#HIS VOICE IS SO HOARSE FROM ALL THE SCREAMING AND DRINKING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ienjoywritingfilth · 5 months ago

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teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him.

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him.

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth.

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves.

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else."

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future.

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats.

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all."

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood.

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?"

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way.

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum.

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp.

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely.

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors.

"Where is she?"

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly.

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides.

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position.

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses.

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked.

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him.

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear.

"How did you know?"

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury."

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed.

"Amilius you are released."

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty.

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands.

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well."

"You are most welcome."

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it?

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation."

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has.

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome.

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you.

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure."

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled.

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway.

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill.

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here."

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand.

"I find my thirst rather quenched."

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper.

"The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice."

You bite so harshly you draw blood.

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down.

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment.

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom.

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well.

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after.

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes.

"It is late," you tell Marcus.

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun.

"I thank you for the fire, General."

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless.

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you.

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult.

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit.

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts.

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving.

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window.

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly.

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him.

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!"

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her.

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him.

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga.

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him.

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you.

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint."

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few."

He can see the fight leave your body.

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it.

"What are these?"

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands.

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated.

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?"

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read. You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore.

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand.

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure.

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given.

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid."

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck.

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn.

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you.

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?"

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking.

You don't need to wait very long.

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices.

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here."

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on.

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment.

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages.

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself.

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him.

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night."

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk.

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head.

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting.

What a waste.

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire.

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber."

You lick your suddenly dry lips.

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt.

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you.

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his.

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms.

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch.

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth.

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done.

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts.

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing.

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression.

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me."

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy.

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels.

"I cannot."

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap.

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious.

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable."

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me."

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason."

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs.

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear.

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop."

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood.

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe.

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn."

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts.

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another."

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre.

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you.

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat.

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him.

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back.

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance."

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground.

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals.

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck.

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward.

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact.

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head.

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked. She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there.

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you.

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest.

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth.

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure."

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches.

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes.

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine.

"Marcus, please more," you moan.

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex.

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel.

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair.

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there.

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval.

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head.

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks."

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum.

"Marcus!"

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks.

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body."

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night.

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory."

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment.

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms.

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing."

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed.

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips.

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately.

"What troubles you?"

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it."

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous.

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night.

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky.

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite.

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand.

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am.

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely.

He's always enjoys a good chase.

#marcus acacius aesthetic #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator2 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #pedro pascal smut

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mydemimonde · 1 year ago

Text

'Cherry Bomb' | Michael Gavey x Reader (Part 1)

a/n: this will have two parts, most likely! english is not my first language and i have no idea how oxford university works lol i just googled some things, also i suck at maths so any explanation here is just me googling shit. no beta reader. hope you enjoy!

Summary: You wake up with a pounding headache, the worst hangover you ever had. You don't even remember how you managed to get to your dorm, until you see a small note on your bedside table, signed by... Michael Gavey.

Words: 4490

Warnings: +18 (minors do not interact!), female reader, no use of y/n, not specific physical description, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, fingering, loss of virginity, masturbation (and more to come in the second part)

You wake up on a Saturday morning with a pounding headache, your mascara all smudged under your eyes. The sunlight coming from the blinds makes you squint your eyes. You bring a hand to your forehead, sighing. This was the worst hangover you had in a while.

The sound of the door opening and a sudden gasp make you groan and close your eyes shut.

“Oh, here you are!” a particularly high-pitched voice says, making your headache even worse.

“Fuck, Leigh” your voice comes out as croaky and hoarse. “Lower your voice” you ask as she mutters a ‘sorry’ and closes the door carefully. You manage to sit, your back resting against the headboard as Leigh approaches you.

“Next time, be sure to drink water as well. Too many tequilas and shots do this to you” it’s like she’s scolding you, which is fair because she’s two years older than you, she’s like your sister sometimes.

You rub your eyes, smearing more mascara and making you look like a raccoon. On the corner of your eye you notice a glass full of water and some aspirins. You frown.

“How did you get that so fast?” It’s Leigh’s turn to look at you completely puzzled. You point to the glass next to you.

“Uhm, it wasn’t me” she chuckles as you take some aspirins in your hand and drown them with water. Your brows lift in surprise and confusion, your eyes glancing towards a small note next to your lamp. You grab it and read the message in a rushed handwriting.

“What the fuck was Michael Gavey doing in my dorm?” you nearly scream with wide eyes as Leigh takes the note from your hands to read it. She throws her head back and cackles.

“Michael Gavey brought you here last night. You don’t remember?” she looks at your dumbfounded expression trying not to laugh again. “Jeez, you were so drunk you don’t even remember what happened…” she mutters and sits cross-legged in front of you. “Last night at the pub, we were chatting with Felix and his group and you wanted to go to the loo, so you left but on your way you bumped into Bradley and Sam” she wiggles her brows and you scoff.

You dated Bradley during half the second term, then you dated his friend Sam for a brief period of two weeks. You found them too boring, so you rejected any other advance on their part ever since.

“Anyways, I couldn’t see much but I think something nasty happened, because on the other side of the pub was Michael fucking Gavey looking at you. Babe, he was fuming” her lips curve into a devilish smile. “He strode towards you and grabbed your arm, telling them to fuck off. Which they surprisingly did, which is odd because, well… you know… he’s a scrawny awkward nerd and Bradley and Sam are pretty much tall like beasts” she shakes her head while you’re still confused, trying so hard to remember what happened.

“Why the hell would he even approach me? He hates me” your brows lift and she places a manicured hand on your knee.

“Hmm, maybe they were annoying you. It seems Michael’s your knight in shining armour. I think it was hot, wet my panties a little bit not gonna lie” she sighs and fans her face with her hand, pretending to melt.

Now it is your turn to cackle. “You’ve always said you pictured him like one of those guys who compulsively jerks off to hentai every night in the dark of his room.” You look at her with a knowing look, pouting your lips.

Leigh shrugs. “Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I like nerds like Michael Gavey now. He looked really good with that shirt” she narrows her eyes and twirls her hair, making you laugh again. She grins and looks at you. “You should talk to him. Ask him what happened, and then you might want to thank him…” she wiggles her eyebrows and you roll your eyes, she slaps your shoulder in response. “You know you want to! I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes, and a guy like him will never resist a bomb like you. Who knows, maybe he’s jerking off to the thought of you…”

“Leigh!” you slap her leg and she jumps. You shake your head. “Babe, she hates me. I know it. I’m pretty sure he’s part of that group of guys that slut-shames me in the hallways” Leigh presses her lips, knowing you might be right. Might.

Still, you want to know what really happened last night, so you sigh and get out of bed, Leigh following your movements in the dimly lit dorm. “I’ll take a shower and think about how to talk to him, ask him what happened” your friend gets on her stomach on your bed, her feet up and her chin resting on her palm as you grab your towel, feeling the headache go away, but your empty stomach grumbled.

“Mind if I take a nap here? Kev fucked my brains out last night and I don’t feel like going to my dorm” she sounded quite tired, and you hum in response. She groans as she gets into the covers and you enter the small bathroom, closing the door slowly and undressing to get into the warm shower, letting the water fall all over your body. You close your eyes enjoying the feeling, and you start wondering how to talk to Michael.

You never saw him anywhere else rather than in the great hall of college, as he spent most of the time in the library. Besides, you know deep in your gut he hates you. Every time you walk into the library, he leaves, avoiding looking at you.

One time, you tried to talk to him. It was the beginning of the academic year, you were dating a history student named David, and you saw Michael all alone during lunch, too focused on his books and his crunchies. Feeling bad for him, you grabbed your purse and walked towards him, a smile across your face.

“Hi there” you introduce yourself, extending your hand. He looks up from his book, looking at you with a frown, sneering. He looks at your hand and then back at you. Awkwardly, you move that hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pressing your lips. “What’s your name?”

“Michael Gavey” he says sharply, clearly annoyed. You stand there, feeling heat creeping on your cheeks as he turns his attention to his book. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out so you leave, returning to your friends.

That was the first and last time you tried to talk to him, but he refused. You didn’t know why, but you assumed it was because of your reputation there. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your sexuality, and it’s definitely not your fault that most of the guys are horny douchebags who aren’t capable of being in a serious relationship. Plus, they’re too shallow for you, and you get bored easily. You don’t want them to get too attached.

But Michael’s different. He avoids interacting with people when he can, he doesn’t do parties -maybe you saw him once or twice at Felix’s-, he’s very vocal about what he thinks about popular people: he hates them. Vapid cunts, you heard him mutter once. And that’s why you feel attracted to him.

He’s nothing like Bradley, Sam or David. Or Luke. Or Peter. Or even Felix.

You finish showering and drying off your hair, Leigh sleeping soundly on your bed. You are careful not to make any loud noise as you try to dress. You put on a lace tank top and a pair of jeans, your favourite flats and the note he left on your bedside table and head out to the library, hoping to find him.

Bingo. You see Michael sitting on the other side of the library, fully immersed in his studies. Your flats make the slightest of noises against the floor, you feel your heartbeat get faster as you approach him. You pull the chair in front of him and take a seat, leaning over as you smile and say hi. Michael looks up and nearly chokes at the sight of your tits nearly spilling from your top.

“H-hi” he simply responds in a low voice. He clears his throat and frowns. “Why are you here?”

Ouch. Rude. “I was looking for you.”

“You were?” Silly old me?

“Yes, dummy. I woke up with the worst hangover of my life, and I found this on my bedside table.” You hand him the small note he left. Drink these with water. Hope you feel better. Michael Gavey. He presses his lips and nods, acknowledging the note he wrote.

“You were pretty hammered” he chuckles and you smile, showing your perfect teeth.

“I was. I can’t remember a thing, Michael. Would you help me to fill in the blanks?” you ask sweetly and bat your lashes at him, making him squirm. Michael Gavey squirms.

“Sure, uhm…” he puts the book aside, scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat once again. “You were heading towards the toilet at the pub and I heard you laugh when you bumped into those assholes” he sneers, remembering the events from last night. “The blonde one landed a hand on your ass and you tried to pull him away. You were clearly uncomfortable so just told them to fuck off” he shrugs.

Your heart flutters, he sounds so honest and worried about you. You extend your hand to place it on top of his, and he meets your eyes. “Thank you.”

He nods, looking at your hands. He slithers them away, making you frown. “No worries. Next time though, try not to throw up on my sneakers” your eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment.

“Oh fuck, did I do that?” He nods trying to hide a smirk. You cover your face with your hands, mortified. “Shit, I’m so sorry!” You move your hands away from your flushed face when you hear him chuckle.

“You had too many drinks, you could barely stand on your feet” he reassures you, his sudden kindness taking you by surprise. “I left you in your dorm and just when I was about to leave, you said you felt like throwing up, but you didn’t make it to the toilet and threw up on my sneakers. I washed the stain off the floor and helped you get off your shoes to lie down. I see you took the aspirins I left there.”

“I did, thank you again.” You don’t know how to thank him properly, so you start thinking. You take a moment to study his features. The glasses he wears frame his face and hide his blue eyes. His aquiline nose —oh God, his aquiline nose—, the pronounced cupid bow of his lips, his sharp jaw. You feel the need to run your fingers through his tousled blonde hair. You press your legs together. “How can I thank you?”

“No, it’s ok. No worries” he makes a gesture with his hands and sighs. “Uhm, I really need to study, so…” he trails off, subtly telling you to leave. You blink and nod, standing up.

“Sure, ok, I’ll leave you to it…” you accommodate the chair back and wave at him. “See you around?” He just nods and opens his book again. As you leave, a great idea crosses your mind, but before you open your mouth a pack of students enter the library. You curse internally and leave.

9:15 AM.

You fix your hair in the mirror, brushing it before going to the calculus lecture. You’re not studying anything related to maths actually, you’re a psychology student and according to the university program you can take a course to complement your studies, so you chose that one.

As you walk down the corridors, you see Michael carrying his notebook and entering the classroom. Your lips curve into a smile and speed up the pace to catch up.

“Michael!” You call him as you finally reach him. You swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, and you follow him as more students fill the room. He smiles at you with pressed lips, greeting you back.

“I didn’t know you were taking calculus” he sounds genuinely surprised. You decide to take a seat next to him, placing your bag on the floor as he opens his notebook and clicks his pen, everything ready to take notes.

“Yeah, I have to take an optional course to complement my studies” you lean down, giving him a clear view of your cleavage as you reach for your notebook and pencil case. You hear him gulp.

“How… dedicated” he replies, to which you smile, taking the end of your pencil in between your teeth.

Michael looks away, his eyes focusing on the board as the professor greets everyone and starts writing.

Half an hour later the lecture comes to an end. You sigh in relief, your brain has melted from all the numbers and formulas the professor explained. Honestly, you paid more attention to Michael’s large hands and long fingers gripping his pen as he took notes, thinking about how they would feel on your body.

You watch as he stands up quickly, nodding at you as a way to say goodbye. “See ya”

“Michael, wait!” You quickly put your notebook into your bag and rush after him. “Shall we study together? We can do the assignment due by next week together” you offer him your signature smile, tilting your head and thinking he wouldn’t say no. Most guys melted when you smiled at them like that.

However, your confidence vanishes when he grimaces and scratches his neck. “Actually, I… I don’t study in groups. Doesn’t work for me”.

Why are you surprised, it is obvious. You always see him alone in the libraries. You curse yourself internally. “Oh, well…”

“I’m sure you will do great though, you seem like a clever girl” the praise coming from his lips make you silently gasp.

“Yeah, you’re right…” Just as he’s about to leave, an idea pops in your head. “Actually, Michael… I’m struggling with this subject.”

Lies. You aren’t a genius like he is, but you can manage. You don’t like maths but you don’t suck at it either, you do good. Enough to pass the subject.

“I was wondering if you could help me” you do your best to sound helpless, knitting your brows and all. “Everyone says you’re a fucking genius, please, Mike?” He swallows hard at the way you practically beg him for help, placing a hand on his elbow.

He doubts only for a few seconds before agreeing. “Ok. I will help you” he yelps as you wrap your arms around him, your tits flash against his chest making him dizzy.

“Oh, thank you Michael!” you pull back, teeth biting down on your lower lip as you smile. “Can we start today? I would tell you to come to my dorm, but my friend Leigh is currently staying there because they found a rat clogging her toilet.” Another big lie.

Michael just nods, he doesn’t really have too many options. “Fine. Uhm, my dorm is on the second floor, 219. I’ll be there at 4pm, bring your notes and a calculator.”

You playfully salute him, like a good soldier. “Yes, Sir” he chuckles softly and shakes his head, turning on his heels to leave.

You can barely contain your joy as you walk towards your dorm, almost singing.

3:40 PM.

You try on different outfits, grunting when you look at yourself in the mirror for the fifth time. You don’t like any fit, and you continue rummaging through the pile of clothes on your bed. You lift your brow as a red fabric catches your attention. It’s the mini skirt Leigh gave you a few weeks ago. You quickly put it on and look at yourself in the mirror once again, happy with the result. Your white baby tee with ‘cherry bomb’ in red letters written on it makes the perfect match.

You grab your notebook and head towards his dorm.

“Coming” you hear Michael’s voice behind the door. He will surely be coming today. He opens the door, breath hitching at the sight of you in that top, your nipples peeking through the fabric. Suddenly he feels his pants are too tight. “Please, come in” he gives you enough space to enter his dorm, which you do. As you walk past him the smell of your perfume fills his nostrils. Fuck.

You smile at him and as he closes the door behind you, you look around the room. It was just what you expected. Everything was perfectly neat, books organised in two bookshelves, more textbooks and notes scattered over the white desk.

“Take a seat over there” he points at the bed, and you gladly do it. “Do you want something to drink? Eat? I have some crunchies.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” You flash him a sweet smile as you open your bag, looking for your notes and your pen.

Michael sits next to you, keeping a safe distance of course, but close enough you can hear his hard breathing. “Ok, we can start with the basics, and then I’ll help you with the exercises, sounds good?” When you nod, he continues. “Cool. So, think of limits as a way to understand what happens to a function as it gets closer and closer to a certain point without actually reaching it.”

“That sounds paradoxical” you cut him off, and he suppresses a smile.

“It does seem counterintuitive, but it's about observing the behaviour of a function as it gets infinitely close to a specific value.” He continues explaining, and you pay attention to every word that comes out from those beautiful lips.

Michael’s brows lift in surprise as you finish another task quickly, and he’s even more surprised when he checks it and there are no mistakes. He didn’t find any mistakes in the previous 5 exercises he provided for you either. You just look up at him, waiting for his correction.

He looks back at you. “You did perfectly well. Again.” You squeak and he takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t get it. Most students get the first ten exercises horribly wrong, but you solved all of them perfectly. H-how?”

You lean back on your arms, legs crossed. You tilt your head. “Maybe I’m just a quick study, learning from the best” you start moving your feet up his leg, slowly and carefully. He shakes his head as he puts on his glasses again, sighing.

“No. You’re just wasting my time.”

“What?” It’s actually the truth. You are wasting his time, you weren’t having any issues with the subject, you just wanted an excuse. “Ok, yes, I admit it” you lift your hands in defeat, and he curses.

“Why the fuck would you ask for my help if you don’t need it? Fuck, I have many important things to do and you’re here bothering me, leave please.”

You get on your feet quickly as he’s about to turn the doorknob, and you stop him. “No, Michael, please hear me out.” He glares at you, nostrils flaring as you take his wrist and guide him towards his bed, making him sit on the edge. He looks confused, you sit next to him, your knees touching.

“Look, I just wanted to thank you for what you did the other day. For being my knight in shining armour.” He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by placing your index finger there. “No, listen. I know it’s not a big deal for you, but it is for me. Michael, I want you.”

Michael’s eyes widen at your confession. “W-what?”

There’s no way you wanted him. You, out of all the people on the campus. Slowly, you lean in, wetting your lips with your tongue to press them against his mouth. You give him a soft peck before truly kissing him, your hands finding their way towards his tense shoulders. He doesn’t respond yet, but when you bite gently on his lower lip he whimpers, he fucking whimpers, and moves his lips against yours, trying to follow your rhythm. Your lips taste like cherries, and he loves it.

Kissing him feels good. You tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss, feeling how he squirmed under your touch and kisses. You wonder how he would react when you have his cock in your mouth.

You slither your tongue inside his mouth, exploring it as he gets more excited, his hands finally touching you, placed on either side of your waist.

You pull back to catch your breath and he chases your lips. You giggle. “Easy there, lover boy. We have plenty of time.”

“Fuck, I- I… I’ve never done this” you frown, and he sighs. “I’ve never kissed anyone. Ever. That felt really good” he chuckles, and you smile.

“You liked it?” He just nods, and you start placing open mouthed kisses across his jaw, down his neck until you reach his ear and whisper. “Wait until I put my mouth on your cock.”

Michael gulps. “W-what?”

“You think I came here just because I wanted to kiss you? No, Michael” his eyes follow your movements, how you rise from his bed to kneel in front of him, hands undoing his jeans, looking for any sign of discomfort. When you find none, you continue, pulling down his jeans and boxers down to his knees, freeing his cock. “I came here because I really, really want this” you purr and lower your gaze to his weeping length, your cunt clenching around nothing already.

Michael’s big. At least, bigger than the ones you had. Curved upward with a protruding vein on the side. You bite your lip as you start stroking him, Michael closes his eyes shut and whimpers. You never heard someone whimper so beautifully. You study every reaction, every microexpression as you continue stroking him at a tantalising pace, as if you are torturing him.

“P-please…” he begs through bated breath, moving his hips as he tries to get some friction, anything.

“You look so beautiful begging, Michael. You’re making me so wet, baby” he cries out your name again, and you smirk. “Michael, open your eyes” you demand, and he does so, breath catching in his throat as he finds you there on your knees, looking at him like you were his predator. It was so fucking sexy.

“I want you to watch as I suck your cock. And you better last more than five minutes. I want you to enjoy it” he nods and swallows hard as you lick your lips before taking him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck” he curses, gripping the sheets beneath him until his knuckles are white. You lick the vein, going from the base upwards, and you hear him sigh. You lick him like you lick a lollipop, and then you take him into your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks as your right hand works its way around the base. He’s so big he doesn’t fit completely into your mouth.

You hum around his cock, your eyes closing as you bob your head up and down his shaft, making Michael squirm. He doesn’t know what to do, he just keeps looking at you, unable to tear his gaze from you.

The soft moans that escape his lips, the way he whimpers your name and bucks his hips ever so slightly, careful not to hurt you but eager to get more are enough to make you wet. Hell, you are sure your panties are soaked by now, leaking through the fabric.

His eyes widen as he catches the movement of your left hand that was on his inner thigh going in between your legs, under the skirt. Were you touching yourself?

You bob your head faster and moan around his cock as you tease your wet folds with your fingers. You push two fingers inside your pussy, the room filling with the most obscene sounds you ever heard.

“Are you… are you touching y-yourself?” asks Michael in a strangled moan, watching you intently. You release his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, your saliva coating it.

“Of course I am, Michael. I’m fucking wet. Here” you take off your fingers from your pussy to grab his hand, and guide it towards your entrance.

Michael almost passes out. You are, in fact, dripping wet on his fingers. You let him touch you for a moment, grinding your hips against his hand, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit so deliciously. “S-shit, Michael” you bite your lip and he grins, happy to earn that reaction from you. You feel him twitch in your hand, the tell tale sign that he was very close to cumming. You remove your hands from your cunt and he frowns.

“Did-did I hurt you?”

“No, baby. But tonight’s about you, ok? I can teach you how to eat my pussy later, yeah? Right now, I want you to cum in my mouth. Whenever you’re ready” you wink at him and he chokes on a sob as you take him into your mouth again, slowly until you feel him in the back of your throat. Some tears well up in your eyes, you moan around his cock and that pushes him.

He bucks his hips and shoots his load deep down your throat, you look at him through your lashes and see how hard he grips the sheets, his chest heaving as he moans your name. He stays still for a while, panting as you swallow his salty cum, wiping the corner of your mouth with your hand.

“Holy fuck” he mutters, still trying to catch his breath. You get on your feet and plant a kiss on his lips, letting him taste himself on your tongue. “Now… shall I… well, uhm” he’s unsure about what to ask.

“Eat my pussy?” you finish for him and he nods eagerly, you giggle. “Another day, baby.”

“But you… you were touching yourself and didn’t get to cum, right? I have to return the favour—”

“No, Michael. Don’t worry” you reassure him with a kind smile, stroking his cheek. You lean in to kiss him again, and then, you whisper in his ear: “I’ll just finger myself until I cum in my bedroom to the thought of you.”

You smirk as he looks at you with his jaw dropped. You blow him a kiss, open the door and leave.

let me know what you think! and if you'd like to be tagged as well 🫶🏻

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #saltburn movie #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchell fic #mydemimondewrites

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throneofsapphics · 7 months ago

Note

Imagine being rhysands partner for centuries and having to wait for him in court while he’s under the mountain? Just to find out that the very day he is set free, he also mated with Feyre, the human girl that saved everyone? Perhaps he doesn’t tell her right away but over hears it after some time? Or Confronts him of how he treats her so differently from her? Asking why and confront how he acts now and he just blows up and says it? You choose!

like the stories

Rhys x Reader

Summary: Reuniting with Rhys isn't what you'd hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, angst

A/N: Thank you for the request!!

part two

Every day you waited. Not with the perfect, flawless, selfless i’ll-wait-a-thousand-years energy. Yes, you would wait a thousand years or longer, but certainly not patiently and there was a fair amount of cursing, screaming, and occasional binge drinking involved to cope.

Regardless, all you could do was wait, all you could do was your best to ignore the piece of you missing, the pain of that absence never abated, if anything it grew stronger over time. Until you had to rely on portraits to remember the exact detail of his face, until you couldn’t remember if he was citrus and sea or citrus and storms.

The stories, at least the ones you’ve read, only talk about the happy reunions. They never touch on the pain and misery of the separation.

Night after night you dreamed of a reunion. A few times you’d woken with tears in your eyes, the reunion dreams feeling more like a nightmare.

“I don’t want you anymore,” his voice was flat and so unlike him your chest ached.

“What did she do to you?” you whispered. That had to be the reason, she must’ve gotten into his head. The male you knew and fell in love with wouldn’t …

“She,” he spat, voice rising, “didn’t do anything.”

‘You, you, you.’ Rhys wasn’t in your mind, but the word echoed in his voice.

Mor, your closest friend and confidant, had to threaten to physically restrain you, to keep you from making your way right to the mountain, right to him.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said, voice hoarse. Half a promise, half a plea to the mother.

“He … he told you?” Your voice was low, quiet, disbelieving.

“He didn’t tell you?”

The world tightened around you, the air feeling dense, suffocating, too much. You saw Mor’s lips moving but couldn’t hear anything.

Like a bad omen, you felt his presence again, for the first time in nearly fifty years.

Mor’s eyes glazed, she glanced at you, lips moving in some kind of promise you didn’t hear before she winnowed away.

48 hours and he hadn’t graced you with his presence. Some kind of protagonist you were, you glanced at the bookshelf full of romance books, not very gracious and kind and understanding. The books had it wrong, you’d decided.

You knew his experience had been traumatic, and yours had been minimal in comparison, but you’d still suffered, hadn’t you? Still waited anxiously every night, not entirely sure he would return. Stuck in Velaris.

It took 72 hours.

Rhys stood across the room, watching you with something like longing and grief.

Barely fighting the urge to sprint and close the gap, you stopped a few feet away from him. His shoulders were tight, entire body taut, looking as if his muscles might snap at any second.

You held your arms open, letting him come to you. It seemed like the right thing to do.

One. Two. Three … Fifteen seconds before he closed the gap.

A three second hug.

You swallowed your disappointment. There’s no saying what he’d been through, and you’d only heard rumors. Perhaps it was wrong of you to assume he’d want any kind of physical touch.

“I missed you,”

“I missed you too,” the reply was too quick and missing the usual ‘love,’ or ‘darling’ on the end.

You could tell when you weren’t wanted somewhere, and took the hint. “I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you murmured.

He nodded.

Gods this was miserable.

You managed to excuse yourself with minimal extra embarrassment, and saved the tears for when you’d left the vicinity completely.

“A mate,” you whispered. Screaming didn’t feel right, it didn’t encompass the pure betrayal running through you. “When were you going to tell me?” Instead you had to overhear Mor and Cassian speaking of it. You kept going when he didn’t reply to you. “I thought you had more respect for me than that, I thought I meant more than that to you.”

“How could you compare to a mate?”

The words were stagnated, awkward, didn’t quite fit as a response to your statements and you knew he was just voicing his thoughts.

You understood what the stories meant now, when they said your heart dropped to your stomach.

Mouth opening, you didn’t need to be a daemati to read the words about to leave his lips, the backtracking.

One hand held up, his mouth snapped shut. Another time, another situation, you might have laughed at how easily you exercised that small bit of control over him.

The corner of your mouth tilted in a not quite cruel but not quite kind expression.

“Thank you for telling me how you feel,” you said flatly, adding “Rhysand,” emphasizing the last letter.

Irritation and hurt flashed across his beautiful features. Wanting the last word, you chose to stride through the doors, but paused to make sure they shut gently. He’d always hated slammed doors, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go that far.

Like the novels, where the protagonist gets her temporary revenge. Temporary. The pain will come later, but for now … you glanced at the nearest clock. Just before ten, Rita’s would be open for hours yet and you were a single female now.

Unlike the novels, he never came after you.

#acotar drabble #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

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sim0nril3y · 1 year ago

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His Shirt

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: When searching for some comfortable clothes you find an old shirt of Simon's and decide to throw it on and Simon has an unexpected reaction. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, canon-typical swearing.

“Home, baby.” The sound of your voice called through your home. A night out with the girls had been more fun that you were expecting, a dinner and some drinks had been long overdue, plus there was so much going on in all your lives now it was just good to catchup with them. “Watching the football.” Simon called back from the living room.

Honestly, every cell in your body screamed to join, but there was a deep chill that was set into your bones from the cold weather outside. “Be right there.” Feet carrying you upstairs quickly you entered the bedroom, stripping out of your uncomfortable outfit down to your underwear and trying to find something more comfortable to throw on.

Nabbing a few clothing items, you threw them on the bed and went in search of a pair of socks, rummaging through your drawer to find the only ones there were an odd few that had devastating holes ripped through them. “Bollocks.” You muttered, rounding the bed and then searching through Simon’s drawer instead. Smiling as you nabbed a pair of socks that would engulf your feet, regardless you slipped them on.

About to shut the drawer you came to an abrupt stop when something red caught your eye, pulling it out a smile crawled across your lips. It was an old United shirt, probably decades old now and more than likely a gift because you just couldn’t imagine Simon buying this for himself. You held the material between your fingers and smiled to yourself, this could be interesting.

Venturing back downstairs, lingering behind him, sneaking into the kitchen as you quizzed casually. “What did you have for tea?” “Ordered a pizza.” Simon responded evenly; eyes still trained on the television laxly. “Some left in the fridge, if you want it.” Then adding, always looking out for your wellbeing. A moment of pause formed between you two as you lingered in the kitchen for a moment longer. “How was your night?” It was an off-handed comment, you knew that Simon didn’t really care for an answer because all he cared about was you made it home safely.

You built up enough nerve to enter the lounge, rounding the sofa to stand beside him with a thoughtful look on your face. “It was fine. It was nice seeing everyone…” Rattling off with gentle shrugs of your shoulders, forcefully ignoring the way that Simon gawked at you all dolled up in that shirt. “Fuck me…” It was low. It was almost like a prayer. For a moment you could have convinced yourself that those words hadn’t fallen from his lips, but they had and it made you pussy weep.

“What’re you wearing?” The sound of his voice as hoarse and low, boarding on a warning, it set your insides of fire and you attempted not to falter under his hard gaze. “Hmm? Oh this…” Your fingers tugged on the hem on the shirt. “I was just looking for some socks to borrow and I found this…” Then spinning on one foot and allowing him to observe the entire look. “Is it okay?”

The question hung between you before Simon muttered. “Fuckin’ hell…” Then scooting forward on the sofa and commanding. “Here…” Pointing between his legs. It was so difficult to fight the smile as you sauntered towards him, standing there between his spread legs. His dangerous eyes lingered across your body and moments later his hands were skimming up your bare legs, clasping at your outer thighs and letting out a low groan. “Fuckin’… gorgeous…”

Behind you the TV roared to life as Man United scored another goal, smiling down at his enamoured face you mentioned. “They just scored…” “Don’t care.” He grunted and in a sudden movement you were yanked down to be laying beneath his immense form on the plush cushions of the sofa. “Simon!” A squeak fell from your lips as your head spun wildly.

“Shh.” Simon grumbled. “Let me take care of you…” His lips skimmed against your own, but ultimately avoided your lips as you tried to capture him into a searing kiss. Instead, he began to meticulously kiss down your frame, the feel of his hot mouth over the soft fabric of the shirt. Those war-worn hands tugging down your knickers and chortling lowly at the wet stain that was pooled into the gusset. “Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

A moment later your legs were thrown over his shoulders, exposing your wet cunt to his wonting eyes. “Fuck…” He whispered, leaning forward to pepper small kisses against your mound, nibbling at your lips to cause you to arch and squirm in his tight hold, his lips were everywhere but where you needed them to be. “Stay still.” He muttered, again another warning and this wasn’t one that you were willing to test.

The way that Simon’s tongue worked was like magic, his eyes focused up on your face as your own rolled back in pleasure at the feel. His tongue languidly seeping up and down your slit, teasing your hole for a moment before raising up to flick slowly at your clit. “Oh, god.” You whispered, trying to follow his orders but unable to fight the express. Simon smirked at the way your thighs quivering around his head, wanting to trap him there forever.

When his mouth sealed around your clit a noise of pure pleasure spilled from your throat, arching up off the sofa and gripping your fingers into his short hair, tugging at the tresses as your toes curled in delight. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” You were panting now, taut nipples pressing against the fabric of the shirt. Simon couldn’t take his eyes from your writhing frame, sucking from intensely, grunting and groaning into your cunt, praising you in his head as his mouth was occupied.

A thigh was released from his grip as two of his thick fingers sunk into your wet heat, causing you to cry out again along with the crowd of the television. “Si-mon…” Hoarse and wonting, you couldn’t control the sounds that were tumbling from your throat now, completely feral with pleasure as his fingers hammered into her weeping walls, finding that special spot and overwhelming it with his fingers. “Ohfuck. So… so close… Ohgod… Oh… Simon~” A cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips.

As if some kind of cosmic joke the television roared to life again as another goal was scored whilst your entire frame spasmed and convulsed as his lips remained taut around your cunt, suckling hard on your clit to throw you into your orgasm. Popping away with a slick ‘pop’ moments later Simon smirked and pressed small kisses to your swollen cunt, slipping his fingers from where they were buried. “Good girl.” He whispered against your skin. “My good girl.” He mentioned, pressing a sweet kiss to your engorged clit and fighting back a grin as you jolted.

Simon spent time soothing you, pressing little quaint kisses to your thighs and rubbing your stomach soothingly and after a while you seemed to regain enough composure to speak. “T-think I’m… I’m going to need to wear your shirts more often…” A chuckle came from the man between your legs and he bite into your thigh playfully and responded. “I wouldn’t disagree with that, love.”

Masterlist | Ask | 14-11-2023

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley imagine #ghost smut #ghost angst #simon riley smut #ghost mw3 #cod mw3 #call of duty mw3 #simon ghost riley smut #1k

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fanbasetwo · 2 months ago

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✦ SWEET NECTAR ┊ ANTON

001. PAIRING , bf ! anton × afab reader

002. SYNOPSIS , just a pussy drunk anton

003. WARNING(S) , NSFW, MDNI, pussy eating, uses of pet names, a little fingering, cumming on tongue, a little kissing towards the end, dirty talk.

004. WORD COUNT , 0.9k

Anton’s strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he knelt between them. His piercing gaze locked onto your pussy, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of your glistening folds. You could feel the heat of his breath on your sensitive skin, making your core throb with anticipation.

He wasted no time, leaning in and burying his face between your thighs. His tongue, hot and eager, began to explore your folds, tracing every inch of your delicate flesh. He lapped up your juices, moaning at the taste of your arousal, his tongue delving deeper to reach your entrance.

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined,” he mumbled against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. “I can't get enough of this perfect pussy.”

“God, you look absolutely mouthwatering,” he growled, his voice husky with lust. “I've been craving this sweet pussy all day, and now I'm going to devour it like a starving man.”

You gasped as his tongue found your clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing under his touch. He circled it teasingly, his tongue flicking rapid-fire over the swollen nub, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your hips bucking involuntarily as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

He chuckled, the sound muffled by your folds. “I'm not stopping, baby. I'm going to eat this pussy until you're begging me to fuck you senseless.”

True to his word, he increased his efforts, his tongue alternating between flicking your clit and plunging into your entrance. The combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, your body trembling on the edge of ecstasy.

“Fuck, I'm so close,” you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don't stop, please!”

Anton’s tongue never ceased its relentless assault on your quivering flesh, lapping and suckling at your dripping folds like a man possessed. His eyes were glazed over with lust, his entire being focused solely on pleasuring you with his mouth.

He was utterly consumed by the taste and scent of your arousal, driven to new heights of hunger by the intoxicating nectar flowing from your core.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. “That feels incredible. Please, don't stop.”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open and exposed as he feasted on you. His tongue delved deep, plunging into your tight channel and curling to stroke your inner walls. Then he would drag the flat of his tongue up your slit, flicking rapidly over your engorged clit before diving back in for more.

Each thrust of his tongue sent sparks of electricity zinging through your nerve endings, building the coil of tension in your belly to an almost unbearable level. Your hips undulated shamelessly against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction. You were lost to everything but the feel of his mouth on you, drowning in a sea of sensation.

“Fuck, I can't get enough of you,” he groaned, the words muffled against your slick petals. “you taste too fucking good, like the sweetest ambrosia. I want to drink from this perfect pussy forever.”

Anton seemed to sense you were on the brink, doubling down on his efforts. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue vibrating against the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your fluttering sheath, curling to hit that magic spot inside you.

The dual stimulation was your undoing. Your back arched off the bed as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down on his invading fingers. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your vision whiting out from the intensity of your release.

As your orgasm subsided into aftershocks, Anton gentled his touch, licking and kissing your quivering flesh with an almost reverent tenderness. He placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, soothing the slight sting left behind by his teeth. When he finally pulled away, his chin was glistening with your juices, his lips swollen and slick.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted mindlessly, your voice high and thready with impending release. “Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm gonna...I'm gonna...”

He crawled up your body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. When he reached your lips, he captured them in a searing kiss, sharing the taste of your arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and draw him closer.

But as much as you reveled in the afterglow, you could feel a renewed ache building in your core. Anton’s rigid length pressed insistently against your thigh, hot and heavy, and you knew he was just as far from sated as you were.

“You came so hard for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I could feel your pussy squeezing my tongue, trying to pull me deeper.”

“Please, Anton,” you whimpered against his lips, your hips rolling restlessly against his. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me up.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping. In one swift motion, he positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to sink into this tight little cunt,” he gritted out, his hips flexing impatiently. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, make this pussy mine.”

NOTE : don't mind me. just taking this drabble outta my enha blog to add in here.

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youcancallmeelle · 1 year ago

Text

She’s got a boyfriend anyway…

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Word count: 7K

Warnings: Semi public sex, Missionary, Cowgirl, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Sneaking around, Secret relationship, Brief David mention, Ellie being a menance, Tommy trying to play matchmaker.

Summary: Tommy has been trying to set Joel up for AGES, he’s got other interests.

You and Joel have secretly been seeing each other.

A03

Read below…

Life in Jackson is promising, nearly a year and half here and Joel feels comfortable, no longer itching for a way out of civilisation because he’s just not used to that no more. Ellie is settled too - finally. She’s attending school three days a week, enjoying the new responsibilities that come with being sixteen and the tad bit of freedom it brings. She helps out at the stables, in the kitchen too but she’s not a fan. She likes being in the library most, checking in and out books, tidying shelves, using her art to create eye catching displays aimed at the younger generation of Jackson.

Joel is proud, his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest all the time. Ellie is still full of wit and charisma that comes out in curses and daft puns that make Joel roll his eyes and get her in a headlock until she’s laughing so hard she’s pink in the face.

There’s times when she skips school completely if a male teacher has subbed in, she flinches away if someone comes too close and sometimes if it’s stew night at dinner, she’ll stare blankly into her bowl at the chunks of meat and see a severed ear, she’ll try to swallow but gag instead. These are nights Joel gives her his bread and Tommy will too, then he’ll make her a fruit salad when they get home with a little double cream poured over it.

The nightmares are persistent on these bad days where triggers occur, he finds Ellie in bed screaming and thrashing multiple times a week. She’ll sob and cry hoarsely as he holds her, hushing her gently and resting his cheek on her head. Most of the time she’ll fall back asleep with him beside her, curled into him like she did back at Silver Lake when death was close.

But mostly, everything’s okay.

Joel had been with Tommy every single day this week so far and it was Thursday evening, they’d been focusing on fixing up the bathroom in a house way further down from his, they were getting it ready for a family that had expanded to move in. The floor was rotten and the pipes wrecked, neither of them were particularly fond of plumbing but they sorted it between them. There was still the kitchen to do but that was a job for tomorrow and probably Saturday too but not Sunday, that was his day with Ellie.

Sunday’s were for late breakfasts of bacon and pancakes - before and after the world ended. The only thing that changed was the kid for Joel, he used to serve Sarah indulgent breakfasts on a Sunday and they’d do something together and the tradition was carried on with Ellie and Sarah remained tucked in his heart.

Tired and stiff from working hunched over all day, Joel was enjoying a quiet drink with Tommy. They were tucked away on a small table with two stools, Joel would have preferred something with a back but beggars can’t be choosers; he was grateful for the cold glass of bourbon nearly empty in front of him and the sound of Dire Straits playing over the old speakers.

As always, Tommy is picking and prying into his lack of a love life. Since he’s noticed his older brother being more settled within the community, he’d been trying his hardest to set him up with various women and Tommy Miller was nothing if not persistent.

At this point in the day, Tommy’s voice is almost just white noise.

“Cath is nice.” Tommy pointed out, Joel snorts.

“She’s also gay, Tommy.”

“Oh shit, really? I didn’t know.”

“Clearly. Can we please stop talking about this? It’s the same thing every fuckin’ time I come drinking with you.” Joel begs, Tommy sighs heavily but drops it for now.

Joel takes in the scenery as he sits there, grateful for the moments silence from Tommy. His eyes stray to the left of the table and he listens as you speak to Denton, an older gentleman in his late sixties with a love of horses. He’s quizzing you about the new mare in the stables, he hears you mention checking on her again after your shift because she’s been particularly temperamental since she was brought in from outside but you’ve developed a nice bond with her, she’s slowly becoming more trusting.

It occurs to Joel that everyone likes you - literally everyone, even Ellie and she was a tough nut to crack. You’re sweet, soft spoken yet confident. You’re always helping out where you can; on patrols, stable duty, in the communal garden, sometimes at the school and also here at the bar when Darius needs his shift covered.

You find good things on patrol and give them to Joel or Ellie before taking the rest for the community, so they get first pick of everything.

You’re just the sweetest thing.

Tommy sees you and beckons you with a friendly wave, you mutter a goodbye to Denton and pat his hand.

“Hey.” You hear your name called over the music and you turn as Tommy Miller grabs your attention as you scoop up two glasses and an empty bowl that once held nuts and dried berries from the table two away from his and Joel’s.

“Yes, Miller?” You patter over with your hands occupied, you sneak a look at his older sibling, sparing him a wink as a greeting, he smirks softly back.

“Has Darius got an other fuckin’ music or are we strictly limited to the sounds of 1985 tonight?” He questions and you laugh, shaking your head.

“You don’t like Dire Straits?”

“He doesn’t appreciate good music.” Joel interjects, shaking his head at Tommy.

“I do - but other music. Eminem or even fuckin’ Britney! Anything but this shit.” Tommy groans, tossing his head back.

“Keep talking smack about Dire Straits, Miller - and I’ll snitch to your wife about the fact you’ve switched patrols with Mark twice this week because you were too hungover to go.” You smile sweetly at Tommy, tilting your head.

“Snitches get stitches.” Tommy remarks playfully, not an ounce of malice in his dark brown eyes and your eyebrows rise, you beam back.

“That right? Well, troublesome men get barred for life.”

“Oooooh.” Joel chimes in, looking amusedly between you and his younger brother.

“Touché.” Tommy quips, folding his arms.

“Tell you what, next time I’m in, I’ll have a rummage out back and see if I can find you some Britney. Bless you.” You pinch his cheek as you walk past and he swats your hand, rubbing the spot while Joel laughs.

“You’re pushing your luck giving her lip, I’m not sure if you’re aware but this is the only operational bar in Wyoming.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbles back, Joel shakes his head once more as the door behind Tommy on the back wall opens.

“Joeeeeeel?!” He hears yelled from close by, he looks up and sees Ellie dragging her sneakers across the floor, scouring the bar for him with her honey coloured eyes eagerly. She spots him within seconds, beaming and practically skipping over to him and Tommy in the corner. “There you are, I looked fucking everywhere for you.” She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “I wanna go out, I’m bored shitless at home. There’s nothing for me to do and yes - I’ve done my school work.” She quickly adds.

“You done those quadratic equation questions we were going over last night?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Yep. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, though I did ask my teacher because I’m pretty sure you were figuring them out wrong. You were, by the way.” Joel puffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. Ellie spins to Tommy, the soles of her shoes squeaking. “Can I try that?” She’s laser focused on the bourbon swimming between globes of ice in Tommy’s glass.

“What have I said the last twenty times you’ve asked, El?” Tommy’s dark brows are high on his forehead, his mouth is twisted with hidden laughter. Ellie rolls her eyes with annoyance, sloping over to Joel now.

“No.” She huffs, swinging her lanky arms around Joel. She hums and rubs her face into his shoulder bone, resting there for a second before her attentions shifts comically fast. There’s a warmth that spreads through Joel every single time she does this, she’s so casual about it and he’s drawn the conclusion that it’s a teenage thing because Sarah was the same. There’s a sadness that blossoms too, a darkness that twists and anchors in his chest as he thinks of her and who she’d be now. He can’t dwell for too long, not now - he did that for too long.

At one dark point in time, human connection was not key to survival, hence why he always kept Tess at arms length and then referred to Ellie as cargo until one snowy day it became apparent she was no longer cargo when she was frenzied and panting in his arms, splattered with the blood of a predator and gasping like she was taking her last breath. The sound haunted him for a long time, all memories of Sarah hitting him like a freight train. He had to protect Ellie, the minute he drew her in - oh baby girl - and held her tightly, wrapped in his coat and clinging to him just as hard.

Ellie’s his kid now. She’s his. He’s hers. They’re a family. Ellie Williams Miller - that’s how she’s known now. It’s scrawled on her school books. The love he feels for this human tornado in sneakers is unmatched, the one thing he’s ever been truly good at has been restored and it’s a role he knows well; being a father.

Sure, this teenager that he’s raising is the furthest from bubblegum pink and Avril Lavigne she could be, she’s particularly jagged around the edges and does have the temperament of an unsocialised cat that will bite if you get too close.

He looks down at her, rubbing into him like she’s trying to get his smell on her because it’s comforting and she feels safe and feels his heart ready to burst.

Of course the sweet moment of affection is shattered when Ellie yawns directly into his fucking ear because why wouldn’t she?

He grunts when she bears most of her weight on his aching shoulders, leaning easily into him and twisting her small fingers into his flannel.

“So? Can I go or not?” She presses.

“Go where?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow.

“Toni’s from school. Her cat had kittens a few weeks ago and they’re starting to play. Five of them, Joel! That’s a lotta kittens!” Ellie enunciates, brown eyes wide and Joel can’t help the smile that graces his otherwise tired face.

“You mean a litter?” He corrects and Ellie pauses, frowning.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of kittens is a litter, Ellie.” He informs her and she somehow manages to frown even more, she makes a noise like she’s computing the new information.

“Yeah, whatever.” She mumbles, Tommy snorts in amusement. “So I can go see them?” She presses, shifting her weight again and Joel groans louder now, unhooking her arms from his shoulders with a quiet ‘don’t do that, baby’ that’s full of affection.

“Yes but you’re back at nine latest, okay? Nine. I’ll be waiting for you, the minute those street lamps turn on, you’re home.” Joel says, Ellie’s mouthing along to his instructions that he’s been laying out since Summer began and the evenings stretched longer. “Be good.” He speaks more softly now and she nods, he presses a kiss to the side of her head, her eyelashes flutter happily as the warmth blossoms in her too with the security that’s Joel Miller.

“Peesh. I’m always good. Bye Tommy!” She says excitedly, fist bumping him when it’s offered.

“See ya, squirt.” Tommy replies but before he’s even voiced his reply, Ellie’s hurrying away and knocking into a patron while waving to you on the way out of the door so hard it slams. Joel sighs, thinking she’s a literal hurricane.

The door hinge has barely stopped shaking before Tommy starts with the suggestions of suitors once more.

“What about Myleene?” Tommy proposes, Joel shakes his head quickly, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Too young.” He replies.

“She’s twenty five.”

“Too young.” He repeats firmer this time.

“Okay, fine. What about Michelle? She’s what forty? I was talking to her in the cobblers the other day, she’s definitely interested - mentioned something about making you a pie?”

“I’m good.” He grumbles looking down into his empty glass but quickly shifting his gaze to the bar, you’re leaning on your elbows, laughing heartily with a patron.

You look beautiful tonight - just like every other night. Your shoulders are sunkissed, your cheeks a little flushed and skin glowing from the summer humidity. He absorbs the way your hair tumbles down your shoulders and the way the thin straps of your tiered sundress slip down occasionally, only to be tugged back into place with dexterous fingers.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Tommy jibes, Joel looks over with a firm scowl.

“What?” He asks, Tommy shakes his head.

“You can dream, brother.” Joel rolls his eyes, trying to act nonchalant. “She’s got a boyfriend anyway.” Tommy adds, Joel eyes him with full attention.

“A boyfriend?” He asks, trying to be sure he heard right.

“Yeah, overheard her talking to one of the girls in the garden a few days ago. Didn’t mention no names but she definitely said she was seein’ someone.” Tommy shrugged, Joel hummed with interest. “Anyway, it don’t matter because she’s way out of your league.”

“Thanks.” Joel retorts, sneaking one last look before focusing on the door behind Tommy, the one Ellie had not long barrelled in and out of just moments ago.

He wonders about the kittens she mentioned and gulps as he imagines her taking to one with its big eyes and soft paws, his mind is pulled back to a time in April when he’d come downstairs one morning to a sink full of tad poles she’d ‘rescued’ from birds out of the neighbours pond.

Basically, his girl can’t resist animals she deems too vulnerable to leave.

“Scared Ellie’s gonna come home with one of them kittens?” Tommy wonders, reading Joel’s mind.

“Terrified.”

********************************************

The sun is setting in bursts of burnt orange and marigold by the time he leaves Tommy to his own devices at the bar, he hazards a look around as he makes his way in the complete opposite direction to his and Ellie’s house.

He slinks around the back of the school house, slithering through the gap and walking up the winding path that leads to the stables. He climbs the short fence and hops to the other side, his boots kick up the dust from the dirt path and the crickets chirp beneath the skyline.

With one more look around, he opens to rear door to the stables and slips inside, shutting it softly behind him.

Immediately he hears the horses further down huff and puff, he can make out the swish of their tails hitting the walls as they munch on hay, there’s a neigh that is absolutely Shimmer kicking up a fuss about something.

He slopes around the riding gear and sees you leaning against the wall, hands behing your back. You grin.

“Took your time, cowboy. Was beginning to think you couldn’t take the hint and stood me up.”

“Never, honey.” Joel prowls towards you, ready to grab you. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me.”

“Not the same.” He yanks you close like a man starved, you’d shared company less than 24 hours ago but you greet and leave each other like it’s the last time you’ll ever be together. It’s the apocalypse affect, you know that, he does too

This arrangement had been going on for almost two months now, all started by a late night patrol together where you’d shared more about yourselves in an eight hour shift than both of your time in Jackson combined. There was an instant attraction, it was so easy to talk to one another and that’s what you did every single time you were partnered together and it became the highlight of your day. It started innocently and friendship had bloomed, then before you knew it you were sharing a rum laced thermos of tea with him in the bed of a truck and kissing him with reddened cheeks shortly thereafter. You’d first slept together in the same truck, just as dawn began to break. It was clumsy and quick but you couldn’t get enough of one another. You hadn’t cum but Joel promised next time would be better which lead to the question of next time? You’d been seeing each other most nights since.

Any chance you got, you were together. Nobody knew about you both, hence why Tommy was incessantly trying to hook Joel up with other women around town and jealousy burned as you listened in on their one sided conversations in the bar whenever you were covering for Darius.

You’d left the bar shortly before Joel had, waving farewell to him and Tommy, coming straight up here to check on the mare just as you’d told Denton. This was a usual spot to meet Joel, it wasn’t your first rodeo in the stables with him. It was the one place you could be alone after a certain time.

“Were you hiding from me, honey? Hmm?” He growls playfully, pulling you to him even though you were barely a millimetre away in the first place. You hum in response, so utterly lost in him. You’re nuzzling his throat, fisting his shirt, desperate for his attention. “God, you look so good today.” He murmurs, mouth finding yours. You moan softly, standing on your tip toes and kissing him in a way that makes his lungs and loins burn alike. His grey tinged moustache prickles your upper lip beautifully, his beard feels familiar beneath your soft hands.

He’s crowding you and guiding you backwards, kissing you hotly in a sense that makes your cunt throb eagerly. You moan into his mouth when he nips your bottom lip, squeezing the left cheek of your ass.

You love when he’s like this - playful and easy. He feels lightyears younger around you, it’s like the heaviness dissipates the moment he’s in your company. He loses himself in the way you smell, the way your hair feels when his fingers are entwined between the sun kissed strands, the way in which your eyes sparkle with mischief.

It’s easy to pull him towards the back of the stable, where the bales of hay were stacked created a nice wall of privacy. You’d been in here a couple of times with him, having gone as far to stash a flannel blanket in one of the cupboards to lay down as to protect you both from the cold floor and the prickle of loose hay.

Once behind the hay and seated on a bale with you in his lap, strong hands are moving the thin straps of your sundress down your shoulders, you momentarily break away from his mouth to aid the removal of your dress to your waist where Joel roughly bunches it up so that your underwear is now on show and so are your tits.

His eyes light up at your bare chest, like he hasn’t seen your breasts countless times before. One thing among many that you first noticed was that Joel Miller is a tit man through and through. His rough and work toughened hands cup them both gently before his tongue swirls around your left nipple.

“Joel.” You murmur, arching into him, rolling your hips into his. He’s hard already, age not affecting him like that in the slightest. He’s a hot blooded male, every single inch a man and that warms you to your core. You grab his hand, bringing it to the top of your panties and he slides it in without hesitation.

“Christ.” He curses, exploring your lips with his fingertips, gliding through the dewy wetness gathered there and coming back up for a split second to drag it over your clit roughly. You whimper, bucking into his hand. “Mmm, babydoll.” Joel huffs against your cheek in a hot pant, repeating the action.

“Need you so badly, Joel. Almost got started without you.” You confess.

“Fuck. You can’t- don’t say shit like that, honey.” He growls lowly, unbelievably hard beneath you. His fingers explore again, you aid his explorations by canting your hips just so.

Joel is eager to get things moving, he’s hard and frustrated, he has a beautiful woman in his lap and the perfect setting. He pulls his hand from your underwear, looking down to see the shine of you on him. He loses his mind when you take his hand and lead it to your mouth, sucking the tips of his index and middle finger as he watches with eyes blown wide; they look black instead of the earthy brown that sometimes melts into caramel or runny honey.

The minute you hum like a content cat, he has you lifted off his lap and braced against him. You squeal at the sudden shift, the ceiling looking closer than the floor but then he gently lays you back on the blanket and settles between your legs.

“Hey, who was Tommy trying to set you up with?” You blurt, Joel pauses.

“Cath.”

“She’s gay.” You frown.

“Michelle too.” He adds before diving down into your chest, pressing your breasts together, mouthing at the swell.

“I’m not sure you’re Michelle’s type, she’s a cougar apparently.” You remark, Joel ignores you in favour of sucking your nipples until they feel raw. “Why Michelle? I don’t understand why Tommy thinks she’s a good match for you.” You don’t know why this is coming up now, your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, the jealousy settling like lead in your stomach.

“He said she wants to make me a pie.” Joel pipes up, the confession half muffled.

“What kind of pie?” You ask, pulling his face from your tits. Joel groans frustratedly, looking up at you with eyes dark and deadly.

“I don’t know. Why does that even matter?”

“A cream pie probably.” You snarl under your breath, the jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach like a rattled viper.

Joel laughs, shaking his head and coaxing your mouth back to his. “Gross.” He murmurs, kissing you softly and squeezing your hips as if to guide you back. “You know I only like your cream pies.” He jokes, this time you break into a smile.

“Now whose gross?” You snort, tugging his plain grey undershirt over his head and to the side. You run your palms over his chest and down to his softer stomach, digging your nails in as they drag a long his skin. Goosebumps erupt all over him.

Joel is softer in his older age but strong too, years of walking different terrain, heavy lifting and fighting have made him lean also.

You hum contentedly, tracing over those familiar scars that have been made in the 20 years since the world imploded.

“He said you were out of my league.” Joel suddenly admits, resting his hands on your spread knees. You frown up at him. “Tommy said you were out of my league.”

“Tell Tommy he doesn’t know shit.” You retort with an eye roll, grabbing Joel by his belt and yanking him forward. “I like you, Joel. Fuck what anyone else thinks, it’s not anyone’s business who we choose to be with.” You say softly now, kissing your way up his chin to his lips. “I like you.” You affirm again, Joel kisses you tenderly, weaving his hand into your hair as you moan quietly.

“Well, I like you too.” He says, kissing you with so much passion yet so much tenderness all at the same time as you fumble to unbuckle his belt. You yank it apart, tugging open the button and prying the worn denim apart with the hiss of his zipper.

He barely lets you wrap a hand around him over his boxers before he has both your wrists pinned above your head, you make a sad whine but all disappointment quickly dissipates when he shuffles down the length of your torso and yanks your underwear down so fast you feel the material leave a friction burn. He grabs your thighs and then manoeuvres your legs by the backs of your knees, you like where this seems to be going.

Your spine curves against the hard floor when his mouth makes that first contact, he starts slow with a lick up the length of you, then he lightly suckles your lips and gently licks over the hood of your clitoris.

“Joel.” You murmur, twisting the blanket beneath your fingertips, scrunching it and bitting down on your lower lip as he continues his gentle assault on your clit, the rubber toes of your hi tops dig into his ribs almost painfully.

His thumb comes up to gently push the hood of your clit back, the sensation of his tongue directly stimulating the nerve causes you to gasp and wind one hand down into his hair, you tug and he groans against you.

You’re transported back to one of the first times you’d been intimate together after sleeping together in the truck.

For some reason, it had shocked you that Joel Miller ate pussy like a champ. The first time he’d gone down on you - behind the bar just after you’d blown him - you’d prepared yourself for dissatisfaction and disappointment, only it never came. Joel had licked into you with such ferocity and precision that you’d almost keened over.

He’d made you cum so quickly that you’d barely had time to process the first swipe of his tongue on your clitoris and the climax that followed minutes later.

He’d looked up at you, moustache and beard slick with his eyes wide; ‘I forgot how much I enjoyed doing that’ he’d panted while you squeaked back in shock.

Now, as you live in the moment, you feel that tingle of pleasure building but you don’t want to cum without him inside of you. As much as it pains you, you tug on his hair, urging him back up.

“Wanna cum with you.” You pant when he looks up with dazed brown eyes, frowning a little. He seems to accept that and sits up, shucking his jeans and boxers down over his ass with the help of your clumsy hands. “Lay back.” You demand, he does so and you move to take his place.

You throw your legs over his and settle above his lap, he’s got one arm behind his head and watches as you take him in your first and tease yourself with the flushed tip of him. He breathes in sharply through his nose as you do it again before notching him at the site of your heat, you steady yourself and begin to sink down.

“Fuck me.” Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly because he’s so sure he’s in heaven. The sensation of your wet heat surrounding him never gets old, he’d forgotten how much he loved sex before meeting you.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whimper, stroking his ego deliciously and he hates to be such a guy but the compliment goes straight to his dick.

“Fuck, honey. Take what you want, I’m yours - just fuck me.” He begs as you slowly begin to move, your nails scrape across his torso as you fall into an easy rhythm of rolling your hips into his. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” He babbles, looking up and admiring the curve of your back and the way your tits bounce as you ride him.

“Mmm.” You whine, picking up the pace and throwing your head back which exposes your jugular and Joel just wants to sink his teeth into you because you truly look good enough to eat.

“Come here, babydoll.” He urges, pulling you down so you’re chest to chest. Your peer at him with pretty doe eyes, your lashes flutter as they shut to kiss him deeply, your tongue swipes his and you taste the tang of yourself on him. You moan louder when he manages to plant his boots on the floor and thrust up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him.

It’s so hot in the stables, you’re both sticky and warm. But with your pretty moans and keens filling the air, Joel manages to easily forget the irritation from the heat.

You push against his chest to sit up and Joel grabs your hips, guiding you easily and you feel yourself getting close but you can’t achieve orgasm through penetration alone.

You brace one hand on his thigh behind you, tipping your head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. Your hips roll in an easy rhythm, his cock head hitting your G spot perfectly and you whine when the hand on your left hip moves ever so slightly until Joel was able to thumb your clit. He knows you so well.

“Oh f - fuck. You feel so good, you’re so good - fuck.” You babble, your hips moving faster.

“Jesus christ.” Joel huffs, throwing his head back against the hard floor, biting his bottom lip hard to stave off his orgasm. You feel so good wrapped around him; wet and snug, like crushed velvet.

He knows he can’t stay like this, he’s too close to finishing and he can sense you’re not quite there yet despite being edged so he makes the conscious decision to hold you and flip you both over with a nimbleness he didn’t know he possessed in his older age.

You stutter out a choked moan, arching into his strong hands. You drag your nails down his toned back, leaving a little spatter of blood in the red tracks.

Joel hisses when your nails puncture the skin on the globes of his ass, somehow trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

“Where?” He asks, nodding downwards as he fights off his climax.

“Inside.” You reply without hesitation. You’d counted your cycle days, marking in a blank notebook the day number and your symptoms, pretty accurately guessing your fertile window and probable ovulation day by cervical mucus alone. You were four days from your period being due, it was safe.

“You sure?” He hesitates, brow furrowed hard with concentration, he’s a stroke away from finishing. He knows better than most people to not trust the pull out method and he knows the importance of contraception but he still ended up a Dad before he hit his mid twenties. Pushing sixty he’s still playing a dangerous game but so far, neither of you had gotten burnt.

“Yeah.” You gasp, fingers on your clit rubbing faster. You groan suddenly and twist into him, making pretty little whimpers and purring. He groans too, thrusting in hard once, twice and then three times. You feel his cock stiffen and twitch, then the pulse of subtle warmth of his cum spreading inside and aiming for your cervix. He works himself through it, you push in return as the aftershocks slow to a flat line.

Joel heaves a breath, resting on his forearms as you lazily kiss his neck in satisfaction and rapture. You sit there for a minute, basking in the afterglow until Joel grows too stiff and has to withdraw from you slowly, kneeling up between your legs to pull his boxers and jeans back up but he leaves them unbuttoned and his belt loose.

You don’t miss the primal look in his eyes when they drift to between your legs, he can see his cum leaking and the pearlescent finish it leaves on your lips. His cock twitches, perhaps if he was younger he could go for another round but alas, he settles next to you on the blanket, pulling you to his chest and cushioning your head with a strong bicep.

“I think that might have been the best time yet.” You pant breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the evening sky through the cracks of wood.

“Maybe one day we can do it in an actual bed, I’m not sure how much more of these places my back can take.” Joel jokes, you giggle and turn into him, listening to the rapid pace of his heartbeat as it settles, a perfect mirror of your own.

“Not bad for an old timer.” You tease, giggling when he growls and squeezes your hip.

“Was patrol okay today?” Joel questions you, you nod lazily against him. “You come across anything?” Now you speak, leaning up to peer down at him.

“A couple of runners. We shot them in that abandoned gas station near the entrance to the offices off the trail. I think they were probably people passing through, one was infected on the journey and turned, then bit the other.” Joel hums, rubbing your lower back and hip. “I have some things for Ellie I found, by the way. I’ll drop them over tomorrow. Nothing crazy, just some things I thought she needed.” You say between kisses down Joel’s chest and sternum, your delicate fingers tracing out old battle scars.

“What like?” He asks, catching your hand as it reaches his happy trail, bringing it to his lips instead where he presses tender kisses to your fingertips.

“Pyjamas, underwear and some toiletries. Oh! And get this, a new casette tape for her walkman.”

“What tape?”

“Teardrops.” You grin.

“Womack and Womack? She’s gonna love that.” Joel says, laying back and smiling at the ceiling of the stables, humming the song in his head. “Fuck, I haven’t heard that song in - jesus - years.” He’s frowning, contemplating lost time, the whole concept of time evades him, it never used to at the start but now? It’s one big jumble, his time is defined by events and not a calendar.

“She still playing that one you got her on repeat?” You wonder.

“Yeah.”

“What was it again?”

“Bowie. Heroes.” Joel replies.

“Nice.” You nod.

As you lie there together in an easy silence, content to be together in the quiet solace of the stables, Joel’s mind wanders back to his earlier conversation with his younger brother:

“Hey, er - Tommy actually said something else earlier.” Joel winces at how awkward he sounds and you huff loudly, ready to hear what other dumbass thing he’s said. “He said he heard you say you have a boyfriend or that you were seein’ someone.”

You sit up, frowning down at Joel.

“Okay…” You reply hesitantly, uneasy now. “Am I not seeing you?” You frown.

“No - no! It’s… that came out wrong. I just meant - “ Joel grumbles, covering his face momentarily while you try to will your stomach from not sinking. “I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you meant me.”

“Seriously, Joel? This conversation is going so well.” You say dryly, utterly unimpressed.

“No! Oh my god! I can’t do this.” He groans, realising his mistake. “I’m sorry, that came out so wrong.” Joel apologises, you snort.

“Look Joel, I was talking to Mrs Patterson in the garden and she was telling me about her late husband, saying how lovely he was and how men just aren’t like that anymore. She asked if I’d found anyone and I let it slip that I was seeing someone, I didn’t mention any names and I can totally understand why you’re freaked when we haven’t even had that conversation ourselves. I shouldn’t have assumed this was anything more than sex, I’m sorry.” You annunciate, warm in the cheeks.

“You want to just have sex?” Joel is sat up now, matching your frazzled expression.

“If that’s what you want.” You shrug, taking an interest in your cuticles. A large hand lays over yours, squeezing. You shift your focus to his knuckles instead, tracing out the scars.

“Honey, look at me.” He urges softly, you hesitantly meet his eyes. “I think somewhere we’ve miscommunicated.”

“How so?” You press.

“Look… it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, I’m a little rusty. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear about what we are or what I want us to be, I kinda just assumed you knew and yeah, that’s real shitty of me.” He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanna be exclusive with you, honey. I mean, I have Ellie to think about so we’ll need to go slow just so I can ease her into the change. Is that okay?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“That’s more than okay, Joel. I completely understand, I don’t want to spook Ellie either.” You confirm, Joel let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good - good, okay. We’ll figure it out, baby.” He assures you, nuzzling his nose against yours and kissing you softly.

It’s easy to lose yourself in Joel Miller, you’re swept up in the gruff voice and strong arms, the softness beneath his outer shell reserved for those closest to him.

You’re kissing him back in earnest, he’s reclining to lay back down with you on top of him and you’re sure this could lead to round two or at least head from either one of you, maybe even both.

However, the moment is spoiled when you hear voices creeping closer to the stables. You both stiffen and wait, looking at each other with eyes opened wide.

The voices are getting closer and you decipher it’s two sets, it’s not made clear who it is until they’re walking behind the stables and you can see their shadows slink between the thin gaps in the planks.

It’s Ellie and Tommy.

You and Joel scramble, you yank your dress back over your breasts and pull the hem of it over your ass. Your panties are on the floor and you narrowly dodge Joel’s elbow as he hastily buckles his jeans back up just in time for the door around the corner to open with a shriek of the hinges.

“What if he’s gone out on patrol without telling me? Or maybe he’s swapped with someone and gone hunting? I know I’m back way earlier than he said but he said he’d be home! Do you think he’s left the gate? What if he’s hurt? What if - “ Ellie begins to ramble and Tommy sighs.

“Kiddo, stop worrying. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, let’s look at the whiteboard and see if his name’s on there. I highly doubt he’s swapped shifts and he wouldn’t leave without telling you, he’s gotta be around here some…” Tommy’s reassurance comes to a stop when he round the corner of the hay bale wall and abruptly stops, staring at you and Joel with as much shock as you return.

Ellie slams into his back and he wobbles but his gaze never falters.

“What the fuck, man!” Ellie exclaims, shoving Tommy and stepping around his statue like form but also freezing too.

You look between them both, trying to formulate an excuse but Joel shoving his t-shirt on, the fact your clothes are crumpled and there’s absolutely hay in your tousled hair says it all.

Your panties are shoved behind your back out of view.

“Well I’ll be damned, you’re the guy she’s seein’!.” Tommy snorts, looking between you both. Joel growls, yanking on his flannel while Ellie manually retrieves her jaw from the floor.

“What the fuck is this?” She asks, looking between you and Joel. “You have a girlfriend? What the fuck, dude? You didn’t say anything!” She fumes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, it’s complicated and new.” He says, which placates her slightly. She stares at you again and you see the betrayal hidden behind a scowl, she looks at Joel again.

“Fine. I guess this isn’t that bad, it could be worse - we could of caught you with Esther.”

“That’s true.” Tommy nods, pointing at Ellie, she nods back.

“Esther?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Tommy’s neighbour, she totally fancies Joel.” Ellie tells you. “You should fight her.”

“No, she doesn’t and stop shit stirring.” Joel warns Ellie, she hides a smirk which tells you she’s winding Joel up.

“I could take Esther.” You say, playing along, Ellie’s eyes brighten with mischief.

“Nobody’s fighting no one.” Joel settles, you’re all silent for a millisecond and then Tommy throws in his two cence.

“You could take Esther.” He agrees.

“Enough about Esther, please!” Joel begs, beside himself.

“This is fucking embarrassing, Joel. What the fuck do you expect us to do? It’s awkward!” Ellie complains, Tommy nods in agreement, you do too.

“Yeah? Try being where we’re stood, kid.” He retorts.

Ellie kinda has to resist the urge to throw up in her mouth because Joel has sex which is so horrifying that she almost can’t bare to look at him but she’s equally happy for him and utterly disgusted, she swallows back a retch.

“Fine, whatever. I’m very happy for you and my da - Joel.” Ellie bursts and corrects herself at the last minute, you don’t miss the hitch in Joel’s breathing but this is not the time for that discussion. “I’m willing to negotiate a price for the emotional damage you’ve both caused me by lying to me, sneaking around and also having sex in front of my horse.” She lists.

“My horse too!” Tommy adds.

“And Tommy’s horse too, Crash and Shimmer didn’t want to see your bare ass.” Ellie continues and for some reason Joel knows exactly where this is going, so he braces himself.

“Name your price.” He bites, Ellie looks at him with a levelling glare, it’s getting hard not to laugh when you see Tommy observing like he’s watching a mafia deal go down.

“A kitten.” Ellie reveals.

He fucking knew it.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal fanfiction

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aeralux · 11 days ago

Text

"After Midnight" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Boyfriend!Jacaerys x Girlfriend!Reader (modern!au) Because the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 Calvin Klein ad still has me salivating Could be read as pt.2 to "Pretty When You Cry" or separately

Summary: You and Jace just relaxing before going to bed... in your underwear. He simply can't help but get turned on when admiring the view

Warnings: SMUT (18+); grinding; teasing (from both ends); oral (f!receiving); fingering; praising each other; the reader gets called slut twice (endearingly); both are switches (kinda?); fluffy; dry humping

Words: 4k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for having female parts and hair. I need this man biblically, I fear. If you do not like this content, do not read it.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

It was a quiet evening, just like any other, really. You were straddling Jace's lap on the bed, scrolling Pinterest on your phone. It was late, and you were ready to go to bed, clad in your undies, a loose tee, and Jace in his boxers.

Suddenly you feel his cock twitching under you, getting harder just by you innocently sitting on his lap. What's the harm in teasing him a little?

You smirked, rolling your hips an experimental roll on top of his. When you heard a low groan coming from him, your phone was long forgotten. His sweet moans like music to your ears, and his beautiful face all twisted in pleasure. Any woman would go feral.

Beginning to grind against him, seeking friction against your now aching core. You could feel the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit through the thin barrier of your underwear, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Great. Now you'll need to change your underwear...

"Mmm, Jacaerys," you moaned softly, your brows furrowing in bliss as you continued to grind yourself against him. Doing all of this just to spur him on even more. You captured his lips in a heated kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth hungrily.

Jacaerys groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements as you ground yourself against him. He could feel your wetness through the thin fabric of your underwear, could feel the heat of your core as it pressed against his cock.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Fuck, baby," he breathed, his voice hoarse with want. "You feel so fucking good."

He reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it to the side.

He rubbed his thumb over your clit, the pad of his finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slick pooling out of you. He could feel you tremble above him, could hear your breath hitch as he touched you.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you're hoarse."

Oh, but he's got it all wrong. You are in charge right now (at least for a while).

You leaned back, a wicked smirk playing on my lips as you savoured the look of pure desire across Jacaerys' handsome features. Your hips continuing to grind against him, teasingly slow.

"Nuh-uh," you purred, your voice low and seductive. "You're gonna cum like this, pretty boy," you emphasised each word with a sensual roll of your hips. "You're gonna cum in your clean boxers from feeling my wet cunt rub against you like a good boy, yeah?"

You gazed down at him through hooded eyes, drinking in the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, the way his muscles tensed beneath you. The power you held over him at this moment sent pleasure straight to your core.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, nails lightly scraping against his skin as you kept up your torturous pace. You could feel his cock throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, the damp patch growing with each pass of your hips.

Jacaerys let out a low groan, his head falling back against the pillows as you teased him mercilessly. The feel of your wet heat against his cock was almost too much to bear, the friction driving him wild with need.

He could feel his release building, his balls tightening, his cock pulsing with the need to spill itself inside you.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. "You're so fucking sexy," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained.

Without a word, you raised your hips just as he was about to let go. Denying his sweet release.

Jacaerys let out a frustrated groan as you did that, his hips bucking up desperately, seeking the friction he so desperately craved. "Fuck," he growled, his voice strained with need. "Don't tease me like this."

He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for relief, the damp patch in his boxers growing bigger with each passing second. He was so close, so fucking close, and the denial was almost too much to bear.

You simply looked down at Jacaerys with a cruel smile, your hips gently bouncing on his in a slow, tantalising rhythm. The friction was minimal, barely enough to tease, and you knew it was driving him wild.

"You want more, don't you, pretty boy?" You purred, your voice low and seductive. "You want to feel me, all of me, wrapped around your hot, throbbing cock."

You ran your nails lightly down his chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

Jacaerys let out a low, pained moan, his hips bucking up into your teasing touches. He could feel every nerve ending in his body screaming for more, begging for release, but you kept him on the edge, denying him the pleasure he so desperately craved.

"Yes," he growled, his voice rough with need. "Fuck, I want you. I need you. Please, baby, let me feel you."

He reached up, his hands gripping your hips, trying to pull you down onto him, but you resisted, keeping your movements slow and torturous.

"Tease," he accused, his voice strained. His weak accusations making you grin.

But even as he complained, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, the way his eyes darkened with desire. He loved the way you were taking control, the way you drove him wild with need.

"If you want me to beg," he challenged, his voice low and seductive, "then I will beg. Please, please let me feel your tight, wet pussy wrapped around my cock. Please let me fuck you until you're screaming my name."

A shiver runs down your spine as you hear his desperate pleas, almost giving in. His needy whimpers sending heat straight to your core. "Mmm, you sound so pretty when you beg for me," you purr, your voice thick with lust. "Such a good boy." Jace's eyes close in pleasure from the praise, letting out a low moan.

You grind your soaked folds along the length of his throbbing cock. The friction is delicious, the heat of him searing you even through the thin fabric of your underwear.

"Fuck, Jacaerys," you moan, your head falling back as you lose yourself in the sensation.

You grind your hips harder, faster, the friction borders on uncomfortable, but it feels so fucking good.

Jacaerys moans loudly as you grind against him. He can feel his cock throbbing, leaking pre-cum, the damp patch in his boxers growing with each pass of your hips.

"Yes," he hisses, his hands gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements. "Fuck, just like that. Grind on my cock like a good girl."

He reaches up, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing them roughly, thumbing your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He leans up, capturing one in his mouth, sucking hard, grazing it with his teeth.

"I'm so fucking close," he pants against your skin, his hips bucking up into yours. "Gonna cum in my fucking boxers if you keep this up."

He releases your nipple, leaving a wet patch on your shirt. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, his face flushed with pleasure.

You lean back, giving him a wicked smirk as your hips grind against his with increasing desperation. "Mmm, my pretty boy," you say breathily.

You can feel his cock twitching beneath you, so hard and ready. You want to feel him soil himself, cum just from your touch, all pathetic and whiny, just for you. Making his mind blank from pleasure.

"That's it," you encourage, your voice low and breathy. "Cum in your fucking boxers like a good boy."

You can feel your own release building, your core clenching, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But it’s not enough, though his release will be just as sweet nonetheless.

Jacaerys lets out a whiny, tortured moan as you tease and praise him. He can feel his release building, his cock throbbing, aching for relief, but he tries to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice strained. "You're gonna make me cum like a fucking virgin..."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving with each laboured breath.

His hips buck up into yours, the friction beginning to get slightly uncomfortable, but still so incredibly pleasurable. He can feel his balls tightening, his cock pulsing, the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Please," he begs, his voice breaking on the word. "Please let me cum, please let me fill my fucking boxers with my seed."

He knows he's being pathetic, knows he sounds like a desperate, needy mess, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is his release.

You grind your wet, dripping pussy harder against Jacaerys' throbbing cock, feeling every inch of him through our barely-there layers. Your panties are thoroughly soaked, and there is a wet patch on the front of his boxers, right where his hard shaft is.

"Mmh, fuck," you breathe, losing yourself in the delicious friction. You guide his face to your chest, and he eagerly latches onto your nipple again through your top, his warm mouth sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Jacaerys whimpers against your nipple, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He can feel his cock throbbing, aching for release, the pressure building to an unbearable level.

"Cum for me, Jace," you coo, your nails raking down his back and neck now. "Be pathetic, fill your boxers like a good boy..."

He sucks harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he grinds up into you, seeking more friction, more heat.

You press your hips down harder, desperate for more. You want to feel him lose control, soak himself just from your touch. You're so fucking close, but you’ll deal with that later. Right now, all that matters is getting him to cum in his 'pants'.

He releases your nipple, panting heavily as he looks up at you, his eyes wild and desperate. "Fuck," he groans, his voice strained. "I'm so fucking close. Gonna cum like a pathetic little boy, just for you."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his voice high and desperate. "Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

His cock pulses once, twice, three times, and then he's coming, spilling himself in his boxers, ruining his clean boxers. He moans loudly, his face buried in your chest, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out his release.

He collapses back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. He looks up at you, his eyes glassy and unfocused, a satisfied and tired smile on his face.

"Holy shit," he pants, his voice hoarse.

"Look at the mess you made," you purr, teasing him as you glance down at the damp patch on Jacaerys' boxers. Your panties were sticky as well, with your juices and his hot seed.

With a smile, you hook your fingers under the bottom of your soaked panties, slowly pulling them to the side. The cool air hits your slick folds, making you shudder. You're aching for release, your pussy wet and messy with his sticky seed and your arousal.

"Clean me up, pretty boy," you coo, spreading your legs wider on top of him, leaning back and giving him a perfect view of your glistening sex.

Jacaerys swallows hard, his eyes locked onto your glistening folds. He can see his own release mixed with your juices, the sight making his cock twitch in his soiled boxers.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "So fucking messy."

Jace pushes you gently onto your back, quickly settling in between your thighs. With an urgency you've never seen before, he quickly tugs down your cute panties, groaning at the sight.

He wastes no time, leaning in and burying his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your folds, tasting the mix of your arousal and his own release. He moans at the taste, the sounds vibrating against your sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Oh fuck!" you moan, your brows furrowing in pleasure. Your hands instinctively go to his hair, tugging him closer to your dripping cunny. You try to grind against his tongue, seeking more, but his iron grip on your ass holds you in place.

"All it took was someone to touch this messy little pussy, and you're back to being all docile," Jace smirks, his teasing words sending a shiver down your spine. He's right, and you both know it. The moment he touches you, and takes control, you turn submissive. It feels too good to have him take control and let him do whatever he wants to you.

You arch your back, pushing your hips forward, desperate for more. "Yes," you pant, your voice breathy and needy. "I just want to be a good girl for you, Jace."

Jacaerys' ego swells at your words, a smug grin spreading across his face. He loves how responsive you are to his touch, how easily he can reduce you to a needy, desperate mess with just a flick of his tongue.

He continues his oral assault on your pussy, his tongue delving deep, fucking you hard and fast, before circling your clit, teasing you mercilessly. He alternates between long, slow licks and quick flicks, paying attention to your reactions.

"Mmm, such a good girl," he purrs, the words muffled against your wet flesh. "Such an obedient little slut for me." Your eyes widen at his dirty words, a whimper escaping your lips. Only he could call you a 'slut' and make it feel like praise.

He slides two fingers into your tight heat, pumping them in and out, curling them just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. At the same time, he seals his lips around your clit, sucking hard, flicking the sensitive nub with his tongue.

"Fuuuck," you shriek, your hips stuttering as he repeatedly hits the soft spot inside your velvety walls, making you see white spots. But it doesn't last long. Jacaerys soon pulls up and flashes you a teasing smirk.

He blows cool air over your heated flesh, watching your tight hole contract, as you writhe beneath him. "You want to be a good girl for me?" he asks, his voice rough with lust. "What does a good girl do?"

You look at him with wide glossy eyes, clit pulsing with need. "I-I don't... what?" You ask him, mind blank from his assault on your sopping pussy.

Jacaerys chuckles darkly, amused by your dazed expression. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how he's reducing you to a needy, desperate mess with just his mouth and fingers.

"A good girl begs for what she wants," he explains, his voice low and commanding. "A good girl tells her master exactly what she needs."

He leans in, his breath hot against your inner thigh. "So tell me, baby. Tell me what you want. Beg for it. Show me how much you need it."

He punctuates each word with a teasing flick of his tongue against your clit, the brief contact sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

Before the words even register, you find yourself pleading with him, your best puppy-dog eyes trained on his face. "Please, Jace," you whimper, your voice cracking with desperation. "I missed you so much. Fuck."

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxes, his voice gentle despite the filthy words. "I know you can do better than that. Beg for my tongue, beg for my fingers. Beg for me to make you cum like the desperate little slut you are."

You bite your lip, your cheeks flushing with heat as you admit, "Every time I touched myself at night, I thought of you. Your tongue, your fingers... your fat cock," you say, drawing out the last words in a sultry whine.

You squirm beneath him, your pussy contracting with need. "Please, I want to gush all over your tongue. I want to be a good girl for you, Jace."

You look at him through your lashes, your eyes wide and pleading. "Please. I need you. I need your mouth on me. I need to cum."

acaerys groans at your desperate pleas, his cock throbbing in his boxers. He loves seeing you like this, so needy and wanton, begging for his touch. It strokes his ego in the best ways.

"Fuck, you're so sexy when you beg," he praises, his voice low and rough. "So desperate for my cock, for my mouth. Such a good little slut for me."

He buries his face between your thighs once more, his tongue delving deep into your heat, fucking you hard and fast. He licks up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

He sucks hard, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, his lips creating a delicious suction. At the same time, he pumped his fingers into your tight channel. His tongue works your clit while his fingers fuck you hard and fast, the obscene wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy filling the room. Your coquettish high-pitched moans reaching the neighbours, surely.

"Fuck, I missed you so much. Thought about you and your sweet cunt all day and night," his dirt yet sweet words make your pussy clench around his digits, drawing a smirk from him.

"You...you did?" You breathe, your voice trembling. You tug at his hair, needing to feel him closer to ensure this is real.

You pull him to your pussy, needing his mouth on you, needing him close. "Show me," you urge him, your voice desperate. "Show me how much you missed me."

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groans, the words muffled against your flesh. "Missed this sweet little cunt. Missed the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you scream for me."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Gonna make you shake and scream and gush all over my face. Gonna make you forget everything except my name."

With that promise, he dives back in, his tongue and fingers working you over, pushing you closer and closer to that brink of pleasure.

"Ahh!" you shriek in ecstasy, your back arching off the bed as Jace's skilled tongue works you over. Each flick against your clit sends electrifying waves of pleasure through your body, your muscles tightening as you climb higher and higher towards your peak. You squeeze your eyes shut, lost in the intense sensations consuming you.

It feels so damn good, his mouth on you, devouring your most intimate places. The way he sucks and licks, the filthy noises he makes, it's all driving you wild. You can feel your orgasm building, your core clenching, the pressure growing.

"Oh god, Jace, yes!" You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you. You grind your hips against his face, desperate for more, chasing that delicious high.

You're so close, teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Just a little more, a little harder. You can feel it, your body tensing, your toes curling, your whole world narrowing to the incredible pleasure radiating from your core.

"Please, please, please," you chant, your voice high and desperate.

Jacaerys feels you tensing, your body coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. He can sense your impending orgasm, can feel it in the way your muscles quiver beneath him, can taste it in the flood of your arousal on his tongue.

He works his fingers at an almost punishing pace, your juices making it easy for him to slip them in and out of you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, the words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Cum for me. Cum all over my face. Let go, let go."

He seals his lips around your clit once more, sucking hard, flicking the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.

And with a final flick of his tongue, a final pump of his fingers, he sends you flying, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your orgasm washes over you. A single, loud moan slips out, your voice breaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "Oh fuck!" You cry out, your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges.

Your hands tremble as they pet Jace's hair, urging him on as he fingers you through the aftershocks, drawing out your pleasure.

Jacaerys moans as you cum on his tongue, your sweet nectar flooding his mouth, your body shaking and jerking beneath him. He continues to lap at your clit, to pump his fingers into your fluttering channel, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

He slows his touches as you start to come down, his tongue licking soft and slow over your sensitive flesh, soothing you as your body twitches and flutters. He presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, to your mound, his slight stubble tickling your skin.

Finally, he pulls back, looking up at you with a satisfied smirk. He licks your essence from his lips, his eyes dark and hungry. "Fuck, you taste even better than I remembered," he says in a dark voice.

He crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until he reaches your mouth. He kisses you deeply, sharing your taste with you, letting you feel the heat of your own arousal on his tongue.

"You're incredible," he murmurs against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek tenderly. "The hottest, sexiest woman I've ever met. And you're all mine."

"Wow," you giggle as you hear his words, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "And I have the most handsome, the prettiest man," you whisper into his ear. "You know I'm bad with compliments, so enjoy this," you tease him with a soft smirk playing on your lips.

Jacaerys chuckles, nuzzling into your neck, his breath tickling your sensitive skin. "Well, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he teases back, his hand trailing down your side, over the curve of your hip, coming to rest on your ass.

He gives it a squeeze, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Pretty boy, huh? Guess I can't argue with that. Especially when you're staring at me with those pretty eyes of yours, all fuck-drunk and satisfied."

You whine softly as Jace's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your rear. But as his words reach your ears, a smile overtakes your features, pupils wide.

"And it's all because of you," you murmur, your voice low and breathy. "I'm all yours, any way you want me."

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with tenderness, brushing your thumb gently over his lower lip.

Jacaerys captures your thumb between his teeth, giving it a playful nip before sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digit. He looks down at you through his lashes, his eyes dark and hooded, still filled with lingering lust.

He releases your thumb with a wet pop, his lips curving into a wicked grin. "Mmm, mine," he says, his voice low and possessive. "All mine to touch, to taste, to fuck."

"And I intend to do all of those things, over and over again. Until you're sore and satisfied, mind blank and body limp."

He punctuates his words with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, pulling you closer.

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konigsblog · 8 months ago

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rapist simon who has to gag you to shut you up bc you keep screaming in the basement while his oblivious friends are over

could very easily pair this with kidnapper-simon 👀

TW/CW: RAPE/NON-CON, KIDNAPPING, DARK CONTENT — DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+ (YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME.)

you've been kidnapped, by a man you thought you could trust. you poured your heart and soul into that relationship despite its toxicity. you're left broken and worn down, locked away in the chamber down in his basement.

although despite him being responsible for your disappearance, he invites people over, usually his teammates, allowing them to stay for some drinks and to watch the football together. your voice is already hoarse and strained from all of your crying and wailing, along with the force of simon's dick down your throat everyday.

he can hear your screams, they're faint, barely audible. simon turns the volume up on the television and excuses himself downstairs into the basement, telling the rest that he believes he heard something fall over. they're unbothered and don't suspect a thing — i mean, can you blame them? nobody would suspect that he had his ‘ex-girlfriend’ locked away downstairs, that he was abusing and raping you constantly.

he immediately took his big, half-hard cock out, cursing at you quietly for not being silent like he'd asked of you. your mouth is forced up, a bondage toy forcing your mouth open all day, so he can slide his veiny and lengthy cock down your throat, causing you to gag and choke, gurgling at the intrusion down your throat.

after all, he tells you that your attempts are fruitless, laughable almost. that the team wouldn't hesitate to take turns with you if you disturbed their peace and quiet.

#orla speaks #tw kidnapping #tw: non con #tw: dubcon #tw: rape #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley cod #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost headcanon #ghost call of duty #ghost imagine #ghost mwii

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 9 months ago

Text

The Scars On His Back

Just going to slowly reupload my fics...two at a time...

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and goes out to the forest for a breather when he runs into you.

He’s back there again, with the feeling of a knife tearing into his back, carving up his flesh. Blood runs down his body, creating rivers of crimson on his pale skin and drips onto the floor, pooling between his feet. He can feel the stickiness of the liquid penetrating the gaps between his toes, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. His lifeblood drains with each moment, the pain overwhelms what is left of his soul and tears his body apart, sending screams ripping from his throat until his voice is hoarse but it never stops. The knife digs in again and again, the pain harshly dragging him back into reality each time he drifts off too far into the black void.

And then he wakes up with a start to the mess that is his tent, chest heaving out of habit and a sting in his eyes. His hands tremble as they reach up to wipe his weakness away, nearly causing him to nick himself. He presses his hands against his face, shakily drawing deep breaths.

He’s far far away from there now. He’s safe from him , with the tadpole in his head. He won’t have to bow and scrape to him as long as the tadpole remains. As long as you shelter him.

Hastily throwing on a tunic to cover up the scars, he heads outside his tent for some fresh air, to be away from the stuffiness that his tent brings tonight. The night air is cooling, a gentle breeze whistling through the still camp. Moonlight spills through the tree canopy, shining beams of silvery light upon the various tents pitched around the once burning campfire.

Quiet trills of nighttime creatures fill the silence, the smell of your blood wafting from…hold on. The smell of your blood? Ruby eyes widen and his feet move in the direction his nose is picking the scent up from before his mind can register anything. You are injured , his half-awake mind processes, a small pool of panic bubbling within his chest as he quickens his pace. How bad are your wounds? Have you been attacked? Will he make it in time?

He bursts through the trees, gaze frantically searching for any signs of an attack but all he sees was you. There is no sign or scent of enemies, only your lonesome figure sitting sheepishly on a rock, crimson liquid seeping through your fingers.

“Hi Astarion,” you smile, waving awkwardly.

“Y/N!” He hurries over to your side. “You’re bleeding.”

“So it seems,” you chuckle. “A small accident, really. I merely slipped on some wet grass and cut myself on the sharp edges of the stones.”

“You really are the clumsiest person I know, darling,” he shakes his head with a sigh, taking out some bandages and ointment. “Let’s treat this wound of yours before it gets infected. Wouldn’t want a small accident to turn into a big mess now, would we?”

You nod, biting your tongue before words that will ruin the mood slip past your lips. It’s better to keep to yourself how prepared he was to treat your injuries, and especially the fact that you could tell he was worried about you. Then an idea hits you.

“Since I’m already bleeding, do you want to feed on me?” The question sends his head shooting upwards, a quizzical look on his face.

“Feed…on you?”

“Yeah, like drink my blood since it’s leaking out of my body anyways, would be a shame if so much of it went to waste,” you can’t help but grin, “I can see your fangs peeking out, you know. Go ahead and drink, I don’t mind.”

He opens his mouth, moving it closer to your wound. The sweet scent of your blood hits his nostrils hard and they flare in response, hunger gnawing in his chest. You had offered your blood to him, what did you want in return? His body? His services?

Ruby red eyes search your face, waiting for you to lay down your conditions but you simply press your bleeding arm to his lips with a small smile, dabbing a sliver of blood on his lips.

“I mean it, Astarion. And no, I don’t want anything in return. I promise.”

A small puff of breath leaves his lips at your words and his tongue darts out, gently licking a stripe up your arm. When you don’t pull away, he gets a little bolder, sucking blood from the open wound. You hiss softly when his fangs dig in, drawing more blood from your body but keep your arm steady. He hungrily drinks it all in, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but your other hand moves towards his hair, gently running your fingers through his silver curls, twirling the longer strands around your index finger. You carefully avoid touching his ears, knowing how sensitive they are and instead tangle your fingers in the hair at the top of his head.

He quietly purrs against your arm, pressing his tongue against the wound to staunch what bleeding he can before cleaning the wound thoroughly with a damp cloth, sending vibrations running up your arm. Gently dabbing the ointment on your arm, he wraps a bandage around the wound, pressing one last kiss to it before standing back up, offering a hand.

“Shall we return to camp before the others begin panicking? I doubt they can function without the both of us.” The smile on his face is filled with apprehension, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Astarion –”

“Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ll repay this debt of yours as soon as possible,” he winks, pulling you to your feet. “You won’t regret it in the slightest.”

As he turns to leave, you shout.

“Astarion!”

He stops in his tracks, turning around. Muscles tensed, he tries to cover up the fear that is thrumming through his veins with a feigned smile, hoping it’d mellow out your anger. After all, you could neve resist his smile…right?

You see the way fear flashes in his eyes and immediately regret raising your voice, even if it was out of frustration directed at yourself. Taking a deep breath to clear away your anger, you hold out a hand in peace offering.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” Your voice trails off. How do you even justify what you just did? You know of the horrors Cazador inflicted on him, and yet you still lash out.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N,” he chuckles nervously.

You vigorously shake your head, “I really am sorry about it. There’s no way I can justify raising my voice at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was really frustrated at myself for not being able to convince you I didn’t want anything in return, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Astarion searches for any sign of a lie in your words but finds nothing. You really meant it. Every word you said. Your apology, your insistence on needing nothing from him after he had just fed on you, all of it was sincere and genuine. His undead heart skips a beat and suddenly the night doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

You care about him.

Before he knows it, his feet carry him over to you once more, his hand sliding into your outstretched one. The warmth blooms from your palm and winds around his cold one as your fingers intertwine with his.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

“Will you accept my apology?” You ask softly, eyes downcast.

“Of course, dearest. I always will,” he leans in, lips hovering over your forehead. Can he kiss you? Will he taint you if he does?

You tilt your head upwards, meeting his lips with yours and he immediately melts into the kiss. Unlike his previous kisses, this one is filled with care and love, not the usual lust and passion he’s used to receiving. Your arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back where scars tell of his past and he reflexively tenses. But this time, the hands on his back mean him no harm. They lie there to pull him closer into your warm embrace, to protect him from those who seek to harm him. So he lets them rest on his vulnerable back, soaking in the strange warmness that the simple action brings.

Astarion closes his eyes, putting his own arms around you. It’s weird, hugging someone for the first time. You don’t mind his cold dead fingers resting on your back and even press closer against him, enveloping him in your warmth.

When your lips part ways, he doesn’t say a word lest his voice wavers and betrays him. He lets you do the talking, relishing in the way you hold onto his hand tightly. Not a single move is made when you lead him into his tent, only letting go of his hand to help him tidy up his bedroll. You make sure he’s comfortable before turning to leave, pausing when he calls out your name in such a gentle manner.

“Stay…with me?” He begs. Your heart aches from his tone and once more you’re reminded of how much he hurts on the inside, so you backtrack and wrap your arms around him.

“Always.”

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion angst

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acehazbin1 · 7 days ago

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I need, I crave to see a moment from your imagination where Geta has someone who supports him, cause Caracalla has Geta but who has Geta, right? He carried the empire and his brother's illness alone

“Hush love, hush.”

Paring: Emperor Geta x Concubine!Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/n, mentions of sex, Geta being stressed, unhealthy ways of coping.

Notes: Thank you for the ask! Honestly, I think it is a really interesting thing to think about, who is there for Geta? (Thank you for all the support on the Caracalla fic!?)

His tunic was stained with him but that's how the fights normally went between Geta and Caracalla. Drinks were thrown, vases were broken, and voices were hoarse. No maid or guard stopped them unless Caracalla got physical.

Geta would normally come to his brother's aid after a maid had alerted he calmed down; gently reassuring him that nothing would come between them and he was as much an Emperor as him. It used to happen every so often but it's nearly become weekly at this stage.

He would fuck the stress out of him by choosing a concubine. Ruining one after the other, not caring about their pleasure, he only needed to feel something, anything. His favourite one was never the one to turn him down while stressed, she often was ready for him.

This night in particular he walked passed her, not even a glance away. She spent a minute trying to figure out what was wrong. Did she wear Caracalla colours? Or was her makeup wrong? She noticed he didn't choose any Concubine instead he told a maid to set up a bath.

He asked her to join him in the bath a lot, maybe he wanted to make her beg for him. She was stuck on what to do, so she wrapped herself in a silk nightgown and slowly walked towards the imperial bathroom. Her hand reached the golden door knob as she hesitated, he wasn't the one to play games Caracalla was.

She turned the handle and stepped into the room. The titles matched perfectly with the paintings on the wall, all having little details and stories about Rome’s past and how many emperors and Caesars had become before him. She only saw the back of his head without the crown, his hand out of the bath reached for the golden chalice filled with the utmost richest wine.

“I told you not to disturb me.” Geta called out, his words bouncing off the walls. She was sure he thought she was a mere maid. “I never heard.” His favourite called out, there was a pause that lasted too long for her liking making her brain scream that it was a horrible decision.

His hand reached up to hold the side of the tub, she heard water leak out as he moved to turn to her. His eyes meant hers, he might have been far enough away but she could see his makeup was smudged, running down his face and there was a cut on his neck. He had been crying?

She had never seen him cry before, it was strange, to say the least. The way his back mascara ran down his face made her think of the many concubines he left like that, but to see him wear the face of sorrow was almost Ironic.

She has admitted to the other women that it was becoming more than a job to her, and they warned against that thread of thoughts yet she couldn't help but care for him. She didn't mind when he bruised her hips after a night of one-sided pleasure or the rope burns she would get when he tried them too tight. He would always notice it the next time and pepper kisses when he hurt never mentioning it.

She knew the other concubines were jealous of the treatment she had gotten but they never stayed in bed with him stroking his hair as he slept after their job was done. She would always take an extra step to ensure that he was pleasured.

So her knees nearly went weak when he whispered, “Stay…” it was a request, not a demand. The way he looked at her and clutched onto the tub made her have a desire just to hold him. Before she could even respond, her feet walked towards him. Her hands met with his face, her thumbs wiped away his tears which more flowed down.

He tried to breathe in to stop himself from crying but he was met with her whispers. “It's okay.” He let out a breath and more tears streamed down. She brought his face back looking forward and sat herself down on the side of the tub. He moved towards her leg rests his head down on the fabric as she let him cry into it. “Hush love, hush.” She whispered as she stroked his ginger hair.

“W-why must the gods hate me?” Geta choked into her thigh, his hand gripping onto it now desperately trying to keep it there. “All I do is try to honour them yet they send disease after disease to my brother.”

She listened nodding gently at his words; he ran a whole empire and kept his brother from madness, he often came to bed unable to sleep due to stress. His eyes are often baggy going through trying to drown the look with makeup and the feelings with wine. But nothing ever worked.

“They do not hate you, they give you struggles that you will overcome so the people will remember you.” She whispered, he looked up at her so she leaned down to kiss his forehead. “They will remember your strength, passion, determination and your love for the people to go through these struggles and remain the emperor of Rome.”

Maybe she was telling him what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear yet something in it had truth. She cared enough for him to remain by his side whispering sweet comforts. “Will you remember me?” He whispered as her hand went towards a cloth to wipe away his makeup.

“Of course, how could I forget?” she replied in a whisper which made him relax in her hand. The room was quiet with just water moving in the background to her washing the makeup off his face.

Over the next month, Geta learned to come to her when he was stressed. He would no longer fuck the stress out of himself unless she agreed it would help instead most days he would lay on her lap letting her stroke his hair. He felt safe with her, a feeling he didn't get often.

#emperor geta #geta x reader #geta x you #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #fluff #comfort

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cheynovak · 5 days ago

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Shake it off

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Y/N f/character

Summary: Y/N acts jealous to pull a prank on Jensen.

Warnings: None. unless you count tons of fluff.

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Likes, reblogging, comments are appreciated.

The sound of keys jingling in the door alerted me. I set the bowl of chips on the counter and leaned back against the kitchen island, arms crossed, feigning irritation. This was going to be fun.

"Hey, babe, I’m home!" Jensen’s voice filled the hallway, deep and a little hoarse—probably from the whirlwind of fan interactions and laughter he’d shared with the audience all weekend at the convention. He stepped into the kitchen, looking ruggedly handsome in a snug flannel and dark jeans. His green eyes sparkled, but there was a tired edge to them.

"Hey," I said flatly. I didn’t even crack a smile when he came over, his scent of whiskey and cologne lingering faintly.

Jensen furrowed his brow as he stopped mid-step, his confident grin faltering. "Uh-oh, what’d I do?" He squinted at me playfully, still oblivious.

I raised an eyebrow, sliding my phone toward him so he could see the video I’d pulled up. Sure enough, there he was from last weekend—on stage with Misha and Jared, tipsy and dancing like no one was watching… except, of course, an entire room packed with adoring fans. He wasn’t just dancing��no, Jensen Ackles was shaking his booty like he was auditioning for a twerking competition.

Jensen winced as he watched the clip. "Oh, c’mon, I wasn’t that bad."

"And that little wink to those girls in the front row?" I crossed my arms tighter, pretending to pout. "Real subtle."

His eyes widened slightly, now realizing where I was taking this. "Are you… jealous?" He tried to smirk, but there was an edge of concern in his voice.

"Jealous? Oh no, of course not," I replied, letting my voice drip with mock sarcasm. "I *love* when my boyfriend drinks on stage and gives a free show to thousands of screaming fans. Maybe next time, take your shirt off, maybe your pants too? Give them the full experience?"

Jensen rubbed the back of his neck, suppressing a grin. "Alright, alright hint taken. It was the booze and Jared egging me on. What can I do to make it up to you?"

I tapped my chin, pretending to mull it over, then gave him a sly smile. "Well, if you really want to apologize…" I trailed off, taking a slow step closer.

Jensen tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"Why don’t you strip down and dance for me?" I teased, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning casually against the counter.

His green eyes widened, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. For a moment, he blinked, clearly wondering if I was serious. "You’re kidding, right?"

"Not kidding."

"Right here? In the kitchen?" His voice was a mix of laughter and disbelief.

"Or," I said, tilting my head toward the hallway with a smirk, "if you’re feeling shy, we could move this to the bedroom for a little… privacy."

He stared at me for a beat, trying to gauge how far I was going to take this. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head, the tips of his ears turning a little pink. "Oh, you think you’re so funny," he said, stepping closer, crowding me against the counter in that way that always made my heart race.

"I’m serious," I replied, trying not to burst into a laugh, my voice dropping lower as I gazed up at him. "You owe me, Ackles."

His lips curving into that mischievous grin I loved.

He sighed dramatically, unbuttoning the top of his flannel. "Fine. But if I’m doing this, you’re going to owe me later," he said, voice laced with a teasing threat.

"We'll se about that" I said quickly, stepping back to get the best seat in the house.

To my utter surprise and delight, Jensen did it—shimmying out of his flannel and swaying his hips, doing his best to mimic his stage antics while giving me a private performance. The sight of his bare chest under the dim kitchen light didn’t hurt either.

"You enjoying yourself?" he asked, pausing to laugh at the way I was biting my lip to keep from howling.

"Keep going," I said, holding up a finger as though critiquing his form. "This is part of your apology, remember?"

"You are so going to pay for this," he grumbled, but the twinkle in his eye said otherwise.

As much as I was enjoying his little show, I wasn’t entirely sure who was being taught the lesson—him or me. Either way, I couldn’t stop grinning. This was going to be one of those moments I’d replay in my head forever.

Jensen stood there in just his boxers and socks, doing the most ridiculous version of his signature "booty shake" I had ever seen. It wasn’t just funny—it was downright hysterical. His exaggerated moves and goofy grin made it impossible to keep up the stern, teasing front I’d been putting on.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach from laughing so hard. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. "Oh my god, Jensen, stop! You're gonna make me choke!"

His grin widened, clearly feeding off my amusement. As if reading my mind, he winked and added a body roll that was so over-the-top I nearly fell over.

Licking my lips absentmindedly, I straightened up, my cheeks sore from smiling. I looked him up and down, shaking my head. "Okay, okay, I give! Apology accepted!"

"Not so fast, I've just begun. " he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. Suddenly, before I could react, he closed the distance between us and swept me off my feet, slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Jensen!" I squealed, smacking at his back, half-laughing, half-shocked. "Put me down!"

He chuckled, landing a playful smack on my behind as he strode out of the kitchen. "Oh, I’ll put you down, alright—after I teach you a lesson for laughing at my incredible dance moves!"

"Teach me a lesson?" I gasped, still giggling as he carried me into the bedroom, his feet padding against the hardwood floor.

"You got it," he said, tossing me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. The mattress bounced beneath me as I landed, breathless and staring up at him. He was already leaning down, planting kisses along my cheeks, nose, and neck as I squirmed and laughed under the sheer weight of his affection.

"Jensen! You’re crazy," I murmured, though my hands instinctively curled into his hair, tugging him closer.

His lips slowed, pausing as his forehead pressed lightly against mine. His green eyes locked on mine, all teasing replaced with something softer. "I missed you, sweetheart," he said quietly, his breath warm and sweet against my lips.

My hands slid from his hair to cup his face, tilting him up so we were eye-to-eye. I could see it all there—how much he meant it. The teasing, the laughter, the silly dancing—all of it melted into this moment of pure sincerity.

"I missed you too, baby," I whispered, brushing my thumb against his cheek.

He didn’t answer this time, at least not with words. Instead, his lips found mine again, sealing the sentiment between us. His kiss was firm yet slow, like he had all the time in the world. And for a little while, it felt like we did.

Taglist:

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@deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

@kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303

@shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch

@deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal

@roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #fluff

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 6 months ago

Text

a/n: this is my aggressively self-indulgent birthday present to myself ☺️ and in true 30 year old fashion, i pulled a muscle in my back during pilates class this morning so i’ll be enjoying the day quietly 😂 anyway, i had so much fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy!

word count: 10.9k

tw: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, innuendo, car sex, semi-public sex, drinking

summary: you turn thirty and mat makes sure it’s a birthday to remember

You hadn’t been aware that you’d fallen asleep, but you’re woken up with Mat’s lips hot on your skin. He kisses the inside of your knee and you sigh, eyes still shut. The rasp of his playoff beard against your soft skin makes your stomach jump. Mat’s hand works its way up over the outside of your opposite thigh, fingers coming to rest and curl around your hip.

“Taste like champagne,” Mat mumbles, his voice hoarse from screaming at the parade. A shiver overtakes your body when he licks at your skin, blowing over the spot and raising goosebumps on your arms and legs.

A throaty giggle slips past your lips and your hands find his hair, overgrown since he’d lost his barber’s number during the playoff run. The dark strands are soft under your touch, slightly sticky from all the beer and champagne that had been flowing during the parade and post-parade celebrations just a few short hours ago. He groans against your inner thigh when you tug and then scrape your nails against his scalp.

“We basically bathed in the stuff,” you reply, spreading your legs wider for Mat to have more room between them. It’s dark outside still, no light streaming in behind the curtains. Mat’s shoulders are wedged between your legs, forcing you to drape your leg over one, the bottom of your foot resting flat just below his shoulder blade. Your bent knee gives Mat a clear view of your cunt, soaked for him always.

He doesn’t get any closer than halfway up your inner thigh though, licking and sucking gently at your skin. You can feel your skin chafing from the coarse hair covering the lower half of his face.

“It’s late,” you breathe, head fuzzy with lust. You’re still drunk, you think, your body both too heavy and too light. The parade down Hempstead Turnpike had been in the afternoon, the afterparty at Borrelli’s, the after-after party at Revel in Garden City, the after-after-after party in the Horvats’ backyard. You’ve had more alcohol in the past twenty four hours than in the past two years, probably.

“It’s early,” Mat counters, his fingers creeping down to brush against the crease of your thigh. “Happy birthday, Squeaks.”

You blink your eyes open, adjusting to the darkness, and let out a little giggle. “I almost forgot today’s my birthday,” you admit, too caught up in the whirlwind of watching Mat and the boys win a Cup to really keep track of the days. You suck in a sharp gasp when Mat’s teeth nip at your skin, even closer to the elastic edge of your panties. The fabric between your legs is damp and sticking to your skin.

“Dirty thirty,” Mat’s breath is hot on your skin, his head turning and nose rubbing against the damp spot on your panties. Your hips jump, pressing against his face. “Fuckin soaked, baby.”

He kisses over the wet spot and you hiccup a gasp, feeling more arousal flood your panties. Your fingers tighten in Mat’s hair and he groans against you sending a vibration straight to your core. Pressure coils tightly in your stomach, a live wire buried under your skin.

A whine works its way up your throat, your hips wriggling under Mat’s grip on them. “Mat,” you murmur his name, dizzy even though you’re on your back. Your toes curl against his back and Mat shifts up, pressing his shoulder up against the curve of your ass, bending your knee closer to your chest and pushing your other leg open wider.

“Birthday kisses?” He asks, lifting his head up slightly and grinning at you. His eyes are blown dark, a pink flush dusting his cheeks. Your hands are still buried deep in his hair. With the beard and longer hair, he looks almost dangerous. Less like your husband and more like a pirate ready to take exactly what he wants.

You nod, knowing he doesn’t intend to work his way up your body to kiss you properly. His teeth flash white against his dark beard and that gorgeous head disappears between your legs again.

Anticipation builds in your stomach while Mat carefully presses kisses to the insides of your thighs, alternating between legs to make sure no inch of skin is untouched. You whine and writhe, desperately trying to get your cunt to his face to relieve some of the throbbing. He nips at the junction of your thigh, a warning, and you tighten your grip on his hair.

“How many birthday kisses for my girl?” Mat rasps, his words a little slurred from all the drinking. He keeps one hand flat on your hip and hooks the index finger of his other hand around the edge of your panties, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thirty, one for each year you’ve been perfect?”

His beard scratches the inside of your thigh when his mouth lands on your cunt and you groan his name, panting already from the barest touch of his lips. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and Mat huffs a laugh against your folds, darting his tongue out to lick at you quickly.

“Please, oh my god,” you whine, all vestiges of sleep gone. Your nerve endings are on fire, desperate for him. Mat’s fingers are so close to your clit, holding the fabric of your panties aside, but his grip on your hip is too tight to let you move. “Mat,” you drag his name out into a choked moan, his tongue delving back into your wet, messy cunt. He licks and sucks at you like it’s his job and he’s getting paid by the hour. Carefully and methodically, his tongue drags more of your arousal from your entrance, the sounds of him eating you out obscene in the darkness of your bedroom.

The rasp of his beard on your inner thighs and against your sensitive cunt has tears slipping down your temples and into your hair. Mat dips his tongue into your entrance, holding it stiff so he can thrust it shallowly, and you keen, toes curling and fingers nearly ripping his hair from his head.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against you, nose bumping up against your swollen, sensitive clit and making you see stars.

“Please, please, Mat, oh my god, more,” you babble incoherently. His face is held right where you need him, the iron grip of your fingers giving him no room to pull back. He sucks gently at your clit and you choke off a scream, back bowing off the mattress and pushing your hips up into his face.

He moans against you and you kick at his back reflexively, drawing a grunt from him and making him grip your hip even tighter. You can feel your body dripping for him, arousal pooling under your ass faster than Mat can lick it up. He takes his time, licking and sucking painfully slowly, stoking the fire in your belly until it’s an inferno.

You’re not even sure what you’re saying as words fall from your lips, eyes wide open to watch Mat’s hips grind into the mattress. His ass, encased in a tight pair of royal blue boxer briefs, bounces with the movement and all you can picture is his hard, thick cock pressing into the mattress, leaking pre-cum and wetting the front of his briefs. Your mouth waters a little, desperate to get him in your hands or on your tongue and Mat’s tongue picks up its pace inside of your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you squeal out, writhing against Mat’s face, hiccuping and panting until Mat’s lips move up to latch around your clit and suck, hard. A shriek rips from your throat and your orgasm hits like a bomb, exploding in your veins and gushing out of your cunt to coat Mat’s face. You see stars and your chest heaves, breath catching as Mat continues to lick you through your orgasm, stroking gently over your hip bone. You whine and buck your hips against Mat’s face, eventually collapsing back against the mattress, a sheen of sweat making your oversized shirt stick to your skin.

“God,” you gasp, fingers cramping when you let go of Mat’s hair and flex them. Your legs tremble.

Mat’s head pops up between you legs and he gives you an absolutely shit-eating grin. “Nope, just me,” he chirps, wiping his hand over his beard. His whole face is shiny with your orgasm, but you’re so wrung out you can’t even be embarrassed about it.

Your foot twitches against his back and Mat’s grin widens, his head dipping again to kiss the inside of your thigh. “Real glad your parents took T,” he murmurs, kissing his way up over the top of your thigh to your hip bone. “I like when you scream for me.”

A yawn cracks your jaw and you squirm, overstimulated by the damp cotton stuck to your cunt and Mat’s weight on your legs. “Better let me take care of you so we can sleep before the princess is back tomorrow,” you reach down and scratch at Mat’s face, another yawn cutting your sentence in half.

He hums against your skin, fingers tracing nonsense patterns over your side. “I’m okay, babe,” he sucks a little mark over your hipbone, tracing the tip of his tongue over the spot, making you shiver. “Birthday girl doesn’t have to do anything.”

“What if-“ you yawn again, feeling your eyelids grow heavy, “the birthday girl wants to suck her Stanley Cup Champion husband’s dick?”

“How about we save that for when you’re able to keep your eyes open?” Mat chuckles and rubs his hand over your lower stomach, warm broad palm soothing you to sleep.

———

You wake up a couple of hours later, if the faint sunlight streaming in around the edges of the curtains is to be believed. Your legs are tingling, numb, and Mat’s not next to you when you turn your head. Instead, he’s still slotted between your legs, his head on your upper thigh and arms wrapped around your leg like it’s a teddy bear. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, even as Mat shifts and his shoulder wedges up against your cunt, arousal fizzing in your veins.

Reaching one hand out to your night table, your fingers brush up on your phone and tilt it so you can see the time - just after 5 in the morning, so plenty of time before the family comes over with Talia for your birthday breakfast. You let your eyes close again, the fingers on your other hand threading through Mat’s hair. Your body feels heavy from the early morning orgasm and the residual hangover from the parade yesterday. Most of it is faded, but you know that a nice greasy breakfast is going to do the last of the heavy lifting to make you feel normal again.

Mat stirs between your legs, his fingers tightening briefly around your thigh before loosening again. He rubs his bearded cheek against your skin like a cat and the bristles tickle you, goosebumps lifting on your arms. He’ll probably shave in the next few days, but you hope he’ll keep some stubble, if not most of the full beard.

His face is slack in sleep, laugh lines faint around his mouth and eyes. It’s been a gauntlet for Mat and the boys the last few months, but they have the ultimate prize now and every time you look at your Stanley Cup winning husband, the pride you feel for him grows exponentially. You’ll leave for Greece in a few days, a family vacation that all four of your parents and Liana are joining you on before they all head back home and you, Mat, and Talia skip off to Italy for another few days. It’s much needed family time after missing out on so much time with Mat during the post-season.

There’s still a ton to do before you leave, but today’s all about you, according to Mat.

Dirty thirty, you laugh to yourself. Never in a million years would you have thought this is where you’d be on your thirtieth birthday, with the best man you know madly in love with you and the greatest kid in the world. It’s been nearly seven years with Mat and every day just keeps getting better.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Your husband’s sleep rough voice startles you from your thoughts and he chuckles when you jolt under him. Mat lifts his head and rests his chin on your lower stomach, grinning up at you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, matching his grin. “Just…how amazing everything is.”

Mat blows a raspberry against your stomach and you shriek a laugh, pushing at his cheeks. “Stop, I’m allowed to be sappy on my birthday,” you whine, poking your lip out in a pout.

“Better sappy than crying like you usually do,” Mat teases. His fingers flex on your thighs and curl in towards the apex. One index finger traces over the edge of your panties. “These look damp,” he comments idly, continuing to trace his finger over until the tip of it is resting just over your clit. “Can’t be comfortable.”

You hum, already lifting your hips. Mat chuckles at how eager you are, sliding his hand up so the heel of his palm can grind against your clit and his fingers can curl under the top band of elastic. He shifts up to kneel in between your legs and you glance down to see the bulge in his briefs, one of your favorite sights in the morning. His free hand reaches for his dick and he grasps himself idly through the fabric, bringing the outline of him into stark relief. The shit-eating grin he gives you when he sees the fresh damp spot between your legs makes your knees go weak.

“Oh, birthday girl is desperate this morning, huh?” He murmurs, tugging down your panties and leaning forward to press a heated kiss to your lips. You groan against his mouth, parting your lips to allow his tongue inside.

“Mat,” you huff his name, breathless when he pulls back from the kiss. “Please.”

The plaintive syllable spurs Mat into action. He pushes the fabric of your sleep shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbled from arousal and the air conditioning. He sucks one into his mouth, his tongue circling until you’re moaning and canting your hips up into his hand. The backs of his knuckles are just barely touching you where you want him - need him - and you spread your legs farther apart, only to be stopped by the fabric of your panties still around your thighs.

“Mat!” You grumble, wriggling under him, trying to help your orgasm along.

He’s alternating between your breasts, licking a stripe in the valley between them. “Just relax, baby,” his voice vibrates in your chest when he speaks against yous skin. “Gonna make you feel good.”

And he does, burying three thick fingers in your cunt and crooking them until you’re screaming his name, gushing all over his hand. He murmurs filth into your skin as he pays attention to your breasts, sucking until your nipples are red and puffy. “Such a good girl,” he praises you, your heartbeat racing wilding in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. “Look so pretty when you come on my fingers.”

You’re boneless on the mattress, one leg slung lazily over Mat’s hip, and you give him a slow, dazed smile. “Fantastic start to thirty. Ten out of ten, no complaints,” you giggle, gaze trailing down to his cock. “Now, I remember something about the birthday girl wanting to suck her husband’s dick.”

Mat grins down at you and pinches your hip with his clean hand, the wet fingers of his other hand trailing over your stomach. “Who am I to deny the birthday girl?” He shrugs, his entire face crinkling up in the mischievous expression you love so much. You grin and sit up, pushing at Mat’s chest so he’s laying back and your positions are reversed.

“I like that attitude,” you smirk, scratching your nails lightly over his chest until your fingers reach the elastic of his briefs. You snap it once, enjoying the way Mat’s stomach muscles jump, before slipping your hand under the fabric and wrapping your hand around the hot, thick base of his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Mat draws the curse out into a couple of groaned syllables. “Baby, have mercy, please.”

You tighten your grip and Mat grunts low in his throat. “Oh, I’ll be nice to you, baby,” your voice is a purr, faux-sweetness laced in every syllable.

Hours later, after Mat gave you another orgasm in the shower, pounding into you so hard you’re fairly convinced you saw God and feeding into that tiny little, not-so-secret wish that he put another baby in you, he changed the sheets on the bed and you’d both gotten ready for the day. You negotiated Mat away from a clean shave down to a healthy amount of stubble.

It is your birthday, after all.

You’re scrolling through the birthday texts and Instagram posts when the front door bangs open and Talia’s little feet stampede through the halls.

“Mommy! Happy Birthday!” She shrieks, running into your arms and giving you a huge hug. You laugh and lift her up onto your hip, tightening your arms around her.

“Thanks, love bug!” You press a smacking kiss to her cheek. “How was the sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa?”

While she chatters away, your parents appear in the kitchen with bags of food and a few gift bags. Mat’s parents and Liana aren’t far behind. Nadia and Liana have huge bouquets of flowers in their arms for you, to be mixed in with the days-old bouquets that had arrived after the Stanley Cup win. The entire kitchen island is covered in flowers and you grin into your birthday bouquet, thanking your mother-in-law and sister-in-law.

The kitchen is chaos for a few minutes, while everyone greets you with hugs and kisses, wishing you a happy birthday. Talia’s still on your hip, but she has one arm wrapped around Liana’s neck, making you both laugh while standing in an awkward position.

Mat appears and Talia lunges for him, leaving you and your sister-in-law in the lurch.

“Daddy’s girl,” you shake your head, taking the iced coffee that your mom offers you.

“Tossed over for the Stanley Cup champ,” Liana teases. “We get it.”

Behind Talia’s back, Mat flips off his sister and laughs, even as Nadia is scolding him. Laughter and conversation echo around the kitchen and you lean a hip against the counter, sipping at your coffee, taking it all in with a small smile. Your mom appears at your side, nudging your arm with her elbow and smiling up at you.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Talia, she’s just such a delight, exactly like you were at her age.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, she’s totally Mat’s mini. I think she got the best of both of us,” you reply, watching Liana try to teach Mat and Talia one of those schoolyard clapping games. All three of them are laughing and Talia’s bossing them around.

“Well, either way, you’re a wonderful mom and I’m so glad we got to be in town for your birthday,” she pinches your cheeks together and presses a kiss to your nose, just like she used to do when you were a kid.

“I’m glad you guys are here too,” you reply, tucking up against her side and resting your cheek on the top of her head. “And we’re extra glad that you’re all teaming up to watch T while we celebrate.”

There was no chance either you or Mat was able to parent last night or this morning, not with the amount of alcohol you had mainlined during the celebrations. Your mom laughs and waves you off, saying it was nothing.

The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable blur of homemade breakfast and bakery pastries, presents, and plenty of cuddles from Talia. You, Liana, and Talia do a Starbucks run too for your free birthday gift, detouring to Sephora and Chip City for those birthday freebies too.

“So, did Mat tell you where he’s taking me for dinner tonight?” You ask Liana, wiping whipped cream off of Talia’s face. Mat had told you he was taking you out for a fancy dinner, but hadn’t said anything else, other than you should dress up.

“I think the city,” Liana comments off-handedly. “Nothing specific other than that though.”

You squint at her, a little suspicious because you know the siblings are close and Mat tells Liana like 85% of his plans, especially when they involve you and surprises.

“The city?” Talia pipes up, her face breaking out into a huge smile. “Do I get to go?”

You’d brought Talia into the city to see the tree this past Christmas and now she’s obsessed with it and being like Eloise in the Plaza. So every time you or Mat go into the city, she thinks she’s tagging along.

“Not this time, kiddo,” Liana tugs at her pigtail. “Your mom and dad are going solo to celebrate your mom’s birthday.”

“I wanna go!” Talia kicks the back of the passenger seat and you wrap your hand around her ankle.

“Hey! No kicking, I get that you want to come, but right now this visit isn’t for you. Daddy and I will bring you in a different time, okay?” You wait for her to nod her agreement and then unbuckle her from her car seat so she can scamper up the walkway to the house.

Liana falls into step next to you, snorting a little laugh. “She’s so fiesty and then so agreeable. That didn’t come from either of you,” she teases.

“I’m so much more agreeable than Mat,” you counter, laughing too. “Plus it’s my birthday, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”

She bumps her hip into yours, “annoying little sister privileges!”

As an only child, you love the relationship you’ve developed with Liana, so you’ll happily take her teasing and chirping as a sign of affection.

Mat has lunch ready for Talia and reminds you that dinner reservations are at 6, so you have to start getting ready soon so you can leave on time.

“I don’t even get a single hint?” You pout, picking at the leftover half of a cinnamon roll from breakfast.

“Here’s your hint, put on a cute little dress,” Mat kisses behind your ear and lets his hand fall to your ass, grabbing a palmful, “and let me handle everything else.”

“You’re a menace,” you grumble, leaning back against his chest. “How do I know if I’m dressed properly?”

Mat’s hands wander over your hips, flattening over your stomach and slipping below the hem of your shirt to tickle your bare skin. “Li knows where I’m taking you, she’ll let you know if the outfit is good.”

You gasp, “she told me she didn’t know! Bunch of liars!”

Mat’s laugh echoes behind you when you break away from his grip and shout for his sister, stomping out to the back deck where she’s watching Talia in the pool.

Liana’s like a vault though, refusing to tell you where you’re going, but she does agree to help you pick a dress. So, after you shower, she and Talia camp out on your bed, both on their stomachs with their legs kicking in the air. Talia keeps looking over at Liana to mimic any change in position and it’s adorable, the way she wants to be just like her aunt.

“Oh, Mommy,” Talia sighs, her chin cupped in her hands, “you look so pretty.”

“Thank you, T,” you beam at your daughter, fingers tugging gently at the hem of the short black dress. “Is it too short?”

Liana shakes her head, “nope. It would be perfect.”

You look at yourself in the mirror and smooth your hands over your hips, cocking your head at your reflection. It does look nice and you haven’t worn it in a while.

“Maybe you need sparkles, Mommy,” Talia kicks her feet in the air. “Cause then you’d be like a princess!”

Liana nods when you look over at her. “Sparkles are also appropriate,” her grin matches Mat’s and you shake your head, disappearing back into the walk-in to find a dress with sparkles. You can hear Talia chattering to Liana, telling her all about the play date she’d just had with the Martin girls and Tulsa Horvat. You flip through the random dresses hanging in the back of your closet, fingers skipping over the more casual ones and the longer ones, until you land on the tiny, sequined mini that you wore for a New Year’s Eve party. The black sequins glitter in the closet’s overhead lighting and you feel good when you pull it on, sexy and sparkly and fun.

Based on the delighted gasp Talia lets out, she thinks you look good too.

“Mommy!” She jumps up onto your bed, bouncing a little with her arms thrown wide. “You’re sooooo pretty!”

She bounces and falls on top of Liana, who lets out a little grunt and grabs Talia around the middle to tickle her mercilessly. Talia shrieks and giggles, wriggling away from Liana and rolling off the bed to beeline for you. Her arms wrap around your leg and she looks up at you with big hazel eyes, “Mommy, can I pleaseeeee come to the city? Because you look so pretty with sparkles on.”

“Nice try,” you scratch at the top of her head. “You’re staying here with your grandparents and Aunt Li.”

Talia pouts and drops her head back dramatically, before disappearing into your closet. You can hear her start to knock shoes off their shelves and clomp around in your heels. You giggle at the noise and sit down at your vanity to start doing your hair and makeup. Liana rolls towards the end of your bed to chat.

“Did you start packing for Greece?” She asks, laughing when a little crash sounds from the closet and Talia shouts out, “I’m okay, Mommy! But the shoes fell.”

You roll your eyes, knowing you’re going to have to do a major clean up tomorrow, and look at Liana in the vanity’s mirror. “Nope, been way too busy celebrating,” you smirk. “Packing is a future me problem.”

“Spoken like a true Barzal,” Liana chirps. “You’re officially one of us.”

Waving the Dyson at her so she’ll get the hint to come and curl the back of your hair, you reply, “your brother’s bad habits have definitely rubbed off on me.”

“What have I rubbed on you?” Mat pokes his head into the bedroom, grinning wickedly and ducking when you toss a makeup brush at him. He bends to pick it up off the floor and twirls it around his fingers.

“Your daughter is within earshot, Mathew,” you reply primly, smothering a giggle with your lips rolled together. Liana tugs at the Dyson, releasing another curl, and you can see her roll her eyes.

“You two are gross,” she comments.

Mat points the brush at her and replies, “you’re in our home, we’re allowed to be gross here.”

“You’re gross everywhere! Don’t think we missed the ass grab during the parade, or the way your hand mysteriously disappeared,” Liana shoots back, your cheeks flushing hot at the memory of Mat’s hand down your shorts.

Your husband just shrugs, unbothered. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quick and I should be done by the time you are,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he walks past, clearly used to the time it takes you to get ready.

Mat’s still ready before you are, waiting downstairs with the family while you finish off your makeup and spray yourself in a cloud of Black Opium. Jewelry adds the final touch, your wrists jingling with the two Love bracelets and Van Cleef Alhambra bracelets you’ve collected over the years and your ears studded with the stupidly large diamond solitaires that Mat (and Talia, according to the card!) had given you this morning for your birthday. You take a final look in the mirror and smile at yourself, feeling settled and excited to start your thirties.

When you come downstairs, heels in your hand, Mat wolf whistles, cheeks flushing a little pink. “You look fucking edible, baby,” he murmurs, settling his hand heavy on the curve of your hip and tugging you close to press a kiss against your lips, biting down gently on your lower lip.

“Ditto,” you giggle when he pulls away, raking your gaze over Mat’s form, from the top of his tousled hair to peek of his throat and collarbones through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, down to the loafers he’s wearing without socks.

“Ready for your birthday dinner?” He asks, folding you into an embrace, for no real reason other than him wanting your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitch in his slacks.

You hum an affirmative against his skin, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, “still no hints on dinner?”

“Just that we’re going into the city,” he kisses your cheek, spinning you around and patting your ass to get you moving to the door. You pad through the kitchen, planning on putting your heels on in the car.

Talia has all four grandparents monopolized on the couch, her head in Nadia’s lap and her feet on your mom’s lap. Beauty and the Beast is playing on the TV and you giggle when you realize that your dad and Mike are engrossed in the cartoon too.

“Hey,” you call softly, getting everyone’s attention. You notice Liana’s missing, has been since she finished your hair, but there’s also no dinner being cooked so she must’ve run out to pick up the food. “We’re heading out, give me a kiss, love bug.”

Talia stands up on the couch and plants a smacking kiss to your cheek telling you again that you’re ‘sooo pretty, even prettier than Belle, Mommy! And she’s the prettiest princess,’ before giving Mat a kiss too and a hug that has her jumping over the back of the couch and clinging to him like a monkey. He peppers kisses over her cheeks and she pushes him away after a minute, nearly back flipping out of his arms to get back on the couch and curl up with her grandmas.

“Remember, bedtime is 8, please,” you tell your mom and Nadia, knowing they’re going to disregard that completely. They nod and wave you out the door, Mat’s hand low on your ass doing the most work to get you out to the car.

He opens the door for you, like a legitimate gentleman, and bobs his head along when you flip the radio to the Sirius 90s pop station. His hand falls quickly from the steering wheel to your bare upper thigh and you smirk down at it. His fingers are long and thick, tanned even though he hasn’t been spending that much time outside. He taps them against your thigh in time with the music and your stomach does a little flip, lurching like you missed a step.

“Skin’s so soft,” Mat murmurs, eyes on the road, trailing his fingers up and down your thigh, closer and closer to the hem of your dress. “Just as soft as burying my fingers in your tight, little cunt.”

You let out a little squeak at his words, heat rushing between your legs, letting them fall open slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mat’s grin widen, his fingers dipping up under your dress and stopping.

“Mat,” you huff. You clit throbs.

Pulling to a stop at a red light, he turns to face you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk. “What’s the matter, Squeaks? Need something?”

You growl in the back of your throat. Fucking menace. “Don’t make me say it,” you grumble, his fingertips are dancing lightly against your inner thigh.

“You’re a big girl now,” Mat’s smile is wicked, “you know how to ask for what you want.”

“Mat,” you whine, pressing back into your seat as the light turns green and Mat hits the gas. Your hands grip his wrist, trying to push his hand closer to your cunt. His tendons flex under your fingers, his hand immovable. “Please, I need you to touch me.”

He slides his fingers up higher, bumping just against your covered clit and you gasp, relaxing down into the seat. “Anything for the birthday girl,” he grins, moving his fingers slightly while still keeping his eyes on the road. “Go ahead, use my hand, babe.”

It’s awful and dirty and not even close to the most depraved thing you and Mat have done in his car, but you sigh and spread your legs a little wider, the hem of your dress inching up your thighs so you can guide Mat’s hand exactly where you need it. He merges onto the Grand Central and you know you only have a limited amount of time to get yourself off.

Shouldn’t be hard since you’ve honestly been wet for Mat since you saw him in the kitchen. The combination of the open neck of his button down and the peek of his chain is enough to get you halfway to an orgasm.

His fingers slip against your clit and you let out a little sigh, wiggling your hips against his hand. Mat chuckles a little and his voice is rough when he says, “go ahead, be as loud as you want. No one’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t even really want to be that loud, all of your attention focused on getting off as fast as you can. Mat’s fingers rub gently at your folds through the fabric of your thong, the fabric soaked through to the point where you think you really should’ve thought this through and sitting in a restaurant is going to be wildly uncomfortable with a damp thong.

Little whimpers leave your mouth while you pull the fabric to the side, guiding Mat’s middle and ring fingers to your entrance. He lets them sink into you in a quick slide and you clench around his fingers, groaning at the slight stretch.

“Sound so pretty when my fingers fill you,” Mat says, crooking his fingers just right and hitting your g-spot with enough force that your leg kicks out and your knee smashes into the underside of the dash.

“Ow, fuck, oh my god,” your yelp of pain trails off into a moan when Mat pumps his fingers without warning.

His fingers rub against the walls of your cunt and you feel arousal trickle down the curve of your ass, wincing when you think about the state of the car’s seat.

“You okay, babe?” Mat asks, glancing over at you.

“Mhm,” you nod, your own fingers moving from Mat’s wrist so you can circle your clit. “Just need…I’m so close, oh my god.”

Your fingers make tight little circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, building tight pleasure in your stomach in tandem with Mat’s thick fingers.

The pads of Mat’s fingers press - hard - against your g-spot and you toss your head back against the headrest, coming around his fingers with a high pitched moan, your cunt clenching around his fingers like a vice. He continues to stroke your walls through the trembling aftereffects and the song on the radio changes over to ‘Genie in a Bottle’ and you start to giggle as the lyrics filter through the buzzy haze of your orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, Mat’s snort making you laugh even harder. His fingers wiggle in the grip of your cunt and your spasms of laughter only serve to grip him tighter.

“What a fucking soundtrack,” Mat cracks up, laughing so loud the music is nearly drowned out. He pulls his hand out from between your legs and you whine at the sudden emptiness. His hand glistens with your come and his smirk is devilish. “Proof I rubbed you the right way, huh, Squeaks?”

You groan, laughing, “god, you’re awful, Mathew!”

“You’re laughing though,” he chirps, sticking both fingers in his mouth to suck them clean. You clench your thighs together at the wet popping sound he makes when he withdraws his fingers from his mouth.

“Fuck,” you grumble, feeling lightheaded. “You’re going straight to the bathroom to wash your hands when we get to the restaurant.”

He pumps a little Purell onto his hand from the bottle sitting in his cup holder and grins at you, “yes, Mommy.”

You narrow your eyes at him and shake your head, “oh, don’t even start that, Mat! I’m already so messy, do you have napkins or something in here?” You’re flipping open the center console as you speak, finding nothing but a pair of sunglasses, one of Talia’s Polly Pocket dolls, and six protein bars in the space.

“I think T left her towel on the backseat after her swim lesson the other day,” Mat cranes his neck to look in the rear view mirror and nods. “Yep, it’s back there.”

Reaching back, your fingers grasp the striped towel and you pull it into the front seat, shaking your head. “Are we, like, sex maniacs? Because this isn’t even close to the weirdest thing I’ve cleaned myself up with,” you snort a laugh through your nose and wipe at your thighs with the chlorine-scented towel. You roll your window down too, trying to get the smell of sex out of the car.

“Honestly?” Mat laughs, changing lanes. “We probably are, but when my wife is as hot and smart and funny as you are? Who could blame me?”

“Flatterer,” you murmur, a faint smile on your face and butterflies fluttering around your stomach. Flirting with Mat will never get old.

You toss the dirty towel back into the backseat, making a mental note to bring it into the house later to wash.

Rummaging around in the glove compartment, you withdraw your little toiletry bag and spray a little bit of the travel sized Black Opium perfume on your thighs and hair.

“What?” You ask, catching Mat looking at you.

“How long has that been in there?” He laughs, studying you while you touch up your lipstick with a miniature tube.

You smack your lips, shifting the color, and giggle at your husband. “Since the first time we had sex in the car,” your laugh grows.

The rest of the drive into the city is quiet, Mat trying to hold your hand over the center console and laughing when you push his arm away because you “know where his fingers have been!”

“Yeah,” Mat shoots back, “inside of you!”

He drives over the 59th Street Bridge and you’re still trying to guess where you’re going, even as Mat drives into Midtown. He remains frustratingly tightlipped, driving past Bryant Park and pulling into an Icon Parking garage in the middle of West 36th.

You buckle your shoes around your ankles and climb out of the car, wondering just exactly where you’re having dinner nearly in the middle of Times Square. Nothing looks familiar to you, in terms of fancy restaurants that you and Mat have discussed trying out. Mat hands his keys off to the parking attendant and takes your hand with his clean one.

“How far are we going?” You cling to his hand, skipping along in your heels. “Because these aren’t walking heels, they’re look good at dinner and then draped over your husband’s back while he rails you in bed heels.”

Mat snorts a laugh and replies, “literally down the block, babe. If we were going any further, I’d carry you.”

“Down the block?” By the time the question is out of your mouth, Mat is stopping and guiding you towards the door of the Moxy Hotel. You squint up at the neon pink sign and tilt your head at Mat, pushing the door open.

“Magic Hour,” he says in response to your unasked question. “Rooftop bar since I know those are the birthday girl’s favorites.”

You give him an excited little bounce-shimmy because he’s right, you love a rooftop bar especially in the warm days of June in New York. You’ve never been to Magic Hour, have heard of it though with its rotating seating area and miniature mini golf course.

“Well this is a fun surprise,” you beam, resting your chin on his bicep. “Go wash your hands and we can get up there!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mat laughs, presses a smacking kiss to your cheek and scampers off, returning a few minutes later with freshly washed hands. He takes your hand and guides you to the elevators, your heels clicking along the floor. You lean against the back wall of the elevator, watching Mat’s fingers punch at the rooftop button.

“You got lucky today’s a beautiful day,” you tease. “Otherwise all those rooftop dinner plans are out the window.”

Mat’s smile curves up at an amused angle, something twinkling in his eyes. A secret? He looks more delighted than he should. “There was a Plan B,” he promises. “I’m just glad we didn’t need it.”

“What was the Plan B?” You ask, curious. But Mat doesn’t have a chance to answer, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal another hallway decorated with silver elephant heads. “Oh this is fun!”

You traipse ahead of Mat towards the doors, pointed off in the right direction by the woman at the reservation stand. He’s trailing behind you and you angle your chin over your shoulder to say something to him, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

“SURPRISE!”

The shout registers a second later and you jump, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, hands flying up to cover the lower half of your face. Mat’s laughter is at your back and the crowd of people in front of you are a blurry mess of faces and delighted cheering.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, taking a little step back instinctively, right into Mat’s waiting hands. They’re warm and solid on your hips.

“Happy birthday, Squeaks,” he murmurs into your ear, kissing your cheek. “Surprise,” his whisper is low and makes you shiver.

“Mat…” a lump of emotion clogs your throat, overwhelmed by the surprise party and Mat’s thoughtfulness. His hands squeeze your hips gently and he nudges you forward.

“Go ahead, greet your adoring crowd,” he laughs. “I’ll be around.”

You’re immediately pulled into a hug and shout with excitement and shock when you realize it’s Liana wrapping her arms around you. “Oh my god!” You yelp, hugging her back. “Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with my kid? I was wondering why you weren’t at the house when we left.”

She grins and bounces up and down in her heels. “I snuck out and caught a ride in with Bo and Holly,” she beams, looping her arm in yours and dragging you deeper into the party. “My big sister is turning thirty, of course I wasn’t missing this party.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you lean into Liana’s side, bumping your head against hers.

“I can’t believe Mat pulled this off,” you say, completely awed. “With the playoffs and … well, I had no clue!”

“He had plenty of help!” Syd comes up behind you and wraps you in a huge hug. “Happy thirtieth, girl! Welcome to the club!”

Holly laughs and hugs you tightly. “Mat’s only two stipulations were an open bar and a neon sign because and I quote, ‘my girl loves those fuckass neon signs.’”

“He loves those fuckass neon signs!” You protest loudly. “He’s just as much of a basic bitch as I am.”

All three women nod in agreement. “Oh we know,” Liana grins, any opportunity to make fun of her brother.

The neon sign in question is pointed out to you - bright orange and spelling out ‘Dirty Thirty’ in script, it’s attached to a fake plant backdrop and you’re informed that it’s yours to keep - and then you’re moving throughout the party, greeting guests and getting wrapped up in hugs from the guys. At some point, someone places a plastic princess tiara on your head and hands you a glass.

It’s a Bay Breeze, your favorite, and when you finally make it to the bar, there’s a sign on top that names it as your signature drink. The Squeaks Special. Mat had to have been behind that one, the only one to use the nickname, and it makes you smile.

There are a couple of other speciality drinks that are named for you - a bright orange Aperol Spritz, an espresso martini, and your stand-by of a vodka cranberry. You know you’ll be sampling each one as the night goes on. But for now you stick to your Squeaks Special, the alcohol warming your body from the inside out.

The rooftop is huge, crowded with your guests. The entire team is here, including the handful of players that have retired in the last few years. Your friends from college and grad school, your parent friends from Talia’s class. Your best friends from high school. You spend more time than you realize catching up with everyone, wondering just how Mat and the girls knew to create a guest list made up of your favorite people in the world.

Including - “Tito! Emma!” you shriek, spotting your husband’s best friend and his wife chatting with Mat at the mini golf green and making a beeline for them, wrapping an arm around each of their necks and pulling them into a three person hug. Their arms loop around your back and you wobble slightly, a pleasant buzz settling in.

“Happy birthday!” Emma squeals, keeping her arms looped over your shoulder. “Perfect weather, perfect party for our perfect girl!”

You beam, waving a hand in the air, a giggle slipping past your lips. “Because I have the sweetest, most thoughtful husband in the world,” you blow a kiss at Mat.

“How many of those have you had?” Mat laughs, reaching out to take a sip of your Aperol Spritz. He winces at the harsh taste and washes it down with a sip of his Jack and coke.

“Enough,” you shrug. Truthfully, you’re not entirely sure, but Mat doesn’t need to know that. Returning to the conversation, you say, “I can’t believe neither of you slipped up on anything. Especially when we were talking about the August visit.”

Emma and Tito’s little boy is a few years younger than Talia and you were planning a trip down to Nashville for a visit in early August, once you’re back from Europe.

“We were under strict orders not to spill the beans,” Tito laughs, clapping Mat on the shoulder. “Pain of death if we ruined your surprise.”

Mat shrugs, a lazy smile on his lips and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Half of you are lucky you got told at all, big fucking mouths,” he teases, opening his arm for you to snuggle against his side. His arm is warm over your shoulders and you loop your fingers loosely over his belt, enveloped by the scent of his cologne and the laundry detergent you just switched over to.

“Well, I had no clue,” you assure him. “I’m…I’m really overwhelmed, honestly.” You choke up a little. “I just love that everyone I love is here.”

“You deserve it, babe,” Mat kisses the top of your head, getting an “oooh” from Emma and Tito and making you laugh. You lean up on your toes and kiss the side of Mat’s neck, a faint transfer of your lipstick smudging his skin.

“Oh!” The music transitions into a club mix of ‘Believe’ and you bounce, grasping Mat’s hand and tugging him over to the space in the middle of the rooftop that’s functioning as a dance floor. “Dance with me!”

Mat laughs and follows along, resisting just slightly. “Only because it’s your birthday,” he teases.

You shake your ass at him, tossing a grin over your shoulder. “Liar! You love a good jump around dance, don’t pretend,” your voice strains, shouting over the music. Mat’s free arm locks around your waist and pulls you back to him, your ass pressed tightly against his crotch, the bulge of his cock hot against the curve of your ass. You wiggle happily against him, getting comfortable, and let go of his hand so you can loop your arm around his neck and rest the back of your head against his collarbone, grinding and dancing completely off-beat.

Somehow, while the songs change, you polish off your drink and some of Mat’s and a few little snacks that someone keeps putting into your hands. You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, know that you did a round of shots with Cal, Casey, and Matt.

At some point, you end up behind the bar, dancing absently to the music that’s playing and pouring drinks for everyone. God knows if they’re the right drinks, but no one seems to be complaining. Mat’s leaning against the bar, grinning at you.

“What?” You say, cocking your head at him and overfilling a glass with seltzer. You shake your hand off and the actual bartender pours the drink properly, handing it off to one of your college friends.

“Nothing,” Mat shrugs, “you’re just really cute.”

Heat rushes to your face and you giggle. “You’re really cute,” you shoot back, reaching over the bar to grasp Mat’s hand. His fingers curl around yours and he pushes himself forward, over the bar, so he can capture your lips with his. His tongue passes over yours and you moan into his mouth, your free hand grabbing at the open neck of his shirt to pull him in even closer. Your fingers brush against the warm metal of his chain and you tug gently at it, a growl vibrating at the back of Mat’s throat. Mat’s hand gropes at your chest, cool fingers dipping beneath the fabric of your dress and squeezing gently at the swell of your breast. You whine and deepen the kiss, pressing your chest into his hand, wolf whistles from your friends rattling around in your brain.

You pull back from the kiss, desperate for air, and Mat has your lower lip captured between his teeth, tugging gently on it. You push a little at his chest, getting him to release you, and suck in a shaky breath.

“Get a fuckin’ room!” Marty shouts, laughing.

“When has a lack of privacy ever stopped them?” Bo chimes in, sounding exasperated.

Mat grins at you and you can see that his face is flushed. “Say the word, baby, I’ll haul you off to the bathroom right now,” his voice is low, his fingers drawing aimless trails up and down your arm. Your clit throbs in response to his voice, dampness growing between your thighs.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to say yes, to nod and have his arms around you in a second, an orgasm flooding your senses before you can even be missed.

And then the opening notes to ‘Stop’ by the Spice Girls start and your eyes go wide, an excited squeal from your lips barely audible over the music. You dart around the bar, leaving Mat hanging over the counter, confused and surprised by your sudden disappearance.

Until you start shouting for Syd, Alexa, and Liana, shimmying your way into the middle of the dance floor. Mat realizes exactly what’s happening when his sister and the other two blondes join you in a line, drunkenly performing choreography to the song.

Mat cracks up and he’s in the thick of it seconds later, recording the impromptu performance, holding his phone up and sticking his head in the shot as you hold your hands out and cross them over your chest, your movements not as sharp as they could be. Next to you, Sydney and Liana burst out into giggles, Alexa shouting along to the lyrics. Mat sings loudly and off-key, barely audible over the music.

“I need somebody with a human touch,” you drag out the notes, slurring your words a little, and Mat dances next to you, thrusting his hips a little, recording everything. You turn and kiss him, giggling against his mouth. When the song ends, you fall into a pile of arms, laughing and hugging the girls.

“I didn’t think I would remember that,” Syd grins, thinking about how drunk you’d all been during the game watch party a year ago when you decided to learn the choreography to the song instead of focusing on the game.

Alexa snorts, “valuable brain cells are used up on remembering 90s choreography.”

“Big hit with your fans,” Mat waves his phone in the air, the screen playing his Insta story, your off-rhythm dancing the focus, with Mat’s face popping up in the bottom corner of the screen, his face scrunched up in a delighted expression.

You reach for the phone, stumbling a little and landing hard against Mat’s chest, his arm locked around your waist. “That’s what you post?” You whine. “Not my amazing bartending shkills…skillsh…talents?” Your eyebrows furrow, your mouth clumsy around the sharp consonant.

“My drink was all cranberry, no vodka,” Alexa chirps.

“You gave me a White Claw when I asked for a beer,” Noah grins, draping an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders.

A handful of your other friends chime in with their wrong drinks and you stick your tongue out at the group, “you’re supposed to lie to me!”

They all refuse to lie to you and you’re too drunk to care, slipping your way off the dance floor with Mat at your back, attention span moving onto the next conversation.

You’re not sure what time it is when Mat pulls you to the middle of the rooftop again, your question cut off when everyone starts singing Happy Birthday and a huge sheet cake is wheeled out in front of you, three big sparkler candles making everything glow. A picture from your first birthday is printed on the frosting and you grin down at your own face - your mom had to have supplied the picture to Mat - blowing out the number candles lit next to the sparkler candles.

“What did you wish for?” Mat asks in your ear, kissing your cheek. One of his hands is resting on the curve of your ass and the other swipes up a bit of frosting for you to try.

You lick it off his finger delicately, knowing you’re going to hear shit from the girls during the party debriefs in the coming days, and hoping someone got a picture anyway.

“Can’t tell you,” you whisper back, “otherwise it won’t come true.”

There’s only one thing missing from your life right now and you refuse to dwell on that anxiety producing thought for the night, instead choosing to swipe frosting onto your own fingers and run them over Mat’s cheek, laughing and running off when his mouth drops open in shock. You’d lost your heels hours ago, so your escape is going well until Mat follows, considerably less drunk than you are, and captures you around the waist, your legs swinging up in the air with your changed momentum.

“Brat,” Mat grumbles affectionately into your ear, peppering kisses down the back of your neck.

“Do something about it,” you challenge him, pressing your ass back against his crotch.

Mat’s hands tighten around your waist and you let out a little sigh, relaxing into his grip. His face is buried in your hair, lips working over the nape of your neck. Every so often his teeth scrape against your skin and you shiver, barely aware that he’s carrying you back inside, into the little hallway with the silver elephant heads on the wall.

“So needy,” he mumbles, pressing you up against the wall, kissing your cheek and letting his hands slide over your stomach and down to the bare skin of your upper thighs. “Lucky for you I’ve never been able to resist you.”

“Mat…” you whine his name, choking off in a gasp when his fingers find your clit and expertly roll the sensitive bundle until tears well up in your eyes and arousal soaks your panties. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build, Mat’s middle finger teasing between your folds and his thumb and index finger working your clit.

“Come on, baby,” he grins into your shoulder, never stopping his movements. “Got a party full of people waiting for you, come on my hand and you can get back out there.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the high-pitched moan Mat drags out of you, your orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, your come drenching Mat’s hand.

“Good girl,” he praises you through the rolling waves of your orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs and taking a little step back so you’re not crushed between his chest and the wall. “Back to the party,” he chuckles and pats your ass with his clean hand, guiding you back out to the rooftop.

Your legs are shaky and you’re grateful that you’re barefoot because the post-orgasm leg weakness wouldn’t have combined well with your heels and the alcohol you’ve had to drink. Mat isn’t at your side and you assume he’s gone to wash his hands, but you don’t have a chance to really wonder where he’s gone or worry about it because you’re drawn into a drunken mini golf competition with Noah, Alexa, Bo, and Holly. Bo and Noah are the only ones who manage to do a halfway decent job, you and the girls giggling and sending the colorful golf balls rolling off the fake green.

The party winds down in the early hours of the morning and you find yourself tucked up on Mat’s lap, his hands warm on your back and outer thigh while he cradles you. Your cheek is pillowed on his chest and you’re half having a conversation with Holly, half falling asleep.

“I think the party’s over,” Mat chuckles, looking down at you.

“No,” you whine, “I don’t want my birthday to be over.”

“Hate to break it to you, Squeaks,” Mat’s lips are against your temple, “but it’s almost 2am. Your birthday’s been over for a couple of hours now.”

“That sucks,” your voice is muffled by Mat’s shirt and you yawn. “It was the best birthday.”

The last stragglers for the party get up when you and Mat do, hugging you goodbye and heading out into the night. You and Liana lean heavily on either side of Mat and he grumbles about trying to find his wallet in his pocket while you’re leaning on him.

“I literally can’t move,” you yawn, jaw cracking. You’re not as drunk anymore, but the exhaustion is settling in.

“Hop on,” Mat laughs, bending his knees slightly so you can climb onto his back with a happy little squeak. Your arms lock around his neck and you rest your cheek against his head.

“You smell like a bar,” you mumble, strands of Mat’s hair moving with your breath.

Mat’s heading out of the Moxy, nudging Liana along with the hand that isn’t propped under your ass to hold you in place. “Better than my post-game smell, huh?” he laughs. “Li, come on. Walk.”

“I wanna be carried too,” she complains, limping along in her heels.

“Car park is literally next door,” Mat rolls his eyes, bouncing you up higher onto his back when he feels you start to slip. Your thighs clamp tighter around his waist and Mat grunts a little.

“Can still smell your cologne though,” you continue, the heels in your hands dangling against Mat’s chest. “I like this one. Smells so good.”

The cool night air hits your face as Mat walks out onto the sidewalk, free hand wrapped around Liana’s wrist to keep track of her for the thirty foot walk to the Icon Parking lot. You snuggle up tighter against Mat’s back, eyes closing while he walks. Mat’s chuckle vibrates your chest and he sounds amused when he says, “you staying awake back there, Squeaks?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Awake, totally awake.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mat scoffs, paying for the parking and stepping off to the side where Liana’s sitting on a little bench with Holly to wait for the car.

It doesn’t take long, probably because it’s after two in the morning and there’s only a few people waiting for their cars - Bo and Holly included. You wave at them as they climb into their car and drive off.

Mat loads you and Liana into the car and you’re on the road back to the Island before you know it. Your head rests against the window, feet tucked up under your body.

“Can we stop for McDonalds?” Liana asks from the backseat, poking her head in between the seats and giving Mat a wide eyed flutter of her eyelashes.

“Fuck no,” Mat rolls his eyes and you laugh. “We’re going right home and to bed because some of us have a five-year-old that gets up with the damn sun.”

Liana punches Mat’s arm, “you’re no fun.”

“We have pizza rolls in the freezer,” you tell her, turning in your seat a little. “And I think a bag of those honey bourbon Perdue nuggets.”

“Oh, you’re my favorite sister for sure,” Liana sighs happily and leans back in her seat. “Pizza rolls and chicken nuggets, the food of drunk champions.”

The drive home takes about thirty five minutes, the shortest a drive home from the city has ever been, and you wander across the lawn barefoot when you get home, the damp grass soothing against your sore feet. Liana makes a beeline for the freezer once Mat opens the front door and asks if you want a snack.

You shake your head, “I’m beat. Thanks for helping Mat with the surprise.” You give her a huge hug and she returns it, the pair of you doing a faint drunken sway in the middle of the kitchen.

“Anytime,” she grins, accepting a goodnight hug from Mat too.

“Clean up your mess,” he demands, fake-sternly, as he follows you up the stairs.

After a very quick joint shower that was actually just a shower, you crawl into bed next to Mat, pressed up against his side tightly. “Best birthday ever,” you yawn into his chest, nose brushing against the fabric of his shirt.

“You deserve it,” Mat yawns back, kissing the top of your head. “Can’t wait to see what you’re gonna do for my thirty-fifth.”

You snort a laugh - Mat had gotten a slightly delayed thirtieth birthday last year due to the playoffs. “Mmm,” you hum, “let’s see how good you are the next four years.”

He murmurs a reply, but you barely hear him, asleep before his sentence is finished.

——

Your bedroom is bright with sunlight when you finally wake up, miraculously without the nausea and throbbing headache that usually accompany your hangovers. You sit up and push the tangle mess of your hair off of your face, smiling faintly when you hear noise outside of the bedroom door.

“I’m awake,” you call out and Mat wanders in, Talia perched happily on his hip. He looks tired, but there’s a smile on his face. Talia’s beaming and flings herself out of Mat’s arms to land on the plush mattress before crawling up to curl in your lap. She’s got a packet of the Nature’s Bakery fig bars you’re all obsessed with in her hands, tearing into the wrapper.

“Hi, mommy,” she chirps. “I had so much fun with Nana and Pop and Granma and Granpa. But Aunt Li wasn’t here, did you know that?”

You smooth a hand over her dark hair, “I think she was playing a little trick. But she’s down in the basement, she stayed over last night.”

“Really?” Talia’s eyes go wide. “I’m gonna go share my pig newtons with her.”

Mat steps to the side as she barrels past him, shrieking for Liana as she goes. He laughs and flops onto the edge of the bed, hooking a hand around your ankle. “Li’s gonna love the Hurricane Talia landfall,” he laughs. “I could hear her puking when I went down to make coffee.”

Sympathy for your sister-in-law has you wrinkling your nose. “Maybe we should’ve stopped her?” You ask, reaching out to run your fingers through Mat’s hair. You yawn widely, jaw cracking, and roll your neck to ease some of the ache.

“She’ll get distracted by the parents on her way,” Mat shrugs. “They’ve got breakfast going, whenever you’re ready to join.”

Surprisingly, you’re hungry, so you roll out of bed and press a quick kiss to the corner of Mat’s mouth and pad off to the bathroom. You can feel his gaze on your ass and add a little extra sway in your step, just for him.

“Thirty never looked so good,” he calls after you, making you laugh.

After such a perfect start, you’re looking forward to seeing what thirty has in store for you.

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x you #nhl fic

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