#steadfast pet name time

[eumenidaes]

16 for the ficlet :3

The power of oc x canon ship has once again compelled me to make this 1k words lol. It is completely unedited tho, so idk if this is actually good or not, but it has my special little ship so that's enough for me

16. have you ever / you wouldn’t dare

“James?” Chae-Yeong says, drawing his attention away from the book he was reading. 

“Yes, starlight?” he says. 

She rubs her hand along his back in slow circles. “Have you ever thought about changing up your look?”

James blinks. 

The question came out of nowhere. It’s a summer night that’s warm by Atlas’s standards, and they’re curled up together on a couch in Chae-Yeong’s living room. She’s warm against his side, and he holds her close to him with one hand while the other keeps his book open as he reads. Before Chae-Yeong had spoken, they’d been sitting together in a cozy silence, the only noise being the soft hum of the big band, swing, and jazz music that she loves playing from a radio below her television. 

Once James starts to think of a response, doubt settles over him. 

James always has been image conscious. He was even more so after he got his prosthetics, and then even more so when he started to exist more in the public eye as he rose through the military ranks. 

Chae-Yeong’s never been anything but adoring of his body, and for that he’s always been grateful. But as she asks if he’s thought about changing his look, he can’t help but worry that she’s asking because there’s something she doesn’t like. 

“Is there something I should change?” James asks. His voice is tighter than he wanted it to come out, but he supposes there are worse things than being vulnerable around his wife. 

Before James can get too caught in his head, Chae-Yeong’s expression softens and her eyebrows furrow. 

“No, I’m sorry, yeobo, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I’d never ask you to change anything for me. Besides, I’ll think you’re the handsomest man in Remnant no matter what.”

If nothing else, that’s reassuring. James knows he was being ridiculous thinking that she might be trying to tell him she didn’t like the way he looked, but it’s still comforting to hear it. 

“Then why do you ask?” James says. He bookmarks his book before laying it on the coffee table in front of them. 

“I don’t know. I guess I was just curious since you tend to stick to one look for a while,” Chae-Yeong says. 

She’s right. James has never bothered with experimenting much with his physical appearance. He found a look that worked for him, and he stuck as close to it as he could without any major changes beyond shifting to a white, gray, and red color palette instead of a more gray and brown one as he rose through the ranks of the Atlesian military. Before he became General Cloud’s right hand man and then Atlas’s newest general, he sometimes would let his facial hair grow out since he knew that Chae-Yeong liked how he looked like that, but he’s been clean shaven for a decade now except on their rare weekends away from Atlas together.

Every other change to James’s appearance since he became a Huntsman has more or less been beyond his control. His hair started graying at the temples, and he’s started getting some wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He’s become farsighted too, and he never wears his glasses in public, but he does around Chae-Yeong.

That’s ignoring the biggest change in his appearance over the years, but James tries to do that when he can. The prosthetics that make up the entire right side of his body from the neck down are significantly different from when he was in his early twenties, though. They can mimic the real thing well enough, but they’re nonetheless a sensitive point for James. He hates having to see a reminder of his own failures in the mirror everyday, and he hates even more how he hears people whispering about them behind his back. 

James figures that his prosthetics are a big enough change to his look. There’s no need to change it more than that.

“I’ve never given it much thought,” James says. “Change suits you better anyway.”

In contrast to James, Chae-Yeong has changed countless little things about her look over the years. Some changes are ones that only James gets to see, knowing it’s her, like her shorter hair and fangs and her own prosthetic limbs. Other changes are ones that others get to see too, and every now and then James thinks about how she shifted from wearing her father’s blues and golds to black and their old team’s reds and purples and grays.

It’s good seeing her get to move away from her family’s influence. It’s also flattering to see his colors on her. 

“But if I did change my look,” James says, tone now light enough to be teasing, “I could always try shaving my head. Maybe get a bit thinner.”

Chae-Yeong frowns at him. She pushes herself up with one hand on his chest so they’re looking eye to eye. 

Her annoyed expression is cute. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, gravely serious. 

He wouldn’t, but he’s going to keep teasing her for a little bit longer. “You said that you’ll find me attractive no matter what.”

“I will,” Chae-Yeong says unconvincingly. 

James laughs, pressing a kiss to Chae-Yeong’s temple. 

“I wouldn’t, honey,” he assures. “I know you like my hair.”

“No comment about you losing weight, hmm?” 

“And I won’t lose any weight.”

“Good,” Chae-Yeong says. 

“Maybe I’ll see about getting my ass to be a little smaller, though.”

Chae-Yeong smacks James on the chest. “You’re such a dick.”

James grins at Chae-Yeong, and as much as things have changed, for a moment it feels like they’re in their twenties again and falling in love for the first time. 

Chae-Yeong rolls her eyes. She climbs onto James’s lap, legs straddling him, before letting herself relax onto him. Her chin rests on his right shoulder and her arms wrap around his middle. James holds her close, massaging the space between her shoulders with his metal hand because he knows that she likes the pressure from it. 

“I still would love you even if you did any of that,” Chae-Yeong assures.

“I know, beautiful,” James says. 

Even when he overthinks and starts to panic, he knows in the back of his mind that Chae-Yeong will always adore him. And there are few things in his life that he could be more grateful for than that.

[foldingfittedsheets]

The dog I think of as My Dog was picked up from the shelter when I was about 16 and he was six months old. He was a cattle dog mix, which at the time was really uncommon in our area.

We were only getting a dog because my mom was worried about home invaders which was a bit insane as we were out in the country and we’d left our German Shepherd down in Arizona with my dad for complicated reasons.

I turned the corner and saw him. Instant connection. He was curled up dozing, all blue and white freckles with red ears and feeties. His clipboard said “SLY” in huge red letters. I called it softly and he opened his eyes, ears perking. He roused to sleepily amble toward me, lick my fingers, then go lay back down.

My mom joined me in dismay, seeing the love dripping off of me. She hadn’t wanted a puppy but it was clear which dog we were going home with.

Sly was a monstrous puppy. Fans of cattle dogs will be unsurprised to learn he was exceedingly clever, mischievous and Bored a Lot. It turned out his name hadn’t been Sly. It was Billy. But I think we all know why a huge red warning had been applied to his kennel. We named him Sly anyway.

My mom doesn’t remember threatening in earnest to bring him back but it happened. Sly loved to chew. He had no interest in fetch or most toys but he adored chewing. I lost headphones, backpack straps, and pillows to his voracious teething. We tried to dissuade him. He just learned to chew when we weren’t looking. Then one day, clever but not smart, he set his teeth to a plugged in cord and electrocuted himself. He was fine, just really startled!

Thus ended the chewing, forever.

He wouldn’t even pick up toys. He was fully convinced having things in his mouth was only a matter of time before they turned on him. He’d run after a ball at dog parks, grab it in the euphoria of the chase, then immediately spit it out.

He was still a lot of dog and my moms rumblings about his poor behavior led me to join 4H with him. My friend Lia was in with her spaniels so I had an in. We did twice weekly training in obedience and showmanship.

That was it. Sly transformed into the best dog. From a bored unmanageable puppy he became a partner, ready to work on whatever we needed to work on. He learned buckets of commands, eager to please. Sit, down, wait, stand, front, back up, shake, roll, heel. The only thing we could never convince him to do was speak. His bark was reserved for Danger.

We went to compete in the county fair together, entering obedience trials and dog show portions.

The instructions are clearly stated before obedience testing. A dog must stay sitting for two minutes when told to stay, and three minutes for laying down. If our dog broke we were not supposed to speak to reissue commands, simply wait quietly.

It was us in a line with five other dogs. He passed the sitting part just fine. The down one was longer and a wretched golden retriever broke. But then his trainer pulled out a ball and started trying to redirect him with it. The other dogs watched with interest but stayed down. Sly started up. He desperately wanted to herd the golden back into place.

With elbows off the ground he froze, realizing his mistake. His head whipped to me. In silence, I swept my arm down in the nonverbal command for down. He dropped obediently and watched me fixedly for the rest of the time. I think he could feel my disappointment.

We failed.

But the judge came up to us afterward as I was petting him and said, “I was so impressed your dog knows nonverbal commands, and that other dog was so distracting! Let’s retest with the next batch.”

I was thrilled and Sly was steadfast, staring unblinkly at me for the full three minutes with utter determination. He won blue ribbons in obedience and got later best in breed since there was no other cattle dogs.

[malavera]

Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day

warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting

wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)

creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!

dedicating this one to my favorite authors!

@velvrei @wolverinesleftclaw @stark-ironman @lovelybucky1 @cyber333angel @dollverine @joelsgoldrush

peaches masterlist

The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.

The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.

“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.

There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”

You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?

Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.

You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.

Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.

And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.

Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.

You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”

You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.

“Yeah, sure, Peach.”

And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.

As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.

“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.

“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.

“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.

You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.

“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.

Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.

Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.

You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.

You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.

Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.

For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.

You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.

Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.

"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”

“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.

“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.

“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.

Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.

“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.

You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.

Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.

You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.

From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.

As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.

With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.

You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.

“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”

Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.

“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.

Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth. 

“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.

“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.

“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.

“I-”

“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,

“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.

“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.

"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.

Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.

You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.

A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.

"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.

"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.

"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.

"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.

"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.

"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.

"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.

"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.

"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."

"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.

Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."

As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.

"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.

"Hmm, taste just like a peach."

let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉

[glotoru]

ooh baby, ooh baby, i’m in love | eren jaeger.

the note 𐦍 i’ve recently been thinking about a successful, older (early to mid thirties), soft spoken eren who lives to spoil the woman of his dreams—so i’m gonna share this with y’all too. i’m actually just projecting our relationship. not proud of the ending but wtv. part two here. inspired by west coast, lana del rey.

contains 𐦍 nsfw, fem!reader, stupidly rich!eren, established relationship, vaginal sex, mating press, cervix kisses, use of pet names (princess, baby, my wife, the usual yk), unprotected sex, breeding, squirting, softie eren, mild body worship, size kink, hand on stomach while fucking mhm, i love you’s exchanged, praise kink, eren talks to your pussy while he’s in it, i’m thinking black reader but it’s all subjective babes: if you like it, read it!!

truth be told, eren jaeger doesn’t believe he has much to live for.

he’s kept his circle small for all of these ongoing years; with the occasional extension of acquaintances from work dinners, or christmas parties—though, he preferred to slip away from such events when eyes weren’t so…watchful. he likes to think his social battery has drained over the course of his life. looking back at his angstful teenage years, fourteen year old most likely wouldn’t recognize the person he is today.

his once intense nature that resembled an overbearing presence of loud determination turned calm—steadfast and slow to visible anger (with the exception of a passive aggressive comment here and there from simple annoyance). the short hair that once barely covered his nape now fell to his broad shoulders, however, he preferred to keep it up—maintaining appearances while keeping it convenient. the smaller five foot six body grew to an intimidating lean six foot four instead.

however, those things were quite trivial; he knew such changes happened with growth and eventual maturity.

but for a significant chunk of his life, eren was never the greatest with women. he was oblivious—blind to the wandering eyes full of admiration from girls in his classes and workplace—and nose deep in his books. he wouldn’t rest until he was on top of his grades; which he had no problem with. His emphasis on success failed him when it came to the dating scene; to say the least he was shy—and married to his work as well.

but on top of all this, eren was a patient man, and good things always comes to those who wait.

and when a dangerously beautiful woman comes wandering into his life on the street outside of an office dinner he gracefully slipped away from, asking him for an extra five dollars to help pay for her cab home from a no-show date—a woman that has him battling the slew of warning alarms sounding away in his usually zen mind and redefining what he thought was himself—he knows that he’s waited long enough.

simply put, he’s a man of his craft; dedicated to two things. his work, and his wife.

His wife—the phrase has his brain melting into pure grey matter that spills out his body in the form of love. To even think he has the opportunity to refer to you as such is priceless in itself. eren didn’t believe he could love—let alone love this hard. you ask him to run, he’ll say how far; jump—how high?

you’ve changed him—ever since he offered to drop you off in his sleek black mercedes benz parked somewhere by the valet and you giggled in response, saying ‘i’m not usually so trusting of strangers’ will the slightest glint of curiosity in your bright eyes.

and somewhere in between the months, his ten hour workdays turned to six, important software development meetings got pushed back for convenience, the accumulating days of paid time off started being used, for once, his assistant could do their job, and his new focus was you.

diamonds and pearls, nails and hair, dinners on boats and vacations on beaches, shopping sprees on his black card and all of his devotion towards you—only you.

eren…he’s a worshipper—it doesn’t take much for him to get on his knees for you. he’s not ashamed, if anything, he’s proud. he likes to say that anything that’s his, is yours; so who are you to deny what he gives you?

that’s another thing he oh so loves about you—you readily take everything he can offer. you let him take care of you, and he wouldn’t want it any other way; you’re his wife after all.

his wife, his wife.

“my wife…” eren mumbles to himself as he buries his face into the crook of your perfumed neck. the pronounced scent makes his head spin, you can’t fathom how in love with you this man is. as his large hands engulf your own, he’s met with the texture of your wedding ring that cost him over twenty grand, the one you cried over when you saw it in his hands offering it to you—but eren doesn’t think it does his adoration for you enough justice.

he prefers to show you.

while there’s no doubt that material items and dream homes are things you like to receive—there’s nothing better than the way he has you now, one leg resting atop his shoulder and the other barely slung around his waist as he steadily ruts his hips into your own.

oh, how could you be so beautiful? splayed out on the bed like a wicked man’s deepest desires and dreams; the one he secretly lusts for from across the room with no hopes to introduce himself because you’re just so out of his league. your hair is messily draped over the silk pillows, all remnants of your lipgloss/lipstick gone from your parted lips and instead smudged on his own, the gold necklace with his diamond initial was falling into the dip in your neck, and you were gazing at him with need. pure, heartfelt need.

your body arches towards him, manicured hands trailing towards your own chest to play with your nipples that hardened from the low temperature of the room. “i need you eren, make me feel you—i want it.” your voice is smooth, accompanied with a small whine that reminds him just how spoiled you are, and how it’s all his fault.

but he couldn’t care less—you deserve it for wandering into his life to make you his own.

“i know princess, i know.” he knows damn well you need him, he knows, he knows—he’s repeating it as he peppers a kiss to your jewelled ankle before pressing down on the back of your thigh to steady himself.

eren fucks like he loves—endlessly and hard.

maybe that’s why the way he bullies your pussy while bottoming out has you grasping at the threads of the sheets and chanting his name like a hymn followed by prayer. he lets your cunt feel every bit of him, the ridges—veins, down to the last inch. he’s terrifyingly big, another thing you love about him.

his dick feels like it’s mushing your insides, curving up against your spongy walls that oh so desperately tighten around him. every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head rolling to the side. your uncontrolled moans turn to sobs when you feel his tip tickle your cervix—and boy does it make him a rejuvenated man.

“look at me.” his words barely register as syllables in your clouded mind—you keep your head turned, eyes focused shut as your body shakes upwards from the fervour of his unrelenting tempo. there’s a lot of things eren can have, and you not watching the way his slick covered dick slips in and out of your weeping pussy isn’t one of them. “you have to look at me pretty girl.” his tone is soft but firm, thick fingers taking your chin in his hands and turning you towards him once again.

“see how well you’re taking me? all of it.” he gives you a million dollar smile, hinting for you to watch where the two of you connect. “your pretty cunt just wants it so bad, right?”

“oh, eren…” it’s always a sudden surprise how soiled his mouth can get at times like this. heeding his request, you watch his cock disappear in your folds—and you sight of it has you fluttering around him like a whore.

“you were made for me, weren’t you? prettiest sight i’ve ever seen.” you’ve heard his praises a multitude of times, having him ramble on about fucking you so much your walls moulded to fit him like a tight glove, only that now, he’s saying it to your pussy instead.

“only you ‘ren, was made just for you.” you babble out, feverishly bucking your hips up to meet his ruts.

when your eyes finally rip away from below and back up to his face, the look he wears has your cunt melting like putty. with furrowed brows, a dip in his forehead and a bitten lip, he watches your body move with each fuck. even in such a sinful position, you were just so divine.

almost subconsciously, his ringed hand moves from your hip and over to your torso, gliding over your pierced belly and stopped at your lower stomach, “I’m right here baby.” gently, he applies pressure to the spot, making your eyes blow open as you moan in response. the feeling gives you butterflies—ones that go straight to your clit and stimulate the nerves in your shaky legs.

“cummin—eren i’m cumming!” you’re rambling, scrambling to push his hand away from your belly, but it’s all too late, and eren knows that well. how could he not? your body is a temple, he’s explored every inch of it, and the sudden vice grip your walls have you him and periodic throb of your cunt is all too telling. your orgasm is drawn out, legs spazzing around your entranced husband, “mm, oh-fuck! yesyesyes eren, don’t stop!”

oh, aren’t you just perfect. his eyes soften when he watches how your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only to capture it in a languid and sloppy kiss, teeth grazing your plump lips and sucking on them like a sweet. you whine he pulls himself away from your body completely, instead he takes the time to tack his thumb to your puffy clit, rubbing feint circles and the occasional attempted heart on the bud. he always does this, coaxing out the last of your orgasm with nimble fingers that you dream about

“you gonna let me take good care of you?” he asks softly between hushed breaths while grabbing hold of both your legs and hoisting them over his shoulders. helplessly, all you can do is nod; you’re in a trance at the very sight of him. his defined torso is illuminated by the back light of one of the many lamps in your bedroom, his hair is slipping from its captive elastic band, the grip of his hands on your ankles sends searing hot pulses straight to your sensitive clit.

he gives himself a few good pumps, sliding his length between your folds. your wetness aids him in bottoming out once again, but your sensitivity has you squirming in his hold. “gotta stay put baby.” he marvels, talking you into submission, “that’s my girl.”

his praises are followed by the shift of his hands down to the back of your thighs, they gently rub the plush skin before pushing them down to meet your chest. while there are some circumstances where looking down at you sparks something within him, eren likes to be eye to eye with you when he’s balls deep—turns him on even more being in such close proximity with such a captivating woman.

you squeal from the uncomfortable burn in your hamstring from being folded in half with the additional feeling of eren’s body weight on your own. you swear that you can feel your heart palpitating in your ears as you feverishly clench around him. “it’s too much! can’t take it, can’t take it!”

“of course you can, you know you can, your pussy takes everything i give it.” eren speaks between juts, pressing your knees to your shoulder blades as he pistons into you without any regard for decency. his thrust feel like a hammer, knocking your body into the memory foam mattress you begged him to buy.

stars cloud your eyes as he wraps himself tighter around you, head in the side of your neck as he peppers kisses across your skin. your pants and gasps are loud, amplifying the sounds of slapping skin and balls hitting the fat of your ass. his favourite part is when you dig your nails into his back, leaving cresent shaped imprints and jagged lines across it like a painter with a canvas; scars of your love.

deep groans fill your ear, soft and sweet; all eren can ramble about is you—how good you feel, how quick you can make him unravel like a ball of string, how lucky he is to have you in his life—the list goes on.

“i love you—fuck, i love you so much baby, you treat me so well.” with his declaration of love, his pace seems to increase, fucking you dumb and leaving you to heave for whatever air is left to breathe.

“i love you too, so much.” your eyes scramble around in your haywire brain, overloaded by the repeated feeling of the jackhammering going on in your walls and the non-stop cervix kisses he gives you. “it’s all yours, eren; you deserve it, you deserve this pussy. you married this, have it.”

eren jaeger doesn’t believe he’s deserving of much; has he earned things? yes. but you…laying beneath him, telling him he deserves you? it makes him never want to leave—not that he would dream of doing so in the first place.

he does deserve it—your words make his brain malfunction. he deserves it. fuck, you might just be the death of him.

you’re crying for him, grasping at any part of his body possible to get him closer to you than physically possible. your tighten around his base once more, and your hand flies down to messily prod at your clit in an attempt to play with it.

meanwhile, eren’s unrelenting pace falters; that man knows he’s going to cum soon, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it with you. so he pleads with you to give him one more—telling you that you’ve got another one bundled up in there for him. to say it’s true is unknown, but your body listens to eren, and miraculously whatever he believes will happen comes to fruition.

but your body is delicate—everyone knows delicate things break under pressure. with the unrelenting strain and stretch his dick gives your walls, the tight feeling in your core, and aching numbness in your legs, your buildup feels much more violent—ready to release all built up tension given to you by your husband.

“eren—keep on going like this and i’m gonna make a mess!” you fuss around, hand reaching to gently push his torso away in fear you may soil the freshly made sheets.

“that’s the goal.” he states as a matter of factly, brows furrowing as a suppressed groan bubbles up from his chest at the thought: pretty little face going stupid and clawing at anything within reach as you writhe and cum all over his torso and lower body. you can’t make him budge now that he’s a determined man.

his strokes grow sloppy but powerful, curved cock repeatedly ramming into your spongy spot that force your plush walls to grip around him, “you’re eating me up here, love.” he mumbles, moaning into your mouth in the disguise of a messy kiss.

the last roll that tips you over the rocky edge is a shaky one, the last one he could give before emptying himself into you. it’s thick and hot and you feel it fill you as you twitch underneath him and cover his abdomen with your juices. wordlessly, his hands reach for yours as he stills; soft lips peppering the lining of skin on your cheek.

eren jaeger knows that change is inevitable—it comes with time. but eren jaeger also knows one thing will stay the same; his love and adoration for the pretty girl laying below him.

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Aventurine hc's

At first he hates the realization he's actually falling for someone

It eats away at him every second, this reminder that he's not, and likely never will be, in a great position to just have a normal life...

He's a pawn, always has been, so why would he put someone else through that?

Especially you...

But God if it isn't impossible not to love, to keep his fluttering heart from hoping, yearning for just your warm touch

Just the sight of you is enough, he decides to himself, as if that makes any difference in the end

It's obvious he dotes on you, his teasing remarks and genuine smiles are impossible to miss...

He follows you around in his free time, happily inserting him with a smug little grin, as if it's completely normal to have a IPC executive tailing you constantly

You're entertaining, or that's his excuse

He has to keep you safe, it's not like he trusts any of these other idiots to do it, and getting to watch you huff at him paying for everything is only a bonus

In that stage he enjoys being subtly possessive

You're not his, sure, but seeing you in his hat and sunglasses, or maybe with one of his cute little calling card chips fastened into a necklace, constantly on you...

His arm around your shoulder is enough to denture most people immediately, definitely not looking to get into a scuff with the "loose cannon of a gambler" he's generally seen as

When you're finally together he's not keen on taking his hands off you

Whether it's a light arms around your waist, just securing his spot by your side with an occasional squeeze, or his hand grabbing desperately at your hair as he focuses on pressing a kiss to every inch of your face with steadfast resolve

His favorite thing is just resting his chin on your shoulder, his pretty eyes staring up at yours endlessly

It's the perfect position, of course, arms around you with easy access to your neck, and it usually ends with your face hot to the touch by his intimate little kisses pressed so lovingly to your skin

He does have an appearance to maintain, so self care days where he paints your nails, washes your hair in a joint shower or bath, and drags you out to buy expensive clothes are must

Money is meant to be gambled or spent, it's not for hoarding, and that's abundant obvious by how he throws it around

It's another form of possession, really, seeing you decked out in what he's bought you, it gives him a sense of pride

It's hard for him not to project his childhood fears onto you, too

Like if he notices you're not eating, not drinking enough, brushing off a small injuries

He's seen plenty of people die to all those, and fighting down those blaring alarm bells can be difficult at the best of times

You'll often find a glass of water and small snack with a cute little note when you wake up, if he can't be there himself to make sure your needs are met, and he's expecting a text as soon as you're up to confirm you're fine

Anytime without contact for too long will consume him, gnawing at his insides, eating him slowly until he sees you again

He hates it, it's such a painful disadvantage in his line of work, but god if he can't help it...

He's very quick to scoop you up and pepper kisses to your pulse points immediately after, nuzzling against the physical feeling of your heartbeat and your warmth

He also can't help shaking off the mindset that he's merely a chip, to be used when  useful and discarded after

He knows that's not the case with you, knows it... But it's impossible to not feel a bolt of pure fear when you're unhappy with him, as if his worth is tied to his ability to be perfect for you

Pet names are obviously a must, and you might start to joke he doesn't actually know your real name with how rarely he uses it

You're his "darling love", his "perfect match", and, of course, his "adorable sweetheart"

He'll pout a bit if you don't reciprocate the absurd level of endearments on your end too

He probably won't even respond to "Aventurine" after a while, pretending not to hear you with an unmistakable smile, until you properly address him

He's left wondering how he's ever lived without you, and if he ever could again

[kentopedia]

♰ skipping heartbeats — nanami kento

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 3 - curse user!nanami

nanami wants to see every jujutsu sorcerer dead, but he might make an exception just for you

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, sorcerer!reader, rough sex, slight overstimulation, begging, pet names, unprotected sex, villain nanami, jjk typical violence, tw mahito apperance :/, exes, angst, soft dom nanami, wall sex — 5.6k

He was never the same after Shibuya.

It's been two years, but you still remember that October with clarity. Memories blur at the back of your eyelids each night, carving images into your irises; each time you think you’ll get a full night of sleep, Nanami Kento returns to haunt your dreams, then lingers to steal your waking moments.

The change in him had been gradual, subdued. He’d hidden it well, so well, in fact, that everyone had believed that he was doing fine. Even you, the one who should’ve known him better than anyone, had never gotten him to reveal his darkest thoughts.

His succumb to madness was slow, but it was the consequence of a near decade. The burden of a sorcerer weighed heavily on everyone, but it hit Nanami the hardest, years and years of survivor’s guilt and misery bearing on his shoulders.

Then Halloween in Shibuya had happened; Nanami nearly lost his life, and something in him snapped. It wasn’t long after that he left. You haven’t seen him since.

Close to twenty-four months have passed since he disappeared, but his presence still lingers, twisting your world and your life into a den of chaos. No one is left at the school, and there are hardly any sorcerers left in Japan. Those who are still alive have moved anywhere but Tokyo, and those who stay know it won’t be long before they lose their lives too.

Your breath catches as you listen in silence, recounting every moment that led you here.

There is a scream from the other building, listlessly crying for help, but you won’t reach them in time, nor do you have the power to fight back. Despite your endless intelligence, your technique isn’t built for combat. It isn’t a threat to semi-grade one curses, and it certainly isn’t a threat to Nanami Kento.

You squeeze your eyes shut, slumping against the wall as you hold your arm, a bloodied wound seeping through your sleeve. There is no one here to heal you, no one left to help. Shoko moved away from the school months ago, once she realized that too many sorcerers are dying and Gojo is never coming back.

After that, many of the students left too; save for the few third years that had been determined to stay and fight.

The scream sounds again, before it’s cut off, abruptly. Another student gone. Another sorcerer dead.

You’d been such a fool to think you could take the place of people like Yaga, Gojo, Nanami; that you could bring together the last remaining sorcerers in the city. They’d been ones to look up to, strong and steadfast, but you are neither of those things.

You are the weak one who’d managed to stay alive, and the last person that probably should’ve.

Still, you persist, not giving into death so easily. There has to be an escape route; if you can’t save the students, maybe, just maybe, you can save yourself. There is still hope, as long as just one sorcerer is left in Tokyo. The school can be rebuilt, the curses can be exorcised, and things can go back to normal.

As long as you stay alive.

You listen, waiting for another sound before you move, attuned to your surroundings. The doors are shut, locking you in, and it’s too dark, too empty in the building for you to hide anywhere. Classrooms you’d once shared with Gojo open up like an endless chasm, the vending machine you got sodas from with Geto leers at you, and the hallways you’d kissed Kento in…

The memories are so soured.

You’re so close to the door, though. So close, and you can be free of the ghostly memories, and this time, you’ll leave Tokyo once and for all.

There is nothing left for you here now. With each day that passes, you start to realize more and more that no one is coming back. They’re all gone, and Nanami is not the man he’d once been.

You shuffle along the wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows, away from the lights that flicker up above, destroyed by the veil of cursed energy. While your entire life has been a cacophony of evil, never before have you felt, so intensely, that you’re in a horror film. You are the final girl, ironically, without an ounce of heroine vigor.

All you have is a sliver of willpower to stay alive; just a few feet away, and you’ll be there, outside, able to escape from this pit of hell.

It’s so close—but not close enough.  

“There you are!” a voice cries out, ringing like a jovial song through the hallways. It is eerily familiar, much too high-pitched and enthusiastic for such a brutal warzone. “We’ve been looking for you.”

You turn, shoulders stiff as you try hard not to freeze. Behind you, a young curse stands casually, his blue hair rolling over one of his shoulders, a stitched face smiling at you evilly. He’s pleased to see you, that much is obvious, and he prances over to you, fingers waving in the air.

“Oh, I can’t wait! I have to make you last because we’re running out of sorcerors to play with!” The tone is horrifyingly amused, more frightening than Geto in his final hours, of any of the clan higher-ups, even of Gojo at his absolute worst.

It’s the tone of someone who feels nothing, who cares about nothing, and who will enjoy watching you bleed.

You open your mouth, throat dry as you scramble for words, for a way to defend yourself. Three seconds stretch out into a minute while you contemplate, but Mahito is already upon you, his eyes flashing with excitement.

This would be it, wouldn’t it? How poetic that this wretched curse would be the one to kill you, after he took everything from you two years ago.

He advances; but something stops him, another aura. It’s not as powerful, but it’s much more commanding, much more human.

“Mahito.” The tone is forceful, flat, without any nuance of sound. It comes from behind you, and you stiffen, knowing from the simple string of letters who it is. The sound of the voice has something unfurling in your chest, choking you, rendering you helpless. “Don’t touch her.”

“Why?” Mahito whines, curling his fingers around your hair, his cursed face and energy too close, too frightening for you to move. “There’s no one left to kill. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Find something.” Nanami’s to you in just a few steps, and you can feel his presence behind you, the voice that slowly sneaks up on you. He smells the same as he did back then, and you squeeze your eyes shut, try to remember that he’s not Kento anymore, and whoever he is, you don’t love him.

You can’t.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Mahito grumbles, but after a few seconds of staring down Nanami, he leaves, skipping off to some other corner of the school. It’s disgusting how pleased he is by the murders he’s committed, but why shouldn’t he be? If his goal is to rid the world of sorcerers, he’s done quite well at accomplishing it.

Which meant every one of your students is dead. Which meant any remaining sorcerers are gone for good. There isn’t a jujutsu sorcerer left in Tokyo but you, and even though you need to call for help, no one can get here fast enough to save you.

Nanami, slowly, comes around to glower before you, standing too close, his breath ghosting your shoulders. You feel his gaze like daggers, dragging over every inch of you, regarding you with a thinly veiled disgust.

You’re not ready to face him, not after all the time you’ve been apart, but you don’t have a choice. He’s in front of you within seconds, looking down at you from the bridge of his nose, his hair mussed, but still in the same style that he’d worn two years ago.

It is, really, the only thing about him that hasn’t changed.

“How the hell did you end up back here?” That’s the first thing he says, the tone crazed and so opposite of the flat inflection his voice had always held. The sound leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you twitch, trying to keep your expression from shifting. Not even a simple greeting before he’s already mocking you, judging your poor choices, the ones that will get you killed.

You say nothing, but regard him with a dry mouth, letting your eyes drift across his broad shoulders, down his chest. He’s covered in blood, stained deep maroon—evidence of his murders, the color so different than the gore of curses.

The old beige suit is gone, replaced by an expensive black one, tailored perfectly to every angle of his body. Nanami has traded in the blue button-up for a crisp burgundy one, and though the tie is different, it’s recognizable.

You’d gotten him that tie for his 28th birthday, one of black silk embossed with flowers, tiny white ones woven within the vines. You’d purchased it on your trip abroad.

It makes you sick. You’re not sure how long you can look at him without expelling the contents of your stomach.

“You know,” he says, not waiting for you to answer as he walks around, swinging his weapon that is now used for evil. “I thought that maybe when I left, you’d decide to do something with your life.” His irises that are now so dark, nearly black, pin you. Gone, too, are the old glasses, exposing his severe, narrowed eyes. “You stayed in Tokyo to rot.”

“What choice did I have?” you ask, wishing you could speak without your voice cracking. Yet, when Nanami stalks you like prey, calculating, the familiar blade in his hands, you feel a flare of fear start up in your stomach.

You don’t know the man before you. He’s beautiful, as handsome as you remember. Yet, he stares at you with disdain, and he’s cruel, so cruel. His lips are hardened into a permanent scowl, seeping through his merciless laugh.

“Well,” Nanami stops pacing and stands in front of you, running a hand down the side of the cursed tool, thoughtful. “I had hoped you’d come with me, but I knew better than to ask. Your moral convictions would have prevented that, darling.” A smile drips with poison as your steadfastness falters, the name sliding smoothly off his tongue, something about it still so sweet, even with his malice. “You always were too good for me.”

That isn’t true, at least, not in your mind. He had been a good man once, the very best. Maybe you could’ve done something to stop this, to help him. Yet, as many times as you run it over in your mind, even you can’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen.

“You’re right,” you say, grateful that your voice sounds a little stronger, a little harder. “I never would’ve come with you. You’ve killed our friends. You’ve killed children, Nanami.”

Something shifts between you; his eyes widen as he takes another pace forward, nothing but inches separating you. Against every intelligent cell in your body, your heart skips, breath catching at his proximity.

“Nanami?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with a sigh. The air grows stagnant around you as he notices the lack of warmth behind your apathetic eyes. “Here I thought you’d still call me by my name. We did once share a bed after all.”

“That means nothing to me now,” you spit, wishing he would stop staring at you with such hunger. You’ve never been immune to him, and you’re not sure you are now, not sure that you won’t waver at his feet, if even out of panic. He’s so solid before you, a resolute being of power. Perhaps he’s even stronger now than he was before. “Look at you. I don’t know who you are.”

Nanami points the sword at your throat, and though it’s blunt, not sharp enough to do any damage, you still weaken in the knees, stare back at him with something akin to dread. Your eyes are wide, but your breath comes out steady as your hands shake by your sides.

“I’m the person who decided to do something, finally.” Nanami raises his voice, every word punctuated by years of repressed anger. “Sorcerers grumbled for decades, centuries, but no one made any effort to make a change.” His jaw clenches as he drops the weapon back down, sniffing with abhorrence. Nanami’s in your personal space, his breath hot on your cheeks, and you feel tears well up in your eyes, even when you’re not sure why. “Even Gojo Satoru, who claimed to hate the higher-ups, who saved Yuuji Itadori, did little. I’m the person who realized that nothing’s going to change, not unless the system is burned from the inside out.”

A twitch starts from your heels, rising as he glares down at you. His features are tense, every muscle in his body taut. Still, there’s something about him. There’s something about the way he’s wearing the tie you once bought him, as familiar as the tall, strong frame that leers over you.

“There’s none of us left, Nanami,” you say, blinking away those tears, even though he’s already spotted them, the corner of his lips quirking with a crazed glint to his eyes. “You’ve made sure of that.”

“Then a new order of sorcerers can build its way from the ground up.” Nanami leans forward, his face near yours as he cocks his head. “I’ve succeeded.”

You squeeze your fingers into your shirt, twisting them around the stiff cotton tightly. Your heel slips just one inch back, away from him, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by your ex-lover.

He scoffs, a smirk widening.

“What’s wrong?” Nanami says. A veiny hand snakes between you, and he cups your cheek with a softness that goes against every fiber of what he stands for. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your lips part, but words don’t come out. Instead, you blink up at him with glossy eyes, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You probably should be,” he continues, his fingers brushing your jaw, luring you in, a security blanket that he will snatch away once you get comfortable. “I’ve ruined your life.”

The room feels colder than it did before, as terror starts pressing down on you, your entire body shaking with anxiety. Still, your eyelids flutter at his touch, every cell within you reacting out of muscle memory, weakened by the killer’s touch.

“A life that you once promised to protect.”

He smiles, and it’s so cold, a rival only to the devil's, even though it ignites a flame in your chest. “Why do you think I saved you for last?”

Your eyes burn with tears.

“Still as pretty as I remember,” Nanami hums on the edge of a sigh, and his gaze darts all over your face, searching for a secret buried there. His tone is rough, but, somehow, there’s an ounce of affection there too, like a part of him is still holding onto the near decade you were together. It’s no consolation, but it gives you some satisfaction; at least it meant something. “You have a new boyfriend?”

You turn hot all over at the way he grins at you, watches the flush form on your face as your eyes fly open. Nanami has you in the palm of his hand, easily, and whatever happens, it’ll be up to him. “N-no,” you stutter, his thumb sliding over your mouth, knocking against your teeth.

His grin is wild, predatory. “I knew I’d ruined you for anyone else.”

A breath catches in your throat, and your chest rises and falls heavily from the wave of desire that goes straight to your stomach. You feel as if your knees might give out, that you might need to grab onto him, just to stand upright.

It’s sickening, and you hate yourself, hate how much you want him, even though he’s the one that killed the people you care most about.

“Kento?” you ask in a small voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I don’t know.” He softens, just a hair, and easily, he’s back to the man you remember, the sweet, caring one you thought you’d marry one day. “I probably should… but I think I might just fuck you instead.” The words are muttered against your lips, and you stumble forward, gripping his strong biceps, a feeble attempt to keep from puddling at his feet.

His face clears once again, stoic, and harsh. Maybe it’s all a ploy to get you in his arms, to weaken you even further, but you don’t care. You’ve missed him, you’ve missed him so much, and you’d die to kiss him one more time. The blood on his face doesn’t matter; nothing matters except how much you once loved him, the love that never went away, even in the times you wanted to hate him.

You wonder whether or not Satoru would sympathize if he was here. Maybe he’d understand why you never went after Nanami and holed yourself up in the school instead. Although you tried to protect your students, you could never act out of violence, and that had cost you everything.

You know you've made mistakes, perhaps more than anyone, but you can’t control your heart; it’s a heart that is caged by steely ribs, and still the possessor of your fragile mind.

“Kento,” you say, running your hands all over him, the muscles that have only hardened, grown with time. “I miss you.”

It’s nothing more than a whisper, but it still changes his entire demeanor, turns him into something desperate. Kento comes on twice as strong; every caress sends a wave of need through you. When you whimper, toppling under his gentle touches, he kisses you hard, pushes you backwards into the wall.

The taste of his lips is almost too much, a conflict of memories piling onto you, transporting you into a version of yourself that is two years younger, much more hopeful. You kiss him like you’re twenty-two, unsharpened by the world, because despite what you have suffered, life was better seven years ago than it is now.

The illusion is short-lived, though; Kento is rougher than he used to be, and he shoves you hard, bruises your lips. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, sloppy kisses smearing saliva all over your cheeks.

He may not be as kind as he once was, but you’ll never be able to deny your attraction for him.

“Fuck.” Kento unzips his slacks, palming at the bulge that already lies within the tight material. “Look what you do to me, baby.” It catches you off guard; he’s never called you that before, never sounded so lewd instead of loving. “Think I started getting hard the second I saw you. Remember the last time I was inside you?”

You groan against his lips, breathing heavily as you thread your smaller hands in his hair. He tastes like alcohol, and you know that he’s always enjoyed a drink, but it was never this prominent on his tongue. That observation alone makes you wonder what else about him has changed; if he sleeps on the same side of the bed now that you’re gone, if he likes to read just as much as before, if he still takes his coffee with just a splash of milk.

The thoughts hurt, searing a hole through your chest. You try to ignore them.

As you kiss, Kento manhandles you backwards, his fingers spread over your collarbones. Your back hits the wall, a ghoulish crack reverberating throughout the room. It hurts, but the pain is outweighed by the feeling of him all over your body, the sheer anticipation for him to touch you like you need.

“Want you,” you say, as his hands clamp around your delicate wrists, pinning them against the wall. Kento’s palms are so much bigger; he’s so strong that it’s devastating. You have no choice but to let him take from you, to kiss down your neck and leave a bruise you won’t be able to cover up in the morning. “Please.”

“Dirty girl,” he laughs, breathless against your throat, the sound vibrating against the strained tendons there. Hastily, he spins you around, forces your face into the wall, your chest pressed into it. Your cheek is cold, smashed into your bone against the plaster. “I’ve killed everyone in this building, and here you are, begging me to touch you.”

The rough tone sends desire coursing through you, and you cry out against the wall as arousal bleeds out of you. Kento kisses you, across your shoulders, his cock pressing up against you, hard and thick.

A groan releases into your ear, and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in anguish. Begrudgingly, Kento lets one of your wrists go so that he can drag your skirt down, leaving you with shivering legs in the cool October evening.

You reach back to grab at him, desperately needing him inside of you; but he stills you with his hand, laughing eagerly into your skin.

“So impatient. Thought I taught you better than that.” Though, he drags your panties down quicker, lets them pool at your ankles along with the dark-colored skirt. It’s obvious he wants you just as much; he wastes no time dragging a hand down his cock, the tip already beginning to leak.

“Kento,” you say against the cold wall, throbbing, swallowing down all your need for him. It’s too dark for you to see every one of his pretty features, but his shadowy eyes gleam ruthlessly in the moonlight. “Let me kiss you again—”

Kento tsks and shakes his head, brushing your hair over one shoulder. “Now, that can’t happen. You’ll fall in love with me again too easily.” A laugh forces its way out of his chest, and you hate that the sound creates pressure in your body. You’re already in love with him, but his grip is too tight on you; you can’t kiss him, even though you want to.

A finger runs between your folds as Kento reaches between your legs, gathering slick in the process. His skin is cold, and you whimper; he used to be so warm, a natural furnace. Yet, he’s teasing you now, listening to your breathy little whispers as you lean back into him.

Without thinking, you grasp his hand with your own, slide it forward as the veins and tendons flex under your palm. This time, he complies; he lets you push his fingers into your cunt, much thicker and longer than your own.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, full of scornful sympathy, so contrary to the soft kisses on your neck. “You’re soaked. Have you really missed me that much?”

Your breath grows hot, heavy as he sinks his fingers deeper into you. You think about how much you loved him two years ago, and how much you still do.

Everyone you care about is gone, everyone but him. Perhaps Kento is the only one who’s truly ever mattered, because even if you’d been asked to kill him, you never would’ve done it, never could’ve; you’re not strong enough.

That’s where you and Satoru differ.

Kento slides his fingers in and out, stretching you, brushing against your swollen clit that’s begging to be touched by him. He bites down hard on your shoulder, blooms a bruise there and marks you as his forever, even if you’d never be anyone else’s anyways.

Already, you feel your climax building; you’re breathing heavier, crying out his name in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own. “I’m c-close,” you manage, and that is the wrong thing to say. He stills all at once and slips his fingers out of you, a web of arousal smeared over his knuckles.

Between your legs, you’re sticky, cold, but you barely notice. Your attention is directed on how aching and empty you are when his hands leave your body.

With a whine, you force your hips backwards, hating the chill that surrounds you all at once. “I wanna cum—”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Kento smiles against your neck and drags his cock against the small of your back, swollen and hard. “But I know you can ask much nicer than that.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “please, Kento, please, please, I need you, I—”

“There’s my good girl.” A breathy laugh leaves him as he angles the tip against your entrance, slow, pressing into you. “Fuck,” Kento groans, loudly, drawing out the syllables. “Squeezing me so tight, baby, you’ve been waiting just for me?”  

“Ken—” you say, and it’s all you can manage, the little nickname that no one’s ever called him but you. Kento buries himself inside you, his hot, muscular chest pressing into your back, pinning you against the cold wall. He’s so much bigger and wider, and his body encases you, shielding you from the agony that he’s dealt with his own hand.

You’re not sure if you can stand on your own — not under the weight of your solid and forceful affection for him.

“I know, I know," he says to the sweet sounds that escape you. "I’ve got you.”

Kento reaches around and cups your breast, squeezing hard. His thumb flicks over your nipple, the nail dragging against it cruelly as he swirls over the padded bra. Still, his blanketed touch is electrifying; your fingers curl into the wall, smooth, clawing without anything to grab onto.

He fucks into you, slowly, his strained cock rough against your walls. It’s just as you remember, and you long for your old life, wishing that there was a sorcerer out there whose technique could somehow turn back time. Then, you’d do something different, even if you’re not sure what.

With each thrust, his speed increases, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. Kento’s groans are so pretty, and tears roll down your cheeks at the feeling of him within you, surrounding you, the man you still touch yourself to at night, even when he’s a cold-blooded killer.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s fucked you like this, hm?” Kento says, cooing, almost sorry, even if he doesn’t realize how true that is. You feel dizzy with him, the sound of his syrupy voice, so deep and invigorating. “Need to cum so bad, don’t you, pretty?”

“Please,” you say, and you almost tell him you love him, almost let it slip, even though it can’t. This is nothing, this is nothing, this is nothing, you try and tell yourself, but you’re too distracted by the sounds, the utter sin that you’ve committed here in this school.

You’ve betrayed everyone, and you’re still betraying them now, your weak heart nothing but a burden.

Kento says your name, groans it around your ear as he presses harder into your body. His cock angles upwards, forces itself past your aching walls, and, he’s buried in you completely. There’s a lingering sting, a bitter pain, but Kento feels like home. Your stomach tightens, bursting with energy.

“You’re so perfect, aren’t you? So beautiful. Always take it like you were made for my cock,” he groans, and you suck him right back in, clamping around him tightly. “I missed this pretty pussy; maybe as much as I missed you.”

Tears well up in your eyes then, and you sob, reach around to grab his hair. You need to feel him all around you, remember what it was like for him to love you in return.

He hits a spot within you, and you arch into him, crying, a mess between your legs and on your face.

“There?” Kento says, but he already knows the answer, grinning as he kisses your cheek, your temple. “How could I ever forget the sweet sounds you make when you’re about to cum.”

You press his head closer, feel him kiss your neck again, softer this time, lovingly. He runs a delicate hand across your ribcage, your stomach. “You going to let go for me, angel? Surprised you lasted this long after two years. Think my sweet girl deserves it.”

“K-kento,” you whisper, but his name doesn’t get far; it’s cut off by your moan as he rips the orgasm from you, and you clench around him tightly, shaking.

“That’s it,” he says and shudders, grunting as he forces out the words. Your body jerks involuntarily into him as you slump against the wall, trapped between it and Kento. Already, you’re so sensitive, and your tears don’t stop falling as he pushes his cock into you again and again.

Kento’s heart is heavy within his chest, pounding against your back. You feel sick, helpless, missing him endlessly, even with him right at your fingertips. You can’t believe that you’ve lasted two years without him; how can you survive a lifetime?

“Take me with you,” you plead, your eyelids fluttering close as you try and remember the feeling of him, memorizing it in case this is the last time. “Please.”

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” Kento jerks back into you, forcing your cheek further against the wall. His hand is stiff against your head, even though he strokes your hair gently, encouraging. “I’m supposed to kill you, remember? I’m supposed to rid the world of every last sorcerer.”

“I need you, Kento,” you cry, feeling close to another orgasm already. Tears are running down your cheeks, your lips wet with spit as your mouth parts. “Just like it was before. I love you; I love you so much, I’ll be so good, I’ll—”

Kento groans your name and cums inside you, thick ropes painting your insides. It’s too much, everything about this is too much, and you’re squeezing him again, painfully sensitive as you orgasm once more.

Nonsense spews from your lips, and you grab at him in desperation as he finally drags out of you, the absence of him shattering you completely. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, and his cum drips down your thighs, leaving you nothing more than a cold, ruined mess.

Kento shushes, soothes you with sounds that are closer to taunts as you spin around, grab at him, claw at his wrinkled red shirt. There’s still blood on his face, but even then, you accept him; you’ll forgive him for every wrongdoing he’s committed if he lets himself love you once more.

“I want to go with you,” you say, and though his face is hard, he’s caressing your cheek with an opposite sort of touch, sadness in his weary eyes.

“I know you do,” he says, and there’s a conflict within him as his features contort. It’s the only evidence that maybe, deep down, he cares about you still. “But I’m not the man you want. Not anymore.” It’s a whisper, a prayer, and goodbye.

You nearly slap him as he straightens, inches away from you. You feel that you’ve been pushed into a pit of inky chaos, left soaked and naked from the way down, humiliated. Your cheek is red from where it was pressed into the textured paint, stinging from the pressure.

“Kento, please,” you beg, and he takes a step back, hardening his eyes. “You can’t leave me again. I’d rather die. I’d rather you kill me.”

You’re not sure which of the statements snaps him back into himself once more.

Kento blinks, then lets a cold smile filter onto his face, one that lingers darkly on every corner of his expression. A smear of blood remains on his sharp cheekbone, and he wipes it clear, grazing his eyes along your body in a way that makes you feel so small. You’re nothing to him, then; even though you had been once.

“Oh, I decided I won’t kill you this time,” he says, pushing his hair back into place as his spine goes rigid, straightening like a marionette string. “I want to make sure I have a pretty girl to come back to every now and again.”

“What?” It leaves you forcefully, and you’re choking in shame, because you hope the words are true. You can’t stand a life without Nanami Kento, even if that life is nothing more than seeing him in the cracks of moonlight, the shadows where no one knows he’s lurking. You’d take that before a lonely existence, void of the sweet lips of the devil that you pray to.

“I’ll leave Tokyo,” you shout, red-faced and teary eyed, your words nothing more than empty threats. “I’ll leave the country. You’ll never find me.”

Nanami grins, laughs at you coolly, a sound that chills you to the core. “Oh, I’d find you.”

You don’t have time to formulate a response. A breath forces its way out of you, but the wretched curse reveals itself from the corner of the room, stopping any words from escaping your lips. His eyes hungrily roam every inch of you, lingering on the lower half of your exposed body; you wonder how long he’s been there, watching, not saying a word.

“Are you done yet?” Mahito asks, dragging his lurid gaze away to face Nanami. “You’ve had your fun, let’s kill her now.”

Nanami’s eyes flash. “Leave her,” he says, scoffing. “She’s already as pathetic as it gets. Killing her won’t make a difference.” He spits the words coldly, and turns, following the curse out of the room

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

I GOT SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS ONE SHDHFHS

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

[pin-k-ink]

ephemera // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, dub-con, pet names, alcohol consumption, body worship, fingering, dirty talk, mutual pining

wc ⇢ 4.6k

a/n: i still have no idea how to describe what being intoxicated feels like

Gojo stared intently at the calendar, jaw tensing as he circled the quickly approaching date with a vibrant red pen. It was marked simply with your initials, but he knew the significance behind those two unassuming letters all too well.

Your birthday. Specifically, the one that would officially bring your transition into adulthood.

A strange feeling twisted in his gut, part anticipation and part...something darker, more fraught. For years now, he had forced himself to bury the undercurrents of forbidden attraction simmering between himself and his brilliant, beautiful student. With the power differential between you, it would have been unforgivably unethical to act on those urges, no matter how they ran molten beneath his skin when your eyes met across the training dojo.

But now, with your impending status as a legal adult, all of those previously steadfast barriers were suddenly rendered moot. You would be a woman grown in the eyes of society - fully autonomous to make your own choices about relationships and intimacies.

And Gojo would finally be free to pursue the longing that he'd ruthlessly shoved down year after year, fight after defiant fight of your ceaseless vibrant energy and fierce determination fueling his darkest fantasies.

He imagined you garbed in the finest evening dress money could buy, back baring and skirt slit high over shapely thighs as you gazed up at him with invitation in those captivating eyes. You'd be poised, every inch the elegant woman he'd watched you grow into over their time together. Except for the promise of sin smoldering in your heavy-lidded stare, all focused solely on him.

A low growl vibrated up from Gojo's sternum as he envisioned pressing you back into crisp hotel sheets, satin and lace pooling around your ankles as you arched shamelessly up into his questing hands and scorching mouth. He could almost taste the hot whiskey burst of your cum on his tongue as he spilled your name like a prayer between body-wracking tremors.

With a forcible shake of his head, Gojo dispelled the graphic fantasy. It did him no good to get carried away...at least not yet. First, there was the little matter of arranging a proper celebration for your coming of age. He had a solid six weeks to plan something suitably memorable and utterly unsuitable all at once.

The grin that split his features could only be described as wicked as the beginnings of a daring scheme crystallized in his devious mind. Oh yes, your first foray into adulthood under his tutelage was bound to be one for the books.

Little did you know just how intently Gojo had been preparing for the evening of your birthday. One month out, he'd finagled reservations at the trendiest new upscale restaurant in the city's downtown district. Only the week before, an utterly decadent hunter-green dress had been carefully wrapped and stowed away to be your celebratory gift.

From the very first moment you slipped the sumptuous material over your head, he knew it would be impossible to resist you. The plunging neckline balanced perfectly on the precipice of modest, skimming the lush upper curves of your breasts while flaring out in soft gathers over the swell of your hips. It was classically elegant, accentuating every lush, feminine angle in the most tantalizing way.

Until you turned with that bashful, pleased smile so completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Then the thin racer-back exposed the flex of shapely muscles and downy-soft skin that fueled so many of Gojo's most arduous meditations in the dojo showers. His jaw clenched hard enough to grind enamel as he simply drank in the sight before offering a low, approving hum.

"Stunning," was all he trusted himself to murmur, afraid anything more would betray the molten lust already licking at his composure like an insistent flame. "Shall we get going, birthday girl?"

The ride to the city center flew by in a blur of heated silence, the two of you existing in a strange kind of limbo as the barriers between student and teacher began their ponderous dissolution. Gojo struggled to keep his burning stare from wandering into forbidden territory, but it was a losing battle with you seated beside him, lean legs casually crossed and the musky cloud of your perfume swirling enticingly.

That dizzying, feminine scent and the hypnotic sway of your throat as you swallowed was his undoing. Before the errant thought could take root, Gojo found himself leaning infinitesimally closer, scrutinizing the delicate juncture where your jaw curved deliciously...imagining mouthing open kisses along the thundering line of your pulse and--

He cut the fantasy off with a hard shake, tamping down the visceral need with decades of practiced control. One tremulous breath, then another, and he was able to look anywhere but directly at you for fear of being drawn back into wanton temptation.

Thankfully, your arrival at the restaurant staved off any further lascivious ruminations. As you glided through the elegant double doors in your emerald splendor, the bulk of Gojo's focus narrowed to polished professionalism once more. He was the picture of urbane charm as a tuxedoed maitre d' ushered the two of you to a secluded table near the back.

It was clear the maître had been alerted to expect them, judging by the subtle glances he kept shooting Gojo and the ultra-exclusive corner booth he led you to. But you were predictably oblivious to the weight of deference as you admired the intimate nook done up in rich crimson and onyx finishings.

"This place is incredible! What a view," you exclaimed, breath catching as you leaned over to gaze out the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows towards the twinkling city skyline. Gojo clenched his fists under the table as the motion stretched the bodice of your dress taut across your chest, the shadow of cleavage darkening enticingly.

Sweet torture, every minute aspect was calculated to eat away at the gossamer threads of his restraint. He'd chosen this place specifically for the plush seclusion and unapologetic indulgence the setting evoked. The wine you both sipped from chilled crystal stemmed from rare vineyards, the food artfully composed from organic locally-sourced fare.

He wanted you to experience the finest that decadence had to offer. To let the slow-building seduction of flavors and textures relax your carefully maintained guard so his appreciative scrutiny might go undisguised. But most of all...he yearned to watch the first exquisite foray into unabashed surrender drift across your beautiful features.

By the end of your shared five-course indulgence, the flush dusting your cheeks and the inviting sprawl of your posture indicated Gojo's private mission was well on its way to success. You toyed idly with a fresh bloom of arousal as he signaled for the check, absorbing the casual confidence you exuded now that your inhibitions had begun to erode.

The warm heaviness of your stare was nothing new to his extensively-trained sangfroid. But with the knowledge that you'd officially achieved the age of majority? Your heated looks took on an entirely different tenor - one of open invitation and smoldering promissory notes about the night yet to come.

Unfortunately, you were still very much in public. Which meant Gojo would not give into the piquant cravings sparked by your every bashful glance and tongue-swept lip. Not yet, anyway.

That, however, did not preclude him from discreetly stoking those taunting embers once the stylized leather folio containing their exorbitant bill had been whisked away. The musky timbre of his voice was pure sin when he leaned close to brush his mouth along the delicious fan of your lashes.

"You've been such a good girl for me tonight," he husked, reveling in the delicate shudder that betrayed your body's rapt response despite your prim lack of reaction. "I think it's high time you got to enjoy the...full pleasures of being an adult, don't you?"

The dark, visceral promise woven through those purring words was almost enough to shatter your ingrained sense of decorum. As it was, Gojo had to suppress a devilish grin at the lilting catch in your breathing - a crystal clear indicator that his seduction was rapidly bearing fruit.

And so the hunt continued, him guiding you from the posh award-winning restaurant towards the pulsating nightlife district with a carefully choreographed set of lingering brushes and searing glances. Your bemused acceptance of his chivalrous arm swiftly morphed into dazed gratitude for the stabilizing pressure of his palm at the small of your back. It was only a matter a time before the crescendo of temptation reached its peak.

The moment that broke Gojo's steely control finally came several drinks past when-you-should-have-stopped at one of the city's most notorious bachelorette haunts. The hollers and joyous whoops of just-this-side-of-wasted revelers created the perfect storm of chaos and low lighting, sensual bodies gyrating as far as the jealously hooded eye could see.

It was exactly the sort of strobing, no-holds-barred den of sin designed to buckle the sternest of moral foundations at the knees. And from the second he ushered you into the heart of it, every baser instinct flared up like a bonfire whipped by high winds.

Between the sleek, gender-inclusive poles erected around the main dance floor, a panoramic spectacle of undulating hips and taut torsos welcomed voyeuristic eyes. Plumes of crystalline perspiration dappled glistening expanses of skin while enthusiastic strangers hooted their lurid approval.

Gojo's jaw clenched until his temples throbbed as he absorbed the intoxicating atmosphere. He could feel the evening's steady buildup of pheromones and liquor blossoming headier and richer with each passing second as you gravitated towards the seductive pulse of music.

It was only the barest reflexes of experience that had him seizing your hand before you went stalking off into the fray alone, turning to pin him with blown eyes and a rapturous grin bleeding sin. Even inebriated, there was no mistaking that look - the confident, carnal promise that would replicate itself on thousands of willing bodies before the night was done.

You were made for sensual surrender. And Gojo felt his control slip another few tenuous notches, picturing you wreathed in honeyed light, raven tresses tossed free as you worshipped the holiest of rituals that simmered in the darkness all around them.

Gruffly, he pulled you close enough to inhale the smokey remnants of whiskey and woman's lust from between your parted lips. "Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?" he growled, fingers clenching almost painfully around the generous swell of your hip.

Your answering laugh was liquid sin, bitter and emboldened by the rich burn of alcohol unfurling through your system. "Don't tell me you've gone all...responsible on me, sensei," you taunted, eyes glittering with honeyed challenge. "You didn't strike me as the type to pass up a little adult fun."

He hissed out a rough breath at your brazen defiance, torn between lashing you to his side or stalking away before he succumbed. Cruel implication laced your every syllable, a seductress unknowingly wielding weapons that could topple the strongest warrior.

"I'm not saying no," he finally rasped, letting the reassurance sink in before his hands meandered over the lush curves of your back, thumbs digging in deeply enough to short circuit coherent thought. "In fact, I want you to go have...all the fun an adult celebration like this has to offer. Just..." He paused to claim your mouth in a predatory glide, igniting a bonfire from the rawest flint of contact. "Don't make me regret giving you that permission, baby girl."

You shuddered violently at the naked demand threaded through his tone, flesh stippling with raw longing as you instinctively swayed into his scorching proximity. And it was all the encouragement Gojo needed to breathe a final molten warning against your gasping lips.

"Show me just how wild you can be. Do everything you want to do, take whoever and whatever you desire. But at the end of the night?" His fingers curled in the thick mass of your hair, tugging just shy of painful as azure fire bored into yours. "You'll be coming home with me, pretty girl. So save a little energy, hmm? I have plans for you..."

With that provocative parting shot hanging betwixt you, Gojo forcibly released you from his bruising clutches and watched with eyes of banked hunger as you spun away into the seething crowd. The spectacles of debauchery playing out all around did little to dissipate the feverish anticipation streaking through his blood. Indeed, it only made his vigil seem that much hotter, filthier.

Because who better than the teacher to appreciate each wanton display to its fullest, he mused, dragging a burning stare over the mouthwateringly sinuous path you carved into the throngs of gyrating bodies. Every lascivious roll and flirtatious glance from you only poured more kerosene onto the infernal blaze of need within him.

At one point, you even deigned to grant a long-haired, leather-clad youth a private demonstration of exactly what sort of unholy talents you were honing all these years under Gojo's watchful gaze. Up on the raised stage, working a pole with arched spine and legs wrapped in a scorpion-lithe grip, you rolled and thrashed in ethereal beauty - an incandescent vision of feminine sin unbound.

Gojo was beyond enthralled, beyond the point of return as your eyes met and held across the churning sea of drunken catcalls. Sweat trickled in liquid platinum rivulets from your hairline, weighting those silk strands to your flushed skin as the burnished gold of stage lights played sacrilegiously across acres of exposed dewy flesh.

You moved with unconscious artistry borne from decades of training and muscle memory - from the rebellious lick your tongue swiped over those sin-bitten lips to the deliberate circle of your hips as you remounted the pole upside down to the euphoric cheers of those gathered around the impromptu stage.

Reality narrowed to the carnal exhibition you presented, flayed bare and wanton, until the moment the hollow ring of the pole clanged emptily. And then Gojo was sliding from the shadows to collect you in his arms, relishing the trembling aftershock of exertion and pure, unchained bliss thrumming through your body.

"That's enough teasing for one night, pretty girl," he growled, scattering the rings of smitten voyeurs with one scathing sweep of his gaze. You whimpered in protestation, tangling damp fingers in the silk of his shirt to anchor him closer as you pleaded for his acquiescence.

"Please..." You slurred, voice husky and lush with the unnamed wantings that oozed from your every motion. "Please, I want..."

He sealed your plea with a claiming brand of lips, summoning a maelstrom of heat and friction that consumed your senses completely. Abstractly, you registered the distant howls and jeers of those witnessing your unrestrained depravity. But none of it mattered beyond the scorching ecstasy of his hands, squeezing and kneading territorial swathes across your exposed curves.

"Soon, baby," Gojo promised when you finally broke apart, his forehead cradled against yours as you both panted harsh reclamation of oxygen to your burning lungs. "Let's go home. You've been such a good girl...opened yourself up so pretty for me tonight. Now it's my turn to give you what you've earned."

Hazily, you clung to those molten words, trusting in them utterly even as Gojo swept you up into his arms like you weighed no more than a dream. The world tilted and spun with vertigo, but his presence was the anchor keeping you tethered - safe within the haven of his strength as he carried you out into the cool respite of the night.

At some point, the comforting haven of Gojo's granite chest and sandalwood cologne lulled your overtaxed senses into a state of blissful half-consciousness. So it came as a complete shock when you resurfaced some timeless eternity later, cradled in his arms on the precipice of a painfully familiar threshold...your dorm room's doorway.

As if splashed with a bucket of ice water, all the traces of syrupy drunkenness dissipated in one sobering rush, leaving you wide-eyed and incredulous as a horrible realization began to set in.

"Wha...what's going on?" you rasped, hastily prying yourself out of Gojo's embrace with as much detached dignity as a woman still panting from bone-deep arousal could muster.

You blinked dazedly, trying to make sense of the surroundings. But the usual anchors of time and place were hopelessly scrambled in the face of this man's penetrating stare and the phantom vestiges of smoke and revelry still haunting your senses.

"Hey now, it's alright," that deep, rumbly baritone soothed as you flinched from his proximity. "You're safe, pretty girl. Just let me get you inside and I'll explain everything."

He stepped into the washed-out hallway light and your breath stuttered in your lungs as a painfully familiar detail finally slammed into focus - the distinctive gleam of a pendant you knew better than your own name glinting from the hollow of his throat.

It all came rushing back in one headspinning epiphany - the decadent restaurant, the escalating tension, your uninhibited behavior as liquid courage set your baser instincts free...and through it all, Gojo's devotion to stoking that smoldering burn between you until neither could ignore the inevitable consummation hanging so tantalizingly close.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless exhale as the missing pieces clicked into place. This wasn't some stranger - it was your enigmatic teacher himself, the object of your most scorching fantasies brought terribly, gloriously to life as he pinned you against the door with his signature brand of wicked provocation burning in those cobalt depths.

"Satoru..." you breathed, something like awestruck reverence lacing the name even as fresh heat bloomed across your cheeks.

One dark brow arched in wordless challenge, sensual lips still curved in that maddeningly familiar half-smirk. Almost absently, his free hand lifted to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip in a scorching caress.

"I'm listening, pretty girl," he purred, gaze dropping pointedly to the kiss-swollen pout before skating hungrily over every bared inch. "Why don't you tell me all about those dirty little fantasies that had you grinding away on stage like a dream?"

You shuddered hard, knees going watery at the explicit reminder and the intoxicating combination of sin and power radiating off him in waves. Despite your addled state, you knew there was no mistaking the naked challenge, the molten confirmation that Gojo returned your forbidden desires with equal fervor if the brand of his cock trapped snugly against your hip was any indication.

Which meant you could finally, blissfully unleash every scrap of wanton longing you'd been forced to keep confined behind useless layers of propriety and restraint for years. Here, now, with the man himself stoking your deepest wellsprings of lust and silently giving you leave to indulge like the wanton creature you'd always ached to be for him.

"Would you believe...that I've imagined this very moment more times than I can count?" you murmured in a rapturous rush before he could rescind the depraved permission.

You swayed helplessly into his solid weight as images from your most ardent daydreams began spilling freely - fevered scenes of his commanding, chiseled figure looming over your sweat-slicked body, mouth trailing liquid heat in its wake as he whispered the filthiest supplications against your neck.

"I've imagined you finding me like this before," you confessed in a breathless tumble, hands roving shamelessly over the crisp fabric of his shirt as you bared your darkest fantasies. "Completely messed up and desperate for you to touch me, use your mouth all over my body."

One of Gojo's hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back to allow his tongue to blaze a scorching path over the throb of your racing pulse. You bucked shamelessly against his restraint, giving voice to another shattered fragment:

"I dream about you taking me again and again once you see how filthy I really am, until I'm out of my mind from the pleasure..."

A rumbling growl against your sensitized skin had you dissolving into a full-bodied shudder, hips grinding wantonly against the delicious promise pinning you to the unforgiving surface of the door. Gojo pressed you tighter into the cradle of his hips, allowing the impressive ridge of his cock to catch torturously in the molten apex of your need.

"Fuck, baby...don't stop," he rasped hoarsely, shredded composure bleeding through every syllable. "Was this what had you so turned on for me tonight? The thought of me disgracing that pretty little body until you've been utterly ruined for anyone else's touch but mine?"

You whimpered through your nod, rendered incoherent by the liquid heat of his filthy words alone. He seemed to swell further at your reaction, one large palm trailing up your torso to cup your breast possessively as he rolled and kneaded the sumptuous weight. His thumb plucked and strummed at the pebbled peak in time with the scorching grind of his hips, every whisper of contact a blasphemous supplication to drag you higher into sin's rapture.

"Satoru, please..." you finally managed to whine, hands fisting in the crisp fabric of his collar to keep from flying apart at the seams and dissipating into the ether. "I need...I need you to--"

In a swirl of movement and shredded restraint, you found yourself engulfed in the sanctuary of his arms, weightless and adrift as he carried you towards the bedroom like you were made of fine-spun glass. The world narrowed down to his lips claiming yours in a wildfire of devastating possession while long fingers blindly worked the door open under your combined weight.

One desperate backwards stagger later and you tumbled together over the threshold of the sanctuary he'd frequented in your most explicit imaginings. Your mouths were fused, twin points of incandescence that warred with the scorching need to drink in every gasp and keen your lover wrung free from the deepest, most sacred parts of your core.

Gojo slanted the searing brand of his kiss to swallow down an especial wrecked whimper as you rolled and writhed in his unforgiving embrace, shameless in your quest to chase more blinding friction.

"Every night since I first realized my obsession with you, I've fantasized about this moment," he rumbled against the sensitive juncture of your jaw, stubble scraping with delicious friction over your overheated flesh. "I've wanted this for too long - finally getting you naked in my bed, my ruin."

On the next insistent rock of his hips aligning you like destined celestial bodies, his clever fingers finally delved beneath the scandalous drape of your skirt to trail liquid heat over your drenched pussy and the lust-soaked array of lace and satin still shielding your innermost petals. He drank in your shattered moan like a man dying of thirst.

"Tell me, baby," Gojo husked urgently, punctuating each scalding inflection with another maddening push of his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Is this as good as you always dreamed? Has it lived up to your filthiest fantasies about me?"

You were beyond intelligible speech at this point, pathetic mewls and whimpers the only coherent sounds able to punch past the miasma of ecstasy clouding your mind. Still, you nodded frantically, arching feverishly into every scorching caress of his hands and mouth as Gojo slowly divested you of the flimsy cloth barriers separating you from total rapture.

The heat in his reverent stare as he laid your trembling form bare before his searing brand of appreciation was like an animating force unto itself. You bloomed under his ravenous focus like the most exotic of orchids, petals unfurling in welcome of the summer storm about to consume you utterly in the sweetest of drownings.

All too soon, the last scrap of modesty was shredded away on a zephyr's breath, leaving you panting and laid bare in the erotic aftermath of his sinful touches. Gojo drank in every quivering arch and sumptuous hollow for a long, molten moment - pride and pure masculine satisfaction warring behind his smoldering stare as he committed every line and plane to memory, every seam and shadow.

"My sickest, filthiest desires made flesh before me at last..." he growled in sublime rapture, unbridled awe and molten reverence dripping from each seared syllable. "Been craving the chance to savor this forbidden pussy."

One of those broad, calloused palms trailed up the tender inside of your thigh, urging your limbs wider in a silent entreaty for maximum exposure. The other swept along the feminine flare of your hip and lower abdomen, mapping every flutter of anticipation as Gojo crept closer to his prize.

"Now at last I get to fuck you like I always wanted..." His fingertips glided upwards, utterly unhurried and indulgent until blessedly, he cradled your scalding pussy in the scultped cradle of his palm as your hips jerked off the sheets with a punched-out cry.

No fantasy, no fevered imagining could have prepared you for the sheer bliss of your first full-bodied contact with the man who had haunted your dreams since that first day under his tutelage. Gojo rendered you utterly insensate with just the elemental slide of skin against slick, swollen folds - one languid stroke after another swiftly calcifying into that most exquisite of tortures as he utterly mastered your pleasure centers.

"Gorgeous little slut," he purred in hushed reverence, pouring every ounce of sin into his touch as twin points of searing azure bored into your hooded stare. "Let go for me, pretty girl. Let me hear those filthy noises that have tortured me for years."

You shattered on the next lazy curl of his fingertips into your syrupy core, back arching like a bow from the mattress as a clarion call of pure rapture was punched free from that deepest most sacred wellspring of feminine bliss he'd awoken. Over and over, Gojo sent you spiraling into blessed oblivion with just the barest brush of his ardent touch and the fathomless depths of desire blazing from every line of his commanding frame.

Eventually, the shockwaves of ecstasy subsided, leaving you an overwrought tangle of boneless satisfaction amidst the erotic aftermath. Still, his grip was inextricable as Gojo anchored your trembling form to his chest, brushing lingering sweeps of reverence over your damp brow and along your sides.

"I've wanted this for so long," he rasped, voice still raw from unleashing the full depths of his passion. "To cherish and worship you as the rarest of treasures that you are, pretty girl." He pressed scorching brands of kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder, lingering over the marks his ravenous mouth had laid down to signify your joining. "There will be no more hiding how much I want to wreck you after this. You are mine now...and I will let the whole world know. Tonight was just a teaser - now, you’re mine to fuck and lay claim to your body over and over again, whenever I want."

That molten reminder of his intent to satisfy his hunger over and over throughout the endless, intimate hours still to come sent anticipatory shivers cascading through your core. This night had merely been an appetizer, a sinfully delicious prelude to all the raptures your mysterious mentor intended to introduce you to now that the shackles of propriety had been thrown off for good.

Unable to conjure any further words of import, you simply allowed yourself to melt back into his granite embrace as the cosmos outside bled away entirely. Because in this sacred chamber of reverent sin and endless exploration of desire's profane mysteries, nothing mattered beyond giving yourself over mind, body and soul to the sensual devotions of the only man who had ever dreamed of mastering you completely.

[nateezfics]

WITH SUGAR

♔ PAIRING — san x reader

♔ GENRE — smut, sugar daddy au, ceo au, sugar daddy!san, ceo!san, aged up!san, fem!reader, dom!san, sub!reader

♔ WARNINGS — smut, public sex (in an office/workplace), oral (f receiving), use of pet names (sweetheart/good girl), daddy/sir kink, sexual language

♔ WORD COUNT — 1.9k

♔ SUMMARY — “you have the sweetest taste. i’m addicted to it.”

your heels clacked rhythmically on the marble floor. the sound was hallow and echoed against the walls as you made your way through the hall. your vision was focused straight ahead, the few people that were around mere silhouettes in your periphery. you were steadfast, drawing closer to the all too familiar double doors you walked in and out of every day.

your grip tightened around the warm cup of coffee when you were only a few strides away from the double doors. you straightened your posture and inhaled. this was all routine. you did this every morning — deliver your boss’ coffee to him. just one of your many tasks as his secretary. you stopped just outside the doors and looked over the coffee cup, recounting in your head his exact order. he was very particular about how his coffee was prepared, and every morning you always felt a little nervous that something might be wrong or out of place. he was a man who knew what a liked and what he didn’t, and you were always eager to please.

your knuckles tapped against one of the doors to alert the man on the other side of your presence before you allowed yourself in. you were met with the usual sight of his grand office, with him dutifully working away at his desk in the center. as you approached, his head lifted to acknowledge you. on the outside you were every bit the collected secretary, but on the inside your heart was skipping at the sight of a small smile breaking across his face.

“ah, ms. y/l/n, you’ve arrived right on time.” san’s polite welcome made you smile as you neared his desk. he watched you as you placed his coffee in front of him, and smiled up at you with a nod. “as reliable as ever, ms. y/l/n.”

“of course, sir,” you responded gratefully. you took a few steps back to put some appropriate space between yourself and his desk before linking your hands behind your back. “is there anything else i can do for you, mr. choi?”

he reached for his coffee as he shook his head. “no, you’re good to go. i’ll send for you as needed, of course.” you nodded once just as he brought the cup to his lips, turning towards the doorway to make your exit. you were only a few strides away before your name was called.

“ms. y/l/n, how exactly did you order my coffee this morning?” you turned to see him eyeing his coffee with furrowed brows.

your heart fluttered. “i ordered it as i always do, sir. i even made sure to ask for extra sugar, just the way you like.”

san frowned at his cup of coffee as he placed it on his desk. he pushed it further away from him like it disgusted him to even look at it. “it wasn’t nearly sweet enough. much too bitter for my liking. certainly someone forgot the extra sugar.”

“perhaps i can revisit the cafe, and get you a new coffee —”

he waved dismissively. “don’t worry about it.” he sighed and stood from his chair. he stepped around the desk, drawing closer to you while you remained in place. with every step closer, the air inside the office changed. you weren’t sure when or why it had happened, but a switch had been flipped. the man before you morphed from your boss to something way less professional, something you typically only saw after office hours.

your breath caught in your throat when his hands grazed your sides, his fingers running along the dip of your waist. you were overwhelmed by his proximity and the scent of his cologne. you met his gaze which had grown much darker now, much more dangerous. you opened your mouth to speak, but he quieted you with a thumb to your lips.

“i think i have a much better idea to make up for the lack of sugar,” san said, voice low and sultry. he smirked, and you felt butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. “bend over my desk, and take off your panties.”

your face was hot from his words. “wait, are you sure —”

“yes, now do as i say, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. when he called you that, you always did as you were told. your dynamic with him went beyond that of a ceo and his secretary. he showered you with riches, and you gave him your body. it was a win-win situation for you, though you never imagined he’d ever attempt to explore this part of your relationship in his own office during hours. your front met the edge of his desk, and after pushing away some of the paperwork, you leaned forward until you were pressed flat over it.

“panties. off.” his voice was firm. you hiked your dress up over your hips, exposing yourself to his view. you pulled at the lace fabric of your panties, slipping them down your thighs until they fell on their own to the floor around your ankles. you kicked them to side, and now you were fully bare for the man just behind you. you heard his shoes against the floor as he closed the distance between you.

you sighed when his clothed erection pressed into you. you moaned at the hardness of him, skin erupting in goosebumps when his hands palmed your ass.

“that’s a good girl,” he praised, and though you couldn’t see it, he smirked at the sight of you beneath him, bent over his desk. “now, stay just like this for me. you can keep quiet, can’t you?”

before you could answer, two of his fingers rubbed at your clit. you bit your lip hard, and nodded at him. you feared that if you tried to speak, moans would spill out. you remained mostly silent while his fingers toyed with your sex, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he did next.

san was on his knees, your pussy right in his face. he was so quick you almost didn’t even register that he’d moved until you felt the press of his tongue against your clit. his tongue licked a long stripe over your folds, collecting your wetness. he groaned just as your back arched.

“san!” his name escaped your lips at the jolt of pleasure. just the mere press of his tongue against you had you arching over his desk. his hands gripped your thighs tightly.

san pulled his tongue away from you at the sound of his own name. “i’m sorry, what was that, sweetheart?”

you realized your mistake. “daddy,” you amended. you felt him kiss your sex and mewled at the contact.

“that’s better. now,” san sucked on your clit, “be quiet. wouldn’t want the others in the office to hear me make a mess of you, would we?”

you responded with a simple nod, though you weren’t sure he could even see it from his place on the floor. you relaxed over the desk just as he resumed his feasting, face pressing into the cool, wooden surface. you felt immensely exposed like this, dress hiked up your body and lower half bare, san beneath you with his face full of your cunt. from this angle, anyone could’ve walked in and had a direct view of the debauchery unfolding here. the doors were not locked, and as ceo, san was certainly a popular man amongst the office. the threat of being caught didn’t seem to bother him, and to be honest, you felt excitement when you should’ve felt nervous. there wasn’t much room to think of anything other than his tongue and the pleasure it provided.

san’s tongue lapped at your cunt like it was the most delectable meal he’d ever tasted, like it was some sweet treat he’d been craving. he inhaled your scent and savored the flavor of you. there was something intoxicating about your pussy, something so addicting. san definitely had a sweet tooth, and you were the perfect indulgence. he found himself unable to pull away, not even caring for the need to breathe. he sucked on your clit and released it with a pop! “you have the sweetest taste. i’m addicted to it.”

you couldn’t respond, not when it was taking everything in your power not to dissolve into a moaning mess on his desk. you lifted your head to gaze outside the large window, watching the concrete jungle outside. the city was bustling and busy as usual, all the people within the buildings nearby unaware of the sin happening within this office. you hoped the city view would offer some sort of a distraction, but san’s tongue plunging into your hole took up every single one of your senses and flooded them with pleasure. you covered your mouth with your hand when a moan came dangerously close to slipping out.

“you’re sweeter than sugar, sweetheart. and i’d be happy to let my teeth rot if it meant i could have you on my tongue forever.” san’s words were whispered against your sex like a reverent promise. his lips moved over you while his spoke, only pushing you closer to the edge. “doing so good for me, so so good.”

his praise offered some encouragement as you began to grow insane from the pleasure. you were biting your hand now just to keep quiet. you needed to cum soon or else you’d end up disobeying him. your hips began to move, grinding your sex against his face in desperation.

san laughed, grip on your thighs tightening to keep your hips still. “is my sweetheart desperate to cum, huh?” when you didn’t respond verbally, he patted your thigh. “use your words, sweetheart.”

you exhaled shakily, releasing your hand from your mouth. “yes, daddy. i need to cum so bad…”

he hummed, using his thumbs to spread your pussy open. you were absolutely soaked, slick glistening over your folds. he almost came in his pants from the sight. “okay, sweetheart. cum for me like the good little girl you are.”

he fucked you with his tongue until stars exploded in your vision. you came on his tongue in a rush, pleasure surging through your veins. you shook over his desk, crumbling under the weight of the euphoria. san lapped and sucked until you began to come down from the high. you felt him trail kisses on your thighs before he got up from his knees.

san pulled your dress down to cover you. “you did so well for me.” his gaze shifted to the long forgotten cup of coffee sitting on his desk not too far from you. “and you were better than any sweetener.”

with his help, you lifted from his desk to stand. your legs were wobbly in your post orgasm state, and you wished you hadn’t decided to wear heels. your eyes found san’s before dropping to his still hardened cock. “daddy, what about you?”

san chuckled as he looked down. he was throbbing in his pants, cock feeling more than a little neglected. “we’ll worry about that later, sweetheart. i need you to go back to work now.”

you watched him reach down to retrieve your panties. heat rose to your cheeks. when you reached to take them, he jerked them just out of your grasp. you looked at him with confusion.

he smirked, stuffing the panties into his suit pocket. “i didn’t say you’d be getting these back. we are far from finished, sweetheart.” he leaned forward to graze his lips across your ear. “i will see you again after hours like usual. now, go back to work, ms. y/l/n.”

AUTHOR’S NOTES — this has taken me so long to upload simply because i kept erasing it all and rewriting it :’)

i am slowly but surely getting closer to finishing this spoiled series! it started out as a 3k follower milestone celebration, but now i’ve recently reached 6k followers. to say i’m thankful would be an understatement. the support is mind-blowing, i am beyond surprised at how much my blog has flourished over the years. thank you for every follow, every reblog, every fic rec mention, and for every nice comment left on my fics or in my askbox. it means a lot to me, though i may not always take the time to say it. thank you, thank you, thank you!!

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[faerieroyal]

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thinking about charlie, who will call you every single pet name known to the english language, and use them so much that sometimes you wonder whether he remembers your real name. thinking about charlie, who always insists on having his arm around you when the two of you are in public, no matter if it’s around your shoulders or your waist. thinking about charlie, who will absolutely cover your face with kisses when you’re upset until you laugh from how much it tickles, and have the most smug smile on his face when he’s accomplished it. thinking about charlie, who will attempt to write a saxophone melody just for you, and even if it doesn’t turn out quite like he wanted will feel like the sun has started shining in his chest when you smile at him after he plays it for you. thinking about charlie, who as much as he craves validation, eventually comes to find that yours is the only laugh he really cares about hearing after he’s told a joke.

thinking about charlie, who is always so jovial and takes so little in this life seriously, but who is deadly serious about his love for you; as much as he tries to bring light and levity into other people’s lives, you are the light in his life, and he will be damned if he doesn’t love you with the same determination he gives to telling jokes and causing mischief - strong, steadfast, with all the warmth and power of the sun he cannot help but remind people of, and that he insists he sees every time he sees you smile.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

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[notjustjavierpena]

Where I'm Supposed To Be, a husband!Javier Christmas fic

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here’s my Christmas present for you all. I wrote this with blood, sweat and tears. I love you. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful opportunity to make myself, and everyone who reads my work, happy due to a silly, little, fictional family. Thanks to @javiscigarette and @joels-shitty-puns for being amazing and caring ❤️ and obviously thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for being my sweet Spanish tutor 😭🙏

Summary: Just Christmas morning with the Peñas. Lots of chaotic and sweet children but also some alone time between you and your husband who very much has a present for you this morning.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, domestic life, three children being cute, unwrapping of gifts on Christmas morning, dancing to the radio, butterflies, being courted by javi, some rough pussy eating (javi is a cunning linguist and a fucking menace), nose riding, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praises and pet names, rough sex, kitchen sex, lactation kink, tit play, bit of breeding kink. creampie, they are gross and in love, absolutely married to each other

Word count: 7.1k!!!!!

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52364101

Where I’m Supposed To Be

Your eyes open wide as soon as you feel the weight of two children in your bed, and the realization of what day it is comes to mind. Since you are lying on your side, facing your husband, you watch the same shock settle in him as his own slumber is interrupted. Javier is lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow tightly, and when Inés starts jumping up and down at the foot of the bed, he shoots up to look around with a confused expression. You smile as he catches your eye. He yawns back at you. 

“Wake up! Wake up!” Inés’ squeaky voice announces. She sounds out of breath from jumping continuously, “It’s Christmas!”

The whole bed shakes. Lucas has joined in on the jumping, a contrast to his usually so well-behaved and calm manner, but you remember the magic excitement that Christmas brought along when you were a kid yourself. 

You yawn loudly to tease, turning onto your back. Inés barely survives the way you drag out waking up properly.

“Alright!” You sit up in bed with a little smile, letting your hands come down on top of the covers, “We’re up.”

“I’m not,” Javier grumbles into his pillow. Inés takes it as an opportunity to jump on her father’s back, sitting down on him with a knee on either side of his torso. You can hear the air being knocked from Javier’s lungs and can’t help but smile fully now, fighting a belly laugh as your insistent daughter starts tugging at his hair and shoulders.

“Come on, Mom!” Lucas begs too but without bordering on violence. He grabs at your hand to pull it, and you throw the covers to the side to let him lead you out of bed. 

“I’m coming, mijo (my son),” you say and slip on a t-shirt that you have laid out the day before; there’s been a fair amount of Christmas mornings at this point but with Inés getting older, and thus more steadfast in her personality, you have resorted to creating a system that you hope neither of your kids has realized exists. 

When Inés sees you out of bed, she quickly abandons her father at the realization of your willingness. Javier takes in a deep breath as he loses her weight on top of himself, imitating the sound of someone falling asleep again. You’ll let him for now; after all, he’s been the one up all night to arrange the presents so it looks like Santa came to visit. 

“I have to check on Seb first,” you inform their hopeful faces. Inés groans and even Lucas looks like he might join in but you don’t give in to being rushed, simply shrugging, “If you are quiet, he won’t wake up and it’ll be quicker.”

You grab the baby monitor from your nightstand and then your kids follow you down the hallway of family photos to Sebastian’s nursery. Your baby is sleeping soundly when all three of you enter ever so quietly, a sign of contentment and feeling safe, and you don’t dare reach out to touch him in case he is disturbed from his sleep, even despite him being the easiest one of all three, so often off to dreamland that you have had Javier needing to reassure you.

You stare down at Sebastian for a few moments. He has his arms above his head, hands squeezed into fists and his little mouth slightly agape. You can feel yourself being overcome with emotion as both Lucas and Inés observe their little brother’s slumber with you, and with such understanding in their eyes that you wish you could take a picture of them. They have all of their hands clutched around the railing of the crib to peek down at the baby. 

“Mom,” Lucas whispers without taking his eyes off Sebastian, “Can we please go see our presents?”

“Pleeeeease,” Inés follows.

“Okaaaay, let’s go,” you whisper back.

You leave the bedroom with the baby monitor in your hand and Inés hand clutched in your other, only to hold her in place in case she wants to run down the stairs. 

Both your kids’ eyes go wide as they enter the living room. There are several differently sized and shaped presents underneath the lit-up Christmas tree, sporting extravagant bows and wrapping paper designs. You know that none of them are for you but you’ll relish in your children’s faces as they run towards the pile. 

“Steady now,” you say as you place the baby monitor on the coffee table, “Everything has led up to this, I know, but we don’t want it to be over in a few minutes, do we? Let’s do one at a t—“

“But Santa’s been!” Inés shrieks in delight. Lucas looks at you, only seven years old and not convinced, and you wink at him only to receive a little smile. He looks pleased with himself, sharing a secret with his mother.

“Really? How do you know he has?” You say animatedly. It’s obvious, she tells you, look at the presents, but you distract her from ripping each of them open by walking up to gape at the empty plate and glass that are on the coffee table, gasping for show as if to imitate your daughter, “Inés! You’re right! Look!”

Inés whips around, darting towards you. She stares in shock. Lucas seems a little impatient, hovering around a big present that is for him, so you hold out your hand and call him over to look at the Santa-evidence too. 

He walks around the coffee table to lean against you instead, and you rest a hand on the back of his neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, whispering to him as Inés lifts the plate to look underneath it.

“You’re the best big brother, sweetie,” you mutter and repeat the move, smoothing his bed hair. He leans into you further. 

“Look! All gone!” Inés parrots as she stares at the cookies that are nowhere to be found. Neither on or under the plate. 

Lucas still doesn’t look very convinced. In the future, you’ll tell him about the sugary kiss his father planted on your cheek when crawling into bed after eating cookies and drinking milk at three in the morning - and his preteen self will crinkle his nose in disgust.

Speaking of your husband, Javier enters the living room silently so as to not disturb Inés’ hunt for clues. He has put on a t-shirt that hangs over his boxers, looking beautifully disheveled, and you smile like a schoolgirl when he looks at you happily. 

“Is there anything else? Did he just leave behind all those great big presents?” You still talk excitedly, grinning as your daughter’s eyes scan the floor and ceiling. 

She continues to the fireplace, pointing out the small amount of soot mixed with glitter that you’ve spread out on the wooden floor, “He’s been! Look, Mommy!”

“Wow!” Javier now chimes in. Inés recognises his voice instantly and she runs to her father the second that she hears him. Javier picks her up from the ground with the groan of a father to settle her on his hip. He kisses her cheek repeatedly until he blows a raspberry, “He did all that for you?” 

Inés giggles like only a child can. You want to melt. She claps excitedly, “All for me.”

“You must’ve been very good this year, mija (my daughter),” he says, ruffling her already messy hair. She shies away from it but throws her arms around his neck as soon as he has stopped, burying her head in his shoulder. 

Lucas shifts impatiently but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You want to open a present?” You whisper to him. 

“Can I?” He whispers back with wide eyes.

“They still have a few clues to go through, outside even,” you crouch down to kiss his cheek from behind, hugging him close to you, “If you want to, I’ll let you. I’ll choose though.”

In the background, Javier catches on. He places Inés back down on the floor, holding out his hand for her and winking at his son whilst talking to his daughter, “Do you want to see if Rudolph ate the carrots you laid out for him on the doorstep?”

Inés, completely ignoring the offered hand, starts running towards the front door whilst naming other reindeer too. It’s Texan Christmas, so there’s no point in putting on a jacket for going outside, and the sudden silence of the front door closing behind her and Javier makes you strike.

You let go of Lucas to get his present from under the tree, searching only briefly as if you’re choosing something random. There’s a point to this but you don’t want to take out the magic of the moment.

Lucas sits down on the floor as he is handed the gift. He doesn’t hesitate to tear its wrappings off, and when he throws it to the side, he gasps at the sight of his very own brand new Game Boy that you have wrapped along with a few games. It’s a strategic move to let him open it now; Inés won’t try to steal it in the middle of Christmas family time if she isn’t aware of him getting it. 

“No way!” Lucas’ eyes are wide. He holds the Game Boy in its packaging in front of himself, not taking his eyes off of it in case it might disappear if he looks away, “Mom!”

“It’s the one you wanted, right?” You ask, rubbing his back and looking down at the cover over his shoulder, “Lord knows if I have a clue about what it does.”

“This is so cool,” he says, mostly to himself, and then looks up at you with a wide grin that reminds you that he is his father’s son, “Thanks, Mom!” 

“But I need you to wait to use it till after Inés is done with her presents, okay? I know you’re excited but you’ll have the whole day, no?”

“Entiendo, (I understand),” he nods, getting up from the floor very carefully as he still has the Game Boy in his hands, “¿ Lo tengo que compartir? (do I have to share it?)

“You might have to share it sometimes but it’s yours first and foremost,” you say with a little smile, “I think Inés might just want to see you play and then you can let her try it a few times. If it’s too much, we’ll figure something out.”

Lucas hugs you then, tightly and lovingly. He buries his head in your stomach and he doesn’t have to say anything because you know exactly what he wants to say with his embrace. It’s enough to make you choke up a second time today. 

When Javier and Inés return back inside the living room, Inés talking loudly, Javier gets a pair of scissors and a bag for the wrappings from the kitchen. You quickly add Lucas’ gift wrap to it to conceal any evidence of having started without Inés.

“Mom! Rudolph ate the carrots we laid out!” She beams. 

“He didn’t!” You walk up to her to make it seem like you are listening even more actively. You lean down over her with your hands on your thighs, feeling Javier’s eyes on you as you bend over, “Oh boy, I’m glad you remembered to feed them so Santa could reach all the kids without them getting tired and hungry.”

“Can we open presents now?” She inquires, falling to her knees in front of the Christmas tree. She looks back at you, suddenly very serious, “Are there any presents for Sebastian?” 

“Yes, Sebastian has a few presents too,” you reply.

It takes her a moment to think this fact over. She furrows her brow in concentration, going over the logistics of an infant opening Christmas gifts. Eventually, she stares at you and places a hand on her chest, “I— I will open Sebastian’s presents.”

You want to laugh and in the background, Javier actually does, “You can help Lucas open the presents for him.”

Lucas sits on the floor beside Inés but closer to the tree. He seems less anxious to begin now that he’s had a head start on his little sister so he reaches under the tree to find a present with her name on it, checking in with his father who nods and lets him proceed.

Inés eyes go wide as the gift is put down on the floor in front of her, and Javier moves to help her with cutting the ribbon. You take a seat on the couch to watch the scene unfold, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement as receives her first Christmas gift; a stuffed toy resembling a dinosaur that she keeps tucked under her arm during the whole thing. 

The rest of the unwrapping session goes with you letting out a series of oohs and aahs as each toy, which you have picked out yourself at the toy store, is revealed. It’s all a blur of plastic and noises, cries for batteries and Javier shushing his daughter when her pitch climbs a little too high. 

Lucas is in charge of handing out gifts, and you praise him for each card that he reads out loud successfully. Whenever he tries reaching for a certain gift for Inés, Javier shakes his head, and he moves on to the next despite the curiosity nearly killing him. 

Steadily, both Inés and Lucas each have a growing pile of toys, clothes, and snacks beside them. 

Lucas receives, amongst other things, a pair of light-up shoes that he has begged for months to get. He also gets a wooden tow truck with four magnetic cars and an unbelievable stack of Pokemon cards. 

Inés gets a few puzzles, markers, a microphone that makes an echo when you speak into it (a toy that might just disappear out of the blue with no explanation), and a collection of animal stickers. 

Lucas looks overwhelmed by the end. Inés looks far from done, so she is the one who gets to unwrap Sebastian’s new mobile with small UFOs and cows on it, a pair of cute shoes, and a hat to match.

Finally, Lucas gets the green light from his father to grab the mysterious present. He looks like someone who wants to tear off the paper so he can satisfy his curiosity but Inés is already beating him to it. There’s an anticipation of it being the final stages of the unwrapping process that hangs in the air, and everything is going well until your daughter crinkles her nose at the sight of what she has received from Santa.

“Mom,” she starts to say, cogs turning in her head. She turns to you, looking skeptical. Inside the package is a helmet, more specifically a bike helmet, in a soft green color with daisies painted onto it in a pattern not too harsh on the eyes. 

Lucas catches on a little quicker, “She’s getting a bike?!”

“A bike!” Inés yells out, standing up quickly, “Where? Wherewherewhere?”

“Inés, por favor (please),” you can’t help but laugh at her excited shock, “Let Papá get it for you.”

And moments later, Javier wheels a bike, so tiny that it is cute, into the living room. Its color matches the green on her new helmet, and on the handles hang white tassels with yellow flecks of glitter in them. The also has training wheels on it but with the amount of unrelenting bravery and determination that Inés has for new things, you doubt that she will be needing them for long.

Inés has gone quiet as she stares at her new bicycle which is very much not like the one without pedals she has. She gapes at it and it makes you and Javier exchange looks. Javier shrugs.

“Inés,” you start but you are interrupted by your daughter’s infectious laughter. She jumps on the spot, yanking at the handle and pulling it towards herself. You let out a sigh of relief, warmth flooding your heart at hearing her.

“I want to try it now!” She demands, giggling happily as she runs her hands through the tassels. 

“We can do it after breakfast, Daddy will take you out for a test drive,” you say, getting up from the couch to crouch down beside her. You admire the bike with her, continuing your reasoning when she starts to protest, “One should never try to learn how to ride a bike without having breakfast. Not even the coolest girls can do that.”

“I can!” She argues. In the background, Lucas turns his back to the three of you to sneak a peek at his Game Boy. 

“Actually, mija (my daughter),” Javier interjects. He opens the box containing the biking helmet, pulls it out, and walks over to his daughter, “Bike racers need to try out their helmets for at least an hour or two to break them in and to make sure they fit. Imagine if you got onto the bike and your helmet wouldn’t let you ride it.”

Inés furrows her brow but doesn’t look like she’s about to argue with her father’s logic. She glances at the bike and then at the helmet in Javier’s hands, quickly coming to a decision.

“I want to wear the helmet!” She says. 

“Excellent choice,” he replies and you snort.

Inés proudly wears the helmet a few seconds later. You wonder how you are going to get her dressed for going outside with it on her head but you suppose you’ll pass the task to Javier.

“Wait,” Lucas says suddenly, crawling underneath the tree to reach far underneath it. A small present rests along the foot of the tree, and he pulls it out only to find that there’s no card on it. He furrows his brow, “There’s one left.”

Inés looks nearly hungry for more.

Javier turns, obviously not expecting this.

“Actually,” you say and make Lucas hand it over. Holding the gift close to your chest, you walk up to Javier, “This one is for Daddy.” 

“Me?” Javier looks puzzled but then he smirks, as if he has decided something that you aren’t a part of yet. You feel your heart skip a beat as all three of you catch onto the mischief in his eyes. If only you knew that mischief is just for you. He snatches the present from you and shakes it. 

“It’s just something silly,” you say, “But it’s for work!”

Inés and Lucas are watching curiously, standing on their toes so they don’t miss anything. 

“Rip it, Dad,” Lucas encourages.

“Yeah!” Inés chimes in, holding onto her helmet as she tips her head. You’ll have to adjust it.

“Alright, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” he does as he is told, letting the wrapping paper fall into a pile on the floor, beside the garbage bag that he has brought himself, and reveals a hideous, rolled-up tie with a Christmas theme. It is dark red with tiny cartoon Christmas lights and trees, crisscrossing across the silky fabric. It’s ugly, for sure, but it makes Javier’s face light up like he can’t quite believe that he has reached this destination; a life of kids and silly Christmas presents, and exactly where he is supposed to be.

“That’s boring!” Inés complains. 

“Mija (My daughter), that’s not very nice,” Javi tuts, smoothing a thumb over his present. He grins boyishly at you, and when he approaches you, he wraps an arm around your waist to give you a squeeze, “I love it.”

“You don’t have to wear it,” you reassure.

“I might just. The guys know I’m happily married to a catch like you so why shouldn’t I show it off?” He holds it up in front of himself, “How do I look?”

“Silly,” Inés argues. Lucas grimaces behind her.

You raise a brow, biting your lower lip as you grin, “You wouldn’t.”

“Sí. Gracias, mi amor (yes. Thank you, my love),” he kisses you in front of your kids, and both of them make disgusted faces. Inés even adds a gagging noise, saying something about cooties. 

Javier doesn’t let go of you when he turns his head towards them. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Hey, you behave or I might do it again.”

“No!” They shout in unison.

“I should’ve gotten you something,” Javier says as he turns towards you again. You shake your head but then you feel his hand on your back travel down, “Maybe later.”

Quickly, you pull back. 

“Right,” you say, clasping your hands together and trying not to sound flustered, “Let’s say two hours tops. Then we’ll have breakfast together. Hot chocolate and all.”

When the gift rush comes to an end, Javier starts carrying all of the shiny new toys upstairs with a groan. He scolds gently as he has two tiny and enthusiastic humans bounding up the stairs, telling them to be careful. 

Meanwhile, you head to the kitchen and turn on the radio. You place the baby monitor on the counter, humming along as you prepare a sugary breakfast that you always regret afterward when you have to endure two sugar-high children. 

As you are toasting bread and filling bowls with candy canes and marshmallows, Javier enters the kitchen. You smile to yourself as he wraps his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on your neck, “Morning. I put a movie on, so they’ll be occupied by that and their presents for a while now. Checked on Seb too, he’s fine.”

“That went well,” you say genuinely, “Don’t you think?”

“Mhm, the unwrapping? Definitely,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his forehead on your shoulder, “They didn’t even notice how I was staring at you.”

“How were you staring at me?” You ask, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“No particular way,” he teases and you try to concentrate on cutting fruit into smaller pieces. 

In the background, a slow melody hums through the kitchen. Javier’s hands wander down to settle on your hips, and you finally allow yourself to let go of the knife, give in, and turn around in his arms. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile.

“Dance with me,” he replies. 

You walk further into his embrace, linking your arm around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. He entwines your fingers and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb as he sways with you in time with the song on the radio. 

As he moves you, your heads lean together, cheeks touching gently, and he radiates warmth and security. It makes you close your eyes and sigh softly, allowing yourself to be transported into a fantasy where you aren’t just wearing your underwear and a washed-out t-shirt. 

The hand that isn’t holding yours rests on your lower back, pulling you in after he twirls you once. You giggle when he beams at you but then you resume the first position, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, slowly turning, whilst Javier’s mouth rests just below your temple. 

And then you feel his nose brush against the side of your face as if he is starting to pull away, and a desperate voice inside of you wants to protest but the logical one tells you to go with the flow. The tip of his nose is warm even against your flushing skin, and by instinct, you pull away slightly to admire the gorgeous curve of it up close. Javier interrupts by kissing you instead. He captures your lips in the most drawn-out hot kiss, pouring with desire and devotion. 

“Tell me you love me like I love you,” you plea breathlessly. 

“I love you like you love me,” he tells you without hesitation, squeezing your hand, “Y  les quiero a Lucas y Inés y Sebastian (and I love Lucas and Inés and Sebastian).”

You respond by kissing him again, just about to slide your tongue across his lips and into his mouth when the song ends. 

He reluctantly lets go of you. However, instead of helping you cook breakfast, he starts moving things from one side of the kitchen table to the other; out of your reach. 

“Javi, what are you doing?” You start to protest.

“Let’s make another,” he suddenly says.

“Another?” You furrow your brow in confusion.

“A fourth one,” he explains as he stands in front of you, making you bump into the counter, “Un bebito (a little baby). Right now.” 

“Jesus, Javi,” you can feel his fingers dig into the waistband of your underwear. Blood goes to your core incredibly fast, “Sebastian is four months old.”

“If we start trying now…” His fingers start dragging the fabric down over your ass and thighs, “We’ll have one by next Christmas.”

“We can’t go at it right here,” you scold but don’t try to stop him. Instead, you step out of your underwear as they pool around your feet. 

“I told you,” he reminds you, already sinking to his knees with a self-satisfied look on his face, “That I put on a movie. They won’t even hear you.”

You lean your ass against the counter and then dare to hook a leg over his shoulder whilst balancing on the other. One hand grips the edge of the counter and the other rests on top of his hair, fingers threading through it as you wait patiently for him to put his mouth on you. 

“This your present then?” You tease him, yanking to make him look up at you.

“I think we’re both getting too much out of it to call it your present,” he points out. His eyes go down to stare right between your thighs and you find yourself clenching around nothing as arousal threatens to drip down your thighs, “Joder (fuck), look at you. Can I have it now?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Your teasing has ceased after hearing him swear from just watching your quivering pussy. You swallow thickly, a breath hitching in your throat as Javier’s hand slides up the back of the leg you are standing on until it rests on the back of your thigh. He squeezes and you hold your breath, “Please.” 

He looks up at you through his lashes, no mischief to be found but rather absolute worship, as he closes his mouth around you, velvety tongue sliding between your folds to lap at your clit. You tighten the grip on his hair as heat flows through your lower body, your mouth falling open in a soft gasp. 

“I can’t stand still,” you half-laugh whilst he eats you. Each pulse of your heart can be felt in your clit, which he sucks and laps at until you can’t breathe. He knows how to make you come so fast that blood drains from your head to your cunt and thighs and makes you keen.

“Then don’t, mi amor (my love),” he says matter-of-factly as he pulls back to breathe, hair a mess and chin shiny with your slick, “Fuck yourself onto me, Momma, I know you love that.”

You instantly curl your toes at the suggestion. Javier dives back in, lowers his head slightly to tease your slit with the tip of his filthy tongue. God, the way he can roll those Rs, calling you his love in his mother tongue, translates so well into this. Coming on his face from your own doing? Yes, that’s exactly what you want. 

Without thinking it over much more, you tighten the leg that you slung over Javier’s shoulder earlier around him. With a hand in his hair and the other one tightly around the edge of the kitchen table, you move until Javier’s tongue is sliding inside of you and his nose catches your clit. It sends pleasure rocking down your spine, your pulse spiking instantly as you start working yourself toward orgasm.

“Fuck,” you groan while moving on him, rolling your hips. Your balance is off like this but Javier slides the hand on your thigh up to splay his palm across your side. You lean your body’s weight into his hand and use the support to press harder into his nose, feeling the flutters of an orgasm approaching as the curve of it slides up and down your clit just as you would do it if you were touching yourself, “I’m gonna- ah, gonna come. Fuck, you make me come so hard! Ah–”

Javier makes a satisfied noise against you, stiffening his tongue to let you use it even more. You don’t even need to have him speaking, know that he would tell you to give it to me, and when you finally tip over the edge, you feel him pulling your hand from the kitchen table to entwine your fingers. 

“Fuck, Javi, fuckfuckfuck, baby, don’t stop,” you pant, squeezing his hand so hard that a fleeting thought makes you worry if you might break bone. You ride his tongue, his nose, and come so hard that you make him whimper as you pull at his hair. 

He doesn’t let you go when it dies down. Instead, he slowly rises from the floor and lifts you along with him due to your leg still being slung over his shoulder and back. His mouth doesn’t leave you, even when he falters briefly, as he settles you down on the counter. 

You want to scream but even a movie cannot drown out the noise building in your throat, so you cover your mouth with your free hand. Something besides you falls over, you knock your head into the kitchen cabinets and whereas Javier would’ve checked in on you, he eats your cunt so enthusiastically that you can feel your body wanting to come again.

The whine you let out is sinful with how much you struggle to muffle it. You reach for Javier’s hair but he catches your wrist and pins it down against the tabletop. When you try to reach for it again, this time with your other hand, he does the same until you can’t take the slightest bit of control. 

He makes you come again in less than a minute. It is earth-shattering, causing you to throw your head back and bump it into the cabinet once more. You thrash and cry, burning with pleasure as he hollows his cheeks from sucking your clit.

You start giggling from the dopamine, knowing it’s a better way to get out noise than crying for him. Your legs twitch as he devours the wetness you spill into his mouth.

Finally, he removes his mouth from your sticky mess of a cunt and kisses up under your loose t-shirt until you can’t see his face anymore. He smears your slick across your belly, resting his head just above your belly button, and chuckles. 

“You’re so,” you begin but you don’t know how to finish the sentence. He lets you move your hands again and you proceed to pet the top of his head through the fabric of your shirt.

“Sexy? Devoted? ¿Loco por ti (crazy about you)?” His breathing is uneven.

“I was going to call you a goof,” you correct him, lifting the shirt up to reveal him again. When he lifts his head to roll his eyes at you, you use the hem of your shirt to wipe his mouth and thus make him grimace. 

“What a mom-move,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“I did mean it,” he adds, stretching and placing a palm on the counter on either side of your body, “I’ll cut down on work. I’ll be home more with you and the kids. Just until everything falls into place. We could get a babysitter.”

“Javi—“ 

“I think it could work,” he interrupts, “And if we want any more - kids, I mean - I feel like we should do it now and not wait.”

“Javi,” you reach up to cup his face gently. There’s no need for this conversation now, and there’s no doubt that you want to give him many more children if he wants. Technicalities can be discussed further down the road, and Inés is somewhat already counting for two kids so how should you not be able to handle a fourth? You kiss his lips, keeping your noses touching when you pull back again, “Just fuck me, baby. We can talk about it later.”

“Right,” he blinks his puppy eyes away.

You hungrily watch him pull his cock free from his boxers before stepping between your legs which you wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and moving yourself forward to the edge of the kitchen table. You are itching to feel him inside of you, your body feeling like it is missing something after going this long since you started to feel turned on. 

“Please,” you whine. 

“Relax,” he orders simply as he aligns his hips with yours. The sweet voice from before is gone and there’s no doubt that he’ll start speaking filth soon. You obey and go back to leaning against the cabinets, eyes half-lidded with lust as he runs the head of his cock through your folds in a way that has you whimpering with how sensitive you are.

When you get impatient, you reach down to guide the tip where you want it and shudder as he dips inside of you. He holds your gaze but as you want to look down at where the two of you are connected, he reaches for your chin with a shaky hand. You pant, eyes looking up as he forces your head up again. 

“That’s it,” he praises, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger while moving forward and pushing into you. Your brows furrow at the stretch of your sensitive cunt but you still manage to hold his gaze despite wanting to close your eyes, and it earns you another praise, “Good girl, thaaat’s it, you focus on me, focus right here.”

When you smile sweetly at his words, he starts moving inside of you. The first roll of his hips makes your mind go blank and your noises climb in pitch. He fucks you against the counter, broad hands sliding up the back of your thighs to rest against the small of your back. It’s relentless, it’s desperate and it’s incredibly hot.

You settle your hands on his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts hard enough to make your touching skin smack with each movement. You look up at the ceiling briefly, wondering if the moans you are letting out can be heard by your kids because Javier’s cock is hitting something inside of you that makes you want to sob. 

“El ruido (the noise)— shit, d-don’t worry about it,” Javier notices your mind drifting to concern, and so he slows down slightly to catch your attention. He kisses your lips between each word and drinks each noise you make from your mouth, “You sound so beautiful for me, amor. Forget about them, they’re fine.”

You nod repeatedly, whining feeble okays when he goes back to the harder thrusts from before, making you grab at his muscles until it’s not enough anymore and you have to dig your nails into them. His harshness makes your full tits bounce underneath the t-shirt too, and you let them until you know what’s coming; the happy chemicals in your body provoke it so often this time around. 

You cover your breasts with your palms and squeeze until you feel your pussy flutter, somehow creating a direct line to your pulsing, untouched clit. You follow it up by tugging slightly on your nipples too, all the while you repeat Javier’s name as if to get his attention, as if to say it in prayer. His gaze drops and his eyes nearly roll back into his skull as you start soaking through your shirt with milk. 

“You filthy girl,” he growls, “Pull it up for me. Lemme see.”

“Fuck, I— I think I’m close,” you half-moan and half-giggle, yanking your t-shirt up and watching the steady trickle of your milk. The way that Javier watches makes your cunt want to pull him in further but you don’t think he can go any deeper, so instead you hold him tightly with your legs so he can only grind roughly into you. 

Your stomach flips as Javier’s expert tongue laps at a trail of milk. He sucks along the streak it has already made until he can close his lips, swollen from kisses, around your nipple. When he sucks, you almost cry for your maker and you swear that you can hear how much wetter you get. 

“Where was this for my cookies last night, huh, Momma?” He asks with milk-stained lips and a smirk, cock touching inside of you just how you want it. 

“You’re so - fuck, baby, I’m gonna come soon - you’re so gross,” your eyes close, your belly tightens and so you concentrate to get there, “What wouldn’t Santa think? Cookies and breast milk?”

Javier laughs genuinely at that and you moan at the feeling of him being inside of you whilst doing it. He shifts so that his hands end up flat against the counter, underneath your knees, and he can lean into you further, “Watch it. Maybe Santa’s a kinky fucker like your husband.”

“My husband,” you repeat as if it’s turning you on just to refer to him like that. Even after years.

“Fuck yes, I’m your husband. Wife,” Javier aims to kiss you hard but the strain on his body to make you come makes him press his lips to your jaw. He continues upwards, mouthing along your chin and cheek. He speaks with ragged breath into the corner of your open mouth.

“Listen to you,” he pants as you reel with pleasure, sweat collecting at his brow. He is concentrating too but he still manages to tease, “Who are you making those pretty noises for?”

“Para tí (for you),” you moan with furrowed eyebrows, “Sólo  para tí, Javi (only for you, Javi).”

“I know— fuck, I know, baby, oh fuck, I can feel you,” he gasps as you clench around him without warning. Everything snaps and then launches into overwhelming spasms that overtake your whole lower body, clenching and unclenching in waves of pleasure. You sob as you come a third time this morning, arms falling to the counter and thighs trembling as you ride it out.

Javier looks like he is in awe as he always does. His pace picks up to near his own peak, and he kisses your mouth before going down your chin, neck, and shoulder, “You’re going to be the death of me, mi amor. You and this pretty pussy… So good at taking my come and making me a Papá.”

You can only cry feebly as he drives his cock in and out of you. The sound sends him into a frenzy, and he makes you whimper at the feeling of him coming inside of your cunt. He twitches with oversensitivity and pulses with each spurt of his warm seed, his breath is shaky and his forehead is against yours. His skin is burning hot, flushing with the way that his heart is hammering in his chest as he contorts his face with a groan of pleasure. It goes on for a moment until he slumps, head falling to your shoulder instead. 

Javier chuckles against the damp and hot skin of your neck from dopamine, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss to it and glancing down at your chest that still heaves for breath. Your gray shirt still sits above your tits and it clings to your body from how it’s been soaked through by your milk. Javier reaches out to circle a flushed nipple with the pad of his thumb, causing your body to shiver. 

“Stop,” you moan through post-coital bliss, not able to do much but rest against the kitchen cabinets. It almost feels like you want to cry in his arms, “Too sensitive.”

Javier removes his hand, “Sorry, mi vida (my life). You okay?”

“Mejoramos cada vez, ¿no? (We get better each time, no?)” You smile lazily. 

He hums in response, agreeing. With his palms flat on the counter, he catches your mouth in a long kiss and you reach up to cup the back of his head. The hair there is sweaty, creating a patch on his shirt right around his neck. 

You want to drown in him, not letting him pull all the way back when he breaks the kiss for air. He rests his nose against your cheek and exhales deeply, “We can’t stay here forever. I gotta fucking sit down too.”

“I need to finish breakfast,” you mumble with your eyes closed as if you’re in the state of being able to do that.

“What you need is a shower,” Javier laughs, kissing the corner of your mouth. He sighs deeply as he stretches to his full height, stepping away from you to let you jump down, “I’ll finish up here. Disinfect the counter, maybe. Then I’ll shower after you.” 

You look at the clock on the kitchen wall before hopping down, “We have a little more than an hour.”

“Think we can manage,” he shrugs. 

You put on the underwear that Javier discarded you of earlier, snapping the elastic as you pull them up over your hips. Javier grins at you, not hiding the way that he is eyeing you up as he puts on his own underwear.

“Wash your hands too, yes?” You tease, leaving him in the kitchen to watch your ass when your back is turned.

“Yes, Mom,” he calls after you.

You try to ignore the feeling of come dripping into your panties as you walk up the stairs, grimacing to yourself and quickly throwing them in the wash along with your shirt when you get into the bathroom. 

The shower spray feels amazing against your skin but nothing feels as good as when you hear Javier talking to Sebastian further down the hall as he gets him out of bed. Even better when you hear him burst the door open to the kids’ playroom, Inés giggling and Lucas following behind as he makes a remark about them being up to something. 

“Who wants to help me and Sebastian make pancakes?” Javier asks. When you close your eyes, you can see Inés and Lucas’ hands shoot up and then you hurry to finish so you can join them as soon as possible. You’ve never given it any real thought but you find that you, too, are exactly where you’re supposed to be.

.

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[peterman-spideyparker]

Patience is a Virtue (Matt Murdock x fem!virgin!Reader) (Virtuous Person Part 2)

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I know I've basically disappeared from writing, but I lost inspiration and motivation to write for a while, and then with just life in general, finding time to sit, write, and edit became near impossible. This definitely isn't my best, but writing is writing, right? I hope you enjoy it! :)

Summary: After Matt found out you were a virgin, he told you he would wait for and with you. Almost two years later, he's still holding steadfast to that promise and about to delight you on your wedding night.

Warnings: Kissing and being cute idiots in love, flirting, pet names foreplay, smut (fingering - f!receiving, handjob, oral - f!receiving, praise kink, p in v sex) Matt is a sexy menace, checking in on Reader to make sure they're okay, Reader is a virgin but knows some things

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 4,984

Matt’s hand rests on your waist, his arm holding you close to his side as the two of you make you way to the front door of the loft. He pulls his keys out of his pocket, finding the right one and sliding it in. His grip tightens on your waist as you try to take a step forward. Before you can ask, he swoops you up into his arms, kissing your temple as he walks in. 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Murdock,” he hums. 

You giggle, resting your head against his. “It’s good to be home, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt doesn’t put you down until you’re in his—now your—bedroom, his lips on you as your feet touch the floor. 

“How can I help, sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips dreamily. 

“Well,” you sigh, mindlessly plying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “if you can help me undo the buttons on the back, I think I can take it from there. You have your own layers of tuxedo to worry about.”

Matt smiles as you turn around, and you feel his lips almost immediately press soft kisses onto the back of your neck as his fingers work to unloop the buttons down your spine. You feel your skin burn hot, goosebumps dancing all on top of your flesh as he makes his way down your back. When you feel his fingers try to gently push the dress off your body, you take a step away, biting your lip as you smile and turn back to face him. 

“Patience is a virtue, my dear husband,” you hum as you slowly back your way toward the bathroom. “Five more minutes. I promise. Unless you need more time to get out of that tux?”

“I can be ready in two,” he grins, undoing his bow tie.

“You might, but I still need the five minutes.”

Matt laughs, leaning forward to give you a sweet kiss, happiness written in every pore on his face.

“Five minutes,” he repeats.

You smile and give him one more kiss before you walk into the bathroom and close the door. You sigh in relief as you get out of my dress—for as much as you love it, you are so happy to get the weight of the layers of fabric off of your body. You hang it up on the shower rod before you quickly move to the sink to wipe off your make up and take down your hair, combing it out to loosen the hold of the hairspray before refreshing your deodorant. You move to where your robe hangs on the back of the door, uncovering the special lingerie you hid a couple of days ago. Knowing Matt and his senses, he probably found it already, but that doesn’t take away your nerves and excitement for the night. He loves you, and you love him—Matt waited with and for you, and tonight, you’d finally be together in the way you’d been thinking about for so long. With a deep breath, you take the lingerie down and work to get it on.

You twist and turn in the mirror once it’s all on and in place. You look good—you feel good. Sexy, even, which is not something you can say you feel on the regular. Well, that is before you started seeing Matt. He always knows just what to say, just where to hold onto you, he just knows you, plain and simple. His love and support are more than you could ever ask for, and you’d hope he’d say the same about you. He married you for a reason, right?

Taking a deep breath, you fix your stockings and adjust the way your boobs sit in your bra before you reach for the doorknob and slowly walk back to the bedroom, the click of your heels echoing in the loft. 

You can’t help the smile on your face when you lean on the doorway of the bedroom. Matt’s laid out on the bed like he’s posing for a painting or a sculpture, one arm behind his head with a knee propped up as his face smiles softly, dreamily toward you. Let’s face it, he looks like a work of art.

“You were longer than five minutes,” he hums. 

“Oh, well, I can go back in the bathroom and take longer if you want?” you tease, your laughs bouncing almost immediately off the old brick of the bedroom. Matt gets up off the mattress, padding his way over to you. He takes your hands in his, bringing your left one up to his lips to kiss your rings. 

“Hi, angel,” he whispers.

“Hi, Matty,” you breathe.

“Want to get to bed?”

“Mm, sounds nice.” You take his hands and place them on your waist, and you watch as Matt licks his lip and suck it between his teeth. “You know, I bought a lot of different options in different colors. Couldn’t really decide on what to do. Black looked good, and I know you have a thing for red, but, white felt appropriate for tonight.”

Matt’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, his fingertips playing with the soft lace and mesh. “Something tells me that you’ll get to wear all of your options this week.”

Matt takes a small step back toward the bed, and you follow him, your stocking garter brushing against his leg, and you swear you hear him purr in delight. 

“Tell me what you’re wearing angel,” he demands softly. 

“Well, the bra is a little corset-y. It pushes my boobs up,” you start with a little smile, moving his hands along the garment, letting him feel what you describe. “The cups are satin overlayed with lace with little embroidered flowers. Some are white and some are a light blue. The rest is a mix of lace and mesh. The thong—.”

“You’re wearing a thong?” he smirks. 

“Mmhmm.” You guide his hands down your torso and to the fabric on your hips. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. It’s the same mesh, lace, and embroidery as the bra. Then there’s a garter belt that has clips that are clipped to my stockings. And I believe you felt the garter against your leg. And the heels will be coming off . . .” You kick them off behind you while you stay in his hold. “There we go.”

“Damn, I’m a lucky man,” he smiles as you get to the edge of the bed. 

“I’m a lucky woman. Now,” you whisper in his ear. “Do you want to tell me what you’re wearing?”

Matt laughs, holding you close and kissing your shoulder. “I think the boxers are white. Could be black. You’re the one with working eyes, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know, but I told what I’m wearing. Sexy and fair.”

“Ah, well . . . how about we add fun to that running list?”

You smile and nod, leaning into Matt’s touch on your neck before your lips meet. You both fall back onto the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress from the momentum. The kisses start sweet enough before they grow into something more, Matt’s hands squeezing at your waist. Your heart rate increases as things get steamier, and you moan in delight when Matt turns you around on the bed, kissing you down into the mattress. He trails his kisses down on your neck, and you toss your head back on the pillow, letting out a breathy moan. You feel Matt’s lips pull into a soft smile, his lips moving back to your. 

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he whispers as he kisses you. “It’s been a long day. We can wait.”

“I’ve already waited this long,” you breathe, craning your neck to look at him, your fingers running through his soft hair. “I don’t want to wait any longer to be with you.”

Matt beams, the crinkles you love so much appearing at the corners of his eyes, the hazel orbs twinkling like stars before he leans in and crashes his lips to yours. 

“Just lie back and enjoy yourself for me, angel,” he whispers, his lips barely parted from yours.

“You sure, Matty?” you ask. You appreciate him taking the lead, but you don’t want him to feel like he has to do all of the work.

“I’m sure. Tonight, right now, is about me making my wife feel good.”

You smile and giggle lightly, your cheeks burning hot at him calling you his wife. Matt matches your bubbly, giddy outburst, smiling as he kisses you again. His hands run up and down your body gently, his movements loving, his fingers sending fire throughout your skin. His lips move from yours, exploring and nibbling at your neck. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a soft moan falling from your tingling lips as his hands approach your ribcage. You moan softly as you get a new wave of goosebumps all over, his fingertips repeatedly teasing you as he moves to unclasp your bra. Your stomach flutters as he kisses you, unlatching the bra hook by hook, painstakingly slow until you feel the entire thing loosen on your chest. Matt presses gentle kisses on every inch of skin that his lips can find. When his lips reach your shoulder, his fingers ghost up your arm to pull at the loosened bra strap. As it starts to slide down your skin, you suck in a gasp, your hands gripping on to Matt. 

“It’s okay, angel,” he whispers, moving his face back up toward you. “It’s just me. I’m going to take good care of you.”

“I know,” you breathe, your heart thundering in anticipation in your chest. “I know. It just . . .”

Matt presses his lips to yours, long and slow. “I know,” he echos reassuringly. “Do you want to be the one to pull the straps down?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head against the satin pillowcase. “I want you to do it.”

Matt nods before gently pushing down your straps some more until they’re halfway down your arm and your breasts are exposed to him. He slides off the lacy fabric and tosses it somewhere to the side, his lips moving to your collarbone. You moan in delight when you feel how his large hand cups the side of your bare breasts, his simple touch sending fire throughout your body. Matt leans down, kissing your clavicle slowly, softly, and repeatedly, worshiping the exposed flesh surrounding your heart. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” you breathe in response, working to maintain focus as your body becomes enveloped in him and his touch. You feel yourself clench around nothing as Matt’s mouth moves over your breast, his lips wrapping around your nipple. You gasp and tug at his hair, desperately wanting him closer. His face squishes against the supple flesh as he tries to go deeper, his stubble tickling you. Matt chuckles, his lips turning up into a smile as he repeats the same movement on your other breast. His kisses and sucks work to make each nipple pert and perky before wrapping his warm, calloused hands around them, giving them a squeeze as he dives in for another kiss. 

Of all the things you could be focusing on right now, you’re enamored by the way his nose squishes against yours, passionate and intense. You’ve been in similar positions before, bodies flush against each other and lips locked in a tender and needy embrace, but this one feels exponentially better. You hold his face in your hands, keeping him close. He pulls back, needing air for his lungs that isn’t from your own. 

“Are you doing okay?” Matt swallows, brushing some hair off from your forehead.

“I’m alright,” you breathe. “You have a great mouth.”

He smiles and laughs, leaning back in for another quick kiss. 

“Oh, angel,” he coos. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

You cheeks burn hot as your legs involuntarily squeeze against his. He chuckles softly some more, his hands roaming down your sides until they get to the waistband of your garter belt.

“I think you’re still a bit overdressed, though, Mrs. Murdock,” he coos.

“I can say the same for you, Mr. Murdock,” you hum, your hands sliding down his back and over the curve of his perfectly round ass, giving it a squeeze. “It’s been left to my imagination for too long.”

“It has?” He rolls his hips into yours lightly, letting you feel through the thin layer of cotton just how hard his is.

“It has. I need visuals, my sweet husband.”

“Okay. But let me make things a little more even, first.”

You watch as he sits up on his knees, taking one of your legs in his hands. His fingers move toward the snaps on the garter belt before he gently starts to peel off your stockings. His lips are on your skin as the nylon rolls down, worshiping every ounce of flesh, sending yet another round of goosebumps and fire all along your skin. Once he is done with one leg, he moves to the other, using his teeth to pull off the garter before taking off the garter belt and repeating the same process with your stocking. 

“There,” he says as he kisses your lips, gently taking hold of your hands and pulling you up to sit, weaving your fingers together. “We’re even.”

“Seems we are,” you smile. “You still have too much clothing on you, though.”

He chuckles. “Well, whose fault is that?” 

“Mmm, I’m putting this one on you,” you smile as your hands move down the contours of his body. Your hand glides over his bulge, giving him a squeeze, delighted at the flush you make appear on his skin as he sucks in a breath. “Can you take these off for me, Matt?”

“I’m not quite finished with you, you know,” he breathes, lust hooding his eyes. 

“I figured. But I want you to feel good, too.”

“Trust me.” He moves his hand between your legs, slipping his fingers under your panties and into your slick heat. Your mouth falls open, a stuttered moan filling the space between your bodies as he plays with you, stopping you in your tracks as you rub him. “You’re making me feel all kinds of good, sweetheart.”

After a few beats, you’re able to get your bearings. You lean forward, attaching your lips to his neck as you work to mark him up as yours as you palm him. Matt keeps up his work with his fingers, breathlessly praising you for both of your actions. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he pants. “Shit, your hand feels so good. So good at making me so hard for you. Such a good girl for me.”

His other hand slips around your waist and down your back, getting a handful of your ass and squeezing the flesh. “Let me take your panties off, sweetheart. Let me put my face between those legs.”

“Will you take your boxers off for me?” you murmur into his clavicle as you move your lips up to his neck, gently sucking on a spot that you know drives him crazy.

“I’ll give you all of my underwear if you let me taste that pussy of yours.”

You giggle, moving to kiss him deeply as he leans you back down on the mattress, his fingers moving out from your underwear and to your hips. He pulls you toward him, and you get the hint to lift your hips to help him slide the fabric off. True to his word, Matt slides off his own boxers and you see him completely bare. It feels like your eyes bug out of your head as you take him in, lying back on your elbows. He’s large, for sure, and he looks thick. Not that you have anything to compare him to from personal experience, but, he’s truly a sight to behold.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, partially amused, the other part very sincere. 

“Oh, I’m good,” you muse. “Wow.”

Matt laughs, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he smiles, guiding you down on the mattress. “You’re pretty ‘wow’ yourself there, angel.”

He continues to place scattered kisses down your body, and you moan softly as he does. When he kisses at your belly button and inches lower, you swallow hard, his lips making you warm and tingly. Matt’s kisses are slow and deliberate, lingering on different parts of your skin where you don’t want him to focus on. Finally, Matt moves his mouth to hover over your exposed core, and he lets out a long, warm breath over your dripping folds. You whine at the teasing sensation, your hips bucking toward him, and you see Matt grin devilishly before you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs and his lips on you.

You cry out, your back arching as your thighs try to close around his head. Matt’s fingers squeeze into your flesh, keeping them open as he hums in delight. He was right when he told you about his mouth earlier. His tongue laps up everything that drips out of you, his plush lips wrapping around your clit. You start to squirm a little in delight, but Matt slides his hands over your skin to your hips to hold you in place before he pulls his head up.

“You taste so fucking delicious, (Y/N),” he breathes, his mouth glistening as he tries to lock his eyes on yours. “I’m going to keep going, and I’m also going to slide my fingers in. Tell me if you need me to stop, and let me hear every little moan and breath that you make.”

“Matthew . . . Fuck, Matty,” you say softly, running your fingers through his fluffy hair. He hums in delight, keening into your touch. “You’re being so good to me.”

“Well, happy wife and all,” he smiles, kissing at the fold of your hip. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Can you let me eat you out so you’re nice and ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you swallow, your heart pounding in eagerness and excitement.

Matt smiles, kissing your thigh once more before gently spreading your lips with his fingers, trying to keep his gaze upward as he licks you. Your jaw drops at the sight and the sensation, throwing your head back on the pillow and moaning in delight, one hand squeezing your breast as the other stays in Matt’s hair. Matt hums, and the vibrations only help with the sensations, rippling like shockwaves through you. The ministrations of his mouth only grow more deliberate, throwing you for loop after loop. You practically scream in delight when you feel Matt carefully prod one, and then two fingers in you, curling them deliciously against a spot inside of you. 

“You like that, angel?” he teases against your puffy lips, and the soft kisses he presses to your surrounding skin make you feel absolutely insane with pleasure. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe out fast as he continues to curl his fingers. “Oh my God.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you confirm. 

“What do you like better? My mouth or my fingers?”

“Don’t know,” you moan, feeling the pleasure build through your body. 

“You don’t know, angel? But you’re so smart. You’re my smart girl. My smart, beautiful wife.”

Between the praise and the sensations, you can’t form a coherent sentence. It’s like everything you could possibly say, even the most basic of words, have fallen entirely from your brain and everything is just focused on Matt’s body between your legs and his velvety voice.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he coos softly. “Use your words for me, honey. Which do you like better? My mouth or my fingers?”

“M-Mouth?” you stutter, even as his thumb presses on your swollen clit and you moan in delight. 

“My mouth?” 

“Y-Yes.”

“Didn’t sound too convincing. Let me see . . .”

Matt’s mouth is back on you as his fingers continue to pump and curl between your legs. You swear you could levitate off the mattress. You desperately wrap around Matt, your legs squeezing his head so tight you’re afraid it might pop off, your fingers tugging at his hair. He thoroughly enjoys himself, moving his head from side to side on you and eating you out like you’re his first meal after five years in the desert. You feel a strong tightness grow in your abdomen as he continues and your heart races. Matt moves his left hand up and laces his fingers with you, giving you a gentle squeeze as you teeter a dangerous line. It’s like your desire for him just increased ten times more than what you already feel; you want him, and you want to make him feel good like he’s doing to you right now. With a swift movement of his tongue and a curl of his fingers, you feel something snap in you as you cry out at the top of your lungs, your entire body spasming as you come around Matt’s fingers and on his face. Matt tries to get his face deeper in you, licking you clean and taking everything you offer him before pulling back and kissing all over your skin.

“I’d say you like my mouth better,” he pants with a smirk, letting you watch as he licks his fingers clean. “Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

You’re incredibly blissed out and completely entranced by him, but you nod, pulling him down for a kiss. 

“I’m stellar,” you breathe as he pulls back from the kiss. “That was . . . You’re . . . I love you, Matt.”

Matt smiles more, and you’ve never seen him glow quite like he is now. Sure, he was radiant today, but now there’s a little layer of something extra on him. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

He pulls you in, but whatever switch turned on in your brain while he was between your legs with his fingers locked with yours now has a voice shouting in your head that you can’t quite ignore telling you to take control. 

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Matt breathes, an amused smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he follows where your hands guide him on the bed. 

“You told me to lie back and enjoy myself, and I did,” you say as you move to straddle his lap. “Now I’m going to ask you to do the same.”

“Are you sure?” He looks surprised, but incredibly turned on at the same time. “You know you don’t need to. I can keep—.”

“Mm, I know,” you nod. “I want this. I want to do this. Is it okay with you.”

“Yes,” he breathes, totally enamored as his hands glide up and down your thighs. 

Taking a deep breath, you grab Matt by the base of his cock, holding him straight and lining him up with you so you can sink down on him. You moan at the sensation of him. He feels just as large—perhaps even larger—then you could have ever imagined. Matt closes his eyes and throws his head back, moaning in delight. It’s so hot to hear him make those noises, you just want to keep pulling them from his throat. 

“G-Go slow,” he instructs, a flush spreading on his chest. “Take your time taking each inch, sweetheart. Go slow and listen to your body.”

You nod, listening to his advice and take him carefully, the stretch and burn both painful and delightful. You swallow hard when you get all the way down, letting yourself take in the full feeling of him and how you stretch around him. Matt’s hands glide up your thighs, going up over your curves to your waist. His fingers spread and trail in front of my stomach, and you can feel him graze against where his cock is in you before they slide back down to settle on your hips.

“You okay, angel?” he whispers. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “You feel so amazing, Matty.”

“So do you, angel.” 

Slowly, you start to roll your hips back and forth to give way to some of the friction and pressure, needing to feel him. Your mouth drops and you start to moan, his thick cock tickling every last nerve ending between your legs. Matt’s fingers dig into your hips as he helps guide you along.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathes breathlessly as he licks his lips. “So good f’me.”

“You like that?” you breathe as you gaze down on him, and he nods vigorously. You smirk and place your hands down on his rock hard stomach to help you for your next move. “Then I think you’ll like this.”

As you roll back to the center position, you start to push up on your knees, slowly bouncing on his length. You moan louder as you feel the drag on his cock against your velvety walls, feeling how he almost falls out of you before you sink back down. 

Matt looks like a mess, for a lack of a better word. A deep pink, nearly red flush all over his skin as he starts to sweat, desperately trying to focus and hold on. He swallows hard, and you can see his Adam’s Apple bob. 

“Matt,” you hum. 

“Don’t stop,” he pants, the muscle in his jaw feathering. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. I’m . . . ‘M close.”

Your rhythm slows as you lean down on top of him and kiss him deeply. Matt’s arms wrap around you and pull you close, rolling you on the mattress so he’s on top. As his lips stay on yours, you can tell he’s trying to control his hips to prolong our activity.

“Matty,” you pant. “Matty, harder. I want you to cum for me. I want to feel you cum in me.”

He’s a groaning, blubbering mess as his hips start to ram into you, a very distinct wet sound along with that of slapping skin filling the bedroom walls. The mattress squeaks while the headboard hits the frosted glass behind the bed, and you can’t help how your fingernails claw angry red lines down his back. Your knees hook onto his hips, creating a deeper angle—once his hits the very back of you, you moan and scream out as your body trembles in pleasure as Matt does the same. Matt groans, punctuated thrusts of his hips moving to get himself as deep as possible in you as he unravels and you feel is hot cum fill you up.

Matt holds you in his arms, both of your bodies covered in sweat as your breathing starts to even out. You close your eyes, swallowing hard as you stroke his hair, getting lost in his hold. Matt just hums, his lips kissing wherever they can find purchase. 

“I can last longer than that, I swear,” he breathes, and you both chuckle.

“You don’t need to worry, Matt,” you smile, your fingers trailing down the line of his back. “I’ve left you high and dry for about a year and a half.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.”

“Us making out and and sometimes grinding against one another on the couch after too many drinks isn’t the same as what we just did, nor is you having a wet dream when we’re asleep.”

“No, they’re not,” he smiles. “But you’ve always given me everything I needed.”

Matt presses a long kiss to your lips before he sits up on his knees, continually kissing your knuckles. 

“I’m going to be back with a towel for you, okay?” he breathes, kissing at your fingertips.

“Stay,” you ask. “Stay here in bed with me.”

“I should clean you up.” 

“Please, Matty?” You give him a puppy dog pout, knowing that even though he can’t see it, he sure as hell can sense it. 

“Fine. This time.”

You smile as you slowly pull him toward you, his lips meeting yours before he lays down next to you and you curl into his chest. 

“Matt?” you start softly, a voice growing in your head louder and louder until you can’t ignore it any longer. 

“Yeah, angel?” he responds, his voice gravely. 

“Was . . . Was it worth the wait?”

He turns his face toward you with the sweetest smile on his lips. “It was more than I could’ve hope for.” He brushes some hair off your forehead. “Do you think it was worth the wait?”

Your fingertips trail down his chest, drawing little patterns on his skin as you look at him. “I do. I do. It felt right. Extra special.” You cringe and chuckle.

“What?” Matt smiles.

“I sounded so sappy and old-fashioned!” you laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“You’re not wrong, though. It was amazing. And I can always say that the first time I was with you, it was on the happiest day of my life.”

“Now you sound sappy and old-fashioned.”

You chuckle together, and you hum in delight when you feel his lips press a prolonged kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” you murmur back, the sleep starting to settle into your body. “Can I let you in on a little secret, Matty?”

“Of course. That’s what husbands are for.”

You smile from ear to ear as he kisses your forehead. 

“I’ve got about twenty of little sets like that. And that’s not including slips and other things. I mean, you’ve felt the slips before. I’ve been building up a little stock since we got engaged.”

Matt hums, running a hand up and down your back. “Then it’s a good thing we’re home all week for our honeymoon so we can cycle through those outfits. And I promise, you’ll see just how long I can last.”

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Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Be Mine

Falling into bed with the handsome Sergeant hadn't been on your bingo card. Then again, falling in love with him certainly hadn't been either.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: unprotected PiV, a sprinkle of a praise kink, pet names, friends to lovers, a sprinkle of a scent kink, soft aftercare.

It had all happened so quickly.

One moment, you’d been stood at the back of the Marauder with Hunter discussing food rations and when the rest of the Batch would be back from their exploration.

The next, you were face down on a bottom bunk, naked from the waist down, with his rough hands hauling you backwards onto his cock. “That’s it, cyar’ika.” The smokey smoothness of Hunter’s voice cut through the sounds of your whimpers and skin meeting skin. “Wanted this for so long. You have no idea.” He grunted, tightening his grip on your hips. You’d have bruises shaped like his dexterous fingers tomorrow, a delicious reminder of this moment.

Hand flexing against the flimsy sheet, you vaguely registered that it was Echo’s bunk you were face down on. “Tell me.” You whined, gasping as a fluid roll of Hunter’s hips made his heavy balls slap against your clit.  

“Canto Blight.” Hunter gritted out, slowing his thrusts so he could languish in your warmth. He wanted this to last. Needed it to. “That blasted dress. I wanted to drag you back here, hike up the hem, and have you until dawn.” The memory lived rent-free in his mind. It had been your second mission with them, and the Sergeant had already found himself enamoured with you, so when you’d stepped out the fresher dressed to impress, he’d never been more grateful to be the only one able to hear his racing heart.

“Mhmmm. I still have the dress.” You purred, enjoying that he’d lusted after you for so long. Releasing the sheets, you reached a hand down to rub your clit, but Hunter pushed it away. You didn’t have time to let out a whine of frustration before he pulled all the way out of you, strong hands moving to grab your thighs so he could flip you over and pick you up, your legs and arms automatically wrapping around him.

“Next time. Oh, Maker, next time.” Hunter promised, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss as he moved you across to his bunk. He needed his sheets to smell like you – he wanted to bury himself in them later that night and bathe in your scent. The damn scent that had been driving him wild since you’d set foot on the Marauder many moons ago at Cid’s behest.

His roughness abated as he slowly settled you down on his bed, making sure you didn’t bang your head on the metal frame or hurt your back. It made your heart clench. Finding his eyes in the darkness of the ship, you watched as the fierce hunger from moments before dissipated, and a softness crept over the usually stoic man’s face. “Next time?” You questioned quietly, lifting a hand to run your fingers across his tattooed jawline as he settled above you, caging you in. His weight was comforting – solid and steadfast – but it was hard to miss the firm press of his erection.

“If you want?” Hunter’s hips started to move, pressing himself against you, eliciting a small mewl from your parted lips as he tried to play it cool. He could get drunk on your sounds, on the feel of your soft skin beneath his calloused fingers, of the warmth in your voice and the sweet ways you showed affection. He noticed every time you stole a glance his way, how you stepped forward to protect him when he was in danger, and that his clothes were always neatly folded on his bunk with a piece of his favourite candy on top after laundry day. He’d been sceptical when Cid had insisted you go along with them as another set of hands, but he couldn’t think of the ship anymore without your presence, your scent, or the sound of your laughter as you tormented his siblings.

“Oh, I want.” You agreed, exhaling shakily. The slip and slide of his cock through your folds was delicious but not enough. “Hunter. Need more. Need you.” You begged.

The hunger from early roared back into life, igniting Hunter’s blood. Pushing away the softer feelings to focus on later, he focused on your current situation. How he longed to bury his face between your thighs and eat you out, slide his fingers and cock into you, pull orgasm after orgasm from you, and fill you with his release. Spurred on by his thoughts, he wasted no time reaching down to align himself with your entrance, and in one steady push, he settled himself back inside of you, marvelling at the way your mouth opened in a silent gasp at the sensation.

Every nerve in your body was alight. Senses overwhelmed by the man on top of you. While Hunter was average in length, his girth led to the most delicious stretch as your body accommodated him. Feeling him fully sheathed inside of you was heavenly, and in your delight, you clenched around him, watching as his eyes screwed shut while his deep groan filled the air. “Keep doing that, and I won’t last long.” He warned, making you smile. It didn’t matter how long he lasted, so long as you both got to experience your highs – you couldn’t imagine how overwhelming it must be for him, with his heightened sense of touch, to feel you so thoroughly.

Leaning up to close the small distance, you captured Hunter’s lips in a kiss, your left hand reaching up to caress his face while the other slipped under the top half of his blacks, tracing every strong muscle you found.

Feeling less like he was going to blow his load any second, Hunter surrendered himself to your kiss and picked up the pace, snapping his hips against yours, driving himself into you over and over, relishing the sweet drag of your walls around his cock. Hunter felt light-headed; he could spend an eternity tangled up with you, which both thrilled and terrified him. Though the space was limited in his bunk, he shifted to rest all his weight on one hand, breaking your kiss while maintaining his thrusts. Sliding a hand between you both, he honed in on his target. You wouldn’t go without. He’d make damn sure of it.

Fingers finding purchase on your clit, he spent a moment figuring out what you liked, vision and hearing focused on the myriad of expressions that crossed your features and the sounds slipping from your lips. It only took a few tries before he had you whimpering, his grin of satisfaction blinding, only ceasing as you stretched up to capture his lips in a heated kiss once more.

“Fuck, Hunter.” You panted, breaking the kiss as your back arched. He was relentless, sure and steady fingers circling your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, and you drew a low moan from the exquisite man above you as you tightened around him. The familiar tension was starting, seeping through your body and overwhelming you.

Enraptured as he watched you chase your release, Hunter slowed his pace and angled his hips, grinning at the sound of your gasp. The way his name sounded tumbling from your lips was simultaneously heavenly and sinful – either way, he couldn’t get enough. “That’s it, cyare. I want to see you fall apart. Can you be a good girl and do that for me?” He whispered, testing the waters. You always responded well to his praise while out on jobs.

It was all too much. The weight of Hunter above you, the sweet drag of his cock in you as he kept hitting that perfect spot with each thrust, and the sound of his deep voice in your ears. You wanted to please him. Wanted to fall apart at his behest. Wanted to be a good girl. Hands scrambling against the sheets for purchase, you bit down on your lower lip. You were close. So close. The tension in your body was almost unbearable, your pussy clamping down on him, making every push and pull feel even more exquisite. Hunter gave a few quick circles on your clit, and your body tingled, the tension snapping as you cried out. You trembled through the waves of your orgasm, the pleasure overwhelming and all-encompassing.

Pulling in a shaky breath, you meet the hungry gaze of the man above you.

“Where?” He asked once he was sure you were back with him. He was close. So close. You’d tightened around him, gripping him like your life depended on it. You could make or break him, and he’d thank you either way.

Releasing the sheets, you grasped at Hunter’s shoulders, giving yourself some leverage as you met his thrusts with each rock of your hips. “Inside.” You insisted.

That was it. You would be the death of him. And he would gladly go down with the ship. His lips met yours, and with one final, sharp thrust, he grunted, letting go. Thighs quivering as he crested over the edge, he spilled himself deep inside you.

Neither of you spoke for a second, trying to catch your breath as you came down from your highs. Resting your foreheads together, eyes closed, you relished the closeness, basking in the afterglow. “Mesh’la…” Hunter’s low voice broke the silence as he moved to nuzzle his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply.

Everything stilled as he breathed you in, focusing on the thud of your heart as its pace slowed to your resting rate. It brought him a great deal of comfort in an increasingly shifting galaxy. He hadn’t meant for your first time together to be like this, hadn’t dared to dream it would ever happen if he were being honest with himself, but he didn’t regret a second of it.

“We should’ve done that sooner.” You whispered, feeling more in control of your racing heart. Hunter’s warm breath fanned against your neck as he chuckled, the deep rumble stoking the warmth in your heart.

You stayed that way for a while before shifting into a more comfortable position, Hunter’s head resting on your chest. Basking in each other’s warmth, you relished the quiet moment of peace; the only sounds were your soft breaths and Hunter’s light hums of appreciation as you scritched his scalp, running your fingers through his mop of brown hair.

“Be mine?” Hunter asked suddenly, shifting to prop himself up so he could gaze down at you, committing the sight of you in his bunk, smelling like him and sex, to memory. “I'd...” He pauses, gaze flittered away momentarily. "I'd like there to be an us." The admission made him feel strangely vulnerable. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he didn’t want to hold back anymore.

This time, you dragged your fingers across the uninked planes of his handsome face. “As long as you’re mine in return.” Your words had his gaze snapping back to you, hope sparking in his eyes as his lips curled into a smile.

[millerscoffee]

heat lightning

6.5k | sub!joel miller x f!reader

gif credit: @jdmorganz

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: NO OUTBREAK. established relationship, no age gap – up to you for joel's age but he has creaky knees so..., sub!joel, bratty!joel??, mommy kink, rope kink, dom/sub dirty talk, joel whimperin' n whinin', gagging, choking, slapping, spitting, edging (m receiving), oral (f receiving - face riding), piv (unprotected), praise kink (good boy, etc.), pet names (pet, baby boy, honey, etc.), a touch of humiliation/degradation kink (spoiler: a moment of cock shaming – every body is a lovely body!), size kink (he still got that thang tho), we walk by breeding ave., sickly sweet aftercare, lingerie. dude if i missed it - it's probably in here! no use of y/n

A/N: thank u to the sweet anon (u know who u are) who requested this almost a month ago. i hope it was worth the wait! love youuuuu!!! ♡

Joel liked having his way.  Shocking.

This concept drew you to him, not only because you enjoyed being told what to do (every now and then), but even more that you wanted to challenge why he needed things to be his way in the first place.

You’ve been with Joel long enough now to know the mix of events that made him who he was.  Nights and days where he felt insecure for exposing all there was to him, but he was willing to fish it out of him to you.

Only to you.

Tonight wasn’t unlike a handful of nights the two of you shared since being together and unraveling Joel’s vulnerability.  It was beautiful, and in moments of softness, it was easy to reflect on how far he’d come.  But, right now?  You’re a little preoccupied.

---

It started earlier tonight.  Joel refused to wear contacts for the fourth time in a week, and forgot his glasses just as much.

And guess who had to remind him?  You!  Of course!  Every. Single. Time.

To wear his glasses, or put his contacts in.  But the week was busy at work – Tommy gone off again.  Or at least, this was his excuse.  More and more excuses poured throughout the week until it was a mere grunt at your suggestion.

Your knuckles blanching until you just gave up entirely. “Ah, fuck,” you hear from the kitchen, the view of Joel rubbing his eyes not long after the sound.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” words are sharp and you clench your teeth.  It catches Joel off guard at first, his head shooting up to meet your cold stare.  And before he can make an attempt to straighten you out, you stand up – rushing to the kitchen.  “I tell you this at least twice a fucking week.  ‘Joel, wear your glasses.  Joel, have you put your contacts in today?’  you know why your eyes hurt so fucking much?  Because you don’t listen to me, and I’m sick of it.”

“You know it’s been a rough week,” Joel’s tyrannical now, his jaw setting – ticking forward.

“Oh, I’m sorry – did I give you permission to speak?” you raise an eyebrow waiting for a reaction, but instead you witness the shift of his hips and the drop of his gaze.

He feels the energetic shift as much as you do, and seems into it.  The hitch in his breath gave him away.

“No, ma’am.”

“Bedroom.  Now.  Swear to god, if you make me repeat myself.”

So he goes and you follow.  And you bring a dining chair with you.

Placing it down, you go to the closet to grab some clothes before turning your heel to face a man whose cock shouldn’t be so fucking hard from getting your last nerve.

“I’m going to change, and you are going to sit on this chair.  Naked.  Do I need to repeat myself?”

Joel beseeches you silently with his dark stare and a steadfast shake of his head, “No, ma’am.”

You don’t respond because you don’t have to and usher yourself to the bathroom – door shuts behind you and you slip into something more dominating.

---

“Darlin’, it’s a little tight,”  Joel rattles now, his strength to hold back waning.  The rope that curled around the strong arches of his wrists tug harshly as it found tautness from behind the chair.

His wrists and ankles tied with knots that Joel taught you how to tie long ago.

The chair at the foot of the bed.

Feet planted firmly on the ground, you peer over him, changed into laced lingerie with leather accents. Red.  Cinched at the waist, your tits bloom out from the cups — daring to spill but never do.  You feel sexy, and you feel in control.  And fuck, you look so good.  Joel knows it, the way he sops you up just by his eyes.

He’s shorter than you like this, but his body still takes up so much space, and it’s intoxicating to observe Joel in such a submissive position in his sturdy frame.

“Is Darlin’ my name?” voice flat, you prop yourself up on the edge of the chair – tilting your head to scan over his body.  You take your time with each part of him.  Because his wrists are tied, yes, but you look down at the rest of him, completely stripped for you.  His hips jolt involuntarily, pathetically really, all from your words and you really watch between his legs.  The head of his cock pulsing with blush, weeping against his stomach and thigh as it arches.  And he twitches at your gaze.

“Oh, he likes that,” you remark condescendingly, and on any other day you’d be eager to wrap your lips around him.  To suck him until his toes curled and your name slipped through the air from his rough, but blissed out voice.  But tonight was about taking the lead, teaching a lesson.  Taking him how you wanted because you could.  And maybe because you loved him and wanted him to experience – to just experience without the expectation of being in command.

“Now, tell me,” you start, teasing the tops of your fingernails grazing the length of his thigh slowly – humming in approval, his body shuddering, his grunts fill the air, “what’s my name, Joel?”

“M-mommy,” the word scorches his cheeks, causing him to bite into his bottom lip and his eyes squeeze shut, precum beading to the tip.  His head hangs in unbearable arousal, chin lifting to catch your eyes.  The soft brown of his eyes, full of desire and willingness to do anything for you.  Anything… except doing what he’s told when he’s stubborn.  Your core aches when you squeeze your thighs together for relief, but you don’t falter.

“Mommy!” a fake gasp, you lean over to pat him on the cheek before smacking the skin ten percent harder, “That’s right!  Good boy!”

And that wrecks him, sends his hips flying off the seat as much as he can, but you’re quick to shove them down.  “Ah, ah, ah.  Not so fast, Mommy’s not done with you yet,” your fingers curl under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“How can you make me feel good, pet?  Let’s use our words,” you lean down enough for him to see your tits pushed together like this and the look on his face– god, you’d bottle it.  His brows wilted upwards, lips parting, and they’re so wet, so inviting, you want to kiss them for hours.  The right toy for you to use in pursuit of getting yourself off.

“I—I c’n use my mouth.  I wanna.  Wanna be good t’ya, mama,” and he’s almost begging.  He’s so close, you can tell he’s trying.  It’s just that, he’s distracted–  wants to devour you whole without having to ask, not like this.  He’s still not used to saying the things you so easily offer him on any other day.

“You wanna be good to me,” you repeat mockingly, tongue darting to one side of your cheek, “That’s too bad.  We’re not doing that yet, you still need to learn your lesson.  Gotta make sure you know who’s in charge, don’t we, darlin’?”

You don’t let him answer before you sit back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread as they relax against the mattress.  You watch Joel, how his head won’t look at you directly – not even if he wants to.  He feels too shy, too ashamed for not listening to you, and honestly you’re sick of it because you look fucking hot.

So you clap your hand at his chin lightly, “Miller.  Right here.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and those deep eyes take their precious time to rake their gaze over you.

“Is that how you act when a gorgeous lady’s in front of you?”

Joel lifts his brows first, then his eyes, “No, baby– I’m sorr–”

“Not my name.”

You see Joel’s mandible flutter again in frustration now because yes, you’re grinding his gears, but the vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, and he grits out, “No, mommy.  I’m. Sorry.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice Joel,” your arms cross over your chest, leaning forward to make eye contact, and though it makes your tits raise, your body language says it all: last chance.

That seems to make him reroute his stubbornnesses because he’s back to open expressions and spread thighs – thick as his cock that weeps pitifully against his abdomen and thigh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If you were to admit it to yourself, you’re distracted.  His cock looks so good, throbbing like that – bobbing with each twitch as his balls tighten along with it and he’s so perfectly thick your mouth waters, but it is not about making his ego feel good tonight.  Not yet, anyway.  He must understand this behaviour is unacceptable.  Just when you think about caving, you’re reminded of how fucking obstinate he’s been and you get annoyed – dominant, all over again.

“Here’s how tonight's gonna go.  I’m gonna touch myself, use your mouth, and if you’re good, I’ll ride your pathetic excuse of a cock.  Sound good?”  you flash a sardonic grin cutting him off when his mouth opens, “Good!  Now shut the fuck up.”

It shouldn’t make him hard and it shouldn’t make slick gather between your legs, but of course it does because you’re both insatiable when it comes to each other.  Fueling a fire that can’t be tamed anyway, you unfurl in front of him – one palm against the lush duvet while the other trails in front of you, through the lace of your panties.  You squeeze your thighs together again, spreading your mess and there’s a wicked grin on your face because you know he knows just how it feels to have those thighs squeezing around his head.  To make that messy pussy of yours glide over his features.  And the damp fabric emits subtle sloshes from just how turned on you are by this.  You love the opportunity to have the upperhand.

Joel, he looks rabid, eyes unable to move from your core while the sweetest sounds fall out of your mouth.  Like a hypnotising trick from the circling of your clothed folds – a magician’s secret.  His stare is so animalistic you almost want to egg him on like a dog: this what you want, boy?  But you’ve got him right where you want him, and you don’t want to take him anywhere else.

“It feels good, Joel,” you confirm with no pornographic moans.  Rather a solid melody to your tone.  Grounded in your power.  You want Joel to know you can make yourself feel good without him, despite it being very much because of him.  “Better than you can make me feel.”

And Joel can’t take it anymore – he can’t stand it when you lie to him.  He’s seen you with him.  How you blossom under his touch until your thighs are shaking all on their own.  Seen drool spill from the corners of your mouth as you take and take and take from him, slurred praises floating from your needy throat.

“That ain’t fuckin’ true,” he growls like a caged animal, hips squirming into the chair, and you stop pleasing yourself – wrist frozen as the pressure on your clit becomes lighter, eyes narrow.

“Did I let you fucking speak?”  Question rhetorical, you slip your scanty panties off and wad them up before prying his mouth open and shoving them, crotch-side first, inside to mute any more rebukes.  The taste of your sex coats his tongue and his moans are muffled, eyes roll back for a fleeting moment – as if he forgot what he was even saying to begin with.  His wrists slightly turning colour from the resistance against the rope.  Hog heaven, you can hear the southern phrase drawl from his lips without the words.

“And what?  You think you can make me feel better than I can?  You really think that?” Joel finally smartens up when he realises you’re naked from the waist down and can see the slick against the seams of your thighs while your legs are apart – how turned on you are by keeping him on a line, and god the air is thick.  His eyelids droop to the sound of your voice, the scent and taste of you overcoming him as a piteous nod is given to you.  Poor baby.

It should irk you, the fact that he believes he knows your body better than you do, but it rakes the coals instead.  It’s in that he’s so eager to show you how he can get you there – makes you curious, your pussy tingles in anticipation, pulse rises.

“If I let you go, are you going to be compliant?  Because if you think you’re in control, you’re wrong and I need to know you’ll be a good boy for me.  Will you be a good boy for mommy if I tell you what to do?”

The strained pleas from the fabric and emphatic nods give you reason to follow through with your promise.  And he looks like he means it, like you’ve worn him down to submit to you fully without restraint.  You can tell he’s in pain from how hard he is.  Like he’s being edged without even touching him.  His hands must be numb, his body could tremble at the slightest touch.

It’s enough for you to waltz behind him.  You loosen the rope, ghosting your hands over the other typically warm set and despite them being tingly – he can still feel you.  His breath hitches, the slopes of his shoulders are so gorgeous from behind.  The muscles of his back taut as they flex, their silent entreat for relief.  “It’s okay,” you whisper, now that you can’t see him, you feel more inclined to be forgiving.

The arousal is a constant build between the two of you.  When you let his wrists loose, he doesn’t move.  Just rolls his knuckles into fists, bringing blood and oxygen back to the extremities.  He’s good on his word, and makes that known when you untie his ankles.  He’s giving it up to you – totally conceding, and moreover adores this side of you.  He knows he’s the only one you could ever be this assertive with because the relationship you have creates room for it.  Both of you feel safe.  His teeth tighten around your panties when you come back around to him, and you cup your small hand, comparatively, to the side of Joel’s neck.

“You good little thing.  Got mama so proud,” pushing his curls back, you pull the spit-soaked garment from between his teeth and he’s beaming, nudging his cheek against your touch hungrily.  “Go lie on the bed, honey.”

His joints creak from age when he does, having sat there for what felt like an eternity but he does exactly as you say: nothing more, nothing less.  Hums softly to himself at the feeling of being able to lie flat on his back because it feels so good, and in the brief moment it’s there without a role – your adoration for him, the gentle quirks that make him so delectable.  He deserves to sit back like this, to let his brain just take rather than supply.

However impatient he may be in the process of submission.

“You are doing so well, Joel.  I know you have a pristine mouth too, don’t you?  Are you gonna show me your tongue?”  Getting onto the bed, you walk on your knees as this newly obedient Joel sticks out his tongue flat for you to float over.  Your throat dries at that, how perfect he can be for you like this.  A smirk comes over your features, “Much better with your tongue out than running it all the time,” and you swear you see Joel’s teeth creep up in a similar smile, but you’re busy straddling his waist with your ass facing his chest to notice.

His strong nose bumps against your clit when you bracket his head.  Sipping the air abrasively, your body seizes at the sensation.  Clearly more sensitive than your confident words let on, but that’s just the thing – you are confident and extremely horny and you can admit it.  So you give in, purring deliciously when you lower over his mouth until you’re sitting completely on his face.

“Love using this mouth for my cunt,” fingers tangle through the strands of his hair and you use it to roll your hips frantically, yet methodically, against the heat of his wet mouth.  His tongue hits your folds succinctly, on purpose, and even though you haven’t allowed him to touch you, his movements are so precise it’s as if he’s rolling your hips for you.

“Fuck, you’re swimming in it now,” you groan, neck thrown back before leaning your neck over to the side to watch his eyes flutter shut – the slight shake of his achy jaw, the sweat at the top of his hairline.  He’s putting in the work to take it, even when he feels like giving up.

The squelching of your juices has you in your own trance, and though you would wait for his cock to give into the prickling at the pit of your belly, you decide to go give in to what you want in the moment – to orgasm right here, right now.  All over Joel’s face.

Pulling the top of your pubic bone, your clit exposes to the plush of lips beneath you.  “Suck.”  The instruction is simple compared to the stir of fireworks that he sets off inside you.  Because he does what you say, and how you say it, instantly.  Joel’s eyes roll back alongside his muffled, but satisfied moans that vibrate against the bundle of nerves he’s taking his time to satisfy.  Wet suction sounds fill the room when the air breaks off, his tongue swirling right underneath the hood of you and you break out in a sweat from how impossibly good he is at this.

“Y-you’re so good for mommy,” you sound wrecked, Joel looks up at you when he catches just how gone you are.  Loving to see you take what you want from him, using his mouth to pleasure yourself.  You rock deeply, your hands knead over your lace-covered tits and when you look down at him again, he can’t keep his eyes off of you.  Eating you like he worships you, and you’re certain he does.

But using him meant not warning him when you were close.

So it comes as no surprise, the influx of low, masculine, ached groans from beneath you when your body responds to its pleasure.  Your fingernails dig into your fists as you shudder and moan above him, the lightning rising from your core to your limbs in a matter of seconds – and in waves.  You lean forward, catching yourself at the headboard and let out a slight chuckle at the comedown.  The two of you surfacing in between this power dynamic.  “Shit.”

That’s short lived under your ruling, however, and you slide off of him – getting your bearings.  Joel stays still, his mouth vivid pink to match his cheeks, beard and lips sheened with your slick.  The look in his eye shows his constraint, his need for something and when you pluck your gaze down his body.  His beautiful cock straining against his abdomen, a pool of precum greets you.

“This?”  You raise both eyebrows, pointing between his legs, “This needs touchin’?”

“Please,” fuck, he sounds ruined – consumed with lust and need for anything you can give him.  He’s really begging now, not the bullshit he tried to deliver you in the beginning.

“Okay, baby,” you coo, “You’re so good for me, gonna make you feel so good.”  When you finally, finally acknowledge his cock, his abdomen jolts though you barely touch his sides.  You laugh through your nose briefly, “That bad, darlin’?”  His head sways ‘yes’ against the pillow before saying it, and you waste no more time in your pursuit to obliterate him now.

So you straddle him.  Right at his waist, angling above where his twitching cock lies.  You can feel the heat radiate off the both of you.  Your core pulsing from your orgasm, wet from slick and spit.  You have some wits about you now that you came, and it aids you in authorising the next step – the step that has every nerve at the edge of its seat for Joel.

Joel’s body.  The taut skin, the hair down his arms and across the landscape of his chest down his middle.  Your own body fills with anticipation when you anchor your hips further down until your folds are greeted by the underside of his length and it’s unhurried when you both shudder in response.

“Sh-shit, shit, darlin’–mama,” he inhales sharply, those words transitioning to whimpers when you glide your hips over his cock back and forth with intention – applying more pressure with each pass.

“Yeah, you like that?”

Joel’s tongue skates over his bottom lip as he nods frantically, and you still yourself.

“Nuh uh.  Words, tell me.  Need to hear you say it, Joel.”

“F-feels so good, honey.  Feels like my kinda paradise.”

Or at least that’s what you are pretty sure you hear.  It’s rushed from his feverish breaths, but he’s doing his best.  Wants to make an impression that he is committed to giving in.  It’s when his eyes slip shut do you lean your body over him, tilting his chin, you wrap one hand around his throat though it doesn’t quite reach around to completion.

“You beautiful man. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Joel blinks them open to see your hooded eyes above him, unable to hide just how in awe he is.

“Y’look gorgeous, mama,” and shit– you feel your cunt clench around the absence of him at that.  At how candid and altruistic his words are in the moment.

“You’re one to talk,” you run the tops of your fingers against his beard, hips languid.  “Stay right here.  My good boy.  M’gonna take this big fucking cock.  That’s right, isn’t it?  Make you know for certain who it belongs to.”

And he loves hearing you talk about him like this.  Looks so serene as you sit upright, peeling the rest of your layers off until you’re both naked and he looks like he desperately wants to touch you, but you give him a stern look – not yet.  Not until I take you myself.

Reaching behind, you press the head of his cock at your entrance and hiss at the instant stretch.  Not working yourself up with his fingers shows when you envelop him like this, and you can feel him digging his heels into the bed from just how you feel around the head of him.

“M-Mommy!”

The sound of him whining is symphonic to your ears.

“Shhhh, you can take it.”  The role reversal makes you shiver, your wet sex moving down a little more before you pull up, popping off of him completely and his hips stammer trying to follow you, but he soon realises the edge you’re bringing him to.

He’s greeted with your sinister smile.

“What, honey?”  You lean over him, forcing his chin up, you deliver a slap to his cheek before sliding down his cock again – working him up and down, then off again.

His bottom lip trembles and puffs.  He’s losing his cool, hands ghosting your hips because he knows better than to touch you like this.  Not when he’s so close to getting what he wants.  The heat, the fucking heat from them – you shake.

“P-p, mama, mmngh,” his whimpers put you in a daze.  How he feels so good he can’t even form a proper sentence.  Your free hand claws at his chest while the other at your front edges him – rocking against the underside of him again.  Minutes feel like hours when you rile him up like this, and you know you look a mess too.  Fucked out, nipples peaked and you catch his gaze on them – his hunger for you extends through the room leaving heat on your skin as it radiates, the energy bouncing off from this tantric experience.  The eye contact is insane: Joel’s pupils dilated, eager against the constant spasm of his cock against your messy folds.

All humidity, sweat, and sex make their presence irrevocably known.

You’re slipping.

But you muster one last discipline, leaning down so your tits graze against his chest.  You brush your nose against his, insisting his precum spreads against your entrance.  He grunts, teeth together, hips grinding as best as he can without breeding you into your submission.  And fuck, you’d almost allow it.

Almost.

 “Should’ve worn your fucking glasses.”  You whisper against his lips, your clit brushing against the coarse hairs of his lower abdomen, and it’s exactly then does he spill over his breaking point.

“I’ll wear them, I’ll wear them!” And, fuck, Joel sounds pained – he sounds sorry, and he sounds desperate.  “Please!  Please just let me come, mama.  I wanna paint ya up so good, honey.  P-please, mama!  I’ll get fuckin’ lasik – please, just lemme in that perfect pussy!”

That’s the green light.

Placing him back inside, your hips grind on him shallowly.  Both hands tighten around his throat, albeit a bit looser than the one fist he’d have around your neck – but it seems to do the trick and you buzz in satisfaction before a choked moan fills your lungs: the sound he’s been craving.  Your body giving in, doing what it does.  It’s nature, after all, giving into these feelings.  “Fucking take this cunt.  Fill mommy up, yeah?  You wanna make me a real mama, baby?  C’mon, let go for me.  You can let go, you can move.”

It’s a lightswitch.  It’s flipping a breaker, giving Joel such permission.

You yelp when he tosses you off of him.  Onto your back, he’s on his knees within a blink – gripping your thighs, he pries you apart before his cock spears inside you with little remorse, and “Oh-my god – your cock!” you scream.  It’s exactly what you need now.  You nod through knitted brows, praises fill the space between you.  You take his chin between your thumb and pointer, one arm around his shoulders you pry his lips apart to transfer spit right inside his mouth.  Your tongue glides over his and he drinks straight from the source.  You can feel his Adam's apple wobble as it swallows what you’re giving him underneath the pad of your thumb.  “That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you mutter sloppily from the rutting of his deviant hips.

Gravity’s against you when you spit in his mouth again, getting some of it on your chin and nose, but fuck, you don’t care.  You want it filthy like this with your head half off the bed, his fingers plucking your nipples as it ripples pleasure down your center.  “I’m doin’ okay, mama?  This whatcha need?”  This sly fucker.  “S-s’perfect!”  The requirement of reassurance fastens you in the leadership role you assumed in the beginning, and you’re so fucking thrilled Joel’s your partner.  How he can deliver you mindblowing thrusts, yet still look at you through his lashes like he’s the softest motherfucker on the planet.  A gleam of pride in his eyes and at the corner of his lips when he hears your juices be tapped in a fast tempo by his heavy balls.  Like giving you pleasure is the pearl he longs to hold for dear life itself in his capable hands.

Of course, he circles your clit for good measure.  Of course he would.  Little shit.  It works like a charm.

He knows your body, said it himself.  How it operates, how to take you there.  And you’re panting, hips lift to be greeted by his thrusts all the way to the base of your stomach – achieving the spongy spot only Joel can reach.

You feel it happen like a coiling, a buildup of thin air and then all at once: immense pleasure.  It snaps, your body convulsing around his cock, core fluttering as your moans get higher, and you think he’d slow down, but it makes him work harder.  You try to keep your eyes on him, but it’s just no use, he’s too good at his job.  “F-fuckin’, mmngh,” you can’t get out much else, but you’re soaking his cock – what else could possibly be said?  Your tits bounce to his thrusts and you can tell this is it for him.  He’s been so proficient at keeping it together all this time.  Your eyes pop open then, lips wet, you tug for him to come closer.  You don’t fucking care that his sweat sticks to your shoulder when he buries his forehead against your neck.

Joel keeps his whimpers close to your ear.  His moans of your name, his passion for this feeling – all of it, right against you.  Like a secret, like a prayer and you’re the divine goddess in every moment of reverence.

“Can’t last,” he drawls, a coherent sentence flows through him for a moment and you nod, mouth brushing against the red of his neck.  “Give it to me, Joel.”  Lips dance at his pulsepoint as the contact bounces from his thrusts, and you can hear his heart thud from outside his body.  It floods you, the sawing of his cock inside, the swelling sensation against your walls.  Tugging his hair, you pull him back just enough to see his faded eyes, “Give me every drop, baby boy.  Come for mommy.”

His lips attempt to make contact with yours, but really all he can do is breathe heavily into your mouth and it’s dizzying, being each other’s oxygen.  “S-s… so p-perf–,” he tries, he really tries in making the words connect, but even his core feels shaky from his forearms on either side of your head.  You snake your hands around his throat once more, and that’s fucking it.

Joel’s sounds are a mix of the low grunts you know, tailending with particular whimpers that leave you moaning back to him like a call to each other.  Holy fuck, you’ve never heard him make that sound before.  And he’s good on his promise – coating your inside sticky with his substance, your own vibrational tone is low in your throat as you hum in approval.  Until he rides it out.  Until his pleasure turns sensitive and his hips come to an end.

“Oh, baby,” you praise, delicate hands leaving his throat, you pet his back – warm and masculine and rippled with muscles that he attained from his work.  He’s out of breath, and you both laugh at it, pressing tender kisses to his nose and lips.

“Might fuckin’ die at this rate.”

“Well, at least we had a good run.”

It feels empty when Joel pulls out of you, his lanky body shakes the bed when he gracefully thwacks onto the mattress beside you.

“Mmmng.”

A flawless response.  Mmmng, indeed.

You stretch your arms overhead, facilitating a yawn in the process.

And you don’t ignore the way it feels to have his cum spill out of you.  Hot and sticky and where it’s meant to be.

“Stay there,” you whisper, rolling onto your side, “You did so good.  I’m so proud of you, baby.”  You even speak differently now – tender and light, peppering kisses all over his tired face in satisfaction.  Slipping up to your feet, you go to the adjoined bathroom and run the bath.  Putting a couple of drops of your favourite essential oil to make the sensual experience last in the afterglow.  You peek your head out from the bathroom door when it’s ready and give him a gentle look of compassion.  “It’s ready.”

Joel grunts when he propels all of his upper body strength to sit up in one go.  You can’t get enough of him.  The way he looks – sleepy and fucked, arms thick and shoulders broad.  You have both earned this bath, even if it’s crowded.  He sinks in, and you get in front of him, and honestly you both close your eyes for a long while.  Exhausted, used.  He wraps his arms around the front of your shoulders, and it’s regulatory to your nervous system.

“I really am sorry,” he finally gruffs, wide palms cater to your shoulders as you melt and sink into the bathwater with him.  “This week’s been… it don’t matter.  You tell me ‘bout my eyes all the time, and I never listen.  I will, I promise.  I didn’t mean t’make your life harder.”

You frown at the last bit, turning in the water so your chest is against his.  Drops spill out the tub when you do.

“You never make my life harder, Joel.”

“Seems like it,” and you can tell he’s not saying it to play the victim.  He’s vulnerable and feels safe enough to share this shame with you.  “Seems like I end up fuckin’ somethin’ up.”

No.  You won’t be having any of that.

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you shake your head in tandem with your words.  “Not even close, do you understand?”  Sternly, you keep his eyes poured into yours.  “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  I mean it.  You make everyday brighter.  Even when you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

You both join in with laughter before you rest your warmed cheek to the hairs on his chest.  “I swear.”

Joel’s throat vibrates to the tune of your last words, and fingers comb through your hair, leaving you both to flutter your eyes shut in the all-too-small bathtub.

“Okay, I believe you.  But only ‘cuz I’m a pain in your ass.” 

You take in his warmth, so much as sniffing at his words, and it feels good to be connected like this after those moments of taking matters into your own hands.  It feels good for both of you to be unarmed to each other without consequence.

When it's time for you to get out, you dry off before holding out a towel to wrap around him and you lean up, pressing your lips to his – both naked and comfortable.  Basking in the aftermath – the scene you two created in the bedroom you transition into.  Your eyes scan over the bed: the unkept version of sheets, pillows haphazardly thrown together and you individually slip your clothes on.  It feels nice to have a soft fabric cloak over your skin, his t-shirt fitting easily from the worn material.  Joel takes your hand in one of his, the dining chair in the other.  You look back at the room before flipping the light off.  At least for a moment, you’re both pretty tired and will work around the mess soon.

Then there's the kitchen.  Where it started.  But you don’t feel the same aggravation creep up as it did before.  Instead, Joel wraps his arms protectively around you when you rise to your tiptoes to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard.  It feels like slipping into a warm pool, and you never want to leave.  He is more enchanting than the tub could ever be.

“Hot liquid for my man?”

“Y’could just say tea, I ain’t gonna gag, you know?”

You snicker, turning the kettle on and closing your eyes as his chin tucks at the crease of your neck, not so sure he means it.  Coffee?  Yes.  A blend of chamomile and lavender?  You weren’t so sure.  But he doesn't turn his nose up when you press the teabag to him, so you sneak a kiss and you plop one bag in each cup.

“I dunno, you might gag,” a knowing smirk grows at the side of your cheek that Joel’s at and you mercifully knock temples, as if your brain waves could send each other the memories you have from tonight.  Everything primal and raw, all for the both of you.

“No more gaggin’ tonight,” there’s a laugh in Joel’s words and you scratch his beard idly as you pour your hot drinks when it’s time.  “That’s alright, baby boy.  Mama can handle a little bit of gagging if it means you’re taking.”

“You better watch it,” smile behind his voice, his nose nudges the edge of your jaw and a shudder draws out a small purr from deep in your chest – especially because you know there’s not an ounce of a menacing tone behind the threat.

“I’m not doing anything,” the grin transfers to your face and you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his shoulders because you can and he pulls you up until your feet leave the ground.  It’s a stretch that feels good, your heart’s content.

“Yeah, you’re just so good.  You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bad unlike us common folk.”

And that makes your cheeks rush with blood because you know it’s only a matter of time before the tables turn.  Before you’re caught doing something Joel has told you thousands of times to do or don’t, and he has you in some precarious position to drive you back to the version of your best self.

Still, it’s funny, and you nose against the column of his neck – all sweat still mixed with the bathwater and something so innately, masculinely, Joel Miller.  “Not too good, just clever.  I get away with a lot more than you think, old man.”

“Easy.”  His tone shifts all too easily into a warning, his hips pinning you to the edge of the countertop.  Your eyes widen before you press your index finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Relax,” you pet his shoulders, before leaning up to kiss his eyelids, “I like that you’re an old, senile man I can swindle.”

“Goddamn, you’re at record time in attempting to prove just how misbehaved y’really are.”

Finishing the tea, you hand his mug off with a nonchalant shrug.

“I learn from the best, I guess.”

You wait a beat.

“So… lasik, huh?”

Joel practically chokes on his beverage.  “Uhhh…,”

“Great!  I’ll book the appointment tomorrow!”

You won’t (probably), but the look on his face is priceless.

“Yeah, yeah.”  That makes Joel smile eventually, his rough hand cupping the side of your face before planting a dichotomously tender kiss to your forehead, and you are steadfast to reciprocate the affection.

The only thing that matters, anyway.

No matter all the hardships, the restless nights.  It’s this.  It’s delivering Joel to his knees as he worships you, then securing him with a warm cup of liquids in the form of tea, bath, the undulating nature of your arms in their energetic vibrations when they find his frame.

You would take care of him.  You would catch him.

Like how rivers bend and rush to oceans:

Everything leads back to him.

taglist: @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @sinfulrock @jasminedragoon @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @scarletthefierce @pedritoferg - comment to be added, and please let me know if i missed you!

[tightjeansjavi]

a drabble of joel rolling a joint then holding it to my mouth to inhale plEASE goD I BEG YOU

anything for my dear Mya ♡

A/N: baby gets what baby wants 😤 This was 100% self indulgent and I have nothing to be sorry for lol

~word count: 2.8k~

Summary: after a long day patrolling Jackson, Joel asks you to come over for a nightcap and a smoke. You eagerly agree.

Warnings: smut, fingering, praise kink, pet names, good girl, teasing, flirting, banter, sexual tension to the max level, Joel is an expert flirt, begging, paraphernalia, puff puff pass, mentions of drinking, doing drugs, dubious consent/consent under the influence, Joel and the reader almost get caught by Ellie, dirty talk, filth, NSFW, +18 minors dni!

When your patrol partner; Joel Miller, asked if you wanted to come back to his place to have a nightcap and a smoke, your brain barely registered your lips moving at the lightning speed to immediately say yes to his generous invitation.

His brow raised in your direction when you eagerly responded to him. Albeit, it was an incredibly long day so he expected you to be more willing than if it were any other occasion.

Leaves crunched under your in-sync boot steps. The sun was beginning to set along the horizon, turning the sky into brilliant hues of dark purple, magenta, and orange. Fall sunsets were your favorite, especially with Halloween steadfast approaching. The air held a slight chill that had you wrapping your arms around your body, hugging yourself gently.

Joel chuckled at this and had half the mind to offer you his jacket; but he didn’t want to cross a line. He unlocked his door to his cozy abode that he shared with Ellie. You’d been in Joel’s home a handful of times but only in the daytime. Seeing it at night was a whole new experience. The fading sun casted warm shadows over the furniture that inhabited the living room. The sage green couch pushed up against the wall and it appeared to already be well-loved.

“Go on and make yourself at home. You wanna have anythin’ to drink? Got whiskey..and more whiskey..” he chuckled warmly as he hung up his coat and rifle along the back hook on the wall alongside the door.

You could see the muscles beneath his well-worn flannel clench with the mundane movement. Jesus Christ, you were screwed.

“I’ll have a splash of whiskey, thank you.” You bent down, unlacing your boots and set them alongside his before hanging up your coat. You sank down into the couch with a content sigh as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen. “Hey, Joel? Is Ellie not in tonight?”

“Nah. She’s at Dina’s havin’ a sleepover. She’s practically livin’ there at this point. Nice girl, makes El happy and that’s all I really give a damn about, y’know?” He popped the cap off the bottle of whiskey with his teeth, pouring a decent glass for himself, and a little more than a splash for you.

“They’re really cute together. Never seen your kid smile that much, except when she’s around Dina.”

“Yeah tell me ‘bout it.” He gave you his signature grin as he sat down alongside you, knees bumping into each other as he handed you your glass. He lightly clinked his glass against yours before he took a hefty sip. “Jus’ nice that she’s gettin’ to live a normal life now. S’all I really ever wanted f’her.”

You gave him a little grin over the rim of your glass as they taped together. You took a generous sip, sinking further into the couch cushions. “She’s really lucky to have you, Joel.”

He chuckled as he set his glass alongside the coffee table before grabbing a tin box that rested comfortably inside one of the coffee table drawers. You casually watched him pull out a jar of weed, and some fresh rolling papers. “I think it’s honestly the other way around fo’me. I’m really lucky t’have her. You wanna roll this one, or do you want me to do it?” He looked over at you casually watching the way your lips rested along the rim of the glass.

“I actually don’t know how to roll..you wanna teach me? When’s the last time you even rolled a joint, old man.” You teasingly asked as you lightly shoved his shoulder.

“You ain’t ever rolled before? Well, my dear, you’re in luck because I happen to know how to roll some of the tightest joints your pretty eyes have ever had the pleasure of feasting upon.” He declared with a subtle wink. “I ain’t that old sweetheart. Don’t let the gray fool ya. Last time I rolled one of these babies was..come to think of it, can’t remember. Probably back in my college days. Tommy though? He never stopped.”

“Hmm. You think you still got it in you Miller?”

“Me? Absolutely. It’s like ridin’ a bike.” He laid the paper out as he leaned over the table, grabbing a few small nuggets of marijuana and sprinkled it onto the paper. “Y’know, I’m really surprised that you said yes to comin’ over tonight. Thought you hated me or somethin.’”

You took another swig from your glass, setting it alongside his. “Hate you? No. Not even close to hating you. You’re just intimidating at times, and sometimes I feel like I’m gonna say the wrong thing and piss you off or something.” You said with a nervous laugh crawling up from your throat.

“I’m intimidatin’? Who woulda thought.” He snorted under his breath. “I highly doubt you could say anythin’ t’me that would piss me off. I really enjoy your ramblin’ when we’re on patrol together. Makes the time go faster.”

“Yeah, man. You’re so fucking intimidating. Like a walking fucking fridge. Or a bear..either or. Phew! I totally thought my rambling annoyed the hell out of you.” You let out a sigh of relief.

“Did you really just fuckin’ call me a fridge? That’s a new one I’ve never heard of before. ‘Supposed to be a compliment? I’m serious, darlin. You’re extremely easy to talk to, and very easy on the eyes.” His smooth twang nearly had you jumping his bones right then and there, but you were afraid of crossing that line the same way that he was.

“Joel Miller, are you flirting with me right now?” Your tone was light, teasing but you couldn’t help but shamelessly check out his side profile as he was bent over the side of the coffee table, licking the paper with one broad stroke of his wet tongue.

Your thighs subconsciously clenched together.

“Absolutely. I am flirtin’ with ya. Want me to stop? Don’t wanna go and cross any boundaries or nothin’. I uh—just think you’re really attractive. Have thought that for a while.” He smoothly admitted as he rolled the paper inwards, sealing the marijuana inside with precise precision.

“How long are we talking here? No, I don’t want you to stop. Keep going, I am enjoying the flattery.” You lightly giggled. “It’s your lucky day, Miller. I find you to be painfully attractive.”

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle as he used the tip of his nail to pack the weed down. “Wow, look at us. Haven’t even started smokin’ and we’re already admittin’ dirty secrets? Well, aren’t we just naughty.”

“The naughtiest.” You agreed.

Joel reached over with the unlit joint between his fingertips as he placed it between your parted lips, letting it rest along the plush skin of your lower lip. “Hold that fo’me. Good girl.” He praised you as he grabbed his little box of lighters. “Ellie and I collected most of these from old gas stations and stores we’d come across. Amazin’ what you can find even in an apocalyptic world. Huh?”

You did as he said as you gingerly held the joint between your lips, reaching into the box of lighters to pick one out. You ended up picking the one that had red and orange flames licking up the side of the lighters cartridge. “Exactly, you never know what you’re gonna find out there.” You handed him the lighter, watching his eyes lock on yours as he lit the tip of the joint for you with a spark from the lighter.

“You wanna sit in my lap? Y’know—just uh cause it would be easier for us to pass it back and forth.” He boldly asked.

“Wow, you sly dog. That was bold, even for you Miller. You weren’t kidding when you told me to make myself at home, huh?” You took a deep inhale as the lit end burned a bright vibrant orange. You blew the smoke up towards the ceiling before placing the unlit end into Joel’s lips. You wasted no time to crawl in his lap, with your thighs on either side of his hips. The close proximity was already making your head deliciously spin.

“I don’t joke about those kinds of things darlin.’ M’very serious with this stuff.” His free hand found purchase around the skin where your ass meets your thigh as he took a long drag.

“Oh? What other things are you serious about Joel?” You replied with a soft hum.

“Mmm. Lots of things, darlin.’ Could always show ya, if you want.” He placed the joint back between your lips, his thumb lightly brushing along your lower lip in the process. “Goddammit. Those pretty lips of yours are doin’ somethin’ to’me. They look so fuckin’ pretty wrapped around that joint. Think you have it in your heart to spare this old man a kiss? Think I’ll end up dyin’ if I don’t get a taste.”

The first thought to spring to your mind was, ‘what the fuck is in this weed, and where can I get more of it.’ And, ‘holy fuck. Is this really about to happen?’ You took a long, deep drag, lightly blowing the smoke past his head before you reached behind you and set the joint down against the ashtray so you could drape your arms loosely around his neck. “You wanna kiss me Mr. Miller?” You cooed softly.

“I want to kiss you so fuckin’ bad babydoll. So bad.” He whispered smoothly.

The kiss started off as a light brushing of your lips before it turned into a proper one. Joel’s one hand stayed firmly wrapped around your thigh while the other was cradling the back of your head as he kissed you deeply. He swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, and once you granted him access, his tongue soon tangled with yours. The kiss grew more fervent, heated, as the seconds ticked by.

“S’okay. We don’t gotta rush or anythin’, sugar. Just let the weed do all the talkin’ for us. Say, did I ever tell ya how fuckin’ gorgeous you are? Mmm. No? Well, I’m sayin’ it now. You’re goddamn stunnin.’” He mumbled hazily against your lips. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your fingers tangled in his soft tendrils of salt and pepper hair, tugging it gently as you scooted yourself further into his lap. The air was growing heavy with lust as your jeans began to feel ten times tighter now. “Joel.” You whispered between kisses, “can I take these off, please? Fucking dying in these things”

“You just lookin’ for an excuse to get naked in front of me? You don’t gotta ask, babydoll. Told ya to make yourself right at home.”

You reluctantly detached your lips from his, a string of saliva connected your lips for a moment before you were sitting up and popping the button off your jeans. You shimmied them down your thighs, and past your ankles, giving him just a little show as you tossed the denim to the floor.

His fingers brushed over the lower back tattoo that was etched beautifully in your skin. A heart with barbed wire, it was fitting. “This one of your college days choices?” His thumb brushed along the ink, eliciting a shudder to roll down your spine.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

“Fuckin’ love it.” He rasped, coaxing you back down into his lap gently. “C’mere.”

“You gonna touch me, or keep asking questions Miller?” You were kissing him once more, biting down on his lower lip and tugged it out before gently releasing it.

“Mmm. Someone is awfully eager. C’mon, be a good girl and ask me nicely.” He teased.

“Please fucking touch me Joel. Or I’ll do it my goddamn self.” You threatened.

That’s all it took for Joel Miller to slowly dip his fingers under the thin fabric of your panties. His broad middle and forefinger brushed between your slit, gathering up the pooling arousal between your sticky folds. “Fuck me. You’re so fuckin’ wet. This all fo’me? How generous of you honeypie. Such a sweet little wet cunt.” He hummed as his fingers rubbed tight circles against your clit, causing your back to arch up towards his touch like a magnet.

“Mhm. It’s all for you. I’ve been dreaming for this to finally happen. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. I almost had me jumping your bones earlier.” Your lips parted as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh? Now you’re havin’ dreams about me, sweet girl? That’s cute. Didn’t know you had that much of a crush on me. Woulda made a serious move sooner if I had known.” He detached his lips from yours, swollen with your kisses as he peppered them down your jaw and throat. “Want me to play with ya a little? We’ll do whatever you wanna do. No pressure.”

“I want you to make me cum with your fingers alone. I want to see if they’re really as skilled as they look.”

Joel let out a low growl as he playfully nibbled on your skin, soothing the pain his teeth inflicted with his tongue. “Think I can easily handle that darlin.’ Why don’t ya grab that joint again while I fuck ya with my fingers. Wanna see your pretty face ride through the high.”

He used his thumb to push your panties to the side for easier access as his middle and forefinger lightly circled your tight went hole. You were wet enough for both of his fingers to slowly sink knuckle deep into your pussy. His fingers were inside you at a deliciously deep angle that already had you seeing stars as he curled them inwards.

“I knew you had a tight pussy, sweetheart. Didn’t know she was gonna be this fuckin’ tight. Fuck. Can you imagine how tight your little pussy is gonna be clenchin’ on my cock? Dunno if I’m even gonna fit baby.”

You struggled to reach behind you and slip the joint back between your fingers as his fingers pumped in and out of your tight wet walls with practiced ease. With a shaky exhale you placed the joint back between your lips taking a long, and deep inhale. “Another—another night Joel. I promise. Just keep going. Don’t stop.” You pleaded as your hips slowly rocked into his hand.

“That’s it. Nice n’slow fo’me now. Yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Can feel ya clenchin’ down on my fingers, sweet thing.” He curled his fingers in a come hither motion while he used his thumb to lightly rub circles against your clit while you rode his hand.

The air was growing heady, musky as you moaned out his name through hazy smoke that circled your bodies like halos. The joint was placed between Joel’s lips as you continued to rock and roll your hips. Just when you were about to hit your high, tasting your impending orgasm on your tongue, the door lock jiggled and Joel was quickly throwing a blanket over your bodies as your hips stilled along his fingers.

An exhausted looking Ellie strode in through the front door. She didn’t even see you and Joel on the couch as she trudged up the steps to her room.

Joel let out a shaky breath of relief when she didn’t notice the filth taking place on the couch. Just to be safe, he brought his freehand against your mouth before he resumed the motions of his fingers. He kept the joint between his lips as his fingers pumped inside of you at an unforgiving pace.

“C’mon. You gonna cum all over my fingers, sweet girl? Gonna coat them fo’me? C’mon. I know you’re fuckin’ close.” S’okay. I gotcha.” He praised you softly as you let out a hushed sob against his hand that covered your mouth. Your hips stilled as he slowly slipped his fingers out with a boy-like grin.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You giggled, plucking the joint from between his lips to finish it off.

“Like what? Like the way a man knows he’s completely and utterly fucked? I thought you enjoyed that typa of thing darlin.’”

“Mmm. Yeah, you are most definitely fucked, Joel Miller. It’s alright. I am too. We’re both fucked.”

“In the best way possible.” He added on.

What was left of the joint was ashed out before Joel was cuddling up with you on the couch like the soft teddy bear he truly was.

“Do you think Ellie saw us when she came in?”

“Nah. She didn’t even look ova’here. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. She knows just how bad of a crush I’ve had on ya anyway.” He lightly kissed the curve of your spine as you were pressed against his chest.

“Oh, of course she did.” Your eyes fluttered shut gently as a small grin graced your features. High off Joel Miller, and his joint rolling skills; what a fantastic evening indeed.

Tag list: @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @thetriumphantpanda @darkroastjoel @chaotic-mystery @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42

[koisuko]

A drabble based on a text message meme: I crossed my arms over my chest, facing away from him with my head tilt up in a sad attempt to sass him. “You’re acting like a damn child,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes behind his skull mask. I stayed silent, remaining steadfast in my need to prove my point, “you made me cry, don’t be so fucking mean,” I could hear him shuffle behind me, likely adjusting his position out of irritation. “Baby,” he muttered. I could feel his presence behind me, noticing a shadow loom over my petite frame. “No, now is not the time for pet names,” I pop my bottom lip out and pout, hearing a deep chuckle from behind me in response. “No, I’m calling you a damn baby, I’m insulting you.” Ghost stated matter of factly. I swiveled around on my heal, my mouth wide open in mock shock, “the audacity you have-“ he placed a gloved finger beneath my chin, snapping my jaw closed, effectively silencing me. I puffed air out of my nostrils in frustration, watching his eyes twitch and squint in the form of a masked smirk. I scrunched my face in irritation, looking away but not making any effort to move my chin from his finger. “Dickhead,” I muttered, a raspy grunt resonated from his chest, “that’s more like it sweetheart.”