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just-some-random-blogger · 7 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, biting, marking, mild choking) DD:DNE, violence/death, panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of pregnancy/labor, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo my high valyrian is probably wrong so if you know it is just roll with it. girl this fic doesnt want to end wtf i- if you like my work, please consider leaving a comment or reblog as I really look forward to them | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You fall asleep in Daemon's arms as he walks back to the Keep. He cannot help himself. His lilac eyes go back and forth between your face and where he was going. There seemed to be nothing else. It was just him, the moon, and your breathing against his neck.

When he reached the door to his marriage chambers, he was taken aback by the sudden galloping of a Cargyll twin. The knight opens the door then makes way. Daemon turns over his shoulder and realizes both brothers had been following him.

There is an angry annoyance that forces up his throat, but when you release an audible sigh, and he remembers it was he who had instructed them to retrieve you. He says two words before entering the room and kicking the door closed, "thank you."

Daemon lays you down and gulps at the sight of your body. Your brown hair falls over your face as you shuffle and reach out for nothing. He realizes then, as the urge to push your tresses away intensifies, that he's never witnessed you sleep before.

He removes your shoes, placing them at the foot of your bed.

And he never will.

Daemon walks off. He's five steps from making an exit when he hears the noise you make. He stills and waits a few seconds. You make the noise again.

With a line between his brows, he returns to you, peering over your body. Indeed, you were still asleep, but from the way your lips and forehead curled, you were dreaming of something unpleasant. He sighs, clasping his hands, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep.

There is a discomfort that spreads in his ribs as tears leave your closed eyes. He shakes his head "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He sits beside you, staring for a moment before finally brushing your hair back, doing the same with your tears. While caressing your soft skin, he finds his thumb itching to smoothen out the creases on your face that seem to only deepen. Under his breath, he speaks to you the way he would Caraxes when he's overcome with emotion. He forfeits the commanding tone however and whispers each word.

At some point, both his hands find your cheeks. He is so caught up in tracing your lips, he doesn't even realize you were no longer in distress, nor does he know of your consciousness until you lean into his touch.

He is frozen when his eyes meet yours. He starts slightly when you sit up, heart racing when you embrace him. His pulse thunders so loud that you pull away and examine his face in worry. Daemon's breath hitches when your hands clutch his cheeks. Your eyes rove across his face and again, your forehead curls. You speak in the softest of voices, "what's wrong?"

He thinks for a moment. He stares at you. You just had a nightmare, yet you ask him what is wrong? He shifts and rests his hand at the small of your back. He shakes his head as his expression falls. He whispers, "mirre iksis sȳrī, jorrāeliarza." All is well, beloved.

You do not understand him.

He repeats, "all is well."

Your features slowly relax.

His face hardens as he tests the word he omitted in translation, "beloved."

His belly flutters at the faint chuckle you release. His eyes begin to widen when you slowly lean closer.

Daemon pulls his head back, intent on watching you, but he freezes when you kiss his cheek, again and again. You kiss his jaw, his jowl, his lips. Suddenly, he can smell you so clearly. Suddenly, he pulls you in.

You gather your skirts as you climb onto his lap. You sigh as you deepen your kiss. He makes a strangled sound against your mouth when you grind on his crotch. He digs his fingers into your hips before pushing your dress out of the way to claw at your thighs.

He sighs when your hands brush his chest. His breathing grows heavy at your attempt to free him of his top. He helps you get him out of his garbs, and soon he is getting you out of yours. Once you're both naked, he pulls you in, pressing his skin against yours, unwilling to part from your body. Simultaneously, he has a strong urge to examine you, to commit to memory the hue of your skin and the curves of your flesh. Daemon, in all his greed, tries to do both at once.

With you still sitting on him, he squeezes your bum, securing you on his lap as he drinks in your visage. He shamelessly moans and pants as you continue to grind on him, and now he can feel your wetness on his hardening member. As you undo the tie of his hair and comb the silver strands back, he remembers the first time you'd ever fucked.

He is hypnotized by your confidence, by how unbridled and overt your desire for him is. Nothing remains of the timid little girl he claimed on the beach. You were lust incarnate, the goddess of sex. You scratch your nails up his nape and besiege him with open mouthed kiss. He returns your fervor, scratching his nails down back, garnering out a shaky moan from your lips

He breaks away only to ogle at your breasts and he kneads them. His breath grows heavier at your continued grinding and hitches upon catching your dazed reaction. He spews out a string of High Valyrian curses before capturing your ribcage. He sinks his face into your chest and you mewl at the feel of his hot mouth on your breast, feeling restless and needy.

"Daemon," you tug at the roots of his hair, "I need you."

You are uninclined to wait for him as you lean into his shoulder while your other hand grabs his cock. Your breast in his mouth muffles the noise that leaves him as you sink down on him. You yelp when he nips your sternum, but it does not deter you from beginning to maneuver your hips up and down.

"Fuck, fuck," Daemon huffs against your chest. He looks up at you, going mad at the sight of your closed-eyed concentration. He licks a stripe of sweat building on the side of your neck and thrusts up in sync to your movements.

"N-ñuha dārilaros," my prince falls from your lips.

He moans at that. He straightens and traps you tightly in both his arms, "where did you fucking learn that?"

You squeak as his thrusts grow more vigorous, "I- mmm- in- uh- book."

Daemon licks your lower lip before biting it, "desperate hussy," he moans against your mouth, "iksan jāre naejot pryjagon ao." I am going to destroy you.

You gasp as he pushes you back like you were nothing. Your legs immediately lock around his hips as he comes atop you and your voice trembles when his hips thrust slower but deeper as he adjusts you to the center of the bed. He nuzzles into your neck, licking your jaw. He then pushes himself up and rubs your the curve of your ass.

You yield to him as he pushes your thighs back, bringing your legs over his shoulders. Using his weight to keep you down, he takes your wrists and pins them above you while the other tightens around your throat.

He fucks you thoroughly in this position and you can do nothing but whimper, arch your back, and feel your arousal drip onto the bed.

His hand brushes up your neck and soon he's tracing your parted lips with his thumb. You take him in and bite his finger. It stokes a flame in his belly, thus why he pulls away to push a hand on the back of your knees.

You are helpless as he plows into you. Daemon, in his delirium, reverts back into his mother tongue. He sings your body praises in High Valyrian. He calls you dirty names as he slaps his hips into yours with a wet squelch. Your fucked-out expression pulls out an honest confession of how pretty he think you'd look stuffed with his seed.

Of course, you cannot understand a word he's saying, nor do you know how much calling him name is egging him on.

He watches you, his darling doe. The dragon in him relishes your screwed eyes and opened mouth. You throw your head back as you chase your building pleasure, meanwhile Daemon feels his stomach tighten as his own nears.

Fuck, you were beautiful. It would be a shame to waste his seed.

A deep line forms between his brows as he imagines the child you would bear him. Fuck. He does not want it.

He grabs your jaw and pushes your head to the side. It's enough to push you over the edge. He curses as he feels you tighten around him. You're so hot and wet and divine, he grits his teeth to build his resolve. Quickly, he quickly pulls out, gliding his cock back and forth your slick folds, sequentially finishing on your pulsing cunt and belly, just as he always does.

The image is nothing new, but it drives him no less wild. Behold, the Lord Hand's dearest daughter, all dirty with his molten come. It's a wicked, wet dream made reality. It was all his.

But there was something different. Daemon doesn't just pull away and roll over. He stares at you for a while, watching you catch your breath as he does the same. He stares at the mess he's made of you, and yes, you were filthy but you were also glimmering. He gulps, before grabbing his discarded clothes to clean you up.

He wets his dress shirt with water then wipes you down. He does the same to himself and catches you staring.

His instinct is to ruin the moment, to berate you for looking so dumbstruck and to praise the prowess of his cock, but he cannot find it in him to do so with how utterly enchanting you look in the afterglow of your love m— fucking.

You reach out to him.

His heart races.

"Stay," you whisper.

If there's one thing he hates, it's people telling him what to do.

... why then was such a simple word so compelling?

You fix the pillows on the bed as your husband crawls beside you. Daemon feels his throat constrict as you throw yourself on him. He is unable to move as you press your chests together and snake your leg over his hips. He does not know why he's become petrified by your touch. You trace your thumb across his face, "you're so beautiful."

Daemon does not reply. He cannot.

His brows furrow when he thinks he notices your eyes water. They furrow deeper when you smile and laugh out, "I wish you were real."

You feel sick after saying that.

He feels sick after hearing that.

Your prince shakes his hand and takes the hand you had on his face, "I am real."

You nod and laugh again. "I believe you."

Why then do your tears fall?

Daemon lets you curl into him. You latch onto him so tightly, he feels you would not be able to push you away even if he wanted. He doesn't want to though.

You fall asleep in his arms.

You wake up all alone.

You groan at the sound your servants telling you to rise. You brush your brown hair off your shoulder and knit your brows at the feel of your night gown. A pit instantly forms in your belly. Of course it had been a dream.

Hot tears that instantly rush down your cheeks. You hide underneath your blankets and manage to croak, "leave me alone."

You weep into your pillows for you did not know any better. You did not know Daemon had slept with you. You did not know when he awoke, he watched you sleep until the last minute. You did not know he put you into the clothes you wore because you shivered without his heat.

You hear your servants fuss over you. They ask if you're ill and in need of a maester. The only response you give are sniffles and groans. They ask if you will be able to attend today's tourney.

You moan, "what?"

"It will be starting soon, milady," one of the servants say, "do you not want to see your husband joust? He is quite good."

You know she says it to entice you, but it only makes you feel sick. After all, you did not know Daemon roused early, only because he needed to prepare for the tourney. You never will.

The same servant says, "and your brother? Isn't it his last day in King's Landing?"

You push your blankets down and stare at your two servants.

"Milady," the other says softly, "it would be good to attend."

"I do not want to behold my brother in such violence," you snuggle into bed.

The servants turn to each other, and one offers, "you can close your eyes upon collision, princess."

You sigh and shake your head. You think of Daemon. You think of how he'll surely hurt Gwayne if they face each other. Your think of how he'd done so in a tourney once before. You shake your head, "I do not want to go."

So you do not.

When the tourney commences, Daemon is most eager to make his entrance. One by one, the players are called, and upon his turn, he trots on his horse with a look of pride. He basks in the cheers as his eyes fall to the main balcony, where he quickly spots the king. His expression further brightens at the sight of his brother's smile and his niece's grin. When he spots your sister and your ugly father, he looks the crowd once over, looking for you. His lips flatten when he realizes you're not there. He awaits your arrival, forfeiting the first pick to witness your entrance, then he realizes, you wouldn't be coming. Suddenly, it was as though he never woke up in a good mood.

Meanwhile, you were aimlessly roaming the castle with one Cargyll twin trailing behind you. You do not know who it is, as you cannot find it in you to speak to him. You knew if you did, you'd end up asking him what happened after him and his brother found you in the temple. You did not want to be disappointed by the reality you'd dreamed up Daemon, so you hold your tongue.

You are torn from your lonesome trance when you hear wailing across the hall. You find yourself drawing near to the source, and you realize it was coming from Queen's chambers. Your feet falter when it dawns on you she was now in labor.

One of the servants spots you and curtsies, "princess. Have you come to visit the queen?"

You release a shaky breath, "I-"

"Who is it?!" Aemma snaps loudly then sighs.

You step back, heart racing. You gasp when you knock into Cargyll's chest plate. Another gasp comes when you turn forward and find the face of the queen. She looks distraught and yet she laughs, "your husband visited me just this morning."

You watch as she groans and rubs her belly, "he requires your attention more th-" she winces, "than I."

You cannot help but take her arm, "s-should you not be in bed, my queen?"

Aemma sighs, squeezing your arm in return, "walking can help speed-" she does not continue as her face curls in discomfort.

You feel your breath hitch as she squeezes you tighter, "sh-shall we walk to-together?"

She looks at you, a deep line between her brows, "Daemon was very excited for today's tourney. You should be there cheering for him."

"But-"

Aemma lurches forward as a particularly painful contraction hits her.

She is taken by the midwives and lead back into her chambers. You are so stunned by the encounter, your ward has to reel you back and shake you.

"My princess," he takes your shoulders.

You look at him, unable to speak. Your eyes become glassy but you manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

"Do not distress," he says, rubbing your arms, "the queen has everyone she needs at her disposal."

Your lips wobble, "her p-pain must be unbearable."

He cannot help the twist of his face nor how his face reaches out for your cheek, "you need not think about anyone else's pain. You have far too much of your own."

You do not respond to him until you find yourself in the gardens. You are grateful he did not think to lead you into the maester's ward, and guilty that you still do not know who it was accompanying you.

"Erryk?"

"Yes, my princess?"

You turn from the flower bushes to him, "did I get it right?"

He knits his brows and nods, "yes, my princess."

"Apologies for not speaking to you earlier. I... was not in good spirits."

"You needn't apologize for doing what is best for you."

You lower your head, "you are too kind to me."

"I really ought to be kinder," he says, taking your hand in both of his.

You look at him as he rubs your knuckles. You smile and cover his hands with yours.

"I would tell you to watch the tourney if I were kinder," Erryk says.

You laugh, "it is precisely because you are kind that you do not tell me to do such things."

Erryk thinks how inappropriate it was of him to act this way, to hold your hand, to impose his opinions upon you. If he was kinder, he would not be so apparent with his fondness. He mutters, "I am dutiful, my princess, but I am not kind."

You knit your brows at that.

He does not clarify and pulls away, "perhaps you would like to go out and pick flowers again?"

You smile at the thought, but remember your brother, "I do not want to miss my brother. He will leave today before sunset no matter what."

He nods. If he were kinder, he'd offer to take you to the tourney to see your brother while he is still here, but he also does not want to bring you to your husband.

You think of the tourney nonetheless, as well as the queen's words. You sigh and shake your head, "would it be inappropriate to watch the games at this hour?"

Erryk is surprised by your question.

"I do not want to appear as though I meant to make an entrance."

"I assure you," he shakes his head, "no one would think it. It is not your nature."

You chuckle to yourself, turning to your feet, "you're right. They'd probably assume I was subject to the horrors. As it is my nature."

"That is not what I mean-"

"A jest," you smile, "a mere jest."

When you arrive at the tourney, your father immediately assumes exactly what you said, and looks you over in concern. You simply agree with what he assumes to save yourself the trouble but reassure him you were better. You then assume the seat beside Alicent.

It's harder to reassure her, as her worry is more frantic than your father's. She secures her hand in yours throughout the event, and tells you which players she thinks will do poorly so you are not so shocked if they end up on the ground.

You are glad of it, but in truth you pay little attention to the violence. You let your mind wander, counting how many birds fly overhead. You daydream about flying on Caraxes. You daydream about embracing Daemon from behind.

You are only pulled back into reality when you hear your brother's name announced.

Alternatively, Daemon rolls his eyes as he dawdles around his tent, waiting for his turn to bash someone in with his lance.

You perk from your seat, watching the man with the Hightower sigil gallop across the stadium, all the way to you. Gwayne removes his helmet and smiles. He calls out, "I am glad to see you, sister. I was concerned you would not come."

Daemon stills when he hears this and looks out his tent.

"Cast away your concerns. Focus on staying on your horse," you call back.

Gwayne offers his lance, "perhaps your favor will keep me upright, princess."

You roll your eyes at your brother's teasing regard. Still, you stand and throw him a wreath, "do not dare fall off your horse, ser."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he puts his helmet back on.

As the Hightower twins were speaking, Daemon exited his tent and mounted his horse. Without even looking at the man who meant to go against Gwayne, the prince announces he will have his turn and gallops off, leaving everyone nothing else to do but follow.

Daemon replaces your brother, huffing as he halts before you. He looks up at you and your parted lips, your braided brown hair, your terribly modest dress. Suddenly, his chipper mood returns to him. He licks his lips and grins, calling out your name.

Alicent turns to you, gripping your hand. Rhaenyra turns to you, chuckling under her breath. Otto turns to you, clenching his jaw. Viserys turns to you, smiling softly. You turn to Daemon, voice breaking, "husb-and."

Your husband releases a breathy laugh. His stomach feels fuzzy, "I am gladdened by your appearance."

Your throat tightens yet your jaw slacks. He is?

Daemon watches you. He waits for your response but receives none. It makes his brows furrow, but his smile remains. He points his lance, "give me your favor."

"I-"

"He's already given her favor, uncle," Rhaenyra says, leaning forward.

Daemon's eyes remain on you, "then she'll give another."

The princess laughs, "she cannot favor two knights. Especially not two knights jousting against each other."

Daemon finally turns to his niece. She smiles at him as he huffs, "fine," but the prince turns to Alicent, "if I cannot have my wife's favor, her sister's suffice."

Rhaenyra turns to Alicent. Alicent turns to you. Your eyes do not leave Daemon. Your sister pulls away and takes the wreath, dropping it on his lance, "I do hope fortune finds you, my prince."

Daemon nods at her.

Alicent sits back down, turning between her friend and her sister. The former looks sulky while the latter looks agitated. Your heart pounds as Daemon smiles at you once he is positioned opposite Gwayne. You misinterpret his expression. Alicent takes your hand, and this time you squeeze her tightly as you turn to your twin, "he will hurt Gwayne."

Your sister watches you gulp and rubs your hand, "it's a tourney."

You turn to Alicent with wide eyes, "precisely," you rapidly shake your head, "I should not have come."

Alicent lowers her head to offer you a solemn expression, "our brother is not made of glass. He is knight and a formidable player in his own regard."

You smile at your sister and nod, trying to find comfort in her words. You look back at Daemon, finding him already looking at you. His grin is renewed and you feel your stomach churn. You shift on your chair and avert your gaze to your brother. Gwayne is already faced forward with his helmet on. You mutter a prayer of protection under your breath.

Daemon's brows knit when you do not turn back to him. He tries to will you to look with his mind, but you do not, not even when the horses begin to run.

Gwayne manages to hit him, the cunt's lance colliding with his chest where his own misses. A point is called and the crowds cheer. Daemon turns to you and finds a look of relief on your face. It causes his lips to tighten. He barks as he charges the second time.

Gwayne hits him again, this time, nearly dismounting him. Daemon skids on the railing but manages to get himself upright.

The prince huffs, eyeing his opponent darkly. His eyes trail back to you, finding you looking out to him in concern. Part of his anger dissipates, but then you turn to your brother, gesturing vaguely. Your twin gestures back and you roll your eyes at him. Daemon doesn't understand what it means, but it irritates him all the same.

He huffs and decides to be done with this bother. The prince is silent until the horses start running again. His lance expertly makes the hit, causing the horse to topple forward, effectively sending the ginger cunt flying off. The heavy crashing and loud gasps are music to his ears. Daemon looks back at his opponent and laughs. He chucks his splintered weapon to the side and entices cheers with his victory scream.

The only reason his celebration stops is because he hears shrill scream from the balcony. He turns and finds you standing by the railing, calling out to your brother. Your father and sister are stood behind you, trying to calm you down. You thrash against them and manage to slip away. Daemon watches you leave the balcony and the Cunt Hand gives an apologetic look to the king.

Erryk follows you as you make your way down the arena to Gwayne's tent. He is uneasy by how distressed you were, and though he knew your distress would not wane until you see the condition of your twin, he did not like the idea of you coming to him, lest it inspire the rage of your husband, who was rather happy to watch your brother crumple to the ground.

You find Gwayne laid on a cot, attended by some squires. His helmet is removed and his pained expression makes you run to him.

"Brother," you come to his side, finding relief in the maester that enters his tent.

You tense when your brother calls your name and you worriedly wipe the blood that trickled down his philtrum with a towel.

He groans and you pull away, allowing the maester to inspect him. His bent breastplate is removed and you see bruises on his pale chest. The measter presses his ear against his chest and turns to you, "Lord Gwayne is strong. He will be fine."

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod, "thank you. Thank the gods."

"You should not be here," Gwayne groans as he sits up.

You glare at him, gripping your skirt.

"Get her out of here, Carygll," he motions vaguely. Erryk comes to your side on cue.

You scoff, "hypocrite. If you were in my place, would you leave if I asked you?"

"Please," he looks up at you with tired blue eyes, "I do not wish to quarrel."

"Then do not wish me away!" you shake your head, "I-"

Your attention is stolen when your name is called again. You, as does everyone else, turn to the man who walks into the tent. Daemon knits his brows, gaze lingering on your twin before turning to you. He brings his hands behind him and sighs, "See. I did not kill him. You needn't be so worried, darling."

The pet name makes you feel sick. Erryk clenches his jaw.

"Come," he reaches a hand out to you, "your heart will only heavy with worry if you stay here. There's plenty of space in my tent."

Anger builds in you at his callousness. Gwayne recognizes it and curses under his breath. He watches you intently, noticing the twitch of your face twitches and the very moment you resign yourself to your husband's whim. He stares at his lap, unwilling to witness the bitter tears he knew would come after you take his hand.

Daemon shoots Gwayne a shit-eating grin as he walks out of the tent, but the cunt does not even see it. Still, he is pleased as he brings you to his tent and immediately pours you a cup of wine. The prince freezes when he realizes you had been silently sobbing. You stand there aloof as tears wet your face.

The prince drops the cup he meant to offer you and captures your cheeks. He gazes at you in concern and repeats what he had already said, "I did not kill him."

Your eyes focus as he swipes your cheeks. The coldness in your gaze unnerves him, "you did not have to be so cruel."

He pulls his head back, "cruel?"

You say nothing.

Daemon chuckles dryly, releasing you, "we were both in a tourney," he chuckles again, "girl."

You flinch when he calls you that. Your father's face appears in your head.

The prince is riled up by your silence. His stomach is uneasy by the steady flow of your tears. He scoffs, "your brother lost, but your husband-" he enunciates, "won."

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, "yes," you offer him a smile, "apologies. Congratulations, my prince."

He stills at your words. He finds no satisfaction in it. His jaw feathers and he scoffs again, "do not congratulate me. I've still others to defeat."

You nod and step forward, "yes," you place your hand on his shoulders, "you are not injured at all, are you?"

It's as though your hands were heating his armour. He flinches when you touch his face. You pull your hands away ready to apologize for the intrusion but then he barks, "I am not feeble like you and your twin."

His anger is familiar. It is no worse than that of your father's, thus how you sustain your stillness.

Somehow it is worse that you do not react.

Daemon clenches his fists at your blankness, "say something, damn it."

You are taken off-guard by the desperation you discern, "w-what do you want me to say?"

"..."

"Do you have nothing more to tell me than I am cruel?"

The softness of his voice strikes a fear in you that you have not yet known. Your hands begin to tremble.

In a second, his softness is gone, and he snaps, "if you love that cunt so dearly, you should have married him instead."

You are stoic as Daemon storms off. The prince glares at Erryk, who had been waiting outside his tent the whole time, "get that bitch out of here."

Your ward's face contorts in contempt as your husband walks away. When Erryk makes his way towards you, he is unnerved by your stillness. He reaches for your arm, "princess?"

You turn to him and suddenly, you're laughing.

Goosebumps form underneath Erryk's armor.

"He said I should have married Gwayne instead," you turn to him.

He is tense at your eerily jovial expression. He mutters, "I heard."

"I do not ascribe to the unorthodox ways of his house," you shake your head. You laugh again but tears begin to flow after, "he thinks I'm stupid, doesn't he?"

The man gulps at your words and frowns, "even if he thought your skin was green, it would not make it so."

You laugh, but it is not so unsettling this time.

Erryk leads you out of the tent, "where to, my princess?"

"I... would like to go for a swim."

He takes a moment to think but then nods, "there is a stream that not many know of. We could go there. It is no very far."

As the tourney progresses, Daemon takes out his anger on his opponents. The is no satisfaction in any of his wins however, as each time, the looks over his shoulder to search for your face, and each time he is reminded you are not there.

At some point, he's so distracted that one vermin opponent manages to dismount him. He rages and screams for his sword. His foe grabs a flail. In the end, the prince is overpowered and forced to yield. It takes everything in him not to lunge at the stupid fuck as he walks towards the princess and her friend.

He storms to his tent, unwilling to be attended by anyone. He barks as a trembling squire, "I want my wife."

"S-she left with ser Car-"

Daemon kicks his table down.

"I-I— I will go call for her-"

He groans in pure vexation as he removes his armor. He looks down at himself, finding dirt, bruises, and small cuts on his body. His eyes water, but not in pain. You would clearly spare him no sympathy for his injuries. He did not even win. His breathing grows heavy in anger. It doesn't take long until he is overcome with emotion. Instead of drinking the cup of wine he poured himself, he slams it to the ground then proceeds to raze the other furniture in his tent.

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sthilarions · 5 days ago

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For my own sanity I choose to believe that when Charles does things like say to Crystal “I know, I know, but…” (implying that he finds Edwin annoying) that it’s a pre-agreed upon thing

We’ve seen that they deliberately split up social roles, which in most cases means Charles is good cop and Edwin’s bad cop. That’s established from the very beginning: Charles is smooth and reassuring and likable with Emma, but when they need someone to “play hardball” (to make sure they get paid, and also because Emma is being fraudulent) Edwin takes over. It’s established later that their social division of labor is very intentional, with Edwin explicitly stating that he’s taking over for negotiation with the Cat King and talking to Shelby because those fall more under his area of social expertise.

Meanwhile, Edwin’s very aware that he’s sharp and abrasive and, well, a bit of an acquired taste for the majority of the human population. He knows most people find him annoying.

So it makes perfect sense, honestly, for part of their good cop-bad cop setup to involve Charles intentionally playing off Edwin’s abrasiveness - building rapport with people by commiserating with them over how annoying Edwin is. That’s a standard part of how good cop-bad cop dynamics work, the good cop looks better by contrast with the bad cop, is seen as a savior from them or at least a relief.

It’s 100% a lie from Charles’s side - he does not, in fact, find Edwin annoying in the slightest - but Edwin already knows that other people do and he does not mind that fact being used to their advantage, so Charles eventually agrees to go along with that strategy. We even see that, in canon, when Charles tells Emma in a conspiratorial voice that Edwin’s about to play hardball… and then proceeds to watch Edwin do so with utter heart-eyes.

(Which is all very well until Charles starts going off with Crystal and bulldozing over Edwin’s needs and anxieties in favor of Crystal and taking Crystal’s side over a significant period of time, instead of just during a moment of negotiation, and Edwin starts to wonder if this time Charles actually means it, and even if he’s meant it all along, if that’s why he hates their afterlife, because he’s always found Edwin as annoying as other people do and just been more polite about it than most - meanwhile Charles has no idea that Edwin could think he means it because WTF, of course he doesn’t.)

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #mine

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httpsdana · 2 months ago

Note

Can you write one where reader LOVE Kenan's smile and can't help but kiss all his face everytime he smile. He always get shy but adore when she does this so he bury his head on her neck and ask for more kisses when she stop (also can you add her squeezing his cheeks and giving pecks on his lips)

Dimples Bloom~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・ prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: im literally so obsessed with his smile and dimples he's so cute wtf 💔

Kenan’s laugh filled the quiet room. It was soft and breathy. The kind that came from deep in his chest, the kind that made her heart melt.

They were curled up together on the couch, legs tangled with a blanket thrown over the both of them, and his phone forgotten somewhere between the cushions.

He had just told a silly story from training. Something about a teammate tripping over a cone and the way his eyes crinkled and his dimples popped out had her falling for him all over again.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, looking at him like he just hung the stars in the sky.

Kenan raised an eyebrow, still giggling. “What?”

She sat up slightly, cupping his face with both hands. “You’re so cute when you laugh, it’s actually unfair.”

His cheeks flushed pink immediately. He always tried to play it cool, but compliments from her turned him into the shyest boy alive.

Before he could even respond, she leaned in and kissed the dimple on his right cheek, then the one on the left, then the tip of his nose, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. She could feel his blush deepen under her lips.

“Baby,” he mumbled, flustered, hiding his smile behind his hand.

She gently tugged his hand away and gave him a soft peck on his lips. “don't hide. I wanna see that smile.”

He tried to look away, but she caught his cheeks between her palms and squished them lightly giggling slightly. “Stop being so cute, I’m trying to stay sane here.”

“You’re not sane,” he muttered with a small grin, cheeks still squished. “You’re obsessed with my face.”

“Can you blame me?” she said as she leaned in again, pressing another kiss to the dimple that had reappeared the moment he smiled. “This is my favorite part of you. Right here. Cutest dimples in the world.”

Kenan groaned softly and dropped his head onto her shoulder, burying his face into her neck. “You’re making me blush…”

She smiled, hugging him closer as her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He didn’t pull away. In fact, he curled into her even more, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist . His voice came out muffled and soft, brushing against her skin as he spoke.

“You stopped…” he whispered.

She blinked confused. “Stopped what?”

“The kisses…” His voice was almost a whine now. “Give me more…please"

Her heart flipped at how needy he sounded. Her clingy and blushing boy who could never get enough of her kisses

She laughed softly and tilted his chin up so she could see his face again. “You want more kisses?”

He nodded, eyes wide and pleading, cheeks flushed a warm pink.

She didn’t hesitate before she kissed his cheeks again, then his forehead, his temples, his nose, and finally his lips. Softly and repeatedly, until he was smiling against her mouth, melting into every single peck.

He pulled her onto his lap, arms tight around her waist like he never wanted her to leave, and rested his head against her chest.

“I love when you spoil me,” he murmured.

“So do I,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “You and that smile of yours? I’ll never get enough of those,”

He looked up at her, his smile bright and eyes soft.

“Then I’ll keep smiling just for you.”

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

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decembermidnight · 1 year ago

Text

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin.

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him.

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

1K notes · View notes

alexispunkkk · 4 days ago

Text

get free

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 9

read the series!

last chapter | next chapter

- warnings: kissing, sex, unprotected sex, orgasm, dacryphilia, virginity loss, innocence loss, religious trauma and guilt do i even need this warning anymore??, HELLA body worship, you love joel's happy trail (who doesnt??), finger sucking, lowk spit kink wtf, it doesn't fit.., crying, hypersexuality, joel's dick is huge thanks and he has a BELLY (i'm feral), tons of banter aw, god i love this man, lana del rey lyrics and inspired title woohoo

- summary: further physicality and vulnerability--this time in joel's bed. with no cross necklace on.

- word count: 5.8k

on ao3

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Still wrapped in the afterglow and feeling of his mouth on you, your chest rises and falls under Joel.

The weight of him on top of you is solid and warm, pushing you into the bed in a sheltering way. His chest brushes yours with each breath, hips pushing down and body slotted between your legs the same way his tongue slides into your mouth.

His stomach is soft where his shirt rides up, pressing warmly against yours. Weirdly domestic.

There’s heat radiating from every square inch of his body, enveloping you in a protective embrace as if letting you know he’s not letting you go again. Not after tonight, definitely. Not after being the honorary figure to take your innocence.

Candidly, his mouth feels like a promise. He’s got you. And when your lips disconnect, he hears a soft breath, and sits up between your legs.

Your hands move forward, aching to touch him. The exposed sliver of stomach gets worse when you push the shirt up, attempting to unbutton the rest of it to no avail.

“Butterfingers,” Joel chuckles softly, sitting back on his knees.

He does the work for you, unbuttoning each little piece of hard plastic with ease until his broad torso is fully exposed. And fuck, he’s gorgeous.

He’s slimmed down the tiniest bit since the last time you’ve seen him, probably due to the obsessive behaviors to distract himself from you. Maybe cut down on the beers. Whichever way, he looks incredible.

He continues, shrugging off the button-down and getting up to discard his belt and jeans. Comes back in only a pair of black boxers, tented and hugging the unmistakable bulge over his crotch.

It’s covered, but it's undoubtedly huge. Enough to make you salivate.

The second he’s back between your legs, he’s admiring you in a way you’ve never felt before. Your fingers rest nervously on your own stomach as you feel the unfamiliar weight of a man over you. The real, physical body of a man–hard, tanned, everything. Not God, but Joel. Solid and strong but softened over the years, a few scars littering his body: one on his chest, on his right hip, and the one on his temple you’ve memorized.

Joel notices the way your hands twitch and quickly wraps them up in one hand, lifting them to his mouth, lips all pink from working relentlessly between your legs a few minutes ago.

“Still good, angel?”

You nod quickly, feeling your heart quicken with the gentleness in which he’s touching you. The way his single hand can collect both of your wrists in one grip, so large compared to you. The way you can feel the heat radiating through the thin fabric of his boxers. The way he looks at you with utmost tenderness like the sweetest thing he’s ever seen–or tasted.

“Still good,” you answer with a dopey smile, eyes scanning all over his chest. Seeing a man like this for the first time feels adjacent to making sense of an old English passage back at school–unfamiliar, but incredibly rewarding. “Very good.”

He laughs again at your emphasis with the ‘very,’ watching the way your gaze gravitates to his lower stomach. He frees your hands, letting you explore.

Your first stop is the happy trail leading down his stomach.

His dark, wiry hair is grayer than you’d expected–curly and covering his chest, leading down to that sweet area with the little ‘v’ that, essentially, is giving you an arrow down to his cock. Everything about him is so thick and grown, showing off years of experience. Years of working and carrying.

“Don’t gotta look at me like that,” Joel notices your fascination, shaking his head with a crooked grin.

“I’ve never seen this before,” you defend yourself, sitting up and smiling like an idiot while you take him in. You don’t mean to stare, he’s just so real looking.

That earns an amused huff from Joel. He moves to flop down beside you, stretching out and facing you on the bed.

“Never seen what? A man?”

You groan dramatically and laugh, stuffing your face into his neck. You only peek out a few moments later, looking up at him with candied eyes.

“Yes, a man. Shirtless, y’know. Like this.” You gesture toward his lower stomach, the hair disappearing into his waistband that’s reserved a spot in your brain by now. Pointing somewhere private and forbidden that you crave to see.

Joel raises an eyebrow, watching each flicker of your eyes down south.

“This givin’ you trouble?” He smirks, splaying a large hand over his lower belly. The hair comes out, curls around his fingers, and you almost drool.

Biting back another stupid laugh, you nod, teeth caught on your bottom lip. “Maybe.”

He reaches for your hand, gently taking it in his and leading it down to his stomach.

“Come on, baby. You’re allowed to touch, y’know.”

Obviously, you’re not gonna decline that offer. Your fingers graze the ridges of muscle, the veins leading down to where you want to feel most. He’s so strong even there, so solid. Warm and alive, human enough to be a little ticklish–you can tell when he twitches in place. It makes both of you chuckle.

Knowing that this isn’t really something you’ve seen before or gotten to experience, he lets you explore. Like he’s a fucking map, letting you drag your fingers wherever you please.

And he’s pleased as well. Proud, warm, and entirely yours to traverse.

“S’totally unfair,” you smile, pressing your face into his shoulder while engrossed in his stomach.

“What’s unfair?”

“How good you look.” it’s the most foolish thing you could’ve said, but it speaks volumes of truth. It is actually unfair that he gets to live and look like this, and you’ve waited until now to get a feel of it.

Joel snorts, giving your arm a gentle shove, rubbing the spot soon after to ensure that it didn’t hurt–even with how soft the push was. He shakes his head in disbelief, but you swear you can see a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he smiles, kissing the top of your head. “S’not that big of a deal.”

“I’m so serious right now.” you pout up at him. “And it is a big deal. You’re so manly. N’ real. Hair and scars and a belly and everything. Big, too.”

That earns another laugh from him, a real one. Deep in his chest.

“Big?” He repeats in disbelief, bracing himself up with a grunt and flipping you onto your back again, crawling over you.

“Big,” you confirm, blowing hair out of your face when he climbs over you. With familiarity, your legs spread, and he lays between them. “Like, big and warm. S’a good thing. You can protect me or something, I dunno.”

Joel leans down, his mouth brushing your mouth again to quiet you down, to stop you from making a grown, hardened man blush.

“Alright, alright.” He smiles and shifts his weight to support himself on one arm, the other moving down. “That’s enough out of you. Quit it with the sweet-talkin’.”

His hand finds the sweet spot between your legs, gently spreading your folds back open to check how wet you are.

And just to his suspicions, you’re entirely soaked again. Dripping. His fingers slide through with ease, collecting slick on them and humming in approval.

“No. I’m just being appreciative. You could throw me against a–”

Joel takes the two fingers he just slid through you, lifting them and quickly slipping them between your lips. That cuts you off.

You can taste yourself on his digits, stronger than earlier when he kissed you after eating you out. You let out a muffled squeak, eyes going wide, but your tongue instinctively wraps around them and gives them a gentle suck.

“Jesus, girl. Talkin’ too much,” he huffs when you start to suck at his fingers, taking them out of your mouth and wiping the mix of saliva and arousal on the sheets underneath you. “You done?”

Clearly, you’re not, because you grab for his wrist and put the two fingers right back into place in the warmth of your mouth.

“Nope.” you murmur, voice muffled by the two large digits stuffed between your lips, catching your tongue in place.

Oddly enough, it feels unfamiliarly comfortable for them to sit in your mouth like that. The taste of yourself comes second to the feel of Joel–the roughness of his fingers, the warmth, and the curve of his knuckles. This time, you don’t suck to tease. More to savor the taste and feeling, because it feels good. Yes, it’s filthy. But it’s safe. You feel kept–you feel like Joel’s.

He snorts when you continue to suckle them, but his thumb brushes your cheek with a gentleness that can’t be ignored. As much as he is loving teasing you right now, he can’t help fall victim to the softness of it all.

“Okay,” he softens and smiles. “C’mon now.”

He gently directs his fingers from your mouth, letting your tongue detach before slipping them out. He hesitates for a second, but cleans off your saliva in his own mouth.

When Joel lifts his hand, sucking the excessive amount of your spit off of his own fingers, your breath hitches in your chest. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, as if it’s some instinct for him, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

The way his fingers slip out with a pop and the way his eyes are locked on yours the whole time is enough to make your hips jolt up. And of course, he feels it.

After–very self-indulgently and deliberately–sucking those clean, he smirks and sits up, grabbing the backs of your thighs.

“Don’t get shy now,” he whispers, beginning to kiss a soft trail up your chest. It moves toward the right, his lips grazing the skin near your armpit before continuing up your arm, lifting it as he works. “You’re the one who tasted em’ first. Just had to get my chance.”

“You make it look all sinful, though.” you whine, leaning back and arching up as he presses kisses to the expanse of your skin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his head when he decides he’s done with the kisses. Hovering over you, he gently collects both of your wrists in one hand, pushing them behind your head.

The fact that his hands are big enough to hold two wrists as if it’s the easiest thing–oh god.

“Enough with the whinin’.” Joel advises, lifting your chin with his free hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His lips seem to do the job, because you’re shut up in seconds. Your eyes gloss over again, all hazy and admiring, looking at him like he hangs the moon.

Once you’re quiet, the air settles a bit more, your breaths synchronising again in soft waves. His hand remains firmly around your wrists, anchoring you to the bed in a protective manner, but his head moves down. Your lips attach, and everything stops.

Again.

You’ve kissed Joel a few times now, but each time, it still catches you off guard all the same.

You’ve gone all these years with only one lousy kiss from a college boy, now into your young adulthood and never having any experience. And Joel Miller has to be the one to take it. He kisses you with such certainty and soft reverence, like you’re the only thing he has left on this earth. Like he’s afraid to break you any further.

No rush to it. No push, not too much fervor. More of a quiet passion, kept in the secrecy of Joel’s little house. The weight of his palm is as steadying as his mouth is, tethering each part of your body into the safety of his bed.

Joel exhales against your cheek mid-kiss, and you respond with an adjacent sigh into his mouth.

Sighing because you realize that for once, you’re doing something ‘bad’ and not allowing the loop of your father’s preaching and God’s rules rotate in your head.

And it feels so, so freeing to not have that following you anymore.

Eventually, though, his pace does pick up. His lips move quicker against yours, his tongue working overtime to explore every bit of your mouth. The grip around your wrists tightens without him noticing, and it’s working you up too fast.

You don’t really know how to handle it. It feels good, but it’s awfully overwhelming.

He feels the pace of your breathing and heartbeat pick up, your hips shifting under him and the quiet sounds of slight worry slipping from your throat and into his. Your body is betraying how much you want this, but also the embarrassing inexperience you possess. It scares you.

Joel, of course, doesn’t think it’s embarrassing. He’s not here to judge you.

He stops, lifting his head, those softened caramel eyes meeting your glossed-over gaze.

“Honey,” he begins, brushing a loose strand of hair back. His breath is all over your face, making you too warm. “It ain’t a race. Calm down a bit.”

He finally lets go of your wrists, hands trailing down your arms–fingertips grazing your skin with recognition of your nerves. They meet your hands, gently lacing your fingers into his and offering a tight squeeze.

His voice is a warm reminder that he’s here to take care of you, not hurt you.

“You tell me when you’re ready for more. I’ll lay here as long as you need.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and squeezing his hands back, bringing yourself back to a normal state. It takes a few seconds, but you calm down enough to speak.

“Sorry.”

“No.” Joel shakes his head, voice now abruptly stern compared to the last time he spoke. “No apologies. You’re not doin’ anything wrong.”

He sits up, taking a deep breath as he gazes over the stretch of your body underneath him–your legs around him, bare skin exposed all for him. Every inch of you. His. He gently holds your waist to move you down a bit, getting you nice and comfortable on his bed.

You should feel a little insecure. It’s your first time doing anything, your first time being bare in front of a man like this. Hell, you normally feel insecure walking around with a full set of clothes on.

But Joel’s gaze doesn’t make you self-conscious. It might be a little heavy, but it’s careful. Admiring you with a passion you’re unfamiliar with. It slows your heartbeat, pulling you into the simplicity of the moment, especially when his hands meet your thighs again.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one to your cheek. Then a single peck on the lips.

“You’re quiet now. You ready for more? Done with the compliments?” He smiles, patting your shoulder and leaning back again. He’s settled between your legs, strained against the fabric of your boxers, but somehow still looking like some strange, giant teddy bear.

His gruff exterior is replaced with a stupid grin, one that only you can elicit.

Your need resurfaces at the sight of him leaned back like that, so thick and muscled. The light hits his chest just right, making his hair glow in an angelic way. His hand remains on your thigh, gently fondling the meat of it while he takes a deep breath in.

“Alright. That means you tell me if you wanna slow down or stop. We’re gonna go slow. Gonna make sure it’s right for you, yeah?” He whispers after seeing you nod.

“I know.” you nod again, hips shifting just a bit–making it obvious to him that you’re not trying to wait any longer.

Joel’s gaze stays focused on you while he shifts back himself, just enough to get his legs out from under him. His hands move slowly, dragging down his body until they meet the waistband of his boxers.

The main thing you’ve been ogling for the past twenty minutes.

His fingers tangle into the mess of hair leading down to the band for a second before slipping in. The fabric slides down slowly, and your breath hitches with each little hair or vein that gets exposed.

The movement is gentle despite being vulgar, still so reverent. You’re looking at him like he’s something sacred, with the simple act of undressing himself. And he ensures he's not rushing it–just as promised–letting you watch each stretch of skin with utmost patience.

When they slip free and he gets the fabric off, tossing them on the floor, you can almost feel yourself salivating.

His body is so warm and real, but his cock is a further demonstration of the masculinity you’ve been drooling over all night. His muscles flex with each movement, the length of it bobbing back and forth when he moves closer. It’s all so unpretentious, and he’s much too casual being exposed like this.

But that’s what makes it feel good. The domesticity of it all, the fact that you’re comfortable enough to lay naked next to one another.

Joel’s gaze is on you the entire time, but yours is locked downward. When you finally take a break from ogling his cock, you look back up, giving him a bashful expression–earning a smile, of course.

He moves forward, spreading your thighs open to reveal an even wetter mess of the pussy he ate earlier. But he doesn’t tease, just opens them up and settles down between them with a quiet sigh.

One more kiss to your cheek, and another chaste one to your lips, before he strokes your hair and leans down.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” he whispers into your ear. “And I’m glad to be the one doing this with you.”

The way he whispers makes you shiver on the spot, your thighs trying to close around his body that he’s stationed between them. The thought of making you shy like that only entices him to whisper more.

“Gonna go nice and slow. All you gotta do is breathe and be here with me. Got it?”

All you can do is whine, but Joel needs confirmation.

“Got it?” he repeats, the gruff side of him coming out for a moment, because he’s not playing around with the consent.

“Got it.” you manage out, voice tremoring in anticipation.

He hums, a low rumbling in his chest when he sits up again, grabbing the base of his cock. He lines it up against you, tilting his head while he takes in the sight of his tip pressed against your soaked flesh.

Again, he’s not trying to rush you. Thus, he resorts to slowly dragging the fat head of himself up and down your slit, collecting slick and massaging soft circles against your clit. It has you wailing. Not just whining, but wailing. So fucking desperate for anything after going too long without any much-deserved dick.

Joel smiles when your crying picks up like a lost puppy, freezing in place and positioning himself back at your entrance.

“Okay, baby. M’sorry.” he leans down, pressing an apologetic kiss to your lips.

You’re shifting and bucking unhappily, waiting for anything, but he needs just another moment.

“Slow and steady, remember?” he whispers, getting only an unhappy groan from you. Grumbling, he continues. “I’m serious. This is probably gonna hurt. Don’t even know if I’m gonna fit.”

As if ignoring everything he’s trying to tell you, you whimper again and buck up, trying to push him into you the slightest bit more to relieve anything.

Joel groans back, pushing your hips down and shaking his head in indignation.

“I said I’m fuckin’ serious, okay? Calm down. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

The sudden aggravation in his voice alarms you enough to stop moving. You shut your eyes and nod, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to stop shifting up toward him.

“Thank you,” Joel sighs, rubbing your arm and giving your hand a gentle squeeze. This time, he keeps it locked in his grip, knowing already that you’re gonna need something to hold–even if you don’t think you will.

“You ready?” He checks one more time. And this time, you don’t give him a needy whine. Just a quiet nod, a squeeze back to his hand, and a gaze that tells him you’ve waited your whole life for this.

He grabs his cock again with his free hand, collecting enough of your slick on himself to lubricate in preparation. Once wet enough, he looks at you, slowly pushing in–only about half an inch.

Your hand twitches nervously in his grip, your hips shifting up and eyes shutting to brace yourself. Fuck, you didn’t expect it to be this big–you’re regretting the bit of sass you gave him.

As Joel pushes in further, it all seems to get worse. It fucking hurts.

“Okay, okay. Shh.” He has to stop when he’s only halfway into you, leaning down to kiss your cheeks and stroke your hair. The way you’re already wailing has his heart breaking. He doesn’t want to hurt you, just wants to give you a good first time.

Your voice catches in your throat as you try to tell him something, but he just kisses you through it, as if some weird method of distracting you. His forehead is against yours, nose brushing against your own, his hips beginning to rock so slowly after giving you a few seconds to adjust.

But no, it doesn’t help. You cry out again, gripping tightly into his hand, so hard that your fingernails leave little crescents on his skin.

“Easy, angel. Shh.” Joel whispers, one hand on your hip and the other laced in yours. “I know it hurts. We’re goin’ real slow, though.”

Both the nerves and the pressure of it all are truly getting to you, forcing uncontrollable sounds from your throat. Mixes of whimpers, cries, and a very distant sound of pleasure make him feel both aroused and bad for you.

He stops for a bit upon seeing a tear slip, frowning and kissing it away.

“Cryin,’ baby?”

You nod, whimpering and leaning your head forward to bury against his shoulder. He huffs, letting go of your hand to wrap you up in his arms.

“Let’s stop, then. S’okay.” Joel whispers. You feel bad that you’re making him stop, but the stretch is burning enough to make you not protest it.

Joel slips out slowly, and the relief is immediate. You sigh and let your head fall back against the pillow, shamefully wiping away the fallen tears from taking a lousy four inches of him. The frustration and embarrassment makes your throat burn, your head turning and burrowing into his pillow to hide.

“Uh-uh. No hidin’.” He gently pulls your shoulder back, flipping you back around. He lays down next to you, facing you and pulling the covers over your body in hopes it’ll make you feel less embarrassed. “Don’t gotta do that.”

“I do, though.” You whisper back, sniffling and moving closer under the comforter. His arms wrap around your body, pulling you against his chest until your legs tangle up and your head finds his neck.

It upsets him to hear you so guilty. He’s there in an instant, kissing the top of your head and making it all feel better.

“No. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He responds, voice muffled by your hair. “I knew it’d be too big.”

“I feel stupid.” you nearly cut him off, deepening his frown.

The thought of you feeling stupid for something as silly as not being able to take him on your first time astounds him.

“You’re not stupid. It’s your first time, baby. Doesn’t always feel good, y’know.” He reassures, stroking your back now until he feels your heartbeat slow to a normal pace again.

You don’t respond, nodding against his skin and sniffling a final time. Joel simply holds you there until you’re good to talk again.

It takes a few minutes, but you come back to life. Despite it hurting, you’re still needy, and you still want him to be the one to take this for you. Joel’s still Joel, and he’s still incredibly handsome and big and warm against you.

“We can try again.”

You cut the silence, whispering against his neck.

Joel’s hand pauses on your spine, his eyebrows furrowing down at you when you remove your head from his neck.

“...You sure?”

“Yeah. Just… give me a bit to adjust.”

And within seconds, the two of you settle right back in. There you are, for the second time, laid back with your legs spread open, his large body settled between them and the tip of his cock pressed against you. He recites the same rules he’s been saying all night, the words “slow” and “tell me” and “s’okay” all jumbling together in your mind.

You nod each time, distracted by the sight of him pressed into you.

Joel isn’t in as much of a rush, though. He’s being even slower this time to make it feel better.

He leans down, pressing kisses everywhere yet again. Your knees, your belly, your chest. Every inch of you that trusts him to do so. After ending on your lips, he sits back, holding your hips and notching his tip into your entrance.

“You promise me you’re ready?” He asks, raising his eyebrows in utmost seriousness down at you.

“Promise.” You nod softly, holding your hand out expectantly for him to hold.

Just as he’s about to attempt and move into you again, you pause. Your hand awkwardly stutters in his, fingers letting go to trail up to your neck.

You’ve spent your life trying to pray the want away, but here you are opening your legs for a man after failing the first time. Somehow, under Joel’s touch, the shame disappears. No more sin, but comfort.

The little silver cross hanging around your neck has been there for years–even after abandoning the church in college, you never really took it off. It’s part of you. Surely it’s molded into the skin on the back of your neck by now. But right now, it doesn’t feel right. Being with Joel means choosing him, not God. Choosing the moment–choosing yourself.

“You sure?” Joel asks hesitantly as your fingers move up to unclasp the necklace, because he knows how big of a deal that is to you. There probably hasn’t been a day you went without a cross since you were a baby.

And you are sure.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, getting it unhooked and handing the cold metal chain to him. He nods, setting it on the nightstand before leaning back into you.

Joel trails a hand up your hair, pushing some back before leaning down. In between gentle kisses, he whispers.

“Good. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Hearing that he’s proud of you about removing the cross means the world to you, a million times more than him taking your virginity means. He’s proud of you.

Your whole life, everyone around you would probably have screamed if you took it off. And Joel’s here, embracing it. Helping you get rid of it. Digging you into a further hellhole of sin.

And you love every minute of it.

Something about everything that’s happening is incredibly freeing–the sex, the removal of the necklace, just being with him–and it’s the best feeling you’ve had in a while. You’re taking your life and independence back from God, giving it to Joel.

“Didn’t know I could do it.” You whisper back quietly, a shy smile crossing your face when he gazes down at you.

He huffs in amusement, shaking his head like he’s truly never been prouder.

“You can. And you did.” He smiles, pressing a fat, wet kiss to your forehead and taking your hand back into his.

Joel leans back, spreading your legs one last time before realigning himself. His hand stays locked in yours, squeezing as he notches his tip only half an inch inside.

“Breathe for me, now.” He instructs carefully, waiting for you to nod and breathe properly before trying to push in again.

Of course, it hurts. But this time, the burn feels better. Painful, but in a rewarding way–theres a hint of pleasure coming through the waves of pained stretching.

He stays for a moment longer, only a little past the tip pushed into you. His forehead rests against yours, mouth parting and hot breath grazing your face with each little gasp. His hand squeezes yours again in gentle reassurance when he feels you clench around him.

“Breathe.”

He reminds you every few seconds, voice a hushed rumble right by your ear. He’s right–you’re forgetting to breathe. Forgetting how to breathe, even.

It doesn’t feel as important when Joel is easing into you, inch by tender inch, whispering praise and squeezing your hand in his as tight as he can. Not when the pain slowly gets replaced by a warmth building underneath it. Obviously, it doesn’t stop hurting entirely, but something is making it feel better.

Maybe it’s the freedom of not having the cross around your neck.

Maybe the feeling of Joel all over you. Nestled inside of you.

Maybe the thought that you’re in someone’s arms for once, being wanted, instead of waiting for a nonexistent being to be the one to save you.

You entirely zone out, eyes shut and hands gripping him so tightly, not even noticing how far he’s notched inside now. He fully bottoms out while you’re practically on another planet in your mind. He stills completely once balls deep, waiting for your breath to catch up with his and your thoughts to come back to the moment.

“Doin’ good,” Joel pants into your ear, aiming a sloppy kiss to your forehead, but missing and landing it on your eyebrow instead.

Each roll of his hips has a sort of patience to it–he’s not rushing, he’s not taking you, but he’s giving something to you. You’d always thought sex would feel like something is being taken from you. But with Joel, it feels like a present he’s giving you.

You let his care in, in the form of physicality and emotion. In breath and in your synced, panicked heartbeats.

He stays entirely still, not just for you, but for himself. Rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, lets both of your breath catch up before slowly pumping in and out again.

Your body trembles underneath him with each movement. It’s so overwhelming how he’s just there with you. You’ve gone so long without any connection, waiting for sex, and now Joel Miller is balls deep inside of you in his bedroom when your own father doesn’t even know you returned home yet. And fuck, does it feel right.

“Feel me, baby?”

He asks, groaning right into your ear and eliciting a genuine whimper in return from you.

Of course, in perfect unison to the question, you can feel his tip kiss your cervix. You wrap your other hand around his big shoulder, fingernails digging deep into his skin while you start to shake.

“Yeah.” You barely manage out, gasping and writhing underneath him on the bed helplessly. The way he’s filling you is almost too much. You’re stuffed to the brim and on the verge of going cock-dumb because of it.

“Good.” A nearly cocky smile spreads on his face, but there’s a quieter sense of happiness to it as well.

Your legs curl up a little tighter, wrapping up around his waist, pushing his cock impossibly deeper. You press your nose into the side of his face, whimpering softly.

The ache of pain is replaced with a more familiar ache–the one you discovered recently, the one that bubbles up in your stomach and core, all warm and sensitive. You feel extra tired now, body falling limp and powerless under Joel’s muscled frame due to the brink of your orgasm.

He feels the way you flutter and tremble, the way you tighten up around him, and he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Okay, okay,” Joel whispers when your whimpers pick up much louder. “I know. Just a little more. You’ve got it, don’tcha?”

“S’too much.”

“I know, shh. I’ve got it, angel. All you gotta do is lay there. Only a little more.”

His voice is soft, but on the inside, he’s feeling feral. Of course, he’s going slow, but there’s nothing more he wants than to plow into you and coat you in his cum. It’s been too long since he’s had good sex, and the slowness of this is killing him.

But he’s still keeping your needs above his.

Instead, he tries to refocus that desire by burying his face in your neck once your head tips back. He groans, inhales the sweet scent of your hair, and bottoms out a few more times into your tightening cunt.

The movement makes you cling tighter to him, nails dragging down his shoulderblades and the muscles of his back while you start to entirely shiver. Your breath is completely broken.

“There it is.” He whispers proudly, keeping steady pace and ensuring he hits your cervix just one more time. “You’ve got it. Let go for me.”

You don’t mean to, but you cry while your orgasm slips out of you. You tip over the edge, trembling in pleasure underneath Joel, but there are a few uncontrollable tears sneaking from the corners of your eyes.

And he holds you through it all, shushing you and gently stroking your hair. His fingers glide through each strand, scratching your scalp and trying to pull you back into a relaxation after the intensity of the moment. He doesn’t chase his own release, but watches you instead. Watches how pretty you look, crying and cumming at the same time. Listens to each of those little hopeless sounds you cry out against his shoulder.

“Good job,” Joel whispers after a minute, nosing at your cheek. “Took it so good.”

All you can do is whimper and shake your head, attempting to hide the tears while rubbing your face against his chest and collarbone.

“M’serious. I’m real proud of you, kid.” He gently releases your hand, moving to tilt your chin up instead. As usual, his gaze is warm enough to soften you up, to remind you to ease up and untense your shoulders. You nod and lean into him, breathing out in relief.

Being with Joel for the first time felt like crossing the threshold to the reveal of your heart. Not just your physical body, but you’re offering him everything that’s deep and unspoken inside of you.

He’s the only one. The only divinity you can possibly believe in.

this wasnt fully proof read dont hate me soz

@joeldarling @melmel-fandom @ssssc0m @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo @funkifiedzee @mermaidbarlvr @seenthroughmia @umadirectioner @deardev0teddelicate @dingusandbats @lobotomyprincessdollangel444 @spreadlove-always @gingerwitchm @millersdoll @userdarkholme @joelscowgirl69 @bug-boy32 @moyavsemoya

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in-silver-lake · 9 days ago

Text

parking spot

cw: mentions of drinking, but it's almost not there, college au, fuck!boy billie, no smut sorry synopsis: you finally confront the girl that's been stealing your parking spot a/n: this is from the drafts, i don't even know what this is, also that synopsis is horrible but i can't be bothered with writing a better one. also i suck at titles apparently. not proofread, like at all. again, idek wtf this is but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“i swear every single time i pull up, that goddamn car is already there, parked in my spot outside of my house. i mean, who the fuck does this person think they are?”

i had been pacing back and forth in my room, ranting to my roommate, alyssa, for at least half an hour, entirely fed up with whoever kept stealing my parking spot. she sat on my bed, unbothered, carefully applying her hot pink nail polish, sporadically splaying her hand out in front of her to check her work. she occasionally offered quiet hms and uh-huhs, her attempt at sounding interested or understanding entirely pathetic, but fortunately for her i was way too preoccupied with my frustration to notice.

“do you know how far away i had to park today? twelve blocks! twelve big, fat blocks, alyssa, and it’s fucking freezing outside, and -”

i cut off, my eyes going wide as i caught a glimpse out my window of a girl walking up to the stupid, shiny black door of the car that had ruined my past two weeks.

“oh my god! oohhh. my. god.”

without a word, i sprinted out of my room, dodging girls on the staircase as i ran through the house. i threw open the front door, and the still, cold air immediately raised goosebumps on my skin, but i was determined to go tell this thief exactly what i thought of her.

“hey!” i yelled, an edge to my voice as i marched up to her. she turned around at my shout, and my brain short-circuited, because holy shit - she was beautiful. her eyes were a crystal-clear blue, shining in the winter sunlight, her skin smooth, cheeks rosy with the cold and matching her full, pink lips. her long, dark, shiny hair, held back by a black and white patterned bandana, fell effortlessly across her back and curled under her chin.

since when are parking spot thieves so hot?

her eyebrow quirked up, and i’m reminded that i’ve been staring for a little too long as she asked, “um…can i help you?”

“um - yes, wait, actually no, i -” i scrambled for words, annoyance increasing tenfold as humour danced in her eyes, clearly finding the fact that i was so caught of guard extremely amusing. why the fuck am i stuttering right now? oh my god, pull yourself together.

drawing in a small breath to compose myself, i continued.

“you - you’ve been a complete jerk, stealing my parking spot for weeks now! you don’t even live here. do you know how incredibly rude and inconsiderate that is? huh? i’ve had to walk for years back to my house in the cold every time i’ve come back home for the past two weeks because you decided to park your ugly, stupid car here! y’know, it’s common decency around here to stick to your own parking spot!” i huffed, speaking fast, trying to make myself sound authoritative as possible as i crossed my arms across my chest to emphasise my point.

she, infuriatingly, leant back against her car door, arms crossed loosely against her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her stance entirely too casual. clearly amused, she smirked as her eyes raked up and down my body, something almost predatory in her gaze. my cheeks flush as i’m reminded that i’ve come out wearing my pajamas - striped, pink flannel pants, a white tank top that made it very clear i wasn’t wearing a bra, and my fluffy frog slippers, no less.

“your parking spot, hm? i’m so sorry, pretty, i wasn’t aware they had been allocated,” she chuckled, entirely too relaxed for my liking. the pet name, falling so casually from her lips, as if she had said it a million times, as if it was made just for her to say, caught me completely off guard.

“well, i mean, no, they haven’t been, not officially, but-”

“so it isn’t your parking spot?” she interrupted, eyebrow lifting slightly in a challenge.

“I mean, i guess not officially, but everyone in the house has their one spot they park in everytime, otherwise you have to park way too far away-”

“right, so far away that it gets too cold to walk back,” she added, eyes still dancing with humour.

“well - well yes, exactly -”

“and if i don’t live here, how am i supposed to know about this system?”

“well, you could have asked around-”

“do you have a best friend?” she asked abruptly, and the change in conversation threw me off for a moment.

“i - yes, yes i do -”

“and you try to see them every chance you get?”

“yeah, of course-”

“and so if you went to visit them, would you park in the spot outside their place whenever it’s empty, so you don’t have to walk for twenty minutes in the cold to get to their house?”

“i - i mean yeah, i would -”

“okay, cool. we all good then?” she asked. slightly confused, with very little idea of what just happened, i just nodded dumbly, watching as she unlocked her car and slid into the drivers seat. she glanced over at me with one last look, amusement and something else in her eyes, before she drove away, leaving me standing there. i didn’t even get her name.

over the next few weeks, i kept running into her. in the hallway, in the common area, even outside the house one night as we both waited for our take-away to arrive. she was always infuriatingly unbothered, throwing me a casual hey, or a smirk, or a subtle look up and down, as if every time i saw her i wasn’t flooded with annoyance and a little embarrassment. it was irritating how much space she occupied in my head - and it didn’t help that every time she’d throw me a casual glance or eye me with a hint of mischief, my stomach would flutter and my cheeks redden against my will, because goddamn, she was so fucking hot. and it wasn’t even just her looks - it was the way she carried herself with such an air of confidence and self-assuredness, it was magnetic.

i found out that zoe, one of the girls in my house, was the best friend she had been visiting after i saw her - billie, someone told me her name was - leaving zoe’s room one time. i had also been warned of her reputation as a bit of a fuck-boy, something i tried to remember everytime i ran into her and my stomach would flip.

one night, almost a month after i first met billie, i walked downstairs to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning after a long night out, still slightly tipsy and stomach growling with hunger. inexplicably, billie was there, using the small kitchen to bake what smelled like choc-chip cookies, of all things. i stood there for a moment, stunned and rendered momentarily speechless from the simple shock of seeing her here, in my kitchen, at three am. i definitely didn’t admire the way the warm, low light highlighted the delicate curve of her neck, eyes definitely not trailing over her body, clad in pajamas that were uncharacteristically revealing, and my mouth absolutely did not going dry at the sight of her very low-cut singlet-

i shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. i watched as she turned around, tray in hand, and spotted me in the door way. her movements only hesitated for a moment, something akin to curiosity, or maybe want, briefly flickering in her eyes before she placed the tray on the bench beside her. without looking up, she asked, “y’want one?”

fighting a blush - whether it was caused by the residual alcohol in my bloodstream, or being in billie’s presence, i wasn’t sure which (yes i was) - i walked right up to her, appearing confident, sure, as i swayed my hips just a little, and brushed her shoulder with mine as i reached out to pick up a cookie. i pushed myself up to sit on the bench, legs ever so slightly parting, my little black dress i had yet to take off riding up my thighs. she stood in front of me as i took a measured bite out of the sweet, chewy treat. i pretended to inspect it as i purposefully, slowly, licked my lips, as if to catch any crumbs.

after i decided i had lingered in the moment long enough, i said,“they’re alright,” shrugging my shoulders in mock indifference. they honestly tasted amazing. i looked up to see billie’s stare was transfixed on my shiny lips, eyes tracing every moment of my tongue. in the low light, i could’ve sworn i saw her pupils dilate.

“mhm,” she hummed, sounding completely distracted as she dragged her eyes, seemingly reluctantly, back to mine.

she took a step closer to stand in between my legs, the soft brush of her hand on my knee making goosebumps erupt on my skin, but i never flinched, never showed any sign this was affecting me. her hand smoothed upwards, along the outside of my thigh, her touch light but carrying so much weight, the heat of her hands a delicious contrast to the cool metal of her rings. her eyes were lidded, still trained on my glistening lips, as she slowly leaned in. i leant forward to meet her, stopping a breath away, close enough to see the anticipation on her face. for a moment, we were both still.

then, with a knowing twinkle in my eyes, i said, “i’m going to go to bed now,” close enough that she would’ve felt my breath against her lips.

i slid down from the bench, her warm touch on my thigh lingering for as long as possible before her hand slipped away. her eyebrows knitted in confusion and her hand twitched by her side, as if holding back from reaching out to me again. her mouth hung open slightly, a hint of embarrassment on her face, the tables completely turned.

“goodnight,” i said simply, my voice low, dripping like honey, before i walked out of the room, leaving her with nothing, a satisfied smirk on my face.

taglist: @drunkinyourbenz ; @ilovealiceosemann

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#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfic #wlw #fanfic

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devilish-cherry · 28 days ago

Text

toji relationship headcanons ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ toji x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ my other works

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, big man with bigger issues won so here we are. he’s always been incredibly fun for me to write which probably says a lot about my mental state lmao hope you all enjoy! 💚

₊⊹. first of all, toji never remembers anniversaries. ever. you could tattoo the date on his forehead, and he'd still squint at you and say, "what day is it again? your birthday? didn't we just have one of those last year?"

₊⊹. he will absolutely use your expensive shampoo, your body wash, your moisturizer, and lie about it with a straight face. you're not even mad. you just find it hilarious that the man who's known as the sorcerer killer is now walking around smelling like cherry blossoms and ph-balanced aloe hydration.

₊⊹. he thinks watching two rats fight over a hotdog on the street is peak date material. "look at 'em. real passion. raw competition. that's what romance is missing these days."

₊⊹. despite his strength and killer instincts, this man will break down over ikea instructions. one time he just stabbed the manual and built the shelf completely wrong. now it's a "modern art piece" and you're not allowed to move it. he says it builds character.

₊⊹. toji gets weirdly smug when you wear his clothes, but hides it with deadpan lines like, "didn’t know i was dating a thief." then later mutters to himself, "looks better on you anyway." while pretending he didn't say that out loud.

₊⊹. you once got mad at him and tried to ignore him. toji, unequipped for emotional processing, sat next to you in total silence for fifteen minutes, then handed you a whole rotisserie chicken like it was a peace treaty. "didn't know what flowers you like."

₊⊹. toji doesn't do romantic clichés. if you hint at wanting roses, expect him to show up with a bonsai tree. "it lasts longer and requires discipline. like me. you're welcome."

₊⊹. he sleeps like he's in prison. shirtless, one arm behind his head, the other under the pillow where you know the knife is. you once asked him about it and he said, "habit." you just pulled the blanket higher and went back to sleep.

₊⊹. toji has the audacity to fall asleep mid-argument. you'll be ranting about how he scared the mailman again and look over and he's knocked out, arms crossed, snoring like a diesel truck. wakes up later like, "i heard everything. you were wrong, though."

₊⊹. he does not understand texting etiquette. he always texts like:

"U eat"

"Open door"

"Left meat on table don't let it go cold or ur weak"

"Wtf is an oat milk"

you'll send him something like "i miss you <3" and he'll reply four hours later with "K" then show up at your place with a bag of grilled offal and absolutely zero explanation.

₊⊹. he's absolutely terrible with tech. he calls hdmi "the skinny one" and usb "the fat one". you are IT support. you have accepted this.

₊⊹. toji has zero indoor voice. if you're on a video call and he walks by, expect background commentary like, "did you tell them their haircut looks like it lost a bet?" or "is that the person you said dresses like a sad potato chip?"

₊⊹. if you have a pet, he pretends to hate it. but you've walked in on him napping with it on his chest and making up a nickname like "lil guy". if you make eye contact during this moment, he'll threaten to move out.

₊⊹. dates with toji always accidentally turn into crime documentaries because he can't resist casually pointing out shady individuals with questionable pasts. "yeah, see that noodle shop owner? definitely running something from the back. wanna check?"

₊⊹. he thinks it's hilarious to randomly pick you up and carry you around like luggage without warning. when you squawk and flail indignantly, he just deadpans, "shh, cargo doesn't talk."

₊⊹. watching a crime drama with toji consists of him smugly narrating the killer's methods before they're revealed. he'll glance at you and say, "i'd never get caught doing it like this rookie."

₊⊹. toji has the emotional range of a brick wall, but he occasionally shows affection by silently handing you meat skewers from street stalls and just staring at you until you accept them. if you try to refuse, he'll shove it at your face like, "just eat the damn thing, jeez."

₊⊹. despite his aloofness, when you're sick, he becomes surprisingly doting in his own way. hovering awkwardly, thrusting medication at you, barking stiffly, "get better already. who else is gonna deal with my shit?"

₊⊹. he frequently forgets your friends' names, bluntly calling them things like "short one" or "loud one" or alarmingly once, "the one who smells weird" you still apologize profusely to your friends afterward.

₊⊹. occasionally, he'll randomly flex and glance at you, dead serious, "still got it, right?" he denies caring about your response, yet visibly preens whenever you jokingly swoon.

₊⊹. toji's jokes are basically just dark dad jokes. you trip over something, and he'll chuckle dryly, "careful. your insurance doesn't cover clumsiness."

₊⊹. he denies being sentimental, but once you caught him being suspiciously protective of a particularly ugly cactus, claiming, "this prickly bastard reminds me of myself. annoying and survives despite obvious neglect."

₊⊹. one time he brought his worm cursed spirit over because "he didn't want to leave it alone too long." you screamed when it popped out from behind his shoulder like a creepy pokémon. he got mad and told you you scared it and now it won't come out unless you apologize.

₊⊹. he's embarrassingly proud of his worm cursed spirit, once seriously suggesting you two should start a pet youtube channel. when you reminded him that most people can't see cursed spirits, he stared blankly for a minute before shrugging, "guess we'll just be the first channel where the animal's invisible. groundbreaking content."

₊⊹. toji lowkey believes you're too good for him, but instead of expressing this healthily, he just tries to spoil you in the weirdest ways: brings you odd souvenirs, refuses to let you carry groceries, and once threatened a vending machine because it ate your yen.

₊⊹. he has that annoying middle-aged man confidence where he acts like he can fix anything with tape, a kitchen knife, and raw conviction. you once caught him trying to patch your leaky sink with a sushi tray. "it's water resistant."

₊⊹. toji snores like a war crime. he claims it's "just breathing deeply" but your neighbors have called once to ask if someone was groaning in pain for six hours straight. he blinked at you and said, "tell 'em it's free asmr. they should be thanking me."

₊⊹. when he's half-asleep, toji's actually weirdly affectionate. you'll get sleepy forehead nudges, grunted "stay"s, and one time, the softest ever "you're… too good for me, y'know?" before he passed out with his face in your neck. you pretended not to hear it. but you did.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk crack #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs #toji fushiguro x reader

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