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undercoverpena · 6 months

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be good, be quiet

joel miller x f!reader | joel masterlist

GIF credit to the amazing @perotovar who i adore, and i'm grateful adores me.

summary: bill tells you both you're sleeping in separate rooms when a thunderstorm doesn't allow you to leave. but joel isn't planning on getting any sleep.

wordcount: 3.7k warnings: post outbreak. smut. sneaking around (so to speak). p in v. fingering. joel angst. you riding joel. jo's spelling. praise kink. joel trying to keep you quiet (by sticking his fingers in your mouth). feelings, but joel-feelings.

AN: thanks as always to @thetriumphantpanda for leaving me comments in the document that made me feel less scared about posting. and also to @swiftispunk for being a cheerleader when i threw a snippet at her like a toddler with a drawing.

All unannounced, it rumbles in. Creeping in, bringing clouds that snuff light and immense claps of thunder. It’s the kind of storm that has lightning that even the shadows can’t hide from. Makes the house creak, groan—it pleading, weeping in its persistence to stand up straight and not cower.

It’s also the only reason the two of you are allowed to stay.

Joel hears the whispers, tuned in until they grow into near shouts in a room next to the one you and him are standing in. If you’re listening, you make no effort to show it—head turned, staring out as the rain thrashes down, eyes following certain droplets as they run down the pane.

Honestly, he doesn’t even want to fucking stay.

Had folded his arms to indicate as such when it was suggested. But, as he stares at you, he knows he doesn’t want you in it—recalling not all that long ago when you had shivered for days. You’d barely been able to speak full sentences as you remained curled in a ball he couldn’t unfurl, all cold to the touch, clinging to him as your teeth rattled in your skull.

It’s the only reason he’s grateful Frank forces Bill’s hand. His tongue piercing, delivering a fine—all razor-like, cutting, his voice booming that the two of you were to sleep in separate rooms.

He could have argued, could have glared, tilted his head—he didn’t. Not as the house shook with another crack of thunder, an idea sprouting, digging itself deep and blooming out across the wasteland living inside of him.

It’s why he plays along. Taking the fresh clothes, the offering of a shower, bidding you a goodnight loud enough for them to hear downstairs, a kiss to your cheek to sign it—burying a smirk under it all.

The whim pulsating, throbbing under his skin—not doused by the cooling temperature of the shower or his hand gripping the base of his half-hard cock. Memories, tinged with blackened edges brimming as he steps from the steam, thinking, ticking—

Waiting.

Waiting for the house to go mute in between the cries of the weather.

Waiting to strike, to prowl—a champion at it, awarded best in class.

Then, he tires from it.

Throwing the covers back, the soles of his feet meet the wood on the thunder. The ticking clock in the corner syncs with his racing heart, desperate to be quiet, maintain mouse-like footsteps, careful—as silent as he is when he moves through buildings that screech and click.

The door you’re behind is at the end of the hallway—shut, closed. A metaphorical do not disturb struck across it from the glare the two of you had been given before Bill had shrunk off to bed.

He didn’t care, not as the drops of water dripped from his hair down his neck, sliding under the fabric that didn’t belong to him. Fingers reaching out for the door handle, all set to twist, when it opens, metal pulled away from him—draping him and the dull flowered carpet in warm orange.

“Jo—“

He’s quick, hand smothering your exclamation, muffling your words. Covering them with his palm, enjoying how soft your skin feels even under it, as he raises his other hand, finger to his mouth—escorted by a glare, a silent order—before dropping it to your hips, grabbing, digging into you as he begins to walk you backwards. You move easily with him, pressing yourself flush to him, all trusting, reading him like a damn book.

“Were y’coming to find me?”

It leaves his tongue in a rasp.

And the look you give him makes his cock even harder than it already had been. Reminding him he’s too worn, too old to be doing shit like this—but fuck does he want to. Lay there, thinking of only you. Mind lost out at sea, bobbing along gentle waves of how you feel wrapped around him, that whimper you make when he flattens his palm to your spine, slides in, fills you, hips flush with yours.

You’re good, because you nod, no words—not making another noise. Your hand slips past him, shutting the door as your chest remains flush with his—the door happy, gleeful to return to its frame. He slides his hand from your mouth, moving to wrap it around the back of your neck, your chin tilted up without so much as a request.

Then, you smile, soft, almost innocent. But he knows you’re no angel—you’re something carved from molten and destruction, but fuck are you pretty. The kind that leaves an outline on the back of his eyelids. The kind that he suspects would turn heads, if you didn’t look like you wished to disembowel them for even looking. Plus, you’re always with him, eyes on him, enamoured, enchanted—

You shouldn't.

Not when he’s poison, slowly feeding you with drops—rotting your insides and blackening your soul. Watching you slowly being made in the shape of his past, carved, narrative rewritten and a future fading, before you get to live it, because of his company. A price scratched against your name.

But, you chose him—leave a mark, Miller. And he did, does. He paints himself on your spine, ropes of white whenever he can; he makes the juncture between your thighs slick with the mess he makes of you. More you whine, and that’s when it changed. When it became less about mindless distraction and more about possession, care, something else fucking entirely—

He pulls your ear to his mouth, your body relaxing, going limp—catching the scent of freshly washed skin. “Ima need you to be a good girl and be quiet. Can y’do that?”

Joel catches the smirk before you blink it away. Your teeth digging into your lip, nodding, catching the reflection of him as lightning floods the room—a sight that undoes him, affects him even though he’ll never show it. Because how much you want him scares him, makes him feel something other than numb, muted grief and disgrace.

The two of you don’t kiss, but he ghosts his lips over yours all the same. Something about the room makes it more intimate, romantic, normal.

“Not like you to break the rules.”

You snort, fingers knotting in his still-damp hair. “Well, I’m sure it’s equally not gentleman-like to sneak into a lady’s room.”

He grunts, and buries it in the back of his throat. Your tongue forces his hand, making him tug on the borrowed PJ bottoms you’re wearing. Palm flattening under the fabric covering your chest, resting it on your stomach, pausing, briefly feeling your heart beating, proof it isn't a fantasy, a dream, before sliding it down.

That’s when he focuses, basks in the feeling of nothing but the softness of your skin and the stories etched into it from surviving, from living. His fingers inching under the elastic and string, your eyes aflame, an inferno, and he wants you to burn him. Singe yourself into him, leave a mark, make it hurt.

“Stopped being a gentleman a while ago, honey.”

You’re wet. A truth two of his fingers feel, sliding them into your heat, suddenly enveloped by nothing but warmth and the sweet rose scent of the soap you washed your skin in. And it’s a comfort, eyes transfixed, all in awe as he watches you try to hold back a gasp—enjoying the way your nails dig into his neck, lashes fluttering and how you part your lips in a silent moan. He can make out what you’re saying is Joel. Each letter inscribed, even in a muted whisper. J-O-E-L.

He already decides he misses the way you sound. A new craving, a new need to make you sing—make your body break out into music, remind him how sweet something can sound when the world is nothing but grievous behaviour and murder.

It’s why he likes when your back is pressed to his chest, knees sore as he pistons in and out of you on the shitty mattress in the shitty room back in the QZ.

Because you can be loud, unfiltered.

There is no need to muffle back how good it feels what he’s doing to you, you can be unhinged, hiss his name, moan through gritted teeth if you’re trying to punish him. He hears them all the same, collects them. Stores them, and uses them to keep the last shard of him intact from all the loss and survival—the part of him he occasionally shows you. Usually in the dark, more morning than night, your chest flush to his back, not asleep, but not fully awake.

But, he can’t collect them here, can’t risk it here—slowing his movements down, hearing you fight it, struggling, being strangled by the moan you want to let breathe.

“C’mon baby, you know how to be quiet. Y’so good when we’re surrounded by clickers. This is no different.”

Narrowing your eyes, you whimper as the base of his palm catches your bundle of nerves. “You’re not—fuck, Joel—usually doing this when we’re surrounded by clickers.”

The corners of his lips twitch. It slides up into one of his cheeks, making a home there—all temporary, only something you seem to pull from him. “Guess I’ll have to help y’out then, won’t I?”

Your eyes narrow briefly before he does. Snaking two fingers—index and middle—past your lips, pressing down onto your tongue, continuing the movements of his other hand, the one pumping his fingers inside of you, coating himself in you.

He learns, quickly, that the pressure applied to your tongue does little to muffle your moan, but the clap of thunder smothers the rest. The way it bleeds out, shakes everything, allowing you a chance to whimper, whine and moan. Eyes digging into his, begging, pleading—

And, he could watch you for hours like this. At his mercy, hanging on the edge—shimmered with a light sheen of sweat and desperation swirling in your eyes. It’s the only time you’re weak, that you show him you can be vulnerable, soft, your edges smoothed down.

It’s why it takes him by surprise when he feels your tongue swirl around his fingers, sucking on them, staring into his fucking soul like you could repair all it had been through. Fuck he’d let you try when you look at him like that.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans, sliding his palm from your face, resting it on the wall by your head.

“You’ve fucked me on a forest floor, Joel. Don’t act so surprised.”

He lets you have that one—rewarding you for it. Unable to tear his gaze away when you’re overcome with it, stilling, tensing, clenching around his fingers like a vice as you constrict, breathing laboured, rapid breaths before you slant his name across his lips. Stain it. Bury the gratitude and relief as you slide your tongue past his teeth, worming into another part of him, a place he realises he’s wanted you to own. Wants to swallow it, have you rooted under his skin—

“Get on the bed.”

“No,” you rasp, grasping his wrist from between your thighs, bringing his fingers to your lips, tongue swirling before you release them with a pop. “Floor. Bed creaks.”

Another flash, another rumble—it allowing him to take in the expression spreading over your face. The calm, sleepy edge to your smile, all thanks to him. It sears into his skull, makes a home, and buries into a crevice he’ll never be able to scrape you from.

Least of all when you turn, shedding your clothes without aid—stripping himself as you busy ripping sheets to the floor, pillows scattering, a teenager's sleepover dream strewn across the carpeted floor. One he has you lay down on, sliding his mouth over the parts of you he hasn’t yet touched—lapped and enjoyed. Leaving a trail, a path of desire against your skin, your nails finding a home in his scalp, awarding him with gasps, small medals compared to the trophy of before.

“Wanna go on top,” you mewl, hand on his, pausing his hips from connecting with yours. “Wanna ride you, Joel.”

“Think you can handle it.”

It’s perfectly timed, almost comically, the way lightning sparks through the room—your glare more than sharp, digging into him, spacing out his insides until he’s nothing but bone.

He knows you can, but he likes taunting you. Enjoys the way your eyes lick flames across his skin, that your tone can be curt with him, gaze sharpened, pointing.

Joel likes being under you. Has a fondness for the weight of you on him and how your thighs feel on either side of him. Mostly, he likes what it says—what it gives you. An assurance you never ask for and he can never provide, because he can’t give you much, a lot, anything. He’s not good, kind or soft—he won’t trace three words against your shoulder and fan his hand out over your back as he tells you you’re a tempest on two legs, a thing which takes his breath, makes him crave, makes him want, makes him wish.

“You can do it—can take it, take me.”

“I know,” you bite back, lining the head of him at your slit.

It almost makes him snigger. That fury in you, that little determined flame that won’t ever be doused, becoming an inferno in your indignation. So, he whispers your name, fingers crawling up your neck, watching the space your bodies join as you sink down on him.

And he’s in awe as your pussy swallows him, inch by inch, the lightest hiss from under your breath caressing the air as your hips go flush with his.

“Feel good don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes closed, head rolled back fingers digging, half-curling into his stomach. “You always feel good, Joel.”

Your velvet wrapped around him, encasing him in warmth, all slick and needy. It tugs at him, and makes him for a moment feel like a man and not a carved-out monster who keeps fighting to live another day, for some reason or another. He supposes you wouldn’t let him have it any other way, would fight him and anyone else tooth and nail on it. You’re fierce like that, a difficult fucking thing he’s come across and now wishes to never lose.

“So big,” you whine in a whisper.

Lit up by the storm. It casts flickering shadows over your breasts over the muscles that contort as you roll your hips—if it lingered longer, he’d have been able to witness how wild your eyes were, how slick it is where the two of you are conjoined. Evidenced ruin, a sight he’d pull up in his mind when he’s alone, and you’re busy, and he pretends his fist is close to how you feel.

“Y’doin’ so well for me.”

Another flash grants him the chance to study your parted lips, the way your lashes hang over your cheek. It’s a sight, a fucking delight. An extra breath of oxygen and an anchor to keep him here all at once. A thing which didn’t cling, but had sunk its nails into him all the same—I’m not letting go, and you’re not going to ask me to.

You never say those words, but they hang—attached to string and bunting, a banner of sorts. One that isn’t wrong. A realisation that feels larger here than at the QZ. Surrounded by ornate white furniture and floral patterns, a room which has remained untouched, unspoiled—almost making him feel like a person he used to know. The one who he occasionally spots in the mirror, hanging back in his reflection.

It fucks with his mind. Makes him relaxed, and unwinds the stress from his bones as he plants his feet on the ground and rocks with you. Enjoys your moans, soft, bitten back but likely screamed in your head.

A thought beating inside him, all closed fists hammering on ribs: because he never thought he’d get attached to someone. Never mind someone who appears so otherworldly, likely created to threaten, but he finds only fascinating. A soul who unlocks things within him, finds a way through cobwebs and vines.

Someone who makes him wonder how passion and despair, adoration and darkness can all exist inside of him. Especially without losing the parts which he needs to live, to protect, to save—while keeping the parts that have you coming back to him.

He’s sure you see it, though. You understand him, having peeled back the layers in time and seen the decay which lives within his chest. You’ve even traced your fingers over his scars, ear close to them, as if they’ll spill all their secrets. Even without answers, you remain by his side.

It’s what makes this time different. So much so, he lifts your hand from his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. All tender, soft. Your eyes twinkle, shimmering with something—lit up again—before he places your hand back and rests his hands on your hips, aiding you, helping you ride him, until he has a better idea, a better thought—

His palms almost lift you off him, just the tip remaining as you hover. Digging his thumb and fingers into your skin, leaving indents he can trace when he catches his breath, and he latches his mouth in the space under your breast. Kissing, drawing a circle with his tongue, before he sucks, nips. Intentionally leaving a flaw, signing his name in a signature only he’ll be able to admire—a piece of evidence that this is real, you’re real. Knowing it will be there in the trek back to the life the two of you live; present when you strip off and change, a blight on otherwise perfection, put there by him—another ruin in your life.

Because you could do better than him. A fact he knows, has put to bed but still occasionally turns over.

I chose you because you don’t expect perfection, you’re happy with just good.

Except, you’re more than good.

Your fingers brush over his cheek, soft, gentle. Far too much of both in his opinion. Then he lowers you back down, pussy taking every inch, the lightest hiss fluttering over him as he stares up at you. Transfixed, lost. Almost able to live a fantasy, allow himself to fall into a dreamlike state.

Because this, right in this room, could have been plucked from the world before. It normal, could pretend the two of you were in a room in some inn somewhere or a bedroom the two of you would have built together—hand-chosen ornate furniture and pleasant knick-knacks that adorn surfaces, wooden frames with pictures he could imagine you’d fill if this was real, and not a break in the reality.

“This what you wanted when you were coming t'look f’me?”

He sounds drunk, intoxicated, maybe he is. Having drank from you for so long, he’s more you than he is rotten. He assists you as he snaps his hips to yours, burying the thought in his movements. But, he’s breathing you in—tasting the air tinged with the two of you as you both pant, hunger rearing, desperate, wanting to collide and spark out across nerves, muscles and fucking bone.

Yes, you chant. Yes, yes, yes.

M’close, Joel. So close.

It falls in breathless swirls, a juxtaposition to how tight you are around him, knotting perfectly at the base of him. Sucking him in, keeping him rooted, the head of him finding that spot that makes your body loose and boneless.

“Doin’ so good for me, my good girl.”

So he fucks you harder, uncaring if the floorboards creak, if they protest and shout, he has to. A thing inside of him commanding it. This is all he can give, so give, give, give—

He feels your nails dig, half-moons slicing in—a new scar, one he’ll be thankful to trace. Next is your thighs and muscles tautening. Then, that flutter, the one he seeks, desperate to own, his prize, no one else's.

Mine, mine, fucking mine.

And, distantly, he’s aware he’s the one who pulls you down, but he’ll tell himself later it was you. Trick himself that you required it, even if it was he who needed it. His mouth slanting over yours, clinging to your jaw and cheek, tongue swirling over the moan that is bestowed to him, that hits and fucking pounds into him. Unable to hold on, barely a handful of thrusts before he’s grunting into your mouth, spilling into you, pouring unspoken words to the place between your thighs as you grasp at the tufts of hair on either side of his face.

Something about it makes you taste sweeter. A man like him should never get to experience it now, not this version of him, the act more forbidden, prohibited. It’s what makes him want to spread you out on the floor, lick the expanse between your thighs, taste the two of you—clean you with his mouth and smear you across his face until he’s dyed with the two of you.

Instead, he grasps you close when you collapse against his heaving chest. Palm, all rough, blotched with death, pressing against your cheek as he kisses you. Knowing he should get up and clean himself from between your legs; knowing he should go back to his room.

But he wants to remain on the floor. Enjoying this, whatever the fuck it is. Hand stroking your arm, your fingers drawing shapes as your mouth parts from him, flicking a warmer gaze over him, before lying on his chest.

Stay. Because of the storm.

It’s barely that, just droplets of rain occasionally kissing the glass of the windows.

But in his head, he wants to pretend a little longer. Live in some make-believe land that this is your two’s house, he found it—safety, built ease into your muscles, allowed the callouses to rid from clutching weapons you shouldn’t know how to use. That it’s just a night where the two of you can’t sleep, rather than it being a night where the two of you just feel safe.

“Sure,” he replies in a gruff. “F’the storm.”

Sighing in contentment, rather than annoyance, even if he knows there’s so much suspended in the air—words not spoken or shared.

He almost thinks he could. Almost thinks the moment calls for it—a little whisper, a selection of perfectly chosen words that would wrap you in the knowledge you mean something to him.

But, he thinks you know.

Hopes it, anyway.

AN: shout out to G, who had to listen to me ramble about this two months ago. i hope, once you read this, it's worth the wait.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader

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crypticminx · 3 months

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Dad!Jacob going to his first parent teacher conference!!!

Sooooo cute! Ty angel!! This is pure fluff :3

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Jacob’s little girl was an angel.

Actually, angel was quite the understatement for the four year old who was already such a little ball of wonder.

From the moment he first laid eyes on her when she was just a tiny infant, letting small wails out as she entered the world, he was in awe. Seeing her all nestled in his overbearing arms made her look so much smaller—so petite and full of innocence. As her big, brown eyes stared at him with curiosity, he knew she was special.

His loving girlfriend, y/n was an extordinary woman. She caught his attention off a whim, the two of them meeting on set for a shoot he was doing. She was his makeup arist and he just so happened to be the very lucky model who had the pleasure of getting his looks done by someone as beautiful as she was. After a successful shoot, the heart struck man figured he had nothing to lose and asked the girl, catching her off guard, to join him sometime for a coffee.

She compiled, of course.

One thing lead to other for the fast moving individuals and soon enough, after only dating for a short period of time, she fell pregnant. That happened to be the best day of his life hearing the news he would be a father.

Though the tabloids said otherwise. Making dumb—and extremely false—accusations. Actor Jacob elordi seems miserable going on a walk with unnamed woman or Jacob Elordi is next in line to be a dad after one night stand gone wrong, the absurdity of it all made the happy couple laugh. But that’s just show business.

As he’d reminisce of all the moments leading up to the birth of his first born daughter, he truly treasured the days of getting to endure all of her firsts. He’d never forget the moment he was away filming and got an unexpected facetime from y/n. excusing himself to answer it somewhere private, thinking something was wrong, he was stunned to hear his baby girl say her first words. However, he was also full of remorse for not being able to witness it in full physical form.

As time progressed faster than he would have preferred, she was still always going to be his little girl no matter what.

That’s why he felt joyous that tonight he got to attend her very first parent teacher conference.

She absolutely adored going to school. Upon hearing that she would be starting school, something her parents brought up to her in a very light manner, her mind raced with all the fun new possibilities it would bring her. She was already a natural achiever for such a young age. Every little outing they’d attend as a family, nothing crazy huge, she wasn’t the one to shy away or hide behind his legs. Instead, she’d run around introducing herself to the best of her abilities.

It wasn’t the little girl who cried on the first day of school, it was Jacob. He felt his eyes grow watery as he waved goodbye to her from a distance once she began walking in with all her new classmates. He hid his tears behind sunglasses, but broke down to y/n once they had privacy in the comfort of his suv. He was accustomed to having her at homes all times, especially when he’d take short breaks from acting.

The two of them going on walks with Layla or taking her to the park where she would scream with laughter as she’d beg him to push her higher on the swings; they did everything together.

So being able to hear about her progress in school was exciting to him. It made him feel extraordinarily proud.

Unfortunately, he’d have to attend alone.

His adoring y/n had just given birth to his second child, another beautiful girl, a few months ago. Having a fussy baby that was on a tight schedule was not something y/n was in the mood for bringing to an event that took place after hours. As much as it brought her sadness, she reassured Jacob that it would be best for her to stay home and watch his girls. He agreed and vowed to share every little detail when he got home.

He walked in his bedroom, smiling at the sight that was y/n all snuggled up on their bed, pouring herself into one of his books. Beside her was a handmade bassinet, comforting the sleeping newborn who was just put down for hopefully the rest of the night. His other little girl kept herself occupied in her playroom as she played with her Barbie’s in a new doll house Jacob gifted her.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” he whispered, leaning down to y/n as she gently placed her book on her lap. He gave her a swift kiss on her cheek, feeling her lips curve up into a smile.

“Have fun, my love,” y/n beamed at him as he slowly retracted himself from their embrace.

———————

When it was Jacob’s turn to be called in, he followed after his daughter’s teacher as she welcomed him in taking a seat with her at her large desk displayed in the centre of the room.

The classroom was inviting.

Pictures that the young students made for their parents were placed all over the wall. When his amused eyes found the one his daughter made, he felt himself grow full of sentiment.

“So, Mr. Elordi, You’re Ceres’ father,” her voice was soft, sounding fond of her pupil as she gathered her notes.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat. It wasn’t that he was nervous, but he forgot how these types of things played out. It had been ages since he was in grade school, it made him feel nostalgic in a strange way.

“Well, she’s a lovely student,” he felt a sigh of relief exit him, even though he already knew that was the truth. It felt good hearing his daughters teacher admit that to him.

“You know, I’ve never seen a girl as excited to be in school as yours,” she acknowledged to the proud father. “Most kids when they start off have a hard time adapting, struggling to get comfortable in a new atmosphere away from their parents.”

“Totally,” he agreed, his mind replaying back to his early moments of attending school, “my mum always told me I’d never want to leave her side when she’d drop me off. I guess it’s just hard for some kids.”

The teacher sheepishly laughed with him before she continued praising his little girl.

“I’m sure you and your partner are very thrilled to be blessed with an easygoing child.”

Jacob missed his girlfriend at the brief mention of her. He wished she could be by his side, hearing all the great things that had to be said about the very child they created. It was astonishing really. Something he couldn’t fathom to explain, but it brought him a great sense of joy and made him a little bit emotional.

“Well, we’ve just welcomed a new baby, so things at home have been a little hectic and all. Y/n wished she could’ve been here, but she sends her regards.” His face light up taking about his girlfriend, it was clear as day to anyone that he absolutely loved her.

“Oh, I know,” the teacher grinned, “Ceres talks about her baby sister to no end, it’s very sweet.”

At home, his angel was always trying to see what she could help her mother with. Though there wasn’t much for her to actually do, as taking care of a newborn was a very delicate task, she still included herself in everything. She loved to hold her baby sister with her frail arms and the heartwarming scene of it was y/n and Jacob’s favourite thing to gaze at.

He shook his head with a short chuckle, “yeah, that sounds about right.”

As their meeting continued, the teacher talked about how his daughter excelled at the criteria that was given to her, sounding like quite a smart student at such a young age. She displayed some of her work for him to take a peek at, even letting him take home one of the art projects she created. They discussed the further constructs that were going to be taught and what was expected, but Jacob had no fear. His daughter was intelligent, he gave that credit to y/n.

Before he knew it, the conference came to an end. There was so much to say about Ceres. However, there was a still a long line of other parents who patiently waited for their turn outside the classroom door. He gathered himself up, grabbing all the things he had the privilege of taking home, knowing he would display them forever.

“Mr. Elordi,” the teacher caught his attention, “you’ve got a good one on your hands.”

He nodded, feeling giddy and fuzzy with strings of heartfelt emotions. He was beyond proud getting to endure hearing nothing but the positive words that had to be said about his little girl, he felt silly for feeling nervous before.

For now, the only thing on his mind was sharing his excitement with y/n and spoiling his daughter.

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mochinomnoms · 4 months

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Oh? Pray tell, what do Jade, Mal and Azul enjoy so much about the period sex?

[cw] - period sex, implications of a breeding kink at the end

Referring to this post

*slams hands on desk*

Okay so they all have their own justifications other than they just think their partner is hot, and they're down bad. I like to think they all have a thing for servicing their partner, so starting from the bottom to the top:

Azul knows that he is needed to give you assistance. It's what he lives for! Anything you might need, it's his job to give, and give he does~ Azul is researching all the ways that can help with your symptoms, particularly cramps as it seems to be the most consistent pain. He finds that heating pads are the best, as well as general pain meds. However, you already have a bunch from Ortho and the nurse has you covered with meds. So what's an octomer to do? It's during his research that he discovers that orgasms can help with the pain. He thinks it's strange, if you're bleeding and shedding your lining, wouldn't having sex make it hurt? Even if he gave you oral, the blood would be everywhere and make a mess. Like him when he inks. He'd have to take you in the water, and probably be in his merform to make sure that any predators that sense your blood. You'd be pretty dependent on him, for protection and to feel good. Your pretty hair, billowing around your face as his arms wrap around your form, one of his tentacles massaging your insides ever so gently. Hmm, actually—From there, he's inviting you over to Octavinelle for the weekend, where he offers to show you a new cramp remedy he's learned about. You're surprised when he takes you to the dorm pool, and looks at you with a smug smile as he drags you in the water, offering his 8 limbs to sooth your cramps with a nice massage. It's a thoroughly enjoyable massage~

Malleus learns of this remedy from Lilia, who heard about it on his travels after a tryst with a cute human. He's so sweet to you (and only you) that he wants to do his best to help his human out. Malleus has no qualms about getting dirty, he can magic himself clean if needed, and he's still concerned about the fact that you're in pain. He's not sure what it is about orgasms that help with pain, but if it helps then he's happy to be of assistance! He doesn't want to stress you out more than necessary, so Malleus decides that eating you out is the best course of action. Malleus won't mention that you being more whiny and needy during your period, making you extra pilable and receptive, struck a particular nerve in him. He works you to your first orgasm, delighted at how extra sensitive you were as you easily fell about to his ministrations. The first time he does this, he pulled away to check on you, blood staining your thighs and his lips. You'd let out a low whine, arching your back as you opened your eyes to look at him, and smiled. A sweet, satisfied smile as you praise him for his gentleness and willingness to take care of you. He was taking care of you, like a mate should, and keeping you satisfied and happy. Malleus was a good mate, so in his mind, he should keep being a good mate so that you'll keep praising him. He dived right back in and left you squealing and shaking for the next few hours.

He likes to be depended on, he likes caring for things that need to depend on him. Jade likes to be in control, a mastermind that pulls the puppet's strings in the background. He likes things that are vulnerable to him and his whims, and this is no different with you and Jade. Granted, you're not a terrarium of his, you're his sweet little human, so he's not going to treat you as such. But, he still likes being a bit in control of your care and being needed by you. Jade loves when you're needy: he can care for you, love you, dazzle you so that he can never compare to any other love you may have. Not that he plans on letting you go anytime soon. Oh no, Jade may say he doesn't understand the appeal of the surface world like other merfolk, but make no mistake. Jade is enchanted by the differences between the human body and his own. Jade had made it his mission to thoroughly “research” human anatomy with you, and is delighted at how strange it is (he gets banned from touching you for a week for that statement). And you bleed roughly once a month? Do you know what that knowledge did to his brain? He's quite interested in learning how your period effects your body: do you get more sensitive, do you get more emotional, what does it do to you? Would you taste different? Feel different when he enters his length into you? Will you be more pliant to him, or more combative? It's just all so fascinating. Upon learning how your period effects your body, the pains you endure, he makes it his mission to make sure he can meet all your needs. Jade came up to you, unusually giddy one night, with a preposition. He takes you to bed, sending a begrudging Grim off to Heartslabyul, laying a towel underneath you, and getting to work to test out his hypothesis. Jade's face is covered in a mix of your juices and blood, both a sweet and metallic taste that is pleasing to his moray tongue, as he finished giving you your third orgasm of the night. Jade is licking his lips clean has he moves to place the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing against it as he leans down to whisper, “Do let me know in detail how this feels, I myself am particularly enjoying delightfully you taste. I imagine you'll feel just as good squeezing around me.” Happy to serve, Jade is concerned that you have to go through such pain once a month. He offers to help you get rid of it for at least 9 months, longer if you don't mind having a set of irish twins*, one after the other.

*irish twins are siblings that are born 12 months or less apart

Hehehe yummy, :p comments and reblogs appreciated!

#mochi asks #!nsfw #!period sex #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #jade leech smut #azul ashengrotto smut #malleus draconia smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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