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seafarersdream · 2 months ago

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The Art of Braiding (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the harsh, unfamiliar North, Y/N Tully struggles to understand the strange customs that surround her. One of them, however, her new husband Cregan Stark knows all too well—and he’s not above using it to his advantage. The Wolf of the North, as it turns out, has a cheeky side.

*Inspired by the braiding traditions of the Vikings

TW // Strong language and profanities, possessiveness, non-consensual restraint.

“Bloody wind,” Y/N muttered under her breath, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as another frigid gust swept through Winterfell’s courtyard. The North had its own bite, and it wasn’t just the cold. It was in everything—the stone walls, the silence, and even the people.

Especially the people.

Especially Cregan Stark.

Her husband.

That cold bastard. Honorable, sure, but colder than the winds battering against her face.

Y/N blew a strand of hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to curse her luck again. The riverlands were nothing like this. In Riverrun, there was warmth. Rivers that didn’t freeze over in the middle of freaking summer. Men who smiled, told bawdy jokes, laughed loud enough for the gods to hear. Here, everything was different. Even the laughter, when it happened at all, felt muted by the heavy weight of the Northern sky.

But this was her life now. A wife of the North. Lady Stark. By the gods, it was still strange to hear it. She knew the match had been made for peace and alliances—marriage between a Tully and a Stark was good for the realm, or so her father had said. But no one had prepared her for the rest of it. The weather. The silences.

And Cregan himself.

He was unlike any man she had known. Rivermen were warm, boisterous. Cregan was the opposite. He was distant, cold at times, the weight of Winterfell and the North resting on his broad shoulders. But he was fair, she’d give him that. And gods be damned if he wasn’t handsome. He had that Stark look, all strong jaw and piercing eyes. If only he’d smile a little more, maybe she’d feel less like she was wed to a block of ice.

Not that he wasn’t good to her. No, Cregan was kind in his way. Gentle in the nights they shared, even if he was quieter than she liked. He was a man of few words, unlike the men of her home, who’d fill the halls with stories and laughter. Still, he made sure she had everything she needed. He listened, even when he didn’t have much to say.

But gods, she missed warmth.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caught her attention, and she glanced up to see him approaching. Cregan. He walked like he owned the place—because he did, of course—but it was more than that. There was a confidence in him, a certainty in his steps. He didn’t need to announce himself. The wind, the snow, the very stones of Winterfell seemed to bend to his will.

He came up beside her, his breath clouding the cold air. “Still not used to it?” His voice was a low rumble, almost lost to the wind.

Y/N snorted, rubbing her hands together. “Used to it? It’s like a gods-damned frozen hell up here.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ll learn. In time.”

She shot him a look. “And when exactly will that be? Because I’ve been waiting for weeks, Cregan, and I’m about ready to march back to the riverlands and throw myself into the water. Ice be damned.”

His brows arched just slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “The riverlands? You wouldn’t last a day without the North, now.”

Y/N scoffed, turning to him fully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. I was born by water, not ice. I think I’d manage just fine.”

He said nothing, but the smirk returned. Silence fell between them again, but this time it was… different. More comfortable, somehow. She studied him, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He always seemed to have something weighing on him, some unspoken burden of being a leader at such a young age.

Before she could press further, he stepped closer, reaching out. Her breath caught, not because of the cold this time, but because of the unexpected closeness. His hand brushed against her hair, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold still,” he murmured, focused on her hair. His fingers deftly gathered strands, working them with a skill that surprised her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, confused, but she stayed quiet, feeling the tug and pull as he braided her hair. Her pulse quickened as his fingers brushed against her skin, the sensation at odds with the chill around them. There was an intimacy in the act, in the silence that hung between them. And yet, it was just a braid.

Wasn’t it?

“There,” he said after a moment, stepping back. She reached up instinctively, fingers touching the braid he’d woven. It felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. She had no idea what to make of it. “What… is this?”

Cregan shrugged, that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just a braid.”

“Just a braid,” she echoed, unconvinced.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable in their depths. “You’ll see.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean, Lord Stark?”

But Cregan was already turning, heading toward the main hall without another word. Y/N stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Just a braid? She huffed, shaking her head as she followed him inside. Northerners and their damn cryptic ways.

It wasn’t until they entered the hall that Y/N realized something was… off.

Eyes turned toward her. And not the usual fleeting glances. No, these were lingering, assessing stares. Several of the women whispered to each other, and a few of the men gave her respectful nods. She caught the eye of a servant who quickly dipped her head in what almost seemed like… deference?

Gods be good.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at one particularly nosy maid.

Cregan didn’t answer, his lips twitching as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. The bastard was enjoying this.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

Finally, he met her gaze, and there was that smirk again. “The braid.”

“What about the bloody braid?”

“It’s… a tradition,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “In the North, braids have meanings. Especially for women.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of meaning?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “A braid like that? It tells everyone that you’re… claimed.”

Y/N blinked, feeling her face heat despite the cold. “Claimed?” she echoed, her voice rising a pitch. “By whom exactly?”

Cregan’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “By me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—what?! You did that on purpose? You—sly, stubborn—”

His laughter was a rare, low rumble that warmed the cold space between them. “You’ll get used to it, my lady.”

“Used to it?” Y/N fumed, her cheeks burning as the reality of what he’d done sunk in. “You can’t just—ugh!” She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “This is the North, Y/N. My North,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you are mine.”

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, mixing with her frustration. The audacity. The nerve.

And yet…

Y/N's face burned hotter than the hearth fires in the Great Hall as Cregan’s words echoed in her ears: You are mine. Claimed. Oh, she was mortified.

She reached up, fingers fumbling to undo the braid that now seemed to burn against her scalp. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, her nails scraping against the tight weave as she tried to pull it apart. “I am not walking around Winterfell with everyone thinking—"

Before she could finish, Cregan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist, firm but not rough. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m undoing this bloody braid before everyone in this hall assumes I’m some conquered—”

“You’re not,” he cut in, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “And you won’t undo it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden command in his tone. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were intense, a storm brewing behind the calm gray. “The braid stays.”

She tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was iron. Not painful, but resolute. “I didn’t agree to this—this.. this claiming nonsense,” she snapped, feeling a wave of embarrassment creep up her neck as she noticed more eyes turning their way.

Cregan leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “In the North, it’s more than just words. It means something. You’re my wife. And you’ll wear that braid like it.”

Her heart pounded, heat flooding her chest. “I’ll wear what I damn well please—”

“Oi, Lady Stark!”

The loud shout from across the hall made Y/N freeze, her head whipping toward the source. One of the Northern men, a burly soldier with a wild grin on his face, pointed at her braid. “That’s a fine weave, my lady!” he hollered, winking.

The hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and hollers. Several of the men banged their fists on the tables, laughing and calling out words Y/N could barely make out. Some of the women were whispering behind their hands, giggling and exchanging knowing looks.

Y/N felt her face go crimson, her fingers still trapped in her hair, halfway through her attempt to undo the braid.

“Looks like the Warden’s laid his claim!” another man shouted, and more hoots followed.

Her stomach dropped. This was a nightmare. Mother save her, this is worse than a nightmare.

She tried again to pull at the braid, but Cregan’s hand didn’t budge from her wrist. “Cregan, I swear to the gods—”

His voice was maddeningly calm, but there was a cocky edge to it that made her blood boil. “You’ll leave it. And if you somehow forget, remember—we’ve got different gods, love. And mine? They’re backing me up.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest, but when she met his eyes, something in her faltered. He wasn’t just being possessive. There was something more there—something ancient, deep-rooted. A tradition that ran through his blood, through the very stones of Winterfell. She wasn’t just in his home. She was part of his world now.

But hell if she’d admit that to him.

“Cregan,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying once more to yank her wrist free. “Everyone is staring!”

“And?” he asked, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened. “You—this isn’t funny! They’re hooting at me like I’m some prize at the fair!”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. “You are no prize, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his words to be for her ears only. “But you are mine. And in the North, we show it.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his voice, even as her frustration grew. She had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to be claimed? That she didn’t want him? But the problem was… she did. And that was the most frustrating part.

The hall’s noise only grew louder. Some of the men had started clapping, whistling at them like they were some grand spectacle. Y/N wanted to sink into the stone floors.

“Let go of my wrist, Cregan,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it still carried her annoyance.

“Only if you stop trying to undo it,” he replied, his tone softening.

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the heat of the stares, the teasing from the Northerners, was overwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands from her hair.

“There,” she grumbled. “Now let go.”

He released her wrist, and immediately she wanted to punch him just a little bit. That cocky bastard.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re lucky you’re my husband, or I’d throw you from the Wall.”

He leaned in, that smirk still present but softer now. “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

The word ‘wife’ sent another ripple of warmth through her, and she cursed silently under her breath. Why did it have this effect on her? And why did he have to look at her like that, with those damned Stark eyes, all cold and piercing but somehow still full of heat?

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment under a glare. “Don’t expect me to be all smiles and sweet words because you’ve won this little battle, Stark.”

Cregan chuckled softly, his breath warm in the cold hall. “Who said I needed sweet words? You’re a Tully. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t fighting me.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt the smallest hint of a smile tug at her lips. Damn him. He knew exactly how to pull her in, even when she wanted to stay mad.

The cheers and whistles finally started to die down, though the teasing looks from the men and women of Winterfell didn’t. She sighed, looking up at Cregan. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “For the embarrassment. You’ll owe me.”

Cregan grinned, his cold facade cracking just enough to show the warmth beneath. “Fair enough, wife. I’ll owe you.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “But that braid stays.”

She rolled her eyes. But a small smile tugged at her lips.

As they finally made their way to the high table, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the braid once more. The claiming. It was still ridiculous. Still infuriating.

But gods help her… it felt good—brutishly, maddeningly good—to be claimed like this. She was going insane, because part of her didn’t mind it half as much as she pretended to.

A treacherous part of her silently hoped that Cregan would braid her hair again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. For as long as they both lived.

#hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark #tom taylor

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okwonyo · 4 months ago

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⟡ ONLY IF YOU SAY YES ── asking them for a kiss。

엔하이픈 ୨୧ female reader one thousand fluff established relationship ⎯⠀ kissing skinship ( other )

ˊᗜˋreblogs&feebacks !CLICK

HEESEUNG ｡｡ would be sitting next to you during a social meeting, his hand resting on your thigh as he sits close to you. would listen to his friends talking attentively, humming while they talk, rubbing his thumb on your skin.

you would find him so pretty, staring at his side profile, eyes dragging on his nose. you would tap his shoulder shyly, to make sure anyone but him can see it and draw attention to you.

would lean towards you, asking you silently what is wrong, “can y’give me a kiss?” you would ask shyly and he would coo.

an ethereal smile would grow on his face after, at the same time, a red shade would appear on yours — the longer he stares, the darker it gets. would give you the sweetest kiss ever, before whispering; “here ya go, baby”

JAY ｡｡ would be in the kitchen— which would first worry you when you wake up and feel his empty side beside you. getting up in a sense of hurry as if he might have gone away from you, your first instinct would be following the delicious scent emanating from the kitchen.

you will be welcomed by jay’s broad shoulders, a tea towel over his shoulders, muscles flexing as he cuts your fruits.

would hum when you wrap your arms around his perfect waist, pressing cheek against his back, rocking him side to side, “good morning, beautiful,” he would tell you, turning his head to you slightly.

“kiss me,” you would tell him without responding back, puckering your lips and he would kiss you instantly. and again, and again, and again.

JAKE｡｡ you would listen to your boyfriend rambling about something totally random. starting from the weather to how cereals are made, you would nod along to what he says. not because you are faking it, but because, weirdly, it genuinely tickles your interest.

a giggle would even escape your lips without you even thinking about it. and he would decide to take it personally, not because he is genuinely offended, but because he wants to be dramatic and can be.

“i’ll stop talking then if you make fun of me,” he would say, crossing his arms under his chest with a pout forming on his lips. god, he is trying to make you go crazy.

you would giggle even more, “no—” you would touch his arms and he would look away, “i just, wanted to kiss you.” this, would make him go crazy. then, he would be the one giggling on your lips.

SUNGHOON ｡｡ would be the one to want to kiss your first. it is not as if he would be discreet about it either — not as if he would at least try to be.

his gaze would linger on your face for a long while, watching you doing literally nothing with an immense attention, trying to get your attention to telepathic messages.

would bite his lower lips slightly when you put a hair strand behind your ear, revealing your beautiful side profile. after making him wait for a while, you would turn your head to his, accompanied by a knowing look all over your face, “just kiss me”

would beam, coming closer, “if you insist,” and your only mistake would be thinking that he is going to pull away anytime soon.

SUNOO ｡｡ would start to get extremely shy when he feels your eyes on him for too long. heat slowly rising from the bottom of his feet to his cheeks as he tries to avoid your look.

his hand would come hiding his whole flush, “stop staring at me like that,” he would whine, resisting at you trying to get his face out it’s hiding place — your laughter would not help, “is there something on my face or what?”

“stop hiding!” you would giggle sweetly. a proud smile will spread on your lips when he would oblige. “i just really wanted to kiss you, s’all.”

a gape would show between his lips after your question. still, he would present you his cheek with an enthusiastic smile. would turn his head to you after you kiss him, just to do the same on your lips.

JUNGWON ｡｡ would not let the occasion to tease you slip through his fingers, ever. you would be able to see it coming when he smirks.

he would hum, acting as if he was thinking about it. “a kiss?” he would ask himself, looking at the ceiling before looking back at you with a look you won’t like at all. “of course.”

soft hands cupping your face, his lips would delicately rest on your forehead, “here?” he would ask after pulling away, you would shake your head. then he would do the same on your cheek, your nose, the corner of your lips; you would always refuse. “where does my baby want a kiss then?”

you would groan and this man would laugh at your misery, “just kiss me on the mouth already!” this is all he would need to hear.

RIKI ｡｡ his initial purpose would only be doing a cute attention toward you. when you would invite him to come over, he would show up with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

would fidget on his feet as you admire the bouquet in your hands. biting his inner cheek when your eyes would shoot back to him again. “w-what?” he would laugh nervously, “do you want to kiss me?”

his heart would drop to his stomach when you tell him that you actually want to kiss him really, extremely even, bad right now.

would put his hand on your waist and lean, making sure to not ruin the bouquet in your hand. your hand would rest on his neck, the kiss would be magical.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open ⎯⎯ this formating was really tiring but i love new challenges 😚

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decayedgloria · 1 year ago

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sundress szn

ft. Capitano, Dottore, Columbina, and Arlecchino

Summer’s finally come, so you decide to wear something that fit the occasion- much to your lover’s excitement.

Tags: First 4 harbingers x afab!reader (minus Pierro and Pulcinella), nsfw under cut, established relationships, Capitano may be ooc bc we have nothing on this man lmao, mdni

Word count: ~2.2K, not proofread

Capitano

Capitano was ever the hard worker. If he wasn’t in his office at Zapolyarny Palace, then he was off fighting in the name of the Tsaritsa, far away from your home in Snezhnaya. Naturally, you miss him dearly- and clearly he had observed how you seem to linger around him more often when he’s around, or how much more clingy and desperate you’ve become in bed. Arranging for a short trip to Natlan, his home nation, you had hoped to reclaim the time you lost with your husband.

The climate in Natlan was drastically different from Snezhnaya. It was warm all year round, and this time it happened to be particularly hotter than any other season. You had packed clothes accordingly, though it was hard as weather like that never shows itself in the coldest nation in Teyvat. Though there was one piece you purchased that caught your attention, and you knew for sure your husband would absolutely love it on you.

Capitano sat on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you to get ready. His hands found themselves fiddling with the hem of the loose linen shirt he donned, which appeared to be tight on his massive, defined body, though he did not mind. He was proud of his physique, even more so at the fact you seemed almost obsessed with his broad shoulders and muscled arms. Chuckling to himself, Capitano finds it hard to resist you, his little wife.

“Dear, are you ready? We have the whole day ahead of us.” Capitano called out. You shuffled around in the bathroom, putting on the final touches of your makeup and making sure everything is in place before you emerge. Immediately, his eyes were on you- more specifically, the garment that you had chosen to wear. It was a sundress, of course. It was sheer, but not so much that it didn’t cover anything. It was perfect for the hot weather, especially its length, or lack thereof. Barely reaching over your ass, in fact.

Somewhat shyly, you give a little twirl in front of your husband. “Do you think this outfit is okay? I wasn’t sure it was my size so…” He had foregone his mask for the day, which gave away to his surprised face, blushing and staring as if he was hungry.

“You look amazing, my dear.” As you turn back to face Capitano, you were suddenly greeted with your husband’s chest. Leaning down, he places his large hands on your hips, giving them a light squeeze that illicited a giggle from you. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your tantalizing scent and grinning as you pull him closer towards you.

“Irresistible, in fact. I think this is just the right size for you.” His voice was low, almost muffled as he placed light kisses on your skin. You sigh, running your fingers through his long hair, traveling lower onto his chest and then feeling the familiar shape beginning to form in your husband’s pants. You almost laughed when Capitano groaned at your touch, who unconsciously moved closer to you to relieve himself some.

“I thought we had plans for today?” Your honeyed voice only added to his increasingly needy gestures. He couldn’t help but let his hands roam across your body, touching and squeezing at your curves through the dress. Your small stature, so soft against his, in a dress that accentuated everything he loved about you…

Well, he did say that you both had the whole day, so why not spare a few more hours together?

Dottore

As his lovely lab assistant and partner, Dottore decided to bring you along with him to an expedition in Sumeru to collect some sample for his latest research endeavor. At first, you were hesitant and a bit confused as to why he didn’t just send one of his clones or subordinates to go fetch it instead, but he had insisted that the sample was of “utmost importance” and that only he would be able to verify its integrity, whatever that meant.

So that’s how you found yourself in the sweltering desert heat, sitting in a tent that barely blocked out the sun. Your sweat had drenched your clothing since the early morning, so a change of attire was in order. As you sift through your belongings, you groaned as you realized you’d only been packed clothes that the Fatui deemed “suitable” for Snezhnayan summers- that is, clothes that were still too thick to wear.

You sigh as your eyes scan the room for another solution, stopping at the shopping bag you had left on your desk. The little free time you had before entering the desert was spent shopping around Port Ormos, in which you had purchased a dress you thought was cute. You weren’t expecting to wear it so soon, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice…

Dottore worked on his paperwork, writing his report in a different tent from your shared one. Engrossed in his research, he barely noticed your presence enter the tent, nor did he notice the dress that barely clung onto your body. He hummed in response to your greeting, hearing you shuffle around and do the tasks you were assigned.

It just so happens that the moment Dottore looks up happens to be the same moment you bend over to pick up some books on the floor, much to his wide-eyed pleasure. Your behind was deliciously accentuated in the new garment you wore, barely peeking out of the dress. In a flash, Dottore’s focus was taken away from the papers in his hands and instead was aimed at you, his cute little lab assistant.

With not much noise he rose, making his way over to you in silence as you gather all the books in your hands. You hadn’t noticed your lover’s presence until you feel a firm grip on your hips, suddenly knocking you against Dottore’s familiar legs. You let out something in between a gasp and a sigh as you crane your neck to look at him, slightly embarrassed as you felt his growing erection rub your ass.

“Now, you know I’m a busy man, darling.” Dottore’s husky voice sent a shiver down your spine. “So what’s with the distraction?”

“Look, it’s how outside and this is the only thing I can wear-“ A moan escaped your throat as you felt a sharp smack land on the plush of your behind. He smirked, shushing you as he pressed you closer against him. His hands grew erratic as they clawed at your dress, almost ripping it apart while he touch any and every port of your soft skin.

“A punishment is in order, don’t you think?”

Columbina

You sighed as you walked through the Palace greenhouse, on what seemed like your tenth lap of the day. Columbina had promised to meet you there after meeting with the Tsaritsa, but it had been hours- surely, a meeting wouldn’t take that long would it?

You gaze dejectedly at the lily flowers by your side, blooming in spite of the coolness outside. The greenhouse felt like summer all year round, allowing for plants like the one you had in your hands to bloom effortlessly every year. It was quite impressive, such a large structure protecting plants from all over Teyvat from Snezhnaya’s cold.

Given that, it really wouldn’t make sense to wear your normal Fatui uniform here, so you opted for a dress that you hadn’t worn in ages, and clearly it showed: the dress was a little tighter on you than you had remembered, accounting for the muscles you had gained while training, and it certainly was too short to comfortably move in, but the humidity of the room left you little to no choice.

Your mind was somewhere else when you feel a hand snake around your waist from behind, relaxing when you catch a glimpse of magenta strands from the corner of your eye. Columbina made herself comfortable holding you so, nuzzling into your neck. Her quiet, melodic hums filled the air as you turned to look at your lover, a smile blooming on your face.

“What took you so long, love?” You gently tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear, admiring her beauty. She chuckled, pleasant and light, before burying herself into you once more.

“The meeting is still going,” she purred, her hands now barely grazing your hips and waist. You blush as you realize what she’s doing, glancing around to make sure there weren’t any idle soldiers or officers. “it was too dreadful. Sneaking out to see my lovely wife was much more important than some trivial talk of war tactics.” Oblivious to your growing panic, Columbina pulls you closer as she moves her lips against your own, smiling gently.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to turn passionate, with gentle pecks now turning into harsh smacks as your tongues worked against each other. With each kiss, your hands clawed at Columbina’s clothes, shredding off layers as her hands tug at your hair.

Haphazardly, you both managed to find a nearby bench to continue your liaison on more comfortably. As you breathe heavily through your swollen lips, Columbina places herself over you, smiling as she dips down for a kiss one more time.

Arlecchino

Ever since Arlecchino was dispatched to Fontaine by the Tsaritsa, her mind was utterly consumed by you. Not that it normally wasn’t, thoughts of you always permeated her brain one way or another, but at least in Snezhnaya she was able to have you physically there to meet her demands- wether it was an affectionate cuddle or something more intimate, your presence was always just a call away.

However, ever since landing in Fontaine, Arlecchino’s thoughts only consisted of two things: the mission at hand, and you. How she missed the way you would saunter up to her, tease her in a way nobody else would dare, and how your legs would stay quiver and shake around her cheeks every time her tongue explored inside you-

Ah, she was getting carried away again. Arlecchino groaned internally at the paperwork that was placed in front of her, glaring as if it were an enemy. Well, in her mind, anything that kept you away from her was considered an enemy to an extent…

A knock on her office door snapped her out of her thoughts. Sighing, Arlecchino commanded them to come in, placing her chin on her palm, bored as ever. Her face must have conveyed some sort of annoyance as the poor fatui agent that came in visibly shivered a little, lowering their head as they said their greetings.

“What is it?”

“There’s a letter from Senzhnaya, my lady.” She did not miss the quiver in their voice, “It’s from Lady (Y/N).” As the agent reached out to give her the envelope, Arlecchino all but snatched it from their hands, all of her attention now devoted to the piece of paper in front of her.

“Leave.” Her voice left no room for reply, with the agent thankfully getting the hint and scurrying away. Once the heavy doors of her office closed, her ruby eyes inspected the envelope intently, taking in every detail that you may have left her. Just as quickly as she snatched the letter, she opened it, revealing its contents: a neatly folded letter, and what looked like a thin sheet wrapped with something.

She wasted no time in unfolding the letter, taking a note of the way the package smelled just like you- sweet, almost sickening. Her lips curled into a grin as she read the words that danced across the page, her heart leaping at all the praise and sweet nothings you seemed to litter across the paragraphs that you had written. How much you missed her, and yearned for her; all of it made Arlecchino’s head dizzy with pride and delight.

She was too absorbed in reading and rereading your letter that she had forgotten about the other item that you had delivered. Tilting her head, she gathered the thing in her hands gently, taking off the wrapping to reveal a picture taken with a camera- a picture of you, clad in what Arlecchino could only describe as barely a dress. A sheer fabric that did little to conceal your cleavage or your thighs as you pose, somewhat scantily, in a move she was sure was made in order to highlight your curves.

Arlecchino’s fingers subconsciously gripped the photo tighter, a shot of warmth suddenly coursing through her body. She sighed heavily, pink dusting her sheeks as she felt the familiar sensation of aching in between her legs. Tentatively, she took off her gloves and slowly travelled her fingers to the zipper of her pants, breathing growing ragged as she frantically tried to relieve whatever spell you had cast on her.

What a tease.

A/N: here it is! writing this lowkey killed me :,) but i really hope yall liked it. its not full on smut (i dont trust myself to write those with the harbingers just yet for fear of mischaracterization) but its what i can manage. really, im just testing out the waters.

can you guys tell i have a favorite? lol. itll have to be split into two parts since its long enough.

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hyunsvngs · 1 year ago

Text

kinktober !

kink: tentacles

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

wc: 2.3k

tentacle kink: a sexual interest in tentacles and the imagined creatures that have them.

It had to work. You would die if it didn’t work.

Then again, you’d probably die if it did work. You’re trying to summon Slenderman, after all. No one would understand why except for you. You’ve always had an affinity for all things macabre and dangerous, and maybe you’re a little messed up. After deep diving on Reddit, you were more than dubious that the creature actually existed. You had to find out. You had to see for yourself.

Clearly not that bad, because you hadn’t gone into the woods like they’d told you to online. The October weather was ultimately too cold to be trekking through branches and fallen leaves, even to try and summon your favourite Creepypasta entity - you did the second option instead, drawing a quick symbol on your wall with marker and all of the lights turned out.

The poem felt a little silly coming from your lips, despite Reddit users insisting it’s mandatory for the summoning. It felt even sillier when you stared at the symbol, barely visible through the moonlight flooding in beyond the curtains, but you had to persevere. If he was real, he’d come to your room and meet you. If he was real.

You ended the poem, finally opening your eyes and sighing. You blinked at the wall, quickly looking around the room. What a load of bullshit. Slenderman isn’t real, then. You’d proved it for yourself, and-

“This is fucking ridiculous,” There was a thud behind you, and you spun around on your bed, hazily trying to see who had joined you in your room. You reached over with a squeak, flicking your lamp on. There, in what almost looked like the Slenderman from your dreams - a man, dressed in a suit and dark, ebony hair pushed back from his forehead. He kicked an imaginary stone with his shoe, shoving his broad hands into his pockets and finally looking up at you. He blinked at you a few times, and then raised an eyebrow. “Why are you scared? Did you not ask for this?”

You huffed. “Well, you’re not Slenderman.”

The man groaned, head rolling back. He cracked his neck effortlessly on both sides, and then stared back into your eyes. His gaze was piercing, dark and feeling all too consuming. “I am- I’m like his brother, but not in the way you humans adhere to. He sends me for cases like yours. Minor, petty things.”

“Cases like mine?” You scoffed, resisting the urge to punch the man in his annoyingly attractive face. He wandered over to your desk, wholly unaffected, and started to flick through your diary. “Hey-!”

“Cases like yours,” He repeated, a small smile flickering on his lips at one of the pages. “Sexually charged cases. You are a little fucked up, aren’t you?”

You bristled. You knew exactly what page he was looking at. Your diary was for mundane things, your day-to-day life, but it was also where you detailed your more… late night fantasies. Recently, some rather obscure things had been taking up the majority of your brain, and maybe that’s what had pushed you to summon Slenderman. You’d never admit that, though.

In all honesty, this guy was kind of hot. You weren’t sure if it was the mysterious atmosphere about him, if he was clearly otherworldly judging from his alabaster skin, or if it was his long legs in those suit trousers. If you were of a different state of mind, you’d have believed he was the entity you were trying to reach. There was just one thing.

“Aren’t you a bit short to be related to Slenderman?”

The man stopped. He sighed, and then shut the diary, before turning to you with one long, accusing finger. “First off, I’m not that short. Secondly, I told you, it’s not the same as what you humans think siblings are. Also, I don’t have to prove myself to you.”

You grinned. “You just tried though, right?”

He rolled his eyes, stalking over to the bed. “I think I’ll kill you sooner than I planned. You’re rude.”

“You’re rude too,” You huffed, trying to kick him in the leg from your position on your bed. Instead of catching it with his hands, a pitch-black tentacle sprouted from his back and wrapped around your ankle, effectively pinning it down and rendering you motionless. You gasped, and he raised an eyebrow. “What the-”

“We do have some similarities,” The man began, drawing the tentacle tighter. “We’re of the same species, for one. I suppose I’m not as prestigious as him, but you seem happy enough to have me here, right?”

You blinked. “I would actually prefer if you left, in all honesty.”

“Can’t,” He shrugged, withdrawing the tentacle. Your ankle flopped back to the bed and you grabbed it instinctively, slightly disappointed to feel no traces of the slimy limb. “I need to kill you. It’s in the rulebook, you know? Once you’ve seen one of us, you have to die, or my mission will fail.”

What were you meant to do in this situation? You didn’t really want to die. You hadn’t thought the whole thing through at all. You’d expected to just see traces of the entity, perhaps catch him from the corner of your eye - you were instead left with a sexy long-limbed man standing in front of your bed, basked in the soft orange glow of your bedside lamp.

“Why kill me when you could fuck me instead?” You’d said the first thing that came to mind. The man’s jaw dropped, before it quickly reverted back to normal, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“You are pretty weird, aren’t you? Unusual. A little fucked up, like I said.”

“That wasn’t a no,” You hummed. The man’s eyes burnt a trail down your legs, exposed in your sleep shorts, and then his eyes were fixated on a patch of skin revealed on your shoulder from where your shirt had slipped to the side. You scoffed, yanking the shirt back into place. “Oh my God, you want to, don’t you?! That’s why you haven’t left!”

He shrugged. “I’ve never fucked a human. It could be fun.”

You blanched. Okay, you hadn’t expected to get this far. After you had, though… Well, he had tentacles. That was something from your deepest, darkest desires, something that you would try to push to the back of your brain and scrunch your eyes shut tightly with your hand shoved down your pyjama trousers. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. You were already getting wet, clit throbbing with need.

He started to move towards you. First, it was one knee on the bed, and then the other joined, starting a slow crawl that resulted in his face getting closer. You hadn’t realised you were moving closer, too, and you gulped. “What’s- what’s your name?”

The man chuckled, face only inches from yours now. His face looked young, you noticed, yet his eyes held a wildfire inside as if there was so much you didn’t know. There was so much you wanted to know. “Seungmin.”

You had no time to debate it, because his lips were pressing against yours. They were soft, plush, and you found yourself whimpering into his kiss. He’d effectively shut you up. Without a second passing, Seungmin was dominating your mouth, pressing his tongue in and rolling it against yours. How did just a kiss feel so good?

You let him push you back into the sheets, forearms landing on your pillow either side of your head for purchase. He deepened the kiss, his hands moving to tangle in your hair as he held you in place. You felt your pussy flutter, achingly horny despite the lack of stimulation, and your breath caught in your chest.

Seungmin pulled away and you licked your lips, chest heaving. “I.. can I see them?”

“See what?” He mused, thumb brushing along your lower lip. One look at the amused expression on his face told you that he knew.

“The…” You gulped, legs parting to allow him closer to you. His bulge was thick, pressing tightly against your core. “The tentacles, Seungmin. Can I see them? How many are there?”

“Four, baby,” He leaned down, nipping at your neck. You gasped, hips bucking up, choosing not to comment on the pet name in your haze of lust. “I can put one in your pussy, one in your asshole and one in your mouth. How’s that? Is that dirty enough for you?”

You whimpered, grinding on his bulge. Seungmin allowed it, hands moving to your hips to aid your movement. It had your sleep shorts slipping around, fabric sticking to the wetness accumulated on your folds. You whined, arms thrashing until they settled around his broad shoulders, still clad in his expensive-looking suit. “What about your cock, Seungmin?”

“My cock?” Seungmin scoffed, running his tongue up your neck. It made you squirm, thighs clenching around his slender waist. His hair tickled your skin, dark and perfect as if he’d spent hours styling it. You knew he hadn’t. “I can fuck you without needing to cum, baby. I doubt I can say the same for you.”

“No, I’ll- I’ll probably cum as soon as you put one in, to be honest,” You admitted, cheeks burning crimson with embarrassment.

“Hmm, that makes a lot of sense,” Seungmin reached down, yanking your sleeping shorts down. It bared your pussy to the room, cold air hitting your clit and the slick on your pussy. It made you jolt, squeaking as Seungmin saw you in such an intimate way. “You’re wet. Are you feeling impatient? Needy, even?”

“Yes! Yes, God, I need it,” You huffed, spreading your thighs further. You were practically spread eagle now, and you ran your fingertips over the soft expanse of your tummy, just barely visible below your shirt. You continued the journey down your body, looking up at Seungmin with pleading eyes, and then you pressed two fingers into your clit. You flinched, wailing at the stimulation. “Ah, I’m so horny, I’m so horny, what the fuck-”

“Stay still, I’ll give it to you,” Seungmin murmured, and then you caught sight of them again. Four pitch-black tentacles sprouted from his back, seeming to forego his clothes and then one was tickling at your entrance. You moaned, because were they suckers?

It was easy to learn that yes, his tentacles had suckers, and he was now brushing one over your clit. You obediently moved your hands out of the way, back to their position on his shoulders. It sucked onto the swollen bundle of nerves with ease, and just as you started to squirm, another tentacle was pressing into your tight, drippy hole. You could feel the amount of slick you’d gushed beneath you, ruining your bed and quite possibly ruining you for any other man. The appendage itself was lubed, brushing through your own wetness and creating a filthy noise that rang throughout your bedroom.

“Don’t squirm,” Seungmin commanded, hand running up your thigh comfortingly. The tentacle pushed in further, and you clenched, wet, heavy breaths coming from your mouth. “That’s it, good girl. Let it push inside you, just like that.”

The tentacle was narrow at the tip, but it flared much further out after an inch or so. The stretch made your pussy leak even more than what was imaginable. You didn’t think you’d ever been this wet. The appendage was long, but Seungmin kept pushing more and more until you were taking around five inches of it, and you whined, reaching down to press at his stomach.

“Too big, too much,” You protested, but Seungmin shushed you, pressing a kiss into your cheek.

“Your pussy’s just too little, baby. Too tight,” He grunted, and then he pushed another inch in. “Take it. Take it for me, and I might think about giving you my cock later.”

“Your- would you?” Your eyes were teary, toes curling into the bed. “Been good. Tryin’ to take it, ‘s just- it’s so thick, so long. Seungmin, Seungmin, sir, sir, you said you- you’re not gonna kill me?”

“How can I kill such a sweet thing?” His hand moved to your cheek, before moving down, wrapping around your neck. The pressure was light, but very much there, making you moan out into your room. “You’re whining so pretty for me. Calling me sir, taking this just like it’s my cock. You’re dirty. I have to keep you around, don’t I?”

You nodded, legs thrashing on the bed. Your chest heaved, a blotchy pink rash overtaking your skin. “It’s good, it’s so good, so thick, oh- Oh, I think I might…?”

“You think you’re gonna cum?” Seungmin scoffed. “Already? Alright, do it. I’ll let you. Just this once, okay?”

You keened, hands gripping onto his shoulders. Your fingernails must have been digging into him almost painfully, but he didn’t flinch, staring straight at you with the same dark, piercing gaze. Your pussy clenched down, tight and fluttering, and then you were-

You gasped, eyes fluttering open as you attempted to look around your bedroom. The sun had just begun to rise, but your boyfriend was awake, and pulled you into his chest upon seeing your eyes open.

“Sounded like hell of a dream,” Seungmin smirked, his eyebrow raising. You bit your lip, staring up at him. “Was it about me?”

“Always is,” You mumbled, burying your face in his shirt. He chuckled, shoulders shaking as he rubbed down your back with a tender, broad hand. “It was dirty.”

“Yeah? Another reenactment of how we first met?”

You sighed, brushing your hand down one of his tentacles. It laid bare on your bed, and twitched with approval as you fidgeted with it.

“Yeah, something like that.”

#hyunsvngbinitober !#kim seungmin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfics #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fanfic #kim seungmin fic #seungmin x reader #seungmin fanfic #seungmin smut #skz scenarios #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader

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fratttymatty · 7 days ago

Text

You've Been Chosen

Nate and Elijah had been inseparable for years. From the day they'd met at the local library, both young, quiet, and awkward in their own ways, to the years that followed when they’d discovered not only a shared love for literature but an even deeper connection — one they hadn't realized they were capable of forming. Their friendship blossomed into something more: quiet kisses in the park, whispered confessions late at night. It was a bond they knew was unbreakable.

They were happy, in love, and understood each other in ways no one else did. Their world was peaceful, and they thought they could weather anything life threw at them — until one summer day when everything changed.

The change began innocuously enough. It started with a strange email, sent from an address they didn't recognize. The subject line simply read: "You’ve been chosen." It was vague, with cryptic language and strange, almost otherworldly promises of a new life — a better one, it said, filled with strength, confidence, and success. Curious, Elijah opened it up.

But there was something… off about it. The email didn’t feel like a scam, not like the usual spam messages they received. It felt personal.

He glanced at Nate, a playful smirk crossing his lips. "Hey, Nate. I think we won the lottery. Want to see what they’re offering us?"

Nate didn’t respond at first, but when Elijah read it aloud, he raised an eyebrow. "That’s… weird. I don’t know. What if it’s some sort of cult or, like, a scam?"

"Nah, man," Elijah laughed. "It’s probably just some marketing gimmick. Let’s see what happens."

Neither of them realized how wrong they were until they found themselves standing together, one week later, in a sleek, modern room at the address provided in the email.

It was a small, almost sterile room with dark metal walls and a single chair in the center. They had entered together, but as soon as the door shut behind them, it locked with a loud click, and the lights began to flicker. Panic surged in both their chests.

Before they could process what was happening, a smooth voice, deep and calm, echoed from the walls.

"You two have been selected for a transformation. Prepare yourselves. The process begins now."

The words were final, and though they both tried to resist, to run, their bodies refused to move as something… shifted.

Nate felt a strange sensation spread through his body. At first, it was subtle—his hands began to tingle, then his arms, his chest, his legs. A rush of heat followed, making him feel like he was burning from the inside out. He looked at Elijah, but the sight of his boyfriend seemed distant, blurry, as though they were being separated by an impenetrable glass wall.

Elijah's breath hitched, his heart racing. He reached for Nate but felt his body contorting against his will. His muscles grew tight, harder, firmer. His once-thin frame began to bulk up with unnatural speed. His face started to change too: his jawline squared, his nose became more pronounced, his lips thinner. His eyes, once full of quiet warmth, now had a piercing, competitive gleam.

Nate could feel his body doing the same. His slender build was replaced by thick, muscular arms and broad shoulders. His skin darkened slightly, and his eyes shifted from a soft brown to a sharper blue, the deep love and empathy in them turning into something more detached, more predatory. His facial features became more angular, harder, like a statue chiselled to perfection.

As the transformation progressed, a strange sensation tugged at the roots of Nate’s hair. He reached up instinctively to touch it, his fingers trembling as a sharp, tingling pressure ran through his scalp. It was as if something deep inside his hair follicles was being pulled and restructured.

At first, his hair darkened, shifting from its natural brown to a deep, rich shade of dark brown, almost black under the bright, artificial lights of the room. The soft waves that had once framed his face, so familiar and comforting, were now growing thick and dense, the texture becoming more coarse. His scalp tingled as the strands grew shorter—cutting down to a cropped, tousled style that gave off a carefree, athletic edge. The waves that had once been loose and soft were now effortlessly styled, falling into place as though the perfect amount of tousled mess was intentionally crafted.

The hair wasn’t just shorter—it was sharper. His bangs, which had once softly brushed against his forehead, now lifted in an effortlessly messy yet purposeful way, as if styled by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. The way it framed his face accentuated the new, strong lines of his jaw, his angular cheekbones, and his newly defined, masculine features.

Nate—no, Jason—ran a hand through it, feeling the textured strands shift beneath his fingers, and he couldn't help but admire the way it looked. His hair now had volume, thick and strong, and he could tell that it would always look perfect—effortlessly sexy and rugged, the kind of hair that turned heads without even trying.

Beside him, Elijah’s transformation was no less intense. Elijah had always worn his hair curly, an unruly mass of dark tendrils that framed his face in a way that spoke of gentle chaos. But now, as the change took over him, his curls unraveled, twisting and straightening until they, too, darkened to a similar shade of deep brown. The once-wild curls became more controlled, shorter, but the same tousled, perfectly disheveled look that Jason’s hair now sported fell into place on Elijah’s head.

His hair was thick, but now it had that same rugged charm—messy, but in a way that suggested it had been styled by the hands of someone who knew how to pull off that effortless, “I woke up like this” look. The hair still had volume, but it was shorter and more structured, the kind of style that fit perfectly with his broad new shoulders and athletic frame. His hair seemed to have been designed to match his new, muscular persona: bold, attractive, and undeniably masculine.

As Jason and Tyler—formerly Nate and Elijah—stood together, they both reached up to feel their hair, marveling at the way it framed their faces now. It was so different from before—so right. The tousled texture suited them in ways they hadn’t even known they needed.

Jason ran his fingers through his dark, tousled locks, feeling the confidence surge within him again, that new, sharp, athletic swagger filling him as the weight of the transformation settled deeper within. He met Tyler’s gaze, his eyes full of an intense, competitive fire.

“Dude,” Jason said, grinning, “we look good.”

Tyler smiled back, his own tousled dark hair falling effortlessly into place as he shook his head. “We look unstoppable,” he said.

And with that, the two of them—no longer Nate and Elijah—stepped out into their new lives, their hair styled to perfection, their bodies transformed into something strong, athletic, and undeniably right for their new roles. The world felt like it was theirs for the taking.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. Their minds began to change too. Memories of books and poetry — the things that had once meant so much to them — began to fade away, replaced by thoughts of weights, gym routines, and the thrill of competition. They felt a strange sense of pride surge within them as their new identities took root.

For the first time in their lives, both Elijah and Nate felt strong, undeniably powerful. But it was an overwhelming, alien feeling. It felt right in ways they couldn’t explain, and the weight of it nearly crushed them as their old selves—soft, introspective, sensitive—began to feel like a distant dream.

The voice spoke again, like a final verdict.

"You are no longer who you were. You are now Jason and Tyler — young, athletic, confident men. Your previous lives no longer matter. You are made for greatness. You will no longer seek love in the way you once did. The bonds you had are severed."

Jason—Nate, now no longer holding onto his past—felt a surge of pride. He looked at Tyler—Elijah—and for the first time in what felt like forever, the attraction was... different. His mind registered his boyfriend, but there was something else. Something about the new version of Tyler made him feel... competitive. Desirable in a different way. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile it. He just knew it felt right. The confusion was buried beneath layers of muscle, of physicality, of instinct.

Tyler—Elijah—didn’t resist either. He looked at Jason, his new, broad chest puffing out as a rush of dopamine flooded his mind. He smiled, feeling the weight of his new body and the confidence that came with it. This new life, as a jock, a bro, was exhilarating.

The door opened, and they were led out, no longer the quiet, tender souls they had been, but two young men with a new sense of purpose. Their old relationship—soft, tender, intellectual—was gone. Their bond now, their connection, was forged in shared strength, in the thrill of physical dominance, in the unspoken power that surged through their veins.

Jason, with his broad, muscular shoulders and chiseled abs, nudged Tyler with a grin. “Yo, let’s hit the gym. We’ve got work to do.”

Tyler, now as tall and athletic as Jason, returned the smile. “Hell yeah. Let’s do this.”

They were no longer Nate and Elijah. They were Jason and Tyler, and they didn’t want to go back. In this new life, they were strong. They were perfect. And for the first time, they felt like they had found where they truly belonged.

As they walked into the bright sunlight, muscles flexing beneath their tight gym shirts, they couldn’t help but laugh. It felt so good. So right.

The past was forgotten.

And their future—together—was unstoppable.

As Jason and Tyler left the strange, metallic room, the world outside seemed brighter, louder, and somehow better. Their bodies felt different—stronger, more confident. And something deep within their minds had shifted too. The connection they once shared, tender and intimate, now felt distant. The quiet bond of their past lives seemed like a distant memory. They weren’t the same people anymore.

It was hard to explain, but as the minutes passed, it became clearer: they weren’t just different in appearance. They were changed, in the deepest parts of them. The world around them—once a place full of quiet contemplation and hidden desires—was now something else. Something simple. Something new. They felt a surge of straight masculinity rushing through them, their minds rewiring to focus on new things: sports, strength, competition. And, of course, women.

Jason turned to Tyler, his voice suddenly rough and confident. "Dude, we gotta hit the gym. Get those gains. We can totally crush it at the football tryouts next week."

Tyler, standing tall beside him with that signature, broad-chested swagger, grinned. "Totes, man. I’m ready to dominate. The ladies are gonna be all over us."

For the first time, Jason felt the thrill of wanting women in the way Tyler spoke of. He wasn’t looking at Tyler the same way anymore. He was looking at him as a bro, someone to team up with. That old, deep feeling of love for each other had been buried beneath this new, primal sense of camaraderie.

And sure enough, not long after, their transformation was complete in every way. The world they walked into was different, and it embraced them. They both began to notice the women around them, their new bodies and newfound swagger immediately attracting attention. In their minds, they were no longer Nate and Elijah. They were Jason and Tyler, and they were ready to conquer everything—starting with the opposite sex.

It didn't take long before they met the two girls who would change their lives: Hailey and Kelsey.

They were everything Jason and Tyler had never noticed before. Blonde, bubbly, and a little bit ditzy, they wore skintight leggings and crop tops that barely covered their chests, their eyes bright with naive excitement. Hailey, with her long, bleached blonde hair and impossibly tan skin, smiled at Jason and Tyler like they were her ticket to something new and exciting.

"Oh my God, you guys are, like, so cute," Hailey said, flipping her hair dramatically as she approached them, her voice thick with that slightly high-pitched, breathy tone that spoke of a lack of concern for anything outside her immediate world. She blinked a few times, taking in their chiseled, athletic builds, and giggled. "Totes, like, you guys look like such jocks. Are you into, like, football or something? My ex totally played football."

Jason, now fully embracing his new identity, grinned at her, his mind instantly shifting into alpha male mode. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and gave her a once-over, appreciating the way her curves filled out the tight, pink tank top she wore. "Yeah, babe. Football’s our thing. We're on the varsity team," he said with a cocky smirk, leaning back slightly to show off his chest.

Kelsey, standing next to Hailey, took one look at Tyler and squealed, practically bouncing up and down. "Oh my God, you’re like, so hot!" she gushed, her wide blue eyes scanning him with clear admiration. "I just love a guy with abs, y'know?" She laughed, looking a little too excited for Jason’s taste but in a way that was undeniably flattering. "Like, you're, like, totally the type of guy I could, like, see myself with! Do you, like, work out a lot or whatever?"

Tyler couldn’t help but smirk, flexing his arm slightly, his muscles popping in his tight gym shirt. He hadn’t worked out this much in his life, but he could see that it was paying off. "Oh, you know," he said with an air of casual arrogance, his deep voice now a clear reflection of his transformation. "I’m at the gym, like, every day. Gotta keep the body tight for the ladies."

Hailey giggled at that, nodding enthusiastically. "Omg, yes, totes! I love when guys are, like, super fit and stuff. It’s, like, so hot." She tilted her head and pouted, giving Jason a flirty smile. "Do you, like, want to go out sometime? You know, like, maybe grab a smoothie or whatever?"

Jason felt the surge of masculinity flow through him, the confidence making him feel unstoppable. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah, sounds good," he said casually, already picturing the kind of date they would have—a simple, straight-forward affair with Hailey, where his new identity would be put to the test.

As the four of them stood there, chatting about workouts and the latest school gossip, the feeling of the old Nate and Elijah—their quiet, intellectual selves—seemed more and more like a distant, meaningless memory. They couldn’t even remember the last time they'd shared a moment of vulnerability or tenderness. In fact, the more they spoke to Hailey and Kelsey, the more they realized how little they missed that past life.

Their conversations now revolved around flexing muscles, sharing workout tips, and planning group outings. Hailey would giggle and run her fingers through her hair, occasionally tossing out phrases like, "Oh my God, like, totes!" while Kelsey would swoon over Tyler's abs, telling him how she "just loved a guy who could throw a football."

Jason, now fully in sync with his new identity, couldn’t help but laugh at how different everything felt. It wasn’t that he missed who he was before—it was that he didn’t even want to be Nate anymore. He wasn’t looking for poetry or deep conversation anymore. He was looking for the next adrenaline rush, the next win on the field, the next perfect girl to date.

And with Hailey, and with Kelsey, the world felt right. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders confidently, pulling her closer, feeling the perfect balance of masculinity and attraction.

Tyler did the same with Kelsey, his grin wide, his posture a perfect reflection of a new life.

"We’re gonna crush it this season, bro," Jason said to Tyler, his voice now heavy with the satisfaction of their transformation.

"Yeah, man," Tyler agreed, his voice thick with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he wanted. "With these girls by our side, nothing can stop us."

In this new life, as Jason and Tyler walked away with Hailey and Kelsey, the past seemed like nothing more than a fading dream. The transformation was complete. There was no room for doubts, no room for second thoughts. They were jocks now, strong, straight, and fully entrenched in the world they had been designed for.

And as they left behind the old versions of themselves, they couldn’t help but think, with a satisfied smile: This is it. This is who we’re meant to be.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #gay to straight #smart to dumb #gym bro tf

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morning-star-joy · 1 year ago

Text

easy, plaid-shirt mornings

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe but can be read standalone

Summary: When Joel sees you half-dressed in only his flannel first thing in the morning, you both decide to be a little late to patrol.

Warnings: Established relationship. Explicit smut, unprotected p in v, riding, flannel stays on, possessiveness (consensual), dirty talk, praise. Softness before and after smut. Mention of Reader having a tattoo on her torso. Moodboard pics for aesthetic purposes only.

Wordcount: 3.2k

A/N: Getting back into the groove of writing after my break, and what better way than with some ASHWAH smut hehe! Also, no more taglists for me, so please follow @morningstarjoy-updates and turn on notifications for fic updates!

masterlist || kofi

Once, mornings were the hardest part of your life.

Getting up to face another day, knowing all that you once had to look forward to, all that was now lost, made staying in bed more preferable. For the longest time, you had no desire to face the day, and when you eventually did, it was for the sake of those people you had left to protect.

Now, the reason why you wanted to stay in bed was what made mornings your favorite thing in the world.

Because the first thing you were aware of, before even coming fully to consciousness, was the feeling of a large, warm grip wrapped around your hand, fingers threaded through yours like they were made to be interwoven, a missing piece to complete you after all those painful years.

Your palm pressed to a soft tummy from underneath the weight of the hand you would never let go of now, face buried into the back of soft curls that smelled of that comforting scent of earth and him, the presence even more grounding than any real force of nature.

You’d breathe him in each morning, open your eyes to see a few more strands of gray the longer his hair got, a length you insisted on keeping even whenever he’d ruffle the ends and huff a complaint about it getting too damn long.

The memories of your persuasion, kisses along his face and lower, lower, bringing him to the height of pleasure in ways only you knew how, ways he wanted only you to know how, made you smile as you buried your face against the back of his bare shoulder.

Another deep inhale, and you pressed a slow kiss to his skin, humming softly just from the feeling of him so relaxed and peaceful in your arms before placing a few more kisses there, then peppering them up to the nape of his neck.

Arch your neck back and lean up to kiss at the base of his hairline, nose buried into his curls to breathe him in before your lips moved lower, following the marks on his skin like a constellation to your intended destination, brushing that spot just a few inches to the left of a darling freckle, right above a short faded scar and—

An answering grunt told you that you’d been successful in your task, and you huffed out a husky laugh against his skin, pressing another kiss to that sensitive spot of his that you’d found after months of making up for a stupid no kissing rule by spreading your lips over every inch of skin on each other that you could find.

“Come on,” you murmured, kissing back down to his shoulder when he grunted again—shorter, deeper, a sound that told you he was resisting your wake up call.

You graze your teeth against the flesh there for a soft bite, and he grunted louder, body jerking with the bite. Finally his head turned, the weathered face you’d grown to love so deeply adorably pinched up, those dark brown eyes finally meeting yours. They were half-open and full of sleep that you hated pulling him out of when it came to him so peacefully, but you knew you had to.

“Patrol,” you explained shortly, and Joel sighed, dropping his head back against the pillow, body automatically turning to follow the movement of yours when you began to roll out of bed.

One broad arm reached for you, grasping lazily and unsuccessfully as you escaped his reach, and you laughed again with a roll of your eyes.

“We’ve already been late two times this month,” you reminded him as you stood and rounded the bed, glancing across the floor for where your clothes had gone last night.

Yet another grunt, a language you had quickly learned was Joel’s favorite way of communicating in the morning—and really all the time to most people, save for you and his people—and you glanced from the corner of your eye to see him reaching for your pillow to hold in place of you.

His face buried into the fabric as he pulled it to himself, and you could hear him breathe in your scent from it deeply, a subconscious need to be as close to you as he could first thing in the morning, the same way you had come to rely on him seconds within waking. Your chest ached with a well-known longing to be with him that would never fade, not that you would want it to now.

Fuck patrol then, you thought, distractedly grabbing his discarded flannel from the day before and pulling it on quickly as you hurried to the bathroom. You carelessly did up a few buttons in the middle, mismatching the correct placement in your haste to take care of your business before returning to Joel, so you could shower him in the affection that he deserved.

When you did come back, he was still in that same position, sprawled across the bed on his stomach with his face buried into your pillow. You were taken by the endearing sight of this hardened man’s vulnerability, on full display to you without a second thought now. It was only when your laughter filled the air again that his body jerked, reacting automatically to the sound of your happiness, once rare and now common because of him, and he rolled back over.

Joel’s eyes were still hazy with waking, but you witnessed the exact moment he realized what he was seeing. His vision slowly focused on you, sleep clearing from his eyes as he sat up slightly, his body lifting subconsciously towards you with the growing intensity of his dark stare.

You knew that look well, before you even knew him well, and a smirk grew over your face as you teased slowly, “What?”

But Joel’s gaze was no longer focused on your face, but soaking in the sight of your body hardly obscured in his flannel with the way you had hastily pulled it on.

You could feel his eyes on your chest as much as you saw them. The heat of his gaze was as arousing as the cold air you were suddenly keenly aware of, caressing your nipples with how your tits were peeking out of the thick flannel over the few buttons you had done up incorrectly.

Joel exhaled heavily at the way your nipples perked up under his gaze, his tongue that had brought you to more orgasms than you could count darting out to lick his lips, one hand slipping away from your pillow down to the sheets hanging across his stomach.

He pushed them away slowly, the soft blue fabric rolling down to reveal the familiar, mouthwatering sight of his already half-hard cock, and you shivered when his low voice finally rumbled out of his chest, his deep drawl a throaty rasp first thing in the morning, “C’mere, darlin’. Take your seat.”

Your eyebrow arched as you sauntered over to him, taking your time in your approach, feeling your thighs starting to grow slick with desire at how heavy his eyelids were. Joel’s cock twitched just from the sight of you getting closer, lust growing just from the innate, intimate knowledge you shared now of how satisfied you both were about to be once you got your hands on each other.

“Which one?” you murmured, finally reaching the bedside and leaning down over him.

You let your tits spill out between the open flannel and hang over his face. A gush of wetness pooled between your legs as the throbbing started when his mouth parted, yearning to take one in mouth before you pulled them away, hovering your face over his instead.

Your thumb found Joel’s plump lower lip, stroking along it before slipping it in the wet heat of his parted mouth, and he closed his lips around it instantly, tongue dragging along your skin with a hard suck and a quiet groan that you echoed.

Pulling your digit out with a wet pop, you watched the string of his saliva connect it to his mouth until it broke when he mumbled a dark, “Funny.”

Joel nipped at the tip of your thumb with the comment, his familiar smug half-smirk that could bring you to your knees growing onto his face when you sighed heavily at the seductive sight.

You rested your knee on the bed, swinging your other leg over him to straddle him, smirking right back at him when he grunted, his hips bucking from the feeling of your damp thighs squeezing him when you seated yourself on him, the wet heat of your pussy resting on his lower stomach.

Slowly grinding down against his torso, you sighed at the feeling of your growing slick spreading across his skin, fingers finding the broad expanse of his shoulders to dig your nails in when his hips bucked again, his own arousal growing just from knowing yours was.

“I would say why not sit on both, but…” you trailed off, glancing back over your shoulder to see his cock hard now, bobbing eagerly in the air with each of his desperate thrusts through it, tip darkening an angry red with drops of precum beading on it the more you teased him. “Can you wait that long, old man?”

Joel’s hands found your hips then, dull fingernails digging into the soft skin as he held you tight and answered through gritted teeth, “You know if you sit that pretty little pussy on my mouth, I can keep ya coming for hours, sweetheart.”

You shivered, biting your lip hard as you grind against his stomach faster, gliding along his skin with more ease the wetter he made you, pleasure coiling hot and tight in the pit of your lower stomach with the friction of your clit against his scarred skin, whispering, “Oh, I know. But we have to make this fast. Don’t we, cowboy?”

Joel’s brows furrowed before smoothing out, remembering the patrol you were now certainly going to be running at least a little late for, and he nodded, tugging your body down with no protest from you.

He lifted you with a ripple of those strong corded muscles in his arms that you loved so much before the leaking head of his cock notched against your entrance, two breaths held before sighing in sync at the sweet relief of being joined again when he slipped right inside that home he’d always been searching for—found in your body first, and now, you.

You both were right where you belonged when he eased you down onto his cock, slowly so you could adjust to the familiar stretch of his thickness until you were seated on his hips when he bottomed out inside you, just like he should be.

It was something he loved telling you in these intimate moments—your place in his life, his place in you—something you loved hearing even though you both knew it in your bones when you tangled together, his voice rumbling out from his chest where your palms were placed for purchase, “Christ, darlin’, you take me so well. Look at that.”

You did look, glancing down at where your hips met his to see how he was seated fully inside you, before Joel slowly lifted you up, revealing his cock now glistening with your slick inch by inch. You bit your lip with a moan at the sight of how your walls enveloped him, your wet heat sucking him back in when he brought you right back down.

“Perfect fucking fit,” Joel groaned as he lifted you up again, then back down, both of you watching how wet his cock became with each careful stroke, before he started to roll your body in a gentle bounce on his cock, and you marveled at how you truly were.

Over a year of fucking Joel Miller as a habit had molded you to his design, and him to yours. A habit had quickly turned into an addiction, and from there shifting slowly into something loving, intimacy sowing its seeds in how you fucked until it was love growing each time your bodies were intertwined like this.

You steadied yourself on his chest, bracing your weight on your knees on each side of where his broad form narrowed down to that delicious waist before lifting yourself up and slamming back down, harder than his direction, delighting in the breath that punched from his lungs at your assistance to his control.

“Fast,” you panted out as you bounced yourself on his cock again, and again, setting a quick and desperate pace as you rode him, and Joel watched you with that wide-eyed brown gaze just for you, lust sprinkled with adoration while your body began to shake from your exertion. “Remember?”

Joel grunted in response, giving a short nod as his eyes drifted from your face down to where his flannel still did a poor job of covering your body from his hungry gaze. Your fingers found the buttons, undoing them in preparation of tugging the shirt off, when he grabbed your hands to stop you once you had gotten it completely unbuttoned.

“Don’t,” he groaned, his hips snapping up into you once to punctuate the one-word command, then again at your answering gasp to the deep, toe-curling angle he hit. “Don’t take it off.”

Your mouth fell open with a moan, recognizing the possessive glint in his eye as the length of his calloused fingers found the open edges of his shirt on your body, rubbing the coarse fabric over your nipples with a moan when your back arched at the friction.

“You—” you swallowed thickly, throat dry with the heavy exertion of how fast you both were moving now, mind spinning and blurring with the intoxicating fullness of his cock punching into you again and again while you tried to find something clever to tease him with. “You like this, don’t you? Like me—oh, fuck. Wearing your—fuck!”

He was hitting that spot deep inside of you with every stroke now, seating you back down on his hips and bucking up into you with short, expertly angled thrusts, knowing your body better than his own.

At your rambling, Joel just fucking smirked, those full pink lips stretching wide across his handsome face at your sudden lack of cohesive thoughts, your sharp mind narrowing down to a blur of only him, him, him when he was fucking you like this.

“God—fuck, look at you,” Joel moaned out, as lost for words as you at first as a rough hand pressed against the tattoo on your torso with a gentle touch he reserved only for you, sliding up your body to cup one breast completely in his large palm.

It was like his mind clicked back together when he felt the weight of your softness in his hand, and he palmed your breast in his warm grasp, flicking one thumb across your nipple while the other found your clit to rub quick, tight circles there.

“Always so smart-mouthed, ‘cept with me," he grunted, the filthy words that streamed from his parted lips so rough in comparison to the careful ministrations of his hands, and you whined, rutting into where he played with your clit as he brought you closer to bliss. “Can’t think of anythin’ to say when you’re this full, can you?”

You wanted to scoff, wanted to mutter a familiar fuck you, your body reacting subconsciously in recalling the old days of your relationship, and how you fucked without emotion except anger or annoyance then, even with the love for each other that completely encompassed you both now.

But only a keening whimper of fuck drifted from your lips as your head fell back, rolling your hips right into the deft flicking of his callused thumb as he stoked your coiling pleasure higher and higher until there was finally sweet release, and you were clenching and gushing around his cock, dripping down it, soaking his strong thighs in an all-consuming orgasm.

A low, deep-bodied whimper answered yours, and you fully expected Joel to pump his cum into you, filling you up even further until you were completely stuffed of him, but he surprised you when he pulled out like he always used to before settling into your relationship.

His hand left your clit to pump his cock as he angled it up, ropes of cum shooting towards where he kept massaging your breast. Joel moaned his way through his own orgasm, watching as his release coated your tits and dripped down the valley between them, painting you with evidence of his primal satisfaction that only you could deliver.

Panting filled his room that you now shared, and you smiled into the heady sex-filled atmosphere before leaning down, cupping his face for a long, languid kiss and a giddy mumble of, “Good morning.”

“Mm,” Joel hummed, lips meeting yours in slow kisses, nose stroking along your cheek when you pulled back to bury your face in his neck. “‘Mornin, love.”

You laughed, forcing yourself to find the strength in your arms to push back up into a sitting position, about to pull the flannel off to clean yourself up before patrol when he stopped you again.

“Joel,” you huffed, eyes widening when he began to button the shirt back up on you, covering where his cum was starting to dry down your torso. “We need a shower.”

A husky hmph was all that answered you at first, his dark eyes holding a glint of mischief, no hint of severity present in the afterglow of his orgasm while he continued to dress you completely in his shirt. “Nah, we’re already late.”

“Sir,” you punched the word out with plain sarcasm, drawing his eyes up to your face after he did the last button up. Your brow arched at the smirk that you leaned down to kiss right off his face, even as his smile only grew against the familiar touch of your lips. “I smell like sex.”

“You smell like me,” he mumbled back, the last word growled with that possessive nature you loved, the rumble of his voice deep and far too pleased at the thought, and you smacked him in the chest.

The playful hit only pulled a chuckle from him, and you melted into him, threading both hands through his longer, graying hair as you said bluntly, “Yeah, because you came all over me.”

His smirk only widened, hands finding your ass under the hem of the flannel to squeeze your soft flesh in silent satisfaction at the thought of you both heading into patrol, smelling of each other and the sex that made you late, with the evidence of him still painted on your skin under his goddamn flannel, and you sighed with a shake of your head.

“Dirty old man,” you grumbled with a kiss.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel x reader smut #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot

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thetxtdevil · 1 month ago

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Autumn Sheep

Huening Kai x Hybrid!Reader

summary: Kai's sheep girl friend goes into an unexpected heat. thats it, nothing more to it

content: smut, hybrid au, smut, human bf pervy dom.kai, sheep fem.sub.reader, heat, breeding kink ofcofc, oral (f.rec), multiple orgasms, slight degrading if you squint, begging, slight size kink, marking

word count: 1.3k

author's note: this took way too long to write... and i had no idea where to go with this so the ending kinda sucks :/

Kai is your shepherd and you are his sheep. His cute little sheep hybrid that follows him everywhere. Kai loves your short curled horns, though they were unique, they felt heavy on you head so you tend to nod your head a lot especially when you're sleepy. Kai liked to pet the horns feeling the rigid texture only to have you bashfully headbutt him. His fingers find their way in your soft curly hair too. Tangling his digits in the loops making you turn a bright crimson.

When the clock strikes 00:00 on the first day of Autumn, Kai is waiting patiently. Autumn is the season of pumpkin flavor drinks, cooler weather, and sheep going into heat. Although Kai has never had a hybrid girlfriend or any connection to hybrids, he knew that females get heats and how desperate they turn. Kai blushes at his pervertedness, he loves his little sheep, he doesn't want her in pain, but god does he want to do nothing but fuck you all day everyday. Kai was starting to lose hope on your downfall, especially when he found out you take heat suppressants. Until one day your dumb sheep brain forgets to take them.

A warm shade of yellow cascades the bedroom, the window displayed trees and their many hues of changing colors. Your sleepy eyes squint at the light then looking over at your tall boyfriend laying on his side. Kai always looks handsome but right now your stomach ached for something, your body is yearning for him. His soft long hair so tempting to touch, his broad shoulders bulking out for a squeeze, his back facing you made you want to litter a bunch of kisses. You position yourself on top of him rubbing your head on his shoulder. Kai wakes up feeling your horns scrape with every nudge. His eyes widen once he feels you starting to grind your drenched crotch on his hip.

"hmmm so warm, feels nice," you say humping your boyfriend. Maybe you're just horny Kai thinks to himself until the next words that come out of your mouth makes him think otherwise. "Stuff me warm with your babies."

Kai quickly turns you on your back hitting the soft cushions of the bed. You whimper and squirm under him. Your hands wander everywhere on his body from brushing his hair to feeling his toned pecs down to his bulge. "y/n, did you forget to take your heat supplements?" Your eyes flutter trying to remember if your did or not. Your orbs widen tearing up looking back into Kai's eyes. Biting your lip from shame of forgetting to take them, but your heat was rushing through your core, your guilt flushes away staring at Kai above you.

Kai was awestruck by the way your emotions change drastically. He felt himself getting harder at the sight of your whining, body adorned by sheer sweat, as your hips buck up against his. "Let me take care of you then."

With many pleasepleaseplease flowing out of your mouth. Kai kisses you in between each article of clothing being taken off of your damp body. Kai was about to loose his mind when he got a look of your completely drench panties taking them off to reveal your very swollen pussy. Placing your panties on his nightstand for safe keeping, he couldn't resist but to lower his head in between your thighs. His warm tongue parts your folds lapping up your sweet slick.

"Oh shit- fuck," your thrown back into the pillow, horns close to tearing the fabric. Eyes squeezed shut trying hard not to combust after a few seconds of Kai's tongue flicking your clit. "S-so good," your praise does something to Kai all he wanted was to have your hormone drowned mind be happy for him. His groan of satisfaction vibrates your core making you cum on his tongue. "Kai I'm sorry that was so fas- ah." Kai has no need for your apologies and continues to fuck his muscle in your hole.

You grind on his face, your mind fighting between the addictive sensation but also not wanting to suffocate your boyfriend. It didn't matter because Kai's big hands where pushing your body closer to his face letting every curve of his face rub against your drench cunt. Soon another orgasm rushes through you. You watch as the man's face rises from between your legs, glistening like a diamond. "I'm glad my little dumb sheep forgot to take her suppressants" you whine feeling his clothed aching bulge rub against your needy cunt, "you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

The thought of him wanting this slips your mind, if he's been waiting why's he taking so damn long to do something, "Kai please." The man has to use every ounce of control not to fold when he hears your beg paired with the biggest teary eyes. Kai looks down seeing your small hands hooking around his waistband pulling his brief down. Kai throws his head back when you expertly jerk his hard cock. "S-shit, why would you take those suppressants?" Kai hovers over you kissing you deeply, "you look amazing like this, so desperate, wanting me to breed you."

"I-i didn't know," now you were the awestricken one, knowing Huening Kai was into the idea of a family but you didn't think he'd be into this.

"Well now you know, sheep." Kai pushes his tip into you, the stretch makes your mouth say all kinds of stuff. Your nails scraping into the soft skin of the man's back, fingertips feeling his muscles tense. You're drowning in pleasure, the sweet sensation of friction, tickling kisses on your neck making you want more. You listen to the many profanities from Kai that you have never heard the sweet angle say before.

Faster, oh yes right there, bite me. You command Kai to do while he pounds into you. Impressed by his stamina, your feral sheep mind was content on how well his tip brushes your cervix. "Kai m' gonna cum, please cum inside." you hiccup struggling to get the words out.

A gasp escapes your lips when Kai suddenly stretches of your legs over his shoulders allowing him to screw you in deeper. You reach for the man's face brushing his hair out of the way. He leans into your touch looking down at your fucked out face full of tears. "Pleassse need to have your babies." That was the last thing Kai needed to hear before he stuffs you with his seed. You cum on his cock feeling yourself full and you let out a soft giggle of satisfaction.

Kai tries to pull out only for you to puncture your nails into his back keeping him still. He realizes there's no escaping the heated sheep. Cock still stuffed, Kai repositions your legs and himself laying back on the warm bed. He smiles at your drowsy state, lifting his hand to your face, thumb grazing your horns, fingers brushing your hair. "Wan- lambs." A blush creeps on Kai's face hearing your incoherent thoughts. It wasn't too long until your heat built up again causing you to roll your hips. You moan in delight feeling your boyfriend's dick twitch and becoming hard again. Kai moves closer to you stuffing his face into your neck. Leaving more of his marks on you while you fuck yourself on him.

~~~

After a week long heat, you're finally back into your natural state. However, now you're covered in love bruises and your legs wobbled every time you walked. Both of you barely clothed in the comfort of your home, you watch Kai make breakfast.

A soft smile displayed on your face watching your sweet boyfriend. His bare back faces towards you and you couldn't help but feel prideful of the marks you made on his broad frame. The comfortable silence was broken by your intrusive thought.

"No but seriously," Kai looks over his shoulder to you, shivering by the raspiness of your voice, "wouldn't I look so good carrying our lambs in my belly?"

"Whatever you want, my little sheep," Kai huffs acting not phased but in reality his stomach had butterflies. You get closer to your boyfriend hugging him from behind. He once again looks at you seeing your sheeply grin before you headbutt him.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 1 year ago

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Sick Days with Joel Miller

(Joel Miller x female! reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x female! reader (no outbreak) Word count: 4.5K of pure fluff and light smut Rating: 18+ MDNI, explicit descriptions of smut, swearing, age gap (reader is early 20s and Joel is late 40s) Summary: You're used to doing everything yourself, a facet of being single for so long, but when you start dating Joel Miller that all changes. Especially when you get sick during the first six months of your relationship, and Joel tries to take care of you. Main masterlist

A/N: This was so much fun to write y'all. I'm currently sitting in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, wicked headache, and hopped up on cold meds, wishing I had Joel Miller to take care of me 🥹. Also please excuse the fast and loose car mechanic jargon I used, I couldn't resist. The fast and furious series is also my guilty pleasure sick day movie choice, that and the OG star wars trilogy 🌚 An enormous thank you to my lifeline @iamasaddie for reading and giving me feedback and the most encouragement.

This is pure fluff with a bit of spice thrown in, I hope you enjoy! Please comment and reblog if you like it, and I might do more oneshots like this! - 🌹N

It’s the first time you’ve been sick since you and Joel started dating, and it’s different. Different from what you’re used to.

To preface, you rarely ever get sick. Rarely. And you pride yourself on that. You’re not entirely sure whether it's due to your ironclad immune system, or the fact that you’re a germaphobe who’s constantly washing their hands, but either way you manage to miraculously miss the seasonal bouts of illness that filter around when the weather gets colder.

So you’re not entirely sure how you manage to succumb to the throes of this particular cold, but the sore throat and stuffy nose that you woke up with were unmistakable. Other than crying, which wouldn’t help the pounding headache that you had also been blessed with, all you could do was groan and silently curse, rolling back over in bed and snuggling under the covers. You mindlessly stretch your arm out over the sheets, reaching over onto the other empty side of the bed. The cold, unmussed sheets, not filled with the broad, warm body that usually occupies the space make you groan internally once more.

You’re not a crybaby. Not one for milking the sick patient act, and after being single for so long you mostly run on autopilot. Your independence and resilience outweigh your desire to have anyone take care of you or do anything for you really. Well, that was the case up until now. Until you met Joel.

You’ve had partners before that have ‘taken care’ of you when you were sick. Or well, tried to. The key word being tried. Other than a measly backrub and cuddling with you for the appropriate amount of time until they deemed it was time to go cause they weren’t getting laid, you pretty much handled it yourself. And you liked it that way. You didn’t need anyone else to play martyr and attend to your every beck and call.

Joel on the other hand, he does things. His presence interrupted your stream of self reliance and knocked you on your ass when you didn’t know what to do with yourself. When you had nothing left to do for yourself, because he had already taken care of it all.

The light in the hood range above your oven went out? Joel fixed it. The bathroom sink began leaking underneath the cabinet? No less than a day later you come home and you already find him lying on his back, head underneath the vanity, toolbox beside him, twisting pipes this way and that.

Just last week you mentioned to him that you’ve been hearing a squeaking sound coming from the car every time you press on the brakes, next thing you know he’s out in the driveway, broad shoulders hunched over the hood as he tightens and loosens bearings, tinkering the way he knows best.

“Alright, you shouldn’t hear that noise anymore. The rotors on your front brakes needed tightening,” he mentions casually, wiping his hands off on a greasy rag as he comes into your kitchen from the garage. Looking up from the magazine you’re reading, you pause your chewing around a mouthful of toast.

“Huh?” you raise a brow at him quizzically. “I only told you about that yesterday though. I was just gonna take it to the mechanic.”

The corner of his lip lifts up slightly as he smirks. “And now you won’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day, or tomorrow, or the day after that. It was an easy fix, plus the mechanic woulda overcharged the hell outta you darlin’.”

You roll your eyes, “Gotta love that fucking misogyny,” you huff as you get up and head into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee for you both.

“It’s the way of the car industry unfortunately. Most guys who own shops are just crooks out to get anyone’s money, and most people don’t really know any better.” He replies casually as he washes his hands at the sink beside you.

“And I suppose that makes me ‘most people,’” you grumble, packing the coffee grounds into the filter, before placing it into the machine.

Without missing a beat, Joel slides your mug under the dispenser first. It's a cute little white ceramic mug that says Pot Head, beneath it is a comical image of coffee pot with bloodshot googly eyes . It was his present to you after you started dating, and he first slept over at your place. He soon realized the depths of your monosyllabic crabbiness in the morning, when he tried to talk to you before your first cup of coffee.

Now, six months into your relationship, the coffee pot is usually the first appliance that gets turned on in the morning, usually by Joel, the early riser that he is, while you soak up a few more moments of sleep. It’s pretty futile though, because once he gets out of bed, you can’t get comfortable under the covers, your personal space heater leaving a massive dent in the comforter.

“You ain’t most people to me,” his voice deepens with that Southern drawl as he moves to stand behind you, drying off his hands. God, he’s so fucking big. His presence crowds you, feeling his broad chest against your back as he places his hands on either side of you, pinning you to the counter.

You hum with a knowing smile as you hit the button to start dispensing the coffee. “Is that so?”

He leans in, brushing your hair off of your shoulder, leaning in to nuzzle your neck. “You’re my person. Mine. That’s about all that matters.” Pressing featherlight kisses into your neck, you sigh and let your head fall back against his broad shoulder, giving him more access.

“Well,” you try to collect your thoughts but the logical, words forming, part of your brain shuts down, turning to mush as he begins to nibble and bite at your neck. “Thank you for fixing the squeaky sound,” you barely get the words out between shallow breaths.

“No problem at all darlin.’” He grinds his hips into the plush of your ass and starts sucking on your pulse point. You whimper pathetically, grabbing a hold of his hands on the counter bracketing you, pushing your ass back against his crotch, reveling in how hard he is. Your pussy throbs with want, as you feel it clench around nothing, wetness seeping out of it.

“Should be silent as a whistle now.” His voice is gravelly deep now, and you snake a hand around the back of his neck, clutching his body closer to yours as you continue to let out small mewls. “Your noises on the other hand, are driving me fuckin’ insane. Wanna get more than just a squeak out of you.”

He reaches down, palm skimming over the curve of your hips, down to your ass before he squeezes, while biting down on the junction between your shoulder and your neck. At that, you squeak.

“Joel…” your last two brain cells firing off weakly as you try to form a coherent thought. “What- What about the c-coffee?”

“You had one cup already this morning,” he murmurs into your skin, “it’ll keep.” His left hand moves to grip your hip, the other one squeezing your asscheek again, not before he gives it a firm smack. You jolt forward in his grip and moan, bending your upper half over the counter, your body already responding so easily to his touch.

“Bedroom.” He says gruffly, releasing your hips and stepping back with a smirk on his face. You blink your eyes open, not realizing you had them closed in the first place and turn around with a glare.

Joel lazily tilts his head in the direction of your bedroom, his hand grabbing the obvious bulge in his pants. “C’mon my little pot head.”

So yeah, needless to say you really didn’t have to worry about being reliant on yourself for many things anymore. Joel was happy to do those things for you, and you were more than happy to show him your appreciation in return.

Being sick however, that seemed to stump him. There wasn’t anything to physically fix aside from your ailments, although he wishes that could be the case. That he could just snap his fingers and your nose would be cleared, sore throat gone, headache disappeared. But it wasn’t that easy.

Normally, you’d try to ride it out for a day or two as best you could, without making a fuss over it, but today the buzzing in your head was too intense to ignore. You yanked the top drawer of your nightstand open, bemoaning as you fruitlessly rummaged through the empty box of Nyquil pills, empty Advil bottles, and one lonely tub of Vicks shoved towards the back.

“For fuck’s sake. Of course,” you gritted. Closing the drawer, you roll back into the sheets, throwing an arm over your eyes and letting out the deepest sigh ever. Just then your phone vibrates on the nightstand. You pick it up and squint with bleary eyes as you focus on the text. It’s from Joel

[Joel]: Mornin’ darlin.’ Still up for the 7pm showing tonight?

You furrow your brows for a moment before you roll your eyes, back into your skull it feels like.

“Shit. The movies.”

It was Tuesday. You guys had made plans to see a cheap show after Joel got off work tonight. Some new crappy instalment of the Fast and Furious movies, hence the cheap night choice.

You sniffle as you fumble to type out a reply. The rhythmic pounding in your head distorts your concentration.

[You]: Morning babe. I don’t think so. Sorry. I came down with something last night and I feel like shit.

You add in multiple variations of the sad crying emoji, and the water gun to be dramatic.

[Joel]: No worries hun. I’m sorry you’re not feelin’ well.

[Joel]: Wanna do something else?

You wish. You love any plans and dates you have with Joel, and you’re more than happy to cancel those plans to stay in with him on any day of week. Today shouldn’t feel like an exception but you don’t want to inconvenience him, and you also don’t want him to see you when you practically look like an extra off the set of The Walking Dead.

You sigh again harshly and sniffle.

[You]: I don’t think so. I feel like shit. Just wanna stay in bed and rot, plus I don’t wanna get you sick.

He’ll probably think you’re being overdramatic. The productive storm that you are getting bested by a measly cold, it’s stupid. Unheard of.

[Joel]: I think you’ll survive. Can’t have you dying on me so soon into our relationship, we still gotta hit the one year anniversary.

Biting your lip, you shake your head. How this man remains to be flirty and cute even when you’re feeling low and incredibly not cute is beyond you. Your phone buzzes again.

[Joel]: Plus if you’re sick now, then chances are I woulda already caught whatever bug you have cause I saw ya two days ago.

Well, he’s not wrong when you think about it. Your cheeks heat up when you think back to Sunday night, when he had stayed over. You were straddling his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he licked into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip and gripping your hips while you lazily bounced up and down his thick cock.

Ironically, it was supposed to be a Fast and Furious marathon night in preparation for the cheap movie you would see in theaters tonight. You barely made it through the first 20 minutes of the first movie in the series before Joel’s thick fingers started aimlessly tracing the inside of your thigh as you sat beside him. Your pussy throbbed at the memory, the phantom stretch of his cock, almost matching the throbbing residing in the front of your head.

Yeah, so maybe he was past the point of contagion. You’re so lost in reminiscing, he must realize it’s taking you a minute to respond, fully well knowing the effect that his words have on you. So he texts again.

[Joel]: Was a pretty fucking good Sunday night 😈

The devil emoji causes a chuckle to sputter up through your chest, but it’s pretty short-lived when you realize you can’t chuckle and breathe in through your congested nose at the same time. You recently taught him how to use emojis in his texts, so you’re surprised when he actually puts it to the test.

[You]: That it was babe. But I don’t wanna burden you, plus we can’t really do anything. 🙄

You add on the eye roll emoji, sure that he’s feeling the same way too. What guy wouldn’t? Surely not any of the guys you dated in the past. They tried, but deemed it wasn’t worth it when you couldn’t even suck their dicks without needing to pause every few seconds to breathe through your mouth and cough. Your sore throat feeling like it was wrapped in barbed wire.

[Joel]: Who said we had to do anything? I’d still wanna spend time with you. I just like being with ya.

Damn this fucking man for being such a sweetheart. You didn’t deserve him.

[Joel]: I’ll be over in 30. Want me to bring anything in particular?

[You]: You’re in the middle of the workday Joel, you don’t need to come over.

Of course you want him to come over. His presence is the only thing that would lift your mood if you’re being honest, despite feeling like your body’s been hit by a semi. But you don’t want him to leave work. That’s too much, and you’re not that whiny girlfriend.

Seemingly unimpressed by your response, he replies again.

[Joel]: 👀. 🍔 🍦 🍿?

[You]: I’m not terribly hungry right now. Just bring yourself. And maybe a bottle of nyquil plus some advil 💊? Also, look at you with all your emojis, I’m impressed 😉

[Joel]: 👍🏻sounds good. See you soon 🛻

Tossing your phone into the comforter, you slowly roll out of bed. Like a slug, you slide out from under the covers, over the side of the mattress, planting your feet on the ground before you keel over.

You pad into the kitchen, glancing at the coffee maker forlorn. Probably not the best option with how your throat feels right now. Frowning, you grab a mug from the cabinet, not your pot head mug, but a plain one with simple red flowers painted on it, and flick the switch for the kettle on. Your options for tea weren’t endless as a coffee drinker, but you only really drank the muddied flavored water when you felt sick. Settling for a package of stale peppermint, you place the tea bag in the cup of boiled water and go to plop yourself back down onto the living room couch.

No less than 25 minutes later, you’re curled up on the couch, mug of tea in hand, and your head resting on a pillow as you start the first Fast and Furious movie. Might as well, since you didn’t technically watch it with Joel the first time. Plus, Paul Walker was easy enough on the eyes that you didn’t really mind watching it over again.

Joel arrives minutes later, letting himself in, a bag from the pharmacy in one hand, and a plain plastic bag filled with containers in the other. Before you can question it, the savory fragrant smell of Chinese food wafts through the living room, infiltrating your senses and overpowering your congested nose.

At that you raise your head off the couch cushion, sitting upright with your legs crossed.

“Hey babe.” He drops the food off in the kitchen and comes over to the couch, pulling out the Nyquil and Advil, placing them on the coffee table.

“How you feelin’ ?” He kisses the top of your head and you grunt in response.

“Like absolute garbage,” you croak with the smallest smile you can muster, as you look up at him. He huffs in response and gives you a placating smile, not before peering down into your mug to see the transparent brown water. “Tea? Jeez you weren’t kidding”

“It tastes like garbage too.” You wrinkle your nose after taking a small sip. The smell of the takeout slowly brings you back as you perk up and look at him. “You brought Chinese?” The hopeful smile in your face grows exponentially as he nods.

Joel hums. “I know when you say you’re not hungry, that’s a lie. I also know that you have the biggest appetite of any woman I know.” At that your eyes narrow and your mouth drops open.

“And-” he cuts you off before you can respond, “I know that if there’s any kinda food that could convince you to eat when you don’t have an appetite, it’s greasy Lo Mein, General Tso chicken and fried rice.”

Sighing with contentment you smile and slouch back in your seat. Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue soon disintegrate as gaze up at him with utter awe and adoration.

“Thanks Joel, really. You didn’t have to do all this.”

He frowns at you, confusion clouding his features. He's so adorable when he looks confused.

“It wasn’t a lot. You asked me to bring the cold medicine.” Flashing you a smirk, he brushes your hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. “I was just thinking one step ahead of you, and this way you can have leftovers. Also if I could, I woulda tried to cook you something, but we both know that woulda been a disaster.”

You snort in response. “Well, still. I really appreciate it.” You nuzzle your face into his hand, as his thumb strokes across your cheek gently. You can feel your stomach twinging with hunger now, now that you’ve smelled the food. It almost matches your hunger for Joel.

He must have changed at home before he came over. The faint scent of his sandalwood body wash floods your brain as you take in his dark flannel shirt, stretched over his broad shoulders, dark wash jeans hugging his strong thighs. His curls peek out at the back of his neck as they dry soft and fluffy while his molten brown eyes look at you with a mix of adoration and concern.

Meeting his gaze, you look up at him through your lashes as you turn your face to kiss the tip of his thumb. Before he can stop you, you curl your tongue out, swirling it around the tip and closing your lips around it as you suck his thumb into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks out, you suckle harder, feeling heat slowly flood your body.

Joel exhales sharply, as he grinds his jaw, clenching his other hand into a fist.

“Christ baby. You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” He presses his thumb down on your tongue, forcing your mouth open as he pulls it out, letting it catch on your bottom teeth as you bite down playfully.

It was just as easy to rile him up as he did with you, and you fucking loved it. You give him a saccharine smile. “Good. We can die together, seeing as I feel like death already”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “Why don’t you take two of these,” he opens the Advil bottle and places two tablets in your hand, “finish your tea, as much as you can,” he adds when you scrunch up your face at the mug, “and go take a hot shower. I’ll put the food out for us.”

You pop the pills in your mouth, chug the rest of the tea, grimacing as you taste it and stand up to face him. Joel grabs your face with both hands, that look of pure warmth emanating through his big rounded eyes as he plants a soft kiss your forehead, before kissing you on the mouth. In a feeble attempt to protest, you weakly pull back but his mouth continues to seeks yours out. "Joel," you murmur against his mouth, "my germs.”

“I love you, and I love your fuckin’ germs. They’re my germs too.” He pulls you into a big bear hug, you feel all the pent up tension from this morning dissipating from your body. Burying your face in his chest you inhale and make a small noise of contentment. You love his scent. It’s so inherently Joel. It’s home.

“Now go on.” He swats you on the butt playfully and you giggle, sashaying past him.

By the time you finish and get dressed, he’s already got the takeout containers organized strategically on the coffee table with plates, cutlery, and glasses set out. The lo mein and General Tso chicken dishes are closest to your side of the couch, while his dishes, the black pepper beef and spicy Singapore noodles, remain closer to his side, separated by the fried rice in the middle. Your heart warms and expands in your chest at the sight.

“I didn’t even wash my hair and it felt like that took fucking forever. The water pressure in that shower head used to be good,” you grumble as you take your hair out of the messy bun on top of your head, shaking it out for good measure.

“How long’s it been actin’ up?” He asks while pouring some soy sauce over his noodles.

Already, you can see the wheels turning in his head. Always the contractor.

“For the last couple months but it’s really bad now.” You fix him with a knowing look and speak up again before he can say what you’re already anticipating. “And before you say you can fix it, I’ve already had repairmen over before you who tried and failed. Saying something about a part that needs to be ordered and it’s super fucking expensive.”

He says nothing in response, just raises a brow at you. “Whatever you say darlin.’”

“C’mon let’s eat.” You change the subject and bounce over to the couch, shimmying by him and dropping down onto the couch.

“Seems like the Advil kicked in,” he surmises with a smiles. Your energy is evidently higher now that the headache has gone away.

Humming, you lean in to kiss him. You press your lips into his, feeling his tongue glide against the seam of your mouth as you open up and let him in. Moaning quietly, you break off the kiss before it gets heated, and before you have to breathe through your mouth again - although your congestion has gone down significantly, the hot shower definitely helped. “That, and your presence helps too.”

He grins at you, a twinkle dancing across his big brown eyes. “Good. I’m glad. Nowhere else I’d rather be.” You look away bashfully, and begin piling stuff onto your plate.

“You started watching this again?” He nods at the TV with an unimpressed expression as Vin Diesel broods over the hood of an old muscle car.

“Yeah,” you mumble around a mouthful of chicken, “we barely watched 20 minutes of it before you had your fingers buried in my pussy.” You look at him pointedly with your mouth full and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Licking his lips, he leans down till his mouth is right next to your ear.

“I’d rather hear that tight little pussy purring around my fingers, than the hear the engine of a 1970 Dodge Charger baby," he says lowly, stretching his arm over the back of the couch as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck. "Even if it is one of my favorite cars.”

Slowly, he runs his fingers up and down the sides of your throat with a featherlight touch, careful to not squeeze as you finish swallowing your mouthful of food.

You groan and let your head fall back, submitting to his touch. Joel knows all your buttons to push, he learned them pretty quickly on into your relationship, and it made him all the more attractive to you. Every touch of his that made your breathing get shallow, every perfect press of his body against yours.

He knows you like being choked. Knows how sensitive your neck is, how you melt under his hands, turning to putty as soon as he wraps his large palms around the slender column of your throat. He makes it so fucking easy, your body so hyperactively attuned to his, no matter how crappy you may feel apparently.

“Joel,” you warn him but it comes out more as a breathless whine. Chuckling in response, he concedes and releases your neck.

“Not fair.” You glare at him and poke him in the chest with the opposite end of your fork.

He shrugs and gives you that shit eating grin again. “Fair is fair darlin.’”

Shaking your head, you resume the movie and both dig into the food. As delicious as the takeout is, you recognize that you don’t have as big of an appetite as you usually do, given how run down you feel, and you get full pretty quickly. An hour into the movie you’re curled up against Joel’s side with your feet tucked under you, a thick blanket pulled over you both, and a beer in his left hand.

“As if that would ever happen,” he grumbles out loud as he watches Paul Walker and Vin Diesel ramble on about fuel pump injectors and supercharged turbo's.

Secretly, you love how invested Joel gets in these shitty movies, it's partly why you put them on to begin with. Well, that, and because it usually ends with both of you getting distracted, and him railing you into the cushions of the couch. Still, it’s endearing to see him get annoyed and worked up over the mechanical and technical inaccuracies in the movies. It's also fascinating and super fucking attractive to see how his brain works. The competency kink in you preens at his humble flexing of mechanical knowledge.

You hum in question, too tired to formulate a better response.

“You put that much nos (nitrous oxide) in a car, and you’ll be blown to fuckin’ pieces at the smallest bump in the road. Jesus,” he shakes his head and gestures with his beer bottle at the screen. His right hand is curled around your shoulder, thumb brushing against your cheek, back and forth. The soothing movement coupled with your full belly is quickly lulling you into sleep.

“Well, Paul Walker seems to know what he’s doing, seeing as they made like 7 more movies after this one. Plus it’s just a movie babe. ” You nuzzle further into his shoulder, struggling to keep one eye on the movie as you hear Joel make more unenthused comments.

“Movie or not, they coulda done their research. Half the shit they’re describing under the hood of a car sounds made up. And there's 7 fucking more of these films?”

He huffs in disbelief, taking another sip of his beer. "Yeah we wouldn't have made it through the rest of em.'"

“Okay Mr. Mechanic, we get it. It’s not 100% accurate, but you gotta admit the racing is pretty cool.”

He looks down at you from the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips pulling up slightly. “It’s alright I guess. More importantly, how are you feelin’ now?”

He rubs small circles into your back, as you practically fold over into his lap now, eyes refusing to stay open.

“Mmmm, much better,” you stretch your legs out, arching your back like a cat, making a small sound of relief. “Thank you babe. For the food, the meds, for coming over and taking care of me.” Giving him a dopey smile, you peak one eye open at him.

“Anytime darlin,’ you don’t have to thank me, s’my job. And I’ll gladly do it any time, sick or not.”

The warm depth of his voice seeps into your bones, as you soon doze off in his lap. He waits a little while till your breathing evens out, then kisses your head again as he slides out from underneath you to use the washroom.

You perk up and blink your eyes open to see the credits rolling across the screen, just as you hear the toilet flush. It's soon followed by the sound of the shower turning on and off, and then muffled sounds of clinking and clanking as Joel starts to take apart your shower head.

Smiling to yourself, you close your eyes again and curl up on the warm spot he left behind. Maybe sick days aren’t so bad after all.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fic

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theemporium · 6 months ago

Note

Yay congrats!

My order: a smut-berry daiquiri (21 - if you want to come, you’ll have to beg.”)

Hot hot, can’t wait!

thank you for requesting! i partially blame @hischierhoney for my feral nico mood🤠anyways, enjoy!

21. "If you want to come, you'll have to beg."

It was a stupid fight.

An incredibly stupid, downright dumb fight that escalated far more than it should have. And to be honest, on any other day, it would have been a small fight that you both would have rolled your eyes and laughed at the very same day because it was stupid.

Today, however, was not one of those days.

It had been a cumulation of things that led to the tension in the fight: between Nico spending every free moment on the ice or at the rink and you being swamped with projects at work, the two of you hadn’t had time for each other. It was something you were both at fault for, and the work stress did not help the situation.

And maybe—just fucking maybe—you missed having each other’s attention. But somewhere in the stress and the tension and the pressure, you both seemed to snap over something as stupid as one of you forgetting to unload the dishwasher.

Which led to you giving Nico the silent treatment on the first day off that the two of you had lined up.

And you regretted it almost the second you started it because half an hour in, you missed him. You missed being able to curl up on his lap. You missed listening to him tell you stories about the boys that you had missed in the last few weeks. You missed standing in the kitchen, both of you moving seamlessly around each other whilst you cooked together. You missed him and his smile and his arms wrapped around you and—

You just really missed your boyfriend.

But you were stubborn. One of the most stubborn people he had ever met and, despite knowing how you felt considering the fact you were lingering in the living room with him instead of locking yourself away like you usually did when you were mad, you weren’t just going to give in and break the silent treatment.

Which meant Nico had to get creative with the ways he got you to finally break.

“I—” You cut yourself off, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you felt his soft kitten licks against your clit.

“C’mon, baby,” he mused, a hint of something teasing and smug in his voice as he squeezed the fat of your thighs. “Gonna keep hiding those pretty noises from me still?”

You pressed your lips together, determined to bite back the moans you so desperately wanted to let out as you pushed your face into the arm of the couch you were currently sprawled on.

“Hm, still being difficult?” He murmured, his warm breath fanning over your soaked cunt and you couldn’t resist the urge to buck your hips a little. “Look at my girl, so fucking wet and ready for me. Bet I could just slide right in, you’d take my cock so well. Like you always do.”

And at that, you couldn’t help but let out a pathetic whine.

“There’s my girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh as his hands pressed your hips down into the couch.

“Nico,” you groaned, squirming under his hold with a small huff of annoyance when you felt him continue to give your thighs the attention your pussy wanted.

“You finally done with the silent treatment?” He asked, spoken so casually like he was talking about the weather. Like his face wasn’t buried between your legs moments ago.

“Please,” you grumbled, your pride long forgotten as you glanced down, the sight of him grinning up at you with a few strands of hair in his face making your stomach twist with desire.

“Nuh uh, honey,” he shook his head, keeping your legs spread just how he wanted you. “If you want to come, you’ll have to beg. Let me hear that pretty voice.”

“Nico,” you whined but he lightly nipped your inner thigh in response.

“You sound pretty when you beg, baby, let me hear it,” he murmured before he leaned down, licking a slow, broad strip along your cunt. He delighted in the way your back arched off the couch in response. “I know my pretty girl can be good for me, yeah? Beg and make those pretty moans and I’ll make you come as many times as you want, schatz.”

And truthfully, you would have been a fool to turn an offer like that down.

#cece's cocktail celebration #nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl smut

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clairdelunelove · 2 years ago

Text

dry the rain

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (rainy day drabble)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, awkward!ghost

synopsis: getting caught up in the rain during a mission is pretty miserable. but ghost makes it his goal to keep you dry and warm– even if it includes shedding off a layer!

a.n. I've been pushing myself to write more and I had a small idea come to mind since it's been raining a lot recently! personally, I imagine him in his 'jawbone' outfit in this one! stay safe, cuties! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

thinking about ghost's inner dilemma when the weather gets colder and he realizes that he'd offer anything to you– including his clothes.

missions in the rain were, in many cases, the absolute worst. unbearably muddy terrain caused the task force to reroute several times, delaying the overall pick-up time, and he was essentially losing his patience over the whole ordeal. he still had inventory to check, weapons to reload, and strategies to draft. too much on the agenda; too little time. a huff leaves his lips as he hankers down in a rather secluded spot. there aren’t too many recruits flocking around him in this area since they’re preoccupied with shielding away from the incessant rainstorm. many of them crowd around large trees to find cover under the broad leaves. some were huddling to retain warmth because the onslaught of rain meant that a frigid breeze accompanied it. but he settles in the outskirts and it's tolerable. he’s adapted to shouldering the storm and chilliness. though, he does admit that the downpour was intense and his drenched balaclava was a consequence of that. it was so damp and sodden that it clung uncomfortably to the contours of his face. his hand claws at the front of his mask to ease the irritating feeling.

ghost who overhears your quiet sniffling despite your efforts of muffling the noise. it’s so hushed that he barely recognizes it over the harsh thundering of rain but his ears perk at the typical sound. and sure, he distinctly recalls that this is probably your first experience with such severe weather since you were belatedly tossed into this group but it’s a run-of-the-mill incident. technically, it’s not his problem. the icy wind is numbing enough to discern that a person is bound to experience some of the symptoms that coexist with this type of extreme weather. it’s only natural– nothing to fret over. yet, his head turns in your direction before logic can kick in.

ghost who stiffly asks, “you cold?” like his eyes don’t frantically scan your face for any signs of discomfort. he’d already deduced your current state; spotting the blueish tint creeping up on the edge of your lips and how your eyes appear hazy. he shoves himself into your proximity and at this angle his physique engulfs you. his gloved hand reaches to push the hood of his khaki poncho down so he can properly assess your condition and at this moment he’s unbothered by how sopping wet his mask is. or how intense the rain is. doesn’t care about it anyway– just intends on helping you. with rain droplets pouring down your face, you look like a hollow version of yourself. vaguely perceives the nauseating tug in his chest when you manage a bleak smile and joke, “was unprepared for this since I didn’t know it’d be raining cats and dogs.”

ghost who knowingly shakes his head at your banter but still indulges you by murmuring, “is that how the sayin’ goes?” because he fancies the way your lips curl into a lopsided grin. thunder rumbles in the distance and the cozy moment is partially interrupted. ghost notices that your shoulders tense at the occasional roar and you absentmindedly hum in response to his question. you have the best intentions but it’s too late because he’s uttering a curse as your teeth chatter from the blitz of a strong gust of wind that seeps through your layers of clothing.

ghost who silently begins to shed off his poncho; his only layer of rain-resistant clothing. doesn’t mull over the consequences of catching a cold or worse– never even considers it. he’s prepared to sacrifice for you. “oh,” he hears your surprised gasp and sees how quickly your hands outstretch to ward off his offering, “you need it more than I do, lieutenant. thank you though.” and there’s that sheepish smile on your face again. the flicker of your eyes informs him that you’re embarrassed for needing extra support. for being human. and he’ll never quite understand how genuinely selfless you are. the trait is synonymous to you and a source of strength that is entirely yours to keep. to thrive off of. “s’just take it, pup,” his voice rumbles as profound as a pass of thunder, “you’re cold.”

ghost who jabs, “don’t fancy carryin’ ya when you get fuckin’ hypothermia,” and then adds under his breath, “don’t want to risk it. ‘specially not with you.” the first half is a total lie and it’s obvious by how he shifts when he says it. he’d carry you to the ends of the earth. however, the second half of his comment is drowned out by the ample rainfall. and you never do hear those words that would’ve kept you warm for eternity but you’re given the next best circumstance when he crouches closer to you. the pouches of his tactical vest, housing grenades or ammunition, dig into your chest and it’s supposed to be uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the gentle way ghost drapes the large garment over your shoulders.

ghost who takes it upon himself to secure the poncho’s hood over your head so it rests snugly under your chin. you’re still shivering, hot puffs of air escape your lips, but the function of the extra layer slowly warms you up. his gaze on you is burning, “you don’t ever have to pretend,” and then murmurs, “not with me. not ever.” the fabric does its job immediately and shields you from the onslaught of rain. that isn’t the issue he’s concerned about, however.

ghost who, when he pulls away, sucks in a shaky breath because the view that greets him will frequent his dreams. he’s certain of it. his touch accidentally dips down to the slope of your collarbones and he’s directly reminded that you’re wearing his poncho. his clothes. and it drapes over your body so alluringly. dips and presses into every curve of your body. possessiveness creeps up on him like a threatened animal, baring sharp canines and all. your prying eyes don’t aid in the situation either. raking up his exposed forearms, sifting and inquisitive about the tattoos that swirl in a manic pattern. a rare strip of his skin that graces your vision.

ghost who awkwardly indicates how the fabric loosely hangs off your upper torso since it’s made for his broader physique, “looks ridiculous,” but he’s tugging the hood of the poncho over your eyes. can’t physically operate when he watches how your dewy lashes flutter when he allows his fingers to graze over your shoulders and pat down the cloth for wrinkles. his actions are meant to be mindless, calculative, and intended to take his mind off of you. yet, he can’t– and doesn’t wish to. desires to douse himself in the ethereal glow you embody. the wide, grateful glint in your gaze that brands him vulnerable and when you smile up at him he feels the clouds break. lets the sun warm his skin.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley drabble #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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varpusvaras · 8 months ago

Text

Beru found out about their new neighbour on a one pretty unremarkable day.

Owen was out that afternoon, gone to recycle some of the old machinery parts they had left after one of their perimeter sensors had finally been worn down by the increased storms. The desert was calm that day, thankfully, as Luke had started to become very restless from not getting to go outside in days.

Perhaps Beru should've realised that such restlessness was going to make Luke forget their usual rules, in his haste to get out of the house, as all of a sudden she noticed that the immediate area around the house was uncharacteristically quiet, and not full of noises made by little boy playing space battles.

She didn't, however, get too far in her searches, when there was a tall shadow casted onto the sand right next to hers.

"Excuse me-" The man didn't even get to finish what he was saying, when Beru had already reacher for the prybar in the toolbox and turned around, gripping it tightly and ready to strike.

The Suns were partially behind the man, obscuring his features momentarily from her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, standing straight with his head held high even in the heat of the day. On his arms he held Luke, who had his arms around the man's neck in a relaxed, loose grip.

That made her loosen up her grip from the prybar just a little. Luke had the gift of knowing when to trust people, even if sometimes that trust overextended itself a little. The man's hold of Luke was, however, also relaxed, which made him a bit more trustworthy to Beru.

The man bend down and placed Luke onto the ground, and by doing so, he gave his face enough shadow for Beru to see him better.

He looked young, if a bit weathered, with some lines already forming on his face, though Beru could tell that they were in places that usually got creased up when someone was constantly concerned about something. There was a long scar running down the side of his face, showing up starkly as the skin around it had tanned more recently. It was the thing that told Beru that the man had not spent too much time on the desert yet, despite his clothes having already been weathered as well, and his footing being even enough on the sand. His dark, curly hair looked like it had only now started to grow out of a very well-maintained shorter cut. Another sign of him being a newcomer.

Still, there was something familiar in him, something Beru couldn't quite place, and she wasn't quite sure if that should've made her relax more or be more suspicious of him.

The man looked at her. His dark eyes were just as weathered as the rest of him, but still kind.

Beru made her decision. She lowered the prybar, and let go of it with her other hand, grabbing at Luke instead.

The man's shoulders lowered a bit as well.

"Excuse me", he said. "I saw your nephew had gotten a bit far away from the house."

Beru looked down at Luke. He looked up at her, and gave her a bit of a sheepish smile.

"Yes", Beru said, and looked back up at the man. "Thank you."

The man nodded.

"No problem at all", he said to her, and then turned to speak to Luke. "Stay where you're supposed to. The desert is a dangerous place."

"But you were there by yourself as well", Luke piped up, not able to resist the urge to talk back just a little.

The man smiled at him. Beru though he had a rather nice smile, even if it was worn down as well. She wondered what kind of hardships he had gone through, out there in the Galaxy, to seem like he had been sanded down by a multiple of storms already.

"I've seen a lot of places that are worse than this, kid", the man said. "I'll be just fine."

He then nodded his head again at Beru, lifted the back of the dark blue cape he had draped over his shoulders over his head, turned around and walked into the desert without another word.

Beru watched him go, ever so slightly confused about the whole interaction. She only moved his eyes away when Luke tugged at her hand.

"Did you know him?" He asked. "I've never seen him before. Not here or in town."

Beru shook her head.

"No", she said. "Did he say anything to you?"

She had not had the mind to even ask the man his name. She looked back out in the desert. He had already disappeared somewhere beyond the dunes.

Luke shook his head.

"He did know you are my aunt", he said. "And not my mom."

True, Beru realised. He had called Luke her nephew, without any introductions.

She decided not to be too alarmed about that. There weren't a lot of people who lived in the area. Chances were that the man had just heard about them already, and remembered who lived in the house.

Still. Not a lot people lived in the area, and even less had any business around there either. On top of that, even though she was more than sure that she had never seen the man before, Beru thought he had looked awfully familiar in some way.

"He seemed nice", Luke said. "He felt nice."

"If you say so, my little sun", Beru said. "Your feelings are often very precise."

She decided not to tell Owen about the man that evening. He would've just gotten unnecessarily worried about it.

----

Beru saw a dark blue cape in the corner of her eye.

When she turned, it wasn't the man from the desert, even if she was sure it was the same cape, with the tattered edges and faded shoulders.

She did know the man wearing it, though. Ben seemed to feel her eyes on him, as he also turned to look at her, and very briefly nodded at her before he went back to dealing with a customer.

Beru thought about it as she went on her business, and she walked back by Ben's stall as she came back.

Ben was already packing up by then, and Beru saw that he had also made purchases, as he was tying some wares that Beru didn't believe he had brought all the way from his house to the town. At the top were a new bedroll, and a pair of boots that even from afar looked too big for Ben's feet.

Beru smiled, before turning away. It really seemed like Ben wasn't alone anymore. That was good.

#idk just wanted to write something about desert husbands #a hot new bombshell has just entered the desert #sw #tcw #my writing #snippets #beru whitesun #commander cody #luke skywalker #obi wan kenobi #codywan #desert husbands #post order 66 au #Star Writing

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moondirti · 2 years ago

Text

genesis

But the white light highlights the captain’s silhouette; grown-in mutton chops, broad shoulders that double your own. He’s wearing a beanie, pulled to his brow, melting into the shadow that conceals his eyes from you. It’s the first time you truly see him – this much of him, anyway. And he’s startlingly younger than you would’ve thought, hair still packed a uniform brown, the occasional wisp of grey speckled in the midst.

pairing: Captain John Price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 8k summary: the progression of a spite-fuelled relationship warnings: enemies to lovers, literally 4k words of unfettered smut, virginity loss, reader is given a backstory, light corruption kink, tummy bulge, choking, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping, alcohol, alluded misogyny notes: this became something else entirely and i apologise. credit for the 'choking with an arm' thing goes to @sprout-fics and, by extension, @yeyinde 's anons lol

The first time you meet the captain, his edges blend in with the wet asphalt and gunmetal downpour. Midnight adrenaline, vision bleary with disrupted sleep; you’re only able to make out the flickering end of a fat cigar, tucked between his lips and smouldering orange, somehow still alight despite the weather.

You suppose it’s that ironclad conviction, the one you’ve heard of in passing on base. Smelted to every bullet, carved to fit the crows feet that frame his eyes. You see it now, tainted with a conscience rebellion – non discrete, as they’d called it, enough to bend nature itself to suit his tobacco fix.

You still, pausing for him to give you the rundown. He doesn’t approach you, not yet, caught in a hissed argument with one of his men. Their voices drift in the howling wind; his, like smoke, curling with a rough aggression.

Hair plastered to your forehead, water gathering on the tip of your nose; you quietly thank your hasty decision to throw on a lab coat before coming. It proves to be the only barrier between the rain and your dishevelled self – loose pyjama bottoms coming to your calf, knitted socks that start to soak through your army-grade boots. Not a state you commonly adapt for first impressions, though it’s not like you’d had much of a choice.

Paramedics swarm the helicopter Price had emerged from, pulling out a limp body, blood splattering on the landing pad to be washed away without a trace. It’s nothing you weren’t expecting as the medic on call tonight – the shrill beeps of your pager were enough of an indication that something had gone wrong. Yet your mind reels to pinpoint the face that lulls onto the stretcher. Wrinkled nose, quivering lips – they’re alive, but only just.

You don’t recognise them. The cooling relief is stupidly selfish.

A minute later; two soldiers hop off the craft, trooping off with their guns tucked near their chests, entirely dutiful. You note the direction they take, heading towards Laswell’s office – assigned report duty, no doubt.

Five minutes pass, and the pilot disengages as well. The chopper powers down from a loud roar to a disruptive quiet. The storm still boils overhead, thunder a cracking whip to what had been a peaceful night. You resist the urge to wipe the drops that weigh your eyelashes. You’re soaked to the bone, now.

Ten. The patient would have reached the hospital bay. An irking sort of impatience begins gnawing on your gut, dangerously fiery for the situation at hand. You cough, despite knowing the captain won’t hear you, and square your shoulders as you take him in again. He hasn’t so much as looked in your direction, locked into a series of gruff nods and whispered commands with the sergeant.

Is his comrade’s life really of that little urgency to him?

The thought leads you down a path you do not want to take. It’s decidedly destructive, a match to the rush of fuming petrol that courses through you. Breathe through it, a clipped voice echoes back to you, reverberating on starched walls and a cold leather couch. Rationalise. Your psychiatrist’s office, post reassignment. I’d wager you didn’t take that time to think before the incident in Bulgaria, hm?

Pompous bitch.

You draw in a long inhale, holding it until your chest aches with blurring hypoxia. Black dots your vision, spurring a pounding alarm at your temples. Your fists clench, unclench, then clench again, nails digging crescent moons into the pruned skin of your palms. You wait, and wait, and think you puncture yourself, a new warmth pooling into your cuticles.

Then, when Price’s conversation dwindles, the flame tempers, mental barricade forming in its stead. A necessary precaution; you steel yourself and prepare for the likely gruesome incident debrief as he breaks off and starts to approach.

Only, he marches right past you.

You’re stuck staring ahead, frozen in paralytic shock. Heart lurching, your body thumps with it, disorienting when you turn to his shrinking form.

“Captain!” Your yell whips with the gale. He tosses you a brief look over his shoulder, pulls an especially large drag from his cigar, and keeps walking.

You snap to your senses and jog to catch up.

“Bulle’ to the chest, punctured a lung. Concussion from tumblin’ rubble but not much else.” He keeps a quick pace ahead of you. It takes all you’ve got not to slip as you disentangle his words from an ashen irritation.

“Was he given any medication that might interfere with the anaesthesia?”

“Negative.”

“Was the wound sealed to keep air from being sucked in?”

“Affirmative.”

“Did he lose consciousness at any point in time?” You strain, legs screaming as you finally come side-to-side with him.

“Doctor–”

“I need to know these things for the procedure to run as smoothly as pos–”

“Doctor.” He snaps, stomping to a sudden halt before facing you fully. You’ve come to the right wing’s entry, secured with a strict-access passcode your rank is not privy to. The most you know of it is what you can see through the doorway window; a fluorescent hall, illuminated despite the late hour. An office at the end of it. Shepherd, perhaps, engraved on a nameplate.

You shuffle in place. Your pyjamas cling to your skin, dewy disposition a reminder of how ridiculous you must look. Lip quivering, you tuck it underneath a sucking tooth and glare up at him.

“Sir.”

“You’re wastin’ your bloody time with this. One of my men is choking on his own blood,” His finger prods to the general direction the patient was taken in. “And you’re here, mm. Why is that?”

“It’s procedure.” The statement escapes as more of a hiss than anything else, his hypocrisy clawing at the gummy lining of your lungs.

“Procedure can fuck off this once, that shit’s for the textbooks. Things differ on the field, Doc.”

It hits you, then, who he sounds like. The revelation bleeds into your tone. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Now go and make sure my sniper doesn’t die on me.”

The rain’s eased to a drizzle now. He leaves you molten, steaming with a sulphurous rage.

“Stop moving.”

“Can’t exactly do that now, eh?”

By the fifth time you cross paths with the captain, you’ve already decided you don’t like him.

To the outside eye, your position does nothing to suggest it. Lewd at best – you sit, crouched between his legs, your elbows propped up on muscled thighs to stabilise the tremor in your hands. The floor beneath you rumbles, the humvee rolling over rocky terrain in its attempt to exfil. Price, stabbed; once in the left lumbar, twice in the umbilical region.

Ichor soaks through your compress. Your fingers are tacky with dried gore.

The car is stiflingly hot, a vessel for the trapped Uzbekistanian sun and high tensions. Large gulps of air prove insufficient; oxygen runs scarce, recycled through the systems of the several soldiers present. You’d given your seat to Garrick – who, currently, has no use for it, stuck halfway out a window to shoot at your pursuers.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. The sergeant driving has no goddamn idea how to do so without messing up your work and your clothes chafe over sweat in the most excruciating way possible. It took you fifteen tries to thread the suture through the needle. It’ll take ten times that to actually get his wound closed.

And it’s not his fault. None of this can be pinned on him.

Yet–

“Can’t understand why you don’t take the time to reload your ballistic plates. This whole thing–”

“Jus’ do your damn job, doctor.”

You swallow the snarl that tears up your throat, burying it alongside a grave of acrid emotion you reserve for men just like him. This situation is profoundly familiar. Bulgaria; the crunch of your general’s nose under your fist. Betrayal sour on your tongue, a sting like you’d never before felt it. It took a whole team to hold you back as he spit upon your bruising temple.

A cunt. That’s what you are, girl.

Pray tell, then, what does that make you?

Your next seam is done with fervent hostility.

It’s only when your penultimate knot is tied that you force yourself to reel in your wandering mind and focus on the task at hand. You’ve one more laceration to mend after this, the length of it throbbing underneath a wad of temporary gauze. It’s that, maybe – festering evidence of the raid you’d just survived – that flushes you in further warmth, a boiling panic still itching beneath the surface. Rip release grenades, the dust of unsettled gunpowder. Your calf twinges from where it was caught under a pile of debris.

C’mon, doc. Up. Yeah… yeah, there we go. You broken?

Fine.

Or. Perhaps–

Giving flesh. Not rock-hard with chiselled definition – his body doesn’t carve into pronounced sinew – but solid, all the same. Packed brawn underneath a stretch of ivory skin. His shirt, rucked up to his chest. A trail from beyond his waistband, curly hairs, stark against a crimson backdrop.

Your conviction warbles, so you say nothing when you move to pierce him again.

It’s unfortunate timing, really.

His hips jolt at the cold bite of the needle head. The car rocks over a pothole. Some greater destiny, a cackling trio of asshole fates, weave their inexplicable thread. You’re only able to pull your hand back in time – the threat of stabbing him yourself a looming prospect.

Your face isn’t so lucky.

It comes into full contact with the swell between his legs.

His grip shoots to your hair, winding at the roots to hold you firm. It’s enough to steady you as you pull back almost immediately, but the phantom feel of his crotch shoved to your nose is slower to leave.

For a painstaking moment, the two of you lock onto each other’s stares. Price’s brows buoy, hooding over florentine eyes that spark with an untapped choler. You pretend not to notice the way his lips twitch, how his hand – still on your head – clenches the slightest bit tighter.

Ticking bomb, wedged in the divet between two floorboards.

Click, click, click.

One. Two. Three.

Three beats until you clamp your jaw shut, gathering your surely obscene expression to one of mortified irritability. It’s all you allow yourself.

“I told you to sit still.”

Despite the way your words slip between clenched teeth, they sound with whopping pliability. Like he could grind them down, pestle on mortar, and watch as they unfurl, syllable by syllable, to shape some semblance of truth.

(Honesty; a notion tucked along with happier memories of staying up longer than you should, facing your bunkmate with a bottle of cheap tequila on your lap.

There’s gotta be something you can drink to.

You’re just wild, Tess.

Fair, fair. Hmm, alright. Never have I ever…

She cackles at the grimace you pull.

–given head. Yeah! That’s easy, right?

Hm.

Wait. Seriously?

Everyone’s intolerable.)

“You watch your tone.” The growl rips from him then, laden with the scratch of singed newspaper, tobacco clustering at the back of his throat. It’s not so much a command than it is a reminder, a recall to your second meeting where you’d found the captain pouring over your file. Swilling the last amount of amber liquid from a glencairn: you nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc. Not everyone is so forgiving.

You’d only meant to collect a batch of vaccination records for his new recruits. You’d left as you seem to always do with him, rage burrowing into claggy marrow.

Forgiving. Right.

“Sorry, sir.” It’s the farthest thing from genuine.

You don’t know what you hate more. The husky chuckle that erupts at your hushed admonishment, or the fact that you miss them when his fingers leave your hair.

Something shifts between the sixth and the seventh time.

It isn't forfeit, not by a long shot. The gods wrote you with a deathly stubbornness; acquiescent Sisyphus, bound to roll your boulder up an impossibly steep incline. Your back will ache, and your tendons could tear, and you’d continue pushing for the sheer fact alone. Palms sliced open on abrasive rock, you’ve long since stained your white flag with blood and the pink salt of lake atanasovsko.

(You used to compliment Tess on her hair – ice blonde, almost white. Her face had matched that deathly pallor when you pulled her up on the grassy bank.)

No. It’s a lot more subtle.

As subtle as kidnapping can be.

A cramped safehouse, post-evacuation. You’d commandeered the one bathroom for a moment alone, crouched over a pail of tepid water functioning as a sink.

Sand clings to you like second skin, grime piled in impossible crevices you can’t clean no matter how hard you try. It’s Price’s gore that washes off first, tainting the murky pool for any who wishes to use it next. Rippling red; it doesn’t disgust you to cup it up and wash your face.

Three raps strike on the rotted-wood door.

“Yeah?”

“There’s, uh… there’s a slight issue we need you for.” Gaz says.

Drawing a sharp inhale, you shrug on your coat and leave to find him standing by the hall. He quirks his head towards the main space, where various voices overlap one another in an effort to make themselves heard. You’re able to single out his amidst the mix, a clipped bark that’d hold more weight had he not been stabbed.

A kid, as it turns out, is the source of such contention. A local who’d seen the red cross on your armband and recognised the universal symbol.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. I speak a rough Uzbek. Think she mentioned something about her mother being sick,” A sergeant – the one driving earlier – briefs you.

“Right.” You lick your lips, locating Price in your peripheral before crouching to meet the girl’s height. “Is she nearby, sweetheart?” Her feet curve towards one another, clad in flower-adorned sandals that have seen brighter days. You smooth down the flyaways at her temple, noting the way she searches for meaning in your gentle expression. Hindsight tells you she looked terrified.

But before you can ask again, you’re met with a gruff command.

“You’re not goin’ to help, doctor.”

Incredulity spikes, a ruthless parallel to his own dismissal. You slowly turn to catch his eye, piercing from the end of a table. He’s still in his tactical gear, his shirt darkened and sticky across the front. You hadn’t had time to wrap his wounds.

“Come again?”

“It’s not our mission.”

You can’t miss the meaning camouflaged in his vague rejection. Current company dissipates into ash; tunnel-vision – all you see are pursed lips, bearers of an apathetic verdict. Not goin’ to help – like it isn’t your sole reason for being here.

Temper flaring into a whistling fusillade, you shoot to your feet. Your tone is the first victim, piquing with violent emotion. “She’s just a girl!”

“We don’ know that for sure–”

“Jesus fucking christ, captain. If you think the enemy’s got their talons this far out, then what are we even doing here?”

“All I’m saying–”

“I don’t want to bloody hear it! She’s come to me for help, so I’m the one who’ll make this decision. Should I be ambushed, or worse, you have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.”

Usually, the bitter aftertaste of citrus rage scalds you. But when you had walked out into the dust-clogged afternoon, you felt nothing but grim satisfaction.

It only lasted as long as it took for a bag to be placed over your head, a blunt force accompaniment, the butt of a gun to your cheek that sends you spiralling into a brutal goodnight.

The seventh (technically, eighth, as you come to learn) is at a bar in Belgium, two months later.

Littered in novel scars, the largest one spanning your cheekbone, you swish a dram of soju and drum your fingers on a tacky bartop. The patrons that had originally crowded the space have long since filtered out – your original distraction funnelled to just the drink in your hands.

So, you sit and think of nothing.

(Everything, actually, but memories fizz like static. Your period as a hostage stands out as the sharpest of the bunch.)

It’s been a week since you’d been dismissed from the hospital – though you can’t say the same for your stay there, days fused together to stretch over an undisclosed amount of time. You’re usually on top of things, but being the one in the clinical cot had thrown you off your element. For good now, you think. You prowl Belgian streets with little aim and direction, pardoned from duty until they figure out what to do with you.

Which makes you wonder how exactly he finds you.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall, seedy establishment. Swallowing light, artificial lanterns a mild buffer to vignette shadows, slithering up brick walls.

Still, the captain gravitates to you in your lowest moment – as he evidently has a habit of doing – and takes the stool next to you like he belongs.

“Nice to see a friendly face.” You chortle.

Nice gives him all the updates he needs. A debrief on what changed since Uzbekistan; the new woman whittled by torture and the painful consequence to her own derision.

“You look older.” He nods.

“Wishful thinking?”

“Maybe.”

He urges the bartender for scotch with a water back, neat, and toasts the foot of a cigar. You hide your simper behind your bottle. Not everyone is different.

“How’s the damage?” You point to his gut. He looks confused for a second before remembering the circumstances of your next-to-last interaction.

“How’s yours, mm?”

“Healed.”

“I can see that. Looks better than it did when you’d been extracted.”

You skim over the fact that he was there for your rescue and breathe in the smoke that twines. Wood, burnt ochre that’s become synonymous with him. You suppose you’d missed it; that rendezvous point for when you were beaten within an inch of your life. It’d been a far warmer scent than rusted metal and sour mattresses.

The conversation dwindles to silence, then. Part of it is the ache that stones you, the revelation that you don’t hate him as much as you’d convinced yourself on. A nebulous inkling that you’d dreamt about him, more than once, curled in on yourself and sore with rue.

You have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.

But it’s prickling, too. You don’t have it in you to revisit her; you – Doc – whoever emerged all those years ago with an ingenuous vengeance. You focus on the present for the first time in forever, content to relish in it.

So–

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, soaked in dim light, basking in an old dynamic that hasn’t quite found its footing yet. It isn’t until Price finishes his drink do you pinpoint the courage to interject again.

“You were right.”

He ponders your confession, turning it over while he takes you in anew.

“I was.” It’s gruff, short.

And it could end there. A brusque exchange doubling as your apology, more than you ever thought you’d give. But something gnaws on your chest, cramming up in the space between your pounding heart and a rib; the need to spill, to make yourself known, so – if they decide to decommission you – you leave an honest crest in his impression. This might be the last time.

Pyjamas and waterlogged socks. Naivety that bites. You haven’t exactly been the best version of yourself.

You can’t speak the full truth of it, so you start on a tangent you hope will paint it for you.

“I was a soldier before I was a medic, y’know. Fought in the Bulgarian spec-ops.”

“Mm. I read your file.” Still, he takes another drag and settles an elbow on the table. Whether he’s curious or genuinely wants to hear you out, it gives you the go-ahead to continue.

“We were cornered, once, out near the Black sea. Every single one of us was shot. By the end, two were killed, with four following in close footsteps.”

You knock back another swill of soju before continuing.

“The general ordered an immediate exfil, but the chopper only had space for four bodies. They made the decision to pull every man out of the water, KIA included, while leaving the only other girl and I for dead.”

Florentine eyes. They flicker with a concern you might have seen before, but were too busy spitting at to properly appreciate.

“Tess was my oldest friend. Couldn’t save her, so–”

“You try to save everyone else.”

Your lips pull in a thin line.

“But you can’t.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle. “I know that now.”

“So where are you headed, doc?”

“What–”

“I mean. What are you goin’ to do with yourself, now that this noble mission’s been fried, eh? They’re discussing your discharge. Should that happen, you’d be a civilian.”

“I get that. There’s nothing for me out there, though.”

“Start with what you haven’t allowed yourself this far, then.”

And he places something on the table in front of you. A hotel keycard, Navarra Brugge printed in a decadent font across its length. The building two blocks away. You bite your lip, mind reeling with every connotation to what the gesture might mean.

You settle on the most plausible.

“How’d you know?”

Looking up at him, your chest flutters when he grins. Handsome. How’ve you never noticed that?

“Saw it on that pretty face the first time we met. I figured, a girl so far up her own ass. Probably never had the petulance fucked out of you.”

You scoff with faux offence.

(Part shame).

So, something shifts between the sixth and seventh time you meet.

Maybe it’s the way you seriously consider the four digits after he leaves – scrawled in black ink, the number to his room.

Hands like the blistering end of a cigar, searing skin as they keep you in place. Your jaw seized in one, the other curled firmly around your waist. You think he’s trying to savour it, the sight of you keening for him, glossy eyes that hang on to the last bits of defiance. Stupid, drunk – not from the sip of soju you’d taken earlier, but off the scent of suede and ash alone.

You lean forward, searching for slightly chapped lips. He lets you get close enough that his moustache tickles your nose, imbued with tobacco, before pulling away. It’s hellsent, some tantalising choreography he’s undoubtedly danced before. But your consequential whine is short-lived, tempered under a severe look when his eyes meet yours. Fingers crushing together, squeezing, so your cheeks pucker up for him. A promise. A warning.

“How do y’want this to go, mm?” He says, low enough for the words to reverberate through you. Punctuated – his voice is hoarser at this hour.

In the dim lamplight, your brows knit together. He must read the confusion.

“You want me to take it easy on you, dove?” His palm smooths down your waist, eye contact locked while it does, looking for something you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint in yourself. Price’s touch curves along your hip, catching the hem of your jeans, before circling back to cup your behind. It’s gentle at first, a barely-there graze, feeling you out. You puff into the shared air.

But you can’t speak, not with the grip on your face. You resort to clenching your teeth, hoping he can feel the tick of it.

“Mm. I see,” His breath fans over you. It’s hot with malt, smoke cloyed to the tongue. The hand on your ass tightens, cleaving between flesh, forcing you upwards. Your pants press taut over your cunt. “How ‘bout this… tell me if it sounds good, eh?”

You nod. He pats your thigh in response.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you how you need to be fucked. Can’ promise it won’t be rough, but if you ever need to tap out, just say the word. Got it?”

Again, you nod, mouth parting once his clutch eases on you. The concession dangles for a moment, bobbing in the thick pause he takes. Two blinks later, still nothing. You take the opportunity to try and capture his lips, a little too eagerly.

He wrenches you back.

“I need t’hear you say it.”

Of course. A verbal affirmation. But for– what, exactly? Consent, all things considered, though he simmers with something else. Satisfaction teetering towards a precipice, a covered pot threatening to over boil. His fingers dig into you like they know your softest points, having stewed over them before. You shiver, fluttering with a familiar venom, and think to the humvee in Uzbekistan. Crouched between his legs, propelled onto his crotch. The swell that twitched under your cheek, throbbing, new blood.

Say yes to yield. To give in to the command of someone new, who’ll know deeper parts of you than what you’d ever allowed. The clutch of your cunt, the sound of your moans. Vulnerability he could exploit, should he want to.

Yet–

He’s asking, leading you along and stopping at every hitch. There’s a lifebelt tied to the end of some rope, a thrown-out line; an act worth more than you could credit to anyone before him.

I need to hear you say it.

It comes from some cavity within you – a rotten place, blackened with decades long neglect.

“I understand.”

Obedience. Just this once.

(Then, if the invite extends–)

“That’s a girl.”

Lightning shoots through you at the praise, flaying you open to his steady presence. Warmth; he’s alive in the way that trees are, thickset, unwavering, rooted to your core as you bleed and breathe and choke on your own delirium. You don’t want it to be known, how reactive you can be.

Though, you suppose, that’s printed in red ink, stapled to the front page of your file.

You nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc.

Not here, not now.

Flooded with the woes of golden pleasure, you don’t notice his subtle nudge upwards, tilting your chin. It’s only when he finally, finally, gives you what you want – the press of his mouth to yours, full force, rough like he said he’d be – that you touch back to reality.

Maduro flavoured spit, he overwhelms you with an unrelenting magnetism. Teeth clashing, his hands on your neck, your hair. It hurts, borderline bruising. Should he give you a moment’s breath, your lips would swell blue, burst capillaries a service announcement to anyone who thinks they could measure up. But Price keeps you to him, his beard rubbing you raw when he pushes his tongue into your mouth.

And it’s scorching, heavy. Folding to find the scars dotting the insides of your cheeks, bitten tissue in fits of rage. Sucking the mewls that stream from you as he meets them with his own, guttural groans. You collapse into pliability as he kisses – no, devours – you, losing that sparking centre, torrid effervescence blurring your senses. There’s no rhyme or reason, no connection to the person you’d hammered out of stone. Just drool, a dominating masculinity to melt into. Sticky like a fruit popsicle on some summer’s day.

He manoeuvres your head, tilting to the right, so he can push further onto you. An expert in all things dizzying; you can hardly keep up with the targeted onslaught. It takes all that is in you to breathe, clinging desperately to the front of his shirt – for purchase, for plea – and relinquish control.

Your back arches, front grinding onto him. He breaks away, saliva webbing between you, and tuts when you try to follow and bridge contact once more. “So eager, dove.”

Hovering near lightheaded rapture, you say the first thing that occurs to you. “Any slower and I might take charge.”

Entirely untrue. You’re porcelain in the molten pool of his desire. Harder, and he’d break you.

But his vicious snarl is enough to balance the lie. A scale tips in you, heavy stone of anticipation weighing on your gut.

“Mm. Is that how you want to play then?”

“Dunno what you mean.”

“Oh, you maddening li’l minx,” Price rasps, backing you up against the edge of his bed. He keeps you from falling onto it with a hand around the base of your neck. “I’ll show you what I mean.”

Reprimanding, he doesn’t choke you – not quite – though the grip on your throat is anything but gentle. Chafing calluses pressing into gooseflesh-prickled skin, you’re braced to his whims – locked into suspended animation as he takes you in. Your lashes, clumped with blissed tears. The constant, whistled whine, streaming from a punctured lung. Your sweat-flushed cheeks, honeyed sheen, tangy with iodine and still, sweeter than most that drips from you.

You, stuttering with frenzied pants, and searching for nirvana in his gaze alone.

His beard glistens with a concoction of both your saliva, and he smiles proudly under the varnish. You scramble on your tiptoes to meet him when he dips in again.

Price, captain. Spearhead of any team, bending rain to mould over a hefty cigar as he barks out rough commands. You’d seen it then, back on base, shivering under a debilitating monsoon. This fire, an unquestioned charge that threatened to batter you into place. One that does exactly that, right now. But you take it gladly when you're manhandled back onto a nest of cool cushions, crawling to your elbows to watch as he pulls his shirt off broad shoulders. Lift your hips for me. Putty, he peels your jeans off with one fell swoop.

“Fuck, look at you.”

Sinking deeper into oblivion, you grasp onto conventional straws – acts calculated in well-lit showrooms. A babydoll smile, a virginal blush. Your knees tap together as you attempt to shut your soaked panties from his view.

One well-placed, smarting slap thwarts the attempt. The delicate skin of your inner thigh blazes with a white-hot sting, carved to fit the shape of his palm.

“Keep ‘em open for me, now. I feast with my eyes first, dove.”

Fuck, indeed.

“C-Captain…”

The breathy murmur comes out broken, composed to the quick cadence of your heart. It slams for space, almost nauseating, squeezing your internal organs as it tries it’s best to just hang on. He’s sin, a transgression to whatever divine laws are sung in stain-glass lit halls. And maybe your body knows – maybe it’s adrenaline, the fight or flight that’s kept you safe all these years, coming back to blare it’s bad news. Red flashes, astigmatism. A cavern of fire ready to swallow you whole.

But if hell is anywhere near as glorious as the feel of his hands on you, then you’d plunge to the devil yourself.

“Bloody christ. You beautiful thing,” His words, for contrast, are whispered with a reverence so quiet you wonder if he meant for you to hear. “It’s a fucking wonder no one’s tried their way with you.” Secret tenderness spilling to the lilt of it.

(Not so secret is the lust with which he kneads your hips.)

“They have,”

Shifting, he brings your legs to either side of him. “Is that right?”

“None were worth my time.”

“Mm. And I am?”

“We’ll see.”

“Suppose we will. Update me when you’re tending to a sore cunt.”

He doesn’t give you the time to respond, hands anchoring beneath your knees to press your thighs up to your chest. You’re snapped in half, miniscule beneath his body – an anvil with weight alone. Beyond fanned lashes and a feverish glow, you see his arm crook at the elbow, slotting between your thighs.

But he only grazes over your panties, stretched thin over your drenched centre.

Your hips buck, seeking friction to sate the fattening pressure. Price only entertains your high-pitched whines with gentle hushes. And when they ebb to a varicoloured fog, found in teary eyes, he taps your bitten lips with two fingers.

You take them in, suckling vacuum around the thick digits. Lapping at his knuckles, smoothing over the tang of saltpetre and binder leaves. He takes a moment to enjoy the balmy envelope of your mouth before reaching deeper, knocking molars and pinning down your tongue until your chest twinges with throbbing hypoxia. Spittle pools behind your teeth, dribbling from the seal of your lips to coat your chin.

You have half a mind to doubt it, to curl in with the knowledge that all it took was a stern stare and some words of comfort for you to debase yourself. But Price meets your insecurity with a reinforced thrust of his pelvis, hard-on grinding into your ass. It’s enough to send you unquestioned lechery.

A loud rip and the sudden rush of cold air on your pussy is what it takes for you to realise he’s stripped you bare, pocketing your torn underwear with a sly shift. Your jaw remains unhinged when he pulls away, tasting the stench of sex that clots sticky at the back of your throat. As such, there’s nothing to dampen your needy cry when he slips the slicked digits between velveteen folds.

He touches you like his name is imprinted in bold letters across your navel, implanting blunt fingertips onto your electric centre – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike fully-body tremors. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and somehow, simultaneously not enough; a defibrillator to your core, a deep dive into molasses waters. His thumb takes place on your clit when he finds you clenching around nothing, index and middle inching towards your sopping hole to plug you full.

And the stretch burns, squeezing into a space that’s only ever taken your smaller hand. It doesn’t hurt so much as it aches, your cunt rushing to accommodate the intrusion. You know, you know, it’s a fraction of what’s to come – he’s preparing you to take him, that hefty appendage that’s so big it can’t even slot in your ass, confined and all. Yet, you feel as though you should’ve been readied for this too. This scissoring – chock-full of competency, an expert hook that isolates the perfect spot off the get-go. A part of you you’d never been able to reach.

His free hand cradles your neck, steadying it as he crouches over you to shove his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss, far from the lip smacking of before – no. Price bleeds his groaned compliments into your lungs, battling for what orifice of yours can make the lewdest sounds. Your moans, choked on scotch-spiked spit, or the battered, airtight clinch, gushing new slick with every quirk of his fingers.

“Mm, you’re– fuck, love. So goddamn tight, you’re practically cutting off my blood flow.” He curses, voice damned with restraint. It settles in the back of your head, forced through the bromine-doused cotton that lines your skull. Nothing makes sense. Vowels form shapes that dance to an off-tune song, edges slicing you, severing synapses. Something about blood, something about love. You’d always prided yourself on deciphering the most complicated of inflections, but never were you given the handbook on empyrean pleasure.

You can only guess based on what you see. Ivory skin, smudged at the edges, no hard lines to his form. Washed with contoured muscles, a peach blush, ripe enough to sink your teeth into if you can muster the energy. A bristly beard, carving you cell-by-cell, scraping the sensitive skin between your chin and lower lip until all that’s left is a bottomless chasm to drool your words into. You don’t dare roll your eyes back, can’t bear to shut them, even as your peripheral vision fuzzes out.

“C-Ca–”

“None of that. C’mon, love. John.”

“John! Sir–”

“Say it again.”

“J-John,”

His thumb presses down with a vengeance, bearing down on a trillion little nerve endings that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Your muscles tense, screwing into tight knots, your hips lifting off the mattress. Price’s nose taps yours while he peppers you with small pecks – your top lip, the corner of your mouth, your chin.

And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before a nuclear blast, where birds flock out of trees and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, fire erupting in the distance. When you seize up in a ball of fear–

Your cunt clenches impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in waves, but as one upturning tsunami, floodgates open to the duvet underneath you.

–and do your best to embrace a quick death.

He gives you a moment to find yourself. Boneless, you sink into the bed, teetering towards oblivion.

“Tired already?” He teases, massaging your calves with subdued vigour. The fingers once knuckle-deep in you slide into his mouth, waitressing your spoils to his eager palate.

“Mmnn…”

“Best snap out of it, precious. I’m not nearly done with you yet.” He draws away to tug down his pants, taking his briefs along with it.

You don’t really… process it, right away. Expression dazed, you stare dumbly down at his leaking cock, reddened head angry at his prolonged control. Reality finds you in increments, foam lapping at a sun-soaked shore, carrying with it seagrass and brine.

The first thought that occurs to you; he’s hairy. Not untamed – it’s clear he trims the curls at his groin – but, just like his face, Price exudes masculinity in even the smallest of aspects. You imagine swallowing the length of him, doing your best to take it all, and breathing in unadulterated musk as you’re crushed against coarse hair.

The second; he’s huge. It’s a fact that shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does, but the longer you drink it in, the more inconceivable it seems. You’d known – had face-groped it in the car, felt it poke your ass – and still. It slaps the softer flesh of his stomach, swells under his touch when he wraps his fist around the base.

Last (a final position you credit to your own humility); he’s practically throbbing. Life pulsing in the thick veins that branch up the frenulum, oozing copious amounts of prespend. You’re shaking your head before you have time to come up with an adequate response.

“That’s not gonna fit.”

Stupid. He’s got you cock dumb and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

For a moment, he backs away, kneeling at your ankles. Dread swarms you, buzzing doubt. Of course he’d lay off at your admission, he made it clear he prioritised your consent above his own gain. You can’t help but think it fitting; a slip up is what ended up costing you ecstasy.

But then – ridiculously, blissfully – he bends over, so his face is level with your cunt.

And spits.

Squealing, you throw a leg over his neck, winding your hands in his ruffled hair. His jaw remains hidden behind your pubis, but the scrunch of his eyes tells you enough. He’s smiling.

“Hey–”

But Price doesn’t listen. He reaches up to rub his saliva over your folds, careful to especially do so over your tender entrance. As he does, his tongue – that expert, warm, wet tongue – smooths over your clit, sucking it back to a swollen floret.

You keen, bucking into his ministrations. Watered boscage, you come alive with new life, a fresh vigour under a pink spring.

(He threatens the delicacy; raging sun, eclipsed, now, by his role as captain – caregiver – but verging on a supernova. Ever the firestarter, you’ll abandon reinvigoration in a heartbeat for ruin instead.)

“We’ll make it fit.”

Something you’d never admit so long as you’re bound to this underworld, cursed by Zeus and shackled to your boulder – you already feel another climax impending, with just the effort of his mouth alone.

So you pull his hair until he’s made to detach from you, entertaining your command, crawling up your body for his lips to smash yours once more.

“Just fuck me.” You whisper against him.

“Watch your tone.” He replies.

And it’s enough of a symphonious statement to truly emphasise it when he catches the divet of your cunt, sculpting you into a paradigm figure of devotion as you catch his eye. Florentine, glinting with an ardour you mirror in your own. Hooded under a heavy brow bone, blending into a perfect nose. Wrinkles and age lines and still so in tune with your much younger self.

You bite your lip when he finally drives inside you. He cradles your head to the curve of his neck.

“Fucking hell, dove.”

“Haah–”

Exclamations groaned simultaneously, unravelling ribbons curled with the sharp blade of a knife. It’s the same, flickering sting, a pressure less than pleasurable cramping in your lower gut. But they exist as subsidiary, fleeting points to acknowledge and move on. Nothing can trump the deluge that is his cock slotting into you, bursting through a dam that shifts to fit hard ridges – sucking him deeper, deeper.

“Jesus– fuck. Nngh– you perfect… perfect little–”

When he’s more than halfway through, you figure it’s safe enough to contract what you’d been trying to relax. You nuzzle your face further into his shoulder, nosing Maduro and suede, drinking the heady fragrance of his sweat-infused cologne. You wind your arms up around him, driving nails into rigid muscle, and search for purchase as he bottoms out with the aid of your squelching uptake.

“So– Yersobig.” You slur into him, muffled.

“I know. I know, precious. Breathe through it,”

And his hand trails downwards to find your clit again, lubed under his efforts. He emphasises his reassurance with a precise rub, right over where you thrum fierce and hot, feeding the gluttonous depravity that begins crawling up your legs. It festers like a day-old wound, sticky and raw, delicate at the seams.

In between croaked moans, you voice your voracity. “Jus’ move, old man.”

Price’s chest rumbles. You flush with the thought of making him laugh.

And promptly quiet down when he draws out of you in his first stroke.

Because oh.

You don’t get used to the sensation, after all.

Every thrust, you’re able to discern a new part of him. One, and it’s the veins that slide perfectly across your walls. Two, and it’s the way he thickens the further he pushes in, stretching your sensitive skin to its limits. Three, four, five; his mushroomed head wedges against the gummy wall of your cervix, pumping you full of leaden warmth.

You’re fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Propelled into a cosmic cavity that engulfs you with familiarity. Not some galaxy, beyond the exploration of man (though, you feel you can reach out and touch the stars). More so a fort, made of the quilt your mother had gifted you once. Nostalgic timelessness, hot chocolate glazing your gullet, resting rich in your tummy. You go out of your way to lick the dampness from his skin and place a purpling bite in its stead.

He ducks to graze his lip on the shell of your ear. You shudder under the gesture’s exposing simplicity.

“You’re takin’ me so well, dove. Doin’ so good for me.” He groans, sap onto a crackling bonfire.

“Y-You– s’feels so–”

“You can do it, c’mon,” As if to challenge you, he gains speed, pistoning at a brutaller pace.

“John! Oh my god, oh my god. You can’t do that. I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess of yourself.”

And it’s the filth he utters over anything else. The string of obscene promises, sung for only you to hear, his balls slapping your ass and his prespend smearing milky white on sweltering walls. Captain – sir – who orders death in dire seconds, who depends on cigars and the quick-thinking action of his subordinates. Taking on that same pitch as he urges you to find release, a slow-creeping apocalypse waiting to happen at your core.

So perhaps he still asks for calamity; perhaps he knows you’ll lose face the moment you’re milked for all you’re worth.

You give it to him anyway, collapsing over a pressed-pedalboard longing.

Nerves snapping, limbic system miswiring. You wrap your limbs around him and black out before you feel the full effects of it.

You resurface half a minute later and find yourself in a completely different position. Axis turtled, he’d flipped you over on your hands and knees to spear you from behind.

“What was it I asked of you, eh?”

His chest fits along your back, tree-trunk arms wrapped around your waist. You barely hear him under the pool you’d been thrust into, his words splintered like the tune on an old record player. You hang there for a perennial moment – not quite floating, not drowning – blinking as the world rocks by in a blur of creme and gold.

Your elbows buckle. He has you before you fall face first into a cushion, a forearm buttressing your collar. The action hauls you upright, until you can rest your head on his shoulder. Blood rushes to your head.

Ragdoll is the first thing that occurs to you. Wool lined with cotton, pilled stitching.

“T’tell you…” You croak, parched.

“Mm?”

“F’it was too much.”

“Is it, dove?” He speaks against your cheek, placing a sloppy kiss on the upraised plane. You lean into it, nose bumping his.

“No… no. Keep goin’, please.”

Price needs nothing else.

You flop onto his full-bodied support, temple slick with moisture, itchy when it scuffs his beard. His cock plunges into new depths like this, pummeling your abdomen with a noticeable bulge, his fingers brushing affectionately over the extrusion. You’re somewhat cognizant to it – awake to what’s happening, aware of the loving nature – but say nothing.

The arm spread across your chest rises to your throat, wrapping around the lean length. It constricts enough air to bring stars to your eyes, pulsing flashes of nirvana, speckling the freckled skin that fills your vision.

“Gonna – fucking… cum inside, precious.” He screws them shut, his face scrunching, a lined portrait in sybaritism. You weakly nod along. “You’ll be bursting with it. Will feel me for days, won’t you?”

“Yhh– Hahh…” You struggle against his choking hold.

“Shhh. It’s okay, I know. I got you.”

You grab onto his wrists, winding around the hair that dusts them, bouncing with the unrelenting roll of his hips. You’re so full, it’s too much–

And when he stutters – the smallest, most imperceptible amount – you tighten your core and brace against the torrent that stuffs you.

“Fuck.”

Molten. Viscid. He wasn’t lying when he said you’d be brimming with milky-white, splattered across your insides. Your stomach overturns with the sheer volume of it; already, it oozes from you, slipping from the thick plug of him to paint your quivering thighs.

And you think of the desert sun and heat-drunk resentment. Sand, scorching, scratching absurd crevices. You think of yourself, two months ago, holding out from everyone. Part of you is angry (her, maybe, still buried underneath this murky rapture) that it took this long, that you’d forgone fulfilment for fear that your poison would seep through.

Another, newer part of you forgives the orchestration of your life thus far – Bulgaria, Tess, the general and the sick process that enabled him. If this is what it was all building up to, then you can find contentment, tucked somewhere in the scant space between you and your captain.

(Stupidly selfish, you recognise, even now. Like looking at dead soldiers and exhaling when you realise they’re not someone you know.

Perhaps it’s the tip that catches your the divet of your cunt when he pulls out, designed to fuck those experiences out of you.

Barely friends, hardly more.

But you could be.)

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sweet-as-an-angel · 10 months ago

Note

current fixation is imagining it’s summer (because winter has me so done!!!) and Dominic comes home early for lunch and he sees the reader in the backyard with the children playing but they have water guns and unfortunately drench the readers shirt…

Naaauuuuurrr, getting the cogs in my brain turning here, Anon 🤭

TW: Dominic Being a Creep, Fetishisation of Reader, Dominic Being a Borderline Neglectful Father :-(, Manipulation, Clothes Stealing, Mildly Suggestive Content.

♡ You know he's going to be super weird about it.

♡ Internally, of course.

♡ He's throwing himself into the heart of the action like his life depends on it, rolling up his sleeves and joining the fun.

♡ He wants you to think he's more than Dominic Laurier, CEO of...well, whatever it is he's the CEO of.

♡ He wants you to see his warm side; the side he wants you to think he's letting you to see - his vulnerable, fun-loving, fatherly side.

♡ Yeah, his kids are a little weirded out by the fact that their father is actually getting involved on their lives (for once), but hey, they're not complaining ! They're just happy to see their father instead of him retreating into his study the minute he comes home.

♡ Dominic tries to distribute his time equally between you and his sons, but seeing you with your shirt drenched makes for a most opportune distraction.

♡ He tries not to let his staring become glaringly obvious to you, even going inside the house to retrieve his designer sunglasses. But alas, you will still feel eyes in you; the weight of voyeurism in broad daylight hanging over you like a cloud.

♡ Dominic takes this time - this brief window of opportunity - to get as close to you as you will allow, all but tackling you, gently shunting you - anything to feel your skin against him.

♡ He has to resist pulling you into him when you hide from his sons, tucked behind the trunk of one of the oak trees in his back yard. You fit so well within his silhouette that it's all he can think about, having you leaning against him, his hand on your shoulder to 'steady' you.

♡ And you know for a fact that he's going to use this water fight as an excuse to give you a change of clothes.

♡ You can try to attest that the weather is warm enough for you to bear wet clothes for a little longer - long enough to go home and change there. You know, considering you live right next door.

♡ "Mais non, what would your parents think of me if I were to send you home soaking wet!"

♡ He shudders to think. He thinks too much. Wonders.

♡ "It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me."

♡ He finds a pair of Marilyn's pants he knows she doesn't use anymore (because he doesn't let her use them), as well as one of his shirts.

♡ It's clean, but lightly worn. You can still smell him in it.

♡ Just as he indended.

♡ He tells you he'll wash your clothes, that he'll return them to you tomorrow.

♡ He can't lie now. Can't just keep your clothes for himself.

♡ However, he spots an opportunity.

♡ He'll keep something of yours - something small, minimal. A sock, perhaps.

♡ He'll say it got lost - must've been integrated with their washing after he'd dried them. He'll buy you a new pair - something luxurious and beyond the realms of comfort you're used to. All the while, he gets to keep something of yours before you return his shirt to him, your scent staining it.

♡ Two treasure troves at the price of one voyage.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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#sweet as an angel #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere blog #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons

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froggibus · 1 year ago

Text

Cozy Winter Nights - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff!! very cute and wholesome and domestic tbh

Word Count: 900

Summary: on a cold winter day, all you want is to cuddle up with your boyfriend on the couch and watch a movie

CW: Christmas time!! (yes I’m aware it’s June—leave me alone), cold weather, Leon ‘forgets’ to check the thermostat, very domestic

I was hardcore struggling to write but then someone unintentionally gave me this idea and now I once again have Christmas brainrot in the middle of the summer lol

————

“You will not believe how busy it is out there,” Leon slams the door behind him, flashing you a goofy grin.

You raise an eyebrow at him from where you’re standing in the kitchen. His cheeks are tinged pink from the cold weather, a toque pulled over his blond hair. He shakes his head, half-melted snowflakes tumbling off of his hat and drifting onto the doormat.

He drops his handful of shopping bags onto the ground and gets to work unlacing his boots. “How was your day?”

“It’s been good, I missed you,” you admit. “I got some baking done though.”

As if on cue, the timer for the oven goes off and you shuffle your way to the oven to take the cookies out. The warmth of the oven engulfs your skin and the sweet smell of gingersnaps fills the air.

Leon sets his bags on the counter and steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while you lay the cookies on the cooling rack. He nuzzles his head into your shoulder and plants a kiss to your neck.

“Is it cold in here?” You ask.

Leon tugs you in closer, the warmth of the oven spilling over both of you. “It’s a cold day,” he shrugs. “Don’t worry, honey, I can warm you up.”

You snort, turning around and tilting your head up to plant a kiss to his lips. He tugs you back to him by your hips, kissing you again.

You giggle against his lips, placing a hand on his chest to push him away. “How about you go check the thermostat and I make us some drinks and we can meet back on the couch?”

“Sounds perfect,” he kisses you once more.

You watch as he takes his mountain of bags back to your bedroom, admiring the broadness of his shoulders as he walks. As soon as he disappears from your sight, you get to work making drinks.

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you know it helps settle the darker parts of Leon. Especially during the seasons he feels loneliest. Still, you don’t mind a drink here and there with him if it makes him feel better, and rum and eggnog is too delicious to resist.

You mix the drink and sprinkle a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg on the top. You throw some treats on a plate and bring everything over to the coffee table in the middle of the living room.

You grab one of your comfiest throw blankets and toss it over the couch before retreating to your room to change into your pyjamas. Leon’s just pulling a plain black t-shirt over his toned back when you step inside, already clad in red flannel pyjama bottoms.

You grin from ear to ear. “Hey, you’re wearing them.”

“Well, yeah,” he huffs, “they’re comfortable.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes.

You change into your matching pyjama bottoms and a black tank top, turning around just to see Leon staring at you. “What?” You tilt your head curiously.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head.

You narrow your eyes at him but drop it, following him out of the bedroom and into the living room. You turn out the lights on the way, letting the warm string lights from the Christmas tree illuminate the room.

Leon looks so pretty in this lighting—all soft and warm and peaceful. He settles in on the couch, grabbing his drink off of the tray and taking a sip.

You settle in next to him, grabbing the remote and turning on the tv. “Do you care what we watch?”

It’s a trick question. You know that Leon’s never cared about what you watch together as long as it’s not a super gory movie or something that reminds him of work. He’s just content with spending time with you and you know he’d watch pretty much anything if it makes you happy.

“No,” he slings an arm over your shoulder and tugs you closer to him.

You settle on Home Alone, swapping the remote for your drink and relaxing against Leon. You take a few sips, the cold drink and the cold air making you shiver.

“Did you check the thermostat?”

“Wha—oh, yeah,” he nods.

His answer is less than convincing, but you have no reason to not believe him. You shrug and pull the blanket over you and Leon, the plush fabric spread over your laps. You rest your head on his shoulder, focusing your attention back on the movie.

“Do you think Kevin could work with you?”

Leon laughs at that. A genuine laugh. “He has potential,” he admits. “He’d probably end up working with the bad guys. He has a bit of a sadistic streak.”

“He’s like seven!”

“Yes and?”

You giggle at him, planting a kiss to his cheek. You go to get up and make another round of drinks but Leon tugs you back into him. You sigh at his antics but cuddle back into him regardless.

Eventually your drinks are finished and you start to feel warm and sleepy, you and Leon adjusting so that he’s laying behind you on the couch, arms around your waist. You tug the blanket so that it covers both of you up to the shoulders.

You snuggle farther into him, hips rubbing against his. “I really love you.”

“I love you too.”

And on such a perfect night, Leon’s never been happier to forget to check the thermostat.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #resident evil fluff #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #leon resident evil #x you #x reader #domestic!leon #re #re leon #re4 leon #re6 leon

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breezybangtanbebe · 9 months ago

Text

Chocolate Wings: KNJ💋

A/N: a WP RKive lol

Tags: NamjoonxReader, AMBW, established relationship,oral (female receiving), teasing, edging😌✨

4.3k words

It was a Sunday afternoon.

There had been a break in the streak of crumby weather that plagued the city and the sun finally decided to grace the world with its presence. Everyone and their mother was out and about enjoying the sunshine and clear skies despite the low temperature.

Everyone including Namjoon.

Out with his boys, playing basketball or doing whatever it was that men did when they got together.

You didn't care.

All you cared about at that moment was the aching need you felt for your boyfriend deep down in lady land. He's already been super busy with work and you with school, both of your schedules never seeming to align. And the one day you both were free, he decided to take his happy ass outside to be with his friends.

The nerve of him.

You were sitting on your shared bed, hair half wrapped in a scarf, pushed up on the top of your head in a curly poof that tickled your forehead and neck. You wore an over-sized sweatshirt that smelled of your boyfriend's scent, and extra-long tube socks that reached just above your knees.

You took extra time that morning buffing and exfoliating your skin, shaving everything that mattered and moisturizing completely in preparation for a day of cuddling and canoodling with your man.

But when you emerged from the steam-filled bathroom some hours ago, your heart sank at the sight of Namjoon shrugging on his olive green coat and bending down to lace up his Nikes.

This morning...

"Um....where are you going?" You poke out your bottom lip in a pout, your tone making Namjoon lift his head to look at you.

He was so fine and sometimes you just couldn't stand it. From his pale blonde hair against his caramel toned skin to the way his black long-sleeved Under-Armor stretched over his broad chest and shoulders. You just wanted to drop your towel and not even give him a chance to answer.

But youre distracted by the heat in his pretty brown eyes as they assessed your barely shielded nudity. They widened as they scanned over your glowing melanin that glistened in the light of the sun beaming through the curtains.

The love and adoration he held for you filled his irises as they trailed up your legs, over the towel, over your cleavage and collarbones. Your wet hair dripping over your shoulders in loose ringlets has Namjoon's swooning, at least until he reaches your disappointed face.

He straightens up and steps forward cautiously.

"Im uh...meeting Jungkook and Yoongi at the gym......" He trails off at the sight of you, his hands closing into fists to resist the urge to touch you. But he knew if he did, there was no way he'd be leaving.

You wilt visibly at his answer.

"Are you foreal? Joon..I thought we were staying in today..." You pout even harder, instantly making Namjoon become riddled with guilt.

"I know baby, Im sorry..but I promised the guys a while ago that I would.."He begins, pointing towards his gym bag and you let an exaggerated sigh before he could continue.

Because you already knew about Namjoon's promise to be a fifth man in the next pick up game. Yoongi would never let him forget it.

"Fine....." you huff out childishly, folding your arms across your covered bossom and looking away.

Namjoon frowns at the obvious sadness in your body language and he glances towards the door with an uneasy expression.

"I mean...I could tell them another day..." he suggested and a part of you lit up at the idea. But your shoulders sag at the thought of him leaving his boys hanging for you. Again. With his work schedule, he barely had time to kick it with them. The two of you lived together.

He saw you every day.

So what was a few hours of guy time really going to hurt?

You shook your head.

"Just go.." you sigh and Namjoon quirks a brow.

"You dont want me to stay? Its not a big deal. I can.."he begins but you pad over the carpeted floors on bare feet to where he stood next to the bed.

"Nope. Go. Or else your friends will resent me for turning you into a flake.." you pout and Namjoon's lips break out into a dimpled grin that has you rolling your eyes. He tilts his head in attempt to catch your gaze.

"Sure you wont be mad?" he asks with softening eyes. You nod silently with a stiff shrug to portray to him that you werent really tripping over him having to leave, even though you were a tad salty.

Fortunately though, Namjoon knows you better than that.

He catches you by the wrist.

"Babe.." his tone drops and you glance at him breifly to nod again.

You dont catch his smirk or the twinkling mischief in his eye as you prepared to turn away to head back into the bathroom.

Before you knew it ,the hem of your towel is being tugged away and you gasp at Namjoon whirling you around and pinning you to the mattress. All of the air leaves your chest when you feel his weight on you, pinning your exposed body beneath him. Both of your hands were trapped above your head and Namjoons lips were already trailing down your throat.

You inhaled sharply as his tongue slid over your freshly scrubbed skin, smelling of peaches and vanilla bean body cream.

Your soft moans fill the room as Namjoon continued to taste your skin, his tongue now swiping over the peaks of your breasts. You struggled underneath him as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and you arched your back into him.

He knew that was one of your sweet spots.

"Joonie..." you sigh out as he moved on to your other nipple, trailing his tongue between your breasts sloppily.

"hmm?" he hummed with shaded eyes, flicking his tongue over the pert brown flesh lazily before smothering it with his lips.It takes you some time to figure exactly what you wanted to say but you eventually find your words when Namjoon switches nipples again.

"..If...youre not...gonna fuck me.....y..you better stop..." you stutter, your eyes rolling back when the rythm of his tongue begins sending tingles all over your naked skin. Namjoon chuckles deep in his throat at your warning and begins sucking at your nipple harder, letting go of one of your wrists so he could knead your other breast gently.

He doesnt stall his torture for what felt like forever, smirking at the sounds you made and the way your body shuddered and squirmed beneath him. And just when he knew you were nearing your brink, he releases your nipple.

Your chest caves as you release a shuddered breath and the mattress shifts around you as Namjoon pushed himself up to look at you.

He gains way too much satisfaction at the sight of you so flustered, your already full lips swollen from being sucked and bitten, your nipples hard and glistening with his saliva, your damp hair fanning out around your head and splaying over the sheets. The amount of melanin in your skin concealed your blush, but your skin was covered in goosebumps.

Your eyes flutter open to meet Namjoons, his brow lifting with amusement.

"I hate you alot..." you mumble.

Namjoon shakes his head as he leaned down to peck your pouted lips softly. You whine in protest but do little to resist him as he dips his tongue through your lips breifly before pulling away.

"I know....but when I get back I promise Im all yours though baby. Foreal foreal.." he tilts his head and his pretty brown eyes gleam with sincerity.

He was so fucking cute, it annoyed you. Despite the tiny puddle collecting between your legs.

"Yeah yeah..." you push at his chest as he clambered back to stand, leaving you naked and annoyed on the bed.

"I'll be back.." he winks at you before he turns away to walk out of the bedroom.

That was 4 hours ago.

Since Namjoon left, you tried your best to stay occupied.

You studied.

You cleaned.

You painted your toes.

You read.

But nothing could keep your mind off of Namjoon and his mouth. His lips and tongue were heavy and straining on your thoughts, keeping you from comprehending any of the words your eyes had been skimming over.

After reading the same sentence 5 times, you shut the book tossed it aside. Inspiration strikes and you lay back completely and lift your phone above you to snap a few pictures. You took an array of sexy selfies to send to your man, all showing off your best assets.

One of you lifting Namjoon's sweatshirt to expose your tummy and the bottoms of your heavy breasts, tiny peaks of your brown aerolas visible.

One of you laying back with the tips of your fingers playing under the elasticeof your panties.

One of you laying on your side to give him a nice view of your curves and ass sitting perfectly in your blue boy shorts. An evil laugh escapes your mouth once you were done, scrolling through the pictures quickly to find the best ones.

You smirked at how good you looked, pressing send with another snicker of accomplishment. You quickly typed out a message to go with the photos before tossing your phone aside on the bed.

Now you'd just have to wait.

Namjoon was the bee's knees as far as boyfriends go. But he was a fucking TEASE and he knew it. The nerve of him getting you warmed up and just leaving you like that. You hope your little photoshoot knocked him off his game. You hope he missed every shot because the image of your tits distracted him too much.

It would serve him right.

But you hated to admit how much your body missed him when he was gone. Sometimes you almost ached for him when you got like this. He had you feening for him like an addict and you were way too proud to beg for what you wanted. So you'd rather tease him back and give him a taste of his own medicine.

When you finally heard the sound of keys jingling and the front door shutting, you should have felt ashamed at the way your heart jumped and quickened with excitement.

You sat up in the bed, picking up your book when you heard his heavy footsteps in the hall.

You were pretending to read that same sentence when Namjoon was standing in the doorway with dark eyes and disheveled hair. They squinted at you suspiciously as he stepped in the room.

"Look at you...sitting there all innocent like you didnt just send me all those nudes.."

"Hmm?" you feigned ignorance and Namjoon snorts as he kicked off his shoes and removed his coat.

" 'Hmm?' " he mocks you and you laugh at his expression.

"I dont know what youre talking about" you giggle some more, redirecting your eyes back to that sentence.

"Yeah I bet. Laugh it up...." he begins, bending down to pick up his shoes.

"Thats why Jungkook saw your nipples...." he grunts as he walked towards the closet. Your jaw drops and so does the book in your hands. The sound of Namjoon laughing grows faint for a moment until hes emerging from the closet.

"Youre lying..." Your expression falls and Namjoon shakes his head with a grin.

"Nope. Well...he might have. I locked the screen pretty fast. We were done anyway. Yoongi had to work so..." he shrugs and you let out a relieved sigh, sending a tiny prayer up that none of Namjoons friends saw your goods. Although the thought is a bit amusing.

He casually undressed himself as if you weren't watching him, pulling his black compression shirt over his head and stepping out of his socks. He yanks his headband off and pushes his silvery blonde hair back before shuffling his fingers through it.

Once he was stripped down to just his tank top and sweat pants, you were scooting from the edge of the bed and standing behind him.

You were tired of waiting.

Namjoon tensed at first when he felt your hands snaking around his waist to lift at his sweat dampend undershirt. When your warm hands slipped under the fabric to feel his abs he smirks.

"I need to take a shower..." he chuckled as you shamelessly felt him up, nuzzling his neck while you abandoned his tummy to let your hands glide up his biceps and shoulders.

Namjoon's body was perfect and very well built to say the least. He had always been on the slender side since you'd met him, but his long legs were as thick as tree trunks and incredibly toned. You loved the feel of his muscular thighs beneath your touch.

But as of recently, the rest of his body was beginning to fill out generously. His newfound dedication to fitness was paying off and the results were extremely evident in his broader shoulders, bigger biceps, pronounced chest muscles and neatly placed abs centered down his torso.

You couldnt stop touching him because of it. Any and every opportunity you had to graze his exposed skin with your hands or lips, you hopped on it.

Like now.

You forced Namjoon's shirt off of his body, turning him around and tugging it over his head . You threw it aside and went back to work on his neck, tasting the sweet/saltiness on his skin as you trailed kisses from the base to his collarbone. When you latched on his skin and began to suck, Namjoon cursed low in his throat at the feel.

"Babe....fuck..." he murmurs.

His deep voice grumbles in his bare chest, still slick with the sweat from playing basketball and running. You didn't give two shits about it though as you pressed your body against his. You loved his sweat and his scent. You would gladly bottle that shit up and drown yourself in it with how arroused you were right now.

"Shower after...I want you.." you whined against his skin as your hands skimmed down his body to tug at the waistband of his sweats. When his pants didnt budge, you palmed at his bulge, your walls clenching with need at how hard he was growing beneath his clothes.

"You want me.....fuck....that bad?.." Namjoon chuckles and groans softly as you kneaded his dick teasingly,letting your tongue drag over the planes of his chest.

"Yes.." you whispered into his mouth before rolling onto the tips of your toes to kiss him. Namjoon's hands glide over your hips to cup at your ass cheeks, giving the plump flesh a squeeze that makes you gasp. Your lips parted to invite Namjoon's tongue inside to roam over yours.

He grunts a soft chuckle at your response, but doesn't break the kiss as he slowly stepped forward to back you towards the foot of the bed. You continued to softly palm at his dick as he guided you back, beginning to stroke him slowly and tugging at the tip, making him moan into you.

As you felt your legs touching the end of the bed, Namjoon releases his hold on your ass to grip your wrists, yanking one away from his crotch and the other from his waist and trapping them at your sides. You smirked at switch in dominance, finding amusement getting yourself in the same position you were in this morning.

"So what? Youre just gonna take it?" He smiles against your lips as you squirmed a bit under his hold. But your resistance is feeble against his strength and you eventually become pliant as he put his full weight on you. You suddenly felt his lips on yours, parting you slowly and accepting your sweet surrender.

His hands remained on your wrists and he gently guides them up to rest above your head against the pillows. Your shirt rises to reveal your boy shorts and you squirm under the weight of Namjoons body as he kissed you deeper.

"I wont fuck you....until after my shower....." he said slowly between his seering lips.

"but....I wanna taste you...." he whispers, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and releasing it with a soft pop.

"...so fucking bad...." he adds just before kissing your cheek and working his way down to your neck, nibbles and sucking your skin as he went.

"Yea?" is all you can think to say, your brain too clouded by arrousal and excitement for anything more. Namjoon lifts his head and looms over you, his eyes burning with desire.

He nods.

"Mmmhmm...its been on my mind since this morning....." he murmurs as they trailed down your body, stopping at the space below your waist hungrily.

"Can I?" he looks back up at you slowly, biting his lip.

He didnt have to ask you twice. Your panties seemed to have teleported to the other side of the room, your borrowed sweat shirt pushed all the way up to expose your breasts and heaving chest.

Namjoon was trailing soft kisses down your torso as he moved down the bed. When he got to the edge, he dips his head down between your legs, hooking his hands beneath your thighs to pull you towards his face.

You bit your lip to contain your blush as you watched him assess your most intimate area as if it were his first time ever seeing it. His hooded eyes admired you for a moment, taking in the sight of your glistening flesh just before diving in.

Your body immediately tensed up when Namjoon's tongue made contact with your clit. Every muscle in your body flexed and relaxed in time with his slow calculated licks. The soft tip of his muscle swirled in gentle circles, sweeping over the hood of your bud and pressing against the underside with the flat of his tongue.

You were already voicing your approval of his technique, moaning softly while your hips wound in the direction of his skilled tongue as he repeated his tactic. But with each soft pass over your clit, you grew more and more needy. Namjoons mouth felt amazing, but you needed more.

In an attempt to encourage him to go harder, you reached down to touch his head. Before your fingertips could graze his bleached locks, Namjoon shook away from your touch. His deep voice vibrates against your sex and you felt him scold you more than you heard him.

"uh uhn baby...." he says breifly before sticking his tongue back out to lap against your clit slowly. You bite down hard on your lip at the sight of his shiny pink lips and tongue melding with your folds. A sigh of a moan leaves your lips and Namjoon glances up at you, a smirk in his eyes as he licked your pussy at a torturous pace.

He was teasing you, maybe as punishment for sending him those pictures. Maybe for being a brat this morning, you didnt know. But you knew damn well that Namjoon knew exactly what he was doing.

When he heard the tension in your voice as you moaned above him...

When he felt your thighs trembling underneath his hands....

When he felt your vulva pulsing and clenching against his chin..

Namjoon knew it was time to put you out of your misery. After a few more swirls of his tongue, he closes his lips around your clit and begins to suck.

"Ooh fuck..." you cry out. Your back arches off of the bed and your hands fist at the sheets as Namjoons tongue curled and flicked against the most sensitive part of you in tandem with his sucks. As he did so, you feel the absence of his hand on your thigh. Seconds later you feel his fingers gliding over your dripping entrance, the tip of his index finger pressing gently inside of you.

"Oh my god...Joon...J..Joonie" you stammer as his finger pressed deeper. He pulls out briefly to add a second and begins stroking you slowly as he continued to suck your clit.

"Whats wrong baby..." he murmurs between puckered sucks. His fingers continued to twist and massage your aching walls, passing over the rigid spot just enough to push you closer to the edge.

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably at this point and you were a loud moaning mewling mess. It didn't take Namjoon very long to get you there, knowing your body and exactly what it needs. Your hips started bucking to meet Namjoons strokes and you threw your head back and gaped as you felt the tension building inside of you.

"Please...I need to...make me...please baby.." you begged,lifting your head with tears in your eyes. Namjoon looks up at you as his mouth continued to drive you insane, a cheeky glint in his eye as he arches his brow. He detaches his lips to give your pussy a few long flat tongued licks before responding.

"You want me to make you cum baby? " he smirks at you with his fingers still rubbing at your g-spot.

You couldnt form the words properly, but a strangled moan escaped you in the form of an answer and Namjoom hears you loud and clear.

His fingers moved with purpose, pumping in and out of you and pressing right against your spot as his mouth went back to work on your clit. Sucking and licking and finger fucking you until you felt your stomach tighten.

The familiar sensation begins to build in your gut and your chest heaved as you watched Namjoon feast on you. You blinked to clear the tears from your vision so that you could lock eyes with your devestatingly handsome boyfriend. Of course you could only see half of his face, his nose pressed right up against your pubic bone while the rest of him was engulfed by your sex. But those damned pretty brown eyes pinned you, making you their hostage as you neared your release.

And with one final flick of his magnificent tongue, you were exploding into his mouth as your vision became clouded with splashes of color and blotches of white. Eventually fading to black as your eyelids fell.

Youre pulled back into the now when you feel Namjoon climbing back over your body. You felt his lips trailing over your neck and jawline. When he made it to your lips, you turned your head weakly to meet him halfway, tasting your sweetness on his tongue as he fed your juices to you.

This kiss was slow and sinuous. The kind of kiss filled with a heightened level of lust and need that your entire body tingling and hot with desire. Namjoons full weight was on you now, his clothed center pressing up against your bareness and creating a friction that had you twitching.

He knew you'd still be sensitive from cumming only seconds ago, but he didn't give a fuck. He just continued to kiss you and grind his hips against your pussy until he was swallowing your tiny moans.

Suddenly he's pulling away from you, rising up from the bed and planting himself back on the floor. Your eyes fluttered open and you propped yourself up on your elbows just in time to catch Namjoon kicking off his sweats and underwear in one movement.

His dick sprang free from his pants and smacked his inner thigh as it continued to swell and rise, the angry red tip pointing right at the apex of your open thighs.

You licked your lips at the sight of the shiny bead of precum already dripping from his slit and Namjoon tips his head up a bit as he stroked himself slowly with his eyes on you.

"Hey.." his voice was raspy and coated witj dominance, making your eyes snap up to his face obediently. You blanched at his expression, his jaw clenching lightly and his eyebrow arching. Namjoon tips his head to the side, gesturing towards the open bathroom door several feet away from the bed.

"Get up....Get naked.." he continued, still stroking himself as he watched you.

Once again, he didnt have to tell you twice.

You hopped up and immediately tore the oversized tshirt from your body, already completely naked underneath. Namjoon lifts his other hand and crooks his finger to summon you to the edge of the bed. You went to him immediately and sat back on your knees, letting your gaze climb up his tall frame.

Namjoon reaches for your face with the hand he called you over with, using the same finger to lift your chin so that he could look you in the eye.

He nods towards the bathroom again and smirks down at you with a heated stare.

"Shower with me...Im not done with you yet."

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