#tw : somnophilia

[rinhaler]

sucking on toji’s thumb while he cuddle fucks you to sleep, and in the morning you wake up after cock warming him all night to his raging morning wood 🫢

stoppppp

can you imagine how hard he'd fuck you the next day too? he'd probably wake up with blurred vision, grunting as he gets used to being awake and wondering why he's so turned on until he remembers who's sleeping soundly beside him.

he looks down at how the duvet pitches like a tent, how last night it had fit so snuggly in your warm, wet walls before he drifted off and began to toss and turn in his sleep.

he'd roll onto his side, kiss along your bare skin. a lazy attempt of waking you up before he buries his cock into you again, you won't mind. he'll make you both feel good, you'll wake up moaning because there's no better way to wake up.

his heavy breaths in your ear have you stirring awake, confused, but more than happy to let him use you to take care of his little huge problem. his tip knocking against your cervix with minimal effort, he grunts your name as he realises you've woken up.

endless praise and adoration spills from his lips as he chases his release, 'good morning pretty girl, mmpf, you're so tight f'me. gonna breed this pretty pussy, let daddy get off jus' like this.'

[joelsdagger]

intermission || one shot

shout out to @dinandwhiskey for feeding into my delusions for this one and to @skrunkly-scrimblo for the beta <33

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: movie night with joel doesn’t go to plan, or joel fucks your mouth while you’re sleeping. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ rating: 18+ MDNI warnings: [No Outbreak], established relationship, age gap [reader is 24, joel is late 50’s] , dd/lg dynamics, daddy kink, somnophilia [no explicit consent in this fic but she’s cool with it, therefore dubcon], oral [m receiving], face fucking, deepthroating, finger sucking, praise kink, pet names [little bug, little angel, baby, the works lol], references to tummy bulge, references to unprotected p in v sex, mentions of creampie, cum eating, reader can be carried [tho in my mind joel is huuuuuge so size kink as well], Joel’s POV. word count: 2.3k a/n: happy father’s day (iykyk) :3 masterlist | ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. 

I don’t fall asleep during movies, daddy, you had sassed him. 

Whatever you say, little bug. 

That was an hour ago and now you’re resting your pretty little head against his belly, your hand tucked beneath your head. You look so peaceful. So pretty. So soft. So – pliant. 

He really shouldn’t. 

But then your hand slips from under your head and falls to rest a hair's breadth away from his clothed cock, it jumps in his sweats. You’ve practically pavloved him to react like that with just a mere graze of your fingertips. 

“You got no idea what you do to me, sweet girl, drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy over here,” his voice a low rasp, reaching for your fingers and gently pulling them from his lap, squeezing your fingertips twice before resting them atop his thigh. 

You’re completely limp, deep in your sleep and Joel is unable to control himself.

He snatches up the remote, hastily turns down the TV, shoves his gray sweats down to the middle of his thighs and frees his semi-hard cock. He wraps a hand around the base, gives it a firm tug, and rests the tip of his length on your lips.

He stills and swallows hard. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this, it feels selfish to take what he’s been desperately wanting from you — for the better part of an hour — when you’re unable to respond. He should wake you. 

But then, almost as if you’ve made the decision for him; your lips part and a soft moan releases from you, mmm, daddy. His cock twitches against your lips, opaque droplets already gathering at the slit. Your lips stay parted and the glistening tip slips between your plush lips. 

“Fuck– ” He groans at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his head, hand flying up to the back of yours, cradling your skull in an attempt to anchor himself as he slowly rolls his hips up into you. He stiffens fully at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. It feels fucking incredible. 

How the hell did he get here? A rare lazy sunday night with you on his lap, taking a man almost three times your age in between your lips, letting him use you in your sleep. 

He remembers first laying eyes on you. You showed up on his porch one night, not too long ago, with sparkling eyes and a shy smile on your face. He didn’t even hear what you had said to him, too distracted by the soft skin of your exposed thighs just below the hem of your pale pink dress — barely covering the plump shape of your ass — and the flow of your hair as a wave of muggy summer heat swept past. He thinks it was something about the leftover cake from your birthday. He only guessed that from the sad, fat square slice of funfetti birthday cake held up in a flimsy paper plate before him, the letters jaggedly cut down the middle of the celebratory phrase.

Joel is a strong man; at least that’s what he tells himself. He knew you were too young for him. The split letters that barely spelled out twenty-four on your birthday cake told him as much. Trouble, he’d muttered. He still mumbles that occasionally when you push his buttons, though hours later, he often finds himself burying his length deep inside of you, tears pricking your eyes while he stretches your needy cunt.

But then you glanced up at him with wide, curious eyes and flashed him a big, toothy smile — the prettiest little thing he’s seen in all his long, hard years — and he cracked; his cement walls came crumbling down. He brought you inside his home, into his too-small bed, and fucked you until you cried, until you asked him for a break only to climb on top of him minutes later, begging him to feed you his cock again.

His cock pulses on your tongue at the memory, your voice high-pitched as you cried, Daddy, please, I want it. And Joel couldn’t resist his special girl. How could he? When you softly gasped into his mouth as he pushed the blunt head of his cock past your puffy folds — nuzzling in and making a home for himself — where he belongs. Your warm, drooling cunt sucking him in to the hilt, sheathing the entirety of his hard length inside your messy little pussy. 

Joel is a strong man, but not when it comes to you. 

Please, please, I need to feel it inside me. All the way up here, daddy, you whined, one hand gliding up your belly, the other fisting the fabric of your lace-trimmed dress. He just couldn’t resist you. So he fucked you and fucked you deep, until he was in the soft pouch of your tummy and poking through from the other side, just as you had asked of him. He fucked you full of his spend, until your poor, tiny hole couldn’t take any more of his cum. 

He’d damn himself to hell before he’d refuse you. He only hopes you don’t deny him if you wake. 

His deft, roughened fingers brush the hair out of your face before settling his hand back on your head. He sits up and leans over; marveling at the stretch of your lips around him, sweat beginning to pool at the nape of his neck and the corners of his temples. 

He feels filthy. A dirty old man. He’s never taken you like this before. But it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s only missing those pretty sounds you make —

You stir and let out a soft moan around him. Sweet Jesus, there you go. Your head dips lower down his belly, nestling more of his length into your hot mouth. Atta fuckin’ girl. Let me in, baby. Open up real big for daddy. 

“Such a naughty little thing, lettin’ me fuck your throat while you’re sleepin’, just needed to be full o’me huh?” He whispers softly, and at that, you hum. Joel can’t help when he bucks up into your mouth in response, saliva pouring past your lips and onto his graying pubic hair. 

“Fuck, baby, you like gettin’ daddy all messy? Like chokin’ on daddy’s big cock?” He taunts, a grin tugging on his face. 

Once again, as if you can hear him, you hum. 

You’re so damn responsive. Or maybe you just like having his dick in your mouth.  

“Fuck, yeah, you do,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. His free hand glides down to the swell of your ass — the softest skin he thinks he’s ever felt — and hikes up the frilly hem of those pink sleep shorts that he likes a little too much — the ones speckled with tiny red hearts — over one cheek, grabs a handful of your plush flesh, and squeezes. You moan, and Joel feels your tongue twitch, feather-like, beneath the heavy weight of his cock, then pressing up against the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. He bites down on his lip to muffle the loud moan that sneaks past his lips, the back of his head hitting the couch behind him. 

“Goddamnit, takin’ me so damn well, even in your sleep, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he babbles, his eyes shut tight as he revels in the feeling of himself in your mouth, the action movie silently playing on the screen flashes against his eyelids, measured shaky breaths escaping him. The strong hand on your head easing you lower and lower to take more of him, your lips now grazing the drool drenched hair at his base.  

Your mouth feels like velvet around him — warm and soft and so perfect that his hips cant upwards unconsciously, the pace of his thrusts increasing. He’s losing himself in the haze of his fast-approaching release, a deep-seated tension building in his gut, teetering on the edge until—

You splutter around him and Joel’s head snaps up to peer down at you, your eyelids flutter open against the soft glow of the television.

“Shit, baby. ‘M sorry,” he rasps and quickly retracts his hand from your head. Yet, you don’t pull yourself off him, instead you curl your weak fingers into his thigh. You don’t want him to stop. 

“You want me to keep going?” He asks gruffly, he knows you can take him, you’ve done it countless times since you have met. He’s trained you well. Yet, he needs to be certain he’s not reaching your limit. 

You drag your lips off his cock, an obscene wet slurping sound fills the too still air, letting off him with a pop and maneuvering yourself to sit up on your knees. “Yes, please daddy,” your voice still thick with sleep, peering up at him with an innocence to your needy gaze; a mixture of drool and precum coating your pouty lips. 

“Christ,” he mutters, under his breath. Such a pretty fuckin’ sight. One he reckons he’ll never get tired of seeing. He can’t deny you. Not when you look at him like that. 

“Okay, baby, here,” he murmurs, his hand retakes its place on the back of your head, guiding you toward his aching cock, your lips latch onto the fat head — all angry and red — and he inhales a shuddery breath as he watches your face contort at the stretch of him in your mouth. 

Your tongue flattens underneath him and he presses himself deeper into your willing mouth, filling you up and messaging the walls of your throat with the wide head of his cock. 

His grip in your hair tightens and a low groan rumbles in his throat, “There you go, baby, hold still.”  

Fucking hell. He could keep you here forever. 

“So goddamn pretty like this, baby,” Joel grits, “Love havin’ your mouth stuffed full o’ my cock, huh?” 

You make a low muffled sound around the length of his cock.

“S’right, you do,” he answers for you.  

His free hand trails down the length of your body, instinctively gripping the meat of your ass, dull fingernails digging into your skin, just barely grazing your puckered hole. You whine around him, the vibrations from your throat has him flexing his fingers your hair in response, and with shallow, quick thrusts of his hips, he fucks himself into your mouth. 

Fresh tears begin to sprout in your eyes as you gulp hard, your throat constricting around him. Joel feels his throbbing tip choked tight at the small opening at the back of your throat. The warm walls of your throat so tight — so good for him — the muscles in his belly tighten, and the hand on your ass is quick to join the other on your head, gripping your skull. “Shit— that’s it, angel. M’comin’.” His dick pulsates on your tongue, and a loud, guttural groan spills from him as hot, thick spurts of his cum coat your throat. His hand holds you there, firmly pressing your mouth flush to his spit-smeared balls. He feels you swallow around him again, and he whines quietly. The muscles in his jaw go slack, and his head falls back onto the couch while he lazily thrusts upwards, his leaking head bruising the back of your throat as he empties the last of himself into your mouth and filling your belly, his chest heaving from exertion.

He lifts his head when he feels you pull off him; you cough softly against him, the warmth of your breath brushes against his now softening cock, and his hooded gaze meets the sight of a thin string of saliva and cum dribbling from your wet, puffy lips, tears dripping from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks. “Oh, c’mere, little bug, lemme see.” 

Just as he taught you, you plant a small, wet kiss on each of his heavy balls. Joel sighs through his nostrils. Fuck. What did he do to deserve you? You’re too good for him. You scoot over to sit up in his lap. Joel feels the slick between your legs through your tiny shorts when you press against his soft cock. He lets out a little groan; if he hadn’t just come, he’d be getting hard at the sensation.

His hand reaches to grip your jaw, angling your face up as you present him with your open mouth, the corners of his lips twitch at the sight of the walls of your little throat; empty, swollen, and used. 

“My filthy girl, you did so good f’me,” he cooes, coaxing away your tears and swiping your glistening lips clean. He pushes the pad of his thumb — covered in slobber and cum — into your mouth and presses it onto your tongue. Your wet eyes lock with his as you enthusiastically suck his thumb clean. 

Man alive. Maybe you’ll damn him to hell.

You release his thumb and giggle, biting your lip and smiling up at him dreamily. “Thank you, daddy, I liked it,” you rasp quietly. 

“Yeah?” He breathes, both of his hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. 

Your wide, glassy eyes meet his gaze, “I like when you do things that make you feel good, it makes me feel good,” your voice hoarse and small, fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Well – you always make daddy feel good, little angel,” he praises, leaning forward to lay a long kiss to your forehead that elicits a breathy sigh from you, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

“You tired, baby?” He whispers, tucking your soft hair behind your ear, fingers stroking down your hair and twirling the end of the gathered strands between his fingers.   

You yawn quietly and give him a slow, small nod, a sleepy smile to your face as you sink down in his lap, your weeping cunt throbbing against him. He’ll play with your perfect little pussy in the morning. Maybe your other little hole too. 

He chuckles at that. “Alright, little bug...” he starts, tucking his soft cock back into his sweats. He scoops you up into his arms; his weak, achy knees pop, and a low grunt spills from him as he stands, “Bedtime.”

[writers-advocate]

thoughts on old man!logan because he deserves more love [tw: somnophilia]

old man!logan who has no idea really how he managed to score someone like you

old man!logan who tried to scare you off for ages, caving almost instantly when he gets that first taste of your soft lips

old man!logan who has learned to let you help with the claws because if you ever have a temper, it’s when he doesn’t let you take care of him

old man!logan who, despite “knowing” you deserve better, loves just how sweet you are to an “old dog” like him

old man!logan who finds himself looking forward to coming home to you at the end of each day. who pictures you in nothing but one of his t-shirts and can almost feel your soft skin under his rough hands instead of the worn steering wheel

old man!logan who finds you practically asleep, waiting up for him on the couch exactly as described. your arms circle around his neck loosely and you press sleepy kisses to his throat when he carries you to your shared bed

old man!logan who has to nearly coo to you because you whine when he gently pulls your arms from around him so he can go clean up

old man!logan who holds you to his chest while you sleep, like he’s shielding you from the world that’s already taken so much from him

old!man logan whose bones are just so tired

old man!logan who still wants to make his pretty young thing feel good. who more often than not, has his eyes open by the time the sun peeks through the edges of the curtains and relies on your much easier sleep to last while he moves

old man!logan who thinks he’s already gone to heaven when he settles between your thighs and lifts the hem of his your t-shirt above your hips, already drunk off your heady scent he’s been drowning in since last night

old man!logan who starts off so slow, tongue gently trailing up to your clit just to taste you

old man!logan who wraps his lips around your clit like his favorite candy because you are, but he doesn’t stay for long, pulling back to press gentle kisses over the sensitive nub instead. he didn’t have this restraint when he was younger. we’ll see how long it lasts now

old man!logan who manages not to wake you for the first hour but your sleepy moans and soft keens as you lazily squirm in the sheets, eyes still closed but now squeezed in your sleep, drive him insane. next thing either of you knows, his arms have your thighs locked in on either side of his head and he’s making out with your messy cunt like he’ll never see you again

old man!logan who spends the first hours of your morning between your legs until you’re crying and trembling, begging him for you don’t even know what anymore

old man!logan who simply reaches up to curl his hand over your smaller one to ground you

old man!logan whose bones may be tired, but he’ll never leave his angel unsatisfied

[sunniepoo]

your roommate never knew when to keep his hands off, even when you were asleep

cw: dubcon, somno, dark!jj

jj knew what he was doing was disgusting, he knew that it was pervy and creepy and gross and every name under the sun for just straight up wrong. it’s not that he didn’t feel bad but the pleasure and satisfaction he gained every night, jerking off into his hand with the image of you naked, with the pellets of water trickling down you wore greater than his conscious

when you’d moved in,a couple months ago, there was a silent reminder in his head to not scare you away or push any boundaries but he couldn’t help but have a slight inkling that you wanted him to prey, you wanted him to push and play to his limit. the way you would leave your panties laying out on the floor, it was like you wanted him to pick them up and fist them around his dick, inevitably cumming into them

or how you’d shower with the door open just enough so he could see the outline of your tits through the foggy shower door. he knew he sounded like a perv when ranting on about it to the brunette boy, hands flailing about, mumbling about how ‘she’s gotta be doing it on purpose…i mean - wh-why else” earning a questionable stare from john b who scoffs out about him being a full on classic creep

it was so so conflicting, he knew he shouldn’t - you were probably just being naive, your usual sweet mindset blurring the sultryness within your actions but he couldn’t help but use your actions as justification for what he was doing. you would’ve said something by now id it bothered you, right?

but it wasn’t always weird,there were quiet domestic moments aswell, like tonight.

the loud rumble of thunder was enough to make you squeal eliciting a soft laugh from the blonde in front of you, who continued to stuff food in his mouth “jayyy” the slight tease in your whine was impossible to miss as the word left your mouth “lets sleep together tonight” you ask, eyes opened wide and focused on him, leaving him to struggle to understand the meaning behind the question

“what” the blonde in front deadpans, ears in disbelief of what he’s hearing - mind already rushing to the stickiest of ickys

“just hate storms and m’gonna not be able to sleep” you respond and as the words fall from your mouth, his figure visibly relaxes as soon as he hears the nonchalance in your voice in your words - god he has to get his head out of the gutter!

“right-right…uhh yeah- i mean i don’t mind” he rambles, struggling to hide the rising pink in his cheek aswell as the rising boner in his pants. it was going to be so so so hard to behave well when you’d be right next to him, your pretty pussy just a couple inches away, how was he supposed to resist himself

“thanks jay’ make sure not to kick” you giggle before pressing a light kiss to the side of his cheek, continuing to walk off towards the bathroom. he couldn’t describe the feeling in his stomach as he watched you, excitement? guilt? shame? whatever it was, it had to be pushed down until the late night dawned upon the both of you - when he’ll find out how bad he can really be

the sight of you softly snoring in his bed, arms tucked beneath your head as you curled away from the wall, would have been cute if it wasn’t for the raging boner that poked through his boxers. you’d hit the sack quite early leaving jj and his twisted mind alone, jerking off in the shower of all the lewd fantasies stored in his head.

he wouldn’t. he couldn’t. that’s what the blonde repeated in his head as he rest beside you, keeping some distance between the two of you, trying to close his eyes and sleep - hoping his mind could clear before the morning. his large figure slowly relaxed, slowly drifting to sleep. and that’s when he felt it your leg carelessly shifting underneath the covers, grazing against his dick, making it jump.

he was convinced. you were doing it on purpose, you had to be. but when he saw your limp body, pressed against the bed, dead to the world around you, he couldn’t help but groan. what if you were truly so naive that all your actions were done out of pure thoughtlessness, he’d be disgusting- you’d probably never want to speak to him again

but it was getting impossibly hard to ignore your foot dancing around his already hard cock leading a soft groan from him. the call of your name from him falls on deaf ears as you continue to sleep, not aware of the turmoil you’re causing him. ‘god m’going to hell” he whispers to himself as he shifts closer, forehead hovering over yours

he wished he could blame it on something like he’d drunk to much or that he was high out of his mind, but he wasn’t - the only drug that consumed him was the presence of you, clouding his every thought and action. the long strand of blonde that kissed his forehead now grazed against yours as his fingers traced down the length of your body, dipping between your legs, rubbing against your clothed mound.

the heat between your legs was enough to warm him on the unseasonably cold night, thumb stroking against your clit causing you to shift. he panicked for a second, taking your stirring as a sign of you waking up but he was wrong. you were moving because you liked it - he watched as your mouth parted softly, a soft whimper filling the air as you continued to squirm beneath him

it didn’t take long before he slipped your panties off, throwing them to some corner of the room - careful not to wake you. he watched as you writhed at the feel of the cool air breezing against your bare pussy, fingers having a mind of their own as they pushed into you. god you were so tight, he could feel the ache in his pants as he continued to thrust his finger into you. he couldn’t help but watch your eyebrows raise, mouth opening to let out an inaudible moan “m’sorry so so sorry” he heaved out, before adding another finger, watching you hiss at the intrusion.

you were making a mess on his hand and between your legs with each thrust of his and all he could think was how good you were taking it, wondering what noises you’d be making if you were awake - would you grab at his wrist and make him slow down if he went too fast? would you reach down and rub your aching clit?would you whine at him to stop?

he felt a sudden urge, he wanted to kiss you. he wanted to feel your lips against his as he curled his fingers that were wedged deep inside you. he moved even closer, dipping his head down, pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips as he thrust his fingers harshly in you making you all putty in his arms

it was rough the way he pulled out, fingers resting against your thighs but he was desperate, his cock had been painfully poking against the fabric of his shorts waiting for some sort of stimulation. it was bad, it was so so bad but what was worse was that he stopped caring,it was a need to feel your gummy walls sucking you in, to watch your face contort into a mixture of pain and pleasure as he slams into you

you’d understand right? i mean you had to with the way you’d tortured him for so long, how you’d walk around wearing next to nothing or how you’d rub up against him. he remembers wanting nothing more than to bend you over the nearest surface and dick you down like the good little whore you were but how could he, you weren’t a whore - far from it actually, you were his sweet little angel that he wanted to corrupt, the little lamb that the big bad wolf wanted to bite into

he spent every minute trying to savour this moment, slowly pulling of his boxers throwing them next to your panties - making a mental note to take them later. he wished he could’ve been gentle and soft and sweet but he didn’t have it in him that night, he wanted you to feel the ache he’s been feeling.

the whine that left your mouth was loud as the blonde slammed into you, stilling with his movement - soaking in the feel of your velvety walls wrapped around him that left him wanting to paint your insides with his cum.shocked at your still state, deep sleeper he thought- who knows maybe he can have more fun

for a minute he stayed stilled feeling every pulse or clench of your little pussy, he was disgusting! but he didn’t care, what he cared about was how your face would look like when you cum? how you’d look like when you wake and see the pool of white between your legs? that was enough for him to begin drilling his cock into you, the once silent room being filled with his low groans and the sound of skin slapping

“so good f’me… huh?” he breathed out “wanna cum so-fuck so-deep inside you….fill you with all my babies” his pace didn’t falter as you’d tossed against him, body shocked by the harsh and sudden intrusion. his right hand travelled down from the side of your hips to your bright red clit, pinching it softly causing your brows to furrow

“sorry baby…. just needed to do that” he laughed out, head falling down to the dip in your neck, breathing against the skin “fuck-” the blonde could feel his high coming close, he fastens his face getting ready to empty himself inside of you “fuck fuck fuck m’coming” the blonde curses, eyes screwed tightly as he spurts out a fat load inside you, moaning with every slight movement. he watched as you spasmed around him, your own high being provoked by his - he couldn’t miss the way your back slightly arched, he’d bet you were in heaven right now - well atleast he was

following a few sloppy thrusts, he flops against your sleeping body, looking up to see your face, god you looked so innocent! you hadn’t even known the way he’d violated you yet and something in him ached for you to find out, for you to wake up to the feel of his morning wood, throbbing inside of you and feel the sticky pool of cum that formed beneath you. and he couldn’t help but thrust deeper inside of you, chin resting against your head - slowly feeling his eyes close, he’ll deal with the aftermath in the morning but for now he wanted to sleep wedged inside you, sweaty bodies pressed together

[diejager]

It got deleted again 😂

Thoughts on dark childhood best friend!Johnny! Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, thigh fucking, somnophilia, tell me if I missed any.

He’s always been a bit touchy since you were kids, holding your hand, hugging you, kissing your cheek or even pressing himself against you whenever he could. It had always been innocent as kids, some kind of puppy-love that you were willing to give back, looking for him whenever you were out, eyes cued to look for the familiar blues that you came to love so much. You were neighbours, living right across from him in a quaint house, unbothered by many siblings that his mother kept popping out.

Your mother was sweet, letting him come by whenever he wanted to escape the hectic mess of his house, and you were the sweetest thing he’d ever known. You were so willing to act as his distraction, pulling him away from the chaos and into your safe haven : your room. It quickly became his room as much as it was yours, he spent so many nights sleeping in your room, sharing your bed with him, his arms wrapped around your hip and face nuzzled in your hair.

Once puberty rolled in, his voice deepening and facial hair growing, he started packing more weight and strength, his ego swelling with all the dopey eyes he received from girls his age and older, but they never strayed from you. He only had eyes for you, his best friend. They roved over your aging body, your breast swelling and hips becoming a dangerous temptation to him. He knew you looked at him as nothing but your best friend, the guy you grew up playing with and sharing happy moments, but he couldn’t stop the growing tent in his briefs when he jumped in bed with you at night.

He didn’t feel guilty about getting hard at the sight of you in shorts and an oversized t-shirt, it was natural, a reaction towards the opposite sex being so clearly comfortable with him. He became much more intimate with the placements of his hands, they would slip under your shirt, over the softness of your stomach and under your growing boobs. Despite your protest and sleepy grumble, he’d steal a touch of your pebbled nipples, round and hard before dipping down your waist and placing them a bit too high on your thighs to be considered platonic.

You complained but rarely retaliated because he reasoned with you that a lot of best friends were this touchy, grinding your ass when you were sleeping on your stomach, groping your softness while he panted and groaned, his cock leaking a wet patch on his pants. This was normal, he had rights to you that none other had because Johnny was your childhood best friend.

“One more, Bonnie,” he gasped, gazing at your lips, open and glistening with drool while you slept, unaware that he was rutting against your thigh, “A need one more, please.”

[macfrog]

psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give  me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

[tetsuskei]

kissing his soft cock through his boxers and stirring him up in his sleep till he’s hard and leaking 💭 alternatively, holding his dick in your mouth until he gets hard and throbbing and twitching 💭

[gojoest]

you wonder why your cunt is often soaked with his cum when you wake up in the mornings—parts of it already leaked out, smeared and sticky between the inner of your thighs. you would know if your husband satoru fucked you in your sleep, you would’ve felt it, he is that big. but the truth is, as you soon find out, that he has a secret little thing, a morning ritual if you will, regarding that achy hardness in his boxers upon waking up he likes to involve you in, bc otherwise the relief is not that sweet. so, he strokes himself when you sleep still, his head slightly dipped in your cunt—holding back, but barely, from thrusting deep inside you—as he carefully works the load in his balls out, and inside you….why would he waste it after all when you’re right there beside him

[hitomisuzuya]

SOMNO WITH ADVENTURINE AND HYBIRD SCARA ARE MY TWO ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE THINGS I AM DRIPPING. DROOLING. BOTH GOD WE NEED BOTH

(Separate) Hybrid! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Degradation. Scaramouche receiving. Scaramouche in heat. Collar and leash. Aventurine x fem!reader. Consensual Somnophilia. Smut. Cunnilingus. Mention of alcohol.

I have been meaning to write these for awhile😭 Aventurine's part is kind of long.

Scaramouche

Catching Scaramouche fisting his cock, lost in the unbearable heat and ache of his rut is what landed you in the position you are in now: on your knees, a collar around your neck with a silver chain leash attached, and taking Scaramouche's cock down your throat.

The links of the chain leash scrapped together as Scaramouche's hand tightened on it, you'd flattened your tongue on his cock in such a way as you sucked that it made his cock pulse hard on your tongue. Groaning, he yanked on the leash, lazily thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. Holding your head in place while he enjoyed the feeling of your throat.

"What a good little slut, letting me use your throat like a fleshlight," His ears flicked, moaning huskily as he pushed his cock into your throat. Your eyes widened, coughing and gagging as you adjusted your breathing. His thighs shook feeling your velvety throat spasm and convulse around his cock.

He ate up the adoring, teary look welling in your eyes as he degraded you. "You little whore, you've thought about this, haven't you?" He said shakily, looking down at you with a predatory smirk.

It would've been a struggle for you to nod with his cock stuffed in your mouth. Instead, you vibrated a long, happy moan on his cock, drool pooling from your mouth and rolling down his cock. You shivered feeling a hand tighten on your hair, shifting restlessly realizing your panties were wet and clinging to your throbbing clit. You slowly rubbed your thighs together in an attempt to gain some relief.

The smirk on Scaramouche's face widened. It flat out looked like you were teasing yourself. He relished in the fact that you were getting off on him using your throat however he pleased. He pulled on the leash again, using your hair as leverage to bob your mouth up and down his cock.

Your worshipping tongue lapping and curling, warm and wet on his cock sent him closer to the edge. His hips rock to pump his cock in and out of your mouth, forcing your mouth down onto his cock randomly to feel you choke on it.

Scaramouche let out a shaky whimper hearing you muffle submissive sounding moans on his cock, his fingers stroking through your hair before pulling on the leash again. "Swallow it all, pet," He hissed as cum spilled into your mouth, "Swallow it all and beg to be bred."

He was getting drunk on the power he had.

He is the hybrid, and yet you wore the collar instead.

Aventurine

Being Aventurine's secretary, it was common for you to travel with him, even if it was on a job that would demand months of his time. As much he enjoyed always having you at his side, there were certain meetings he couldn't bear to expose his sweet, doting secretary to.

Even moreso now that sloppy, drunken kisses were becoming more frequent. Kisses that he could still taste your mouth on his tongue long after he'd reluctantly pulled away.

It wasn't helping your case either that you were the walking cliche: hopelessly in love with your boss. You knew Aventurine was meeting with people that he considered a bit too unsavory, and that made you anxious. Anxious that couldn't take notes for him, or get him something that he needed.

You were anxious without him.

And Aventurine immediately sensed that. It was easy for him to see it in the way you sent him the occasional text telling him to text you if he needed anything. How sweet of you to offer to make lunch for him and bring it to him. When you sent the third text asking if he needed anything that he decided to video call you.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" You asked, your eyes searching his multicolored ones. Eyes that never failed to steal your breath away.

Aventurine chuckled. You just looked so cute he couldn't help but tease you a little. "What? Are you anxious without me?" He pulled his sunglasses down his nose some.

"No, I.." You looked away from your phone screen shyly, a deep blush coating your cheeks. Your heart shook that he saw right through you. You struggled to find your next words, shifting restlessly a little on your bed.

The shy little noises you let out made Aventurine chuckle again. "Alright, alright, I'll stop," He moved his sunglasses back up his nose. "My secretary is displeased. What to do? What to do?" He tapped his chin once thoughtfully for moment. "Tell you what, help yourself to anything in the hotel bar. Just start a tab."

"A-A tab? But.." You started to protest, but Aventurine hushed you, shaking his head. The teasing smile never left his face.

"The tab is on me. Relax a little, and I'll come check on you later," Winking, he hung up before you could protest any further. And a drink or two would surely sooth your nerves.

Much later that night, Aventurine let himself into your room. You hadn't answered the door when he knocked, nor did you answer when the lobby called up to your room to let you know he was on his way up.

Closing the door behind him, he saw why. There you were, passed out cold asleep on the bed. There a few empty glasses of your preferred choice of alcohol on the table next to the bed.

Aventurine sat down on the corner of your bed, his eyes wandering over your sleeping form. Oh, you probably didn't mean to let him see you like this. You'd fallen asleep on your back in only your panties, your shirt hiked up a little over your stomach.

You looked twice as delicate as you normally did. He moved closer to you on the bed, hesitantly reaching his hand out to touch your thigh. He gently prodded his fingers into the soft flesh, marvelling at how pliable your thigh felt. His gloved hand wandered up your thigh, keeping his eyes carefully trained on you for signs of you waking up.

Aventurine froze hearing you sigh softly in your sleep, stirring a little. His hand hovered over your thigh, close to your panties. He let out a soft sigh of relief when you did wake up.

"Aventurine," You said softly, sighing again in your sleep. His breath hitched in his throat as he took he off his sunglasses. How cute. Were you dreaming about him?

Your legs had moved apart slightly when you'd shifted in your sleep. You'd been so anxious all day, wound up so tight. His name sounded so pretty coming so dreamily from your even prettier mouth.

What would his name sound like if he made you moan it?

Call it a gamblers greed gripping him as used two fingers to push your panties aside. Why not give you something sweet to dream about? It was the least he could do given just how much you doted on him. When he shared those deep, drunk kisses with you, he could always tell your feelings for him were just on the cusps of spilling from your lips.

Aventurine pushed the tip of two fingers inside of you, biting back a groan as your juices started to soak into his gloves. He let your pussy soak into the material a little more before he raised them to his lips. "Just a little taste," He murmured, slowly licking his fingers.

A shiver danced up his spine. You tasted nothing short of divine to him. His tongue lingered, curling around his fingers to savior the taste before he carefully moved between your legs. Laughing shakily, he somehow knew just one little taste wouldn't be enough.

Aventurine's tongue dipped greedily between your folds. He struggled to swallow back moans, licking the shape of your pussy. He slurped quietly on your cunt, swirling his tongue around and around your clit.

Your body started to subconsciously react to pleasure in your sleep. Soft moans started to sound from you, only fueling the greed of his tongue. He pushed the tip of his tongue inside of you, rutting his now pulsing cock into the mattress feeling your pussy clench around it.

"Shit, I'm getting hard," He mumbled drunk into your cunt. He hastily took one of his gloves off, pushing two fingers inside of you as he scooped your clit into his mouth to suck on. "Just a few more minutes, sweetheart. Your moans sound so pretty," He fucked his tongue into your pussy with new vigor hearing you moan his name.

[blueicequeen19]

Warnings: Somno, slight non-con, step-cest

Rafe stirred in his sleep as heat flooded his body all the way down to his toes. A distinct slurping sounds met his ears as he reached beneath the duvet. He couldn’t help but feel proud of his older stuck up wife. She’d finally taken his advice and tried to spice things up.

Rafe’s smile dropped when he saw her hair fanned out on the pillow next to him, peacefully asleep just as his hand found the hair of whoever had his cock in their mouth.

Rafe yanked the duvet up, locking eyes with his new stepdaughter. The little bitch couldn’t take no for an answer. He’d avoided her advances like the plague. He needed the business that came with this marriage but she didn’t seem to care.

Rafe opened his mouth to tear into her but she took him deeper, to the point of gagging and watery eyes but she didn’t stop. It took everything in him to bite back a moan as he grit his teeth and fisted her hair.

Fine, he thought, time to teach her a lesson.

[toxicanonymity]

wakeup

1k, raider!Joel x f!reader

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

sweet pea playlist (smut songs, reader curated)

SUMMARY: PWP, really, all in bed. He comes, you go to the bathroom, come back and fall asleep, then wake up stuffed full of it again for next round.  A/N: can read alone, or for max smut the whole sequence is ✨night air, then the asleep inside blurb then come back to this. (ask) WARNINGS: No plot, somnophilia, unsafe p in v, creampies, dark fluff / possessive ruminations

Joel's arms are wrapped around you, his little spoon. Your bodies have been glued together for hours, both asleep and awake. He's grunting and sighing into your hair now, and his sounds make it easy to picture the snarl on his face. The softer Joel from hours ago is gone, but even as he gives it to you hard--and god, he gives it to you good--the buzz lingers on your neck from the tender brush of his lips.

You've been plugged up by his cock all night, and he’s about to double the load inside you.  His breath falters and he adjusts his grip, palming a breast.  His arms squeeze around you, his hips slam into you, an he pulses massively with a long sigh, releasing a fresh, warm load.  You sigh as you're filled beyond full.  Each pulse of his cock is a burst of warmth in your core and your chest. His arms loosen only slightly. He plants his lips on your neck and sucks the tender skin into his mouth before releasing it, then relaxing his head again on your pillow.

"Good girl," he pants, catching his breath.

You lie like that until you nearly fall back asleep again. You don’t want to get up, but you finally have to go to the bathroom. As you shift to move toward the edge of the bed, his cock slides out. He hums a small, dissatisfied, half-asleep, "mm?"  In the bathroom, you mourn the cum that trickles out of you. When you get back in bed, he’s snoring softly. You curve yourself into him as a small spoon and he reflexively pulls you in against him. His softening cock is sticky against your back.  

You reach behind you for it, wanting it back inside. You whisper "Joel." 

He slurs, “jus'a minute,” but falls fast asleep and doesn't budge.  You fall asleep, too. 

—---

At some point, he sleepily nestles his cock between your thighs, and it gets hard again.  He slides it in small pulses against your slippery seam. You sigh in your sleep and get really wet, adding to the mess of cum between your legs. He does it until it seems like you're about to wake up. Then, before you do, he presses on your mound, middle finger on your clit, to tilt your hips toward him.  He aligns his tip and pushes it just inside you.  

He has his right arm under your neck. He holds a breast with that hand as his left holds your mound for leverage. He begins to push into you, and when he’s far enough in to be sure the angle is just right, he plunges into your tight, moist hole, parting your insides with a sigh. Your back arches reflexively with a sweet little sigh. Oh, sweet pea. Your sweet little sounds get him every time. He pulls back a few inches then buries his length in you again, bottoming out with a moan, then your name in a whisper. 

He’s back where he belongs. 

—

You wake up just before dawn wrapped in his embrace, stuffed full of his cock, with his breath hot and humid in your hair, his body curved around yours. You sigh and cover his hand on your breast with yours, a sweet little good morning gesture.   He thrusts again, feeding your drooling cunt more of his dick. “Ya like this, sweet pea? Gettin’ it all night?” 

You sigh, “yeah,” as his cock stuffs you full again. His hand on your mound tenses and his fingers move against your clit. You twitch and moan. 

He responds, "Mmm," repeating the motion. 

He sheathes himself in you at a steady rhythm, breathing heavily and occasionally whispering.  “Want it all the time, don't ya?” You really wouldn’t mind doing it all day. If only he would stay home with you. “Feel so good, baby.” It feels so good you can't form words. “Take it so good.” 

It’s daybreak outside.  If only you could freeze everything so the night never ends.

His chest is dewy against your back. He’s curved around you for as much of your skin against his as he can get. His breathing gets heavier.  Your insides are so swollen with tension, you could come any minute. He fucks you faster, keeping his hand planted on your mound for leverage, wriggling it a little lower, dipping his fingers between your legs, nudging your clit, breathing heavily. You push back on him, whimpering. 

“Good girl,” he breathes into your hair. His fingers begin to move in rhythm. 

“Joel,” you whine.  It feels like you’re on the edge forever.  Your nipples harden and he covers one with his palm and a low moan. Your hair is getting sticky and tickles with the perspiration. A sharp thrust sends you up on the pillow and he pulls you closer, tighter. 

He fucks you and works his fingers and it swells inside you, closer and closer, until the tension bursts and overwhelms you with pleasure.  You whimper as your body jerks and your cum-coated walls choke his cock. 

"Good girl," he whispers, and you keep pulsing. "Yeah, that's good, baby,” he's slowly fucking you through it til his voice becomes uneven.  "That's good, sweet pea," he murmurs shakily. 

“Joel,” you whimper again, still squeezing his cock with your climax. You sigh and whimper, your body pressing into his with each wave of pleasure.  

“Fuck,” Joel's massive hand engulfs your hip, he grabs on and holds you still. He slams into you, bottoms out, and erupts with a deep "mmmm." The warmth of his release fills you as he draws in a long breath, then sighs.  "Ohhh,” he pumps inside you, “Mmm,” filling you  more, “oh baby," topping off his prior loads, some of it leaking out with his slow thrusts.  “Sweet pea,” His voice fades out into your hair as he finishes.

He nuzzles his nose in your hair and you fall sleep for the last time this morning. 

Joel doesn't. He doesn't fall back asleep, but he lies there with you anyway, his arm wrapped over you. He just lies there, eyes closed, feeling your body, feeling you breathe, feeling soothed. Eventually, his thoughts wander to his brutality with the man the night before, and he's more sure than ever that anyone who even thinks about touching you has it coming. His heart rate spikes, and his arms tighten--you're his.

-

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friendly reminder that he was snipped pre outbreak, no babies on the horizon.

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Thank you so much for reading and interacting. It means so much to me when you show raider joel your love!!! I notice and love y'all 🖤🖤🖤 raider joel's 6 month birthday is this month (the original), BOLO for a special moment or two. . . to the long haulers, tysm for being so invested and loyal. to the newcomers, welcome!! buckle up, lots more to come.

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All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[paperdildos]

I want him to use my body for his morning wood when he first wakes up 🤭 it doesn't matter if I'm still asleep, have me wake up full of cum and moaning in my ear how naughty it feels

[onismdaydream]

gojo + somnophilia..

satoru is damn near insatiable. the need to be next to you, bodies pressed together until he loses track of where his body ends and yours begins, drives him towards you constantly. sometimes it's as simple as wrapping his long arms around your waist and holding you close, his face perfectly slotting between your neck and shoulder. other times he craves a bit more, wanting nothing more than feeling your wet heat sucking his cock in further and further.

this ache for you is constant. the type that can become all consuming and eat him alive if he doesn't get his fix of you. satoru is a fucking addict — each sweet moan he coaxes out of you and every taste of your sweat slicked skin is another hit.

he comes home to his apartment after a mission, mind set on falling into his bed and pulling you close until sleep took over, your familiar warmth and perfume always able to soothe him. but when he opens the bedroom door, slowly as it had a tendency to creak, that pulsing desire begins to rush through his veins.

you weren't covered like you usually are. instead, the sheet is pushed to the side, your legs exposed and tempting as your sleep shorts rose up. the delicious curve of your ass makes satoru lick his lips, the need for his hands to touch your soft body overtaking him.

he stays quiet, his footsteps light as he walks to the bed, stripping off his clothing. the mattress dips slightly with his weight, making you stir slightly, though shushed whispers and satoru's gentle touch lull you back to sleep.

even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop himself from running his large hands across your body. the two of you had discussed this before and he knows that you don't mind him indulging like this. his fingers flex over your breasts, massaging the fat and slowly rolling your nipples between his digits. a soft sigh leaving your lips encourages him to continue.

one of his hands slides down to your covered cunt, ghosting over your panties before he kneads your doughy thigh. you felt so soft, so warm. every little thing about you made satoru even more obsessed, right down to the way you seem to arch back into his touches.

a part of him wants to draw this out, to take his time and be able to touch you the way he craves. but the other, more incessant part, urges him to devour.

and satoru has never been a patient man.

[oceaneyesinla]

Don't ask me what this is - I don't know. Waking up to Umemiya between your thighs has been haunting me for DAYS

CW: consentual somnophilia

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Umemiya coming home and finding you fast asleep on the covers of your shared bed. You look so cute, phone slipping out of your slackened hand, face smushed against his pillow, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of lacy panties

How can he resist such a sight? He takes such care in rolling you onto your back, careful not to disturb your rest. His angel is so sweet - always trying so hard to wait up for him, even if his business with Bofurin keeps him away into the small hours of the night.

You deserve a reward. He slips your - his - shirt up, brushing over your nipples and smiling when you twitch a little. His hands trail down, featherlight touch running along your waist and down over your hips. He drags your panties down your thighs and notes with satisfaction that there's a wet patch in the crotch; were you already thinking about him? Dreaming about him doing exactly this? It wouldn't be a surprise - he knows you adore the idea of him taking what's his, the idea of waking up already on the edge of ecstacy thanks to his skilful touch. It's a fantasy you both indulge in.

Peppering soft kisses along your thighs, he flicks his eyes up as you stir a little. It's nothing, though; you turn your head to the other side, settling down again and he continues his journey up to the prize awaiting him between your legs.

As he presses that first kiss right against your puffy clit, you let out the breathiest little moan he's ever heard and his cock twitches in his boxers. He has an angel underneath him, and he plans to make the most of it. He settles himself in the cradle of your thighs, and licks a stripe from your already fluttering hole up to your clit, before focusing his attention on that little pearl.

He feels and hears, rather than sees you wake up, because your hand moves to cradle his head against you, wrapping loosely in his hair, and your moans increase in volume as you fight through the fog of sleep to process just what is happening between your legs.

One final suck of your clit, and you fall apart for him with a loud moan, writhing in his hold as you ride out your high. He continues his ministrations until you weakly push at his head, whimpering that it's too much, you're too sensitive.

He pulls away from you and he loves what he finds. Your face is flushed and your chest is heaving, and you look so utterly fucked out already that he just has to lean in and press his lips to yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself. The whine you let out and the way you cling to him tells him you like it just as much as he does.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, hovering over you and letting you catch your breath. You look so beautiful, with that light sheen of sweat and a satisfied smile on your face.

You take advantage of his awestruck distraction and flip you both over, straddling his hips and dragging your cunt over the bulge in his trousers, drawing a low groan out of him. There's a wicked look in your eye as you trail kisses down his chest, and he knows you're both in for a long night.

[murdrdocs]

TW SOMNOPHILIA 18+

so like, telling Ethan that you’re his, no matter what, and you always will be, and at first he just takes it as a love confession. which, it is. but you meant so much more in those words. you try to tell him, really putting an emphasis on certain words (”i’m yours, e. i mean it) and he’s just not getting it so you flat out tell him that you’re into somnophilia and if he ever wants you, he can have you, even when you’re exhausted and weighed down from the strenuous life you live. it takes him some time to even consider indulging, but he comes to your apartment one night, and you’ve just put away your work and tucked yourself in after a long day of reading and rereading notes. you feel the comforter slip off your shoulders and you’re quick to try and replace it but then you hear him. 

“it’s me, baby.” and when you scoot over to make room for him his heart swells to twice its size because if you’ve had a rough day, his was miles worse. so he smiles gently and caresses your cheek that isn’t against the pillow, prompting you to snuggle into it and peel your eyes open. 

“are you getting in, e?” you ask, your voice already raspy and for a second, he regrets what he was thinking. he considers slipping his clothes off and wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his head in your chest, the place where he’s the most comfortable, until he falls asleep. but he knows he won’t be able to even truly consider sleeping until he’s satisfied. 

he blinks, and you’re out again, rolling to your back in search of another comfortable position. 

you roll to your back, your arms slipping from under the covers to wrap around ethan’s neck and pull him into a slow, lazy, sloppy kiss. 

it’s quick that the covers are pulled down and his jeans are lowered to the halfway point on his thighs. you’re slipping in and out, to and fro, small grumbles of “’m so tired, e,” spewing from your lips. 

“i know, baby. i know,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “you want me to stop? you know the word.” 

[hitomisuzuya]

HI OMG

I FOUND YOUR BLOG AND LOVE IT SO MUCH. I THINK YOUVE SEE ME LIKE A LOT OF YOUR POSTS. YOH BLOG GAVE ME WILL TO LIVE AND HOPE IN WRITTERS.

Anyways uhmmmm

Somnophillia with Scara please? Fem reader, obviously.

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Consensual Somnophilia. Cunnilingus. Pussy drunk!Scara.

Hello dear❤️ Thank you so much for you kind words. I am glad my writing can help you out🥺

It was incredibly hard for Scaramouche to sleep, and even harder for him to ignore the aching throb in his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut. You'd been shifting in your sleep all night, soft, sleepy sighs sounding from you as your ass brushed against his cock.

He barely had time to grind back against your ass in attempt to soothe the growing lust you were unintentionally fueling when you rolled over onto your back. The blanket has fallen askew over your body, making groan quietly as he feasted his eyes on your naked and vulnerable state.

Scaramouche was always one to take advantage of the permissions you'd given him.

Sitting up, he gently took the blanket off your body, reaching down to part your folds and drag his fingers between them.

All that sighing and soft moaning in your sleep, feeling how wet you are, were you dreaming about him?

Bringing his finger to his lips, he licked your slick from his finger before he moved between your legs, gently pushing them apart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, groaning softly into your cunt the moment his tongue connected with it.

His hands found your hips, caressingly them as he swirled his tongue around your clit. A soft, sleepy mewl keen from you, your body subconsciously reacting to him as you moved your hips slightly into his mouth.

Scaramouche rutted his cock against the mattress, sweeping his tongue of you as he soaked in the taste of you on his tongue. It prodded and lapped at now drooling hole, wondering if you were dreaming about him tongue fucking you while you slept.

He ate you out with his whole mouth, licking as deeply as he could, his cock threatening to spurt cum onto the mattress. He held your cunt against his mouth, languidly lapping at your pussy like a starved dog.

You twitched in pleasure in your sleep. Scaramouche felt his ego boost, knowing he was that skilled with his tongue, reducing you to a wet mess on while you slept, your walls quivering and clenching around it.

Scaramouche latched his lips around your clit. He was drunk on the taste you, slurping and sucking as quietly as he could. He vibrated muffled moans on your clit, prodding and swirling his tongue.

Just how hard would you cum in your sleep? He licked between your walls again, groaning as he sought to find that out.