy sheets of his bed, deciding on whether you should get pizza, chinese, or just to call max and make him cook for you since both of your legs were very much not working.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Look at these two idiots.” Max Fewtrell sighed deeply as he stood in your kitchen, pointing at your practically passed out figures to the camera that was leaned near the stove so he could cook and talk at the same time. You were splayed out on the counter in Lando's merch hoodies and shorts and Lando was on the floor only in his fluffy pyjama pants.

“Disgusting.” He shook his head as the two of you waved at the camera.

“I had to buy ear plugs when you and Lando were still roomies. I couldn’t stay over and sleep peacefully with how-” “Y/N!” Max cut you off looking at you shocked and panicked. Lando was laughing his ass of the floor while you gave Max innocent puppy smile.

"I hate you guys. Making me do forced, unpaid, treacherous labour." "treacherous?" " don’t know, sounds like a long scary word."

"Chat is cursing at you, Lando." "They hate me because they aint me. They wish they had my ass." "Lando you don't have an ass." "EXCUSE ME?!" "He’s right, Lan." "DONT SIDE WITH HIM Y/N."

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sxcretricciardo · 2 months

Text

good luck charm

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

It's race day here in Monaco and you're walking around the paddock with your airpods in your ears, a sight that everyone was used to seeing every Sunday. Walking makes your muscles stay warm and the music helps you remain focus, cutting out every outside noise that's going around the paddock.

You like to look inside the team's garages as you walk past, you love to see everyone working and giving their best to have their cars sharp and ready to go into the track. You like to see the driver's rituals before racing too. Some sit in their drivers rooms, others like to stand in the garage and others like to sit in their cars.

You make your way to the AlphaTauri garage, wanting to see your boyfriend, Daniel, to whish him good luck. You and Daniel had this agreement that as soon as you walk into the paddock, there's no PDA. When you both started dating, the papers went wild, claiming that you were only in F1 because of your boyfriend and every question when you were on press it would be about Daniel and your relationship with him. You hated that. Being a woman in the F1 is already hard, having to prove yourself more than the men and you wanted to be recognized by people because of your career in Formula 1 and not because of your boyfriend so, you don't kiss when you're inside the paddocks, you don't to give the media something to talk about. You love Daniel nonetheless, and that affection is showed a lot outside the tracks. You both just like to keep it in a private circle. You still talk and tease each other in here, but there are no kisses or hugs, at least not in the public eye. You know each other's drivers room pretty well, though.

You see Daniel sitting in the corner of the garage, with his headphones on his head. It took you a while to figure out the thing he had under his nose.

You approach him and start laughing your butt off. Daniel Ricciardo has a moustache.

"What?" He asks, like he didn't know why you are laughing.

"What the hell is that?" You ask, pointing to his moustache.

"It's just a moustache." He says, brushing it with his fingers.

"Yeah, I can see that. You didn't have that when I left our hotel room this morning." You say.

"I told you I had a surprise for you. You don't like it?" He asks, with puppy eyes. Suddenly, you feel bad for laughing.

"I mean, it's a different look, that's all. It's suits you, alright." You say, smiling.

"So, you like it." He says, smiling.

"I mean, kinda?"

"Be honest." He says.

You look at him closer, tilting your head in a thinking motion. You put your mouth closer to his ear and whisper "I think it's very hot." As you push yourself away, you see him smirking.

"Well, I just came here to wish you good luck, you're gonna need it." You say, walking away.

"I already have my good luck charm." He says.

"Aw, thank you." You say, almost exiting the garage.

"Not you, the moustache." He says, smirking. You look back at him to see him smirking and then looking away from you.

"You're gonna regret that." You shout for him to hear and walk to your garage to get ready for the race.

-after the race-

You exit your car in the paddock and make your way into to the garage. You crossed the finish line in P4, and your were satisfied with your result, eager to do better next weekend. You passed Daniel twice, so you knew he hadn't done better than you.

You take of your helmet and you baclava and drink some water. After you're done with the press, you put on your regular clothes and make your way to the parking lot, where you see Daniel waiting, leaning against his car.

"Congrats on P4, sweets." He says, smiling.

"I told you were gonna regret it." I say, as you walk closer to him. "But P7 is not bad at all, at least you got some points."

You kiss him on the lips and he says "Well, it could have gone worse."

"It could have gone better, but you got a new good luck charm, shouldn't that have help you?" You ask, smirking. You both put your stuff in the trunk of the car and then enter it. Danny drives away to the hotel. And let's just say, his moustache is actually amazing when it comes to other stuff.

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 6 months

Text

Seed [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Now with a sequel: Sprout

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: breeding kink from here to high heaven, fear of infertility, lots of piv sex and creampies, multiple orgasms, fingering, pero eats it from the back, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names.

Words: 4,022

Summary: Your husband Pero comes home to put a baby in you. Don't look at me.

The smell of fresh-caught fish mixes with the salty breeze from the sea, and the sweet scent of oranges. You carry your basket through the marketplace, grocery shopping done, when you hear a call from the crowd: "They're back!"

Your heart skips a beat as you swing around, your skirt dancing around your ankles as you see the trade caravan coming down the main street to the marketplace. Your eyes scan the faces, quickly finding the one you are hoping to see.

Your husband, Pero.

Since marrying you and settling in this quiet small town by the sea, he no longer sells his sword to warlords and kings. Instead, he provides protection for caravans. He is mostly away for a week or two at a time, but this time he has been away for months. You have carried your worry and longing stoically, never showing your neighbours your fear, but now you do not care if everybody sees the relief and happiness on your face. You are not the only one with a husband in the caravan, but you are the only one whose husband wields a weapon for a living.

Pero spots you from afar, and he urges his horse into a trot. The clip-clop of the shoed hooves against the cobblestones is the sweetest music you have heard in a long time. You stand still, a smile on your lips, and put the basket down when Pero swings down from horseback, pulls you to him, and wraps his strong arms around you.

"Wife," he murmurs into your hair. "My precious wife."

Your arms reach around his armoured middle as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of the road: dust, sweat, and grime, but you do not care. Underneath all that, you can smell him: horse, hay, earth, metal, spices. You cannot wait to drown in him.

Slowly, Pero strokes your head, making you look at him. You cup his cheek, feeling the stubble that renders his face darker than usual, and unevens the moustache.

"Are you unharmed?" you want to know. He nods slowly.

"Mad from missing you, but not a scratch on me."

He touches his lips to yours, just a gentle little return kiss from an absent husband to his beloved wife, but you know that as soon as you are behind closed doors, he is going to devour you.

"Let's go home," you suggest, enjoying the way your husband's beautiful brown eyes melt into dark liquid.

He helps you up on the horse and mounts behind you. Your basket securely in front of you and Pero sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close, he steers the horse homeward with his other hand. He does not speak as you leave the marketplace, and he does not need to. The two of you always found each other's silences comfortable. Besides, no words are needed to let you know he wants you: his cock is growing hard against the soft roundness of your ass pushing against it. A shiver runs down your spine and ends up on a blossoming pool of arousal between your thighs. Your hand finds Pero's on your waist, fingers disappearing between his in a loving clasp.

You reach your little house, Pero dismounting first so that you can slide off the horse and into his arms. He holds you close again, now with a full erection pressing against you.

"Go inside," he murmurs. "I have to put the horse away."

You push your pelvis against him, smirking at his low groan, before you take the basket and go in. You have barely emptied the basket onto the kitchen table before Pero comes in, kicking the door close as he starts to unlace his breeches.

He takes you on the table, breeches undone just enough to let his cock out, your skirts pulled up to your waist to let him in. A frantic coupling where you exchange breathless moans, claw at each other's bodies through clothes, his cock pressing deep into you as his fingers plant blooming bruises on your thighs. He spills into you before long, cock twitching in the welcoming squeeze of your cunt, and lowers his forehead to yours as he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his dark hair, curling at the nape of his neck. The amount of silver has increased, scattered like stars across the dark clouds of his soft hair. You kiss the scar over his left eye, both above and under his closed eyelid.

"You need a haircut," you mumble, despite not really wanting him to cut off the soft curls. "And a shave."

"I need you." His initial thirst for you may have been slaked, but his hunger is not sated, and neither is yours.

"You have me now."

He straightens his back and rolls his head, a joint cracking loudly. Slowly, you come down from the table and start to lace up the bindings of his armour. He watches you do it, pulling the bodice of your dress down your shoulders and caresses the exposed skin, stares into your cleavage.

"Wife," he demands, hand on your waist, "Are you with child yet?"

You cast your eyes down. You have been trying to have a child since you were wed. The attraction between the two of you was always there, and pleasure has always been an important part of your married life - before as well, even if he never put it in before you were wed - but there has always been another motive to your coupling as well. You both want a child, several, but one to start with. He takes every opportunity to sow his seed in you, and you welcome every attempt.

But so far, it has not taken.

"My love." Pero caresses your head. "We have time. We will try again."

He kisses your cheek, and leans in towards your ear, his breath hot when he whispers: "And again... and again... and again..."

A husky giggle escapes you and you wrap your arms around his neck as you seek his lips for a kiss. He lifts you up, skirts rustling, and carries you to bed. The kisses turn slower as you undress each other, hands reclaiming every bit of revealed skin. His hard muscles relax when you pass your palm over them, fingers chasing his old familiar scars to trace and love. His hands are dry and callused when he cups your soft breasts, but he still holds you gently. His unshaved face tickles your stomach when he trails kisses over it, but your giggles turn to moans when he buries his face between your thighs, tongue probing between slick lips where his precious seed is dripping out. He assaults your clit, has you thrashing and wailing his name until the sheets are crumpled and you are shaking with the intensity of your release. He rests his chin on your thigh, looking up at you with both a satisfied smirk and adoring eyes.

"That's my girl," he praises you softly. "Let the neighbours know that your husband is home."

You chuckle breathlessly. Your cunt is throbbing hotly, and you pass your hands over your face before reaching for Pero.

"Come to me, husband."

He crawls over you, hissing softly when you close your hand over his cock, and guide it into you. It slides in so easily, but still fills you up so perfectly.

"Oh..." you gasp, eyes falling shut as you bite down on your lower lip. "Pero..."

"I know, precious, I know... but you have to look at me."

He cups your face and kisses you, and when he pulls back, you open your eyes, only to drown in the dark pools of his.

"I want you to look at me when I fill you with my seed," he growls, fingers tangling in your hair. "Look at me when I fuck a baby into you."

His voice is strangled, his hips grind tightly against yours. It is slower now than that first, hurried time, but still intense, desperate in a whole new way. You are hypnotized by him, his presence, his weight on top of you, his cock ravaging your very womb, his low voice that always knows just how to drop to make you wet, that scarred gaze of his that scowls at everyone else but turns soft and vulnerable when directed at you.

"Breed me," you whisper, hooking your ankles together behind his back. "Breed me, husband, I need you to breed me."

He stutters as he fucks you harder, digging deep into you, finding your spot, and staying on it as your moans rise.

"Pero, oh, God, please don't stop!"

He lets you cum first, fucks you through it before driving himself as deep as he can, then staying there. You whimper his name, your cunt convulses, and you can barely breathe, but Pero stays where he is.

"Take it," he soothes you through clenched teeth. "Take it, wife, every last drop, and grow me a baby."

"I love you," you manage to whisper, the words drowning in his mouth when he kisses you.

"And I love you."

Dinner is forgotten, as are the chickens and the horse. Pero slumbers in your arms but wakes up when you take his soft cock in your mouth. You rest together, until he has to be inside you again. Not until dusk settles around the house do you rise to take in and feed the chickens. Pero takes care of the horse, and you prepare dinner. He comes in and finds you by the workbench, cutting up cheese and smoked meat, and immediately cages you against the bench, arms sneaking around your waist as he kisses your neck.

"Pero, I'm holding a knife," you smile, and he immediately closes his hand over yours, guiding it to put the knife down. You hear his stomach growl, and know that if you are hungry, he must be starving.

"Dinner is almost ready."

"Only hungry for you, my love..."

You turn your face to his and receive his kisses, sighing softly at his roaming hands, one finding your breast only covered by your camisole, the other cupping your mound through the fabric of the underskirt. Your cunt weeps to have him again, while stinging from overstimulation. You lost count of how many times you have taken him this afternoon.

"Pero," you whisper between the kisses, your hands finding his and pressing down, in direct opposition to your words. "We need to eat, and you need a bath."

He expresses his discontent with a guttural grunt but gives you one last kiss and squeeze before releasing you.

"Sit down," you gesture towards the table, but he lays out cutlery, plates, and knives for both of you before taking his seat. When you bring the tray of foods to the table, he does not take his eyes off you. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks because you know exactly what he is thinking when he sees your soft breasts spill out of your camisole, the roundness of your ass underneath the threadbare skirt when you bend over to pour him ale. He smirks at you when you catch his gaze, and you shove him gently with your hip.

"Eat."

You take your seat on the other side of the table and eat in a comfortable silence as darkness descends outside. The sounds of your small town die down, only the occasional call of an animal drifting in through the open window together with the cool breeze.

You clear the table afterwards, Pero watching you in quiet contentment. When brushing past him, he cannot keep his hands to himself, but slaps your ass and grins when you yelp and turn around to tell him off. You find yourself pulled down onto his lap instead, Pero nuzzling your neck as he holds you close.

"Thank you for the meal."

"You are very welcome."

His whiskers scratch your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, drags his lips down to your breasts while his hand gathers the fabric of your skirt so that he can slip underneath. His fingers find the messy apex of your thighs, his seed and your slick drying on your lips, and when he pushes his fingers inside you, your head falls back as you moan low in your throat.

"Pero... oh, oh, there, oh my God... I can't..."

"If you're too sore, tell me, and I will stop," he whispers hotly against your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You shake your head, a sob of abandon slipping you.

"More, my love, more."

He brings you to the edge with his fingers, skilfully and quickly, before pushing you over it, catching you in his strong arms when you fall with a wail against his chest.

"Beautiful," he murmurs as he strokes your back, "so beautiful, my pretty girl..."

The night comes on, and Pero brings in water that you warm on the stove, for him to finally pour into the tub where you have spread out dried herbs and flowers. When he sinks down into the warm water, you take a sponge and a piece of scented soap and scrub every inch of him. He relaxes into the water, eyes finally falling shut, as you rub his body down with small, round circles. He leans into your touch with a sigh filled with gratitude and love. Pero is a man who desperately needs softness in his life, the life he always thought would be cut short due to his choice of profession. No wonder he has such a strong need to have children, see part of himself in a tiny face, foster a new generation to carry on his name after he is gone. And you desperately want to give him that.

"Pero," you speak quietly, getting a hum in return. "What if I cannot bear children?"

He does not react at first, but as soon as your words make sense to him, he turns his head to look at you.

"Why would you say that?"

"We have tried, and I'm not pregnant."

"We haven't been married for a year."

"For some, it takes immediately."

"Not for all."

The open window brings in the scents of your garden: evening primrose, wisteria, moonflower, jasmine, and whiffs of herbs rises from the water to meet them. You cast your eyes down to the soap in your hands, and Pero raises a hand from the water, and gently places it on your shoulder.

"My love. We have time."

You nod, knowing he is right. But you still cannot shake the feeling that you have carried around since he left, and your monthly cleansing arrived.

"The wives in town say things."

"What do they say?"

You wet your lips and raise your gaze to meet his. "They say that men who sleep with whores during their trips soil their seed."

Pero's face remains calm and honest. "I have not as much as looked at another woman since I met you. I hope you know that."

"I do, I just..." You shake your head, unsure why you even brought it up. You have never doubted his faithfulness. "I'm sorry. Their words ring in my ears, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Why do you even listen to those old hags?" he shakes his head.

"Because I meet them every day, and they talk, and they know things, and they look at me like I'm a prized cow, all of them waiting for me to become pregnant."

"It's none of their business," Pero scoffs, but his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

"They also say... that older women are less fertile."

"You are fertile," he immediately dismisses your fear and self-doubt. "You still bleed."

"But if I'm too old?"

Pero sits up straight in the tub, the other hand coming to your other shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

"You are my wife and my love. I want us to have children, but if we for some reason are not to be blessed with them, my love for you will not change."

"I know," you smile softly, "and I will love you too." Tears rise in your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand. "Forgive me. I just missed you so much."

"You have nothing to apologize for, my love."

You lean forward to kiss him, but when his lips start to trail across your cheek, you giggle and shake your head.

"You, Pero Tovar, need a shave, or you'll grate me raw!"

He stays completely still as you trace his cheeks with the razorblade, eyes under heavy eyelids following your minuscule movements. The hint of a smile plays in the corner of his mouth as he enjoys how your steady hand shaves away the itchy bristles. Finally, you trim his moustache, then his hair. The water grows cool, and he rises from the tub, accepting your hand when he steps out of it. His cock is striving proudly towards his stomach, and he does not take the time to dry himself before lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He sets you down next to the bed and cradles your head in his big hands.

"How do you want me, my beloved?"

You caress his smooth cheeks, stroke your thumbs over his eyebrows, still wet from the bath.

"From behind, husband. I want you to mount me like an animal."

"Your wish is my command."

His hands drop to your shoulders, where they guide you to turn around before caressing down the straps of your camisole. You undo the lacing in the front, and the neckline widens enough to drop and expose your breasts. He cups them from behind, thumbs brushing over stiffening nipples, soft lips peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. His cock strains against the fabric of your skirt, and he drops his hands to your hips, finding the laces that will free you from the garment. It rustles softly as it falls to the floor, and Pero's hard cock comes to a rest between your ass cheeks. Your cunt clenches and you can smell your own arousal.

"Take me," you breathe, but Pero grazes your shoulder with his teeth.

"I need to service you first."

He kneels behind you, one hand pushing lightly on your lower back. You bend over, upper body coming to a rest on the crumpled sheets. Pero's hand slowly slides down to your ass, cupping and squeezing, before he slides his fingers between your thighs, carefully pushing your legs open. He fingers you almost thoughtfully before you feel the tip of his sharp nose, and his hot breath on you, and then his lips close around your bud in a little kiss before his tongue takes over. He licks at you, into you, hands coming to grab your soft thighs, humming into your aching cunt. You can barely take it anymore, not after the pleasures of the afternoon, but your husband's touch always makes you need more. Like a bitch in heat, you egg him on, writhe and fist your hands into the sheet, loudly moaning without any thought of the neighbours. He brings you to bliss, once again, pushing his face against you, fingers digging painfully into your ass cheeks as you shake through your orgasm. He helps you up on the bed, letting you rest on your belly, and kisses your shoulders, back, and the soft curves of your buttocks before coming back up to steal your breath away with a wet kiss.

"My beautiful wife," he murmurs, and you smile back faintly. "Can you take me?"

"You know I can," you murmur, already feeling his rock-hard cock pressing in between your thighs. "Take me, husband. Breed me. Put a baby in my belly."

He growls at that, bites your neck, pulls your ass up, and legs together before straddling them. You whine when he pushes into you, your dripping yet sore cunt protesting and welcoming at the same time.

"So wet for me," he groans as he slowly moves in you, hands on your hips. "My love, I thought about this so often during those lonely nights on the road." He sinks deep into you. "I would fuck my own hand and think of you." He thrusts his hips into yours, making you choke on your own breath. "I would spill my seed on the ground and mourn its loss. It shouldn't be wasted but find its way into your fertile womb..."

He lays down over you, pressing your hips down with his as he wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear: "I would think of you becoming round with my child, your tits filling with milk, how proud and beautiful you would look on my arm when we go to the marketplace together. How I would fuck you every night to make sure the child grows big and strong..."

You sob with desire, delirious from his words and the way he fills you up. All you can do is wrap your own arms around his, take his cock with your encouraging whimpers, and let him kiss what breath you still have away.

He takes his time fucking you slowly, his warm body growing hot from the effort, hips grinding into you so deep that you'll surely be bruised in the morning, all the while whispering filthy things in your ear, keeping you on the brink of insanity until you find yourself cumming yet again, and this time the tears come as well, it's all too much and still not enough, you want all of him in you, and you want him to fill your womb, you need it.

"My good wife," he praises you for climaxing, "Cumming on my cock like that, preparing your wet little cunt for my seed. Take it, my love, take it, I don't have long."

"Breed me," you manage to articulate, "put a baby in my belly, Pero, I love you, now breed me, fuck me like an animal and make me pregnant!"

He growls into your ear and props himself up onto one forearm before heeding your wish. You cry out when he drives himself into you, again and again, until you feel the wet heat spill inside you. A low, rumbling growl rises from deep within him, and he thrusts into you, all the way in, as deep as he can go, and stays there, panting heavily. You can hardly take it, you're too full, but you still push back as if he could go any deeper, and you squeeze him tightly to get every last drop out of him.

He finally collapses by your side, cock slipping out, one arm and leg thrown over you. Silence descends over your wheezing, sweaty bodies - yours slick from his perspiration. Finally, Pero groans, and kisses your shoulder.

"Are you still in one piece, my love?"

"Barely," you murmur, exhausted and deeply in love.

"Will you let me tuck you in?"

You gripe but shift so that Pero can pull away the covers. Your head hits the pillow with a deep sigh that changes to a yelp when Pero slaps your ass.

"Move. You've been sleeping alone for too long, you have started to take up too much space."

You scoot over to one side, and Pero gets in behind you. Moulding himself to you, he kisses your shoulder again.

"If I get pregnant, I'll get fat and take up even more space," you point out with a yawn.

"When you get pregnant, I'll worship every inch of your beautiful body, wife," he promises you. "Now, legs together. Don't want my seed to stain anything but your thighs."

Your hand finds his under the covers.

"I'm so glad you're home."

"I'm very glad to be home."

His hand comes to a rest on your lower abdomen, spreading a faint tingle deep inside. You smile to yourself, and then sleep claims you.

#pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fanfic #the great wall fanfic #my fic

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