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ak-vintage · 2 months ago

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Stay Right Here

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel. A Secret Santa gift for my dear friend Britt @pedroswife69 <3

Word Count: 2.3K

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, post-season 1/game 1 established relationship, SMUT (groping, fingering, P in V sex, praise, heavy emphasis on Joel’s broad, sexy, manly hands, Joel’s filthy mouth)

Thank you to @shchristine for the beta read and to @pr3ttynpiink for organizing! Shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Read on AO3 | Main Masterlist

You never had a problem getting out of bed in the morning until you started sharing one with Joel.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an early riser. Up before the sun most days, you’re showered, dressed, and fed before the sky can fade from inky black to rose gold to blue. It’s made you a great candidate for the breakfast shift at the dining hall and an eager volunteer in the barns and stables. You’ve become accustomed to tending to sheep and cattle or cracking eggs and frying bacon before most of the rest of Jackson have even blinked themselves awake, and really, it’s been no trouble. That was, of course, until you agreed to gather up your modest possessions and officially move across town.

Into Joel Miller’s house.

Now, as early-morning light filters through the thin curtains of his bedroom – your bedroom – you find yourself tucked snugly against his broad chest, his legs intertwined with yours, and one long, thick arm draped across your waist, keeping you close. He smells like sleep – warm and woodsy and painfully masculine, and though he holds you tightly, he shows no sign of waking. Even in his sleep, he can’t seem to get close enough to you. It would be inconvenient if you didn’t find it so endearing.

You twist in his arms, craning your neck awkwardly in an attempt to spot the little analog alarm clock Joel keeps on his bedside table. When you finally manage it, you balk at the time staring back at you in the dimness. You’re due in the kitchens in less than 30 minutes. If you rush, you’ll make it, but only just.

Your touch is delicate at first, gentle and soft as you try to extricate yourself from his grip without waking him. With a few wiggles and a scooch of your hips, you manage to work your legs free, but by the time you’re reaching for his arm to peel it off you, it has become like a clamp around your midsection, and you are being drawn back into him, back into his warm, bare chest as he grumbles, “Jus’ few more minutes, darlin’.”

With a shake of your head, you sigh, peering up at him through your lashes. His eyes are still closed, his weathered face relaxed, and you feel a pang of fondness tighten in your chest at the sight. He does this to you because he knows you can’t resist him when he’s like this – cozy and sweet and soft, every barrier collapsed and every façade shattered. You’re one of the few who gets to see the true face of Joel Miller, and the privilege is not lost on you.

Still, that does not change the fact that you have never once been late to a shift since arriving in Jackson, and you are not about to sacrifice your perfect record for a few extra minutes of cuddling. Moving quickly, you roll onto your other side and make for the edge of the bed.

But even wrapped in the warm cocoon of sleep, Joel is still faster and stronger than you. You make it only a handful of inches across the mattress before his vicelike grip is back, bracketing around your belly and hauling you – a bit less gently this time – back into his embrace once again. His face ends up buried in your hair, his front molded to the contours of your back, and you feel it along every nerve ending as he rasps, “Quit your squirmin’. M’sleepin’.”

Except Joel isn’t sleeping. Or, at least, there is one particular part of him that appears to be very much awake. You snort softly into your pillow. You should have known.

“Joel,” you hiss, wriggling against his grip. “I’m gonna be late!”

He does not dignify your protests with a response. Or, at least, not a verbal one. Instead, he simply shuffles so he is pressed even tighter against you as his broad-palmed, thick-fingered, heavy hand begins lazily stroking every inch of you he can reach.

He’s unhurried in his perusal of your body – from the dip of your waist to the flare of your hip, from the soft give of your stomach up to the plush fullness of your breasts. His caress is familiar, soothing and inflaming in equal measure, and your muscles melt so readily – eagerly even – under his attentions that it almost steals your breath away.

You are putty in his hands, and he knows it, so when he tucks his fingers under the neckline of your sleepshirt and tugs down the worn material, you make a fatal mistake, and Joel simply grins.

As his hot, dry palm skates over your rapidly-hardening nipples, as his grip swallows the pillowy softness of a breast and massages firmly, you let out the softest, breathiest sigh and arch into his touch. Your ribs surge forward, seeking more of that calloused, work-roughened hand, and in doing so, your hips curl back, and you unintentionally welcome the long, thick, throbbing press of his cock between the globes of your ass.

Joel groans into the back of your neck, the sound tripping down your spine in deep, rasping shivers as he noses your hair out of the way. The second enough skin is exposed, he latches on and drags the warm slickness of his tongue along it, drawing the vulnerable little patch of softness into his mouth and sucking. His rough fingers tighten around your nipple, plucking and teasing as he works your neck, and the sensation has your throat gasping, the arch of your spine deepening.

Low and ragged in your ear, Jackson’s top patrolman chuckles and grinds his hips into your ass. “That’s it, baby. You got a few minutes for this, don’tcha?”

“I – my breakfast shift, I have to – ” Your words are interrupted with a moan, the sound wrenched from your chest as the hand on your breast slips down to the apex of your thighs, pressing firmly and steadily against your mound through your cotton panties. His name is a whimper on the back of another deep, urgent breath, and you grit your teeth against the urge to wind your hips against the friction of his fingers.

“Shhh,” Joel soothes, mouthing at your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as it catches in the uneven whiskers of his beard. “Just relax, darlin’. The kitchen’ll keep for a bit. Lemme feel you a little.”

In the end, you find that you don’t have the strength to protest any more. His hands are everywhere – tucking under your neck from behind to settle across your throat, slipping into your panties, snaking under your shirt, tangling in your hair. You’re surrounded in him, swaddled in his thick, strong arms, trapped against his front, your body unable to choose between chasing the tease of his fingers against your slippery clit or grinding back against the enticing hardness of his cock.

He doesn’t let you choose, though. Instead, he strokes and plays and torments until you are ready to beg for mercy, and then he flips you onto your back and clambers on top of you. All finesse is gone as he shoves his pajama pants just far enough down to pull himself out, as he reaches down to tug the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, as he drags his soft, plush cockhead through your wetness. You can feel his desperation in the tension of his muscles, can see it in the deep frown tugging at his brow, can hear it in the curled-lip, gritted-teeth groan as he notches himself at your quivering entrance. It takes your breath away, makes you shudder and gasp as you stretch around the tip of him.

All the countless times you’ve taken him, and you’re not sure you will ever get used to that first breach of your body, that first trembling submission to the heft of him.

He fills you in one slow, inexorable thrust, and when your dripping pussy has swallowed every inch of him, when he finally seats his pubic bone against yours, firm and inescapable, he threads his fingers with yours and pins both of your hands above your head.

You can’t remember why you protested anymore, why you ever attempted to keep him at bay. He has driven every other thought from your mind and replaced it with himself. There is simply nothing else that matters.

He keeps you there as he takes you apart – thighs spread achingly wide, knees hitched up at his sides to take him deeper, ankles locked behind his back to keep him from retreating too far. Mouth on your neck, tongue on your tits. Teeth scraping across your jaw, tugging on your earlobe, sinking into the flesh cushioning your collarbone. Big, thick, rugged hands gripping yours, driving the backs of your fingers into the mattress. You are entirely at his mercy, and it makes your cunt drool for him.

“There ya go, baby, I know. Can feel how bad you need it,” Joel growls, making you shiver. “Gonna give you what you need. Just gotta take it.”

When he can feel that you are on the ragged edge of your climax, so close to soaring right over that edge you can almost taste it, he gathers both of your wrists in one hand and drops the other to your gaping, whining mouth. His thumb – huge, tasting of salt and musk and man – sinks between your lips and presses down on your tongue, and when you come, your cries are muffled in the suction of your mouth around the intrusion.

“There she is.” His words are syrupy-slow and sweet in your ear as you clench down around him, as you writhe and whimper as he fucks you through it. “That’s my good girl.”

Somehow, Joel manages to hold out for his own pleasure until you’ve come down from your high, until you’ve returned to your body and to the present moment. You are just lucid enough to watch him as he rears up on his haunches, withdraws his dripping cock from the clutch of your body, and uses one of those broad, heavy hands to jerk himself off over your belly. Your eyes can’t look away as he strokes himself, quick and firm, your gaze heavy-lidded and hungry as you watch.

“Come on,” you whisper. The words leave your mouth thoughtlessly, eyes glued to his flushed, angry cock as the tip weeps glistening pearls of precum. Fuck, he’s so breathtaking like this. “Come for me, Joel. Come all over me.”

It doesn’t take long with your encouragement. When he falls, it is with a ragged groan and a curse. You watch as thick, white ropes paint his scarred knuckles, and you can hardly stand to wait for him to stop before pulling that hand from his cock and dragging it to your waiting mouth. You clean his fingers with an eager tongue, lapping every drop from his skin as he catches his breath.

It isn’t until he collapses back onto the bed next to you, winded and sweating, that you happen to catch a glimpse of your bedside clock out of the corner of your eye. The sight is like a bucket of ice water in your veins.

“Shit,” you groan, rolling over to bury your face into your pillow in denial.

“S’matter?”

Your words come out muffled, smothered against the pillow as you hide from the accusing glare of the clockface. “I’m fucking late.”

Joel snorts a laugh. “Ah, well. Not the end of the world, darlin’.”

“I’m never late, Joel!”

You feel the mattress shift behind you as he rolls up onto his side, then the warm, heavy weight of his palm between your shoulder blades as he rubs your back comfortingly. “All the more reason why one time won’t hurt anything. Ain’t no reason you gotta be up at the ass-crack of dawn every damn day. Now…” He lands a quick swat to your butt, aiming for the bit of bare cheek left exposed by your twisted, dripping panties. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, and I’ll make you a cuppa coffee for the road. How’s that sound?”

At first, you say nothing, keeping your face pressed into the pillowcase and your eyes hidden from him. What you really want is to stay irritated. You want to hold onto your annoyance at the ease with which he distracts you, the speed with which your mind and body succumb to his advances. But at this point in your relationship, you know better than to try. Joel has a frustratingly boyish charm to him when he wants to, can be playful and impish when the mood strikes. And when he lets himself loosen up.

Today? With unplanned morning sex under his belt when the sun has barely risen? The man is downright giddy in this moment, and you know the second you see his face, any bitterness you may be attempting to cling onto will dissolve like sugar on your tongue, and you will be left with nothing but affection (and an absolutely spine-melting orgasm) in spite of your ruined schedule.

“Darlin’?” he murmurs, that soft, warm touch returning to your back. “You really mad at me?”

Releasing a sigh, you roll to face him, let him see the wry smile you can’t suppress as you take in his dark, earnest eyes. “No, Joel, I’m not mad. But – ” You jab a finger into his bare chest, the pointy blow landing right on his breastbone. “ – I want the good coffee. Not that instant crap. If I’m gonna be this late anyway, I can wait for the pour-over to brew.”

Joel’s weathered face splits into a grin, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as huffs a laugh. He chuffs you gently under your chin with the side of his knuckles, those beautiful hands ready to have you melting all over again, and you can already feel it – the warmth of it settling in your chest, softening your heart.

“Got yourself a deal.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #jackson joel #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #secret santa

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okwonyo · 7 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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comatosebunny09 · 1 month ago

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carpe noctem [ rising action ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. routine. that you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun before you. so why does it still hurt? — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, profanity, sexual content, fade-to-black, self-destructive behavior, somewhat of a slow burn, mdni — notes: thank you so much for reading! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 4 ] — now playing: bmf - sza

Breakfast is uncharacteristically quiet.

At least, for the three of you, it is. The silence makes way for the lazy swish of cars on the road, the clatter of cutlery against plates, and the idle chatter of the cafe’s other patrons.

It’s balmy outside. The type of weather that pastes your blouse to your skin and creates a fine film of sweat on the back of your neck. The kind that welcomes mosquitos and makes showering beforehand pointless. And it’s so obnoxiously bright out, nary a cloud in the sky. But you figure you're being unreasonably antsy because you’re hungover and still a little tired.

Despite the climate, your ragtag team is seated beneath a cafe’s awning, scarfing down food to battle the effects of your collective hangovers before jetting back to Linkon.

Typically, Ms. Hunter would be on about something, filling the space with her animated talk, with you and Sylus occasionally chiming in to tease her or exchange covert words concerning upcoming missions. But she’s still a little worse for wear, with dark lenses perched on her nose and a wrinkle between her brows as she pushes food around her plate.

You snort around a mouthful of eggs at her plight, tucking your amusement behind your hand. Decide to incite a little mischief to distract yourself from the weather and the creeping feeling of unease brewing in your gut.

“Someone had a rough night,” you tease, reaching for your orange juice.

She glowers at you. Sticks out her tongue, flipping you the bird. You snort into your drink, nearly sending pulp flying every which way.

“Not my fault you have the tolerance of a three-year-old.”

Your eyes crease at the corners whilst you watch her work up to a retort, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But before she can get a word out—

“Ladies,” Sylus interjects like a distant clap of thunder pushing across a dark horizon. He’s seated between you at the round, iron-wrought table, arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunglasses shroud scarlet intentions, but you don’t miss the twitch of a silver brow nor the humor meddling with his voice. “Play nice.”

There’s finality there. He speaks to you like a referee. Like a father who’s caught his children roughhousing, and you both shrink beneath his mock disappointment.

“Besides,” Sylus continues, casting his amused gaze on you. “You weren’t in the best of shape yourself last night. Are you really in any position to talk?”

A hot rush of mortification wades over you. You're unsure of its source, whether at your memories of last night or how quickly he came to her defense.

And so what if you stumbled a bit down the hall, searching for your room?

You didn’t think he noticed after your exchange. Figured he retreated into his room, or worse��slipped across the hall to keep his hunter friend company into the wee hours of the morning while you tossed and turned, driven to hell by thoughts of them doing everything besides sleeping.

The recollection makes you bristle, and you turn a scowl down to your food. Grumbling, you plop a slice of toast onto the hunter’s plate. She glances at you, confusion pulling her lips down.

“Eat,” you order. “Feed a hangover, starve a cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” she counters, a pout evident in her voice. But she doesn’t protest, sitting up in her seat to nibble on your peace offering.

You resist an impulse to pat her head, your ire sloughing off, traded for something like fondness. You want to ruffle locks of silken ebony because she’s effortlessly adorable, pulling at those little heartstrings you’d worked so hard to conceal.

Sylus beats you to the punch, leaning forward to mold long fingers around the round of her head. The world slows, casting a special spotlight on the pair of them.

You ignore how your chest tightens at the scene. At the affectionate little tug of his lips as Ms. Hunter cants her face towards him, cheeks full and expression doe-like. You try to pretend like it doesn’t make you sick with resentment. Once upon a time, he used to look at you like that.

Fuck.

What are you thinking? He is your boss, and she is your charge—your friend. There’s no reason to feel like this, especially considering you practically shoved Sylus into her arms, reasoning you never stood a chance in hell with him.

You snap back to the present, and suddenly, breakfast isn’t so appetizing. You push around your cold eggs as Sylus and Ms. Hunter slide into easy conversation. You feel like a husk of yourself amid them. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, and your stomach lurches when they draw you into their chat every so often as if pitying you.

You’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. Routine. That you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun. And yet, you’ve never been more eager to return to the N109 Zone. To leave these green-eyed thoughts on this island and get back to your distracting life, luring terrible people to their demise and wiping the scourge of man off the face of the planet.

You suddenly straighten, clearing the phlegm from your throat. Your silverware clatters against your plate as you shove it away, eyes regretfully shifting between them.

“So, what time do we leave?” There’s a whisper of exasperation in your tone, but you quickly conceal it with that playful arrogance you’re known for.

Sylus and the hunter trade looks of confusion and humor, blind to the turmoil of your mind slowly creeping through the folds and staining your pride like ink spilled into water.

“Eager to get back to work, aren’t you?”

You scoff, taking up your fork, clueless to scarlet eyes studying the crown of your head, narrowing at the apprehensive slope of your voice. “You have no idea.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. Of course, it always is. It’s one of the few times you feel desired. Wanted. Useful when your hands aren’t speckled with blood and your knuckles aren’t purpling from bashing someone’s face in for taunting The Devil.

Dancing is a versatile skill you’ve acquired with time and practice. It's one of the few pleasures you’ve drawn from this fickle life. One of the few things you kept from a past veiled in darkness, the rest tucked away in the hulls of your psyche.

All eyes are on you. Gazes burning with assorted degrees of desire, envy, and awe beneath the tawny glow of the stage lights. The attention makes you warm and tingly, and your lips salaciously curve as you move your body in time with the music, casting an inadvertent spell on all who dare to watch.

You’re the center of attention without trying to be and without the influence of your Evol. Of course, you usually are. He’s even told you so. Customers often flock to Sylus’ nightclubs to see you dance, hoping to one day have your affections.

Or to fuck you.

You rarely entertain these people. Not unless you have to. Not unless Sylus sicks you on them to further his goals or take down his competition. You’re ever the faithful lapdog, tuned to your boss’ every command, and it makes you sick with how loyal you are to him sometimes. A part of you feels you owe him for this life you lead. He’d snatched you from an impenetrable darkness. Renewed your sense of purpose and redirected your desire for revenge.

For now, you have this. The recognition of others despite how misplaced it is. They want you for your body, for the promise of what your facade offers. Deep down, you crave something more, something real. But you tamp down those feelings as you bite your lip, putting on a good show, hands smoothing over the surge of your hips. And you’re spurred by the whoops and whistles and shouts of your name as the lights dim, signaling the conclusion of your performance.

Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, and your cheeks ache with a smile as you pose. The crowd's cheers dampen the violent thrum of your heartbeat—chase away the cacophony of your mind, adrenaline spuming through you like an erupting geyser.

You look over your shoulder towards the ceiling, catching scarlet-spun eyes from the upper floor’s rail, and your grin twitches the slightest bit. It’s a rush, having the attention of strangers. Having their desire, their yearning. But his attention is much more addicting like Nicotine furling between your teeth. For a moment, you feel seen. Like you’re the center of his universe, and not the pretty, bright-eyed damsel with enough room in her heart to house the galaxy.

Something flashes in his eyes, and the world fades. You mistake it for tenderness. Just wishful thinking. He would never choose you. He’s had four years to make you his.

Why would he suddenly choose to acknowledge you now?

—

Once the adrenaline ebbs and clubbers flood the dance floor, you’re nestled behind the crowd, leaning against the sticky countertop of the bar, clutching a glass of something acrid and glacial between your fingers—something to take the edge off. To mute the insistent pulse of your nerves.

The music thumps beneath your feet, accompanied by the sparkling chatter of the club’s other clients. Yet you still hear him amid the chaos—the familiar curl of a voice around the vowels of your name. You fix him with an amused, sultry look beneath Lux’s customary red hue.

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” he asks, worn knuckles easing down the slope of your arm. You track his audacity with your eyes, jerking away from his unwarranted attention, ignoring the goosebumps igniting across your skin.

This, too, is routine—one of Lux’s regulars throwing himself at your feet, begging for an opportunity to court you. He’s been on like this for months, entertaining your game of cat and mouse. Maybe you’ve given him a false sense of hope because he’s yet to let up. In fact, he’s grown bolder with his advances lately, often popping up when you least expect him, vying for your heart.

It’s endearing, really, having someone who genuinely wants you. Or maybe he doesn’t, but you convince yourself otherwise. Play a sick little game with yourself, fooling yourself into thinking that maybe there’s more to you than your reputation builds you up to be.

You turn towards him, crossing your legs, the leather barstool sticky beneath your thighs. You lean into your knuckles, studying dark brows, whiskey-infused eyes, and full lips. You end your excursion at the thick of his throat, excitement prickling like static in your chest. He’s easy on the eyes, tone velvet smooth. Had you not been a femme fatale, you might’ve given him the time of day.

But for now—

“You couldn’t handle me,” you counter, reveling in how the smugness melts from his face.

He chuckles at your cheekiness, sweeping the tails of his blazer back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders, standing akimbo like he’s preparing for a fight, though he might as well be, stepping to you like this.

“Still holding out for that old man, I see.”

It is your turn to wear a wavering smile. Your turn to look silly, the proverbial knife driven into your stomach and twisted.

You scoff with a sneer, dumping the last vestiges of your drink down your throat. You tear yourself from your seat, reaching past the gentleman to snatch your coat from the counter, pinning him with a haughty look.

“I’m not holding out for anyone, fucker. And even if I were, it wouldn't be your slow ass.”

With a huff, you brush past him, wending through the crowd gathered on the dance floor to retreat into your dressing room.

You try vainly to contain a scowl, knowing you’ve been read like the deckled pages of a book deep down.

Maybe you refuse to move on because you feel like you’d betray Sylus if you did. How, exactly, you’re unsure. He’s had no problem betraying you, quietly shoving you out of the picture in favor of someone who’s hardly seen him bleed.

—

“Do you like anybody?” Ms. Hunter asks above the steady purr of the SUV’s engine.

Her question nearly floors you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, and you almost choke on your spittle.

You’re stuck in traffic together.

Knowing the holidays loomed around the bend, someone decided it would be an ideal day to go to the mall. Of course, you weren’t the only people out on the road.

So naturally, she’s bored, unused to the silence stretching between you. The low croon of the music spilling from the speakers does nothing to ease the tension.

You glance at her, and she’s wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin, studying you from the passenger seat. You swallow thickly, adjusting your shades on your face, staring at the cars sluggishly easing up beyond the windshield. “I don’t like very many people.”

An exasperated sigh later.

“C’mon! There’s gotta be someone you like. Ya’ know.” She pitches herself closer, her mischievous grin curling in your periphery, and she pokes your side with a pointed finger to get a rise out of you.

“Someone that gets your heart racing. Someone who makes your face all hot. Makes butterflies swarm in your tummy.”

You know exactly where this is going. Had you not valued your friendship—or whatever you call this complicated mashup between you—you would reveal the inner workings of your mind. But how insane would you sound, telling the hunter the person who gets your blood racing is the very same man she has tucked in her back pocket?

So, you deflect. With a sardonic smirk, you jest, “You get my heart racing when you fuck up our meetings.”

You squint and flinch away with a laugh in your throat as she swats you, whining at your cruelty.

“You suck,” pouts Ms. Hunter, falling back into her seat with crossed arms. “Bet it’s that guy who always stalks you at Lux.”

You side-eye her in the rearview, placatingly patting her head. “I like you, stupid. Isn’t that good enough?”

Maybe one day.

One day, you’ll have the intestinal fortitude to tell her the truth—to tell them both the truth. How you’re falling apart at the stitching, the world you know falling away from beneath your feet.

—

You’re not as strong as you let on. You’re human beneath that flirtatious exterior—still a woman with wants and needs, not immune to the temptations of the flesh. Which is why you find yourself at his doorstep, a glacial, errant breeze ruffling the tails of your coat as the silvery moon haloes your silhouette.

He leans against the doorframe, brown eyes simmering with intrigue as he takes you in. Dark hair sweeps over raised brows. “What made you change your mind?”

You shrug, hands stuffed in your pockets, a quirk to your lips. “Maybe I just need a friend.”

He chuckles low, arms crossed. “A friend, huh?”

“Yeah.”

There’s no mistaking the pitch of your voice. The air charges with something amorous as he ushers you into his apartment. You brush past him, tamping down your dignity as you disappear into the warm sanctity of his home, his hand reassuring at the small of your back.

Had you taken the time to survey your surroundings, you would’ve noticed a set of beady, crimson eyes peering through the inky night, watching you from their perch atop a powerline.

And had you further investigated, you would’ve heard the familiar whirr of machinery as the iridescent outline of sleek feathers recorded your every move.

conflict | masterlist | climax

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #sylus angst #carpe noctem series #limerence series #reader is not mc

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mosoderbergh · 1 month ago

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Emmrich and the good old fashioned body heat trope

Ok, there’a a thing about Rook and Emmrich pre-romance and the “caught in the cold” trope that is just beautiful to me. Because it would go a lot more innocently than with other pairings. Emmrich is far too much of a gentleman. But that’s what makes this so cute. Like… hear me out.

Emmrich knows the importance of keeping warm and the advantages of sharing body heat. He’s the sort of man who would read up on survival procedures before venturing out into extreme weather.

But surely, a shirt is thin enough to not significantly hinder the transmission of warmth. Surely he couldn’t be expected to strip entirely. He gets rid of some layers, but stays buttoned up to his neck. (Rook is shirtless the moment the words “it might be advisable to, well, huddle up” exit Emmrich’s mouth. They notice Emmrich spends the rest of the night holding intently focussed eye contact.) They cocoon themselves in blankets, sitting by the fire, shoulder to shoulder, backs leaning against insert obligatory cave/cliffside/tree trunk here. Emmrich has read just enough bodice rippers that an image comes, unbidden, to his mind. Of a broad-chested hero gallantly drawing the object of his desire into his muscled arms as they shiver and swoon. He is shocked at himself when he feels a blush creep up his neck. To even allow such a thought! This is nothing like that. A dashing hero may be present, yes, but they are caught in the cold with a colleague several decades their senior. There is nothing swoonworthy about it.

Emmrich files the thought away, and despite the awkward situation, the evening goes on… really rather pleasantly. They end up talking for a good long while. Rook opens up about their own upbringing and Emmrich elaborates on his. They share nostalgic memories. Emmrich recounts some shenanigans from his student days, and Rook can’t believe there’s a mischievous side to him (the mischievous side in question was called Johanna, but Emmrich doesn’t speak her name).

At some point, the comfortable silences stretch out longer and longer. Rook’s head rests on Emmrich’s shoulder. They aren’t quite asleep yet - when he reacts to the contact with an intake of breath, they draw back for a moment. But then, Emmrich leans in, just slightly. Just enough to let them know the touch is not unwelcome. The way Rook curls up at his side then makes Emmrich ache a little. As someone who is an authority figure to so many people (in a way that isolates him sometimes) this simple act of intimacy is precious to him. A show of trust on such a personal level. It takes him more courage than he’d like to admit to rest his cheek against Rook’s hair. The way Rook sighs contentedly gives him goosebumps. It’s been quite a while since Emmrich has shared a bed with anyone. And this is an unusual situation, but still… he can’t help but think how he has missed it. The companionship. The warmth. Sinking into sleep with the comfort of a friendly presence. The intoxicating closeness of someone who has found their way into his heart - this is another thought he tucks away neatly.

And because I can’t resist another trope, of COURSE they shift in their sleep. Emmrich wakes to find himself spooning Rook, with one hand resting on their stomach. They are soft there, and radiating heat. Emmrich thanks every deity he can recount that he tends to wake up early, because if he hadn’t been hard upon waking, the sensation of their body against his, their skin underneath his fingertips would have done the trick. He retreats discreetly to lie on his back. Only for Rook to shift and settle with their head on his chest, one leg draping over him, grazing his erection in the movement. Emmrich forgets to breathe.

He does wake them up, after he’s gotten a hold of himself somewhat. They untangle from him with a sleepy apology. And Emmrich, for a moment, wants nothing more than to stop them, or pull them back into an embrace, or…

He chastises himself for being a touch-starved old fool. Making so much out of nothing. But then Rook slides a hand up to squeeze his shoulder, and they smile at him brightly, beautifully, and ask him if he slept well. And it’s all he can do to swallow a rather wordy confession of his growing infatuation.

(The beauty of Emmrich, to me, is that he’s both a “I could out-sex any man in this room” kind of guy AND an “omg I can’t believe our hands touched” kind of guy. I love him.)

#emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #dragon age emmrich #da4 emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #dragon age the veilguard #ok it did get a little steamy for a moment there #but I just think they're cute

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decayedgloria · 2 years 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

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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 · 3 months 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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fangdokja · 2 months ago

Text

“They all warned you about me, didn’t they? But you just couldn’t stay away.”

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Volleyball Captain x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 780

You didn’t hear the gym door lock.

Not at first.

The air was thick with the sharp tang of sweat and the hollow echoes of balls slamming into the floor. The volleyball captain—him—stalked the court like a predator in his natural habitat, his voice sharp and commanding as he barked orders to his underlings. Those too weak to meet his expectations received only scorn, his disdain slicing deeper than the aching muscles in their failing bodies.

But when his gaze slid to you, the intensity shifted. A dark hunger, all-consuming and endless, pooled in his depthless eyes. You thought you were hidden behind the rows of bleachers, barely noticed. You were wrong.

He had seen you before you even stepped into the building.

“You shouldn’t be here, babe.” His voice was silk dipped in venom, every syllable carrying the unspoken threat that tightened your throat. His words were for you alone, though the gym’s acoustics carried them like gunfire.

You froze. Maybe it was the weight of his words. Maybe it was the calculated slowness with which he walked toward you, each step measured, deliberate, as if to savor the inevitability of your submission. The floor creaked under his weight—no, not creaked, moaned—like it too feared the power behind his towering, muscular frame.

Your pulse stuttered when he reached you, his body radiating a heat that pressed against your skin, suffocating. His broad shoulders blocked out the fluorescent light, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Why are you shaking?” he asked, a savage grin splitting his face. He tilted his head, feigning curiosity, though his sharp, calculating gaze left no room for innocence. “Scared of me?”

Your denial was a whisper, barely audible, but his sharp ears caught it. He chuckled, the sound so low and menacing it seemed to reverberate in your bones. He reached out, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw, down the line of your neck—an act so intimate it felt more like possession than touch.

“Lying to me now, are you?” His voice dropped, a snarl that promised punishment. “That’s cute. Real cute. But I don’t like liars.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip ironclad, and yanked you forward. Your feet skidded on the polished floor, and you collided with his chest. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek, steady and unrelenting—a contrast to the frantic rhythm of your own.

“You think you can walk into my life, flutter those pretty innocent eyes at me, then just leave?” His breath was hot against your ear, each word enunciated with a calculated malice. “No, no, no. You’re in my world now. And in my world, little girls don’t get to play pretend.”

When you tried to pull away, his hand tightened, the pressure just shy of breaking bones. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Run. If you want to make this fun, I’ll even give you a head start. But know this—once I catch you, you’re mine. Forever.”

The way he said it—"mine"—wasn’t a promise. It was a death sentence.

You didn’t run. Your legs wouldn’t listen, paralyzed by the suffocating dread that filled the room. He laughed again, low and condescending, as if amused by your futile defiance.

“Smart girl,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “It’s better this way. Saves me the trouble of breaking those pretty little legs of yours.”

He dragged you backward, his strength so overwhelming it left no room for resistance. The gleaming, sweat-streaked gym blurred around you, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged breaths and the suffocating grip of his calloused hands.

“You should have stayed home,” he mused, his tone almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But then again, what kind of man would I be if I let my girl wander off? You belong to me now. I’ll make you understand that.”

The gym door creaked as he pushed it open, the dim light spilling into the hallway. No one was there. No witnesses. No escape.

His hand slid down your arm, past your wrist, to lace his fingers through yours. The act was jarring in its mockery of tenderness. His grip was so tight it felt like shackles, unyielding and final.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said as he pulled you into the shadows. His grin was a blade, razor-sharp and merciless. “For saving you from this filthy world. For making you mine.”

And then the door slammed shut, leaving nothing but darkness and the echo of his laughter.

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cellophanejpeg · 4 months ago

Text

it's a craving, not a crush | s. hanta

s: sero can't keep resisting to you anymore. it's killing him. he aches for the moment he can be inside you again. it doesn't matter if you're in your patrol shift and in public. he just has to have you.

w: semi-public sex, clothed sex, smut, smut, smut!!!

n: beta read by @jemifis 💕 i love her. read on ao3.

previous | next | start here

There’s something about sleeping with your best friend that changes you.

For example, you’re clingier than ever. All you think about is spending time with Sero. It’s even worse when you don’t get paired up for missions, you miss him so much when you’re apart. It feels stupid, like you're a dumb kid who eagerly waits to see their best friend after a long time apart.

It's not much different than that, if you're honest. After that night in your apartment, you and Sero have been avoiding talking about what happened, which frustrates you more than you'd like to admit. You know you can't force him to keep sleeping with you, but you'd be lying if you said you haven't thought about it every night, trying to replicate the pleasure he gave you with your humble fingers.

Maybe I should get a vibrator, you think as you scroll through Amazon on your phone, during patrol.

It's a sunny day, the weather has been nice lately. From the top of the roof, where you stand, you can see the street you're supposed to be on watch for. You're not paying attention to it, though – it's a slow day anyway –, but you do look when a pair of boots hit the ground behind you.

Sero stands there, tall and broad, removing his helmet to reveal his messy and sweaty hair. He smiles at you as he approaches, stealing your breath away.

“There she is,” he says, reaching to remove his ear piece, the one that connects a hero back to the agency, “taking a break?”

“I am now.” You smile, watching as he leans his arms on the metal bars of the railing. “You?”

“My shift is almost over.”

A silent pause hangs in the air as you both enjoy the view of the city. The tension is almost palpable and the silence is so loud you're sure he can hear the thumping of your heartbeat. His elbow touches yours and it sends you a wave of electricity through your body.

“So, about that night…” Sero breaks the silence. Without fail, your heart sinks in, knowing what’ll come next. Your anxiety only grows when he hesitates, “I know we promised to pretend it didn't happen if things got weird–”

“Are things weird?” You interrupt, getting ahead of yourself.

“No, no!” he exclaims, far too quickly, “They're not weird, I just–” he pauses again, and you turn to fully face him and touch his arm, silently letting him know that you're here for him. He exhales sharply and looks back at you. “We’re still friends, right?”

“Of course, Hanta.” You smile, reassuring him. “Since second grade.”

“I don’t want to ruin things for us,” he confesses.

“Why would they be ruined?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You stare at him, but he looks away, a shy smile on his face. Suddenly, your breath quickens with the thought of Sero, alone in his apartment, hands wrapped around himself, as he moans your name.

“Oh,” you say when you realize you haven't replied.

“Y-yeah.” He looks away, red-faced. “Embarrassing, right?”

“Not really.” The words come out of your mouth faster than you can process them.

He turns his head to face you so quickly that you almost hear it snapping.

“Wha–”

“I also think about it,” you admit. “All the time.”

“Oh.”

A tense pause hangs in the air, while you stare at each other and it takes just a second before Sero's mouth is on yours. He presses you onto the railing, the cold metal biting your skin as he quickly slips his hand under your shirt. You return his kiss with passion, reaching to tug on his hair, arching your back so your chest presses against him. He pulls away to kiss your neck, sucking a spot on your skin, which makes you whimper. His skilled hands hastily undo your belt and, sooner than you expected, his fingers find solace in between your folds.

Right now, you don't care about being out on a roof, where anyone could walk in on you two. Right now, you just care about Sero's fingers rubbing your clit harshly and getting you wetter by the second.

“I missed this so much,” he says, pulling away and turning you, so your back touches his chest. You feel him grabbing your ass before pulling your pants down, resuming his ministrations on you. He pushes a finger inside you as the other hand snakes under your shirt again, exploring your breasts and nipples over your bra, “can't wait any longer, angel, need to be inside you.”

His voice is strained, almost as if he's in pain and you're the only medicine he needs.

“Then fuck me already.” You moan, drunk on the feeling of his fingers inside you.

“Oh, shit, such a dirty mouth she has.” Sero pulls his fingers out of you to unzip the front of his suit.

When he pushes his cock into you, you let out an involuntary gasp at the feeling of him bare. Sero doesn't wait for you to get used to it and starts a rough pace, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. He bites your neck again, and a strangled cry leaves your lips. Your hand flies to his hair again, as you turn your head towards him to kiss him roughly.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well.” He murmurs in your ear.

“Hanta…”

“I love it when you say my name like that.”

It's the combined fear of someone seeing you two with his hunger for you that gets you off. His strong arms hold you close to him, and you hold on to the railing, knuckles going white. You hold back a moan, trying not to get attention drawn to you two – not that anyone down there will spot two hero figures going at it.

Sero slips his hand under your shirt again, squeezing one of your breasts as he slams his hips against your ass, his rough breath on your ear. He moans, grunts and whimpers your name, his voice sending waves of pleasure through where you are connected.

You're almost reaching your high, when a voice speaks through your earpiece, making you jump. It calls you by your hero name, asking for coordinates and an update on patrol.

“Wait, Sero, stop stop stop!” You reach behind you to grab his hips from behind.

“What's wrong?” He stops his movements, with a concerned look in his eyes.

You reach to your earpiece, speaking through it, and answering the requests given to you. Then, you rip the earpiece away, making sure it’s turned off. A sigh leaves your lips, hands slightly shaking from almost getting caught having sex on audio with your coworker. You would be fired in an instant if this came out.

“Sorry about that,” you say, trying to ignore the fact that he’s still inside you.

“Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your cheek, slowly pulling out, knowing the moment is gone now. You think it’s ridiculous how you miss him instantly, how he leaves you empty. However, he makes sure to dress you back, helping you pull your uniform pants up and making sure you have everything in order. The way he adjusts your hair has your heart skipping a beat.

“To be continued?” You smile cheekily, a spark of hope in your eyes. Sero smiles back, laughing.

“Absolutely. My place or yours?”

“Mine.” You feel the heat on your face, watching as he puts his helmet back on. You love how he looks in his hero uniform.

He softly pinches your chin, looking at you through the helmet. “See you tonight then.”

“Yeah.”

You watch as Sero jumps out of the roof with your heart beating like crazy. You won’t even try to process what just happened right now, you’ll just enjoy the view and long for when you’ll see him again.

And you can’t wait for tonight.

tags: @lousypotatoes @siillkie

#sero hanta x reader #hanta sero x reader #sero x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #boku no hero academia smut #sero smut #sero hanta #gabiwrites.txt

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theemporium · 9 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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thetxtdevil · 4 months 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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bright-side20 · 9 days ago

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A very little Elriel scene 💗

Elain stood in the small, cozy shop nestled in the heart of the Winter Court, surrounded by shelves lined with jars of dried herbs and flowers. The air was thick with the scent of pine and frost. She had come here specifically to buy grains of the Winter Aconite, a flower known for its ability to resist the cold and bloom through snow. As she waited for the shopkeeper to prepare them, she smiled, imagining how the delicate yellow flowers would look blooming through the melting snow in Velaris.

Feyre and Rhysand had insisted that someone from the Inner Circle accompany her, even though the Winter Court was friendly territory. She had considered asking Nuala or Cerridwen to come along, but in the end, she had relented. Azriel had offered, and despite the distance between them since the almost kiss, she convinced herself that his ability to winnow would make the journey quicker.

As the shopkeeper worked behind the counter, Elain's thoughts drifted to the last time she and Azriel had truly spoken. The silence between them felt heavier now. She wondered if he sensed the same things she did or if he was simply content with the distance they had put between them. She caught herself glancing out the window toward where Azriel waited, standing out against the wintry backdrop...tall and still. Her heart fluttered despite herself, but she pushed the feeling aside. This wasn’t the time to dwell on such things.

The shopkeeper emerged from behind the counter, carefully placing a small, delicate pouch of Winter Aconite grains into Elain’s hands. She smiled gratefully, feeling the weight of the pouch settle in her palm. "Thank you," she said softly, handing him the coins in exchange. After offering one last polite smile, she turned to make her way out.

Stepping outside, she secured the small pouch of grains within the folds of her cloak. The crisp Winter Court air greeted her...cool but not harsh with clear skies overhead. Azriel was already there, leaning slightly as he held the door open for her.

“I got what I needed,” she said , but before the words had fully settled between them, Azriel reached out and took her hand. No hesitation, no glance, almost instinctual...like his hand belonged there, wrapped around hers.

They walked side by side, the quiet streets of the Winter Court stretching ahead, dusted with frost that shimmered faintly under the pale afternoon light. Elain couldn’t focus on the beautiful architecture in front of her, all she could feel was his hand.

Azriel’s hand was warm against hers, a contrast to the cool Winter Court air brushing her face. His fingers were long, rough , but his touch was gentle, almost careful, as if she were something fragile. The faint ridges of old scars brushed against her skin. His palm was broad, firm where it met hers, yet there was a tenderness in the way he held her, like he was afraid to hold too tightly.

She liked how his hand felt...solid and real. There was comfort in the warmth seeping into her fingers, in the slight pressure of his thumb resting against her knuckles. His scars didn’t feel harsh or jagged, they felt like threads stitched into the softness of his touch. She liked that, too...that it made her feel as if his hand was the safest place hers could be. She’d always thought his hands were beautiful...not in the polished, untarnished way people often described beauty, but in the way old trees were beautiful, weathered by time and storms, yet still standing. She had heard about his past, about how his cruel brothers had tormented him, but she didn’t want to ask more, because it felt like invading his privacy. She wished she could hear his story from him, in his own words.

Her thumb grazed a particular scar near the curve of his thumb, shaped almost like an Iris in bloom...a small mark etched into his skin. She wondered if he had ever noticed it, or if he saw his scars as nothing more than remnants of survival. To her, they weren’t just marks. They were stories. Stories written on his skin, each one a testament to battles fought, pain endured, and life lived. And this one an Iris was a symbol of hope. Did he know? Did he realize he carried that symbol with him?

She liked this...liked him like this. Not the Shadowsinger, not the spymaster...just Azriel, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, just maybe, it was.

Elain’s thumb grazed over the back of his hand again, slower this time, as if drawn by something beyond her control. She felt the faintest tremor in his grip...a subtle tightening, his fingers curling around hers just a little more. The gesture was so gentle, yet it caught her breath. His steps didn’t falter, his face remained calm, but she could feel it...the shift, the charge humming beneath the simple touch.

Then his voice broke the silence. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his thumb brushing against her knuckles as if he couldn’t help it. “Or would you like to stop for some tea?”

She swallowed, her heart stumbling over the quiet intimacy of his words. But she managed a polite smile, soft and careful. “No, thank you. I’d rather return home.”

Then Azriel stopped walking, his hand still holding hers. Elain looked up at him. “It’s too far to winnow from here,” he said , his hazel eyes meeting hers. “We should fly a bit farther first.”

Elain blinked. She knew he was lying. She had seen him winnow longer distances without breaking a sweat. He could do it now if he wanted to. But she just nodded, pretending it didn’t matter.

Was he making excuses to spend more time with her ? The thought flickered through her mind, dangerous, but she didn’t let it linger. She wouldn’t admit, even to herself, how desperately she wanted the same. How she missed talking to him for hours, the quiet comfort of his voice woven with hers. She missed the way he listened, how his quiet presence had always felt like a safe place.But even in this silence, with no words between them, just his hand wrapped around hers, it still felt like that...like home.

Azriel’s hands tightened around her waist, holding her steady as they soared into the sky. Elain’s heart raced, not from fear, but from the way his touch felt so familiar. She could feel his strength, the way he held her so easily. The wind rushed past them, but she wasn’t scared. With him, she never was.

It reminded her of the first time she had flown, and it had been with him. Azriel had made it so simple, guiding her through the air with calm hands and a quiet voice that reassured her. She hadn’t even been nervous. He had made her feel so secure, like nothing could go wrong as long as he was there.

As they flew together, Elain couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. She couldn’t ignore the steady beat of his heart against hers. She had always enjoyed the view when one of the bat boys took her flying...whether it was Cassian’s wide, sweeping motions or Rhysand’s smooth, controlled flights. But today, she only wanted to look at Azriel. A part of her wondered if she would ever have the chance to spend time like this with him again, just the two of them. The thought left a dull ache in her chest.

Up close, Azriel looked even more beautiful, somehow more human. His hazel eyes glowed in the sunlight, the golden hues catching the light, with darker flecks of amber around the edges. There was a tenderness to them when they met her gaze, and Elain couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. Strands of his hair occasionally moved with the wind, hiding his vision, and her fingers itched to reach out and smooth it back. She peered back at his wings, huge , dark and sleek, with strong lines and scars. She couldn’t help but admire how they moved with him, so effortlessly powerful.

Elain noticed Azriel’s gaze on her, as he watched her take in the sight of his wings. Her cheeks flushed, a slight heat rising as she quickly looked away. Without thinking, she rested her head against his shoulder. His body reacted to her, stiffening for a brief moment, his muscles shifting beneath her cheek. She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, feeling the intensity of his eyes on hers."I’m sorry if I took up too much of your time," she murmured, her voice soft. "Thank you". Azriel’s gaze softened, his hand brushing her waist . "I’m happy to be here, Elain." He said.

She opened her mouth to respond, but then the wind picked up, suddenly crashing into them with a cold force. Without thinking, she slid her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer, burying her face in the curve of his neck.His scent surrounded her cedar, rich and mixed with the faint trace of mist, like the air after rain. Azriel’s body went rigid the moment she made contact, a breath caught in his throat. He shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He didn’t say anything at first, just held her there, his hand tightening around her waist and thighs.She knew he was aware of her closeness, just as she was painfully aware of his.

Azriel’s hand moved, and with a quick flick of his wrist, a shimmering blue shield appeared around them. He wrapped it tightly around both of them, blocking the harsh wind. "Are you alright?" His voice vibrated against her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through her.

Elain didn’t answer immediately, her face still hidden in the curve of his neck. She didn’t want to pull away. Didn’t want to break the moment between them. She could feel his pulse against her, his breath shallow, and she wondered if he could feel the same pull she did ,the same ache that was becoming harder to ignore.

Slowly, she pulled away from him, taking a deep breath. She forced a smile, “Yes, I’m fine.” she said .But even as the words left her lips, they felt hollow.

Azriel’s gaze stayed locked on hers, intense and searching. His hazel eyes seemed to see straight through her. She couldn’t hold his stare for long, looking away quickly, unable to meet his gaze for another second. She could swear she felt him flinch, as if her reaction had hurt him, she clenched her jaw, he had no right to act that way.

Maybe she wasn’t fine at all. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to him accompanying her. Maybe today was just another form of torment she was putting herself through. She had to stay distant,cold even though everything inside her screamed to lean in. It was torturous, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it...

#pro elriel #elriel #elriel supremacy #elain x azriel #elriel fanfic

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owlespresso · 15 days ago

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a gentler shade of green. jing yuan tags. a/b/o, spice beneath the cut, fluffy, jing yuan getting a little jealous for the lovely @lorelune, who also writes many delightful things that you should check out!

Mid-afternoon sunlight suffuses the Luofu with lush springtime warmth. The pleasant weather brought the citizenry out in droves, the air riddled with a myriad of different scents. An overwhelming amount especially when combined with the riotous chattering of the crowd. As unfortunate as it is to have to cut your daily market trip short, you can come home safe in the knowledge that Jing Yuan will be there to receive you.

You like to swing buy the markets and grab yourself a little treat, before visiting his offices. He never asks, but you always make sure to bring some of his favorite sweets, a courtesy that makes him melt every time, makes him beg you to settle on his lap. Offers you have to, unfortunately, decline lest you scandalize his poor employees.

He’s taken a rare day off. And a day off typically entails lounging in bed until late morning or early afternoon, clinging to you like a child clings to their favorite plush toy. Extricating yourself from his grapple hadn’t been easy, a feat only managed after petting him for five straight minutes and assuring him you would be back within the hour.

You snake back onto the property through the side entrance. A narrow pathway slides along the western edge of the estate, leading out unto the gardens. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Chrysanthemums and azaleas and an array of colorful tulips line the paths, swaying in the delicate breeze. The urge to lay and roll around in the veritable field of flora is nearly crushing. You willfully resist the temptation, slipping into his bedroom through the glass sliding door beyond the wooden deck.

It’s exactly as you left it. One nightstand on each side of the bed. A lacquered vanity. A small seating area with two, comfortable chairs. An extravagant overhead chandelier that’s typically ignored in favor of a standing lamp in the corner. And one Jing Yuan, who manifests as a lump beneath the duvet.

Said lump shifts the moment the door clicks shut behind you. His head pokes out from the thick covers, shaggy bangs thrown over his eyes. His glossy mane of snow white is frazzled from being pressed into the sheets–one side noticeably more so than the other.

“You’re back,” he says, voice nice and rumbly with sleep. The scent of him is thickest, here. Your shoulders slump with an instinctual sort of relief, as though your body realizes it is home. His lips part with a yawn and his arms stretch above his head. The rippling muscle of his torso emerges from the sea of silks, his pecs fatty and arms thick. His nipples pebble in the comparably chilly air of the open bedroom. A mottling of bluish-purple spans across part of his right shoulder, and you nearly flush. Had you really bit him that hard, yesterday?

“How was the market?” he asks, looking at you through low-lidded eyes. Glowing amber peers out from beneath frayed hoarfrost lashes. The smile that pulls at the corners of his lips is sleepy and content.

“Crowded,” you huff, gently placing your bag of tasty goods on the nightstand.

“Hm. I can tell,” Jing Yuan says, and does not elaborate when you send him a questioning glance. You turn away to peek into the bag, searching for his favorites. You typically keep a firm policy of no food on the bed, because the idea of getting crumbs on those expensive sheets is blasphemy to you… but a single chocolate-covered strawberry couldn’t hurt.

Jing Yuan, ever the master strategist, spots the opening and exploits it wholly. His broad arms wrap around your midsection and tug you backwards. It’s not just a pull. He brings you straight off your feet, dropping backwards onto the mattress. The undignified sound that leaves you is better left uncatalogued for the sake of your pride. You both collapse in a heap with your back to his front.

“Jing Yuan!” you hiss, giving his forearm a harmless little smack. He laughs quietly in your ear, a brush of warm air caressing your sun-warmed skin. His iron-clad grip breaks apart, one large palm setting on your hip. The other lands atop your stomach, hot and calloused.

“My apologies,” he says, amused and very much not sorry. “In my defense, you afforded me a very considerate opening.” As he spoke, he moved one of his thick thighs to settle in between your legs, raising it by bending his knee.

The entire, hot length of him presses up against your back. The position very quickly becomes more obscene than you expected–his throbbing cock pressed tight to your bottom. The hand on your tummy slips beneath your blouse to pet your warming skin. The scent of him is thickest here, in his bed, blankets all rucked up and pillows unevenly spread across the mattress. “Did anyone bother you, while you were out?” Jing Yuan inquires, and makes it very difficult to answer by kissing you behind the ear. You exhale. That familiar, tingling sort of warmth begins to settle between your thighs. He wraps you in his pheromones. The dense shroud of his scent renders you hazy when paired with the unmistakable, yet understated possessiveness of his touch. Every possible qualm is brushed away by the smooth baritone of his voice.

Jing Yuan does not ask if other alphas touched you. He does not demand to know who you were with, doesn’t stake his claim with the immediate urgency a younger, less experienced alpha might. He coaxed and nudged, knowing you will come to him on your own terms, eager to find solace in your alpha’s protective embrace.

“No,” you say, after a long moment.

“That took awhile. Are you sure?” he hummed. A low sound kicked up in his chest, a syrupy purr that reverberates beneath your skin, settling your overwrought nerves. The hand on your stomach makes the journey south. His big fingers dive beneath your waistband, past the soft hairs of your to seek your (admittedly quite wet) cunt.

He fingers you open with an unbearable amount of patience. More playing with your sodden folds than actually attempting to do anything. The meat of his palm slides against your clit and suddenly–the space between your bodies feels so much hotter. Your head lolls back onto his shoulders, breath escaping you in small pants. Your hips grind into the thick digits, hands skimming over the sheets in desperate search of something to grab.

And then he stops. The abruptness of it makes you whimper, hips continuing to grind even as he withdraws his hand.

“I didn’t hear an answer,” he teases. Evil, evil man. Devious felon. It feels like a betrayal, almost. You trusted him with your pleasure and he ruthlessly has stolen it away.

You would love to tell him as much, but then he lifts his hand to his mouth and you can hear the rasping of his tongue as he swipes your juices off each finger. The sheer obscenity of it makes the hairs along the back of your neck raise.

“Jing Yuan,” you say–plead, despairingly. Much to your embarrassment, you sound like you’re about to cry. You throw your arm across your eyes. Is it not enough to have you trembling in his arms? Must he torment you so? You can hardly recall the initial question, fogged with pleasure and overly-warm.

He laughs, sun-bright and charming enough to make you forgive him. He rocks his thigh against your cunt, and you arch your hips, mindlessly chasing the friction.

“You’re alright,” he coos, slipping his fingers back into your trousers to tease your sopping cunt. Two slip inside, embarrassingly easy. He resumes his steady pace, palm grinding against your clit with every pass.

The pads of his fingers press against the soft, upper wall of your cunt. He adds a third–and curls them–and that’s what makes the coil snap. You break into your first orgasm with a broken little whimper. Your toes curl and your eyes shut tight. You keep rolling your hips, each grind sparking another wave of liquid hot pleasure. His fingers remain sheathed inside of you, just to feel the way your walls spasm.

He pulls out when your whining turns to the pained side of overstimulated. The room settles into a contented quiet, only disrupted by the soft sound of your panting. Your eyes flutter shut, legs fallen open around his thighs. His cock, rock-hard and throbbing, presses to the small of your back. But he doesn’t make any move to alleviate the strain. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of your neck and breathes you deep. His touch returns to your stomach, clean hand petting at your hips, your stomach.

The myriad of scents which clung to you upon your return have been dissipated, banished like wispy, loathsome spirits. Is that why…? You begin to wonder, but quickly and contentedly decide it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re sated, and warm, and resting limply in his arms.

#jing yuan/reader #jing yuan x reader #hungering for hsr

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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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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Sparkling Bright

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You are set to meet your betrothed but find yourself unexpectedly detained.

Character: Heimdall

Day Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - *hand on forehead* oh gosh, your burning up!

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your mirror as you adjust the gem dangling right below your collar bone. The topaz shines in the lantern light, gleaming like gold. You admire its beauty, a stark contrast to your own gaunt appearance. You don’t know when you grew so drawn. Lately, you’re noticing these things. More than your appearance, you feel the weakness in your bones.

You have to resist from rubbing your eyes. You’ve already lined them and it took so much effort to do so that you don’t think you could do it again. You’re doubtful you’ll even make it through the night you’ve so diligently prepared for.

Your hand falls away from the necklace and you lean forward to sift through your jewelry chest. You should find a bracelet or ring to go with the gem. Maybe even a pin for your hair. You pluck out a golden band but put it back. You suppose it needs no compliment after all.

You yawn and roll your eyes back as fatigue burns in your lids. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s such poor timing too. You are to meet the prince tonight and putting it off is not an option.

There’s a knock at the door. You check your reflection then stand. You go to open it and muster a smile for the figure on the other side. Heimdall is tall and stoic, his eyes as bright and golden as the jewel at your throat, and his shoulder broad and strong. Like all Asgardians, he is formidable.

“Princess,” he says in his placid tone. “You are nearly due to depart.”

“Yes, I know it, sir,” you say and take another long blink. “Forgive me, I’m only touching up.”

His sparkling eyes lower to meet your gaze. A line forms between his brows. He hums, in that way that he does. In the way that speaks doubt.

“I only need a shawl and we might leave,” you suggest.

“A shawl. In this weather,” he peers out the tall arched windows. The curtains stir in the breeze.

“Yes, your Asgardian climate does not agree with me, I think,” you say.

He looks back to you and tilts his head, “it is not cold.” He raises a hand without pretense and you wince as he touches your forehead. His touch is like fire. “You are alight.”

“Sir,” you step back at the impropriety of his touch.

“A fever. No doubt, your travel has weakened you. Made you susceptible to ague.”

“An ague?” You utter, “but no, I must meet the prince.”

“The prince. For once in his life, he can wait,” Heimdall insists.

“But, sir--”

“And what would he say of me if I allowed his bride-to-be out in such a state. He will understand. If truly he means to be a good suitor,” he argues. “I know these things, princess. I see them as I see all.”

You look up at him. You are far too weak to argue. Only standing there has you swaying. He gestures you away from the door.

“You must rest,” he girds.

“I...” you begin and smother the yawn that rise. “I think you are right.”

Your shoulders slump as you turn. You’re wobbly on your feet as a shiver crawls over your sweat-beaded flesh. You go to the bed and he follows. You sit and feel yourself leaning forward without meaning to.

“Princess,” he catches you before you can fall off the mattress. “Oh, your grace,” he takes you by your arms and holds you up. His palms have you sweltering. He looks you in the face with worry. “A living bride is much preferable, I’d say.”

“Yes, I’d...” you begin but trail off, your head lolling on your neck. “Oh, I feel... rotten.”

He hushes you and suddenly, you’re sprawled over the bed. Your head is on the pillows as the dark figure works over you. A shadow without features. You blink several times before you see Heimdall clearly. You say his name as he folds the blankets at your waist.

“The prince is aware of your condition. He sends his well wishes and hopes you will recover soon,” he says. He turns and reaches into the basin at the bedside. Water stirs noisily and trickles as he squeezes out the excess. He lays the cool cloth over your brow. “And you will. You only need to adjust to this place.”

“Oh I hope,” your eyes close as your daze deepens.

When you look again, he is there still. In a chair near the bed. He reads a book as if nothing worries him. You watch him for a while before you drift off again.

The next time you stir, he is sat on edge of the bed once more. He wipes your brow delicately. The soft light suggests the night has passed and morning will soon be there. You moan and lean into his touch.

“Heimdall, do I worsen?” You croak.

“You remain as you were,” he affirms. “I have cleaned your face as best I can and you did sweat through your dress.”

“Oh...” you cringe.

“It is nothing I haven’t seen, as I’ve seen you before you even came here.”

Your lashes flutter, “you did?”

“Yes, certainly, my eye is often drawn to the most shining beacons,” he intones.

You don’t reply. It is rather sweet of him to say. Norns, you feel utterly ruinous.

“Do not trouble yourself. It will not aid you,” he brings his hand down to cradle the stone around your neck. “You must reserve your strength.”

He squeezes for a moment before he lets it rest on your chest. It is hot, burning like red iron. You shiver and close your eyes. When they open again, it is still morning. You frown.

“Has the day not come?” You ask.

No answer comes. You peer around at the vacant room. Heimdall appears through the door and replies all the same, “another, yes. You’ve been abed, Princess.”

“I... have?” You wonder.

“Time is the best medicine,” he says calmly. Something about the way he speaks is so reassuring. He doesn’t seem as if he could ever tell a falsehood.

“Will you tell the prince I am most regretful for my absence?” You ask. “I think tomorrow I might feel better.” You try to smile, “I think already I feel myself flourishing.”

You wipe the sweat from your neck and your hand trails to the necklace. That’s odd. You tug on it.

“Will you take this off?” You ask.

“It was a gift from the prince. You shouldn’t...” he peters off. “But if you insist.”

“Oh, no, no, I suppose it is good to keep him close to my heart.”

“I will brew some tea, it may help,” he suggests.

Heimdall goes again and returns with a crystal mug of tea. The brew is so vibrantly purple that it almost seems to change colour. Or perhaps it is the fever causing hallucinations. He helps you sits up and puts the brim to your lips for each cautious sip.

When you finish, warmth flows through your body, from your fingertips to your crown to your toes. A new sheen of sweat rises and you push the blankets away from your body. The incessant cold that’s plagued you for days dissipates into an equally unbearable heat.

Heimdall watches you without reaction. You fan yourself as the flames burn an itch into your skin. You wipe your face and the sensation of your own touch makes you shudder. You can’t help but drag your hands down your neck and along your chest. You moan as your mind tickles with a peculiar urge.

You cup your chest and groan again. You push your thighs tight and bat your lashes at the man perched beside you. His expression is cryptic as he gazes at you as if he were watching the sky. His eyes narrow as yours widen.

“I feel...” you breathe as a sultry sweetness bleeds onto your tongue. “I feel...” you rub your thighs together. “Everything.”

“But you feel stronger?” He reaches to pinch the topaz medallion between his fingers. When he lays it back, it feels lighter. “You feel... needy?”

His hand sits on your leg and you stare at it, teething your lip. Your confusion washes away with the tides of your desire. You nod eagerly.

“Yes, yes, I am,” you latch onto his hand and whine. “I need... I need something.”

“Mm, yes, starling, you need delight,” he curls his fingers to caress you, “you need tenderness,” his touch creeps up beneath your skirt, “you need diligence.”

You hum and shake your head through the fogginess. You clutch the necklace and whimper as a surge rolls over you. You twitch as the rippling force swelling within you. His other hand wraps around yours and draws it away from the stone.

“You don’t want to break it,” he warns as he puts your hand to his cheek. “You want me, don’t you?”

You blink. You should say no. He is not the prince, not your betrothed. Yet that coiling inside of you screams otherwise. It is more than desire, it is desperation.

“Do not fear, starling,” he says. “You will be safe, as I have kept you thus.” He leans in closer, “the prince is much too distracted with the ladies of his court. He does not deserve a princess so precious as you.”

You cling to him even as your despair rises. What does he mean? You have sworn yourself to the prince, as he has. He is the watcher of the realm, the protector of Asgard, and you are to be its queen. Yet here you are, getting closer and closer, and you cannot not stop. You will not.

“I can see even your fear, starling,” his lips brush yours as he slips his hand around the back of your head. “But I can see too that you needn’t be afraid for no one shall ever take you from me. Not even the prince.”

#heaimdall #dark heimdall #dark!heimdall #heimdall x reader #drabble #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #thor #mcu #marvel

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