#My skin and my curls look SO good in humidity

[halffizzbin]

The more times I re-watch Lost the madder I get that ANYONE still wants to leave the island once they discover there are showers and processed foods. What more do you even need? Smartphone-induced insomnia?? Office jobs????? Robocalls??? Vacuuming???? INCOME TAX????????

[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

[sweetimpurity]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 8!! yay! can you believe we're already a week into october?? wc: 1.4k love ya! masterlist>>

The buzzing of the electric razor fills the small apartment bathroom. The mirror is still a little foggy, a towel around his waist. Hot water still dripping down his back from his hair.  His dark eyes focused on the angle of his jaw. Running the trimmer over the edge and shaving away the growth of a few days' time. The square of his chin and down to his neck, trying to get it all even. Running his fingers over the freshly shaven skin. Hair falling into the bathroom sink. 

“Hey babe?” He calls. Your spot on the bed, phone in hand, distracted. “Yeah?”

“Can you see if this is even?” 

He waits, looking at himself in the mirror. When did those crows feet come in? And the smile lines. Those seem new. “Haa…” He sighs.

“Lemme see…” You murmur, entering the bathroom behind him. The humidity high from the steaming hot shower he just indulged in. Standing in front of him now. His huge height. Looking over the job he did. He’s so handsome. You can’t help but smile.

When did the crows feet come in? He thinks. He can’t stop thinking about it. Waiting for your answer and thinking to himself. Not nice thoughts. “Looks even to me…” You hum, smiling up at him, eyes drifting down his broad, built chest. Chest hair littered over his pecs. It’s wildly attractive. One of your favorite things about his body. “Okay…” He sighs. Not meeting your eye contact. 

He turns the razor back on. The buzz filling your ears. But you’re too distracted by his body to realize what he’s doing. Looking down towards his stomach and he’s holding the razor to his skin. 

“No, what are you doing?!” You squeal, startling him frankly so he flinches in surprise. You hand gripping his wrist, looking up at him with utter betrayal and he’s completely bewildered. “What are you doing…”

“I’m shaving, cariño…” He hums. Voice as soft and silky as ever. Even when he’s looking at you like you’re a complete crazy person. 

“Well you… you can’t shave that…” You stutter. What is he thinking? 

“I don’t like the hair, baby… it makes me look old…” He says matter of factly, gripping the razor and attempting the ultimate crime once more. “No babe! No, please don’t. I will literally cry…” 

“Babe. It’s hair, it’ll grow back. And then I’ll shave it again.”

“It’s your happy trail, Miguel. Do not shave it.” 

“Happy trail? Makes me look like an old man.” He huffs with a scowl at himself in the mirror. Turning the razor up to a higher setting, the buzzing higher and louder than before. “No no!” You whine, wrapping yourself around him, pressing yourself to his abdomen. 

“Why not…” He huffs, a little annoyed now with you latched onto him like that, preventing him from just doing it.

“It makes me happy…” You whine pathetically. And he just sighs. “Well then I’m shaving my chest or something… there’s too much hair baby. It doesn’t look good.” 

“No!” You whine, taking your voices up a few octaves to try and convince him. “It looks good, Miguel, you always look good. Why do you wanna shave it?” You look straight up at him, pleading eyes. 

“Makes me look fucking old I-I have crows feet, cariño. And smile lines. And- and gray hairs!” He exclaims, leaning forward with you still latched around him. Leaning close to the mirror and spotting a few stray grays grown in and tainting his otherwise dark curls. “You’re perfect…” You mumble, your voice muffled by his chest crushing you against the bathroom counter. 

“Ow fuck.” He hisses, pulling the grays out, or trying to, one by one. 

“Baby… Miguel… mi vida, mi amor…” You hum, using all the pet names he calls you, trying to stop his mind, his tunnel of bad thoughts. You can’t believe he would think this way about himself. “You don’t look old… you don’t look bad…”

“Don’t lie…” He sighs, frowning down at you. More like a pout. You want to kiss it off his lips. 

“I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth.” You sigh. Clearing your mind with a deep breath. Trying to see this from his point of view too. “If you… want to shave… if you want to pull the gray hairs out… then you can… you can do whatever makes you comfortable…” You explain, detangling your arms from him. He just looks down at you, listening to your words. “But you don’t look bad… I think you look perfect. You are perfect… just like this.” 

“You’re not just saying that?” He frowns, raising his brow at you.

“No… Mig. I wouldn’t change a thing about you… honestly…” 

He can’t help the smile at your words. “Do you actually like it? You like me with all this hair…” He says as if he’s trying to convince you you’re crazy. That you shouldn’t be attracted to him like this because he doesn’t think he looks good. 

“You look like… a man, Miguel.” You say, trying to make a point and he gives you a doubtful look. Like you’re just saying that to make him feel better.

“When you’re deep in me baby… I need this…” You say quietly. Laying your hands on his chest. The hair, the tan, the warmth. His brow cocks interested. Your words are getting through to him now. “I need it, I love it, please don’t shave it…” You whisper, pressing yourself to him, your arms snaking around his waist. A warmer smile breaks out on his face. His frustration melted into something softer. His arms finally wrapping around you in return. Pulling you with him, walking backwards out of the bathroom, back to the bedroom. 

…

“Oh baby! Mmm!” You sob and whine. Making so much noise, bouncing on his big dick, working in and out. His hands gripping your hips, bearing his teeth at the effort it takes to not paint your walls white immediately. But the way you want him. The way you so easily just built up his confidence when it was crumbling. Drives him crazy. 

His eyes are glued to the way your tits bounce, bringing his big hands up to cup them. Rolling the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. Pulling whines from your throat. Just laying back and letting you do all the work. Letting you put on a show for him, watching you swallow him whole over and over. His big dick buried in your sweet perfect pussy. Your hands stay glued to his chest as you ride him. His abdomen. His precious happy trail now sloppy and sticky now with your cum and slick. His hairy chest flushed and reddened just a twinge from your fingernails digging into his pecs. 

“Fuck fuck… ah…” You sigh, thighs burning from the workout and slowing down. But you just want to come so bad. You can feel the burn starting to cool. Until he juts up into you from below. Hitting your cervix and making you double over, splatting onto his chest. His thick arms, also scattered with dark hair, locking around your body laid on his. Keeping you locked down and fucking his hips up into you. You can’t help but scream and squeal. Your fingers desperately gripping into the sheets at his sides for dear life. Held down, your tits squished against his hairy pecs, his happy trail leading to the dark hair at his base, kissing your clit and creating delicious friction with every bed shaking thrust. “Mig… M-ah… Miguel!” You’re a moany mess, fucked to dust and back again. 

Soon enough the friction starts a fire, your eyes fluttering back and coming on him with groans of his name. How perfect he is. How much you love him. Every part of him. He growls deep and rough, one especially hard pound into your hole and he’s spurting deep inside. And whatever doesn’t fit dribbles back out mixed with your sloppy slick, staining the sheets. 

“More Miggy… I want… I want more…” You whine, nuzzling into his neck since he’s still holding your arms to your sides in a vice grip. He’s coming down from the high and you’re such a little needy bunny. He sighs, feeling you trying to move on him again. Trying to suck him back in for more. Clicking his tongue at your pathetic attempts. And yet he still gives in, rolling over, pressing you down into the mattress, sinking back in through your silky soft walls. 

“You’re gonna give me more gray hairs, baby…”

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

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@palomanh @maxad99

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[sunsburns]

Plssss write something wehere reader and virgin Luke fuck

[nsfw 17+]

no need to tell me twice! this is sooo obviously loser!luke coded and i'm glad he's back in my corner. and let's be honest, he wouldn't have a damn clue where to put his hands the entire time...

luke just wants to touch you, all of you. and it makes you smile when you feel his hands trail from your cheeks, your neck, down your shoulders, and once he felt a little braver, he'd grasp at your chest, brows furrowed, and lips parted.

your skin is warm, and the weight of his hands on you has you mewling. you drop your head and look down at him. luke can barely keep his eyes open, but when you bring your hand to his chin, tilting his head up, he tries to look at you.

luke's eyes are glossy, clouded by a lustful haze. his curls stick to his forehead, a thin coat of sweat against his skin while soft, low groans spill from his lips.

you let out a breathless laugh, running your finger through his hair as you roll your hips. "f-fuck..."

he's panting, his hands running from your chest to your waist, then your hips, and shyly creeping near your ass, but not quite there. you kiss his teeth and lick into his mouth, grinning when he tries to follow your lips when you back away the slightest bit.

"c'mon, luke..." you huff, pressing your forehead against his. "i've been doin' all the work, care to help a girl out?"

he's bottomed out, buried inside you as you rock your hips against his. you hold onto his shoulders for support, legs aching, but the pretty sounds that slip from his lips make it all worth it.

it's been ungraceful and clumsy, wet kisses stolen between your movements, each of you moaning against the other's mouth. you wished it could've been a little more coordinated, especially after you spent a couple of days looking for a spot you knew no one else would find you and luke in. a clearing far enough from the camp, but close enough where you could still see the lake, where the grass was softer, and none of the trees had any stranded arrows or carvings from the blade of a sword or a knife.

the sun beat down on the two of you, hot and golden, tanning your skin while luke can barely look at you without becoming flustered.

"what..." he's staring at your lips, "what do i do? what do you want me to do?"

he's trying his best, you'll give him that. it makes you smile against his mouth nonetheless.

"put your hands here," you guide his palms back to your hips, and you give them a squeeze, "and hold tight. i want you to move your hips, baby."

luke nods, a bright red hue on his cheeks when you kiss him again. his hips roll into yours, and a drawled curse falls from his open mouth. luke pulls out, almost completely, enough that you panic and squeeze him tighter with your thighs, but then he pushes back into you, slowly, letting you savour it; he repeats the motion, faster, his curses morphing into sweet mumbles of your name each time he bottoms out. 

you raise your hips the next time he pulls out, meeting in the middle when he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours once more before he pulls away from you so he can suck in a breath and-

"shit. you're so- fuck." he shudders, eyes squeezed shut.

you can hardly breathe, the sun is too hot, and the air is too humid, but luke feels so good, even if each one of his thrusts was so uncoordinated you had to try to roll your hips against him again so he could find a rhythm. it was half-grinding, half-fucking, and a delicious drag of the curve of his cock against your walls. yeah, you could do this forever.

"feels so good, luke." you moan, a little louder than you hoped when luke finally built the courage to grab your ass. "you feel so good. don't stop."

"don't wanna," he can barely get the words out. he's trying to kiss your neck but misses, and his teeth knock against your collarbone, the beads of your camp necklace hitting his nose. his jaw clenches tightly, "fuuuck."

one of his hands slides up the span of your back until it reaches the back of your neck, fingers ghosting below your hairline. you get a good look at him, he's a little bolder now, eyes wider, but brows still furrowed. luke licks his lips and lets them fall into a soft pout, a broken moan escaping him once he realizes you're staring.

"gonna cum, luke?"

he's nodding, his curly hair falling over his eyes as his hips buck at the sound of your voice. "yeah... yeah, yes."

you almost feel bad when you push him by the chest until his back falls onto the blanket. he stares at you, surprised, maybe, face unreadable as you lean down over him and whisper, "you're gonna have to work a little harder for it."

[girlyrafe]

──── ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴇᴛ .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩 ❝ ꜱʜʏ¡ᴘᴏɢᴜᴇ ⟡ ݁₊ ❞

⌗ with rafe cameron .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᝰ summary .ᐟ At a Kook bonfire, Rafe ignores the drunken revelry, drawn instead to you—quiet, delicate, and out of place. When a drunk spills beer on you, he instinctively steps in. A soft conversation unfolds, and when he offers to leave together, you smile.

₊ ⊹ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

The bonfire burnt low, casting golden ribbons of light against the ink-dark sky. The scent of salt, woodsmoke, and cheap beer tangled in the humid air, and the laughter of drunken Kooks rippled like waves against the shore. It was a night that should have made Rafe feel untouchable—one of those careless, endless Outer Banks nights where he could drink until his mind went numb, pretend like there wasn’t a hollowed-out space inside of him.

But he wasn’t listening to Topper’s slurred complaints about some girl who wasn’t calling him back. He wasn’t paying attention to Kelce’s loud, obnoxious storytelling.

His attention was entirely on you.

You weren’t like the other girls at this party—loud, confident, grasping for attention. You sat just beyond the fire’s reach, curled into yourself, watching the chaos with quiet, careful eyes. You were small in the way something delicate is, all soft edges and unintentional grace, as if you had been plucked from a different world and dropped into this one by mistake. The warm glow of the fire flickered against your skin, bathing you in gold, catching the highlights of your hair like threads of honey spun into silk.

And God—your lips. Soft and pretty, bitten pink as you worried at the corner of your mouth, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the little chain around your neck. You were something meant to be admired, yet somehow, you looked like you wished you could disappear. 

He should have looked away. Should have let the moment pass, let you fade back into the night like seafoam dissolving against the shore. But then someone stumbled too close—some drunk Kook who barely noticed you were there—and the beer in their cup sloshed, spilling over your bare knee.

You flinched. Before Rafe could think about what he was doing, he was already moving.

“You good?” His voice was quieter than usual, smoothed out—missing the usual cocky bite. 

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, cautious. Up close, you were breathtaking. Not in the polished, practiced way of the Kook girls he knew, the ones who spent hours making sure they looked effortless. You were something else—something softer, something untouched. Your sundress, loose and airy, looked vintage, like it had been loved before. A faded ribbon was tied in your hair, a little frayed at the ends. You smelt like coconut and something floral, and you blinked up at him with lashes so long and delicate they cast shadows on your cheeks.

“Oh—uh, yeah,” you murmured, brushing at the damp spot on your knee. Your voice was quiet, hesitant. That Pogue hesitance. Like you weren’t sure why Rafe Cameron was talking to you.

He let out a slow breath, glancing around. “You don’t look like you want to be here.” 

Your lips parted, like you hadn’t expected him to notice.

“Is that obvious?” you asked softly.

“Painfully.” 

The smallest smile flickered at the corner of your mouth. It did something strange to his chest—something he didn’t like.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” you admitted, twisting your necklace between your fingers. “My friends wanted to come.” 

“And you didn’t?” 

You hesitated, then dropped your gaze. “Not really.” 

Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his jaw, then—fuck it. 

“Wanna leave?” 

Your head jerked up again, your lips parting slightly in surprise.

For a second, he thought you might say no.

And then, you smiled.

©GIRLYRAFE

[xfgpng]

kiss my lungs…

— [ nsfw ] :: unprotected sex, a little rough? maybe.

— wc :: 1.1k

she leans against the doorframe, watching him as he leans over the balcony. it’s way too hot and their ac only does so much against the humidity.

he’s shirtless, like he always is at home and his back looks so good. his eyes are closed as if he’s pretending he’s anywhere else but here, where it’s so hot his pants feel like it’s a second skin.

“smoking kills” she grins and he huffs, looking back over his shoulder at her. she’s pretty everyday but especially like this where she looks flushed and irritated because of the weather.

her top is loose, an old raggedy volleyball jersey from his high school days at nekomata. she refuses to get rid of anything from that time and he’s more than okay with it. it’s happy memories, his carefree days where all he had to worry about was exams and volleyball and kenma.

he still cares about volleyball, his career is perfect the way it is but it’s not as carefree as he’d like it to be and he’s not getting any younger.

kuroo doesn’t know when he started smoking, it’s a shitty habit and he works out 4 days a week to keep his body in check so he knows smoking is so pointless and it makes him a hypocrite because he’s always lecturing kenma about good eating habits and staying healthy.

he kills it and turns towards her. it’s too hot but he pulls her against his body anyway and she complains, pushing him away but it’s half hearted.

“it’s too hot for this” she huffs, “you’re clammy”

“and you’re sexy” he teases, his voice low and he wants to kiss her but he wonders if she might punch him in the jaw. he’d deserve it, for smelling like cigarettes.

“how cheesy” she scoffs but she’s smiling and it’s his favourite type of smile. the one that makes her eyes disappear and it’s the smile she reserves only for him.

“is it too hot to hold you?” he pouts and she rolls her eyes. she knows him too well and knows exactly what he means especially when his hand his sliding underneath the old volleyball jersey and his planting kisses down her jaw towards her neck.

she feels sticky and uncomfortable from the heat but it’s weird how his kisses bring a whole different kind of heat, one that makes her knees weak.

“just a little?” he whispers, biting her earlobe and she hides her smile, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.

“are you always this desperate?” she asks

“for you? everyday baby” he laughs, pulling back to look into her eyes. he could write poems about them but he’s trying not to be too corny, she’ll make fun of him for it and cry like the adorable little shit she is. he loves her.. he wants to marry her.

“pervert” she scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief but she wraps her arms around his neck when he does lean in and she’s the one that kisses him, giving him a pass for the cigarettes and he knows he’s not touching another box ever again after this.

they don’t need to go too far, their couch is close and he doesn’t think he can make it down the hallway to their bedroom. he doesn’t want to.


he bends her over the couch, lifting the old jersey up but keeping it on. he won’t deny that he’s a pervert.


sue him.

he slaps her ass playfully but when she moans, he smirks and does it a few more times, much harder.

“tetsu!” she gasps, grabbing a cushion and it’s cute that she thinks that’ll save her. his grin is menacing as he slips his hand between her thighs, sliding his long finger through her messy folds. she gets wet easily and he loves it.

kuroo loves how her body responds to his touches. he loves how she trusts him completely to make her feel good. her toes curl when he whispers in her ear, his finger slipping inside her.

“just like that baby” he kisses the spot below her ear, “what a good girl”


she tries to hide her moan by biting her lip. it’s too early to be loud like this but his so skilled with his fingers and his other hand kneads her ass cheek. she thinks she might pass out anytime now and it won’t be from overheating.

he teases his cock against her entrance. it’s so slippery and he moans, loud and unashamed. he paid for an expensive penthouse so they could be as loud as they want.

“fuck” he groans, pushing just the tip in before pulling back out. he’s teasing both of them but he can’t help it. it feels better every time they do this.

he likes to think he’s a hopeless romantic on most days but he also does enjoy fucking her over the couch like he’s about to do like they’re just horny college students all over again.

she grips the cushion hard as he slams forward, his own toes curl. it’s soft and velvety inside her and if he could, he’d stay like this forever.

“more” she moans, “please”


and how can he deny that? when the love of his life is begging him to fuck het while she’s wearing his old volleyball jersey? that would be cruel.

he grips her waist hard enough to hurt, to remind her where he was days from now. he’s going to repeat this same process tonight and again tomorrow so she always feels him.

his big too and he smirks at how eager she is despite the tight fit. she likes that it hurts, enjoys feeling him when she sits or bathes or when she’s walking.

he thrusts hard but not fast, it’s his favourite way to have sex. it drives her crazy, makes her beg so prettily but he never gives it, not yet at least.

“oh baby but you’re being so good” kuroo teases, sounding breathless, “you take it so well, don’t you?”

“yes!” she nods eagerly, her pretty lips swollen from their kisses but also the way she bites it when she thinks she’s hiding her moans.

he grips the back of her neck and uses the other hand on her hip to keep her in place and he picks up the pace. he’s deep and he knows it by the way she whimpers and she always complains the next day that it hurts but she cries out for more that he can’t bring himself to feel that bad.

“good girl” he praises, “there you go”

she nods, agreeing with him in her delirious state. her eyes are blown wide and her mouth hangs out now. she paints a filthy picture and he wishes he could take a picture but he doesn’t want to stop now just to grab his phone.


he’ll remember for another time.

“my girl” he bites his lip, his head tossed back, “all mine”


and kuroo loses himself in her, completely forgetting about the heatwave and his box of cigarettes laying on the table outside.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Steamy Situations 18+ (Alastor x reader)

Alastor x reader Rated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off.

Interested in a Audio version of this fic? Part 1 Part 2 PS: https://discord.gg/q8kqx7ss is an Alastor server a friend of mine started and https://discord.gg/HeEbAHju is a vox server another friend of mine started. More friends are always nice to have <3

~~~~~<3 He had been slouched over his fucking desk for hours, working away at scripts for the next week’s broadcasts. They were perfect, probably had been for a while but when he was stressed, the perfectionist came out in full force. 

The summer heat and humidity had sweat sticking to your skin. Though the curtains were closed all day to keep the harsh sun from warming the house any more than possible, it was hot. 

The silk of your slip clung to your back as you crossed the room, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. If you were hot and grimy feeling, he had to be too. 

He huffed at the interruption, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he mumbled, not looking up from the pages in his hands. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” he set the papers down with a huff. “Can I do something for you?”

“I need a shower,” you said, running your palm up the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the short curls that had grown wild with the humidity.

“Take one?” He leaned back into your touch as tension slipped from his shoulders. 

“You need one as well.” Your thumb rubbed at the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

“It would appear so,” He said with a laugh, shifting to face you. “Do you have something in mind, my dear?” 

“Well,” you slipped into the space between his torso and the desk that had been newly opened up, “If you need a shower and I need a shower, we should both take a shower.”

“Good thing we have two showers!” Alastor’s grin was wide as you struggled against the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Or,” you drew out the word as you ran your hand up his chest, “We could take one together.” 

“How scandalous.” He sounded anything but scandalized as he patted your thigh, light reflecting off the simple gold wedding band. “Let’s get on with it then.” 

~~~~~<3

You had innocent intentions, stepping into the bathroom. Honest. 

It’s just, when you saw his warm tan skin under the running water, sending the shampoo down the valleys and dips between his strong muscles, you found yourself feeling rather jealous. 

You hadn’t even intended for this to happen. One moment his shampoo was running down his chest and the next it was your hands. Soft, water cooled skin over firm muscles that spoke of how hard her worked to maintain the property jumped and twitched under your touch. 

The water wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold either, being somewhere comfortably between to soothe away the heat. It did nothing to cool the heat quickly building between you as his hands went to rest on your hips. His frame blocked the spray of the water, mist fanning out around him, catching the light in a way that made it look like he was glowing. 

“What?” 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, hands running up his water cooled skin to pull him to you. 

Standing on your tip toes, you trusted him to hold you steady as you slotted your lips over his. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, thumbs tracing circles over wet skin as your naked front pressed against his. Water running over his shoulder filled what little gaps there were between you. 

With a sigh, he pulled his lips from yours only to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, “Thank you, my Dear. I am but nothing in the face of the beauty you possess.” 

“You flirt,” you tease, softly slapping his wet shoulder. 

“Hardly,” his chuckle seemed to bounce off the walls of the small room, wrapping you up in it as much as you were wrapped in his arms as Alastor croons, “Your beauty transcends even the brightest of flowers” Alastor croons. 

Your protest died on your lips as his warm tongue ran along your neck, dragging higher until his lips pulled your ear lobe between his teeth. You arch in his arms, trying to put space between you. His thighs were pressed against yours, member twitching to life against you as you half heartedly tried to wiggle out of your husbands arms.

“You’re not slippery enough to get away from me yet,” Alastor teased, arms tightening around you and holding you flush against him.

“Alastor,” you whined as one hand run lower, grabbing a palmful of your ass, “We’re in the shower, stop it’s-”

“Indecent?” Alastor teased, pushing her against the cold wet tile of the wall. “Scandalous, even?” 

“Yes,” your voice was weak as he looked down at you, cock pressing up against your thigh.

“Was it not you,” Alastor’s fingers slipped over wet skin, running up your ribs to cup a breast. Skilled fingers pinched and pulled at your nipple, “who disturbed me at my work with this indecent idea? Wishing to shower together?” 

“Yes?” 

Whimpering, you struggled to keep yourself from sliding down the wall. Alastor’s strong thigh pressed between your knees, pushing until they parted under the pressure. You had no choice but to yield until his thigh pressed tightly against your core, ensuring you would remain standing.

“And now? HA! Now you expect me to keep my mind on something other than having my wife’s wet,” He kissed your shoulder as he pressed his thigh against your slit with every word that followed, “naked, soft, inviting body on full display?” 

“Alastor, I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Alastor pulled your hips forward, grinding your cunt against his thigh. “You think I can’t feel your slick? I know that’s not water. I’m going to give you exactly what you wanted.” 

The dark promise in his voice had your core clinching against nothing. Delicate muscles twitched as a soft moan fell from your lips. Blunt nails ran down your sides as he smiled down at you. Fingers dug into the fat at your thighs as he simultaneously lifted you off your feet and pinned your hips against the wall. 

On reflex, you wrapped your legs around him. Shower spray pelted your legs as you struggled to grip his wet body. His hands seemed to have no issue holding onto you though. 

He ran his cock through your folds, gathering the slick and lubricating himself. Each pass over your clit had you arching, gasping and rocking into him as you sought more friction. There wasn’t much you could do though, pinned to the shower wall as you were. It was just how he wanted you, at his mercy. 

“Alastor,” you whined his name. 

“Just hold onto me,” he said as he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You tensed in his arms. “Just relax, this is what you wanted.” 

He breached your entrance slowly. You spread around the fat head of his cock little by little as the unrelenting pressure left your body no choice. Pleasurable pain spread through you as he sank deeper and deeper within you. He was large and your body struggled to accommodate him without preparations. 

A shuddering ran up his spine as he bottomed out, forcing you to take all of him in one long slow thrust. Unstretched and unprepared, your body gripped him, walls fluttering around his cock as they strained to accommodate his considerable size.

You clung to him, arching in his arms as he chuckled against your shoulder. His body was burning against yours in contrast with the cold wet tile. It felt good. 

Rocking his hips, he worked his cock through your walls, ensuing you were spread over ever bit of him, taking all he had inside your walls as if there had been any doubt before. You gasped and twitched with ever shift of him inside you. Once he felt you had relaxed enough, he upped slowly from your body, holding you in place with his hands. 

Though his entrance and withdraw had been slow, what followed was anything but. He plunged inside you with such speed and force that your lower back slammed against the tile. He held you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again. 

You could do nothing but hold onto him and hope the water didn’t cause his feet to slip or you to slide out of his grip. Again and again, the head of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. 

Gasps turned into moans as he shifted your hips and his, letting the head of his cock rub against the spongy nerves that caused your cunt to flood with slick anew. Your fingers slipped over his shoulders, nails struggling to find grip before winding into his hair. Numb fingers pulled at his wet hair, his broken name all you can say as the coil inside you begins to tighten under his expert touch. 

“So tight,” you can feel his lips move against your neck as he fucks into you savagely. 

“Alas… Alastor,” your head falls back against the tile with a thump that you don’t feel. You’re so close now, so very close. No longer can you feel the cooling spray of the water or the tile. The sound of the shower is lost to you.

All you can feel is your husband’s body pressed against you, the grip he has on your thighs and his cock slamming into you again and again. All you can hear is his breath washing over you, soft praises whispered between moans and the music of his wet body meeting yours. 

With each powerful thrust, you could feel the twitch of his cock against your cervix. He was as close as you were. Knowing that you had the power to reduce the great radio host to rutting into you in the shower sent a thrill through you that was enough to push you over.

Your body clamped down around him as you came undone in his arms. The pull of your cunt trying to suck his cock deeper inside drew a long deep moan from him as his pace grew sloppy. A handful of thrusts later and he slammed himself inside, teeth latching onto your shoulder painfully tight as he tried to stifle moan that always came with his release. 

Rutting his hips into your twitching cunt to continue to stimulate himself, he refused to separate as his cock twitched and spasmed inside, seed shooting to paint your cervix with his essence and claim. 

As both your breathing calmed and he slowly began to soften, you unhooked your ankles from behind his back. His grip went slack, letting you stand on weak legs as his cock slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty and sore but satisfied. At least for now. 

Alastor hummed as you settled against his chest, arms holding him in a light embrace. There was comfort in the sound of the popular tune and the sound of the shower spray. His strong hands rubbed suds into your body, lulling you further into relaxation. He washed your hair with tender care before allowing you to assist him with his own cleaning. 

Sitting you on the edge of the tub, he dried you with the same tender care. No one would believe he was the same man that so roughly, so quickly took you in the shower. As he rubbed the water from your hair, he tilted your head up and placed a soft chase kiss upon your sleepy lips. 

“I love you,” he said, smile as soft as his words. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Let’s get you to bed my Dear, so I can get back to work.” 

~~~~~<3 TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[sugar-omi]

Not a request but I desperately needed to share my thoughts on Cove Holden bc I have no one to say this to.

But I feel like accidental overstimulation is something that will ALWAYS happen with Cove especially if he’s in a cockdrunk/pussydrunk state like. You say you’re tired and he’s giving you puppy dog eyes “Just one more round babe? I promise, it’s the last one 🥺” and you give in and 5 rounds later, you’re still stuck in the mating press he put you in, fucked stupid and crying your eyes out from the pleasure while Cove just peppers you in kisses for encouragement and whispering “M’sorry, last one, I promise” or “You just feel too good” Yeah…last one my ass…

YESS THATS WHAT IM TALKIN ABT

n yknow how in the wedding night dlc, he says he's not good with words. i like to imagine as the night goes on, totally sex drunk, and that besides feral grunts and moans, he can only muster up a few words about how warm n tight you are, how you feel so good, that he's cumming.

poor thing can't even make full sentences, his brain has totally melted and all he can think about and struggle out fractured sentences about how good the sex is, how messy it is between you, especially if you're letting him cum inside.

he's resting on his elbows, trying not to squash you but his body is flush against yours, his chest squishing yours, face buried in your neck and you can hear how he pants like an exhausted dog, but you can hear his desperation in every breath..

it's a bit suffocating. he's so heavy, and the air is so hot, humid, and you're both so sweaty, but even though you're tired and so overstimulated, so much so it hurts. your sex is still throbbing and leaking with pure need, and you want more.

you'd sob out such a wretched moan. it could almost be mistaken for sad crying with how pathetic it sounds, but the filthy squelching between your legs, the sound of skin hitting skin.. it's nothing more than a whorish moan, born from your cries and whimpers, pleading for cove to hurry up and cum. to make you cum, so that way you can rest.

but when you both fall over the edge, your legs hook around his back, knees clamping around his sides, trying to close with him still in between them and your nails dragging down his sweaty back, and he's humping you like a damn dog, working himself through his orgasm at the expense of grinding his fat tip into your sensitive g-spot.

even though your legs jerk and tremble with every stroke, your clit / tip painfully overstimulated, your walls begging for relief from his bully cock, you somehow dont really want him to pull away, your spent body giving in to the toe-curling pleasure, feeling devastatingly empty when he pulls out..

because he does try to hold up to his promise. (3 rounds later after his initial plead)

but he's such a mess, and you probably look like a mess, too. he's fucked both your brains out, and you want him close. wanna be connected to him. want your bodies sewn together until you're one never ending loop of pure love and ecstasy.

he hears your pitiful whimpers, tries to blink away the cloud of lust from his vision, tries to think about how you're probably so tired, so sensitive... he promised it'd be the last round, really does try to pry himself off you after he promised it'd be the last round..

but those pretty glassy eyes blink at him, so dark with lust and those lips are so swollen and sweet, your hands reaching for him, legs curling around his back as you breathily ask for more

and even though you're both too damn sensitive, every brush of skin and slight breeze a sharp sensation to your overstimulated bodies, you feel too empty to be apart from each other, maybe one more round will satisfy you...

[blog-o-meter]

Balcony Daydreams - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) ogles her neighbor, Nicholas, as he mows his yard in the July heat and offers him a glass of lemonade.

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v

required listening: West Coast by Lana Del Rey

word count: 4, 350

a/n: I’ve had west coast on repeat and then they dropped that photo of Nicholas and I HAD to write this

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!

The humid July air was heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, the low drone of the lawnmower blending with the distant chirp of cicadas. From my balcony, I watched as my neighbor Nicholas worked below, completely in his element.

He wore a fitted white tank top that clung to his broad back, streaked with flecks of grass and dirt, the evidence of his labor etched into the fabric. The way his shoulders moved — strong, deliberate, fluid — held me captive in a way I couldn’t quite justify. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, the sun catching in its messy waves.

He paused for a moment, resting his hands on the mower’s handle as he gazed over the yard, his back still turned to me. The lines of his muscles were sharp under the tight stretch of his shirt, the faint outline of his shoulder blades shifting as he breathed deeply. A silver chain caught the light against his tan skin, sitting just at the curve of his neck, and I found myself wondering who had given it to him — or if it was something he wore for himself, a quiet, unspoken piece of who he was.

The heat of the day had painted a sheen of sweat along his arms, making his skin almost luminous. He reached up to swipe his forearm across his forehead, muscles flexing with the motion, and I had to grip the edge of my chair to stop myself from staring too long. But even as I told myself to look away, my eyes betrayed me, roaming over the way his shirt clung to his frame and the subtle, careless smudges of dirt on his skin.

The air seemed heavier with him out there, as though his presence alone had turned up the heat by a few degrees. My heart beat a little faster, a soft ache settling in my chest at the sheer effortlessness of him. I romanticized him without permission — this quiet moment of his, as though he were a character written into the script of my life just for me to observe. Nicholas, my too-good-to-be-true neighbor, the kind of man who moved through life like it was his own stage, unknowingly drawing all the light toward him.

And then, as though he could feel the weight of my gaze, he glanced up. My breath caught. His dark brown eyes lifted to meet mine, and even from a distance, the spark of recognition was unmistakable. For a second, I thought I might’ve imagined the way his lips curved into a crooked smile, soft yet teasing, but the heat rising to my cheeks told me otherwise.

Caught, I froze, clutching my glass of lemonade tighter than necessary. I thought he might say something, but instead, Nicholas ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, turned back to the mower, and kept going. That smile lingered, though, etched in my mind like a secret meant just for me.

The moment stretched as I sat there, trying to collect myself. His smile — crooked, teasing, like he knew what I was thinking — had set every nerve in my body alight. I swallowed hard, willing myself to calm down, but the next thing I knew, I was on my feet, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade I’d made. My hands trembled slightly as I poured a glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

I didn’t let myself overthink it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped off the balcony, down the stairs, and across my yard toward him.

Nicholas had just finished another pass with the mower, his movements slowing as he noticed me approaching. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, and then that same lazy grin spread across his face. God, he was dangerous like that — so at ease, like he had all the time in the world and I was the only thing worth focusing on.

“Thought you might want a break,” I said, holding out the glass to him over the short white picket fence separating our yards. My voice sounded steady, but inside, my pulse was a riot.

He switched off the mower, leaning against it casually as he reached for the glass. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” he said, his slightly raspy voice wrapping around the words. His fingers brushed mine as he took the glass, and even that small contact sent a jolt straight through me.

Nicholas took a long sip, his throat working as he swallowed. A bead of condensation slipped down the side of the glass, mirroring the drop of sweat trailing down his neck. I forced myself not to stare, but he didn’t make it easy. When he finished, he let out a satisfied sigh, holding the glass up in a mock toast. “Best lemonade I’ve ever had.”

“Flatterer,” I teased, though my voice was softer than I’d intended. He chuckled, setting the glass down on the mower before turning those dark brown eyes back to me. Up close, they were even more mesmerizing — warm, rich, and impossibly intense, like he could see right through me.

“Seriously,” he said, his tone dropping, quieter now. “Thanks for this. I owe you.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just being neighborly.”

His grin widened, and he stepped a little closer, closing the already small space between us. “Neighborly, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something heavier, more deliberate. “That why you’ve been watching me from your balcony all afternoon?”

I froze, the blush spreading from my cheeks all the way down my neck. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he interrupted, his smile softening. “It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.”

The way he said it — baby — with just the faintest edge of amusement, sent a shiver through me. My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His hand lingered, his fingers just barely grazing my cheek, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there and fall apart under his touch.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His eyes searched mine, waiting, giving me an out.

But I didn’t want an out.

“You’re not wrong,” I whispered.

That was all he needed.

Nicholas closed the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was anything but tentative. His hands found my waist, pulling me against him, and I melted into him, my fingers gripping the fabric of his tank top as if I needed to hold on or risk losing myself entirely. He tasted like lemonade and something darker, headier, and I was dizzy with it, drunk on the way he made me feel.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Inside?”

I nodded, breathless, and he crossed the picket fence over to my side. I took him by the hand, leading him toward the door of my house. The mower, the heat, the rest of the world — all of it faded as we stepped inside, the cool air of the kitchen doing little to calm the fire building between us.

Nicholas didn’t waste any time. The second the door shut behind us, he spun me around, pressing me against it as his lips found mine again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his hands roaming my sides as though he wanted to memorize every inch of me. His touch was firm yet careful, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt to trace the bare skin of my waist.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he muttered against my lips, his voice thick with want. “Sitting up there, looking so damn perfect…”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound catching in my throat as his lips moved to my neck. “I wasn’t trying to…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that made my knees weak. “You did.”

My protests dissolved into a gasp as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the counter. His hands splayed on my thighs, spreading warmth everywhere they touched, and I was gone — completely and utterly his.

The cool marble of the counter was a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch, but it only heightened the sensation, grounding me in the moment. Nicholas stood between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness, his thumbs brushing against the hem of my dress. He paused there, his eyes dark with intent as he looked at me, waiting for a sign to keep going.

I leaned forward, threading my fingers through his messy, damp hair and pulling him closer. That was all he needed. His lips claimed mine again, hungrier this time, his kiss searing and unapologetic. He tasted like summer, sweet and heady, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands trailed down his back, feeling the way his muscles shifted beneath my touch, still warm and slick from the sun. He groaned softly at the contact, his fingers gripping my waist tighter as though he couldn’t get close enough.

The kitchen was bathed in golden light, the curtains billowing softly in the warm breeze. Outside, the world went on — the cicadas still sang, the sun still shone — but inside, time seemed to stop, the two of us lost in this perfect, reckless moment.

Nicholas tugged at the hem of my dress, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Yes,” I breathed, nodding, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes.”

His hands moved with more certainty then, sliding the fabric higher until it pooled around my hips. His gaze roamed over me, lingering just long enough to make my cheeks flush, but he didn’t give me time to feel self-conscious. He leaned in, his lips trailing down my jaw and along my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Every kiss, every touch was deliberate, like he was savoring me, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak — all I could do was feel. The press of his body against mine, the heat of his breath on my skin, the way his lips curved into a satisfied smile against my collarbone when he found the spot that made me gasp.

Nicholas’s hands were firm, calloused from his work, their roughness dragging against the soft skin of my thighs. His tank top, streaked with dirt and sweat, clung to his body as if it were a second skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from running my hands up under the fabric, exploring the planes of his back. He was hot to the touch, his muscles taut and shifting beneath my fingertips as though he’d been built for this — for me.

He growled low in his throat when I traced my nails lightly down his spine, his body reacting instinctively. His lips crashed against mine again, demanding and fervent, and I met him with the same hunger, clutching him to me like he might disappear if I let go. The faint, salty tang of sweat on his skin only added to the overwhelming heat between us. It was intoxicating, dizzying, and I wanted more.

The tension in the room was electric, the sticky summer heat still clinging to both of us even in the cool air of the kitchen. Nicholas pressed me harder against the counter, his hands roaming over me as though he couldn’t decide where to touch next. When his lips left mine to trail along my jaw and down my neck, I gasped, my head tilting back to give him better access. His breath was hot against my skin, and I shivered at the contrast of it against the cool sweat still drying on my chest.

I pulled him closer, my nails digging into his shoulders as he worked his way back up to my lips. “Nicholas…” I whispered his name, and he answered with a kiss that stole my breath away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” he murmured against the hollow of my throat, his voice rough and unsteady, like he was barely holding himself together. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there, and I let out a soft cry, my hands tangling in his damp hair.

“Then stop holding back,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them. My voice was breathless, trembling, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know how badly I needed him, how much I had craved this moment.

His head snapped up, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine. They were heavy-lidded with desire, but there was a flicker of amusement there too, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Careful, baby,” he warned, his voice low and teasing, but the heat in his gaze told me he’d taken my words as a challenge. “I might just take you up on that.”

Before I could respond, his hands gripped my hips, tugging me closer to the edge of the counter. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him against me, and I felt the hard lines of his body press into mine. There was no space left between us now, only the unbearable heat and friction as his hands slid under my thighs to lift me effortlessly.

He carried me like I weighed nothing, his strength undeniable and utterly captivating. The sweaty tank top clung to him, streaked with green smudges from the freshly cut grass, the dirt on his skin rubbing off onto mine. I didn’t care — it only made the moment more real, more raw.

Nicholas set me down on the kitchen table, his lips finding mine again with a hunger that matched the storm building between us. My hands roamed over his chest, pushing up the hem of his tank top until I finally peeled it off of him. His skin was slick with sweat, the salty tang of it lingering on my lips as I kissed my way down his neck and across his collarbone. My fingers traced the outline of the faint tan line where his chain rested, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, greedy for every inch of him.

“You’re making a mess,” I teased breathlessly, glancing at the streaks of dirt and grass clinging to his skin, now smeared across my thighs and the edge of the table.

Nicholas smirked, his hands gripping my waist. “You complaining?” he shot back as he fiddled with the button of his grass-stained jeans, his voice low and gravelly, the heat in his gaze making my stomach flip.

“Not even a little,” I murmured, the words slipping out before I could think. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, but Nicholas wasn’t giving me a moment’s reprieve. His smirk deepened, and with one smooth motion, he pulled his sweat-soaked tank top over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

The sight of him made my heart stutter. His body, glistening with sweat, was a masterpiece — all defined muscle and raw power, streaked with dirt and flecks of grass from his work outside. The chain around his neck gleamed in the golden light streaming through the kitchen window, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing down, taking in every line, every shadow, every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and gravelly, as he stepped closer, his hands finding my thighs again. His thumbs brushed over the dirt-streaked skin there, his touch deliberate and almost possessive.

“Maybe,” I managed to reply, though my voice betrayed just how much he had me unraveled.

“Maybe?” he echoed, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine as his fingers tightened their grip on my legs, pulling me closer to the edge of the table. “Baby, don’t kid yourself.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his lips were on mine before I could form a word, silencing any protest. His kiss was intense, his hands gripping my hips to keep me in place as he pressed himself against me, his bare chest warm and damp from the sun. The faint, salty tang of his sweat mingled with the taste of lemonade still on my lips, and I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped me.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hands slid higher, fingers curling around the hem of my dress. The fabric bunched under his grip, and he pulled it higher, his knuckles grazing my skin as he exposed more of me.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the heat between us impossible to ignore. My fingers tangled in his messy, damp hair, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses down my neck, the faint patches of stubble scratching deliciously against my skin. I could feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles flexed as he lifted me slightly, adjusting me against him like I weighed nothing at all. The wood creaked faintly beneath my weight, but neither of us paid it any mind. My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him flush against me, and his lips claimed mine again, heated and unrelenting.

The sweat on his skin mixed with the streaks of dirt that clung to both of us, smearing against the table as he leaned over me. His chain dangled just above my chest, catching the fading sunlight that poured through the window. My fingers curled around it, tugging him closer, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat, vibrating against my lips.

“Nicholas,” I murmured, his name falling from my lips like a plea. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze, his dark brown eyes heavy-lidded with desire. There was a teasing glint in them, but also something more — something raw and unspoken.

“You like saying my name, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice rough, a husky edge of amusement threading through it. His hands trailed up my thighs, slow and deliberate, spreading warmth everywhere they touched. “Say it again.”

“Nicholas,” I whispered, my breath hitching as his hands moved higher, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of my dress, tugging my underwear down and letting it fall at my ankles.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips finding the hollow of my throat as his hands splayed against my hips, holding me firmly in place. The way he touched me, with a mix of roughness and care, sent a jolt straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body. I arched into him, my nails dragging down his back, leaving faint, deliberate marks against his sweat-slicked skin.

His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of fire along my collarbone and down the curve of my neck. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, felt like a carefully placed spark, threatening to consume me entirely. My hands tangled in his messy, damp hair, tugging him closer as his name slipped from my lips again, softer this time, almost a sigh.

His hands gripped my waist as he finally undid the zipper of his pants and pulled the layers of fabric down, pulling me further toward the edge of the table until there was nothing but him holding me steady. I couldn’t form words; all I could do was feel — feel the strength in his arms as he steadied me, feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, feel the way every inch of him seemed to mold to me like we were meant for this, for each other.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his tone softer now, his lips brushing against my ear as his hands held me in place. “I don’t want to—”

“It’s not,” I interrupted, breathless and trembling beneath his touch. My voice was shaky but certain. “It’s not too much.”

That was all he needed. Nicholas’s mouth covered mine again, deeper this time, more consuming. His hands gripped my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to anchor me to him as he slipped his length inside me and started to move against me, his body strong and deliberate. The dining table creaked beneath us, the sound blending with our gasps and the faint hum of cicadas outside.

Time blurred, each moment stretching into the next, until all I knew was him — his heat, his strength, the way he whispered my name like it was something sacred. My head fell back, and his lips found the curve of my jaw.

The tension built steadily, each movement more deliberate than the last. Nicholas’s hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me against him as though we were moving to a rhythm only the two of us could hear. His lips trailed along my neck, his stubble scraping my skin just enough to heighten every sensation. I gasped, my fingers digging into the slick, sweat-dampened muscles of his back as he filled me completely, each motion driving me closer to the edge.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged, his forehead pressing against mine as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. His chain grazed my skin, cool against the heat of our bodies, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. The words spilled out before I could think, unfiltered and needy, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was him—closer, deeper, more. “Please.”

Nicholas’s dark eyes met mine, and the way he looked at me made my breath catch. His lips curved into a crooked grin, and he pressed a kiss to my temple before murmuring, “I wasn’t planning to.”

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and I cried out, my back arching off the table as a wave of pleasure crashed through me. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he moved again, slower this time, deliberate in the way he pressed into me. The table creaked beneath us louder, the sound barely registering over the pounding of my heart and the soft moans spilling from my lips.

The sunlight filtering through the window painted golden patterns across his skin, accentuating the way his muscles flexed with every movement. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, a thin sheen of sweat making his tan skin glisten. The faint streaks of dirt and grass on his arms and shoulders transferred onto my skin, grounding me in the reality of him.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough as his hands slid up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed gently against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the intensity of his movements. “I want to see you.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw emotion I saw there — the hunger, the need, the unspoken connection between us — was enough to send me spiraling. My hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders as I gave in completely, letting him take me higher and higher.

“Nicholas,” I gasped, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. He groaned softly in response, his head dipping to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat as his pace quickened, the tension between us reaching its breaking point.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered against my skin, his voice thick with need. His hands gripped my waist tightly, anchoring me to him as he thrust into me, his movements growing more desperate.

My world narrowed to the feel of him, the heat of his body against mine, the way his voice wrapped around me like a tether. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, the edge drawing nearer with every deliberate motion until finally, the world seemed to shatter around us.

My body arched against his, a broken moan spilling from my lips as the pleasure overtook me, wave after wave crashing through me. Nicholas followed moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he came undone. My fingers clung to his shoulders, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath, and he warm breath brushed against my skin.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the soft hum of the cicadas and the faint rustle of the curtains the only sounds filling the space around us. His hands slid up my sides, gentler now, and he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering there like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I nodded, my fingers still tangled in his hair.

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look at me, and the crooked grin I’d come to know so well spread across his face. “Good,” he said, his voice still low, though there was a playful edge to it now. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering against my cheek.

“Anytime you need me to come over and mow your lawn…” He paused, his grin widening as his dark brown eyes flicked down to my lips before meeting mine again. “You just let me know, baby.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, soft and breathless, as I shook my head. “I think I’ll take you up on that,” I said, my voice teasing but full of promise.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, leaning in to press one last kiss to my lips, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I’d remember it.

[mywritersmind]

FOR THE PLOT - KA12

summary : A vacation, perfect timing, and their friends, bring Y/n and Kimi together on a tipsy adrenaline filled night.

listen up : KIMI ANTONELLI X READER! kissing and drinking! my first kimi fic which is super fun to write bc he’s the closest to my age. prob will make more parts!

word count : 1523

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Tan and in a mini dress is all I needed to feel myself again. When my friends said they were spontaneously going to the Maldives, I told them they were crazy and my parents would never go for it. Then they reminded me that I’m an adult and my parents had no choice but to say yes.

I sip on my pina colada, a hand in the air and dancing with my two best friends. Delilah giggles, her braided hair in two thick braids, she looks past me and giggles, “There’s a boy watching you!” A cool breeze blows past us, chilling my skin a bit under the humidity.

I laugh, “Couldn’t have made that less creepy?” Still, I turn around to see a boy indeed watching me. When my eyes meet his, he looks away, talking to his friend before glancing back and smiling softly.

He's cute and I’m surprised I haven’t seen him around the resort until now. He’s got a shorter brunette boy next to him, a tall dark haired boy, and a tall blonde boy dancing up to them with drinks.

I turn back to my friends and laugh, “Dibs on the blonde!” Cara says, pushing her light brown hair over her shoulder while checking the guy out as I laugh and frown down at my drink, empty.

I hop back over to the bar, seeing two of my guy friends, Micha and Jamie both flirting with much older guests. I give them a look to which they both smirk at before ordering another drink.

I hear laughter and what sounds like arguing, turning to see what is happening, I see the two boys pushing the cute curly haired one towards me.

He pushes against them, shaking his head. When he looks up at me and realizes I'm watching, his already burnt cheeks go pinker. “This is Kimi!” The blonde one says, slapping his friend on the shoulder before running off.

“I-” Kimi tugs on the collar of his dark blue button down, “Hi.”

I laugh, finding his awkwardness amusing, “Hi.”

“Sorry about my friends- they act like that a lot… more than you’d think.”

I raise a brow, “Pushing you to go talk to girls?”

He laughs, “Yeah. This is the first time I've actually wanted to, though.” I smile, the bartender handing me another pina colada.

I nod, watching the boy, “I’m Y/n.” He looks relieved when I talk, “I like your accent. Italian?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n. And thanks, I am italian!” He leans against the bar, messing up his order but laughing with the bartender. “How long are you here for?”

“Got in like two days ago… I’m here for another two weeks!” He seems to perk up at this.

“I got in today! I’m here for two weeks as well.” He takes his drink and the bartender shoos us away. As Kimi walks next to me, I realize that he’s a good bit taller than me.

As we walk away from the party, I see my friends meeting Kimis, they all see us but I can tell they’re pretending to not watch. I laugh a bit as we walk down the beach.

I find out Kimi is eighteen and I sigh in relief because so am I. “This is my first real trip without my family.” He laughs shyly, “So far it’s looking up.” He glances at me.

“I think this counts as mine too. I mean- I went to Monza for like two days while my friend went to a race but…” I notice him staring at me and stop talking. “You okay?”

“Monza as in the Italian grand prix?”

I nod, “Yeah! Were you there or something? I’m not really into F1 but my best friend is totally obsessed, she’s the brunette back there eyeing your blonde friend.”

He laughs out loud, shaking his head, “Paul? Yeah well I think she will love him when she finds out he’s an F2 driver.”

“No way!” I drink more, “Funny how things like that happen.”

He nods, running a hand through his curls as we step onto the trail of villas that are perched over the water. He invites me to his deck, I can tell that guys are staying here because there’s board shorts, sunscreen, and cups left.

We sit on the sunken couch, I put my legs under me and turn towards him, his arm around the back. “I really like your necklace.” His hand goes to the chain around my neck, a tiny shell and pearl in the middle.

I bite my lip at his closeness, his hand brushing my chest, “Thanks. I make them.” He looks up quickly as I say it.

“Really? That’s insane!” His hand drops and I smile, my cheeks heating and suddenly I'm very thankful for the lack of light.

“I made this one here actually! I do rings and bracelets as well!” I accidentally start rattling on about what I make and he just sits and listens like I've known him for years. I realize what I'm doing and stop suddenly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for being passionate.” His eyes are beautiful and makes me think this is dangerous. Not being out here with a random guy, but already wanting to kiss him.

His head tilts against his arm, looking up at me with his brown eyes. I have a realization then. It's my last bit of summer, I'm eighteen, I'm alone with my friends, a cute boy is in my grasp.

We sit there for what feels like hours but I'm pretty sure there is only one. He’s so easy to talk to that I don’t know what time it is. I hear the footsteps of people going back to their rooms but after a while, everything is pretty quiet, except for the far away club music at the bar.

I sit up and grin, “Do you wanna go swimming?”

He raises a brow, “Now?”

I glance at the dark water that surrounds us, “Yes!”

That’s how I end up in the private pool that each villa has. It’s lit dimly from above and I'm even more grateful because I'm in my bra and underwear.

For the plot, I remind myself.

Kimi shirtless makes me doing things out of my comfort zone 100% worth it. He’s fucking ripped and I feel my face heating as I eye his abs and arms while he stands outside the water in just boxers. He didn’t change into swimming things because he didn’t want me to feel alone.

He turns around and does a backflip into the water, “Wow!” I laugh, feeling my drinks in me now, “Talented!”

“Ah, love, you have no clue!” He swims towards me, dunking his head and shaking his curls out like a dog. I ignore the nickname and laugh.

“Hey!” I yell, splashing him. He grins at me, his smile is ridiculously attractive.

“You’re cute.” He says quickly, swimming backwards. I laugh and watch him dive under the water.

I feel a hand grasp my ankle and suddenly I'm getting pulled under the water. I kick him and get back to air, laughing so hard that I start to cough.

“Shit are you-” I push him under the water, my hands on his head. We play around, he laughs and splashes me one last time as the back of my head hits the side of the pool.

He floats closer, his hand going to my face scares me at first, but then he softly rubs his thumbs under my eyes, wiping my clearly smudged mascara.

I smile, one hand still on my cheek and the other next to my head, holding himself up. Water is dripping from his curls onto his face but he only seems to notice me.

I bite my lip softly, his eyes going to them. When his eyes meet mine again he starts to speak, “Can I-” I know what he’s going to say.

I kiss him first, my hands on his neck as one of his goes to my waist, holding me up.

He kisses me back immediately, my head hitting the wood behind me and his hand tightening on my waist, slipping down a bit.

The creek of the floors makes us both look up to investigate, the tall brunette from before is like a deer in headlights, “Give a guy some warning!” He says in a British accent.

Kimi just drops his head to my shoulder, shaking it with his eyes squeezed shut, “Ollie!” At the yell, the boy hurries away and Kimi takes a second before looking up at me regretfully, “I’m so sorry.”

I laugh, “Honestly don’t worry.” I pull my hands away from him, “I should go though, need to find my friends.”

His eyes dim a bit but he nods and backs up, “Hey uh- think I can see you tomorrow?”

I step out of the water, stealing a towel and smiling wide with my back facing him. I breathe and turn back to him casually, “If you can find me.”

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Spoonful of Honey

Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)

Time Written - 11:05 p.m

The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.

You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.

Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.

A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.

The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.

Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.

“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.

“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”

“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”

“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”

“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.

“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.

“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.

You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.

“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.

“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”

Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.

“Jay.”

“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.

“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”

Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.

“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.

“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”

“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.

He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.

As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”

“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?

“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.

“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.

“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“

“I’m not grouchy right now though—”

“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”

“And you’re being a little mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.

“Yes, you.”

“I could never.”

He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”

You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.

You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.

“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”

He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.

Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.

You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.

“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.

“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.

Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.

“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.

“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”

Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.

All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.

“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.

Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.

“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.

He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.

By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)

“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.

“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.

“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.

“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.

“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”

Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.

“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.

Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.

He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.

A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”

Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.

The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.

You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.

He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.

He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.

“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.

Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.

For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.

“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.

“What time is it?”

“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.

Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.

“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.

You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.

He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.

“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.

You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.

“Then, don’t.”

[hier--soir]

bite the bullet

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two idiots finally bite the bullet and admit how they feel. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, age gap [20 years], angst, miscommunication, a meddling Tommy Miller, soft sleepy sex, oral [f], unprotected piv, masturbation [f], rimming, sixty-nine, both of them are assholes for a minute, resolved emotional tension. word count: 9.4k [i got carried away sorry!] series masterlist | masterlist this is part four of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: one, two, three.

Everything was wet.

Your feet squelched against the ground as you moved, little flicks of water splashing up against your shins with every step. Inside waterlogged shoes your socks clung uncomfortably to your skin.

Tommy was crouched underneath your sink, inspecting the u-bend of the pipe there, his lower half damp from the water that covered the floor of your kitchen.

“It’s definitely comin’ from in here,” his muffled voice came, and you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face in exasperation. “I can stop it, but it’s gonna take some time for the place to dry out. I’d say you’d better clear out for a few days, leave a few windows open.”

You’d had a nice day. A lovely day, even. And you’d been looking forward to curling up with a whiskey and a good book before bed. But upon returning home from the greenhouse, you’d been horrified to find the entrance of your home covered in a thin layer of water. Splashing down the hall, you’d discovered that the entire place was wet; a shiny film of liquid coating anything that touched the ground. The wooden floorboards were soaked to the bone with cold water. A fucking flood. Thankfully Tommy was right, and you trusted that the August humidity would naturally dry it out with enough time.

“I can’t just stay here? I didn’t think it was too bad,” you lied. “Could lay down some towels.”

Tommy laughed under the sink. “You know you’ll get sick if you’re sleeping around all this water – towels or no towels.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, gazing at the floor glumly. “Okay, yeah, I suppose I’ll uh… I’ll get some stuff together.”

“Joel would take you,” his said, and you snapped back to reality, staring at his back while he worked. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. When you didn’t respond, his head reappeared, and he looked at you curiously, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “You and Joel are pals, right? Pals help each other out.”

Pals, you thought cynically. That’s one word for it.

Two weeks had slowly passed since the Peterson incident, and you’d only seen Tommy’s older brother a handful of times. There was still a tense energy between the two of you, so you’d been keeping your distance a little, allowing things to cool off. Bumping into each other here and there, dinner on the same table at the hall… but no alone time. No real time that would leave you two open to actually talking about it. That didn’t mean it didn’t play on your mind, though. Oh boy did it. In fact, most days you’d catch yourself gazing into a pot plant, thinking about that night. The way he’d taken you, made you tell him the details about Peterson, the way he’d showed you he fucking owned you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the way it had made you feel, and so you avoided it, even though your chest ached with the Joel-sized hole his absence had left in it. At least you weren’t so stubborn that you couldn’t admit to yourself how much you missed him.   

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Tommy gave a polite shrug, smirking at you. Testing you. A huff escaped your lips, and you broke eye contact, stretching out your shoulder. “Yeah, alright, I’ll ask him,” you agreed begrudgingly, brain whirring trying to come up with excuses. “It’s late though, and he might not want me there.”

“It’s not that late, but sure,” he chuckled knowingly, going back to work on the pipe. “When hell freezes over and Joel says no to you, you let me know.”  

An hour later, you were on your best friend’s porch, a bag slung over your arm, hesitating with your knuckle raised in the air. Taking a deep breath and running through what you were going to say, you finally willed yourself to rap your fist twice against the wood.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Joel, in a soft wrinkled t-shirt.

An easy, involuntary smile spread across your face upon seeing him. His beard was a little longer than he usually kept it, greys sparkling through the dark hair that framed his mouth so handsomely. He had clearly been settling down for the night, and he looked oh so cosy dressed in his sleep clothes.

“Hey man,” you offered up a sheepish smile.

He looked appropriately surprised to see you, considering you certainly hadn’t been knocking on his door at any point in the past fortnight. One of his eyebrows hitched upward, and he eyed the bag over your shoulder warily. “You skippin’ town or something? Who’d you piss off this time?”

You rolled your eyes and readjusted the duffel. “You gonna let me inside? This thing’s kind of heavy.”

He stepped back into the entryway with a grunt, allowing you to breeze past him and dump the bag onto the ground with a low thud. “Pipe under my sink is busted. Flooded the whole place today – Tommy said I should clear out for a day or two.”

He hummed, narrowed eyes raking over your face. “Oh yeah? So where you gonna go?” he teased, and relief rushed through your veins like warm water as you recognised the smirk threatening to take over his face.  

You gave him a small laugh and sighed, holding your arms out in mock surrender. “Come on, Miller,” you said. “Let me crash here – I’ll owe you one.”

“Owe me one, huh?” his eyes shone with mischief. “Well I like the sound of that.” An odd, twisting sensation rippled through your stomach and you sucked your lips into your mouth, nodding slowly.

“Sure,” you retorted. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.” When the words left your lips you both stilled, staring at each other warily.

He hummed, eyes darkening a fraction. “You’re playin’ with fire,” is all he said, before bending down to pick the bag up off the ground and ushering you towards the stairs.

You wondered off ahead of him, and when you reached the landing you veered right, pushing open the door to the spare room. He didn’t follow you in immediately, instead pausing in the doorway with a frown plastered across his face. You hadn’t thought about where you’d be sleeping until the second you reached the top of the stairs, but you knew this was the right decision. Sharing a bed with Joel for a few days? Probably not a good idea. Unless of course, that was going to be how you repaid your debt…Thankfully, or unfortunately, he didn’t push it, dropping the bag gently in the corner of the room.

“Hope Ellie won’t be bothered I’m here for a few days,” you thought aloud. The tone noticeably shifted, and you almost at how Joel seemed to deflate.  

He leant an arm against the doorframe and sighed. “She ain’t spendin’ much time in the house these days,” he admitted quietly. “Stays in the bungalow or goes out. I doubt you’ll even see her.”

You hesitated for a second before asking, “Have you two spoken much lately?”

He scratched his chin for a moment. “You know the kid,” he shrugged. “She’s stubborn. M’tryin’ not to push it.” 

“It’ll be okay, Joel,” you offered softly. “She’ll come around.”

He assessed you silently, eyes flitting down your body before resting on your face once again, and then he stepped back into the hall. Coughing awkwardly, he raised a hand in a sort of farewell, and said, “Well, uh, you know where everything is. I’m gonna… I was gonna head to bed, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded, watching as he turned to head toward his room.

“Hey, Joel, wait,” you called, and he turned, eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. I miss you, you wanted to say. I miss you, and I’m sorry things are off between us, and I wish we could forget it all and go back to normal, and I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. “Thank you,” you said instead, voice soft. “I really appreciate this.”

The look in his eyes dimmed a little but he offered up a smile. He nodded once, said, “Glad to have you here,” and then closed his bedroom door, and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

After showering and unpacking the few things you brought along, you curled up in the foreign bed. The mattress was soft enough though, and the sheets smelled like the soap Joel used. Your body ached from a long day of work, muscles tense and wired from hauling heavy pots around under the sun. Soon enough, you began to relax enough to drift off to sleep. Only a few hours into the night though, your dreams were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps padding across the landing. A beam of soft yellow light was shone into the room, painting the inside of your eyelids orange. Cracking an eye open, you saw that the door was ajar, and a tall figure was peering in.

“Joel?” you asked groggily, dragging a knuckle over your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” his deep voice came, but he made no move to enter the room. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said softly, and your heart clenched.

Pulling the blankets open on the empty side of the bed, you didn’t even think before you said, “Get in.”

Your head fell heavily into the pillows, and sleep tried to pull you back under as you listened to Joel shuffle across the room and slide into the bed beside you. For a moment, he just laid there, a sizeable gap between you on the mattress. And then his warm, firm body was pressing up against your back, his large palm sliding over your hip to rest on your stomach and guide you back against his chest. His scent overwhelmed you, hints of mint and soap and pine tickling your nose, and fuck you had missed him. it was so familiar, and yet your body tingled as if it was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on you. Through the haze that settled over your sleep addled brain, you could feel him, stiff against your thigh.

“Jesus,” you teased drowsily, throwing caution to the wind by rubbing yourself back against him. “Were you having a dream about me or something?”

His nose traced a long down the back of your neck and you fought off a shiver. “Always dream about you.” If you weren’t so tired, that probably would’ve garnered a bigger reaction from you. But as it were, you just brought a hand down to rest over his on your stomach and gripped his fingers softly. “Was thinkin’ bout you being so close, yet still so far. Just down the hall, sleepin’ in my sheets…”

You hummed, warmth flooding your abdomen as he nudged his hips forward, rutting himself against you. His hand drifted out from under yours to slide up underneath your shirt, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your breast.

“Joel,” you murmured, eyelids heavy.

He hummed eagerly, planting a soft kiss underneath your ear.

“I‘m so tired,” you said regretfully. “It’s been a long day – can hardly keep m’eyes open.”

“Let me help you fall asleep,” is all he said, hand now freely roaming over your chest. His thumb lightly brushed the firm peak of your nipple and your whole body shuddered. “Just relax.”

You were vaguely aware of him pulling the covers off you and moving down the bed, dragging soft kisses down your stomach, before dragging your underwear down your legs. Slumping into the soft bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

Gentle, reverent kisses were pressed over your hip bones as he settled between your legs, pulling one of your thighs up to rest over his shoulder. His long fingers rubbed over the muscles in your leg, pressing down gently when he found knots, pulling deep sighs of contentment out of you.  

“That feels nice,” you whispered into the darkness, and you could’ve sworn you felt him grin against your hip.

When his nose dragged through the dark hair on your mound you twitched slightly, body waking up a little at the sensation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and you relaxed again, humming lowly as his pressed a kiss against the inner most point of your thigh.

It felt like hours passed with him between your legs. At first you allowed yourself to slip in and out of near sleep, eyes closed as lax puffs of air escaped your mouth while his tongue dipped gently between your folds, giving you soft lazy strokes that warmed your insides. When the first bit of slick began to seep out of you, he groaned gratefully, licking and sucking at your entrance, exulting in your taste.  

It felt like you were dreaming. Laying pliant on the bed, you were fully at his mercy, allowing him to move your legs anyway he wanted to give himself better access. You could vaguely hear him murmuring against your skin, but couldn’t make out the words over your own sighs, smiling sleepily as his tongue lapped against you. He worked slowly, and you realised that it was as much for his enjoyment as it was for your own. You knew by that point how much Joel enjoyed going down on you. He had told you as much on multiple occasions; how he’d love to spend hours with his face trapped between your thighs. But he’d never had the chance, or the patience, to really do it.

The sounds of his enjoyment vibrated against your core, echoing through the room around you. The way he fucking moaned into your cunt never failed to drive you crazy, but in that moment you just smiled at the sound, enjoying how peaceful it was, how sweet.

Every now and then you’d lazily blink your eyes open and look down, expecting that at any moment he’d pull away, be over it. But he never did. Every time you looked his eyes were closed, hands gripping your thighs softly, thumbs stroking rhythmically against your skin as content breaths rushed out of his nose, and you’d close your eyes again, the dark image of him scorched into the inside of your eyelids, never to be forgotten.

You started to feel more awake when he finally gave his undivided attention to the achingly sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your core. Moving painfully slow, he glided his firm tongue across your clit, switching it up between swiping back and forth across it and then circling it.

“Oh,” you murmured lowly, voice hoarse from lack of use, but you couldn’t help the soft exclamation as your hips shifted upwards, suddenly searching for more. He didn’t change a thing, pace never increasing or slowing down, and it was perfect.

Your orgasm washed over you in gentle waves. Joel’s tongue swirled slow, gentle circles around your clit and your thighs tensed around his head, fingers reaching down to softly rake through his curls. He hummed happily, tongue lathing against you, enjoying every second of your release. Only pausing once your body stopped twitching and the muscles in your thighs relaxed against him, before kissing way up your stomach, your neck, under he was holding himself over you.

Eyes still closed, your hands drifted to the back of his neck and you pulled him down, his weight crushing against you but you didn’t care. Yours lips met tentatively, and for a moment that was all it was. A soft, gentle kiss. And then you felt him, straining against his briefs, pressed between your thighs, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. It was messy and slow, tongues tangling together, teeth knocking awkwardly, and you found yourself smiling into his mouth. It should have unnerved you. Should’ve been enough to make you stop, turn your head away and make him fuck you rough so you would forget how intensely intimate the moment felt. But you didn’t.

“You should sleep,” he murmured against your lips, pulling his hips back a little so his erection wasn’t so obvious.

“You should come inside me,” you whispered back, reaching down to grip the band of his underwear and tug them down over his hips. He groaned and kissed you again before reaching down to free himself from the confines of his underwear.  

No other words were exchanged as he adjusted himself, and then he was pressing into you, his needy moans spilling out against your neck while your hand snuck underneath his shirt, fingernails gliding down his back as he filled you completely.

“God, I missed you,” he choked out, voice cracking. You whimpered softly. “You’re so wet.”

“Made me feel so good, Joel,” you preened, kissing the side of his head.

“Yeah?” he pulled his face out of your neck to look at you, and you nodded, staring at him through bleary eyes. Joel kissed you again. A long, yearning kiss that made your heart throb, and it didn’t take long until he was falling apart on top of you, shaking against your arms that wrapped around him, held him against your chest. You whispered praises in his ear as he came, hips grinding into yours, pushing himself so deep inside that it had you gasping into his mouth. It was so unlike any other time you’d ever slept with him, and alarm bells rang somewhere far in the deep recess of your brain, but you ignored them. You’d missed each other, and you’d both earned a little softness after the time apart. And so the two of you fell asleep like that; tangled in each other’s arms, with him still inside you.

You woke up to the sun streaming in through the window. The light was harsh, and you cursed yourself for going to sleep without drawing the curtains. You went to sit up in the bed but stopped suddenly, realising how hot you were. With a soft start, you glanced down and understanding jolted through you like a flash of lightning. Joel’s house, you remembered; you were at Joel’s house. But what you hadn’t expected to find was Joel still in the bed, arms coiled around you like wire while he snored quietly in your ear. For as many times the two of you had slept together, neither of you had ever slept over. It was an unspoken rule, and one that had never been difficult to follow. But he’d broken it… or you’d both broken it, maybe. Keeping your body as still as possible, you found yourself breathing deeply, trying to maintain the allusion of still being asleep to avoid rousing him from his slumber. Frustratingly, your heart pounded in your chest, brain zeroing in on every part of your body that touched his.

His soft lips brushed the back of your neck, heavy breaths puffing against your skin. A solid knee was wedged between your legs, one hand lazily gripping your breast. The insides of your thighs were sticky where his come had leaked out of you overnight, and your eyes widened at the sensation. 

What surprised you the most wasn’t that you didn’t hate waking up with him beside you. No, what surprised you most was that you did like it. In fact, you found yourself longing to relax into his arms and go back to sleep. But common sense reared its head, and you slowly slipped out of his grasp, moving slowly so as not to wake him while you dragged yourself out of the bed. Staring down at Joel, a pang of fondness rush through your chest. Messy curls were strewn across his forehead, plump lips pushed out into a pout as he breathed deeply, hand resting on the empty bed where you had just laid. His breathing hitched momentarily, and you froze, realising how odd it would be for him to wake up and catch you standing there naked, staring. Trying not to give it another thought, you quietly collected some clothes from your bag, and slipped out of the room to start your day.

Hours passed in the greenhouse. You distracted yourself with cucumber seeds and tomato plants, pushing Joel out of your mind as you worked under the sweltering sun. Underneath the glass roof of the nursery, the heat multiplied, and by the time your shift was over you were covered in sweat, shirt ticking uncomfortably tight to your back. You stopped by at the community hall for dinner and ate alone, your brain a whirlwind of thoughts of Joel, Joel, Joel. You couldn’t shake the feeling that had lingered in your bones all day; the aching desire to have stayed in bed with him, to have relaxed into his arms and cuddled him for the rest of the morning. Your best friend, for fuck’s sake.

“Christ,” you mumbled aloud through a mouthful of food, rolling your eyes at yourself.

It felt like you were going crazy, but the worst part was understanding that this must’ve been how he’d been feeling for weeks already.

I’ve never asked you for anything. Not for anything more than what we’ve been doin’, never pushed you for more.

That’s what he’d said, two weeks ago, the day he found out about Peterson. The words played in your head like a mantra. Words that you had firmly avoided bringing up, ones you’d never pushed for an explanation about. You’d chosen to sweep them under the rug, and yet, as hard as you tried, you couldn’t fucking forget them.

By the time you returned to his house you discovered him sitting on the couch downstairs, engrossed in a book. It was the picture of domesticity. The sweet scent of vanilla floated through the air towards you, and you noted the small candle burning on the table beside him.

Staying in Joel’s home, even for just one night, you’d noticed so much more about it than ever before. There was something interesting to look at everywhere you turned, and sweet-scented candles were just the tip of the iceberg. He left random objects littered across countertops, like little treasures for you to stop and inspect during your travels throughout the house. Wood that he’d whittled into interesting shapes, books that he’d read the first few pages of and then abandoned, countless mugs in odd places with dark brown coffee stains at the bottom of them. It was homey, and warm, and subconsciously you found yourself enjoying the insight into his most private space – into the things he did when he was truly alone.

Joel hadn’t noticed you come in, so you seized the opportunity to watch him from the doorway for a moment. He was wearing his comfortable clothes again, and a thin set of reading glasses were perched on the scarred bridge of his nose. A quick flash of heat tore through your stomach. You’d never seen him wear those before, and it had you stumped. The glasses, paired with the salt and pepper through his beard and hair, reminded you of his age. Twenty years older than you, and still the most handsome man you knew.

You finally broke the silence, announcing yourself by asking, “What’re you reading?”

Joel’s head snapped up, and he stared at you over the top of his glasses. Shutting the book quickly, he straightened up on the couch. “Uh, Brave New World,” he lied, flipping the book so you couldn’t see the cover.

You hummed, unconvinced, and bit down on your bottom lip to hide a smirk. Tommy had told you once before that Joel was a sucker for gothic romance novels, but you’d never truly believed him until that moment. From where you stood, you recognised the tattered copy of Wuthering Heights that had gone missing from your bedroom a few months prior.

A flush rose in his cheeks and he coughed awkwardly, picking up a mug that you hadn’t noticed on the floor by his feet. It was cute; a little beige ceramic thing, with an owl painted on it.

“You see the patrol roster for tomorrow?” he spoke into the mug, swiftly changing the subject.

“I did,” you murmured. What you didn’t acknowledge, was that you’d also seen Peterson and Davis’ names on the list for the morning patrol. “Should be nice. We haven’t gone to the ski lodge in a while.”

A vivid memory of you two fucking up there raced through your mind, and a low heat simmered across your face as you remembered Jesse and Dina almost catching you once. Shaking the thought from your mind, you looked at him again to find him gripping the mug tightly, lips pursed in thought.

“We haven’t,” he agreed lowly, and the corner of his mouth twitched a little. “You haven’t been gettin’ called outside the gates much at all these days.”

This is it, you thought hungrily. This is the moment he tells you how he can’t wait to fuck you there tomorrow while you’re supposed to be patrolling. This is the moment he tells you he can’t even wait until tomorrow, and he drags you upstairs to his bed. Warmth flooded through your thighs, and you held your breath, staring at him.

But Joel didn’t say that. Instead, you watched dejectedly from the doorway as he rose slowly from the couch and tucked the tattered book underneath his arm. “Well,” he coughed, turning towards the stairs. “I’m gonna get some shut eye. It’ll be a warm day, and I’d better get some rest before we head out.”

You watched him move towards the stairs, heart beating painfully fast against your ribs.

“I’m actually not tired,” you blurted out. Joel paused. His left hand gripped the banister, and you could’ve sworn it might break in half based on the way his knuckles went white.

“Well, I am,” he said over his shoulder, before padding up towards his room , not even turning to give you a second look.

You tossed and turned for an hour, staring at the ceiling wide awake. The linen sheets stuck to your sweaty skin, making you feel claustrophobic enough to kick them to the end of the bed. You waited for him. Every creak and groan the old house made had your ears twitching, eyes glancing eagerly toward the door, expecting it to creak open and reveal him sneaking in through the darkness.

And when it became clear that he wasn’t coming, you pushed away the uncomfortable feeling it brought, and snaked a hand past the band of your underwear. Your fingers raked over the coarse hair there, teasing yourself for a moment, before you slid a finger through your damp folds. Collecting your slick, you dragged it up to coat your throbbing nerves and sighed in relief.

Your middle finger dragged quick circles over your clit, and all you could picture was Joel above you, fucking you while wearing those stupid fucking glasses. Cursing him in your mind, you pressed a finger past your entrance, and huffed in frustration at how it paled in comparison to the thickness of his digits. You imagined the way the glasses would fall to the tip of his nose, almost falling off his face while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. In an attempt to stifle the soft moans trying to escape your mouth, you bit down on your bottom lip, fingers moving quicker against yourself. And you came like that; hand down your underwear, rubbing yourself frantically, thinking about nothing but him.

It was hot, and the skin of your thighs chafed painfully as you and Joel ambled silently through the stables, getting your horses from their stalls to saddle up. He hadn’t said much to you all morning and you were trying not to read into it, but the fraught silence had you on edge.  

You winced upon spotting Davis and Peterson standing by the gate, chatting while they loaded their rifles. Lloyd caught your eye and smiled, offering a short nod in your direction. You returned the nod before looking back down and fiddling with Japan’s saddle, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed.

“Gimme a sec,” he muttered. “Gotta go pick Jesse’s brain.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and continued tugging on the straps of the saddle, until your skin prickled, a presence looming over your shoulder.

“Should we see if we can swap partners?” that voice sounded, and you turned to see Lloyd smirking suggestively at you. “Send Davis and Miller out East together, and you and me could head to the ski lodge?”

Your palms dampened a little and your eyes darted around the stables. There was no denying that Lloyd Peterson was a handsome guy. He was young, somewhere in his early-twenties. He had bright green eyes that shone in contrast against the dark brown hue of his skin. Straight, bright white teeth almost blinded you whenever he smiled, and you’d have to be a robot not to be effected by it. Past his shoulder, you spotted Joel hovering at the mouth of the stables, gaze trained on the pair of you. Caught, he turned quickly, muttering under his breath as he stalked off toward Jesse.

You looked back to Lloyd and shook your head once. “I don’t think so,” you said. “Gonna stick with Miller today.”

Not giving him much chance to respond, you gripped Japan’s reigns and led her out of the building. Joel and Jesse were talking in hushed tones by the gate, and you walked in their direction, pausing a few metres away when you noticed how tense the conversation seemed to be. Jesse was frowning at the older man, shaking his head slowly.

“Hey,” Lloyd’s voice came again, and you turned with a sigh, raising a hand to block out the sun as you stared up at him. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” you rushed out, glancing to the side just as Joel appeared beside you, holding out a rifle. You shouldered it quickly, noticing the way Lloyd seemed to balk at the older man’s presence. “Peterson,” you urged, eager to get it over with. “Get on with it.”

He spared another awkward glance at Joel before speaking in a lowered voice. “Did I do something wrong?” You cringed, knowing Joel could hear every word, and yet he didn’t move a muscle. It seemed he wasn’t going anywhere, eyes trained on the man, uninterested in offering the pair of you any privacy to finish your conversation. “I thought we had a good time, y’know? But you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you replied plainly, even as the thought of him telling Davis about fucking you flashed through your mind. Joel was deadly quiet, eyes flicking between the pair of you like he was watching a game of tennis. You sighed deeply, wishing this wasn’t happening in front of him. In a moment of almost… shame, you realised that you didn’t want Joel to get the wrong idea. Didn’t want him to think that anything else had happened, or would ever happen, between you and Peterson.

“Then why won’t yo-“

“Why don’t you back off kid,” Joel interrupted suddenly, and your shoulders tensed, skin prickling at his harsh tone. “She’s not interested.”

Lloyd flinched at the words, and he looked to you, waiting for you to say something, to refute Joel’s claim. But you were distracted by the sudden warmth in your abdomen, and when you didn’t react quick enough he scoffed quietly, spinning on his heel and walking back where Davis was waiting with their horses. When you looked at Joel, he had a pleased smirk on his face, and you felt your stomach fall somewhat, guilt spreading through you at the way Lloyd rode out of the settlement without looking back.

The ride to the ski lodge was long. For the most part of the three hour trek, you rode alongside each other in silence, until finally you couldn’t help yourself, thoughts tumbling from your mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

Joel looked at you out of the corner of his eye, and didn’t say a word.

“He was already embarrassed,” you added. His top lip curled up into a mean smirk.

“Peterson’s an ass. He should be embarrassed.”

A huff escaped your mouth and then he was turning, looking at you fully now with his eyebrows pinched together.

“What, your little boyfriend can’t handle some friendly teasin’?” he sneered, the change in mood so sudden you almost fell off your horse. And all the warmth you’d felt, every soft yearning part inside of you toward him, you pushed it to the side and focused on the confusion instead, allowing it to morph into pure anger. You were seeing red; furious with him for never being able to just see reason.

“Oh, fuck off Joel,” you scowled. “I’m not doing this with you today.” You kicked your heel against Japan’s hide and rode ahead, not listening for a reaction.

The higher the pair of you rode up the mountain, the hotter it got. By the time the horses were tied up by a trough of water and the pair of you were walking into the lodge, sweat was rolling down your skin in rivulets. A headache brewed in your temples, and frustration weighed heavily on your chest as Joel huffed and puffed around the room. Even being able to hear his breathing across the room while he scrawled in the logbook was enough to set your skin on edge. Eager to get some space from the tense atmosphere, you gruffly told him that you were taking first patrol, before shouldering your rifle and stalking back outside into the heat.

“You idiot,” you scowled to yourself, storming through the trees. Shame burned in your chest like a wildfire as you thought back to the night before. Touching yourself in his house, making yourself come thinking about him, wondering if he’d fuck you at the ski lodge. God, you felt like a teenager with a hopeless crush.

Your feet planted in the dirt, the word ringing in your head like an alarm. Eyes wide, you gazed into the trees.

“Nope,” you mumbled, starting to walk again slowly. “No, no, no.”

“Y’know they say talkin’ to yourself is the first sign of madness.”

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” you turned quickly, staring him down from through the thick trees. “I told you I’d take first patrol.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Saw you storm off too,” Joel rolled his eyes, propping his hands against his hips. “What’s your problem?”

“Jesus,” you grinned sarcastically. “I should be the one asking that question.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, stepping forward. The tan skin of his neck glistened in the sunlight, and you hated yourself for wanting to know how it tasted. Thankfully, hatred and anger were easier emotions to tap into than whatever the fuck you had been feeling about him for the past few weeks.  

“It means,” you ground out. “That you’re a nasty old bastard.” His face darkened, lips twisted into an angry snarl, but you continued. “Peterson’s not my fucking boyfriend, so you can give it a rest okay? I had it handled.”

“Sure,” he laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it, havin’ him hit on you right in front of me. You get off on the attention, from him and from me. I bet you loved havin’ me step in, tell him to fuck off.”

Your face was on fire as you glared at him, acutely aware of how the tension had spiked between the pair of you. Entire body tensed, you squared your shoulders and stared him down. “Are you fucking serious, Joel?” you asked lowly, eyebrows raising.

“Deadly,” he grit his teeth. “Don’t forget that I know you, baby, better than anyone.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” you spat desperately, turning around and walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“Oh yeah,” he called, the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you making your stomach drop. “Walk away, sunshine. Let’s just not talk about it, right? I know that’s your favourite thing to do. Walk away, and act like nothing happened.”

“Oh my god!” you shouted. “Grow up, you fucking assho-“ But as you spoke, your foot landed awkwardly on a patch of moss. You heard a low popping sound before you shrieked as your legs flew out from underneath you. You hit the ground awkwardly, ass slamming into the ground, and dirt sprayed into the air around you.

“Shit,” you hissed, moving to get up but cringing as a sharp pain shot through your ankle. The flesh around your shin was already swelling, and you cursed audibly, reaching down to rest your hand against it only to wince at the dull pain spreading through your entire foot.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard him say, and then his warm hands were on your shoulders, and he was crouching beside you. Breathing heavily, you stared as your ankle swelled to the size of a golf ball. “Come on, let’s get you back,” Joel said, gripping your elbow to lift you up.

“Get off,” you snapped, shoving him back. He stumbled a little and then stood, glaring down at you. “I can do it myself.”

“Clearly you fuckin’ can’t.”

Eager to prove a point, you dug your fingers into the dirt and pushed yourself up, and then began limping back towards the ski lodge.

You moved slowly with Joel trailing just a few steps behind, close enough that you could hear his breathing, and the way he muttered inaudibly whenever you stumbled. When you almost tripped trying to step over a tree branch, he snapped, appearing at your side in an instant and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Joel,” you warned lowly, but he interrupted.

“Would you stop bein’ such a brat,” he snarled. “You might’ve broken your fuckin’ ankle, just let me help you god damnit.”

You grumbled under your breath but didn’t fight him again, silently grateful to lean on him and get some weight off the injury. His chest rose and fell quickly as he led you back to the lodge, and you could practically feel the anxiety radiating from him.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered. “Probably just a sprain.”

“Good,” he grunted, helping you up the steps and into the building. “Idiot.”

“Jeez, thanks, Joel,” you said bitterly. “You’re a real pal.”

His hand gripped your waist tighter, before lowering you onto the couch. “Any time, bud.”

Joel stormed into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of water, tossing it at you before slamming down onto the sofa beside you. “Jesse and Dina will be here in a few hours, just keep it elevated until then.”

“You got it doc,” you rolled your eyes, eagerly gulping down the water even though it had gotten uncomfortably warm in his pack.

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, your ankle throbbing where it rested atop the coffee table.  

“I don’t fuckin’ get you,” Joel finally breathed, and you looked to him with a raised eyebrow and a snarky comment on your lips, only to find him with his head tilted back against the couch, eyes closed.

“What?” you asked dumbly.

“You heard me,” he said. “I don’t fuckin’ get you. You go two weeks avoidin’ me, I hardly see you, then you’re knocking on my door, askin’ to stay? And then today you’re cursin’ my goddamn name. Throw me a fuckin’ bone, darlin’, cause I got no idea where I stand with you.”

Your lips parted, all the breath in your lungs rushing out of you in one fell swoop. His eyebrows were furrowed, a deep frown settled across his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. He didn’t look angry, you realised. He looked confused; he looked hurt. Your stomach rolled.

“I could say the same,” you started pathetically, and then his eyes flashed open and he was staring back at you with those dark brown eyes that fucking killed you.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he said blankly, eyes darting around your face.

Your lips felt numb as you slowly asked, “What?”

“You left,” he said quietly. “You fuckin’ left me, and I just don’t know if I can keep pretendin’ anymore. Pretend that this doesn’t… mean anything to me. Pretend that I’m fine with… this. Don’t know if I can keep doing it if you’re just gonna leave. My heart can’t take it.”

It felt like time stood still for a moment. Outside one of the open windows, you could hear the trees rustling in the hot summer wind. Your ankle ached. Joel kept staring at you.

“You know that’s the best I’ve slept in years?” he asked softly, licking his lips. “Slept so fuckin’ sound with you next to me. No nightmares – hell, I didn’t even dream. And then I woke up, and you were gone, and I almost wished it had never happened. So that I wouldn’t have to know how good it felt to have you, wouldn’t have to try and sleep without you every night after, knowing exactly what I was missing.”

“Joel,” you tried again but he shook his head, raising a hand in the air to stop you.

“Just let me,” he took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking. “Let me say this. Just once, and then I’ll let it be, okay? I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were befo-“

“Stop,” you croaked out, tears swimming in your eyes. “Shut up for a second. I,” you paused, eyes darting over his face, searching for understanding. “I didn’t want to leave, okay? But I’m scared Joel. Jesus, I’m so scared of this.”

“Scared?”

“Of this feeling that won’t go away. Of wanting to stay. I’ve been trying to push it down, to ignore it, and it doesn’t fucking work, no matter what I do. I’m so scared that I’ve fucked up our friendship, that I’m going to lose yo-“

“Never,” he shook his head firmly, hand reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Listen, you’re not losin’ me, okay? That's never gonna happen.”

“But Joel,” you sighed shakily. “If we push things further, there’s no going back. Don’t you understand?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he admitted quietly. “I think it’s been too late for me for a while now.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, and when you spoke again you could hear the fear in your voice. “I don’t know if I can be what you want.”

Joel chuckled humourlessly and sighed, squeezing your thigh again.

“It’s you,” he said. “That’s what I want. You don’t have to do anythin’, don’t have to change or be anythin’ else. I just want you.” His eyes shone in earnest, and you couldn’t help but surge forward, planting your lips against his. He returned the kiss with fervour, parting your lips with his tongue and gripping the sides of your face in a searing grip.

He tasted like salt and mint and your head was swimming, consumed by him. Your fingertips were numb as they raced over his body, desperate to touch him everywhere all at once. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until his hands joined yours, carefully undoing them all until you could pry it off him.

Pulling back from the kiss, you allowed your eyes to rake over his exposed chest, taking in the sight of his tanned, hairy chest, littered with scars and freckles and you felt the urge to kiss every single one of them. So you did. You pushed him back into the couch and straddled him, ignoring the way your ankle cried out at the movement, and attached your lips to his collarbone, licking and sucking your way across his torso. Showing reverence to every imperfection on his skin. Your tongue swiped past one of his nipples and he jolted beneath you, hands dragging under the fabric of your shirt to rest on your back. You could feel him growing hard beneath you and you smiled against his skin before rolling your hips down against his. He was murmuring your name in between sighs, scratching at your skin, revelling in the kisses you sponged across his chest.

Your eyes trailed upwards to meet his. “Want your cock in my mouth,” you whispered, and his face crumpled in on itself, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Fuck,” he sighed, gripping your hands tightly before pushing you off him. He stood up and in one quick movement he knocked the coffee table over, before he was undoing his belt and stripping his pants off. He helped you off the couch slowly, before lowering you down onto the carpet, crouching down to rest beside you. His large hands roamed across your chest, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward to expose your breasts, your aching nipples peaked and begging to be touched.

“Fuck,” he repeated, harsher this time, leaning over you to plant his mouth on your chest. His teeth scraped across your sensitive skin and you whined, gripping the nape of his neck as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked gently.

“Joel,” you mewled, tugging his face back up to yours for a brief kiss. “I mean it,” you breathed into his mouth. “Need you in my mouth so bad. M’gonna make you feel so good, I swear.” Within a second, he flipped the two of you over so his back was against the ground and you were straddling his hips. You grinned triumphantly, shifting your hips back as you kissed down his chest, moving your body down until you were straddling his shins, and pulling his briefs down with you.

His cock rested proudly against his stomach, thick and swollen and begging to be touched. The head was a deep shade of red, small beads of precum weeping out of his tip as he stared at you, patiently waiting for you to make a move. You didn’t waste a second before leaning down and gliding your tongue softly over the tip, swiping up his salt and humming at the taste. A sharp inhale whistled past his teeth, and you watched his eyes clamp shut at the sensation, hand forming a fist at his side. Gently, you took his hand and raised it to your head, encouraging him to touch you. He obliged, fisting your hair in his hand, grip tightening as you parted your lips around him and let him sink into your warm mouth. A long, drawn-out moan left his mouth and your cunt pulsed in response, the warmth between your thighs suddenly impossible to ignore.

“S-so good for me,” he groaned, pulling your hair tighter. “Love your mouth, I love it. That’s it, baby, open up a little more for me, show me how much you can take.”

The sharp sting on your scalp made you moan around him, and he cursed, undoubtedly feeling the vibration. The weight of him against your tongue was intoxicating, and you bobbed your head up and down slowly, his cock gliding in and out of your mouth easily, slick with your spit. You’d missed the taste of him, missed the sensation of him filling you up to the point where it was hard to breathe, and yet you still wanted more. You pressed forward, eager to feel him fill you up, but when his cock brushed the back of your throat he was gripping your hair and pulling you off him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and you looked up in confusion. His bottom lip was bitten raw, and his eyes were a darker brown than normal as he gazed at you. When you didn’t move, he was pulling you up and turning your body so your back was to him, and only then did you realise what he meant. He pulled your shorts down your legs, dragging your underwear with them, and then he carefully tugged one of your knees up and over his shoulder, so you were straddling his chest. Slowly, you shuffled back on your knees until your wet heat was hovering over his face, and you leaned down to let your chest rest against his.

“Baby,” Joel sighed. “So fuckin’ perfect. Such a pretty pussy. Can never get enough of you.”

You clenched around nothing, and heard him groan, signalling that he’d seen it. Without warning, his tongue dipped between your folds and you gasped, pushing your hips back to give him a better angle, before taking him back into your mouth. And it was nothing like it had been two nights before. He wasn’t gentle, or slow, or relaxed. No, Joel was relentless.

His tongue moved rhythmically against you, and you tried desperately to focus, harsh breaths leaving your nose as you moved your mouth lazily along his length. You pulled back and lathed your tongue around the head of him, tasting the salt that dripped out of him. He grunted into you and you smiled, stroking him slowly as you sucked the tip, grinding your tongue into the sensitive skin just underneath his head. Joel’s hips bucked up off the ground, and your hand left his length, gripping his waist firmly to hold him down while you took him into your mouth again. You pushed yourself as far as you could, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he brushed the back of your throat. His beard scratched against your inner thighs deliciously, and you decided you loved it a little longer. And then suddenly, his tongue moved away from your clit and he was licking broad strokes along the entirety of your core, and then over your entrance, and then… his tongue flicked all the way back and into new territory.

You flinched forward, his cock surging deeper into your throat and you gagged around him as you explored the new feeling. You moaned, eyes screwing shut at the foreign sensation, and you felt your legs begin to shake against his sides. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you down harder against his face, ruthlessly dragging his tongue back and forth from your clit to your hole, until you were tearing your mouth away him and sitting up, grinding yourself down desperately against his face. Arching your back, you writhed on top of him, crying out hoarsely. Every strong flick of his tongue felt like an electric shock jolting through your body, and he continued until you were panting and twitching on top of him, and then you let go. The orgasm tore through you, a shout falling from your lips as you rode his face, gripping his thighs for leverage as your entire body shuddered with the intensity. He didn’t let up; licking and sucking and kissing, his moans vibrating through your core until you were whimpering and dragging yourself off him, clit aching from the pressure.

You were still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Joel pressed your back down onto the carpet, nudged your knees apart so he could fit between them, and pushed himself inside you. A sweet, low burn blazed in your abdomen with every inch he gave to you. The wet sound of you sucking him in might have embarrassed you, but the look of awe on his face as he stared down at where you were connected just made you feel powerful.

His thrusts were strong, the sweaty skin of your thighs smacking against each other noisily filling the air, mixing with your breathless moans of his name.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he was saying, but you weren’t listening, eyes rolling back in your head as he played with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cried out at a particularly hard thrust, stomach tensing as the head of his cock grinded against your g-spot.

“There?” he panted, and you nodded frantically, mouth hanging open as he pressed against it over and over again, groaning at the way you tensed around him.

Urgent sounds left your lips as you felt yourself nearing the edge again, and you watched with wide eyes as his hand trailed down your chest to rest over your mound, his thumb slipping between your folds to press gently against your throbbing clit. Your back arched up from the ground and you choked out a moan as he rubbed you in slow circles, a stark contrast to the way he drilled into you with his cock.  

“Come,” Joel encouraged and you whimpered, eyes screwing shut as the overwhelming feeling soared through you. His free hand landed over your throat and your eyes flew open, looking up at him as he applied soft pressure to the sides of your neck. “C’mon baby, let me have it. I can feel you, you’re so fuckin’ close, give it to me, please, I want it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you gasped against his hold, bucking up into him as he fucked you roughly. You twitched and writhed on the ground, his thumb never stopping its movements against your clit as you cried out his name.

And somewhere amidst it all, his movements slowed. His hands turned soft on your body, head dropping down to drag gentle wet kisses along the skin of your neck.  

“So good,” he praised lowly. “So beautiful.” Your heart soared in your chest, and you smiled drowsily, body tingling as he continued to give you gentle thrusts.  

“Kiss me,” you said shyly, and Joel smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You sighed into his mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip as you draped your heavy arms around his neck, pinning his torso down against yours. “Fuck me like this,” you told him. “Want to feel you close to me.”

He nodded, starting up a slow rhythm, only ever pulling out halfway before pressing back into you. You were both slick with sweat, and you wiped his forehead gently before raking your fingers through his thick messy curls. His face was red from exertion, and you thumbed his cheekbones gently. A heavy sigh fell from your mouth. Still recovering from your previous orgasm, you knew it wouldn’t be hard for him to build you up for another one.

“Give me one more,” he begged, sponging feather light kisses over your eyelids, your cheeks, down your neck. “Want to feel you come with me, baby, please. Just one more, I know you can.”

You gripped his hair and kissed him deeply, your tongues tangling together as he moved his hips slowly, cock dragging in and out of you at a devastating pace. Joel pulled back to watch you, eyes gazing down with adoration as he moved above you. That familiar liquid heat began to burn in your stomach, curling through every fibre of your being, and you could see in his face that he was close. And there was something else there too. Something you couldn’t place; simmering in his eyes, lingering on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. His hips began to stutter against yours, a choked gasp of your name falling from his lips as he quickened his pace until you were coming together, holding each other tightly on the ground of the ski lodge. He moaned heavily against your mouth, and you throbbed around him as his spend coated your walls, warm and slick, squeezing out around his cock as he moved.

As a low, warm silence filled the room, you worked to control your breathing, body shaking against his as he pulled out of you. You whimpered at the empty feeling, missing the weight of him already. But he didn’t go far.

Joel laid down on the carpet beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. Your fingers trailed over the skin of his stomach, smiling at the goosebumps that developed in your wake. Mine.

His hand caught yours and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently. You leaned forward to rest your face in the rook of his neck, and he sighed in contentment, trailing his fingers down your back.

“Hey Joel?” you murmured against his skin.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I called you a nasty old bastard.”

Joel laughed and tightened his grip around your back, tugging you closer to his chest. “I forgive you.”

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

THE PRICE OF YOUR FREEDOM 💦 TRAFALGAR LAW X GN! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 28: SHIBARI

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Trafalgar Law for day 28 shibari? With gender neutral reader or fem reader it's fine. Can Law be the one who tied up instead the reader? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. law is tied up. jerking off. exchanging "sex" for freedom. dominant gn! reader. maybe sex slave Law. 🐙 wc: 1,1k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

With cords around his wrists, the intruder hangs on a room that lacks light. Humid, even smelly. The walls reminds him of a dungeon, and, in fact, he is not wrong.

“They told me you were trying to sneak into my island, pirate” you spit, opening the doors that blind the intruder with a sudden burst of light coming through.

“Fuck you, bitch” he grunts. A man so handsome, covered in tattoos. His muscles are noticeable, he is lean, and his skin has a caramel tint. Oh, what an interesting prey your subordinates just caught.

“That is not the proper way to refer to me, sweet boy…” you giggle, coming closer to his body. Those tight jeans around long, long legs are delicious to look at. But the protruding hipbones are more. Your index reaches for his stomach; with abs spasming to your touch, he lets you know he is more than sensitive to it… oh, are you getting hard just by my simple touch?

“What are these tattoos, pirate? What do they mean?” you ask, coming even closer to his body. Your index still tracing up and around the curls of black ink, bumping with cords that also garnish his thorax.

He looks to the side, a golden hoop on his ear reflects the warm light of torches outside… he isn’t disclosing any good information.

“Ah… come on! Tell me something! I just wanna get to know you, I don’t really plan on hurting you… plus, I know your name… aren’t you…” you laugh, coming closer to his ear as you get on tippy toes and your palms rest on his chest. “…Trafalgar Law? Cooperate with me, come on… I know you are strong” you continue.

He immediately looks at you; he burns holes into your eyes with a glacial look that could freeze you up. An everlasting frown, sweet dark circles…

“What do you want?” he asks, this time serious and more annoyed than before.

You walk away, just a little, with your index closer to your lips and your eyes wondering the ceiling as you act like you are thinking about something.

“Mhh… I am not exactly sure, cause you know… I was just minding my own business when you appeared on the coast of my island… to be fair, you should be the one telling me…also, you looked pretty beaten up” you smirk, showing him something he hasn’t probably noticed yet; gauze patching up here and there, bruises all over, and dry blood that hasn’t been cleaned up properly yet.

Law knows, exactly, what had happened to him. Thing is, he won’t tell you. However, he is willing to negotiate; he is aware the cords aren’t simply cords and that they are, indeed, made of thousands of thin kairoseki filaments.

“Tell me, what do you want? I am willing to negotiate my freedom” he mutters; Law wants to be out of this situation as fast as possible. You smirk and then bite your lower lip; lust takes over, your body getting warmer, your skin bumpier.

“Well, I think you are delicious… what do you have for me? What is the cost of your freedom, Trafalgar Law?”

“Heh, are you that desperate you need to force men?” he asks -insults- you.

This time you scoff; a big smile that’s closer to a demon’s scares him a little bit. You come closer; you don’t walk, you seem to crawl like a venomous snake… with a swift motion, your hand lands on his hardness. A bulge that’s been getting more and more noticeable the more you spoke.

“Are you sure I am the desperate one? What’s with this, mh? Aren’t you a little bit too hard?” you ask into his ear, biting his earlobe right after.

Law gasps a little; probably he wasn’t ready for that sudden touch… but he wants more…

You pull from a cord that hangs behind him, lifting his whole body over the ground. Just a little, enough for his feet to barely graze the floor with the tip of his boots. The cords properly tied around his body carve into his flesh, causing Law to grimace in pain if any part would touch a bruise.

“Does it hurt, Law-san?” you inquire, sliding your index in between a cord and his skin at his ribs level.

“You want my body? Take it” he huffs, squirming when your hand reaches for his stomach from behind.

You smile; you were never using his body if he wasn’t expressly asking for it… With a bite on his side, and a hand sliding up his chest getting underneath the cords on his pecs, you give him what he had been asking for.

His jeans were easy to take off; those slid down and got tangled around his ankles. Boxer briefs of slightly funny heart patterns, show staining from precum sprouting and his sex, that throbs, awaits for your silky hands…

“You want my hands around your sex, Law-san?” you ask, kissing his neck with soft, butterfly pecks.

“That’s the price of my freedom?” he asks, slightly moving his hips back and forth.

“That’s something that is up to you to decide…” you giggle, sliding your hand into his underwear. Hot to the touch, wet and hard is how it feels… pulsating sex in between your hand, that has a little surprise right at the tip; a cold metallic ring.

As you begin to pump, pleased with the soft whimpering coming out of his mouth, his body moves with your jerking off delight; hanging from the ceiling, trembling, moving and with each move carving those debilitating ropes more and more into his caramel skin… ah, delicious!

Law’s boxer briefs also fall, and he wishes his whole body would also fall… his wrists, become redder and painful, the more he squirms to your touch.

You play with your palm on top of his tip, moving the little piercing, getting his gland more and more aroused. It’s so good to see this strong Yonko willing to fuck your hand, as he pays for his “freedom”.

So close, so close… so close until it bursts with grunts and not so manly whimpers… and you leave him there, dripping cum on the floor and into his pants.

“I’ll be back soon, Law-chan” “Free me, (Name)-ya!” “ah... you know my name? then I am sure you don’t want me to do it, right? A simple orgasm is not the price of your freedom… Trafalgar D. Water Law ~”

[osamucide]

crush

good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 3.5k

cw: gn!afab!reader, bathing/washing, alcohol, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced substance abuse, post-dark era, intimacy, explicit sexual content, spitting, soft (ooc?) dazai

reid: this has been sitting a bit and i finally got around to fixing it up :,) sorry again for my absence i am unwell but surviving and i hope to keep sharing with you guys what i can. thank you for all your patience

. . .

He’s never admitted how much he delights in crawling back to your apartment after he’s been gone for too long — long enough to make you worry a little. It’s cruel of him, really, to keep you waiting around so much. But you’re going to be here waiting anyway! So, he figures, why not? It’s a few miles off Port Mafia turf, and you always have hot food and plenty of sake. Not to mention that your hands were the first to ever hold him so gently — to hold him like a lover — and that’s plenty to keep him coming, even if he sometimes takes weeks at a time to find his way back.

It’s always worth it to have Osamu half undressed in your bathroom. A decent meal and the humidity fogging up the tile walls usually melts his resolve just enough so you can work his crumpled white tee off without him sending you any sort of eyes; tonight though, the human spirit is unbreakable. You brush the small of his back as you lift his shirt and it has him hitching his hips toward yours.

He’s truly a sight.

His brown mop is greasy. Accumulated sweat is beginning to force the dramatic lengths of bandages to curl away from his skin. He looks little more than empty and tired, but there’s a shadow of contentedness in his sharp features — you’ve just fed him seafood boil and a couple of Tokyo Mules (heavy on the American vodka), after all.

You reach down and dip your fingers in the filling basin; scalding, how he likes it.

“Drawers off, please.” You poke his chest with a damp finger pad and disappear into the hallway in pursuit of linens.

Dazai sits naked (save for bandages) and curled in on himself on the edge of the bathtub when you return. You stack a change of clean clothes on the sink, and his ankles knock together as he waits for your attention to fall back on him. Your towels sling over the door before you turn to him with your hands tucked together. He looks uncharacteristically meek, not unlike a fawn before it first walks -– the way he only ever does before what happens next.

He holds his arms out, wrists up, and smiles like the sunshine.

You smile back uneasily, appearing much less enthused than he; you know that sunshine smile well enough to know it only ever comes out as a shield. You know no matter how many times you unwrap his dressings, he's always going to hate it.

So, you start with the butterfly clip secured at the crook of his elbow, and you talk.

"I have a slice of tiramisu in the fridge for after."

"From that place I like?" His eyes get wide.

"From that place you like," you sigh, grinning.

"You must've had a feeling I was dropping by."

You usually encourage him to reuse the strips of fabric when possible, sometimes going so far as to let him hide from the city while you take them to the laundromat with your own clothes, but these ones are far past help —barely white, significantly bloody in spots and dirtied in others, so you just ball them up and toss them in the trash. You're stocked anyway, and you reassure him of this by retrieving a few fresh rolls from under the sink.

"Maybe I did."

You finish one arm and move to the other. Osamu lets his marred, bare skin dangle in the air. The sunshine is gone. He’s zoned out. You know he’s protecting himself.

You push his hand down to rest in his lap and your mind selfishly drifts to later, where you hope he'll sleep without his bandages, too — he had traipsed into your apartment lined up to his fingers, and all you had wished for was that you could’ve felt his palms, his knuckles, his nails when he hugged you back. You take as much of him in as you can in these kinds of moments; it’s just the kind of person you are. Damaged or not, his skin is your favorite place to be. You’ve told him this, but it seems to come across much clearer when you look into his sad brown eyes like they’re the only ones in the world while your fingers trace the tracks across his thighs like they’re no one’s in particular.

“So pretty,” you mumble.

It’s so well received this time around that Osamu sinks into the water with barely a shred of apprehension. Granted, he’s still a bit glazed over.

He really snaps to once his shoulders are beneath the water and you’re lathering shampoo — the coconutty one — between your hands.

He speaks your name with an earnest that’s almost mocking. “What are you doing?” But he knows what you’re doing, or what you’re not doing, rather, and he’s not going to let you get away with it.

“What?” Your hands are sudsy and he has the audacity to be yanking at your shirt now. You bat him away as well as you can, flinging some bubbles at him in the process. “What?”

His bottom lip pokes out as his wet hands find purchase around your wrists. Dazai has manipulated a lot of people with nothing but the look in his eye, but it’s never this one; this specific look is reserved for you, and he figures it’s hardly manipulation if he knows you’d enjoy it too. “Get in with me,” he whines, drawing out his ‘e.’

You grumble something about your soapy hands, something about not wasting a perfectly fine handful of your good shampoo, but it just allows him to insist even more on helping you out of your clothes. You sigh, but really, it’s these silly idiosyncrasies about him that make you cry when he’s gone. So, you indulge him. You commence an awkward and wiggly dance in which his fingers stretch your sleeves over your hands with care. You kick your pants off and shimmy out of your undergarments, feigning annoyance as you give into his whims so easily.

The bath is still nearly boiling. You make peace with it by hissing hot, hot, hot, hot, hot (he chuckles at you) until either of your knees are nestled underwater on either side of him. You rub your shampoo hands together and — now that Osamu’s gotten his way for one of many times tonight, for the millionth time ever, never for the last time — he graciously lets you wash his hair.

You inhale all the little hums and sighs he gives you. He tastes like every emotion you’ve ever felt. Heaven is a bathtub in a crummy apartment.

“You smell much better. Let’s rinse.” You go to push yourself up after you’re finished with him, but Osamu grips you unceremoniously and by both of your ass cheeks, so you look sternly into his face.

“Wait, wait, wait, just—” he pleads.

You flick water at his eyes. “We’re wading in your filth, thank you. Get up.”

“Just a second, damn it.” He clutches you closer, hands clasped behind your back, and you settle with shattered resistance against his chest. He mumbles something about who you think you are, telling me what to do.

Not that you try all that hard with him anymore; you both know well he’ll get what he wants, and right now he’s intent on holding you in the cooling water, so you loop your arms around his neck, unable to help the kiss you press to the side of his jaw or the stifled roll of your hips against his.

He’s silent for a moment as he traces the expanse of your back. You hope his eyes are closed. You know they’re probably not.

“Thank you.”

It’s something Osamu says quite a bit. He doesn’t get terribly sentimental often, but it’s usually after you’ve rid him of those wrappings that he comes close. Although, he never says exactly what for. For bathing him. For feeding him. For loving him. You understand well enough.

He’s still a little shit. He squeezes your ass and bites the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” you yelp. “We’re rinsing.”

His laugh is whole as you pull the drain and start the shower, dodging your (mostly) dry hair.

The promise of dessert lets you get him into a pair of shorts at the very least. Once again you return to him — you wait on him like he’s a prince, and he looks like one on your bed with the blankets pooled around him as he towel dries his hair.

It’s so unfair, you think, how angelic he gets to be no matter what he’s doing. It’s something so mundane; his scars are on display, he’s tipsy and damp and has your plush cat-printed blanket acting somewhat like a cape, yet he steals your breath as you enter your bedroom. To top it all off, he pretends not to notice your presence right away.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, unfinished bottle of sake in one hand, delicate plate of tiramisu in the other, and Osamu finally acknowledges you with owlish eyes, raised brows, and a grin that reprograms the pattern of your heartbeat. He tosses the towel aside, eager, and reaches out.

“This—” his mouth is full, “this shit is…God. Heavenly.”

“Share.”

“Should’ve brought two forks.” He makes a show of lifting the plate out of your reach. You grasp at it lazily, uselessly, and he laughs, taunting you. You’re tired so you hoard the sake in response, which he’s fine with only until the tiramisu is gone — you only got two bites in — and he goes for that as well.

“Greedy!” you accuse, but you can’t help your laugh. You’re warm — the few swigs from the bottle are doing their job, and you let Osamu know this by giving in; you steady his head with one hand, and with your other you press the bottle to his lips and tilt it up. He drinks like it’s cider, and comes up for air with a soft curse.

The way he licks it off his lips wants to draw a gasp out of you, but you’re trained like a skilled gunman when he gives you targets like these — you’ve built up trigger discipline, and there are some things, you suppose, that you don’t let him have so easily after all.

Nonetheless, it’s like Osamu reads this mechanism working in your mind and takes it as a challenge. The bottle is transferred from your hands to his somewhere in the searing kiss he gives you; you fully register a hunger buzzing between you both that has nothing to do with tiramisu as you reach out for him, fumble toward him until you’re in his lap — you almost overwhelm his lithe frame with your tenacity, but he catches you, bottle tapping your back as you engulf each other.

Osamu is sneaky, he is; he never executes even the smallest action without meticulous thought. The way you end up under him might’ve been planned out from the bath, or maybe even before he was on your doorstep — either way, you give way to his weight; the bottle’s in one hand, somehow your wrists are in the other, and his waist connects with yours.

If nothing else predicts what you say next, it’s his restless hand clutching your hip, pulling at your shirt, clawing up your side.

“Missed you,” you slip into his mouth. You’ve already said this over dinner, but it’s different, heavier, when you’re breathing him in. Osamu lifts away from you for a kiss from the bottle. In brief control again, you wring your hands.

He’s statuesque above you. You wish you could snapshot the seconds in which he tilts the bottle back, where his drying hair falls in those loose waves around his angled jaw and his eyelids flicker. You reach out to trace him. His severe collarbone to his lean shoulder, down the thin valley between his bicep and tricep. You ghost around the fingers suspended in midair and bridge the gap to end on his pretty waist.

The bottle disappears onto your nightstand. Your eyes are wide as he grips your chin. He holds his breath, plants an elbow by your head, thumbs your bottom lip — all a means to waterfall the sake into your open, waiting mouth.

Liquor drips off him, into you; how are you supposed to keep from the way your legs demand his hips toward yours? The way you grind into him from below? You’re a live wire and he’s fraying the hell out of everywhere you end and begin.

You swallow what he gives you before he pulls back. You’re breathless, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing. This is what he does — he gets you under him and he laughs, so beautifully that you can hardly be mad, and sultrily enough that you flush pink.

“You should see your face!” he exclaims. Osamu is truthfully at his most joyous when he’s catching you off guard. “Little too filthy for ‘ya?”

“Please,” you scoff, willing him toward you again as you recover, more from the sting in the back of your throat than anything, pressing all your love into each of his mangled wrists with your palms and fingers. “As if that’s the filthiest thing we’ve done.”

“Jog my memory,” he suggests as he puts his smile back to yours, and so you work him out of the shorts you just got him in less than ten minutes ago.

As for yourself, well — you’re only naked from the waist down before you’re working your own slick up and down on him, biting your lip with anticipation, all but pulling him into you. You don’t even care if it hurts, and you almost say it, but you don’t — everything you’re doing is saying it for you — you just want him in you right now, right now, and he touches you between the gasps you draw from him; he watches the way he slides into you like you’re meant for him, like he’s meant for you, and you dig your heels into him as you whisper his name.

“Baby,” he whispers back. Those sad brown eyes flicker, shut, open, find you. “Oh.”

He rocks into you softly, such a contrast from the urgency with which he was kissing you mere moments before. Osamu’s a natural at giving you whiplash, sometimes in ways you didn’t know him to be capable of. He’s concentrated; you watch him, the slightest bit confused as his lips purse shut. You want to hear him, he knows, but it’s all welling up within him, he can feel it on his lash line, so he tucks his face into your neck and hopes you won’t say anything. You don’t, not for bit. You just circle your arms around his neck and groan at the way he grips you, feels you all over; you clench around him and pretend you don’t feel the tears beading along your shoulder.

“Too filthy for you?” you finally tease, but gently; you cup his face in your hands, push his hair from his forehead, and kiss the wetness away. He half-laughs, half-sobs. He obviously wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, ‘samu. Honey.”

“Don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” It’s his way of apologizing. He sniffles and follows it with an explanation. “You feel so good.”

You know they’re not tears of pleasure, but you let him write it off as he fucks into you. “You- uhn- you feel so good,” you echo.

It’s not unusual for him to be vocal — he moans, he gasps, he gives you delicious noises to make up for the words he can’t ever find, but tonight is so different; you don’t know what it is, but he talks. He’s talking, and it’s not the lewd musings you expect from Osamu Dazai, much less while he curls his hands into your hair and begins to pound into you. Yes, it’s much different tonight.

“Missed you too,” he finally gives you. “Missed you. So fucking much- fuck- I’m- oh, fuck…”

“Stop leaving,” you say breathlessly. “Stop leaving me. Just move in.”

“Shit, I might.” His hair is your lifeline. You knot your fingers in it like you hope you become part of it. “Might just have to come home to this every day. Y’take such good care of me. Don’t know wh- hah- what I did to deserve this pussy.”

“Please, please, Osamu.” You’re begging for more than one thing. “Fucking stay.”

So he keeps his pace, staying in one way or another — at least he can say he’s done that much. Whether or not you’ll wake up next to him tomorrow morning doesn’t matter right now; right now he’s fucking you, right now he’s yours, right now he’s ripping himself open a little further to let you see his rotten soul and you’re giving him everything he could never ask for, everything he doesn’t think he deserves — it’ll be enough, you’re sure, even though it’ll hurt when he disappears again; at least you’ll know you opened up in return, reflected his rottenness in the way that you know how. You’ve made a place for him in your home. You’ve made a place for him in your heart. He knows you want him to take it. Take it.

“So pretty, my baby, takin’ it so good.” He looks at you with those wet eyes between pressing bruising kisses to your lips, chin, neck. “Y’feel like fucking heaven. God, fuck. Don’t know if I- don’t know if I deserve it. So fucking good. So good. So good.”

“You d- you don’t have to do anything to deserve it- just fucking stay, please,” you plead with him. You’ll plead with him until he understands. “Oh- Osamu- ah!”

Your hands flail for a resting place — his head is restless with his kisses, his calloused hands and ridged arms are moving too fast for you to keep up with, the expanse of his back isn’t nearly close enough amid his wild pace, so you claw into the peaks of his shoulders and give all your sound and breath back to him while he rains praise upon you. He’s almost frantic in his task, like he needs you to know.

“Need you to know how much I love comin’ back here.” Osamu grabs one of your hands and guides you to your clit. “Touch yourself, please- please- want you cummin’ on me, baby, give it to me. Please.”

He pleads with you until you do.

You’re well aware that everything you can give him might not be enough to convince him. Convince him he’s not rotten. Convince him he does deserve it. Convince him he’s worthy of love. You know the best thing you can do for him right now is rub yourself quick and hard in time with his heavy thrusts. You keep giving him what he needs — you give him all your moans, grunts, curses, and he reflects them right back — you match each other, sobbing, twitching, biting, heaving until the wave rolls over you and you’re collecting him, throbbing around him and telling him it’s all for him, he’s so perfect, don’t stop, it feels so good while he spills into you, fills you up in that familiar way you don’t think you want to live without for weeks at a time anymore. Osamu’s tense as he drags both of your climaxes out for as long as he can; you’re crooning out his name and Osamu’s panting out yours and he’s so beautiful as he cums, he’s so beautiful while he cries, he’s so beautiful when he’s raw and selfish and fucked out of his brain, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful.

“So afraid to hurt you, baby,” he mumbles into your cheek minutes later, half-asleep and tipsy and still pulsing inside you. “You don’t deserve my shit. Get caught up in my shit.”

You don’t care about his shit, is what you tell him in return. You want him. You want to show him all the wonderful things he does in fact deserve.

Like the picturesque breakfast you cook him after you do wake up next to him in the morning. Like the tender way you rewrap his dressings as the afternoon sun gleams in white columns through your window. Like the first day he spends completely sober and well-fed in a long time.

“I don’t know if I deserve it.” All this, he means. You, and how wonderful you are. He says it again and again.

“I don’t care if you don’t deserve it.” You secure the butterfly clip in the crook of his elbow and meet his eyes. Far off. Waning sunshine. “Wanna give it to you anyway.”

For a moment the sunshine returns, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, you see it reach his eyes. They don’t look so sad. Big, brown, maybe hopeful. Maybe sweet with preemptive regret. You hug Osamu in the still air of your apartment.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He hugs you back, limply, like he’s scared to break you. He trembles out, “I will.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

Agora Hills - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Agora Hills - Doja Cat - @greedyjudge2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff, bits of angst

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n sat on the balcony of Lewis’s Monaco apartment, the soft hum of the city below blending with the rhythmic sound of waves hitting the shore. The yachts floating in the harbor cast glowing reflections on the water, the sea shimmering under the moonlight like it didn’t care that the entire world now knew she was with Lewis.

The view was breathtaking, but her mind was elsewhere—trapped in the chaos that followed her latest Instagram post.

Her fingers absently scrolled through the comments, her feed flooded with reactions. Some were congratulatory, filled with heart emojis and well wishes. Others, not so much—there was shock, skepticism, those who’d convinced themselves this day would never come, and, of course, the inevitable chatter about their age difference.

She sensed Lewis before she saw him, the familiar sound of the sliding door breaking the quiet of the night.

He stepped onto the balcony, barefoot and shirtless, the sea breeze tousling his loose curls. He wore only a pair of workout shorts, his skin still humid from a shower.

Without a word, he dropped into the chair beside her, his body naturally leaning into hers as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

And they had, in private, away from prying eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this many comments on a post on my personal profile,” she quipped, handing him her phone. There was a slight edge to her voice, but her expression stayed neutral, calm.

Lewis took the phone, scanning through the flood of responses. His lips curled into a familiar grin. “People love a good scandal.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, we’re a scandal now?”

He gave her a playful side-eye. “A prominent young interior designer from LA and an old F1 driver? Babe, we’ve been a scandal since that first photo of us on the beach leaked.”

She let out a laugh, the sound light, but laced with the weight of the truth. “They don’t even know half of it.”

“And they don’t need to,” he said simply, lowering her phone onto the small table between them. His voice was calm, but the meaning was firm. “What we have? It’s ours. No one else.”

Y/n sighed, tilting her head back to look at the stars—ones she could never see clearly in LA, hidden behind the glare of city lights. “It’s just... It’s always about how everyone things we’re in different stages of life. Like I’m not supposed to have my life together because I’m younger.”

Lewis shifted, facing her more directly, his eyes catching the moonlight. “You know what you want and you stated that to me, very clearly, from the start. We’ve always been on the same page.”

“I know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But sometimes the noise gets loud. I mean, I’m 25, Lewis. They act like I’m some kid figuring things out, but I’m not. I’ve worked for everything I have.”

He smiled gently. “You’re killing it. You’ve got major projects lined up, your business is growing, I don’t think there’s anyone out there who could say you don’t have your shit together... and” he added with a grin “I don’t care what they think. I care about us.”

Y/n reached out, running her fingers along his jaw. “And we’re good. We’ve always been good. There’s just something about seeing it all out there now. No more guessing, no more rumors. It feels big.”

“It is” he said, taking both of her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “But I truly I want to show you off. Brag about us.”

“Now you sound like a boomer” She raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk forming on her lips.

“Yeah? Well, I am. And I want to be the guy who brags about his girl to the whole world.” He laughed, a deep sound as his eyes softened. “I mean it, Y/n. I want the world to know how lucky I am.”

Her teasing smile faltered as his words sunk in. There was a sincerity in his voice that made her heart swell, a reminder of just how long they’d been dancing around this moment.

The nights spent apart while she worked late and he traveled for races, the quiet dinners in hidden corners of different cities, the whispered phone calls in hotel rooms where they’d talk about everything except the world waiting outside the door.

And yet, through it all, they had been steady. Solid.

“I want that too” she admitted quietly. “I want everyone to know I’m with you. That I’m happy with you.”

Lewis smiled; his thumb tracing circles on her hand. “And if people don’t get it, they don’t have to. I’m not looking for validation from anyone but you.”

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss. The kind that made everything else—the comments, the headlines, the opinions—fade away.

When she pulled back, there was a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?” she teased.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied with a grin. “But you’re going to have to get used to this. Especially if you keep dropping hints like that caption.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “You mean ‘tie the knot’?”

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. “They’ve been asking me that since I started racing. At this point, I’ve got answers for every version of the question.”

“Do you?” she asked, her tone shifting, becoming more serious. Her gaze searched his face, looking for the truth behind his casual words.

His expression softened, the playful tone giving way to something more genuine. “You know I do. But only when you’re ready. We’ve got time, Y/n. I’m not in a rush.”

She let out a breath, feeling the tension ease out of her shoulders. “Good. Because I want it to be on our terms. Not anyone else’s.”

“It will” he promised, pulling her closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, warm and solid, the weight of it a comfort. “Everything we do, it will always be on our terms.”

They sat wrapped in each other for a while, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. The lights from the yachts flickered on the water, the city humming in the background, but it all felt distant—like the world could wait just a little longer.

Eventually, her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with notifications. Y/n glanced at it, her expression an amused smile.

“Yeah” she said, holding the phone out for him to see. “I too would be losing my mind if I found out you were taken”

Lewis took the phone, scrolling through the latest flood of comments. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Good. They’ll figure out eventually that we’re not going anywhere.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice calm and certain. “They will.”

______________________________________________________________

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[marthawrites]

first of all choose to ignore this if you're not up to it but i would LOVE some aemond x reader tiddies sucking/worship with a whole pussy eating and pussy fucking.. dirty talk always appreciated btw!! AGAIN feel free to ignore im just an aemond and tiddies sucking sucker <3

Hello sweet anon! Are you still with me? I hope you are ♥ I apologize for making you wait since July for this request. If you are still around, I sincerely hope this fic does the trick - mwah!

Morning Lovebites Lead To Sweet Dreams

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

Word count: 2.9k+

About: You and Aemond share a morning bath and the lingering sensations last with you all day. When he returns to your marriage chambers later than usual, you're sad you might sleep through his return. Once in for the night, however, he makes up for it.

Includes: It's in the request! This is all smut. Featuring breast play, nipple play, biting, hickies, unprotected vaginal sex, minor pain play, reader receiving oral sex, sweet talking, some dirty talking, possessiveness, and minor breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! While this fic has elements of breast worship, there is no descriptions to breast size. That is entirely up to you! All tiddies are good tiddies in this house! Reader is implied to come from a noble House but is unspecified. As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy!

“Every woman is the image of their mother and to be spoken of with reverence,” Aemond’s voice rasped into the smooth skin of your neck as he gathered your hair into his gentle grasp, moving it over one shoulder to expose the full length of your bare neck and shoulder to him. He trailed the tip of his nose over your delicate skin as if he could smell the very blood that pumped through your veins. Goosebumps rose on your skin and he smiled silently at the sight. “Mm… my lovely wife. So sweet and still so sensitive for her husband’s touch,” he murmured again, both his hands feeling up the front of your slippery body. “Every day the urge to thank your mother for making you grows greater,” he said as he gently squeezed your breasts, their softness and warmth already making his cock swell against the small of your back. 

Despite the many turns of moon you’d been married, the temperature of his baths still made you hiss upon entering. Yet, you gasped softly at the sensation of his hands. He was warm; always so warm. Your skin bloomed with the tub's heat, and the humidity of it caused little curls to form in the fine hairs of your hairline. “You’ve thanked my mother and father for my hand many times, husband,” you answered sweetly. “So much so that they cannot believe I’m not carrying your child yet,” you added just as sweet, leaning back against him to further press your breasts into his palms.

He peppered kisses – open mouthed and nipping – over your neck, looking down the front of your body. He loved your breasts from every angle, but there was something extra delicious about seeing them from this angle. He pinched your pebbled nipples gently and rolled them between his fingers. “It’s not from lack of excitement or trying,” he said, smirking.

“A-ah! Aemond..! You make them sore when you do that,” you half whimpered, feeling an entirely different type of heat begin to pool between your thighs.

He tugged your nipples forward until they snapped out of his grasp, reveling the way your soft flesh rippled with the motion. “Then I shall kiss them all better.” He pinched them again, firmer this time, and rolled them anew.

You choked out a little sound and giggled. Reaching around your back, you grasped his now fully hardened length and slowly pumped along it. He exhaled the loveliest noise and you gripped him firmer. Stroking him, you turned your head to look back at him with half-lidded eyes. “I need you, husband, before our day’s duties begin.”

He caught your lips in a searing kiss and licked into your mouth with lustful hunger. His cock twitched when you moaned in response, returning his kiss with just as much fervor. Wasting no more time he gripped your waist and helped turn you around so you were facing each other. He looked up at you – the intense hue of his natural eye and his darkly beautiful sapphire stone – while gripping firmly onto the swells of your chest. “Ride me, wife. Show me how much you need your husband’s cock.”

With a shift of your hips you sunk down his length, your walls stretching wonderfully around him, until there was no more of him to take. You ground on him, bounced on him, and did it all again, until water sloshed out messily from the tub and the room filled with sounds of your shared pleasure.

All the while Aemond never gave your breasts rest. He laid his face between them, kissed them, suckled them, squeezed and pinched them. New lovebites decorated your tender flesh – pinks and purples and fading bitemarks – which he made sure to tenderly coat in oils before your ladies appeared to help you dress.

When all was said and done you both had little curls along your hairline. You kept yours with pride, whereas Aemond took extra time to smooth them out.

-

The day’s duties seemed as if they'd never end. All you wanted was your husband. If you had it your way you would say fuck his duties, fuck your duties, and laze about all day in bed with your dragon prince: eating cake, perfectly ripened fruit, and drinking sweet Arbor wine. All those little lovebites he left behind burned pleasantly reminding you of your shared bath. Warmth filled your lower belly as you became lost in those daydreamy memories. The rest of the day went by in a carnal haze.

Night had fallen and Aemond still hadn’t returned. 

What on earth was he up to?

Unsure of the night’s plans, you finally dismissed your last servant after they stoked the fire and added more wood to it. You sat in front of your vanity, now, slowly brushing braids out of your hair. You removed jewelry piece by piece and placed them in your jewelry box. As far back as you could remember you had a taste for shiny and pretty things. Even as a young girl you loved receiving a new necklace, or bracelet, or earrings instead of toys or other things for nameday gifts. As you grew older those tastes never wavered. After marrying Aemond he made sure to adorn you in the finest things. Pearls, emeralds, rubies. But, his favorite were sapphires. They become one of your favorites, too. 

It was quiet except for the fire’s crackle and with each passing minute you found yourself growing more drowsy. Just when you thought you might doze off while reading in bed, the heavy wooden door of your marriage chamber opened. “Husband! I thought I might not get to see you before sleep overcame me,” you said a little tiredly, whole face bright upon watching him close and latch the door. “I’ve missed you terribly.” Once you caught sight of his expression, however, your brows furrowed in worry. “What’s the matter?”

He sighed a long sigh, beginning to remove his clothing. “I had heard of Aegon and his growing… depravities, but I hadn’t expected them to be so… shameful. He disgraces our family name by what he does in the underbellies of Flea Bottom.”

You gulped. “What did you discover?”

Aemond shook his head while stepping out of his boots. “Nothing you need to fret about tonight.”

“I am Targaryen now too, and I wish to know what is happening,” you retorted.

“Not now. You say you missed me terribly? Well, I assure you I missed you more,” he said, walking in long easy strides to you on bare feet. He’d removed everything except his pants which were unlaced in the front. The casualness of it had your belly stirring, and the sight of his long, lean body flexing toward you had your thighs pressing together. “I didn’t have enough of you this morning…,” he rumbled against your mouth as he shadowed above you, gently pushing you onto your back once more. He laid on his side beside you, kissing you mouth again and again until your little tongue slid against his mouth. He groaned, deepening the affection, while his hand pushed up your thigh, tugging your shift up with him as he went.

“More? I’m not so sure about that,” you giggled, nipping at his lips. “Every little mark you left on me has been aching all day. A good ache. I’ve been needy for you all day, husband,” you purred, hooking one of your legs over his waist in an attempt to pull him closer into you.

He groaned somewhere deep in his chest and rolled atop you effortlessly, pinning one of your hands above you head as he loomed above you. The silver of his silky hair glowed with highlights of orange from the fire and candles in your room. His eye bore into your own, blazing, as a smirk etched itself across his angular features. “My good little wife has been aching and wet for me all day? My, my, darling…,” he crooned, kissing your jaw, neck, and throat. 

“You’re torturing me,” you said, desire flaring wildly in your core.

His free hand pushed your shift higher; thighs, smallclothes, belly, breasts, all revealing themselves to him. “Lean up and take this off,” he half growled. You did as you were told and in a flurry of motion he tossed it off the edge of the bed. “Your skin is loveliest covered in my marks,” he mused aloud as he tilted his head, inspecting the fullness of the front of your body. “My perfect girl.” His hand pushed up the front of you, splaying wide as to touch all of you that he could, fingertips grazing over your bitten and sucked flesh. He pressed down on those lovebites. Testing the bruises; testing you.

“Ah-h!” You gasped, squirming beneath him. “Not so hard!” You whined with pleading eyes.

A satisfied sound rumbled up from his chest. “So they are tender…,” he whispered, grinning, as he continued to gently push down into each bruise. “My poor girl,” he said, dipping his head low to kiss over each mark, now, making sure to pay extra attention to your pebbled nipples when he passed over them. “I had to make sure you were telling the truth. So far, half of what you said is true. As for the other…,” he mumbled around mouthfuls of your titflesh, greedy lips unable to leave your pretty nipples for long.

The pleasure of his mouth soon made you forget about the pain of his touch, but it was that pain that made your pleasure all the sweeter. You arched beneath him, free hand sliding down to card through his silken hair. “I think your wetnurse half starved you as a babe for how much you latch onto me,” you teased, sighing in bliss as he drew your nipples into his mouth, suckling and working his tongue over them.

“Must have,” he smirked, the stiffened peak of your nipple glossy with his saliva. Finally letting go of your wrist, both his hands lowered to untie the ribbons around your waist so he could tug your smallclothes down with no restraint. He did, and then he gently parted your legs. Between your thighs your sweet little cunt glistened with arousal. He couldn’t tell if his cock swelled to impossible hardness first, or, if his mouth watered first. “Look… at… you…,” he said slowly, possessive eye feasting on the sight of your bared cunny. 

“Aemond…,” you whined as blood rushed to warm your cheeks – the intensity of his gaze made you uncharacteristically self-conscious.

“You are lucky, my dear. Lying to your prince comes with severe punishment. You, by the grace of the Seven, have told the truth,” he said as he lowered to lay on his belly between your legs. He lifted one to gently hook over his shoulder and held the other down, keeping you nice and spread out beneath him. “If you were indeed sleeping when I returned tonight, I intended to wake you in this same manner,” he said as he looked up at you, the outside of his seeing eye crinkling with mischief. 

The warmth in your cheeks spread up to your ears, but before you could say anything in reply your husband dragged his tongue up through your eager folds. You moaned softly at the heat of his mouth, and he moaned at the taste that coated his tongue. He could never have enough of you: he told you often. “Gods- Aem-,” you whispered through shuddered breath.

It was impossible to say if you enjoyed this more, or if he did.

By now Aemond knew what you liked, how you liked it, and knew when to increase or ease his pressure on you. He learned wickedly fast – faster than you discovered your own pleasure some of the time – and strove for perfection, always wanting to be better than those around him. He licked, and lapped, and sucked, losing himself in the unique taste and texture of you. “You'd like to be woken up like this, wouldn't you?” He asked, slowly kissing and licking over your bud as to not push you too far too fast.

The thought alone made you squirm against him; cunny seeking to grind against the plushness of his mouth. “Y..yes,” you answered quietly.

“Mmm… I knew you would. I will have to try it one day. Licking and stroking this sweet cunt just enough to not wake you.”

You clenched at the idea knowing he meant it. “My cruel prince…”

He laughed lowly before delving into you again, tongue disappearing into your clenching center. Even around that little muscle you were tight. You always fit around him so perfectly. The sounds he made between your thighs were lewd. Dirty. Any other time or place you'd feel filthy. But with it being Aemond, the lasciviousness of it nudged you to the edge of your pleasure. One of his hands pushed up the front of your body and he palmed over a breast, squeezing the mound inside his palm. A finger of the other pressed into your soaking core while he lavished your clit with tongue and lip alike.

“I'm gonna– ‘m gonna..,” you moaned, whimpering as you rolled and ground your pelvis in time with all of his motions, seeking out more and more even though he was already giving you everything he knew you needed. Both hands flung down to his head and you shamelessly held him right there, fingers flexing and tugging at his hair. 

Aemond moaned against you. Early in your marriage you discovered his scalp was exceedingly sensitive and you loved using it to your advantage; whether he purred, or moaned, or whimpered.

“Let go, sweet wife. Give me your pleasure,” he mumbled against you, suckling gently on your pearl while working two fingers in and out of you, rubbing that small hidden patch of nerves with perfect precision. He squeezed your breast harder, pinching at your nipple, and the combination of everything became too much. You came undone against him. Orgasm washed over you in waves that left you weightless; the sounds of your release sent your husband rutting against the mattress.

“So good.. fuck that all felt so good,” you babbled down at him; heavy eyes darkened by lust and sparkling in adoration. 

Your praise sent Aemond's desire blazing to an inferno and he didn't even let you catch your breath before he kicked out of his pants and lined his cock up with you. “Such a needy greedy girl. Wet all day… humping my face like a bitch in heat… begging to be stuffed full by her husband again,” he growled lowly, pushing the underside of your leg up so it squished against your chest. “And all of that for me,” he said firmly, darkly, grinning down at you like a hawk swooping a bunny. With a flex of his slim, lean hips, he pushed into you.

You gasped, squeezing at his strong arms as he plunged into you. His name rolled off your tongue in yet another stuttering moan, eyelids fluttering with the force of his intrusion. You nodded wordlessly, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

“Mine… all fucking mine,” he said in that same tone, punctuating his words with long, firm thrusts. “My perfect wife. My wet cunt. Mine to fill, and use, and fill again.”

The force of his thrusts sent your tits bouncing. You cried out in bliss, your first orgasm making your body extra sensitive to his slamming hips. He drove home again, and again, and again, his balls slapping against you with every plunge. “Yes.. yes.. yes,” you babbled.

“So lovely like this. So beautiful when I fuck you. If only you could see yourself all dazed out on my cock,” his angle and pace changed and now he bullied that inner patch of nerves with each forward push and outward pull.

You wrapped your legs around his slender waist and pulled him deeper into you. “Right there,” you panted, nodding, sheened with sweat and glowing with delight. 

Both his hands squeezed and held onto your breasts, fucking you just as you asked him to. “Come with me. I want your cunny sucking my seed all the way to your pretty little womb,” he muttered, clearly holding himself back as long as he could.

That's all it took for you to find peak. Euphoria washed over you in glorious waves of ecstasy, making your body shudder and tremble around him. Your walls flexed and convulsed around his twitching cock in a visceral plea to finish deep inside.

Aemond didn't stand a chance. He groaned out your name and filled you passed the brim. Slowly his seed oozed out from around the base of his length while he kept it buried inside you, heavy drips of your combined essence sliding down the swell of your ass. You panted together, foreheads pressed together, and only began to pull apart once pleasure spent its course in both your bodies.

“You are the most enchanting thing,” Aemond whispered to you with a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Hold me as I sleep?” You asked with heavy eyes, already feeling tiredness creep over your senses.

He smiled, the expression intimately sweet, as he moved to lay on his side beside you. “Of course,” he answered, pulling you flush against him. With another quiet smirk he lifted your leg to rest over his waist and lowered a hand between your bodies. Carefully, he slipped two fingers into you. “Shh…,” he hushed when you made a noise of discomfort. “Only to keep my seed where it belongs.”

You blushed but didn't say, or do, anything in protest. “Sweet dreams, my prince.”

“Sleep well, my lady.”

-

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