#i want to bury my face in his neck beard

[sturniolohouse]

Closer to you -M.S

A/N: Hiiii! Thank you for all the love on my last story. I had a lot of fun writing it. I don't know how consistent I'll be but here's a little something for now

summary: matt just wants to spend time with you after a long day.

warning: cursing? kinda suggestive comments idk grow up

word count: 1.8k

--

"Your beard tickles," I giggle with Matt lying on top of me, his face buried into my neck.

He playfully sinks his teeth into the crook of my shoulder and I squeal at the shocking gesture. He chuckles lowly at my reaction and I lightly swat his shoulder, trying to roll him off of me.

"You're crushing me. You may weigh less than me but you're heavy," I shove him off and he finally rolls off but takes me with him, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me on top of him.

"I'm going to crush you now," I protest trying to get up but he pulls me down once more.

"I think I can handle it." He wraps his arms around me, having no choice but to lay my head on his chest.

"C'mere, I barely saw you today. Just wanna lay here with you like this a little while longer." He mumbles, kissing the top of my head and running his hands up and down my back.

"Didn't you have fun with your brothers today?" I ask, mainly teasing him as we were only apart for less than a day. I had seen him in the morning before they left for their meeting at the warehouse.

"Those goofs are a pain in my fucking ass." he snarls and I poke him in the ribs.

"Be nice." I tell him and he sighs.

"I'm joking. It was nice. I guess," He corrects himself. His hands sneak their way under my sweatshirt then under my tank top.

"Matt..." I warn him and he squeezes my sides.

"Yes..." He mocks and I can hear the grin on face. 

When I lift my head he's got smirk on his face as his hands lower down past the waistband of my pants. He goes for a handful of my ass before I stop his movements and give him a stern look.

"Matthew, your brothers are home." I scold him softly.

"Don't 'Matthew' me, them being home has never stopped us before." His eyes widen playfully as he calls me out.

"Yeah, when they were asleep. But they are both very much awake right now and could god forbid walk in," I defend getting flustered, heat rising up my neck and pooling into my ears.

“You know there’s this thing called a lock? I have one on my door. Use it quite often.”

“Yeah and risk one of them hearing something?” I shudder and he smirks at my flustered appearance.

"So, what I'm hearing is...later?" He raises his eyebrow and I roll my eyes, pulling away from his grasp. 

"Chris mentioned something about wanting to watch a movie tonight when you guys got in before." I change the subject, readjusting myself and sitting up on his lap instead.

"Fuck that, we're not leaving this room." He grips the tops of my thighs, playing with the string of my sweats.

"I had already told him yes..." I hesitate and fidget with my bracelets, waiting for him to blow up.

I peer up and see him with an arm over his eyes as he regulates his breathing. I stifle my laughter and watch him compose himself.

"Of course you did." He says sarcastically, waving his hand out dramatically.

"He sounded really excited," I reason with him and he rolls his eyes once more.

"You know what's gonna happen right? We're going to go into the living room, argue over which movie to watch for an hour and then Chris is gonna go on his phone the entire time, not paying attention to shit. All while you and Nick whisper and giggle and text each other from across the couch while I sit there watching a fucking movie I didn't want to watch in the first place." He rambles with wide eyes.

"C'mon it's just one movie." I rub his chest and he grabs my hands in his, halting their movement. 

"I don't care. I was with those idiots all day. I drove them all over the city, Chris wanted to thrift but then realized he was hungry, so I had to get him food, but then oh no, Nick wants happy ice first so we had to go to happy ice. And all I wanted to do was get a new pair of jeans, film our video and go home to spend time with you. But now because you feel bad for Chris, we have to sit and watch a shitty movie the kid's not even gonna see." He winds himself up and I tilt my head to the side, giving him that look.

"No, do not give me that look. You're not going to make me feel bad this time, sweetheart." He shakes his head, standing his ground. 

I continue to stare at him and pull my hands out of his grip, rubbing my hands up and down his chest again. 

"I'll...make you cookies," I smile softly, and he stares at me blankly. "Snickerdoodle..." Still nothing.

He extremely stubborn so this will take some bribing.

"Alright, I won't make you listen to Taylor Swift in the car, even though I know you secretly like her music." I say and he laughs this time, shaking his head.

"Kid, stop."

"I'll give you a kiss? A proper one. You can even touch my ass or grab my tits. Both even." I try to think of more things and he continues not to budge, though I can see his eyes shimmer with temptation.

"Wow, not even an ass grab will win you over?" I say with deep concern and he chuckles again giving me a little shrug.

"Okay, okay. Fine. I'm just gonna go out there and watch the movie and you can stay in here by yourself since you're too cool." I get off of him and his jaw drops. He sits up on his elbows.

"Hey, woah. You'd seriously leave me to go hang out with them?" His voice cracks as he looks at me in disbelief.

"Yup!"

"This is fucking ridiculous." I hear him mumble under his breath as I put my slippers on and open the door.

"Have fun sulking," I close the door behind me.

I walk out to Nick and Chris serving themselves mac and cheese in the kitchen. I greet them before grabbing some goldfish from the pantry and a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Where's Matt?" Chris asks shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth. Realizing it was too hot, he fans his mouth and blows out air to cool it down.

"He's in the room. What movie are we watching?" I keep it at that, walking over to the living room and taking a seat in the right corner nook of the couch.

"He's such a loser," Nick comments before sitting beside me and grabbing the TV remote.

"Nick, give me the fucking remote." Chris motions him while taking his own seat at the end of the couch.

"No, idiot, eat your food."

I was able to convince them to watch one of my favorite movies, 50 First Dates. Nick was on board right away but I had to win Chris over.

"Bro, no way. I'm not watching a chick-flick." He goes to grab the remote from Nicks hand.

"Chris shut up, you're not even going to watch it," Nick calls him out, putting the remote out of his reach.

"Yes I am," He argues back.

"Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider are in it." I speak up and he sits back.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes into the movie I hear Matt’s door open and then his footsteps down the hall. I turn my attention away from the movie to see him walking over with his black hoodie pulled over his head.

I knew he’d break eventually.

"Look who decided to join-" Chris starts.

"Shut the fuck up."

When he reaches the couch, he leans down pulling my legs up and over his lap as he takes a seat directly next to me. He wraps his arms around my middle, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck.

Although rare, Matt has no problem cuddling or hugging me in front of others. It's usually kissing or gross sweet talk we avoid displaying. We just prefer to keep that private for everyone's peace, including our own.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders pulling him into me, scratching the nape of neck lightly with my fingernails and playing with his overgrown hair.

"Oh I’m gonna puke..." Chris comments from beside us and Matt flips him off without a word.

"Watch the goddamn movie and leave them alone." Nick snaps at him.

Matt melts into me as I continue to scratch his scalp and he draws patterns on my hip with the hand he snuck under my hoodie.

Not even halfway into the movie I look over at Chris and see he’s on his phone. I nudge Matt slightly to bring his attention to it and he shakes his head.

“What did I fucking tell you,” he says lowly and I giggle.

“Chris, you like the movie?” I call out and he snaps his head in my direction.

“What? Oh yeah, it’s great.” He puts his phone down beside him.

He gives me a tight lip smile before looking over at Nick and I could already see the idea pop into his head before he tackles him in a hug.

“Get the fuck off of me. What is wrong with you?” Nick shoves him off, his eyes wide.

“I just love you,” Chris shrugs, going to tickle Nick’s side but he catches his wrist, twisting it slightly causing Chris to cry out in pain.

“You’re an idiot. Let's keep our hands to ourselves,"

“I’m getting ice cream, do you want?” Matt whispers to me and I immediately nod. He kisses my jaw and pats my legs so I lift them off his lap.

He quietly goes into the kitchen and discreetly takes out the pints of ice cream and serving them into bowls for us.

He pads back over, tapping the bowl on my shoulder to get my attention before I grab it.

This catches both Nick and Chris’ attention.

“There’s ice cream?”

“Not for you.”

—

Everyone had gone to their rooms after the movie and Matt couldn’t get us back to his room fast enough.

"It wasn't that bad." I say pulling the comforter back and sliding in next to Matt who’s already shirtless and under the covers.

"Yeah, yeah." He puts an arm under his head and extends his arm for me, wanting me close.

"You're such a grump." I roll my eyes. turning towards him and moving to lay my head on his chest.

"I just want to be able to spend quality time with my girlfriend without our plans being infiltrated by my brothers." He wraps his arm around me, lightly stroking my shoulder with his fingertips.

"Is that such a crime?" He presses softly and I shake my head.

"I suppose not." I sigh, "We could...go away?" I suggest after a beat of silence and he hums.

"I like the sound of that, keep talking..."

"You and me, the cape, being in nature, alone in a cabin for a week, no interruptions..." I trail off, tracing patterns on his stomach.

"Sweetheart, you had me at the fucking cape."

[spatialwave]

jayce talis — breeding kink.

pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader word count: 770 tags: mdni, nsfw, smut, breeding kink.

“oh fuck,” you squirmed, thighs tightening around jayce’s head as he buried his face against your pussy. his tongue lapped through your folds, nose bumping against your swollen clit that ached for attention.

fingers tugged his hair, longer and tousled these days—easier to grab so you could grind yourself onto his lips. he ate you out like a starved man, tongue delving into your cunt that swallowed it greedily.

“don’t stop, jayce,” you cried, back arching as you saw stars.

he’d been making you into a meal for ten minutes now, your body so close to meeting the climax you desperately wanted. a few more licks. please, gods—

“jayce,” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows as you stared at your lover. his beard coated in your juices.

he chuckled, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth before crawling forward. he hovered over you, leaning down and attacking your neck with heady open-mouthed kisses, “be patient,” he cooed into your ear, one hand holding him above you and the other slipping between your legs that spread open willingly, “i want to feel you cum around my cock.”

you whimpered as he pushed two fingers into your heat, scissoring and curling to stretch you. 

“don’t tease me,” you breathed, head tilting back as he sucked a hickey onto your skin, “fuck me, jayce. please.”

“needy girl,” he murmured, thrusting both fingers into your squelching cunt, “you want me to fuck you that bad?”

you answered with a filthy moan, his name rolling from your tongue as you fucked yourself on his fingers. the feeling of your climax was rising, and you needed this—gods, you needed him inside you. needed to be filled and fucked like the good girl you were.

just as you parted your lips to beg, his fingers retracted, and his cock filled you with one quick forward snap of his hips. the stretch was big, a feeling that sent pleasure coursing through your body as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him flush against you.

jayce growled against your neck, his breath warm on your skin as he heaved out rugged breaths with each movement. he fucked you hard and good at a relentless pace that echoed the sounds of skin slapping skin with each thrust.

“god, you’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed, choking on a moan, “so beautiful. you take my cock so well like it was meant for you—“

your nails scratched into his shoulders, leaving red lines in their wake as you dug into his flesh. you whined into his ear, legs wrapping around his hips.

“i want to fill you up so bad,” he gasped, pulling back to look into your eyes, “want you to take my cum. want to breed you.”

your stomach tightened, toes curling as you whimpered, “i want it.” you begged, fingers back in his hair, “please, jayce, i want it so bad.”

“yeah?” he huffed, a cocky grin on his lips, “you want me to fill you up and fuck you until your belly is big and swollen?” he rested his forehead against yours, face twisted in concentration as he held back his orgasm as best he could, “gonna’ keep my cock inside so you take it all. fuck, baby, i want to fill you up nice and deep so bad. let me, please—”

“ah—,” you mewled in a daze, heels digging into his ass as you guided his hips to keep fucking you. you could feel that he was close, apparent in the way his hips began to stutter, losing the rhythm of his movement, “cum inside, please.”

“shit,” he groaned, one final thrust pushing his cock deep inside you as his release hit in unison with yours, “fuck, milk me, you greedy little thing. let me breed you—oh, gods.”

you moaned as he gave a few final thrusts, weaker but working to push his release deep inside you. your bodies moved together, clinging to each other for dear life as your orgasms flooded your senses.

as you both relaxed, jayce waited a few minutes until his cock softened, and he pulled himself out, lowering himself until his lips met with your stomach. two fingers reached your cunt, pushing inside his cum that spilled out—not wanting it to go to waste.

“you did so good,” he praised, smirking against your tummy as he peppered you with kisses, “do you think you can take more?”

you put your arms over your face, hips twitching as he fucked his cum into you, “yes.” you whimpered, and you knew by morning you’d be full and bred.

[hhughes]

♡ 𝆬 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x bsf!reader

quinn leads the canucks to round 2 of the playoffs and no one is happier than his best friend who is a life long canucks fan. . . (wc ; 1845 )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is set during last years playoffs. it’s been in the drafts a while!!! as always I hope you enjoy <33 . . . ꒱

your heart jumps in your chest when you feel arms loop around your waist from behind, your mind distracted as you watch the sunrise out quinn’s floor to ceiling apartment windows. your erratic heartbeat calms when you recognize the cologne of your best friend. he tightens his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck and you giggle as his beard scratches against your skin. you wiggle in his arms until you’re fully turned around, looping your arms around his neck and smiling up at him brightly. quinn feels this weird feeling in his stomach looking at you, as if every nerve cell under his skin starts buzzing when he lays eyes on you.

he was forever jealous of how much joy you had in the morning, not because he felt the need to erase his hatred for early mornings, but because he wanted to be the only reason for that expression on your face. he wanted all your smiles to be as a result and directed towards him. that’s how deep quinn’s affection went for you, that he harboured irrational jealousy towards the sun for making you happy. but he’s never been good at sharing his best friend’s attention and affections with anything or anyone else, even his brothers who were utterly obsessed with you when they met you in quinn’s first year on the team, who quinn has always been more than happy to share with. you were the one thing that quinn wanted all to himself.

“good morning sunshine,” you tease, running your hand through his hair and he responds with a simple groan against your neck.

“or should I say… good morning captain of a team who made it to the second round,” you state, pride obvious in your tone and quinn lifts his head to give you a dopey smile.

“there he is!” you tease and quinn squeezes your hip in response before reaching behind you to pick up your cup of coffee.

“um sure, just drink all my coffee, when the full pot is right there,” you say sarcastically and quinn takes another big sip, lips quirking up at your annoyed frown.

“what’s yours is mine. and what's mine is yours, clearly,” quinn says drily, tugging on the edge of his dress shirt that you were wearing and you pout slightly.

“I showered this morning, and it was warm, right from the drier,” you defend and quinn smiles softly, tugging you closer by the material and wrapping you in a bear hug. he just holds you for a few seconds and you smile thinking about the first time you heard the guys refer to quinn as “huggy bear”. your guy’s always loved a good hug.

“I have a team event coming up after the playoffs. like an end of the year banquet type of thing, will you go with me? I know you’ve been to like ten events with me this year and you’re probably sick of them by now so if you don’t want - ” quinn says but you interrupt before he can finish.

“I’d love to go with you. I never get tired of seeing captain quinn in action. I have fun, all I have to do is stand and try to look pretty while you woo people,” you say and quinn scoffs.

“you don’t have to try. you’re always the most beautiful girl in the room. and I don’t know how much wooing I can really do-”

“a lot. these people and this city adores you quinn. I don't think you realise just how much you mean to this organisation,” you say, and quinn feels a lump in his throat building a little as your words hit him. you grew up in Vancouver and you’ve been a diehard canucks fan since you were a kid, so quinn knew you weren’t just saying this because you were his friend and you wanted to make him feel better about himself. you genuinely believed it. and that unwavering faith you had in him meant more than he could ever put into words, so he doesn’t even try and instead just presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping it’ll say everything he can’t seem to articulate.

–

you attend all home games in the second round, just like you did the first, you and ellen cheering until your voices go away all the way until the canucks get eliminated. you were once again amazed by quinn and the graceful way he handled the elimination, knowing it was about progress, not necessarily perfection and the canucks had made tremendous progress this past season with him leading them. of course it didn’t hurt that he had you reminding him of that the few days after the brutal loss, asking you to stay with him while he wraps things up for the end of the season, claiming it was so that the two of you could spend more time together before he heads to michigan for the summer.

it wasn’t unusual for you to stay at quinn’s place though, and you had done so many times over the course of your friendship, and it seems to happen more often as the years go by. you had probably spent more time at his apartment this past month than your own. you don’t even bother staying in the guest room anymore, opting to sleep next to quinn as the two of you always fall asleep while watching a movie or reading side by side in his bed at the end of the night.

you awake like you do most mornings when staying over at quinn’s, with his arm thrown over your stomach, and his soft breaths against your neck, one leg intertwined with yours. you successfully sneak out quietly, going to the living room and doing your daily morning scroll through social media while waiting for quinn to wake up but the bed must have been colder than usual without you because it wasn’t even five minutes after that he woke up and entered the living room with a tired groan, collapsing next to you on the couch and nuzzling his face into your chest as he mumbled, “why you awake so early. come back to bed,”

“quinn,” you say softly, as not to startle him but the hesitancy in your voice makes quinn lift his head and meet your eyes with a sleepy little squint that makes your heart squeeze.

“what’s wrong?” he asks with a yawn, immediately knowing something was bothering you and leaning on his elbow so he can meet your eyes.

“you know how I follow some canuck fan accounts?” you ask and he furrows his brows

“I told you to unfollow them,” he points out, smiling slightly at the guilty look on your face, only realising now his body was plastered to yours but he didn’t want to move and you didn’t look like you were uncomfortable with the closeness, so quinn just snuggled closer, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns on your hip.

“I am ‘nucks fan to my core quinny. I can’t just unfollow them,” you argue as if it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard and he chuckles slightly at your dramatics.

“you can if what they’re saying upsets you. what you see?” quinn asks, and you hesitate for a second before telling him, knowing his reaction was gonna affect you, whether you wanted it to or not.

“pictures of me and your mom sitting together. and pictures of the two of us leaving the game together. us at dinner with your family and me wearing your jersey. there’s one of us at a bar with the team and we look …” in love, you think but can’t voice it. “cosy. people are speculating that we’re – you know, together.” you explain, biting your lip anxiously and quinn gently tugs it out from between your teeth, running his thumb over it.

“oh,” he replies, distracted by the thumb still against your bottom lip.

“oh? that’s all you're gonna say?” you ask, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down to your stomach again, the way he was caressing your face was way too distracting for the conversation you were trying to have.

“I uh – already saw that. basically everyone I know has sent it to me. my brothers, the team, even my mom,” quinn explains, and it makes sense now why he didn’t seem shocked by the news.

“your mother?” you squeak out, mortified at the thought of his mother reading the things people have been saying online about the two of you.

“yeah. wouldn’t be surprised if she started these rumours herself though. she was excited to say the least, going on and on about how happy she was that we were finally together and that it took me long enough to lock you down” quinn jokes, and your heart warms slightly at his words.

“you’re not - upset by it? I know it’s probably weird –” you start but quinn cuts you off by pressing a gentle and unexpected kiss to your cheek.

“it’s not weird. I’m honoured actually, that people think I have enough game to pull someone as hot as you,” he says and you scoff, rolling your eyes and gently hitting him against the chest.

“be serious,” you scold lightly, picking at the blanket thrown over your lap and he laughs, hand nudging your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“I am serious. you’re way out of my league angel. It’s a bit of a cruel joke that people think you would date me,” he says and you immediately frown, wondering if your best friend must have gotten a concussion somehow in the last 24 hours because there was no way Quinn Hughes actually believed the words coming out of his mouth.

“that’s an utterly ridiculous thing to believe considering you have every quality I love in a man and I’ve had the biggest crush on you since the day I met you,” you say without thinking, your cheeks heating up when you realise what you just said, your embarrassment only multiplying when you see the amused grin on his face.

“you have a little crush on me, eh?” he teases, and you sigh lovingly

“quinn, shut up and kiss me already, would you?” you say, and both of you can’t keep the grins off your faces as he leans closer and connects your lips in a sweet, tender, long overdue kiss.

“Your mom was right, you know? It took you long enough to lock me down,” you mumble against his lips and quinn doesn’t even get a chance to respond when the front door suddenly bursts open and ellen walks in.

“Talk of the devil,” quinn mutters and you hide your laugh in his shoulder as his mom observes the position you two currently found yourselves in.

“Hi mrs. Hughes,” you greet her, both you and quinn sending her matching, sheepish smiles.

“Quintin Jerome Hughes, you are such a little liar! I raised you better than lying to your own mother”

[capquinn]

quinn rlly is hairy, i’m imagining him pressing kisses all over your face and you squirming because it tickles 💗

he's like a lil chewbacca and i just know he’d get so much satisfaction out of making you giggle. especially if he has a beard like he does right now lol

Quinn’s lips graze your temple, soft and warm, but it’s the scruff that catches you off guard. It’s not rough enough to hurt, but just enough to scratch lightly against your skin, the sensation pulling an involuntary squirm from you.

You try to stay still, biting back the smile tugging at your lips because it’s sweet — he’s sweet —and you don’t want to ruin the moment. But then he shifts, his kisses drifting lower, brushing over your cheekbone, and his cheek presses against yours, the bristles of his beard tickling in a way that has you flinching before you can stop yourself.

“Quinn,” you laugh, turning your head away, the sound bubbling out of you before you can smother it. It’s that light, airy kind of laughter, the kind that spills out when you’re caught off guard.

He doesn’t stop, though. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he’s determined to keep you right there.

“What?” he asks, his tone so innocent it’s almost believable, but you can feel the grin stretching across his lips as he drags them just below your ear. It’s a mix of soft lips and rough scruff, each kiss purposeful, each nuzzle more playful than the last.

“Stop,” you squeal, twisting in his hold, but it only makes him more determined.

His other hand finds your back, holding you firmly in place as he nuzzles closer, his cheek brushing against yours with exaggerated slowness, dragging his scruff deliberately, and it’s enough to make you gasp and squirm harder, your laughter spilling out freely now.

“You don’t want my kisses now?” he teases, his voice low and playful, the warmth of his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. He leans in closer, nuzzling against you like he’s doing it just to make you laugh harder.

“Not when they feel like this,” you gasp between peals of laughter, your hands weakly pushing at his chest, though the effort is half-hearted at best.

He chuckles, his lips finding the curve of your neck next. The kiss is slow, deliberate, and his beard grazes the sensitive skin there, sending a sharp jolt through you. You yelp, burying your face in his shoulder as your laughter dissolves into helpless giggles.

“Quinn, I’m serious,” you whine, your voice wobbling so much it undermines the protest entirely.

“Are you?” he murmurs, the words warm and teasing as his lips brush along your jaw. Another kiss lands there — purposeful and just ticklish enough to make you squirm all over again. He’s clearly revelling in it, the way his laughter blends with yours, low and rumbling against your skin. “You always say my beard is sexy,” he points out, his voice dripping with mock innocence, as if he’s only following orders.

“Sexy, yes,” you gasp, “ticklish, no.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant, and presses another kiss just below your ear, the scruff grazing that one spot he knows you can’t handle. You shriek, dissolving into another fit of giggles, and his hand slides to your back, holding you steady against him like he’s not letting you escape until he’s had his fun. He doubles down, his lips brushing just behind your ear this time — deliberate and slow — where he knows it’ll tickle the most, and the sensation is instant.

“It tickles," you gasp, voice breaking into another fit of giggles.

“Does it?” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable. His breath is warm against your neck, his lips skimming your skin again as he adds, “I had no idea,” feigning innocence even as his grin presses into you.

You twist, trying to squirm free, but it’s useless. He’s got one arm firmly around your back, holding you impossibly close, and his other hand slides up to cradle your jaw as his lips travel to just under it. The scruff grazes against the soft skin there, and you dissolve completely, your laughter spilling into his shirt as you cling to him, helpless against his playful onslaught.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your face buried in his chest as you try to catch your breath. His thumb continues its lazy pattern on your back, soothing in contrast to how playful he’d been just seconds ago. You peek up at him and he’s grinning, so smug, his eyes bright with amusement.

You roll your eyes, trying to muster up some indignation, but the truth is, you don’t mind. Not one bit.

“You’re the worst,” you mumble, though your tone lacks any real bite.

“Me?” he replies, arching a brow with exaggerated offense. “I’m just trying to show you some love.” He shrugs casually, his voice dipped in that familiar teasing lilt that always makes you weak.

Then he leans in again, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft and sweet, and yet, his beard lingers — deliberate, tickling your upper lip in a way that makes your body jolt slightly. A shiver runs down your spine, and you groan against his mouth, though the smile pulling at your lips betrays any attempt to sound annoyed.

“It’s distracting,” you mumble against him, the words half-lost in the closeness between you.

But instead of pulling away, you close the space again, your lips finding his with ease. This time, the kiss stretches, unhurried and tender, and and there’s something so easy about the way he matches you, letting it deepen just enough to leave your pulse fluttering.

When he finally pulls back, it’s his turn to laugh — a warm, low sound that vibrates through his chest. His thumb brushes lightly against your jaw, the motion mirroring the gentle patterns his hand is tracing across your back, as if holding on for just a little longer.

“Guess you’ll just have to deal with it,” he says, his grin equal parts smug and affectionate. He leans in one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, so gentle it makes your breath hitch.

And honestly? You think you could deal with it forever.

[froggibus]

Valentine's NSFW - Overwatch Men

Pairings: Baptiste, Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo, Ramattra & Reaper x fem! reader (reader uses she/her pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

CW: cheesy Valentines things, aftercare, manhandling, bondage, role play, toys, shibari, praise, degradation, dirty talk, oral (giving & receiving) unprotected sex, p in v, cum stuffing, overstimulation, cervix fucking, teasing

i flopped so hard this Valentine’s Day but here’s some overwatch content 😭 im sorry my fellow lucio enjoyers i simply couldn’t do it i could not write him for valentines

—

Baptiste:

he’s a busy man, it’s a rare occasion that he has a day off, let alone two 

wants to make the most of his time with you 

takes his time to decorate your room, even changing the sheets to nice red ones and lighting some candles

for him it’s all about the ambience 

takes his time to seduce you, starting with kissing you, then moving down your neck and so on

takes his time with your chest, his expert hands turning you into a moaning mess 

when you’re finally so wet that you’re begging him just to touch you, he knows you’re ready

has you spread out on the bed, his head buried between your legs 

it’s been so long since he was able to eat you out, it’s like a feast to him 

doesn’t stop until you’ve came on his face at least twice, until his beard and chin are dripping with your juices 

he’s so gentle but so intentional with his touches 

teases your clit with his cock and laughs at the way you squirm and plead for him to put it in 

once he puts it in, it’s not coming out until he’s fully satisfied 

the man is insatiable, he’s drilling his cock into you like he’s trying to push it straight into your womb

it brushes your cervix and makes you wince, the pain only adding to the overwhelming pleasure you feel

loves cumming inside of you but saves it for special occasions like today

his aftercare is unmatched, the man has a basket of things to help soothe you after the fact 

he’ll massage your shoulders and talk you down

and always forces you to pee because god forbid you get a UTI (although he’d take extra good care of you then, too)

Cassidy:

wants to try absolutely anything

he’s always a kinky mf but Valentine’s is his excuse to dial it up to 11

buys you cute underwear that you can show off to him 

wants to roleplay 

once you get in bed with this man you’re not getting out all night 

he’ll have your hands cuffed behind your back while he watches you try to ride him 

just watching you struggle to take his cock without bracing yourself with his hands is enough to have him cumming

it’s just so cute how pathetic you are, dragging your walls up and down his thick cock and whining how it’s “too much”

gets tired of your whining and has you flipped in doggy, your head pressed into the mattress

this man is breeding you for hours

even after your pussy is aching and dripping with his cum, he’ll try to keep going 

switches between praise and degradation so fast he gives you whiplash

“so good f’me…takin’ my cock so well.”

spanks you if you get too quiet

“fuck, you’re sucha slut for me, aren’t ya?”

there will be bruises on your wrists from the handcuffs

when he finally lets you out of the bed, you can’t even walk on your own

so he runs you a hot bath with nice smelling salts, candles and lotions 

Genji:

kinky mf 

he’s probably been preparing for tonight for months 

has some of that aphrodisiac chocolate and definitely feeds it to you

so much foreplay 

he has you laying against his chest, legs spread out over his own, your pussy wide open for his fingers to dip into 

he loves playing with you and teasing you, listening to you whimper that’s it’s ’too much’ and you ‘can’t take it anymore’

your cute whines must make him want to bury his cock in you and pound you 

but tonight is about you and he wants to take his time 

definitely brought some toys with him, like a magic wand and a rabbit 

has the vibrator pressed against your clit while he fingers you

even after you cum a few times and whine about how you’re getting overstimulated, he still wants to fuck you until your brain is mush

it’s sweet relief when he finally puts the toys away and lays you down on the bed

you weakly spread your legs around his hips and give him access to your puffy pussy

feels so fucking good 

he gets so deep inside you every time, and he’s going slow enough that you can feel it every time his cockhead brushes your walls

whispers praises in your ear about how good you are, about how you just need to give him one more and he’ll be done 

“one more” turns into an extra hour 

by the end of the night, you’re completely fucked out and drooling, your pussy aching from how good he took care of you

helps you clean yourself up, planting kisses on your burning skin  

Hanzo:

SHIBARI

he’s been waiting so long for you to want to try it

you run to the bedroom when you get back from dinner 

Hanzo is so patient waiting outside until you finally yell come in 

you’ve stripped yourself to just your lingerie and you’re kneeling on the floor, holding silky red ropes in your hands 

he’s instantly hard just seeing you submit to him 

binds you up so nicely in the pretty little ropes, making sure you’re properly tied but keeping all your good places on display

manhandles you in front of him so he can prod at that pretty mouth with his cock

smears pre all of your lips and cheeks before pushing past your mouth and finally feeling your tongue on his length

you look so cute and helpless sitting beneath him and slobbering on his cock 

probably straight up carries you by the ropes on your back and tosses you into the bed 

you are doing it in every position tonight 

bent over, balls slapping your clit with every thrust 

on top of him, laying on his chest clawing desperately while he pounds you

against the wall, over the bed, on your knees, on his lap

he’s taking you any way he can

ends it in a mating press, undoing some of the ropes to offer you enough slack to fold your knees into your chest

leans over and coos about how cute you look with tears and cum smeared on your face

you’re stuffed with cum at the end of the night, laid out in the bed, face on his chest

Ramattra:

has no idea what Valentines is, and even after you explain doesn’t quite understand it

but if it’s important to you…

is teasing you the whole fucking day 

pinning you against the wall and rubbing your pussy until you’re dripping wet, pulling you into his lap when you walk by so you can feel the thrumming in his crotch plate 

he wants you soaked, prepped and ready for him at any time so that when he does decide to take you, he doesn’t have to waste any time

has you cockwarming him while he does work, an arm around your waist to hold you down on his massive length while his other taps away at a keyboard 

you’re squirming and writhing in his lap for more but his grip is like iron 

eventually he gives in to your incessant pleasing

“it’s St Valentines after all”

but don’t even think about trying to disobey him or try anything funny 

pretty much uses you like a flesh light the rest of the night 

the benefit of him being so strong is that he can manoeuvre you in anyway that he wants 

and given that he’s an omnic, he can go all night and never falter 

he’s brutal with his thrusts, pounding into you until your juices are spraying out and coating the plates of his thighs

“Look at how you’re gushing on me,” he teases, “look at how ruined your pussy is.”

probably fucks you until you’re on the verge of falling asleep 

after he’s done with you, when you’re laying and looking al cute and fucked out in his bed

he’ll just brush your hair away from your face. “Happy St Valentine’s, dear.”

Reaper:

he does not give a fuck about Valentine’s Day 

but if it gives him an excuse to take you in anyway he wants, he’s in

absolutely not what he has in mind when you’re binding him to your headboard with handcuffs 

he won’t admit it but he’s into it 

you spend over an hour just teasing him 

rubbing, licking, drooling on his cock, watching the way he shifts uncomfortably with every move 

it’s only after he calls out, “just fuck me or move on, please” that you listen to him 

Reyes never says please so you know he’s desperate 

of course you won’t even think about putting his cock inside of you until he's came in your mouth at least once

when you finally straddle his hips and sink down on his cock, Reaper is beyond impatient 

he’s straining against his handcuffs, telling you what a whore you are and how he can’t wait to get out of these and fuck you silly

you ride him painfully slow, scratching up his chest with your nails as you slide up and down his cock

eventually you get desperate and start bouncing even more, forcing his cock as deep as it can go

just as you’re about to cum, Reaper snaps the bedposts and frees his hands 

you’re in shock from the pure fucking strength it took and have no time to react before he’s flipping you on your back and taking you 

the muscles in his arms are strained as he props himself up above you, veins protruding 

just for teasing him, you’re not leaving the room until you’ve come at least three or four times 

or unless you beg for mercy (though Gabe is a wild card, and it’s a 50/50 if he’ll even let you go)

—

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

[teencopandthesourwolf]

edited version can be read on ao3 HERE

.

“Need a hand with that?”

Derek didn't drop the tire he was carrying, but it was a close thing. He'd recognise that voice anywhere—would know it in a sea of a thousand others.

He slowly turned on his heel to find its owner sat in Derek's favourite tree.

Stiles.

“You're here,” he breathed, not bothering to hide the mix of shock and relief that coloured his own voice and features.

Stilesʼ lips twitched. “I'm here,” he confirmed, just in case Derek needed to hear it.

“Hey,” Derek said, eloquent as ever.

“Hey yourself,” Stiles grinned back.

Shifting his weight on the tree branch, Stiles then pulled himself up to standing. He wiped his hands on the ass of his jeans before proffering one towards Derek.

“I'm Mieczysław Stilinski. It's really nice to meet you, dude.”

Stilesʼcheeks flushed an overwhelmingly pretty shade of pink, and Derek wanted to eat him.

Reaching out to take the hand in one of his own, the pads of his fingertips brushed the familiar Jack rabbit pulse at Stiles's wrist, for just a second, and it was both a calling card and like a huge sigh of relief.

He turned the name around in his mind.

Mieczysław. Mieczysław Stilinski.

It was unexpected, and very Polish, and Derek sort of adored it.

Looking a little antsy, Stiles said, “It, uh, means 'sword' in Polish. If you go in for that sort of thing.” He blushed some more and then snorted at himself. “But yeah, I know it's kinda... ʼSʼobviously why I go by Stiles—which was my Grandfather's nickname too, by the way.”

Derek's heart swelled in his chest.

This was what they could've had if things had gone differently for them.

He cleared his throat, took a deep intake of woodsmoke-laced air into his lungs, then said, “Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, third son of Talia and Seth Hale of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills county, North California, and I'm very pleased to meet you're acquaintance. Oh, and do not call me dude, by the way.”

“Broderick? Are you shitting me right now?!” Stiles blurted, trying and failing to not laugh.

Derek rolled his eyes and it felt like breathing. “Seriously? I think you'll find you don't have even half a leg to stand on, Mieczysław.”

“Actually, I have two, Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, and I diligently used the both of them to come out here to Bumfuck nowhere to find you.”

He shot Derek with ridiculous finger guns then blew away imaginary gunpowder smoke, and if it wasn't for the kid's beard it could've easily been thirteen-years ago.

Not a kid anymore.

Stiles looked amazing. A little broader, and a little fuller in the face, and the beard really, really suited him. At once, Derek had the desperate urge to sink his claws into it and paw at the pale skin beneath. He wanted to back Stiles into the bark of the tree and bury his nose in that long, mole-peppered neck he still had dreams about, to breathe in pure unadulterated Stiles.

He swallowed thickly, licking at his dry lips and wishing they were Stilesʼ. Had to force himself to unclench the fist not currently grasping Stiles's hand.

Derek had to try his best to pretend that he wasn't very aware of the fact that they were still very much holding onto each other.

“Broderick means 'brother' in Old Norse, if you go in for that sort of thing,” he offered, borrowing Stiles's banter.

Stiles's smile was easy, albeit tainted with a hint of sadness for that piece of information. He was sort of—looser. More relaxed, and definitely less agitated than he used to be. Though he smelled exactly the same as he always had: Of strong coffee and Bath & Body Oak shower gel and wild cinnamon and lemon sherbet dip, and that particular warm smack of something that Derek had always struggled to place—the very essence of Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski.

The familiar tang zinged over his taste buds like popping candy, and his wolf took up its routinely impatient pacing at his core as if they had seen Stiles only yesterday.

“I'm—uh, I don't—you look good, Stiles. Really good.”

This human was the only creature on planet earth that had Derek Hale fumbling his words.

Stiles was smirking his signature smirk—only there was something new pulling at the curve of that life-ruining mouth of his.

Unerring confidence.

Derek sniffed at the air and licked at his lips again so he could taste that, too.

“You're look pretty fine yourself there, Sourwolf,” Stiles divulged, mirroring Derek again by licking his own lips. He shamelessly looked Derek up and down and said, “Your edges aren't quite so sharp, and you're little softer ʼround the eyes, like maybe you're—I dunno. Something closer to being happy?” His eyes shone like the full moon in the dark when he told Derek, “And, dare I say it, maybe not even all that sour anymore?”

Derek huffed a breath out through his nostrils that was in the proximity of a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Looks good on you, man. Really good.”

Stiles was borrowing Derek's words, and if he kept saying things like that to Derek while looking at Derek the way that he was, Derek would have to restrain himself from picking the guy up by the scruff of his very nice sweater and kissing the words right out of his mouth.

Then everything sort of stilled, somehow, including the wind, and the birds, and them, as if the whole world had just halted for something incredibly important.

They stood there, just gazing at each other. Like there wasn't anything else they could or would possibly be doing right now.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.

It was obvious to even the blades of grass on the ground that they both still felt it.

Slowly, slowly, they caught back up to reality.

Derek took a breath and found his voice again.

“Might've taken a few pointers from a kid I used to know,” he smiled, eyes never leaving Stilesʼ.

Then he thought in for a penny and admitted, “I hoped you'd come looking for me—and I want you to know that I'm really, really glad that you did.”

Stiles squinted at him through the sun's afternoon rays that broke through the Colorado cloud cover like the heavens had suddenly appeared. In that moment, he reminded Derek of the beautiful golden Aztec Sanvitalia shrub that grew down by the little stream behind his cabin. He wondered briefly if that was the missing base note in Stiles's scent, and felt a little insane with it all.

“Well, I knew I'd find you,” Stiles shrugged, “because one: I'm like a dog with a bone, and two: You left a trail of breadcrumbs so fucking vague only a genius like yours truly would be able to follow.”

He then shielded those big brown doe eyes of his from a particularly bright sunbeam with a still-bony hand, and the squinted look on his face was so fond Derek had to sink his canines into his lip to hold in the pitiful whine that threatened to climb up and out of his chest and escape him.

He stepped closer to the tree; closer to the boy who runs with wolves, who was definitely not a boy any longer.

“You make it sound as if we're in some sort of fairytale, Stiles,” Derek said as he attempted to blink Stiles's beauty from his eyes, knowing it would be a fruitless endeavour.

Finally, Stiles reached out to pull Derek down and into his lap, and Derek went like a force of nature.

He dropped the tire this time.

Stiles smelled like love when he said, “Weren't we always, Der?” right into Derek's mouth.

And Derek knew.

As Stiles leaned in and kissed him softly, and he kissed Stiles softly right back, he knew they both understood that although they had to travel far from Beacon Hills to find it, they had both—at long last—made it home.

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to leave me a comment <3

i saw the new dob shoot and my brain remembered the hoech one and went ping! this is for @wulfnerd seeing as they came up with the wonderful Broderick as Derek's full first name in the tags of a post of mine who knows how long ago...

unedited, please be forgiving <3

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

+18 minors do not interact. hurt/comfort, nursing wounds, blood, physical pain, emotional pain, very slow healing, mutant cure, kissing, cuddling, mentions of sex, happy marriage, fluffy ending etc.

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @bunnysrph 💌

“Oh no no no!!” You sobbed slapping your husbands cheek gently to wake him up. You found him passed out, third time this week. His dress shirt drenched in blood, bullet holes decorating the front making you cry hard. Tears staining your cheeks as you quickly rushed to the bathroom for first aid kit and to pull out the harming bullets. “Please.. please..” you sniffled ripping the front of his shirt buttons scattering all over the place. Grabbing your medical pliers you didn’t hesitate to dive inside the bullet holes in his chest, pulling one after one out. You cleaned the blood in process, the fresh one which pooled out of his wounds. You couldn’t stop crying— your heart held so much pain and grief. “You can’t die on me.. not like this. God I love you so much please don’t..” you slapped his cheek gentle to possibly wake him but he wouldn’t. The healing of his wounds were so slow.. even slower than a week ago. You did this few times.. he woke up right after but now he wouldn’t. You cried against his shoulder gently removing his ruined dress shirt. You washed his chest gently with a warm damp cloth, his face too, his hands. You kissed his knuckles where his claws would come out but now he was only laying on your bed. “Lo.. please..” you sighed with pain climbing on the bed right next to him snuggling to his side. “I know your body aches, I know but just.. come back to me. I will take care of you” you sobbed kissing his bearded cheek caressing his chest where his heart supposed to beat wildly by now but it didn’t. Another wave of pain hit you. “Please..!” You cried even harder.

The faint heartbeat returned, you knew that he lived. He was just too tired, in too much pain to wake up, he needed rest. So much of rest. Although.. he swore that he would never take the mutant cure you feared that it was the answer to your prayers at the moment. Opening the drawer on your bedside table you pulled out the cure. You could use only a little bit to heal him, only a tiny bit. Lo hated that you’ve spend so much money on it, nearly your whole pay check because you wanted to heal him. He’d rather suffer and get through it alone than to use the cure. You cried desperately waiting another moment before gently injecting a tiny bit of the cure in his vein. You watched his wounds heal away like magic, his heartbeat getting stronger. His breathing returning back to normal, you thanked god silently in between sobs. Putting away the cure you hugged him close to you pulling the covers over your bodies resting your cheek on his naked chest. You had no strength to move, you wanted to be close to your husband. You felt his arms coil around you and you closed your eyes crying with happiness. Tears streaming down your cheeks you let out a huff. “Shhh..” Lo whispered to you holding his eyes closed feeling healed, his body feeling like new and all thanks to you. “I’m so sorry kid..” he breathed out kissing your forehead. “I’m fucking sorry for giving you so much pain.” He sighed running his big calloused hand over your back. “Don’t say that.. I want all of your worries, all of the pain, I want to take it all away I’m your wife” you cried looking up at him still resting your cheek on his chest. “I can’t give it to you kid.. only my love” you closed your eyes at his words with a broken whimper. His thumb wiping away your tears “Thank you..” he added kissing your forehead again. “Shhh..baby” you climbed on top of him burying your face in his neck.

A faint smile appeared on his face, he held you close to him. Even closer than before “I can’t lose you, I can’t leave you Lo..” you whispered your chest hurting immensely at the thought of losing him. “You won’t. I’m still here..” he added reassuring you. “C’here kid.. kiss me” he breathed before he captured your mouth in a loving kiss. You kissed him more urgently to be sure he’s healed and that he’s there with you this wasn’t a dream. “My love” you let out a soft moan wrapping your arms around his neck and he hummed at the closeness. Your legs nearly curled around his waist “you tiny monkey, you won’t let me go will you now?” You shook your head resting your cheek to his. “I love you..” he smiled snuggling you close. Your core was pressing to his growing bulge “S’not this old man’s fault- you’re clingin’ and tellin’ me you love me” he let out a chuckle “and rubbin yourself on me.. fuck” you giggled at his words loving that he was back. “I’ll take care of you my love” you blushed kissing his lips. Lo’s kiss was needier than yours this time. All that crying and sobbing was quickly exchanged for moans and whimpers, he used that extra energy to love on you.

-

[lupinmoonlight]

Daddy

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You accidentally call Remus "Daddy" while he fucks you and he goes feral. (1,051 words)

Tags - daddy kink, some good girl, porn without plot, smut, rough sex, oral sex (f reader receives), d/s undertones, my grammar, not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY BYE I can't believe I wrote this I'm sorry.

"You're so beautiful," Remus whispered, his voice filled with love. "I love you," he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. He took his time, his lips moving tenderly against yours, savouring the softness of your mouth.

His hands began to roam your body, caressing your skin with the lightest touch, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His fingers traced the curves of your waist, moving slowly up your sides, making you sigh softly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, where he placed gentle, lingering kisses. You giggled a bit, the delightful sensation of his beard tickling you.

Remus' hands continued their journey, moving down to the hem of your shirt. He looked into your eyes, seeking permission. You nodded, and with careful movements, he lifted your shirt over your head.

"You're perfect," he said softly, his eyes taking in every detail of your body. He kissed your collarbone, causing you to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, craving the connection. His hands moved to your breasts, gently caressing and teasing, eliciting soft moans from your lips. "Remus," you gasped.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips moving lower, kissing a trail down your stomach. "I want to take my time with you."

Your breath hitched as he reached the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking under the fabric. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "May I?" he asked, seeking your permission before going further.

"Yes. Please, Remus..." you breathed.

He slid your panties down your legs, his hands lingering on your thighs, savouring the feel of your soft skin. He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with exquisite slowness.

When he finally reached your core, he took his time, his tongue and fingers working expertly to pleasure you. You moaned, your body arching off the bed as you sought more friction, grinding yourself against his mouth. Remus hummed in delight, moving his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands held your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he brought you dangerously close to the edge.

Just as you were about to tip over, he stopped. You whimpered in protest. "Remus, please," you begged desperately.

He moved back up, positioning himself between your legs. You could feel him against your lower belly, his cock hard and throbbing. "Are you ready for me?" he asked softly.

"Yes," you breathed, nodding frantically.

Remus guided himself to your entrance, pausing to savour the moment. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips as he slowly pushed into you. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you completely.

"You feel so good," he murmured against your lips.

Remus began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. You whimpered, your body adjusting to him. He buried his face in your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair softly. "So perfect for me," he breathed, thrusting himself deeper. He continued to move slowly, his hips rocking gently against yours.

"Daddy..."

The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it and you regretted it instantly.

Remus froze, pulling back slightly to look at you. "What did you call me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly controlled.

You blushed furiously, trying to look away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Say it again," Remus ordered, turning your face back towards his.

"Daddy," you whispered hesitantly.

"Fuck..." he breathed roughly. The effect was instantaneous. His eyes darkened with a feral intensity, a low growl escaping his lips as he flipped you onto your stomach, raising your hips roughly.

"You want to call me Daddy?" he growled. "Then you'll take everything Daddy gives you."

He thrust back into you with a force that made you gasp, his grip on your hips tight and unyielding. You cried out, the feeling of him both pleasurable and deliciously painful. "Remus-"

"No," he interrupted sharply. "Not Remus. Daddy."

"Daddy," you repeated through a whimper.

"Good girl," he growled, his pace relentless. Each thrust was demanding, deep, hard, his grip on your hips bruising. "You feel so fucking good," he groaned. "So tight and perfect for Daddy."

You moaned pathetically, your body arching back to meet his movements. "Daddy, please," you whimpered.

"That's it. Take all of me. Show Daddy how much you need this."

Your whimpers soon turned into cries as you neared the edge. "I'm so close."

"Such a good girl. Come for me," he growled. "Show Daddy how good he makes you feel."

His words, his pace, his depth, were enough to send you right into oblivion. Your body shuddered as you came around him, your walls tensing and relaxing with each wave of your climax.

"Ahh, fuck," Remus moaned as he felt you clench around him. "I'm going to come," he groaned. "Daddy's going to fill you up."

He held himself as deep as he could, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he spilled himself inside you. "Fuck," he breathed.

You felt a wet, sticky warmth starting to leak out of you as his cock still pulsated with the remnants of his orgasm. Remus was panting and sweaty, barely able to keep himself up. Once he gathered his strength, he slowly pulled out and collapsed next to you, utterly spent.

You lay there, your back to him, absolutely unable to look at him.

Remus chuckled softly and turned you around gently. "Look at me, love," he murmured.

You slowly lifted your eyes to meet his, but then quickly tried to hide your face in his chest, the embarrassment too much to bear. Remus laughed. "No hiding," he said, cupping your face and lifting it so your eyes met again.

He studied you for a moment, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and affection. "So...Daddy, huh?" he teased.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Remus, please," you mumbled, your voice muffled.

"Hey," he said, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "I'm not making fun of you. It just surprised me-"

"Well, it certainly didn't seem like you hated it," you retorted playfully.

Remus laughed again, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. "Quite the contrary," he admitted.

[navybrat817]

Can lumberjack Bucky keep me warm? 🥺

He'd love to, nonnie.

A Warm Embrace

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky teases you as he keeps you warm. Word Count: Over 600 Warnings: Fluff, cuddling, pet names, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Are you lovelies sick of my fluff? Sorry, but Burly and Bambi are sweet.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You couldn't sleep. Not with how cold you were. The thick blanket tucked around you should've been more than enough to keep you warm, but it didn't stop your teeth from chattering. The howling wind outside sent another shiver down your spine as you tried to burrow yourself deeper into your bed. Maybe you should've thrown another log on the fire.

Better yet, you should've just camped out in front of the fireplace instead of stubbornly going to the bedroom.

“Stupid cold,” you grumbled to yourself, rubbing your face against the pillow when gentle footsteps approached the bed.

Your eyes flew open when the mattress dipped behind you, a warm weight enveloping your back under the blanket before a heavy arm curled around you. “Can hear your teeth chatting from the other room, Bambi,” a deep voice rumbled.

The tremble that rolled through your body had nothing to do with the cold when Bucky rubbed his soft beard against your neck. “I slipped on the ice one time,” you muttered.

He chuckled before he kissed the back of your neck, tracing the path his beard made as you bit your lip. “Yeah, but you tried so hard to stay upright before gravity took you out. Just like Bambi.”

“I’ll have you know that I fell very gracefully,” you said before he turned your body toward him, your heart racing as you came face-to-face with the lumberjack.

Bucky was the captivating sort of handsome, the type that made people stop in their tracks when they caught a glimpse of him. From his lush brown hair to the depths of his intelligent and striking blue eyes, it was like an angel carved him out specifically for you. But what was beautiful about him came from within and shined through the surface.

Even when he teased you.

“I watched the whole thing, darling, and you were about as graceful as a baby deer,” he said, his azure eyes filled with glee when you narrowed yours. “Again, just like Bambi.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute, Burly. And warm,” you said, tearing your gaze away from his pretty eyes to stare at his broad chest. Of course, he walked around the cabin shirtless while you couldn’t stop shaking. How was he so hot? Body and looks wise?

Was it a rule that lumberjacks were sin incarnate clad in packages of plaid shirts and tight pants with sturdy bodies underneath?

“So, you do think I’m cute,” he teased, your stomach flipping as you smiled at his words. Of course, you did. “Come here.”

You buried your face in his chest as his arm tightened around you, molding your body against his as you sought out more of his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of your head as your shaking eventually stopped, his calloused hand roaming along your back with immense care. All you wanted to do minutes ago was sleep, but now he was holding you and pushing a thick thigh between your legs and all you wanted to do was bask in his attention.

Maybe ride his thigh, too.

“You’re right, you know,” he said.

You tried to lean back as much as you could to get a good look at him, but didn’t want any space between the two of you in case you started shivering again. “Right about what?”

He brought his hand to your cheek as his lips curled in a small smile. “I am lucky,” he whispered, helping you tilt your head so he could kiss you, slow and deep.

And lucky for you, your lumberjack would always be by your side.

Because I need another AU, right? SHH. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

𝙸𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚋?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ N o t e ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ This is a little draft that I've been working on for a while. I'm so sorry for the low activity. I didn't feel good because of uni. I'm in my last year of university, and it's draining me mentally lol. Anyway, I'll try to post often from now on. I hope you like this! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated!

If you want to support/commission me visit my ko-fi page. Thank you!

dom

definitely has a choking and a size kink.

Is into BDSM. Has a red room, which he shares with you.

He loves when you are needy for his touch or for his cock. He likes to tease you before giving you what you want.

Office sex is on a daily basis since he is busy all the time and barely home. He’ll hold your ass up while he slams inside you repeatedly, filling you over and over until you feel like exploding.

He also has a breeding kink. For him, you’re a superior human being just like him, and he intends to continue his bloodline with a worthy partner like you.

Speaking of which, he is very open about his kinks and expects the same from you.

He loves when you're under him, all needy and whiny, with tears falling down your cheeks as you scream his name and beg for more.

He can be rough, but only if you want him to be. He is aware of his strength and doesn’t want to hurt you.

He likes to see your pretty face and the many grimaces you make as he pleasures you.

He loves to see your eyes rolling and your mouth wide open.

Something tells me he is a sub.

has a size kink and a phone sex one (because he is gone on missions for months, and when he misses you, he just calls you for that naughty time).

likes it when you talk dirty to him.

He is also into roleplay.

This guy tried to be dom for once and ended up using the safe word for himself because he was afraid of hurting you.

He is not into very kinky stuff, but he won't say no if you want to try something bold. Just give him a heads-up.

loves to please his mistress. He doesn't mind if you mark or scratch him.

loves to be called "captain."

Likes to go down on you. There’s something that turns him on whenever you moan his name or when your fingers are tangled between his hairs.

He loves when you come all over his face and smear his beard and chin with your juice.

switch

It depends on his mood,e honest. tbh

Likes the doctor/patient roleplay and has no shame in using the labs from his work.

You two definately fucked after getting rid of the las plagas. It's ironic that you moan on the very same chair you used to scream in pain.

He loves to have you on top, regardless of whether he’s a dom or a sub.

You keep tracing the scar on his chest with your fingers whenever you see it because you think it looks very sexy on him. It also turns you on.

He loves to give oral sex. He'll bury his face between your legs every time he gets the chance. He’ll eat you out on every surface possible and in every pose. Desk, operator table, bed, kitchen counter, everywhere

He loves when you order him around.

"Does my pretty mistress require my services?"

You can't work together because you'll end up fucking.

It's the pretty boyfriend that spits in your mouth.

Very possesive. If he sees someone flirting with you, he'll make sure to remind you to whom you belong.

dom

This man has no shame when it comes to marking you. He’ll leave hickeys in visible spots (neck, shoulder) and in hidden ones (waist, thigh, and ass, which is his favorite spot to mark).

Has a roleplay kink too. His favorite scenarios are either government agent/rescued civilian or government agent/secret spy (for obvious reasons).

You’re definitely fucking in his office from the White House. You’ve been bent over that desk more than over your own bed.

Likes to go deep, so deep that it hits your cervix.

While you’re bent over, he’ll pull you by your hair and bring you closer to his face. He’ll whisper dirty things to you, which will only turn you on more.

Leon loves when you blow on him, and moreover, he loves the sight of his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth. You’ll pull some sinful moans and whimpers out of him.

Likes to be called "Mister Kennedy."

Has a hair-pulling kink.

If not bent over his desk, he likes to have you on top of him. He’ll praise you for the beautiful work you’re doing. With hands on your thighs, he’ll guide your body as you ride him.

Switch

He has a punny mouth, and you'll have to punish him a lot. He doesn't mind, though, and sometimes he does it on purpose.

He'll have you sitting on his face for breakfast, dinner, and lunch.

He is extremely possessive, so when you come home, he'll make sure to remind you that you belong to him and him only.

Has moments when he talks very dirty and moments when you are his "princess."

"Oh, look at you, such a slut for my cock. You want Daddy inside you that bad, huh?"/ "Oh princess, you don't have to beg; I'm right here for your needs."

He will definitely slap your ass and will be very satisfied to see a red mark in the shape of his hand appear on your flesh.

It fucks you deep, so deep that your body goes numb and your toes curl.

He loves when you use him for your own pleasure.

Loves to make a mess, especially over your chest.

Is into roleplay

Can be very sweet, and aftercare is a must. He'll wash up the mess he made and massage your sore body.

dom

Has a knife and a size kink

Will pull out his knife and run the blade across your body. You’ll feel the cold blade running from your neck, between your breasts, or on your inner thighs. He’ll chuckle deviously while you squirm under his touch.

Likes to fuck you with his fingers. He loves to see how his fingers slowly disappear into your tight cunt. They’re thick, and you can barely take two of them.

He is a strong guy, and he enjoys pinning you down and pushing that cock inside you. Wall sex is among his favorites.

has a major praise kink. The slightest praise will get him over the edge, and he'll start thrusting like an animal inside you. He'll also become very vocal and demand that you keep praising him.

He loves when you struggle to take him.

He isn't that much into bondaje, but he won't say no if you ask him nicely.

He'll bite you and won't care if he marks you. He knows that you enjoy it, though.

"Just look how this little cunt of yours clench around me whenever I bite you. How interesting..."

dom

Will use his metal-bending powers in bed to make handcuffs or bend the metal frame to hold your hands.

Has a bondage kink, obviously. Likes to tie you up and show how helpless you are in his touch.

He also loves to tease you until you beg him with tears in your eyes to let you orgasm.

He loves when you get so desperate for his attention that you basically beg him to fuck you.

He loves when you climb on his lap while he works and then start to rub your cunt over his bulge.

"You'll have to work harder for that kitten."

Oh, this bitch

He loves when you give him a hug while he is at the desk. He'll occasionally stop his work to grab your hair and buckle his hips to fuck your pretty mouth.

He can be sweet, although that happens very rarely.

He loves when you make yourself pretty for him; he goes feral when he sees you in lingerie.

sub

He loves when you’re in control of him and tell him what to do.

When you give attention to his neck, he turns into a needy, whimpering mess.

Doesn’t mind if you mark him.

He plays it tough at first, but all that tough guy act disappears when you take him in your mouth.

Likes to be spanked and cuffed.

He loves when you mark him because he wants people to see that he belongs to you.

He can't get enough of your touch; he is addicted.

He can get clingy at times, but you don't mind. He is like a little puppy.

Definitely walked him with a leash around the house at some point.

Loves to give you oral. You'll find him crawling between your legs while you do your tasks, and he won't leave until you orgasm.

He loves when you pull his hair, and you'll hear or feel him moaning the harder you pull.

Tag-list: @lunarastrobabe@shadow-wolf510@skylar-todd@alewesker@rokurodokuro@brownsugarwrites (if you want to be added DM me 🤗)

[ripcupid]

helping hand

୨୧ you work for your dad’s best friend, Joel, on his farm where you end up falling off a horse after he says not to.

୨୧ dbf! joel x reader

୨୧ word count: 1.7k

- I’ve always wanted to write dbf anything so I basically just threw it in here. I think i went a little crazy

“Sit,” Joel demands, pointing to his dining room chair as he goes to get his first aid kit. You huff as you limp through his kitchen and plop down in the chair. You watch as he searches through the kit, the annoyed scowl on his face giving away his frustration with your clumsiness.

“I’m fine, Joel, I promise,” you say, making Joel pause and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I told you to be careful,” Joel lightly scolds you as he kneels in front of you, pulling your leg into his lap and inspecting the scrape.

“I was careful, It's not my fault the horse scares easily,” you groan, mumbling the last part under your breath as you cross your arms in annoyance.

“If you were then how did you end up on the ground, hm? What’s your dad gonna think when I bring his daughter home all cut up?” He continues to scold you, making you roll your eyes and cuss at him under your breath. Joel presses a cloth against the scrape, causing you to wince in pain.

"Fuck! That hurt, Joel,” you cuss, pushing him with your foot. He shoots you a disapproving look, making you mutter an apology and sink back into the chair.

“You should’ve listened to me, could’ve been a lot worse,” He tsk, pulling out a bandage from his kit. You watch as he carefully applies the bandage, feeling his fingers lightly brushing against your calf. You chuckle as he presses a kiss to the bandaged knee before looking up at you. "'M done," he groans as he stands, reaching to help you up, "anywhere else you need bandaging?"

"Maybe," you tease with a mischievous grin, showing him the small scrapes on your hands that are barely there.

"You're fine," he says with a slight annoyance in his voice, rolling his eyes at your attempt to get more of his attention.

"But they hurt," you pout, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

"C’mere," he sighs, giving in to you, bringing your hand to his face and gently kissing the scrapes, causing your grin to widen as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

"Better?" he asks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You nod, feeling the warmth of his lips linger on your skin. As you pull away, you notice a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, making you roll your eyes. "Now what do you say?" Joel raises an eyebrow, waiting for your response as he puts away the first aid kit.

"Thank you, Joel," you smile, trailing your eyes down his body as he walks back, taking a seat across from you. His gaze lingers on your body for a moment before he smiles and says, "Anytime, darlin'," his accent makes your face heat up.

"You know," you start, leaning against the table, "I don't have to be home for a while." Joel's smirk widens as he leans back in his chair, his legs spreading slightly.

"Really?"

You nod, giggling as he coaxes you closer and into his lap, holding you tightly against his chest. "I know how to waste the time," he whispers, his voice low and husky. You gasp in surprise when Joel buries his face into your neck, teasing your sensitive skin with his lips.

You can't help but moan softly as his beard tickles your skin, pushing closer to him. His hands slide down to your legs, finding their way under your skirt, and start to slowly caress your thighs, making your body heat up. Joel pulls back, lifting you up and onto the table, holding your face as he stands between your legs.

His eyes lock with yours, stroking your cheek as he whispers, "Ya sure about this?" You nod eagerly, feeling the ache building between your thighs as he brushes over your plush lips with his thumb.

With a mischievous smile, Joel leans in and captures your lips in a passionate and hungry kiss. He quickly pulls off your shirt, leaving your chest exposed to the warm evening air coming through an open window. His hands find their way to your tits, teasing and groping them gently as he continues to kiss you fervently. You arch your back in response, craving more of his touch as you tangle your fingers in his graying hair.

As his hands find their way back under your skirt, you spread your legs eagerly. You pull back from the kiss, panting softly as you lock eyes with Joel, a pleading look in your eyes. You grab his hand and guide it higher, softly begging him to touch you where you need him most. “Please, touch me, Joel,” you plead in a breathy whisper, making Joel's cock twitch in jeans. He smirks at your desperation, his fingers inching closer to your aching cunt.

"You're so eager, darlin'," Joel murmurs against your open waiting lips, causing a small whimper to escape. His hands slide higher up your thigh before pressing his fingers against your aching cunt, making you gasp softly.

Your breath quickens as Joel rubs your throbbing clit through your panties, making you grab onto his forearm. "That feels so good," you moan, your voice breathless.

"Yeah?" he teases, making you nod eagerly. You grind against his hand, clinging onto him tightly as you feel his hand slip under your panties, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

“You're so fuckin' wet," he groans, his voice making you moan pathetically in response. You drop your head back, getting overwhelmed as Joel slides his fingers inside you, curling it just right to hit that spot that makes you cry out. “‘ can feel you squeezing me,” Joel grunts as he moves to kiss your jaw, his hot breath against your skin driving you insane.

You fall back on the table, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you. Your moans fill his house as Joel stretches your cunt around his thick fingers, slowly fucking you causing you to grip onto his bicep for support.

"I wanna taste you, baby, so bad," he murmurs against your jaw moving to your lips before capturing them in a passionate kiss. He removes his fingers from your cunt, making you whimper at the loss. "Shh, I gotcha," he whispers, kissing down your squirming body, until he reaches your damp panties and he slowly slides them off, revealing your wetness to him. You cry out shamelessly as Joel sucks your swollen clit into his mouth.

Your hands tangle in his hair, grinding your hips against his face as Joel groans against your cunt, closing his eyes at the taste of you. "Oh my god, Joel, you feel so good," you moan, pushing him closer to you, your thigh trembling around his head and your eyes squeezing shut. Joel's strong arms hold you tightly as you writhe in pleasure, his tongue expertly flicking against your sensitive nub. "Ah-, fuck," you gasp, "I'm gonna cum, baby."

Your body arches off the table as waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and completely spent. Joel continues sucking your puffy and swollen clit until you start to push him away, his lips leaving you with a dazed grin.

As you come down from your high, Joel stands, towering over you with a satisfied smirk on his face. He watches you on his table with a hunger in his eyes, clearly not done with you yet. You can't help but feel his eyes roaming over your semi-naked body. "Look at me, baby," he whispers, reaching for his belt and slowly undoing it.

"'M so sensitive right now, Joel," you whimper, looking up at him as you try to close your legs but his strong hands gently hold them open.

"I know, baby," he mockingly coos, "but you can take it. You always do." Joel pulls you to the edge of the table before he takes out his leaking and throbbing cock, grasping it firmly in his hand as he positions himself between your legs.

He slides himself through your slick folds with a smirk, savoring the way you gasp and squirm away from the overstimulation. "Stay still, baby," he pants, closing his eyes for a second as he grabs your leg. His movements are slow and deliberate, teasing you with each drag of his length against your sensitive clit.

“You feel so good," he huffs, his voice low and husky. "Just can't get enough of this pussy," he whispers. His fingers dig into your calf as he holds you open, his cock leaking all over your cunt.

"Please, I need you inside me," you beg, feeling his tip pressing against your entrance. A long needy moan escapes your lips as he finally enters you, filling you. Joel grabs your hip, keeping you right where he wants you as he starts to thrust deeply, his pace making your tits bounce with each movement.

"Mhm, y'so deep," you mumble, closing your eyes, letting the moans and whimpers fall freely from your lips. Joel's hand comes up to your face, holding your face and stroking your heated cheek with his thumb. You hold onto his wrist, leaning into his touch, kissing his palm softly before panting, "I gonna cum again, Joel."

"Ah fuck, me too, darlin'," Joel groans, his movements becoming sloppy as he feels you tighten around him. As you come around him, your thighs twitch and your mind goes blank, every thought is replaced by the feeling of Joel deep inside you.

Joel sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, strings of cuss words falling from his lips as he quickly pulls out and releases on your stomach, his chest heaving. He stands back for a second to catch his breath, a chuckle slipping out when he looks down at the current state of you.

"Damn, 'm sorry, darlin'," he says, rushing off to the nearby kitchen to grab a damp cloth to clean you up. As he returns, he gently wipes away the mess, making you giggle softly through your daze.

"It's okay, Joel," you pant, looking down at him with amusement. "It's not the first time," you tease, a smile playing on your lips as he finishes cleaning you up. As he finishes, he pulls you to sit back up and leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Ya okay?" he asks softly, gathering your shirt and helping you put it back on as you nod. "Good, gotta get you home now, don't want your dad to worry," he says, checking his watch. You chuckle as he helps you stand up and guides you out of his house, to his beat-up truck out front

Too much?

[spatialwave]

LEAVE ME TO DREAM

➸ pairing: arcane survivor!jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.5k ➸ tags: mdni! porn with plot, angst, hurt/comfort, grief/loss, depression, sad ending, rough sex, choking, sorta-dubcon. ➸ notes: wow this was a lot more depressing than i intended it to be lol. my apologies. i rewatched yesterday and felt so much emotion for arcane survivor jayce and wrote whatever came to mind! i hope you like it 🥹

Months had passed, months without Jayce. You remember the days clearly back then, he had been avoiding you – spending hours and hours in his lab after Viktor left. It was fine, you learned to manage seeing him only when he wanted. You told yourself it was fine

It wasn’t, but you managed.

Then he disappeared, as though he vanished out of thin air. Everyone you spoke to brushed you off, no one in the council would even look in your direction. Ambessa made it impossible.

You were a mess, alone in your apartment for weeks. Months.

There were days when you wanted to give up because what was life like without Jayce? There was no life with lost love, it was so painful that your stomach twisted in pain every waking hour. You’d begun to grieve, losing yourself to the idea that he’d never return. That his body had become one with the earth where he might lay dead.

It was late afternoon, your body curled into the blankets, naked and basking in the sun that pooled through the window. You had been in and out of sleep all day, tossing and turning. Having managed to shower, but nothing else but crawl back into your safety and remain there.

You dreamt of Jayce, like you always had. Memories flooded your mind, tears settling in the outer corners of your eyes.

Sleep was taking you over, eyes fluttering when the door to the apartment slammed open. You jolted up, hands grabbing at the blankets that you wrapped around your body haphazardly.

“Who’s there?” You shouted through a shaky voice, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your bare feet padded along the wooden floorboards, heavy as you stomped toward imminent danger with nothing to lose, “My fiancé will be back any second,” you lied, baring your teeth as you turn the corner into the main area of your quaint apartment.

That’s when you gasped, the sound mixed with a strangled scream. Shaky hands covered your mouth.

“Jayce?” You croaked, “Oh my gods, Jayce.”

You weren’t permitted time to greet him, nor comment on the way he appeared. Rugged, a beard and hair that hung over his ears.

The door slammed behind him and the hextech hammer dropped to the ground with a thud heavy enough that the wood cracked beneath. He stepped toward you, earning another gasp as you were pushed against the kitchen table.

“Jayce,” your voice full of worry, fingers touching a beard you’d never seen on him before, “where have you–”

Lips crashed to yours, tongue forcing its way past your lips. You moaned, abiding by his movements as the blanket fell from your body, and you sat atop the table, thighs tight around his hips. Arms snaked around his neck, fingers tangling into his shaggy hair and tugging harshly as emotions flooded you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping down your neck as you whined into his mouth.

“Can we talk?” You forced yourself back, chest heaving with heavy breaths as you looked into his eyes. All you could see was pain and loss, fear – anger. Wherever he was, he had been tormented, left him a shell of a man, “Jayce, please–”

He blinked hard, twitching as if to blink a vision away.

“No,” he growled, face burying against your neck as he sucked and bit with his scarred lips, rough hands groping at your naked hips hard enough you tried to squirm away.

“Stop,” you whined, your body reacting to his touch as your wet cunt rolled against the erection hidden under his slacks, but you yearned for more than this. You had questions that burned your mind, a need to heal whatever hurt him. To tell him that you missed him and loved him, that you were scared he’d been dead.

Your mind was blurry, heart pounding with a flurry of emotions as you tilted your head back and cried out.

“Just… be quiet,” he hissed, biting hard against your neck and causing you to yelp, “please,” he begged against your skin, tongue licking at the bruise that had formed over your skin.

You shuddered, lips quivering as you felt his hands grab at your body with fervor. You obliged, your heart knowing that this was a need. A distraction, perhaps, and you decided to welcome it wholly.

Jayce was back, that’s all that mattered. You had him. You could manage.

The man who was once tender with his touches was no longer here. His hands handled you with a sharp edge, leaving lasting redness and bruises in its wake, wrapped around your neck as you whimpered and tried to cry out in pleasure, but you couldn’t make a sound as his fingers pressed against the sides of your windpipe.

You were hastily pushed back on the kitchen table, dishes, papers and clutter pushed to the floor as Jayce fucked you with little remorse for your own needs. Your body had missed his touch, legs spread apart as his cock left a searing pain deep inside you and his teeth pinched your nipples.

With parted lips, all you could offer was a pitiful attempt at a whimper, eyes fluttering as he stared down at you – eyes full of rage. Lust and love were nowhere to be seen as he shoved two fingers between your lips, forcing your sounds to cease. You sucked as best as you could, offering the little energy you had to spare as your body shook beneath him.

The legs of the table creaking so loudly you were certain that it would break, the wood shaking and squeaking as it scraped against the flooring

Jayce’s breaths were ragged and heavy, moans choking in his throat as his cock fucked you in a tireless pace and he stared down at the way your breasts bounced with each hard snap of his hips. Your heels dug into the small of his back, thighs squeezing as the walls of your pussy clenched around him, silently begging for more.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, and you gasped for air, the hand around your throat moving to massage your tits, instead pinching at your nipples hard enough that you squealed. You caught your breath and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. It was an incessant amount of pleasure and touch, leaving your body weak and near-limp.

Tears stung your eyes again, and you lifted a tired arm so your delicate hand caressed his bearded jaw. A gentle touch you had longed for since he stormed through the doors a different man that you’d seen him last.

“I… missed you,” you croaked between his unabating thrusts, whimpering voice catching in your throat with each deep send of his hips.

Jayce cringed back from your touch, flinching and twitching like he had before. His hands moved to your hips, stiffening his body and yours as he stared down at you with widened eyes and a newfound expression, as though clarity struck.

For a moment, his eyes flickered. There he was — your Jayce.

“Jayce,” you urged, moving to sit up as your hands rested on his cheeks, “please. Talk to me. I need you.”

His golden eyes grew damp, pupils dilating until they were blown out.

“I’m sorry,” the words croaked from trembling lips as the tears spilled down his cheeks. Emotions took over as he wailed out a sob, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into a tight hug, face pressed into the side of your head, “I’m so sorry… sorry.”

You looked at the wall beyond him, your chin over his shoulder, as you listened to his cries and sobs. Your hands pressed against his back, soft and comforting.

He continued to mumble out apologies as you felt his tears stain against your skin.

Under your breath, you shushed him, hand gliding up and down his spine as you allowed him the space to feel. To exist without any negative repercussions, to live through whatever traumas he’d experienced while he was away.

The questions burned deep in your mind, but you bit back the curiosity. Your patience was thoroughly tested, but you could do this for him. You held your lover close and prayed to whatever god that would listen to keep him safe and in your arms. To keep him in your shared apartment, that he wouldn’t leave like he had.

“I love you,” he whimpered, nails clawing down your back and leaving reddened welts behind, “I’m sorry–��

You opened your eyes as he jerked back, watching in fear as he hurriedly put his clothes back on and grabbed the hammer. He was all over the place, leaving you unable to pin down the thoughts racing through his head, “I… I have to take care of it.”

“Take care of what? Jayce? Jayce!” You called out, scrambling to your feet as you chased after him, but your fiancé had already slammed the door in your face.

You whimpered, leaning against the door with your palms flat against the wood. Then you cried and cried for hours – begging that it had only been a bad dream. That the touches and bruises that lingered on your body would disappear much like he had.

You weren’t certain that you could manage any longer. Everything was a mess.

[nicarnelian]

as we meet under the blue sky, you smile.

₊˚⊹ featuring: narumi gen x fem! reader

₊˚⊹ summary: the wide blue sky hovers above the both of you as moments of your lives unfold under it, from being children to adults.

₊˚⊹ word count: 1.2k

₊˚⊹ warnings: none! a bit ooc narumi (hES TOO CALM HERE!)

₊˚⊹ author’s note: not beta read! and english is not my main language ;(( anwww, first fic here, and this is in commemoration of his butchered anime design! i had a vision that narumi was this one academic achiever who just wanted praise from a family or his orphanage caretakers (at the very least). anw, the fic is kinda inspired from lilas by sawanohiroyuki! have a great time reading! <3

the moment child! narumi resided in an orphanage, he spent months crafting himself to become his utmost best. he amassed medals and certificates left and right from numerous competitions. the other children would often describe him as a "monster" with his obsession with awards; however, narumi had always thought that maybe, just maybe, someone would recognize his efforts, applaud him, and perhaps praise him on all of his achievements.

but, the moment he had come to realize that it were efforts that the world had valued rather than the ends of such, narumi... simply stopped caring altogether.

he snapped out of his daze once he felt something heavy dangling on his neck. a medal. again. ah... yes, he won a competition. again.

he heard a swift 'congratulations!' from the same bearded-man who placed that medal on him. quickly, though, the adult turned his attention to the boy beside narumi. second runner up, the placard read. yet, the sobbing boy was showered with more compliments than narumi ever received in his whole life.

why do i have to work hard just for nothing? he often asked himself, staring at yet another medal he would likely shove into his bag after the ceremony. he took a glimpse at the scene of the bearded-man and his rivals beside him. narumi looked down towards the floor and glanced towards the blue sky outside the windows, forcing himself to distract his weary eyes. after the ceremony, he ran away towards the orphanage.

basking in the orange sunset as the blue sky was no more, the children often ran around the playground, playing with all of the caretakers. but, narumi preferred to either: one, study lectures or practice sports until he deems it enough and two, if he's doing nothing he would rather stay on his bed and contemplate about his seemingly hopeless life. and, narumi chose the latter today.

he sat on his bed with his back against the bed’s headboard; then, he pulled his knees close to his chest. narumi stared at his bag lying at the foot of his bed, the medal inside teasing him with its golden shine. he heaved a sigh, and buried his head on his knees. i'm hopeless...

he was drowning himself with anxiety as he catastrophized his situation dreadfully. not until he felt someone poking his arm. he looked up and saw a girl, probably younger or the same age as him.

"what?" narumi said. his gaze lingering on her as he noticed she was hiding something behind her back. you flinched under his scrutinous eyes, and hurriedly laid a piece of cupcake on his bed.

his eyes widened at the treat, and stared back at you. you easily flinch whenever he looks at you. the comments that people would say about him created this untouchable and unbreakable impression that others had on him, making people tend to avoid him. but, you were trying to break through that barrier. you mustered up all of your courage and squeaked, "congratulations!" with a nervous smile plastered on your face.

and narumi could read you like an open book. you were too nervous around him, were you blackmailed or forced to this? he thinks. but, for some reason, he felt warm with this small gesture and... he smiled. a rare, soft one.

you slipped into his life and made it better, which he wouldn't admit outloud. while he still busied himself, creating walls of that would hide his vulnerability in secrecy, you were the only person he had shown every side of him to. you had helped him understand himself more, helped him appreciate himself more.

the both of you would often be together after gifting him that cupcake. he would play swing with you, almost tossing you to the air, and earning gentle scolds. he would also read you stories and teach you from time to time. and, he would also talk about how he did not know what he wanted to be in the future, while you, in the otherhand, clumsily attempted to recreate hikari shinomiya's salutes — narumi hardly cared because he doesn't know the person, as you persistently expressed yourself to be a "commander of blahblahblah division."

a few years passed and it was a pleasant day, with the blue sky hovering above, and trucks of the defense force lined up, deploying new faces of new soldiers to japan's defense force base — and present! narumi thought your posture and stance improved.

he smiled as you saluted a couple of meters in front of him. in a few months after breaking into narumi's small life and becoming close with him, you were adopted.

he remembered how you cried and latched to him, as you did not want to leave him. he gave you one, last tight hug before forcing your hands to let his shirt go. he gave your forehead a little, haste peck — something he never did to anyone; but, would never regret doing to you.

it would take more than a decade to pass before meeting with him again. you lived and trained overseas and came back to japan as a representative of another country with a rank of official commander with your very own division.

"narumi, remember to show respect. she has one of the highest released forces in their defense force. their heart and brain. her name's—" hasegawa began to introduce you, but narumi cut him off. the names of other officials held little interest for the first division commander, which was why hasegawa rushed to introduce you and your background to him.

but, he would never overlook those defining features no matter how much they’ve matured — his mind would subtly draw you in his dreams at night as well.

he glanced between you and the man beside you, whom he assumed was your vice-captain, and began walking towards your direction, catching hasegawa off guard with his sudden movement as narumi closed the distance between both of you.

narumi, towering over you by a head, returned your salute and introduced himself for formalities, "commander of the first division, narumi gen."

and, you don't have to introduce yourself because narumi forced himself to never forget you. he etched every single detail and memory he had of and with you in his mind. he could not afford to forget you; he would loathe himself if he did.

you smiled at his introduction and thought, it really is him. "commander of the second division, y/n l/n."

the both of you stare at each other, with many years to catch up with, and perhaps, more of which to create memories and stand by each other until the end of time.

"it has been a while, hasn't it, narumi-kun?”

under the blue sky and the cool breeze playing between you, your voice unconsciously made narumi softened, who smiled and nodded immediately to your words without a moment's hesitation. "it truly has."

the sky bore the same shade of blue as it did during narumi's first interaction with you, when you left him, and now as you reunited and smiled with each other once again, as commanders.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[consciouscarrot]

day 25 - daddy kink [j.price]

john price x fem!reader

content warnings; mentioned wet dream (r), oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, creampie, daddy kink (obvi), sweet sex <33

notes; he’s so daddy oh my gosh, and i’m slowly catching up on these fics yay :) longer one again tday, can you tell i love him? as always, mdni and blank blogs get blocked.

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you’d been tossing and turning for a while, having woken up after a very memorable dream with slick smeared between your thighs and an ache deep in your belly.

you’d tried to ignore it at first, not wanting to disturb john, thinking you could just go back to sleep and everything would be fine.

but almost an hour later, it had only gotten worse, and it didn’t help that he’d forgone a shirt, the sight of his softened stomach and hair covered chest making you nearly salivate, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together to try to ease some of the tension.

biting your lip, you decided to just try and wake him up, and figured that if he denied you, you’d just sneak off to the bathroom to get it out of your system. carefully shaking him, you whispered his name, internally praying that he’d say yes.

he startled awake, quickly checking the room over for threats before turning his concerned gaze to you, pulling you into him.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart?” he let out a heady groan, further worsening your condition, pussy throbbing around nothing and sending you reeling.

you whined, burying your face into his neck and squeezing your eyes shut as you bucked your hips against him, far too shy to tell him aloud.

he chuckled, chest shaking against you as he realised what was going on, strong hands rubbing your back in sympathy.

“my girl feelin’ needy? we can’t have that now, can we?”

grunting lowly, he rolled over on top of you, leaning up on his elbows to look at you, stroking away the stray hairs that had fallen over your face, your eyes still shut as he planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

“open your eyes f’daddy,”

your lids fluttered open, eyes glazed over as you looked up at him dreamily, hopeful for him to provide you relief with his body. you visibly melted beneath him when he traced over the edge of your jaw, sighing softly at his delicate touches.

“i love you, daddy,” you whispered, chin tipping up in a honeyed plea for more kisses, smiling sleepily against his lips when he gave in, mouths moving together in slow movements, your tongues swirling together sluggishly.

“i. love. you. too,” john said, words split up by chaste kisses pressed all over your face, grinning at your little giggles, squirming from the ticklish feeling of his beard.

you pawed at him, wiggling your hips to try and get his attention a little lower. ever attentive, john’s hands slid over your body, rubbing at your waist as he leant down, trailing wet kisses down stomach, lips grazing over your soft skin. your breath hitched when he hovered over your heat, gently blowing air onto your pearl, grinning at the breathy moans you let out from such little stimulation.

purposely avoiding where you wanted him, he shifted down further to your inner thighs, rough hands palming at your skin whilst he kissed there too, eyes never leaving yours.

you really tried to be patient, but he was so close to your pussy, tangy slick pooling along your slit, that you couldn’t help but buck your hips again, chewing on your lip in anticipation.

“you’re neglecting me,” you whined, voice wobbling with crocodile tears.

“shh, i know,” he laughed, “gon’ be good f’me, baby?”

“yes i promise, please, daddy,” you squeaked, nodding along eagerly.

“okay, bug. i’ll give y’what you want,”

he licked a broad stripe over your cunt, groaning into you at the taste, sending vibrations shooting up your body. you cried out as he slurped at you, tongue focused on your clit as he flicked and sucked at the delicate nub, all messy and sloppy with his arms holding you firmly into the bed.

your back arched slightly, desperately grasping for anything to hold onto, patting at the sheets, only relaxing when he reached up and intertwined your fingers together, happy to let you dig your nails into his skin.

sweet moans slipped out from between your parted lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the delicious way his beard scratched against your skin, high rapidly approaching both from being so pent up and his ravenous mouth.

another deep moan into your cunt sent you over the edge, thighs enclosing around his head as you gripped tightly at his hands, powerful waves of pleasure washing over you, rendering you near breathless.

he rubbed along your thighs, massaging slowly as he waited for you to come down, resisting the urge to hump against the mattress, cock throbbing from both your taste and sounds.

“good girl, honey. ready for more?”

“yes daddy, need you,”

pulling your legs around his waist, he hovered above you, leaning down to kiss you, the sweet taste of you bleeding from his tongue to yours, nipping at your bottom lip, meeting your gaze with half-lidded eyes.

john quickly stripped off his boxers, bringing his thick cock up to your weeping pussy, tapping his tip against your clit a couple times as he lubricated himself with your arousal.

you whined, growing increasingly impatient, one orgasm not enough to satisfy your urges, desperately needing to feel him inside you.

“easy,” he said, drawing out the word deeply, eyes flicking up to yours in warning.

you both moaned at the relief of him pushing into you, slowly forcing you to accommodate his thick length, walls pulsing around him as you gasped, faces so close together you could see every little scar on his face, every hair on his jaw, every shade of blue in his eyes.

he internally sighed a breath of relief when you finally settled under the heavy weight of him, tummy grazing against yours with each thrust of his hips, your pretty lips parted with the string of cries slipping past them.

you wrapped yourself around him the best you could, in all ways possible, legs wound tight around his waist, arms around his neck, fingers clutching at whatever pieces of him you could reach, cunt sucking him into you, silently begging him to fill you with his spend.

he adored the blissful look on your face, wishing that he could be here all the time, so that you would never know anything but everlasting ecstasy, that you would be constantly full of his cum, belly swollen and round with his babies.

fingers lacing through his hair, you tugged him even closer to you, exchanging sloppy kisses as your dragged your nails from the base of his scalp, past his shoulders, trailing down his broad back, eliciting rugged moans from him, making you clench down on him.

you mewled loudly, his skilled hands circling your clit as the coil deep inside of you tightened again, you were barely able to hold back, waiting for his permission, only moments away from it snapping.

“oh- can i come, daddy? please?”

normally, he would’ve dragged this out, waiting until you had begun to lose control before saying yes, loving the way you trembled at the sheer effort it took you to stifle your orgasm, the look of panic on your face as you involuntarily began to give in. but, john himself was so close to falling over the edge, and knew that if he waited he’d end up embarrassing himself, so aroused from you waking him up from neediness and the feel of you coming against his tongue.

“cum for me,” he commanded, gasping as his hips stuttered, eyes locked onto the way your face contorted to the point of almost looking like you were in pain.

the coil immediately snapped, whole body shaking as euphoria flooded you again, whimpers and groans coming from the two of you as you came together, your slick mixing with his pearly cum inside of you, velvet walls spasming around his cock.

thoroughly worn out, you went fully slack, limbs falling back on the bed as you already began to drift back off, finally satiated and happy.

he collapsed next to you, rubbing gentle circles over your damp skin, letting out a slow, relaxed sigh, very pleased that you had ended up waking him, and eventually got up to clean the mess between your sore legs.

you were half aware of john moving about, whimpering when a warm cloth bristled against your sensitive clit, his shushing and quiet praises, before he joined you, pulling your body into his, sleepily groaning into your neck when you melted into his warm embrace.

[thef1diary]

I need ghost!max to start haunting my place…. Please… I’ll pay good money… bake ghost cookies… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

BUT DI, that is giving freeuse kink and you know who’ll love that ? 👀 yeah yeah…. Dirtbag!daniel….

hear me out, when he realises that maybe there’s something more that triggers the jealousy and all, he’s looking for a way to have you all to himself for some time (you’d obv been fucking regularly but it’s not like you live at his place) AND WHAT BETTER EXCUSE than that??? Y’know…. You’ll NEED to spend the whole week at his place for him to use you like he wants to… AND HE DOES 👀👀

-🐱

— “bake ghost cookies” nonnie you make me laughhh 😭 but mhm dirtbag!danny would loveee free use kink 👀 it wouldn’t be hard to convince you at all, I mean a full week with the hottest guy, giving him the full authority to use you as he wishes? Hell yeah, where do I sign up? 18+ content below

It started with you coming over, a casual plan for the evening. But the moment you stepped through the door, Daniel had you pinned to the wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming like he couldn’t wait another second.

The plan to stay for a single night turned into two. Three. Then a full week. Neither of you could get enough of each other, so why would you leave? He wanted all of you, at any time of the day he desired, and you eagerly complied.

Your clothes? Gone. Tossed somewhere and never given back. At best, he let you wear one of his shirts—oversized and smelling like him, but with nothing underneath. Any time you walked through the house, he’d pull you into his lap, his hand sliding up your bare thighs with a smug grin.

“Gave in so quickly, hm?” He said one afternoon as you stood in the kitchen. “Why do you put up a facade for the world when you’re desperate to be my personal slut? Mine to use whenever I want, however I want.”

His grip tightened on your waist as he stood behind you, his words ticking your ear. “You’re here for me to use, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second.”

He made good on his word. Mornings started in various ways each day. Face down, ass up, your teeth buried in a pillow as he pounded into your wet pussy, groaning about how tight you were, how you were made for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you up slightly. “So fucking perfect like this. You’ll never want anyone else after me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

Or he’d have you on your knees, his cock heavy in your mouth as his hand guided your movements, controlling every inch you took. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his head falling back. “Taking me so fucking well. You like this, don’t you? Letting me ruin you before breakfast.”

Afternoons were no reprieve. He found any excuse to touch you, to take you. The couch, the counter, even the floor—every surface in his house bore witness to the way he unraveled you.

He dropped to his knees in the living room one day, devouring you like a man starving, his beard leaving marks on your thighs. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groaned, his tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers worked you open. “Could spend every damn day buried here.”

By the time night fell, you were spent—but he wasn’t done. He’d pull you into bed, his body flush against yours, guiding your hips to sink down on his cock. “Just stay like this,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides. “Keep me warm for the night, maybe I’ll wake you up by fucking you, exactly how you like it.”

One hand lazily gripped your waist as the other toyed with you—pinching your nipples or rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clit while you were stretched around him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck. Your body ached, your throat was hoarse, and your mind was a blur of pleasure and submission.

When he finally let you rest, he pulled you against his chest with a rare softness. “Don’t wanna hear about anyone else, got it? You’re mine. Always,” he murmured.

And lying there, his hand stroking lazily over your back, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You were happy to be his personal slut, just like he said.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days