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eringobragh420 · 9 days ago

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🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 4/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Fingering (f receiving) 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations at the end of the story. 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY FOUR — CHRISTMAS EVE

A string of headaches kept you confined to your bedroom most of the day and into the evening on Christmas Eve. Your head had been sore from the fall itself off and on since leaving the hospital, but this was the first day you’d experienced throbbing pain encompassing your entire brain. You and Damian had been invited to an annual holiday party thrown by friends and colleagues, an event, you were told, you’d attended every year since the very first invitation, but Damian turned them down. They’d understood, multiple messages coming through wishing you a swift and successful recovery, and you’d asked Damian to thank them, whoever they were. You’d then rolled over, pressing your back to his side, using his bicep as a pillow, falling asleep quickly with a mouth open and ready to drool.

You awoke sometime later, reaching to the opposite side of the bed, Damian’s side, because you didn’t feel his warmth against you anymore—it was empty and cold. Opening your eyes, there was a soft lamp lit in the corner of the room, the television softly playing yet another Christmas movie. Decorations were scattered throughout the room, but nothing compared to the living room, and you took your time to sit up in bed. Your head, for the first time today, was essentially pain free. You felt a throb here and there, but they were tolerable.

What wasn’t tolerable was the fact that your memories were still avoiding you like the plague. You and Damian both thought you were making progress when you recognized Archie, but it hadn’t gone much further since. You’d spent yesterday going through your closet, touching your clothes, even putting some of them on, and doing the same to your shoe collection, which was quite extensive. When that didn’t work, you wandered throughout the house, passing your fingers over various surfaces, stopping to stare at photos or works of art. Nothing.

Rubbing your eyes, you considered the stress from the day before as the culprit for the headaches today. The turning of the bathroom doorknob stole your attention, and when you looked, those tired eyes of yours were instantly awake and alert, vision as sharp as it had ever been. Steam billowed out first, followed by a Puerto Rican god who looked like he was stepping straight out of an 80s music video. Again, his hair was soaked, curly and down, a few strands framing his handsome face, but he was shirtless, every muscle on display accentuated by tiny rivers slithering down each chiseled dip and valley. And as your eyes continued southward, you were rather disappointed to find a towel slung loosely around his trim hips, low enough to show off his drool-worthy Adonis belt and tight enough to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Your thighs rubbed together like you were a fucking cricket, your pussy instantly responding to the surprising friction, and you wrapped your arms around yourself before you brought your breasts into the equation.

So much attention you were giving to Damian below his neck that you had no idea he’d been watching you the entire time you’d been watching him. And when your eyes met after what was probably an inappropriate amount of time of staring, you thought you should feel embarrassed and ashamed, that you should have looked away and melted into a puddle of self-pity. But you never took your gaze off him, your respirations increasing as your arousal did the same.

“See something you like?” Damian rumbled playfully. Oh, you really, really saw a lot of things you liked, and you gasped when he bent an elbow and flexed a bicep.

Swallowing, you replied with a surprisingly steady voice, “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Damn, that hurts, gatita.”

You shrugged. “Stupid questions deserve stupid answers.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed and he regarded you for a moment. You’re coming back to me, he thought. Slowly, but you’re coming back to me. “Well, I’m happy to stand here as long as you need,” he boasted.

Leering at your fiancé, the words came tumbling out of your mouth before you had the chance to think about them. “Well, since you’re just gonna stand there and look like … that … why don’t you tell me … about our sex life?” You expected embarrassment or a raging blush from one or both of you, but neither occurred.

Damian’s brows rose, smirk playing at his plump lips. He strutted toward you, your eyes exploring every inch of his body, curiously unashamed to be doing so in such a blatant manner. “I already told you sex is about 90% of our relationship,” he started. “It’s really … difficult for us to keep our hands off each other.” He was nearing the bed, and you were moving to your knees without noticing. “And we’ll do it anywhere,” he went on. “The beach, backstage at a show, fancy restaurant—” Oh, boy, did you want to hear that story, but you weren’t about to stop this one. “I am … madly, desperately, in love with you, and I can’t help but wanna show you every second of every day.” He was close enough you could feel his heat and smell the freshness of the shower, and you could even reach out and trace those Vs disappearing into his towel if you really wanted to. “And I really can’t help it that my love language is fucking.”

Your gaze rose to meet his, and the fire in his eyes was enough to set you ablaze. “What’s your favorite way to fuck me?” you whispered, not even considering your words before speaking.

Damian’s brows rose and he chuckled under his breath. “Uh … I love it when you ride me. I love looking at your pretty face when you use me to make yourself cum.”

You bit your lip. “What’s my favorite?” you whispered.

Your fiancé took one step closer, and the bed shook when his legs came in contact with it. Your fingers itched to touch him—trace every single plane, ridge, and valley of his body, scratch your nails along his skin—while your lips screamed to kiss his tattoos and your mouth salivated thinking about licking every inch of him. Fuck, you wanted him bad, and yes, you’d always found him attractive, but you hadn’t wanted to wrap yourself around him as much as you did this instant.

Damian had no earthly idea what was happening—he was only here for it. He knew you still didn’t know him, but the physical attraction was very clearly still in play. He was semi-hard already, doing nothing to hide it, but he had no intention of acting on it. He felt like he would be taking advantage of you in some way. However, on the other hand, he decided, you were a grown woman, capable of making your own decisions. Your memories had been effected by the head injury, your personality only mildly, but nothing else. So he was prepared to let you drive this evening, and if it led to something intimate, he would do everything in his fucking power to make sure you remembered every moment for the rest of your life.

“You love it when I bend you over,” he rumbled, leaning down to just graze the stubble of his beard along your cheek, his words ghosting across your ear, sending a shiver down your spine—a shiver so violent, you gasped. “So I can spank your ass.” Your eyes rolled back before closing, your tongue passing over your lips. “And I can grab a handful of that hair and just …”

You pulled back—the second scraping of his beard on your skin opening the dam in your pussy—though not very far. Your noses touched, and Damian’s hand came up, thumb caressing your cheek bone. He was dying to kiss you, absolutely suffocating, but he refused to put pressure on you. Whatever was happening was happening at your pace and direction.

“Just …?” you breathed, eyes boring into his. You didn’t care if he finished his story anymore or not, you simply needed his lips on yours, but you weren’t sure you could make the first move.

Damian smirked. “—watch that back arch,” he went on, “listen to you beg for it … faster … harder …”

“Christ, Damian, just kiss me,” you sighed, sounding a little more frenzied than you would have liked, but it did the job.

His perfect lips collided with yours a little uncomfortably, but the hunger was too overwhelming. His strong arms wrapped around you as yours snaked around his neck. He tasted like toothpaste and a flavor indescribable—all you knew was you needed more, more, more. He teased your swollen lips with the tip of his tongue, and you instantly granted him entrance into your mouth. More of that zest, and his tongue was even more talented than you’d anticipated, simply exploring every corner of your mouth. At one point, your lips detached, but your tongues continued to flick against one another, and you sighed, hands sliding down his firm chest. You wanted him. You wanted him so bad, but should you really fall into bed with someone you technically didn’t know? Yes, you had a history, but you didn’t remember it, save for Archie and the muscle memory that correlated to Damian’s birthday.

Fucking hell, did you overthink this much before the head injury? Just go with it, you told yourself. You wanted him, he clearly wanted you, and there was nothing wrong with either fact.

As if reading your mind—or maybe he could feel the shift in the atmosphere—he severed the electrifying connection of your lips and tongues, pressing your faces together as you both caught your breath. “We can stop,” he panted, hot, minty breath rushing over your skin. “I don’t wanna—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, all but clawing at his chest. “Please don’t stop.”

What kind of fiancé would Damian be if he didn’t obey his future wife, he mused. The kissing continued as he delicately laid you back on the bed, the towel around his waist still somehow maintaining its position. He made a split-second decision to not try to fit between your legs—what if you closed them? Or worse, what if it killed the mood entirely and you never felt comfortable with him this way again? Instead, he laid his big body next to yours, so talented and capable as to get you into a cozy position without once breaking the kiss or even accidentally pulling your hair.

You didn’t remember ever kissing him before, but there was also a feeling of nostalgia—maybe your brain didn’t remember, but your body did. You and Damian were in sync as far as where and when your hands touched the other, or where your kisses landed, or how easily it was to find one another’s spots. You had no idea it was there, but your lips latched onto the junction at Damian’s neck and shoulder, and the man threw his head back and roared like a goddamn lion. You giggled, grabbing a handful of his wet hair so you could bring his mouth back to yours, and suddenly it was as if you had unleashed an animal inside him. He pulled you closer to him, on your side, and his hand grabbed your ass, squeezing, before it slid south to your thigh, which he then yanked over his hip.

Yes, you wanted this. Well, you had wanted this. Without warning, things had gotten out of hand. You’d begged him not to stop, that was true, but you’d been referring to the kissing, and, considering your current position, you probably should have made that a bit clearer. You worried he would be upset, possibly even angry, but you weren’t ready. Not for this.

“Wait,” you breathed, pressing a hand to his chest, severing the kiss at the same time. So many scenarios played in your mind within seconds—one where he didn’t stop, one where he stopped and was pissed off, one where he stopped and got embarrassed, one where he stopped and—

He looked at you, transparently shocked, and he held up a hand. You wondered briefly if raising his hand was some sort of defense mechanism or something he did because he thought it calmed you down? He took a few breaths as you carefully removed your leg from his hip, backing up only a little so he didn’t think you feared him because you truly didn’t, but you needed to put some distance between your body and his impressive erection tenting the towel.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally exhaled.

“No,” you said, “it’s me.”

“I thought—”

“I know. That’s my fault. I didn’t mean to—”

“I would never—”

“Okay, stop!” you interrupted maybe a little more aggressively than you had anticipated, and you weren’t trying to just stop him from talking. “I wanted this, Damian.” You cradled one side of his face, his eyes downcast, looking everywhere but at you. “I do want this. I just … I don’t know if I’m ready for …”

Damian nodded, still not meeting your gaze. He’d gotten carried away, he knew that as soon as he’d grabbed your leg. He hadn’t been able to control himself, which was no excuse—what kind of person did that make him? What kind of a man? What kind of a fiancé? You and he had taken so many steps forward—how many would this incident cost you?

“I wanna keep kissing you,” you continued breathlessly, and this finally brought his eyes to yours. “I mean … I kinda feel like I wanna kiss you forever. And it doesn’t make sense to me. Well, it does, but it doesn’t. I’m sorry, I’m probably just babbling. I—I just … I want you, Damian.” His petrified irises instantly softened and he raised his hand to cover yours on his face. “But—”

“Listen,” Damian gently, thankfully, interfered in your chaotic ramblings. Your mouth clamped closed. “I understand. We both kinda …” You stared at him, hanging on every word, fully prepared to dissect each one. “But … and I’m just putting this out there. Feel free to say no or slap me or send me to the couch or all of the above.” He smirked, though your heart tingled a bit at the preface. “If you want to, there are … plenty of other ways for me to … make you feel good.” His rich tone, that smoke on velvet timbre, was one hundred percent successful in relaxing your body to its very core. He scooted a bit closer, moving much like molasses, which you assumed was him giving you every opportunity to push him away. Your head tilted, though, as you became enchanted by Damian’s chocolate eyes, his nose grazing your cheek, and there was that sensation of sedation again.

“I could use one of your toys on you,” he suggested. Your eyes fluttered as you played that particular image in your mind. “Or I could use my fingers …” You noticed his hands weren’t even on you at this point—just the tip of his nose still kissing your cheek, which you nuzzled back against him. “I could use my mouth …”

“Your fingers,” you decided without thinking. He pulled away to meet your eyes. “I can’t stop kissing you, but I want—”

His mouth claimed yours, putting you and your incoherency out of its misery, and he lowered you back to the mattress. You found that perfect harmony again so easily, lips moving in unison, tongues trading dominance, and he swallowed your groan as his hand snuck under your shirt, splaying across your belly. His skin was so hot and rough, a stark contrast from the smooth, cool rings on his fingers. He left his hand there a moment, and you assumed he was testing the waters. You tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth, granting the unasked question, and his hand finally started moving south.

“If you want me to stop,” Damian mumbled against your lips.

“I know,” you whispered, tugging his mouth back to yours.

His hand continued on, fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties, and you were suddenly so incredibly thankful you’d shaved recently. Damian’s middle finger slid down and between your folds, slipping around your clit, and your back arched every bit of three feet off the bed. More or less. Damian sighed, the sound laced with relief, as his fingers continued making slow circles around the bundle of nerves that had you coming utterly unglued.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Damian mumbled into your mouth. “I was worried you wouldn’t …” He trailed off.

You clutched his jaw, pushing him away just enough to look him dead in the eye. “Me too,” you whispered, “but clearly—” You glanced down at his length, which was still poking impressively against the towel. You had an urge to just lift the towel and confirm what you already knew to be true—that he was huge, and you’d probably made the right decision avoiding letting him inside you—but you didn’t. “—we were both worried about nothing.”

He kissed you again, stealing a moan and a sigh, giving one in return when you rolled her hips against his fingers. That long, thick middle finger of his skidded further down your clit until your pussy all but absorbed it. Your jaw dropped, a feminine whine escaping your lips, and you had one arm around Damian’s neck and the other hand was cupping his face, holding him as closely to you as was physically possible. He chuckled wickedly as he curled his finger, effortlessly finding another spot, sending your back arching again. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this for you—you couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done it for you, including yourself—but you knew deep down, somewhere, that Damian did it the best. He was attentive, talented, with many tricks up his sleeve with regard to finger movement and placement as well the fine art of kissing. He had only one goal: to make you cum as hard as he ever had before, and if he continued the way he was, that would happen sooner rather than later.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, the irony of those two words not lost on you. “Please.”

“I got you, sweet girl,” Damian promised, simply petting and teasing that spot within you like he’d been there before, many, many times. He kissed your lips before moving to your cheek, earlobe, and neck. “Te tengo.” You didn’t know what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it for the rest of your life, and your hips seemed to agree as they undulated, rolling in ways you didn’t even know you were capable of.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped suddenly. Surely you’d never reached orgasm this quickly before, but there it was, building deep within your belly, tightening your lower back as your hips accelerated. “Please, Damian, I’m gonna cum …”

“Yes,” Damian sighed, burying his face in your neck just in case he started blubbering like a fool right before he made you cum. You knew his name, yes, he’d heard you say it since the injury, but nothing compared to the breathlessness with which you moaned it during such an intimate moment.

“Fuck,” you squeaked, your fiancé’s thumb flicking at your clit, and with each flick you repeated the obscenity. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

And just before you did, you lifted Damian’s face to yours so you could secure his lips, and therefore secure the impending mindblowing orgasm. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d cum, but you’d bet your life savings—wait, did you even have savings?—that this was the ultimate orgasm. The best you’d ever had. The wettest you’d ever been.

Speaking of wet … Damian delicately removed his fingers from your pussy, the squelching of your juices the loudest sound in the entire universe, just before the sound of the waistband of your panties smacking against your skin. Your lips separated with an equally lewd noise and you watched with blown pupils as he lifted his soaked hand to his mouth, his own black eyes meeting yours. “Do you mind?” he growled.

You licked your lips, blinking. “Only if you share.”

Damian tilted his head before shaking it, smirking, and he tapped the drenched tip of his middle finger along your lower lip. You sucked the digit into your mouth, tasting him, tasting you, tasting the flavor that was both of you, twisting your tongue in every direction to make sure you didn’t leave a drop behind. Once you had the finger completely clean of your delicious—if you did say so yourself—essence, he pulled his thumb into his mouth, the one that had been massaging your aching clit, and his cheeks hollowed. You’d never seen anything sexier (that you could remember) than Damian Priest, your fiancé, sucking your cum off his own thumb.

“So sweet,” he mumbled, your lips coming together in something soft, something needy, something electric, and something goddamn addicting.

🎀 Gatita - Kitten 🎀 Te tengo - I've got you

#wwe #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest x reader #smut #damian priest smut #damian priest kinklist #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic

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dark-konohagakure2 · 9 months ago

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Pain punishing a disobedient member by making her a free use slave for the whole Akatsuki

tw: noncon, abuse of power, free use, gangbang, bondage, threats, biting, forced eye contact, abuse, size difference, monster cocks, double penetration, anal, bloodplay, degradation, photography, mommy kink, facesitting

All characters depicted are 18+

Pain isn't as domineering of a leader as people would think, despite being the head of a terrorist group, he allows his members to have a certain degree of freedom with how they pursue the organizations shared goals, but if there's one thing Pain won't allow, it's disobedience.

When a younger female member of the Akatsuki begins to show the telltale signs of a disobedience streak, Pain will snuff out the issue before it even arises, deciding to put the would-be dissenter to work, and what better work for a disobedient brat than long and hard labor?

Pain can easily overpower her even without using his Rinnegan, chaining her up with her arms above her head and her legs spread, all of her holes exposed to whoever would walk into the common room of the Akatsuki lair.

Pain is very blunt about his intentions, telling her all about how he's going to have her own comrades fuck the disobedience out of her, that's the small price that traitors to the Akatsuki have to pay after all.

"Now you're going to learn how to be a good girl. I'm leaving you here for our comrades to use as they see fit. Maybe this will teach you the importance of teamwork and obedience."

Deidara goes first, and being the youngest he has the most stamina, not to mention his sadistic streak. He'll threaten to blow her to smithereens with his art, and he'll use the mouths on his hands to bite when lick her all over. Sasori goes next, and he's just unnerving, showing no emotion and staring at her with unblinking eyes, his puppet body feeling very uncomfortable inside of her as he roughly penetrates her with it.

Itachi is almost as unnerving as Sasori, just without the cold wooden body. He stares too, but with his Sharingan active the entire time he's fucking her, he's oddly insistent on making eye contact the entire time, grabbing her face and even slapping her if she looks away from his intense gaze. Kisame is a very big and tall man, living up to his reputation as a complete monster. He practically smothers the poor girl with his large frame when he pounds both of his cocks into her, shoving one member into each of her holes and leaving her covered in bloody bite marks by the time he's done.

Hidan is unsurprisingly the worst of them all in terms of the amount of physical pain he'll inflict, he'll fuck her so hard that she bleeds while calling her every name in the book, laughing in her face whenever she cries and begs. Kakuzu is no where near as obnoxious as Hidan, but he's just as cruel, forcing his threads into her mouth to shut her up while he plows into her, taking photos of her helpless form on his camera so he can sell them to seedy old perverts later.

Konan isn't as cruel as the men, but she's just as domineering as them, sharply slapping the girl's pussy and telling her to be a good girl for mommy as she sits on the girl's helpless face. Tobi is surprisingly the scariest of them all, the usually childish man is now speaking in a terrifying and deep voice, acting the complete opposite of his usual self as he pounds into her roughly and without a hint of his usual goofiness.

Once the day is done and her sentence is served, Pain will come to unbind her, her body covered in cum, tears, and blood. Pain won't feel any remorse, only showing satisfaction at the fact that his unruly bitch is how housebroken.

"Have you learned your lesson? It certainly looks like you have. Now, let's go to my quarters, I'll give you your final lesson in obeying your leader."

He'll then take her to his room to have his own way with the defenseless Akatsuki member, he's her leader after all, her God, so it's only fair that he fucks her last, to truly assert his dominance and ownership over her used up body.

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wannaeatramyeon · 5 months ago

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Goo Kim x Reader: One Night

G/N. Crazy Stupid Love Emma Stone/Ryan Gosling scene but make it Lookism. Masterlists

"Are you nervous?" Goo murmurs, a smile tugs at his lips when he feels you trembling.

He peers down at you and pauses. His hand, having worked its way under your top and caressing your bare skin - stops.

Tonight, you have aimed for sexy and sensual. It worked well. Fake it until you make it, and you made it when this handsome blonde at the bar invited you back to his apartment for a night of debauchery.

But your mask slips. It's hard to keep it on, y'know. When you are both half naked, about to be even more naked, there's nowhere left to hide.

Your nervousness comes out as a snort, because duh and you think some of your previous sexy and sensual points are deducted.

"Yeah," you respond with an awkward giggle. Then your mouth runs before your single brain cell can.

"- Also, something has been digging into my back all this time," Goo waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, "No. Definitely not. I think it's a spring or something or I don't know... crumbs? Have you been eating in bed? Either way I think this is the most uncomfortable mattress I've ever laid on. Your silk bed sheets are something else though - who even has silk bed sheets? It's like something from the 80s along with waterbeds but god they feel so fucking great on my legs."

Goo is stunned into silence momentarily before he barks out a laugh.

He rolls off you and onto the left side on the bed, full body wriggling around slightly, experiencing the silk bed sheets for himself and chuckles.

"Sweetheart, you're right. And I've always hated this mattress." He sighs, adding, "I got conned by fucking influencers."

You whip your head towards him and give him a look, "Influencers?! What. Is this those fancy brands that I've been seeing them shill all over my social media-"

Goo turns towards you, a pout on his lips and eyebrows pinched together in a pitiful expression. "Yep. I've hated it since the first night."

"Then why didn't you return it!"

He shrugs and you laugh, your previous nervousness dissipating.

"I always wondered what idiot would fall for those."

"Hey!"

A brief moment of silence then-

"Did you buy these sheets from an infomercial or something?"

"Excuse me!" Goo shuffles, angles himself so he's fully facing you. Head held up by the palm of his hand and resting his elbow on the mattress.

There's mischief, life in his face that wasn't there earlier tonight. "Sue me. I have money to spend, sometimes I can't sleep, and those sales people sell things so well."

You let out another unrefined snort, amused by this guy.

Suddenly finding there's so much personality, a touch of vulnerability revealed in that statement, behind the expensive glasses, his tailored suit and his muscled body.

"Wanna see what other crap I've bought?"

You both wander around his apartment, which turned out to be a huge fucking penthouse now that he has the light on and is giving you a guided tour, in your underwear.

Goo, no shame and expanses of skin on show, and you follow closely behind with his silk sheets wrapped loosely around your body.

He gestures at what you assume to be a coffee machine sitting proudly on his kitchen countertop. All sleek and stainless steel with dials and buttons on every surface.

"I can't even use this thing. I've had it for 2 years."

"Look," Goo opens an overhead kitchen cupboard, gesticulating like he's going to perform a magic trick, and dramatically shows you rows and rows of trendy kitchen gadgets, no doubt also purchased during moments of insomnia. Pizza scissors, spiralizer, bread maker, air fryer, pressure cooker.

"Never used."

"This," he points at the far wall, and you squint, barely making out a framed art piece of the ugliest monkey face you have ever seen. But hey, art is subjective, right-

"-is an NFT. I bought that too."

That tips you over the edge.

You cackle and cackle, doubled over and holding onto him for balance.

There's a dusty segway sitting pitifully in the corner of an unused spare room.

You jump out from round a corner, LED mask on your face and flashing a menacing red - "Boo!"and Goo actually jumps.

A lonely treadmill, placed beneath one of those fancy sit-stand desk catches your eye. Goo smirks, "Babe, I don't even have a desk job."

Instead of spending all night tangled in his silk bedsheets together, Goo jogs down memory lane of sleepless nights and impulse buys with you by his side.

Your laughter starts to tinge all his memories.

Your good natured ribbing and mocking.

His hyena cackle joins yours, and he wonders when was the last time he was able to laugh with someone. Has he ever spent an entire night talking to someone like this?

"Ask me something personal." He requests, both now lying on his uncomfortable bed. You in his arms, hair tickling his chin.

"What do you want from life?"

"To make money."

"Why?"

"I want to be rich."

"Why?"

"Well, who doesn't want to be rich, sweetheart."

"Yeah but why do you?"

Goo remembers running errands, doing anything to earn some money. Anything for a price. His cousin calling in his services, and he happily beat up some middle schoolers to help him (and who was it again, Tabasco?) out.

He doesn't really know where his thirst for money making has come from. Maybe there's some deep set trauma from his life pre-juvie or some shit he should pay a therapist to decipher but alas.

He tells you this, all this and more. At some point, his head is the one lying on your chest and you absentmindedly stroke through his blonde locks, humming noises of encouragement, listening to his words.

Weird, Goo thinks, when he finally drifts off to sleep with you snoring gently beside him.

The morning sun already filters through the blinds, and the hustle and bustle of Seoul has started to pick up.

How comfortable this feels. How natural your connection with him is. How this is the spark people dream about, and somehow it has hit him when he wasn’t looking for anything more.

That someone as different to him as you are, that is only ever supposed to be company for a few hours, a night at best, could spell trouble. Raise his hackles, send his alarms blaring.

When he's usually the walking red flag.

Because you’ve got him thinking. A lot. That shrewd brain hidden behind playfulness has been whirring; wondering about what happens if you become a regular fixture.

Maybe you might doom him, in the end. Maybe this will lead to a dead end and nothing more.

But he's curious enough, the spark is shining brightly enough, to see where else you might lead him to too.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #goo kim #goo kim x reader #kim jonggoo #kim jonggoo x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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cece693 · 1 month ago

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mano mažylė (Father! Hannibal Lecter)

Felt like writing something angsty and then combined with my obsession of the Hannibal tv show, I questioned what it would be like for a child to be raised by Hannibal. A tiny snot covered child who is scared of the dark but as they grow up realize their father is a cannibalistic serial killer....or maybe not?

Summary: How would things turn out if Hannibal raised a child on his own? Not that good.

tags: Hannibal is a father, he's a flawed person, mistakes are made, running away, Abigail is still hated by me so she'll be an antagonist, maybe a part 2 is on it's way

The world believed you were God’s favorite, born into privilege as the only child of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. But you knew better. You loathed him. Loathed the man who shared half your DNA while the other half remained a shadow, an enigma lost to time.

It hadn’t always been this way. As a child, you adored him. You wanted his approval, his praise, his love—simple things every child should receive without question. But Hannibal Lecter had never been a good father. Not in the way that mattered.

He excelled at maintaining appearances. Your clothes were immaculate, your education rigorous, your home a work of art. Yet, for all his brilliance and sophistication, Hannibal seemed incapable of the simplest acts of fatherly affection. He never hugged you, not once in your memory. He never showed kindness that didn’t come with calculated precision, and he certainly never sought to enjoy the small, fleeting moments between a father and child.

The small drawings you'd create for him—depictions of the two of you together, your childish hand scrawling smiles and hearts—would be shoved into his desk drawer without a second glance, never hung on the walls or displayed on the fridge like other parents might. When you cried after a particularly bad nightmare, he would send you back to your room with a simple wave of his hand, his attention already elsewhere. No comfort, no embrace, no whispered assurances that it was only a dream.

Nothing you did ever produced an ounce of affection from him. But his place in Baltimore's social circle? That was another matter entirely. He prioritized his social image over the bond you craved. Dinners with influential guests, exquisite banquets, and whispered conversations about art and philosophy filled the house while he'd dismissed you to your room. The door would shut with a firm finality, his deep voice ringing with calm authority: “Go upstairs.”

Even as a child, you felt the sting of that rejection. The lavish dinners he painstakingly prepared were not for you. The carefully cultivated relationships he cherished were more valuable to him than the one he should have been building with you. You were an accessory in his meticulously curated life, a piece of his narrative rather than a person to be loved.

The resentment you buried for years began to boil over when Hannibal brought Abigail Hobbs into your home. For reasons you couldn’t understand, he treated her differently. He gave her his time, his attention—things you had long since stopped hoping for. Hannibal had even invited her into his sacred space—the kitchen. You watched from the doorway, unseen but seething, as he guided her hands on a knife, showing her how to properly julienne vegetables, his voice soft and patient. It was a thing you had only observed from afar, never experienced.

And then came the final blow—the moment that shattered the thin thread holding your heart together. You watched as Hannibal embraced Abigail, his arms wrapping securely around her small frame. One hand cradled the back of her head, his touch tender and protective, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.

Where was this Hannibal when you needed him? Where had this version of him been when you were the child longing for his love?

You couldn’t stay. Not in that house. Not with the reminder of what he was capable of giving but had chosen not to give to you. So, you ran. You left without looking back, vowing to never forgive him for the years of cold detachment, for the love he had withheld, for the way he made you feel like an afterthought in your own life.

For Hannibal, destruction was all he knew. It was an art, a purpose, a calling. But the day he first gazed upon you—his child, swaddled in soft blankets, your tiny hand grasping his shirt—something unfamiliar stirred within him. Adoration. Pride. Perhaps even love, though he would never admit it, not even to himself.

He had never envisioned himself as a father. For all his meticulous planning, the idea of parenthood had been an abstraction, an unthinkable detour from the life he had carefully constructed. Yet, when the mother of his child informed him of your existence, a quiet certainty settled over him: you were his.

He killed her shortly after. It was nothing personal—just necessity. Hannibal Lecter did not share. He would not allow anyone else to claim you, to influence you, to take you from him. You were his blood, his creation, and that meant you belonged to him entirely.

Still, Hannibal recognized his own darkness. He knew the shadows that lingered in his mind, the hunger that defined him, were no place for an innocent child. For all his pride, a part of him hoped you would never become like him. He wanted to preserve your purity, your light, even if it meant keeping a careful distance. So, when he saw you gaining independence—first as an inquisitive toddler, then as a fiercely determined child—he began to step back. Slowly, deliberately.

He ensured you were safe and had everything you needed to prosper. The finest tutors, the best schools, the most luxurious comforts. Yet, he withheld what you truly craved: love, warmth, and connection. He refused to give you what might make you look deeper, what might tempt you to uncover the cracks in his mask. He feared that if you saw the real him, you would recoil in terror. And Hannibal, for all his control and detachment, could not bear the thought of you fearing him.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fond of you. Quite the opposite. Hannibal cherished you in his own way, quietly and from a distance. All the small drawings you made for him as a child—brightly colored stick figures of the two of you, accompanied by phrases like “Me and Daddy!” or “Best Dad in the World!”—he carefully kept. He never displayed them, of course. That would have disrupted the pristine aesthetic of his home. Instead, he tucked them into a leather folder, hidden away in his bedroom.

When you were away at school, he would pull them out. Alone in the quiet of his space, he would trace the lines of your messy handwriting, pausing over the parts where you had clearly erased and rewritten to make it perfect. Those small, clumsy marks filled him with something unnameable—an ache that he would not call regret but might have been close to longing.

It was those words—Best Dad in the World—that kept him firm in his decision. He would not let the innocence in you fade. He would shield you from the world’s horrors and, more importantly, from his own.

But then he brought Abigail Hobbs into their house, and everything crumbled.

Hannibal had known it would stir some jealousy. Abigail was, after all, an interloper in your space, stealing his attention. He imagined it would be a passing irritation, something that could be soothed with time. What he failed to anticipate was how deeply her presence would cut. Abigail was not like you. She wasn’t innocent. Her father’s sins had already tainted her, and that darkness—the one she carried so naturally—was something Hannibal understood, even appreciated.

He allowed himself to envision a future: Abigail as your sister, a young woman who could carry the weight of his world without breaking. He imagined the two of you sitting together at his table, becoming a family that would include his dearest Will Graham. It was a beautiful picture, one he painted with great care in his mind. But Hannibal, so enraptured by this fantasy, failed to detect the resentment growing within you.

Your heart, already heavy with years of neglect, bloomed with fresh anger and hatred. Abigail had taken what little space you had in his world and filled it with her presence, her pain, her dark reflections of the fatherly affection you had longed for.

The breaking point came one evening when dinner was ready, and you failed to appear. Hannibal ascended the stairs, his movements deliberate but heavy with irritation. He thought to find you sulking in your room, perhaps brooding over a perceived slight. But when he opened the door, the truth struck him like a blade.

The dresser drawers were open, several items missing. The window was slightly ajar, letting in a cool breeze that made the curtains flutter softly. Your phone rested on the bedside table, an unspoken declaration that you did not want to be found.

And then he saw it—the note scrawled across your mirror in bold, angry letters.

I hate you.

The black marker lines were thick and uneven, etched with trembling, furious hands. For a moment, Hannibal stood frozen, the words searing into him like fire. It wasn’t just the note. It was the empty space, the absence of your presence, the finality of the choice you had made.

He stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the remnants of you. The room still smelled faintly of your presence, but it was hollow now, like a shell. A part of him wanted to reach out and erase the words, to undo the weight they carried, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, the perfect stillness of his body betraying the storm within.

Hannibal Lecter rarely felt regret. But as he gazed at the angry scrawl on the mirror, the open window, and the phone you had so carefully left behind, he felt something dangerously close to it.

He had wanted to protect you. To shield you. To preserve the light he saw in you. But instead, he had driven you away. And now, the silence of the house felt unbearable. For all his careful planning, for all his control, Hannibal Lecter had made a mistake and there was no correcting it.

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year ago

Text

The World Ended

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: Joel Miller is hella manipulative, power imbalance, non descriptive age gap, Dub Con, smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, rough sex, P in V, Dom!Joel Miller, breeding kink adjacent if you squint and read between the lines, mentions of death of child, mentions of suicidal ideation (no more so than the show discusses), mentions of trauma, inspired by '10 Cloverfield Lane'

Word Count: 5,852

Summary: You wake up in an entirely new world, but you find comfort and love in an ally. He saved your life after all. Why wouldn't you trust him? Haunted Hoedown prompt: Stranded AU/Cult AU + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

[a/n: my contribution for haunted hoedown b/c i was inspired and couldn't resist (def cheated and ignored the days tho i just picked my fav parts of different prompts lol). 10/10 would recommend surfing that tag b/c people are making WORKS OF ART. This is just my toss it together addition lol]

"manipulation and control can sometimes be disguised as love." -abegail turingan

It was odd to wake up with no memory of going to bed. Disorienting was probably the more accurate word. Enough so that for a brief moment all you could do was stare up at the concrete ceiling above you. There was a headache lingering behind your eyes that no amount of blinking would clear away. Where were the stars? The thought drifted through your foggy mind. Your bedroom had glow in the dark stars plastered to the ceiling. A design choice that a nine year old you chose at the store, and one that your parents were never able to peel away no matter how many years had passed⏤ they were nostalgic in that sense. You must have been just like them considering you admired those cheap, plastic stars while staying in your parents’ home during this visit.

But the stars were gone.

Everything was gone, and the sharp smell of antiseptic and bleach replaced the floral scent of your mother’s detergent. You turned your head into your pillow in hopes that the comfort of your bed would ease the headache that seemed to worsen the longer you were awake. You found no comfort though because the pillow you laid on was not your own.

Slowly, you began to sit up and you weren’t sure what was more distracting: the unexplained aching pain of all your muscles or the unfamiliar strange room you found yourself sitting in. The walls were like the ceiling, undecorated concrete, and the only bit of furniture was the metal framed cot you were now lying on. A hospital gown covered your otherwise bare body.

The clarity that settled in your mind was stark and startling. Any of the fog you initially woke with vanished in a snap, and your breaths came in quick, hyperventilated gasps. Oh, God. Oh, God. You threw your sore legs over the edge of the bed to rise. Your feet only brushed against the cold tile of the ground before you found yourself sprawled on the floor.

“Help…” The word left your lips in a breathless whisper as you tried to move your weak legs. You could only manage to sit up. “Help.” With every attempt, your voice grew stronger until you were screaming. “Help me! Help!”

A heavy, metal door, one across the room that you hadn’t even noticed in your panicked state, began to creak open. You sucked in a sharp breath, fear palpable, as an unfamiliar man stood in the doorway. He was older than you. Gray littered his brown, messy hair and facial hair, but it suited him. The man wore a dark green flannel that accented his broad shoulders. Everything about his figure exuded strength and intimidation from his build to the large hands that held a box of some kind. However, the moment his dark brown eyes landed on yours they softened. His shoulders hunched marginally, as if he were trying to look smaller than he actually was, and a line of worry formed between his furrowed brow.

“Hey! I need someone in ‘ere!” He barked over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact, in a deeply southern drawl. The man rushed into the room toward you, but when you flinched at his approach he slowed his pace. He took one hand off the box to hold in your direction, palm stretched outward, “It’s alright. You’re safe. Promise.” Coming from a stranger, and in this scenario, his words did nothing to calm your racing heart. You crawled backwards until your back hit the cot. Your name suddenly left his lips. “I’m⏤ My name is Joel.”

“How⏤ How do you know my name?” You gasped.

“Your license. It was in your bag. Didn’ mean to pry but…” Joel said slowly. “Are you⏤”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you blurted out, “Where the hell am I? Why am I here? What is going on? I⏤”

“Whoa, whoa.” Joel knelt down in front of you but kept his distance which you appreciated. “One thing at a time, darlin’.” He shook his head. “You were in a car accident… ‘bout two days ago now.”

“A car accident?” As the words left your own lips, there was a flicker of some forgotten memory playing in your head. The sound of a car horn, blinding headlights, the crunch of metal on metal, and the taste of blood. You flinched, “I… Oh, God.” You held your head with a trembling hand but winced as your hand brushed against a tender spot on the left side of your face. “Is this… Is this a hospital then?” The room resembled a prison more than it did a hospital room. Plus, it made no sense to you that your parents weren’t here. The man saw your license which meant they’d know who to contact. “Where is my family?”

Joel hesitated and you saw a look of what almost looked like regret in his eyes. You repeated your question more firmly this time. He sighed, “That’s… tougher to answer.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

A second later, a man and a woman dressed in bright orange HAZMAT suits came storming into the room. It was a blur of yelling and chaos and they descended upon you. Joel argued loudly with them and your head was spinning enough that it was difficult to follow what was happening. Gloved hands wrapped around your arm, ripping you up from the ground, but it was short lived. The man who had grabbed you was shoved away by Joel who gently sat you on the side of the cot before standing in front of you as a barrier.

“Don’ you fuckin’ grab her like that.” Joel snarled. The soft kindness that had been in his tone only moments ago was gone now. “You hear me??”

“Sir, you are not supposed to be in here.” The woman snapped. “Her wounds⏤”

“Her wounds are from the accident. I already told you.”

“We still need to test her⏤”

“Fine, but you don’ jus’ fuckin’ grab ‘er like that!”

There was nothing about this moment that could be called peaceful, but Joel’s defensive stance and his deep voice somehow managed to calm your racing heart. You didn’t know why the man was so protective over you, but you’d take any ally you could in this moment. The argument continued long enough for only a few more verbal jabs at one another. It settled on Joel sitting by your side glaring at the man in the HAZMAT suit as he used two separate swabs on you. One against the wound on your forehead and the other in your mouth.

“By entering without precautionary measures, you have bought yourself another 24 hours of quarantine, Mr. Miller.” The woman announced.

Joel didn’t respond but just glared at the woman instead. The second the two of them disappeared out of the room, Joel’s features softened again. You hugged yourself, trying to keep from shaking, and swallowed the lump that now sat in the middle of your throat. “Thank you. For that.”

“Least I can do.” Joel murmured as his eyes traced your face⏤ examining your wound, you assumed. You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Joel didn’t elaborate. Sitting this close to him, there was something familiar about. You weren’t sure why because you were positive you had never spoken to him before. You’d remember a face this handsome. A voice that distinct and hypnotizing. “How do you feel?”

“Um. Sore. Confused.” You admitted. Recalling how the woman addressed him, you cleared your throat. “Mr. Miller⏤”

“Joel, darlin’. Jus’ Joel.”

“Joel…” You tested the name out. “Please⏤ Please tell me what’s going on. Where am I? Where is my family? Why⏤ Why were they in HAZMAT suits?”

The stranger you were finding comfort in let out a slow sigh. He rose from the bed to pick up the box he had brought with him. You had forgotten about that entirely. Joel sat back down after opening it and offered it to you. There was a simple set of men’s clothes in the box along with a water bottle and bag of chips. He shook his head.

“All I had were a few of my spare things.” Joel said. “Figured you might be thirsty or⏤ or hungry.”

You appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t what you wanted right now, “Joel. What happened?”

He let out another long sigh before meeting your gaze with a look of mourning, “The world ended, darlin’.”

The bunker was large enough to fit thirty or so people. It was an underground, concrete community made by a survivalist who went by the name of Ezra. You had yet to meet this mysterious man which felt odd since the community wasn’t that large, but it wasn’t too shocking since you didn’t do much exploring since your arrival.

The world had ended. That’s what Joel told you. Hell, that’s what everyone kept telling you, but none of them could tell you concretely how. Every time the discussion came up, there was a new story involved. Aliens had invaded. Zombies had overtaken. A virus wiped out humanity. The theories were endless and since you couldn’t remember your last moments above ground you had no opinion on the matter. The last thing you could recall was leaving the house to meet some old friends who stayed local to your hometown for drinks. You got into the car, and the next thing you remembered was waking up in a concrete room.

You hoped your memory would come back gradually, but two weeks had passed and nothing was any more clear. You mourned a muddled memory. Families and friends ripped away from you in uncertain measures, and it left you reeling. The only pillar you had right now was Joel Miller. He had saved you in more ways than one. When the world went to shit, Joel was on his way to the bunker. All the people here were either friends or they knew this Ezra character in some way and that’s how they bought themselves a ticket into this sanctuary. Joel had been the survivalist’s contractor. Helped build this place and even mocked the man when first given the job.

But, when the world did end, Joel was offered safety and on his way there he came across your wreck on the side of the road. He scooped you up and fought for your place here with him.

You owed him your life.

The sound of a door opening snapped you out of the daze you had fallen into. Joel stepped into the shared bunk space looking worn out. While your simple duty in this community was currently food prep, Joel’s was more labored. He helped with any repairs and upkeep to ensure everything was working as it should. He dropped his tool belt by the door with a groan.

“Long day?” You asked with a small smile. Joel grunted an affirmative. He crossed the small room to drop down onto the couch. Since you were technically an add on rather than one of the invited, you were forced to share the room with Joel. Though ‘forced’ wasn’t quite the right word. You honestly didn’t mind it at all. Having a familiar face, even if it were one you only just met, brought you comfort. Though you kind of felt bad he was now stuck with you. There was no way he could’ve known saving your life off the side of the street was going to chain your existence to him.

The room was decent though. There was a simple bed in one corner, a couch pushed up against the wall, a table with two chairs, and a mostly empty drawer. Over the last two weeks, you and Joel had collected or traded objects to make the room your own. You traded a set of spare socks that had come with the room for a small, blue vase that you set in the middle of the table. Joel had even managed to find a few books and magazines that he gifted you.

You pushed up from the bed to sit on the couch beside him. You pulled your legs in to tuck under yourself. The shirt you wore was one of his flannels, you still had limited clothing options, but you had managed to scourge up a pair of yoga pants that fit you well enough.

“You?” Joel asked as he rested his head on the back of the couch.

“Food prep was exciting as always.” You joked. Joel breathed out a small, tired chuckle. You nodded toward the bed. “Lay down. Sleep.” Joel shot you a light glare. From the beginning, Joel was adamant about sleeping on the couch so you could have the bed. Even when you told him it made more sense for him to have the bed since you were smaller. Joel wouldn’t even listen to the suggestion of swapping turns. “Joel.”

“Couch is fine.” Joel replied gruffly and closed his eyes.

“If it’s fine then I should have no issues sleeping on it, right?”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

You set your hand on his arm and felt him slightly stiffen at your touch. Joel cracked open his eyes to peek at you. “Please take the bed tonight. Please.” He furrowed his brow and you gave his arm a squeeze. “Nothing would make me happier right now. I’m serious.”

Joel didn’t say anything to begin with. He just held your gaze and under the weight of his stare you felt the back of your neck warm. The man was painfully attractive, it couldn’t be argued, but that wasn’t what made your heart skip a beat or your core secretly ache. It was the way Joel looked at you and spoke to you. The way he treated you. If his gaze were to be believed, you must have been a work of art. Joel stared at you like a dying man watching his last sunset. His voice was always deep and honeyed when he spoke to you. The words he chose put the respect and care he had for you on clear display.

The world ended and everything in your life felt cold, but not Joel. Joel was warmth.

Joel’s other hand settled on top of your smaller one. His thumb traced your knuckles and your throat felt tight at the contact. He gave your hand a quick squeeze and then stood up with a groan. You heard his knees crack, but he made no comment on it. Joel just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Thank you, baby.”

You watched him kick off his boots and drop into bed. A soft groan left his lips and he fell asleep before the lights were even off.

The sky was blue. Your head rested on Joel’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the ground leaning back against the wall. A total of a month had passed now, and you confided in Joel that you missed the sky. In response, he brought you here. It was a restricted space that he only had access to because he would come up here to do repairs on the electrical system. In the entire bunker, it was the closest to above ground that you could be. Only one staircase and a thick, metal door separated you from the world outside. On the door was a small window and from where you sat you could see a patch of sky.

“Do you think the world really ended?” You asked softly.

Joel glanced at you without jostling your position too much, “What’dya mean?”

“The sky is too pretty for the world to have ended, don’t you think?” You mumbled. It wasn’t just the sky that created your doubt. There was a woman who worked with the mysterious Ezra. She said she would type out anything he dictated to her. She didn’t think the world had ended. She thought it was all some conspiracy or ploy. You weren’t sure how much weight you put into her words, but it left the question in your mind. “What if the world is completely normal up there and we’re just rotting away in a tomb?”

Joel shook his head. “You hear the sirens an’ gunfire. The SOS broadcasts on the radio.”

“Couldn’t that be faked?” You asked. Joel hummed in a noncommittal fashion. You shrugged, “You never told me how the world ended. Everyone else has given me their two cents, but you never talk about it.”

“Cause it doesn’ matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

Joel was silent for a few moments, but you waited patiently for him to speak. He shifted and with your head still on his shoulder, his hand found yours. “It doesn’ matter ‘cause… my world ended two years ago.” You lifted your head so you could face him, but Joel kept his eyes on the patch of blue sky. “I… I lost my daughter. Sarah.” You squeezed his hand as your heart ached for him. “Wasn’t fair. Should’ve been me. But… But nothin’ has made much sense since.”

“Joel, I am… I am so sorry.” You whispered.

“I lied.” Joel said and your eyebrows furrowed. He swallowed nervously and finally turned to look at you. “When I found ya, I wasn’ headin’ to the bunker.”

“Where… Where were you going then?”

“Home.” Joel shrugged. “The sirens were goin’ off, people were in a frenzy, Ezra texted me some freakish invite, but… I planned on headin’ home to jus’ wait for the end.” It was devastating to hear someone you had come to care so much for admit that truth. Your heart broke for him. Not a single shred of you could ever imagine the pain or horror of losing a child. “On my way, I ran into you. Saw your car flipped on the side of the road. Once I got ya out, it’s not like I could take ya to the hospital with the way all of it was so…”

Joel motioned to the bunker around the both of you. The rest was history. In the silence, you could hear the whirring noise of the motors working the fans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. You let the hand not in his lift to rake your fingertips through the scruff on his jaw as your thumb rubbed back and forth over his cheek. Joel’s eyes fluttered closed at your touch and a soft breath left his lips. He leaned into your hand.

“I… Joel, I don’t know what to say…”

“This is ‘nough.” Joel murmured. There was a tension that had formed the second you caressed Joel’s face and it only built the longer you were in contact with him. It was a long time coming and was only coming to a head just now. You could control yourself, you were sure of it, but when Joel’s sad eyes opened once more the breath was knocked out of your lungs. His lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re the first thing I’ve cared ‘bout in a very long time, baby.”

The world had ended, supposedly. What was the use of wasted time?

You leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was soft and hesitant. A brush of you against him as Joel breathed in a strangled gasp. He pulled back and your heart dropped. Embarrassment filled your very soul as you let your hand fall away from him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I just thought, every moment might be our last, we should make the most of it. Or⏤”

“It’s not that, baby girl.” Joel immediately cupped your face and you felt yourself melt between his warm, coarse hands. “You don’ owe me this. You know that, right? I don’ expect…”

You gave a small shake of your head, your eyes glued to his lips, “I know, Joel. I know. I… This is my choice. I want you.”

Joel took in a slow breath through his nose as his jaw locked. His hands tightened around your face, caressing the skin along your face and neck, and one hand slipped to cup the back of your head as his forehead leaned against yours. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, “Say it again.”

“I want you, Joel.”

Joel initiated the kiss this time, and it was far from hesitant. At your consent, it was like he dropped all semblance of his self control. His lips were bruising against yours and Joel was desperate in getting you closer. He dragged you over so you were straddling his lap. His hands roamed down your body until they found your hips. Joel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips just as he dragged your aching core against his half hard cock⏤ thrusting up against you while swallowing the moan that left your throat.

He wrapped an arm around your middle and suddenly you found yourself on your back. The cool concrete floor was jarring to how hot you felt. Hands sunk into the waistband and with one firm pull both your tights and underwear were down to your ankles. You gasped in surprise, but Joel didn’t pause.

“Jesus Christ, what a pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby.” Joel groaned and tugged a foot out from your clothes so both articles wrapped around only one of your legs. He roughly grabbed your thighs and dragged you closer so when he dropped to the ground his mouth was immediately buried into your warmth. You yelped at the contact but it was followed by a wanton groan as his tongue ravished you. It was messy and rushed. Joel ate you out like you were his last meal, and the groans and slurping sounds he made were downright sinful.

“Joel! I⏤ Oh, God.” You gasped and your hands buried in his hair. Your hips lifted to chase after his mouth, but Joel dropped his arm across your waist and pinned you to the floor with a chuckle.

Joel lifted his face and turned to bite down on your thigh. You cried out at the sting of his teeth against your skin, but the drag of his hot tongue against the spot left you whimpering. “C’mon, baby.” You tugged on his hair to try and get his lips back where you wanted them, but he stayed firm. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“Want you, Joel. Need you.”

Thick fingers dragged up and down through the mess he’d already made and one began to prod at your entrance without actually sinking in. “Again.”

“Please. Please!” You tried to grind down against him, but his grip on your waist kept you in place. “I want you, Joel. Want you so badly. Please.” Joel had one fingertip circling your hole, but at your desperate pleas he sunk three of his large fingers right in. You screamed, both in alarm and at the sharp sting, “Shit! Joel, too much!”

“Shhh, baby girl. You’re okay.” His lips found your clit and the suction he applied there slowly took away the sting of his rapidly moving fingers. Just as he reassured you, you were okay. More than okay. Pleasure was clouding your mind and you were a squirming, sopping mess under him. Joel’s fingers curled up into you, dragging against your walls, and he made quick work in finding the spot that punched stars into your vision. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.” He kept his lips against your clit as he spoke and your wet flesh muffled his praise. “Lemme feel you squeeze ‘round my fingers so I can feel you squeeze ‘round my fat cock. C’mon.”

Teeth nipped at your clit, followed by the smoothing of his tongue, and combined with the pounding of his fingers you came with a shuddering cry. Joel didn’t stop his onslaught and he lowered his lips from your clit so he could drink up every bit of the soaking wet mess he made.

“Joel. Fuck.” You gasped for the air he had somehow managed to punch out of your lungs with his hand alone. “That was…”

“Not done, baby girl.” Joel sat up on his knees but kept his place between your legs. You weakly pushed yourself up onto your elbows and it only dawned on you then that this entire time he had been fully clothed. It was an almost uncomfortable balance between the two of you. “Get up ‘ere.” You began to push up from your elbows and the moment you were close enough his hand wrapped around the back of your neck so he could help you up the rest of the way into the seated position you now sat in. He gazed down at you, pupils blown in lust, and his dark stare soaked in the sight of you. “Say it.”

Knowing exactly what he wanted, you mumbled, “I want you, Joel.”

“Good girl. Open.” Joel grunted. The hand at the back of your neck grabbed you by the hair and he tugged down so your chin was tilted up. Joel shoved the three fingers he had deep in your cunt into your mouth. You closed your lips around him and moaned at the taste of yourself. “Belt, baby. Get my belt.”

You tried to glance down, but Joel kept his grip on you tight so you could only stare up at him as he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth. Blindly, your hands groped for his belt and you struggled to get it undone as you gagged around his fingers.

“Shh. You can multitask, baby, I believe in ya.” Joel cooed and didn’t relent. “Work at it. Be good.” You traced his thick fingers with your tongue and your hands finally managed to get his belt undone. You got your hands into his pants, tugging down his boxers, and Joel groaned loudly as your hands wrapped around his hard, girthy cock. The size of him alone had you tense in surprise. “Hey, it’s alright, baby girl.” Joel’s fingers slipped out of your mouth and you couldn’t help but cough to try and clear the tickle at the back of your throat. He carefully pushed you down, onto your back again, but he followed with you so he was hovering over your body. One hand at the back of your neck, cupping it softly, while his other rested by your head to hold himself up. “You can handle this. I swear, this perfect pussy is made for me, baby.”

Joel lowered himself to capture your lips with his. The kiss was soft and tender. It was a sweet moment as his cock dragged slowly against you. His tongue licked against the curve of your lower lip just as the tip of him notched at your hole. You opened your mouth to ask him to start slow, but Joel shoved his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, as his painfully large cock shoved into you. You screamed, muffled by his own mouth, as he bottomed out in one single thrust. Tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes at the intrusion and you pulled your lips away from Joel by turned you head. Your fingernails dug into his back.

“Joel, that⏤ that kind of hurt.”

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” Joel buried his face into the crook of your neck. He left open mouth kisses there between reassurances. “Jus’ give it a minute. You’re doin’ so good. So good.” Joel was thankfully staying still inside of you and with the work he put in along the length of your neck you began to feel the sting start to fade. Joel shifted, just a bit, and you shuddered at the slight drag of him. His cock twitched and he moaned against your skin. “Fuck, you feel so good. So perfect. Knew you would.” Joel gave a short, experimental thrust and you gasped at the wave of pleasure you were pulled under. “Gotta move, baby girl.”

Joel pulled back until just the tip remained then rocked his hips forward hard enough to push you across the concrete floor. He roughly grabbed you by the thigh and pulled your leg up. You followed his lead and hooked your ankles around his back as Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightened and he quickly fell into an unrelenting pace.

“Told you, baby girl.” Joel grunted, the only other sound being your breathless moans and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking his cock in with every powerful thrust. “Made for me.” Joel sung praises as that band of want and desire tightened in your core by the second. His hand slipped between your bodies to find your clit once more and your eyes squeezed shut with a gasp. As soon as they shut though, his touch was gone and with that hand he grabbed you by the face. Your eyes snapped back open in surprise. “Nuh uh. Eyes on me. You hear me?” You nodded and he tightened his grip⏤ his fingers digging almost painfully into your cheeks. “Words, baby. Lemme hear you say it.”

“Keep⏤” You gasped. “Keep my eyes on you.”

“Good girl.” Joel’s hand slipped back down and when his fingers reached their goal it took every bit of strength to keep your eyes open. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train and a cry of pleasure slipped past your lips. Joel groaned loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Takin’ me so well, baby girl, just like I knew you would.”

His pace ramped up but he lost his rhythm and in a brief moment of clarity you gasped, “Joel! Joel, you gotta⏤ fuck! Oh God. You gotta pull out, Joel.” He didn’t slow and for a brief moment sharp fear mingled with the overwhelming pleasure. “Joel!”

At last second, Joel ripped himself off you with a guttural groan and you felt the warmth of his release spurt on your hips. Your entire body went lax as he continued to milk the last bit of him onto your body and you felt the warm, sticky cum drip down the sides of your hip and down into your pussy as well.

Joel tucked himself back into his pants, without clasping his jeans, and he rubbed a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. You were trying to catch your breath as Joel separated your underwear from where it was tangled with your yoga pants around your ankle. You lifted your head and watched as he used your underwear to wipe away the cum now drying on your skin.

“C’mon, baby girl.” He tucked your panties, now a damp mess of your spend and his, into his flannel pocket and helped you slide your legs back into the yoga pants. When they were back in place, he pulled you to stand and grinned when your knees nearly buckled. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled and clung to his shoulders. “That was… a lot.”

That had felt incredible, and the fact that it was Joel made it even better. But, it had been rougher than you thought it’d be. Not that you really minded. It just… caught you off guard. Your mind was still too drunk on pleasure to fully understand your feelings on it.

Joel leaned in to settle his lips against your temple. He hummed, “From the second I saw you, baby girl, I just knew you’d be my world.”

“The first second?” You teased. “Me bleeding in an upside down car?”

His lips were curled up into a smile you could only describe as boyish. Joel leaned in again to lock his lips with yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck to help hold yourself up.

The world had ended, but you had a new world now and everything would be just fine.

Right?

BEFORE

Joel stood at the gas pump staring at his phone as his truck was filled. His strange client, the survivalist who asked him to help build a bunker, had shot him a message that made little to no sense. He rambled about the “end of the world”, and invited Joel to join him in the bunker for the “start of something new”. Joel tossed his phone back into his truck with full plans to ignore it. He’d drive to the bar and spend the night drinking. It’d be nothing new. He was a regular at this point.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat his gaze lifted and he spotted you exiting a store across the street.

You from three days ago. You who he met at his usual drinking hole. You who had left him breathless. Joel had been drinking alone, the usual, when you and your friends drifted into the bar as an already half drunk mob. One of your guy friends had gotten rowdy near him, joking with another, and he bumped into Joel and spilled his entire whiskey.

Before he could even begin to lose his temper, you had swept in to save the day. It was obvious you were drunk yourself, but you cleaned him up, apologized for your friends, bought him a new drink, and just sat there and talked. You rambled about being in town to visit your family and catching up with old friends, and Joel found he could listen to you all day.

There was something magnetic about you.

Enough so, that he found himself following you down the road. You were driving toward the edge of town. Maybe to meet with friends at that new bar and drink some more. The roads grew less crowded as you got further out, and Joel thought about following you into the bar. Just to talk. It had been so long since he craved conversation of any kind. He realized though that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him. You were young and beautiful and clever. A ray of sunshine. Your options for company were endless and Joel couldn’t imagine being anywhere but at the bottom of that list. Drunk you had put up with him, but sober you probably wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Joel’s eyes darted to the passenger seat where his phone sat. A second passed, and a decision was made. He flashed his lights and laid on his horn. Your car slowed cautiously and he began to speed past you. He looked out his passenger window and the last thing he saw was your wide, confused and fearful eyes before he swerved into you.

He slammed on the breaks and watched your car flip a few times before coming to a stop at the edge of a ditch. Smoke billowed from the broken remains of your vehicle and Joel stared wide eyed at what he had just done. Guilt gnawed at him and he scrambled out of his truck to race to the driver’s side of the wreckage. You were hanging upside down from your seatbelt and blood dripped from a gash along your temple. A bruise was already forming at your hairline. But you were alive. Thank God. He hadn't even considered how wrong that could've gone. It seemed the universe was on his side for this.

Joel knew what he had done was wrong, but it was too late to go back.

He had made the decision⏤ your world ended and he’d be the one to build you something new.

[if you're curious the Ezra I mention is the Pedro Pascal character from Prospect (he just screams cult leader, doesn't he?) and i lowkey maybe have plans for a follow up on this but from the POV of a different reader and Ezra]

#the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader

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tj-dragonblade · 2 months ago

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[Connect 4 FIC] Promises in the Wake

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 1301 Tags: fluff, apple picking, autumn, domesticity, feelings, alternate comics ending inferred, not retired Dream

Notes: This covers the @sandman-connect4 spaces Hands, Duty, and Breakdown which was only mentioned in passing but I'm still gonna count it. Also partially inspired by this adorable art by @monobuu. Aaaaand, here, have a song while you read, from whence the title came and whose vibes have definitely nurtured this as well: You're Still Here by Poets of the Fall

Summary: Hob and Dream go apple picking

On AO3

Dream's hand is warm in his.

Hob can't help noticing it, as they make their way through the orchard's gate. The autumn air is cool, crisp but not biting, the smell of apples and drying leaves and woodsmoke on the breeze. And Dream's hand, so often cool and otherworldly to the touch, feels warm and almost human in his own.

He's delighted that Dream reached for his hand, when they got out of the car, delighted that Dream seems genuinely happy to be here with him rather than just fondly indulgent. It's so achingly, beautifully mundane, going apple-picking for the Inn's kitchen with his boyfriend tagging along—the cosmically-powerful supernatural boyfriend who certainly has grander and far more important things to do, but who is also working hard to balance his duty and his personhood and Hob is so proud of the progress he's made.

It had taken a breakdown and an intervention to get to the point of Dream even admitting that something needed to change, and Hob is grateful every day that Dream chose to try, that Dream is still here. With him.

He's going to show Dream so many things beyond his duty that make life worthwhile, big and small and everything in between.

Dream's hand is warm in his.

Dream's chunky black boots crunch softly through the leaves underfoot as he leads Hob through the trees, Hob pulling the small cart with its three bushel baskets behind him. Dream is wearing his usual black skinny jeans and grey t-shirt, but Hob had convinced him the posh peacoat would be a little out of place. Dream, graciously, had borrowed a cozy flannel button down from Hob instead of manifesting something new, so Hob has the pleasure of seeing the warm autumnal orange and brown plaid of his own shirt wrapped around Dream's slender frame.

It becomes him, the soft seasonal look, but also. He's out and about in public, wearing something of Hob's, and the possessive primal instinct in Hob is so terribly pleased about it. Dream is not sharing that witch's clothes, nor apple-picking with the fae queen; he's here with plain old down-to-earth everyman Hob and sometimes Hob still has to stop and take a second to remind himself it's real.

But Dream's hand is warm in his, solid and perfect, and Dream does not let go.

Not even as he stops at a particular tree and steps closer to it; he simply draws Hob beneath its canopy with him. He presses his free hand flat to the trunk, gazes up into the branches, a faraway look in his dark and starry eyes.

"This one," he declares a long moment later, glancing over at Hob. "This tree dreams strongly, of sunlight and clear skies, sweet rains and rich earth, of its fruit spreading far and wide to grow new trees and nourish many. These apples carry those dreams; they will be robust and just sweet enough, well-suited for the pies Sam is planning."

"Thank you, duck," Hob smiles, and squeezes Dream's hand gently before letting it go. "Let's see—" He reaches for the apple hanging nearest, a fat round thing with a deep rosy blush over the golden undertones, and plucks it deftly from the branch. He polishes it against his jumper and then takes an enormous bite.

It's quite possibly the most perfect apple he's ever tasted, ripe and autumn-cool and exquisitely balanced between sweet and tart. It's crisp, juicy, and he can't help the almost-lewd sound of approval that leaves him. "Oh my god," he moans, through his mouthful. "You're absolutely right, love—here, try this—"

Dream looks at the apple that Hob holds out to him, something inscrutable passing over his face; then, with the smallest smile, he takes the offering and sinks his teeth into it delicately, a much more decorous bite than Hob's. Hob finds himself paying rapt attention to the smush and press of Dream's very-pink lips against the skin of the apple and the perfect white of his teeth cutting through the jucy flesh, the flick of his tongue catching a stray droplet as he pulls it away.

"Indeed," Dream says, having finished chewing first, and hands the apple back to Hob. "As expected, these will serve their purpose admirably."

Hob takes another bite, grins around it. "Then let's get picking, shall we?"

Dream works smoothly alongside him, long white fingers gently plucking apples from the branches, occasionally murmuring words that Hob doesn't quite catch to the fruit as he goes. Hob can't help watching him between picking his own apples, overfull with fondness, glancing his way constantly, and Dream of course is not blind to it.

"I am flattered by your regard, Hob Gadling, but gazing at me does not put apples in your basket." He sets another apple in the bushel he's filling as he speaks, mouth turned up in a little smirk that pairs beautifully with the sideways glance he gives from beneath his lashes, and the fact that he's teasing does nothing to discourage Hob's distraction. He wants to take Dream's hand, his warm and willing hand and pull him close; wants to spin him into a dance, waltz him about the orchard in his boots and skinny jeans and borrowed plaid on feet made light with quiet joy, kiss him beneath the apple boughs like they're in a sodding Disney film.

"Suppose you're right," he grins, and he knows it is absolutely besotted.

He is utterly, stupidly in love, and delighted to be so.

Dream's smirk softens into a smile, as if he can tell what's on Hob's mind; he plucks another apple from the tree, tosses it gently to Hob. "Apples, beloved," he admonishes, and Hob could swear the autumn sunshine grows softly brighter overhead.

There are enough ripe apples on this one tree to fill all three bushels; once they're full, Hob pats the tree kindly. "I'll be sure to plant the seeds from some of these in the Inn's garden," he says, half talking to the tree and half to Dream. "Those robust dreams won't go unrealized."

"It will be appreciated," Dream says, and his smile is a beautiful thing.

Dream reaches for Hob again as they bring their laden cart back through the orchard to weigh out and pay. "My sister is fond of apples," he says, as they walk, hand in hand. "Perhaps I should take one or two for her."

"The one who set us up?"

Dream's eyes roll the slightest bit. "Yes."

Hob grins; far easier to wrap his head around Dream's sister being Death if he focuses on how her gift has enabled what he shares now with Dream. And also, the way Dream reacts to his flippant summarization of the original deal never fails to amuse him. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the thought." He leans over, plants a kiss on Dream's cheek just because he can. "Tell her she's welcome to stop by for pie, too, if she likes."

"I shall," Dream decides, a soft happiness on his face, and Hob's heart does a grateful little trip. Dream is here, with him, smiling that little smile in his borrowed flannel shirt, alive and present and not burying himself under the weight of his duty; and Hob, Hob is so happy just to have him here, to see him thriving, to not have lost him to last century's unwelcome candor or the ordeal of Fawney Rig or anything else. He hopes, with all the fullness of his heart, that he can steal little mundane moments like this with Dream for the rest of his very long life.

Dream glances over, still with that secret little smile, as if he knows Hob's wishes and approves.

Hob smiles back, utterly content.

And Dream's hand is warm in his.

= Started: 11/4/24 Drafted: 11/6/24 Posted: 11/8/24

Leaving behind the weight vying for yesteryear Leaving promises in its wake, whispering, My love, you're still here You're still here ~ Poets of the Fall, 'You're Still Here' YouTube Spotify

Disclaimer that I have never been apple-picking in any capacity so please forgive any details that may be egregiously incorrect.

#TJs Fics #Sandman #Dreamling #2024SandmanConnect4

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strongheartneteyam · 1 year ago

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Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

Chapter 5

CW: dubious consent, mentions of NON CON, neteyam yearning for reader, angst all over, you can see the sexual tension with your naked eyes, possessive neteyam, feelings of general and sexual confusion, mentions of sexual fluids, talks of being sexually aroused, sexual content, tsaheylu is mentioned, reader is still scared of Neteyam but she longs for him too, fear kink (if you squint), mentions of blood, size kink (if you really squint), primal [hunter/prey] kink (if you squint HARD), crying, strong language, the word "harassment" is mentioned, MAY BE TRIGGERING to some people, mentions of exophilia, indecisive reader, heartbroken Neteyam, heartbroken reader. Please, tell me if I missed anything important!

I slept a lot during the day yesterday and was up until late with my bf having dinner, watching YouTube etc and, when he went to sleep, I was restless, still didn't feel like sleeping so, I decided to edit and finish this chapter that was being kept in my Docs for way too long, it was getting dusty 😂 So, I might have stayed up until morning in the zone editing and finishing this 👀 I'm REALLY sleepy and exhausted rn, so, if some parts of this chapter don't really make sense, try to have empathy for my poor tired being and forgive me <3 I'm aware that I'm a hot mess who has insomnia and needs to get a grip and not put her art above healthy sleeping habits but what can I do? I'm one of those chaotic artists who have a hectic, unstable life and feel the most alive when they're immersed in their craft, running away from their problems, pouring their whole soul into their works 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not proofread. Me. too. tired. 💤 I'll do it ASAP! hope you guys like this. 🤍😘 comments will ALWAYS be incredibly appreciated.

Chapter 4

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From lashes to ashes and from lust to dust

In your sweetest torment I am lost

And we sense the danger but don't want to give up

It's heartache every moment, from the start 'til the end

It's heartache every moment with you

Heartache Every Moment (HIM)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You stared at Neteyam, at his big face, covered with stripes and fascinating bioluminescent freckles, leaving unique patterns all over his blue skin.

Even though he was kneeling down, doing everything he could to seem smaller and not so scary, to make you feel less intimidated by his size, his face was still way above your eyes, you still felt your neck hurt a little when you had to look up - straining your muscles, already sore from working too much - to gaze at his eyes.

"Oh, paskalin" (honey) "I could make you feel so good, you don't even know..." he was now even closer to you - you didn't even think it was possible but there he was, his massive frame making you feel smaller than ever. Fear of him snapping at you, in case you did something that didn't please, and hurting you was taking over your mind. You didn't know that Omatikaya boy, how could you trust him? "Give me a chance, be my mate and lemme show you how much pleasure I can give you, how I can make you feel safe and fulfilled in my arms after we make love. Like no fucking human male could ever do. Not like I would." Neteyam's fangs got prominent at that moment, and you could tell he was restraining himself from hissing at the thought of a human man having you in his arms. God, that had a name...

"Obsession." you thought

Despite those horrible feelings you were experiencing, his foreign accent still sounded weird but strangely fascinating to your ears, simultaneously. You hated yourself for feeling drawn to Neteyam, even though he was clearly stepping over your limits. You didn't know if maybe it was a na'vi courtship behavior for the male to get this close to the female, even if she hadn't shown any signs of wanting him to. But Neteyam wasn't exactly courting you, you thought. It was more like... straight up harassment, at least in human culture.

Your breath became heavier inside your oxygen mask when you thought about him using his fangs to draw blood from your skin in case you were able to be fast enough to go past where he was kneeling down next to you, and, tried to run away. With his incredibly slender, toned legs he could easily catch up with you in a millisecond and grab you, being free to do whatever he wanted to your small, defenseless human body. That thought made you feel like someone was knotting your intestines tight.

"Eywa... You're just so fucking pretty, even in this demon form, that I... I wanna do to you, right now, all I've been dreaming about, since I first saw you and you made my blood run hotter through my veins, such a fire you ignited inside me, syulang..." (flower)

Neteyam's breath was so heavy once out of his nostrils, clouding your mask, like he's controlling his urges, trying to hold back from touching you. You felt your knees weaken, fear and tension being the reasons why.

"Y-you don't want me, Neteyam. Not really. You just think you do. You're only intrigued by me because I look different from the girls you're used to. The na'vi girls." You didn't know how but you dug deep inside your chest and found the courage there to say that, looking into the alien's eyes.

Neteyam chuckled faintly, air coming out of his nose, in disbelief

"How can you say such thing, hì’i?"

"Hì..hì?" You tried to pronounce what you had just heard, in vain. You had no idea what that na'vi word meant. It's not like you knew that much of the na'vi language, anyway. You only knew the basic stuff that you had to study and learn to be able pass one of the tests that would determine if you were ready to get an Avatar body from the lab

"Hì'i." He corrected you, smiling wide and laughing quite a bit. "You're so silly and cute. Hì'i means "small in size" in my people's language. You are small, in this current physical form. But, let's talk about what's most important: what makes you think I don't really want you?"

"Because I am a demon to you, as you said. I am a human girl, not a na'vi girl." you said, rage slipping through your eyes. Why the hell was that crazy na'vi guy calling you a "demon", saying that he wants you sexually and calling you pet names, all at once?

"But you have an Avatar body. Nothing is preventing you from having your consciousness transferred for good to that body. If my father did it, so can you." The alien said, full of confidence. You wondered if he was going insane.

"And what makes you think I wanna do it?"

“My tawtute," (human) "I can smell you. I know you want me too. You're wet for me. Don't forget my senses are way sharper than what you're used to" Neteyam smiles calmly while enjoying the way your scent hit his nostrils. You felt your face flood with color, so much blood going directly to that part of your body as you felt incredibly embarassed when you heard those words. You had just realized your panties were soaked. "And, I'm sorry, but I have to tell you… Your juices smell so fucking delicious. You're driving me insane right now, yawne. I think that, at the end of the day, becoming my mate and making tsaheylu with me wouldn't be such a horrible experience for you."

Your thoughts cursed at you like crazy: "Damn it!! I must be kidding my own self!! Having a slight crush on him is one thing, getting fucking wet for him is something totally different! Do I have a fear kink, a rape kink or am I just into freaking exophilia?! For real, girl... There's gotta be something extremely wrong with you for you to be this turned on by the thought of this alien guy taking you by force."

"You're crazy! I'm not gonna be your mate! Just fucking let me go!" You wondered if you had just lost your mind to say and do that to Neteyam, being currently in your human body (if you were Dreamwalking it would obviously be safer) but you couldn't take all that was happening at that moment anymore. Your heart was beating too fast, like you were about to have a cardiac arrest. It was too much. You were overwhelmed.

You caught Neteyam off guard, the words you shouted stinged him so hard it left his very heart wounded, the muscles throbbing in pain. You noticed he seemed hurt, the sides of his mouth curled down faintly and his cat like ears were pointing towards the ground.

You felt bad for hurting his feelings. Even though he was disrespecting you, there was still enough empathy inside you to make you feel bad for making him suffer. You did not enjoy hurting people.

You inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm your nerves and, finally, you said:

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, even though you honestly deserve it. There's no excuse for what you're doing. You can't force me to be your mate. I'm not even na'vi! And don't start with that "You have an Avatar body" thing, please!" You breathe in deeply and let the air out slowly "I'm not your dad and I don't intend to follow his steps. I know very well I could die if I tried to go past Eywa's eye. Even if I wanted to get my consciousness transferred forever to my Avatar form, it's too damn risky. Plus, what makes you think I'd ever do it for you? I barely know you." You sighed, exhausted from it all. "Let me go back to my room. Please…?"

Neteyam looked tired and he was starting to feel defeated, like a soldier fighting in the front lines of a war who was losing his stamina after shooting way too many enemies in a very short period of time.

"I just wish you could…" it's like the words felt too rough against his throat, like it was too hard to talk at that moment "... could see that I won't hurt you." He sighed again "I know it feels weird and I'm big and scary, like you say…" His heart hurt at the reminder of your tough words "But I promise you - and I take promises very seriously. My parents taught me to do so, ever since I was old enough to understand their words - I would never lay a finger you." The expression on his face looked utterly serious, like he truly meant it. "Ever."

"You're hurting me with your actions, your words... the way you talk about me, about my body. I don't know about your culture, but it's pretty disrespectful in mine. I feel violated. I do think most of what the human race considers right or wrong is just bullshit, dumb society rules made up by even dumber people. But I have to agree with them on this one." You said

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, hì’i tawtute." (small human) Neteyam looked down at the floor and there was shame all over his face

"Opening my window for you was a mistake."

Neteyam looked at you with eyes filled with sadness

He got back on his feet and stepped away from you, staying now arguably a good amount of steps away from where you were standing.

"Please, don't say that…" Neteyam pleaded with tears in his eyes

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

༊⁀➷

Once you got back to your room, took your oxygen mask out of your face on autopilot and closed the window, you stared for a while at Neteyam's oddly tall figure, still standing in front of your room.

You looked at him and your heart broke. He looked so hurt. His big yellow irises shone insanely in the dark of the eclipse. But his eyes were tainted with tears. His dark braids fell onto his shoulders perfectly. He was incredibly beautiful. But why could you only let your guard down when he was away from you? When you were behind a glass and he was standing on the other side? It broke your heart to do that. But you also knew he was being too much. Too eager. Stepping over your limits and making you uncomfortable. But what if that was just his na'vi nature? You had heard before that the na'vi were humanoid but still animalistic. Maybe it was just… his primal instincts to find a mate. You wondered if maybe you were being too harsh on him. But you still felt like you could not and should not trust him. Even though you wanted to.

You watched him walk away, his shoulders pointing downwards, his posture showing he knew he had lost that battle.

You wondered if he would come back or if he would give up on you. You felt so idiotic. Why did you want him to come back? He was not treating you the way he should be, with respect for your boundaries.

You felt so confused. There was a lump in your throat. You felt like you were about to cry too.

Your hands were cold and you were feeling anxious and your chest was filled with angst. You wanted to scream Neteyam's name and ask him to come back. But you did not. You knew you shouldn't. It could awake someone. It could be dangerous. You should not trust Neteyam, you kept repeating in your mind.

Your feet started to move, almost as if they did it on their own, because it felt like your mind was somewhere else, like your brain was occupied with something else other than sending a message to your feet and tell them to take you back to your bed. You were lost in your thoughts. Dazed as hell.

Once you laid on your bed and covered your body with the warm sheets, you felt a sinking feeling of sadness and guilt bruising your chest. Hot, painful tears streamed down your face and the lump in your throat intensified. Why were you crying? And why were you thinking about Neteyam Suli while you cried?

You wondered if he could imagine that you were now crying, just like he was when he left.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@kitsunefirewail @tumblingdevils @a-blog-name-2003 @xylobee @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @henhouse-horrors @lala-1516 @xylianasblog @samistars @crazy4books1 @explosiongamora @lik0 @your-girl-mj @darktyrantwinner @sereisstuff @yeosxxx @die4niyahhh @iman-lu @manumanulau @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @hana-yuri @thehoneymushroomhealer @melllinaa @annaibansworld @siriuslysmoking @avatar4eva @ellabellabus07 @badbishsblog @neteyamsmate4life

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angel-of-the-moons · 6 months ago

Text

Over The Phone

Dad Bod!Professor!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Just... NSFW. So much NSFW. Phone sex, masturbating, sexy selfies, sexting, all that shit.

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: God this took forever to churn out but I finally got motivation to finish it!!

Taglist: @cupcakeinat0r @tojishugetiddies (if I forgot to tag anybody let me know, pls! I lost the saved list I had for people alshldhd)

Divider by @/across-the-art-verse

Miguel art @ meeee

The day had dragged on for what felt like far longer than usual for him; the usual students who showed up late, tried to sneak out, slept through the lecture or just ignored whatever he said.

The students who listened and actively engaged with the lesson were few and far between, and the almost silent lull between classes felt felt almost too short. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, especially with the growing list of students who were disinterested in his class, or those that only signed up for extra credit and didn't want to do the work...

But, getting cards and thank-you post-its from students who felt like they wouldn't have been able to graduate without him kept him on in this tedium. He loved to hear from his former students about how their new careers were going--careers they credit hi to helping them achieve.

It never failed to make his heart all warm and fuzzy when he thought about them.

Miguel ran his hand across his beard, and a thought came to him about maybe shaving it off. He had grown it out; rather rugged if he had to admit it. But, he quickly shook that thought away--you loved his beard. Oftentimes he would wake up from a nap, you snuggled perfectly against his solid frame, your nails dragging through the short hairs with a content smile on your face.

Oh, he couldn't say no to you, his pretty little wife, could he?

Speaking of which... it was your day off. He couldn't help but wonder what you were--

When his phone pinged, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and unlocks the screen to see a text from you;

Hiii baby, how's work going?

He chuckled and replied, Same as usual. Only two students slept through class this lime

*time

Your reply was swift.

Awww I'm sry :(

If it makes you feel any better, if I were in your class... wait. I wouldn't get any work done either. I'd just be lookin at you :p

He laughed, his belly shaking a little bit as he grinned at his screen, his massive fingers fumbling the small keys once again on the too-small phone screen.

Yes, you would mafe a very door student, wouldn't you, amor?

*made *poor

Miguel rolled his eyes. He was tempted to try and see if they didn't make phones built for someone with his giant hands in mind... Damn this tiny screen!

Awww my Miggy gettin all frustrated?

Yes.

For what felt like too long, his message was left on "read". He quirked a bushy brow, scratching at his beard curiously at what was keeping you.

And then, his phone pinged again.

Here, maybe this'll keep you entertained ;)

*Image attached. Click to view.*

He hummed in curiosity. Maybe it was one of those silly little doodles you liked to send to him? One of your memes, maybe? Though, it didn't make sense why the image was blurred, when--

His heart lurched up into his throat and he instantly slammed his phone against his desk, screen down; looking around pointlessly as if he were worried someone was standing over his shoulder when the image finally cleared.

Cursing himself for acting like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Miguel slowly lifted his phone to his face and looked at the picture you'd sent him.

You were nude, laying belly-down in your bed, the blankets askew around you. Your feet crossed one over the other as you smiled at the lens--you must have moved the full body mirror from the living room to your bedroom to achieve this shot--and your back was arched slightly to show off your bare ass.

He felt his cock twitch to life as he examined every pixel on the screen; wishing so badly he were home right now, to touch that soft expanse of flesh he loved so much. To cup your ass in his palms, feeling the warmth of your skin in his palms as his fingers massaged and groped the skin.

He could feel your hands slide up the soft pouch of his belly, scraping your nails delectably through the short, curly dark hairs that ran up his abdomen and covered his chest. He could feel your teeth scrape and tug his nipple before kissing your way back down...

Dios, mi amor. You're lucky I am not in the middle of a meeting! He hastily typed, pretending he wasn't practically salivating over that selfie.

Aw, didn't you like what I sent? :'(

I didn't say--

But before he could finish typing and send the text, he got another attached image from you.

He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat and his thumb hovered over the image hesitantly. He looked towards the clock above the door to his classroom. He had half an hour left...

When the image unblurred, he felt his heart damn near stop.

You were perched on the edge of the bed, your legs spread wide; one hand was holding your phone while the others spread you slick folds with nimble fingers and a cheeky expression on your face.

How bout this one?

Miguel groaned, loudly. He actually slipped a hand over his plush lips, cringing at how damn near pathetic that sounded.

He immediately clicked your contact information and hit "call".

The phone rang a painfully long, droning tone until your bubbly voice giggled on the other end of the line, "Heyyyy Miggy~"

"You are going to kill me, baby." He hissed into his phone, pressing the heel of his palm into his throbbing erection, "I'm in the middle of a school day! The students are at lunch!"

"Ohhh, did I get you all hard and excited for me?" You sigh dreamily into the phone, your voice dropping into a more sultry tone.

"Naughty boy, popping a stiffy in the middle of class."

He grunted, his head dropping back against his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he tugged the ends of his button-up out from his rapidly-tightening jeans, "And whose fault is that?"

You gasp theatrically, "Mine? Oh, baby, I was just trying to provide you moral support, I swear!"

"Of course," Miguel huffed, eyeing the doorknob, waiting to see if he was unlucky enough that somebody were to walk in right as he pulled his cock free from his jeans, running his fingers over the swollen tip, smearing his precum around it.

He could hear in your voice, the way you were biting your lip in excitement as you spoke. "Baby, are you touching yourself?"

"You tell me, first." He replied, his voice strained as he gave himself a few tentative strokes; trying to gauge if the risk was worth it.

"Oh? Want me to tell you that I'm playing with my pussy?" You croon. "That I'm imagining you, and me, in bed..."

His teeth snagged his plush bottom lip briefly as he sped his hand up to your words, then slowed back down again. The friction wasn't right; too dry. So, he sucked on his tongue until he had a nice glob of saliva; bringing his hand up to his mouth to wet it before slicking his throbbing length up.

"Go on." He grumbled into the line.

"...ooooh." You giggled, your voice a little breathless. He could see you now, laying back on the bed, your fingers plunging in and out of you, pulling out to stroke your puffy clit; your pussy drooling into the blankets beneath you.

"Mmmm~ I'm also imagining you on top of me, my legs on your shoulders..."

He felt the oxygen squeeze from his lungs as he upped his pace, the vein in his cock throbbing and thumping in time with his rapid heart rate.

"Yeah, bebita?"

"Yeah." You huff, a small moan coming from you; "'m imagining you pinnin' me down, fucking a baby into me."

"Dios." Miguel groaned, thrusting his hips up to meet his fist. "You want a baby, hermosa? Want me to make you a mami?"

"Mhmm... want you to fill me aaaallllll the way up." You whined, your panting hot, even through the phone.

Miguel dared a glance up at the clock. Still had some time... He needed to do it quickly; needed to milk his cock so he wouldn't appear "improper" with a massive erection straining his pants.

As if enough of his female students (and even some of the male ones) didn't have enough difficulty paying attention in class...

He'd be lying if he hadn't gotten a few love confessions from students, present and former. He'd always politely turn them down, and then, if they were currently his pupils, politely and quietly have them sent to another class to avoid any improper behavior in the future.

It was as if none of them ever paid any mind to the gold band firmly secured to his ring finger--the matching mate to the one you wore on your own softer, delicate hand signifying your matrimonial bonds. Or... maybe they had and assumed they could tempt him from you.

Well, those assumptions were always wrong. The only person he could imagine bouncing on his cock, sucking it, milking it, stroking it--was you. You and only you.

Sometimes thinking of you when he was alone was the only ways he could get off, before you started dating. Even finding porn of a woman who looked like you wasn't enough. It had to be you.

And after the first time he felt your pretty pink pussy swallow his cock whole? Oh, he was addicted. Addicted and whipped, a few of his colleagues would say...

The professor and the school nurse; a bit of a cliche; but it was a nice one. The two of you had even played with a slutty nurse outfit or two.

You not always being the nurse...

"Fuck, Miggs, 'm so close." You whine loudly. He could see in his mind's eye how fast your fingers would be working your clit, maybe even giving in and plunging one of your silicone toys in and out of your tight hole for him.

In fact, he could imagine it so closely he could hear it.

"Shit, baby..." He hissed, his hand working his length furiously, now, almost in a race with you to see who would cum first. "You on speaker??"

"Mhmm~" You whine, your air leaving your body in wet-hot pants, the sound of your slick pussy being fucked--by your hand or your toy, he couldn't place--but the sound of it had his balls tightening up already.

"Gonna cum for me, mi amor?" Miguel huffed and puffed, more thick precum dribbling down from his tip. He smeared it over himself, using the fluid as lube to help hasten his impending orgasm.

"Yeah, baby~"

He snarled, the sound of stroking skin lewd and loud; your moans the best pornography his ears could ever be graced with.

"Cum for me, honey." Miguel whined, his glasses slipping further down his nose as he released his cock long enough to yank his shirt up over the soft, rounded edge of his tummy.

Immediately after, his hand returned once more around the thick pulsing shaft of him; stroking, tugging, milking himself like he knew your sweet cunt would. Your tight, wet, needy pussy that was dying for a drop of his cum.

As you wantonly moaned; he could imagine you splayed out in bed, legs wide and mouth open as you shout your orgasm out for him to hear, drowning out the outside world... and as his eyes would drift down, he could imagine your belly, cute and round; a baby kicking out at his hand as he caressed the stretched-out skin.

The image of you carrying his baby sent his mind into a blazing fire, the tightening in his balls and swelling of his cock too much to bear. Miguel arched his back, the wheels of his chair squeaking faintly across the floor as he curled his toes in his polished shoes, hot, thick ropes of cum shooting out to coat his belly, fingers, and even the underside of his desk; your name leaving his lips in a flurry of obscene prayers.

His mind was fuzzy as he slowly came down from his high, the sound of your giggle snapping him back to reality:

"See you when you get home, Miggy~"

The phone hangs up, and Miguel is left with his pearly white mess coating his belly, making his skin and hair sticky. At least he didn't get any on his shirt. This time.

The bell rang, suddenly, shaking him to full lucidity from his post-coital haze, his hairs standing on end and making him jolt up straight.

He hastily grabbed a few tissues from his desk drawer and began cleaning up, shoving a few stray stands of his graying hair back into place as he began to hear the chatter and footfall of students in the halls.

Oh, you would pay for this when you got home, all right.

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