#white cloth hall

[katyahina]

Rare

[tallyhallinsane]

Guess who just switched artstyles for a 4th time this month

[ssaalexblake]

There are many very good things to be baffled about in Star Trek, but I am still, years later, pettily irritated that they use white for medical uniforms sometimes.

Like, I get it, some costume designer probably wanted to differentiate medical staff from a scientific researcher (which is like, fair tbh? a scientific researcher and a practicing medical practitioner are very different. Being able to ID a doctor on sight is probably useful in starfleet, lets be real).

but choosing WHITE?

the people most likely to be bloodstained, in White?

I know it's the future and stain removal is probably easier and replicators and stuff but this bothers me so much that it's not actually even funny.

This is my petty trek opinion hill that i am dying on. That was a stupid idea and it needs to stop.

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

[screampied]

i saw this on my feed and how about sextherapist!sylus and virgin!reader that struggles with making themselves orgasm? you can go from there 🤗

warnings. — ☆ fem! reader, sēx therapist sylus, virgín reader, praise, dirty talk, semi public, first time squírt, fıngering, mdni.

“oh, so you really weren’t kidding—were you, kitten?” sylus hums, feeling you writhe around his lap in anticipation. you’re so up close to him as your back’s facing the opposite way of his chest. in the far distance, you hear a plethora of noises coming outside of his office. meaningless chit chatter from his coworkers, loud stomps echoing down the hall, his annoying fax machine that forevermore continues to spit out those same clicking cries, and so on. you’ve been attending sessions with sylus for quite some time now, and you just needed to know how to orgasm properly. you tried everything and nothing would work. according to you, it was dire and you wanted to know if it was as good as people say. “daydreamin’ again?” he coos huskily, hot breath colliding near the twitching shell of your ear. a veiny hand of his softly trails down your inner thighs, glancing at your slid to the side panties. “ah, look at her. she’s so gorgeous.”

“sylusss,” you hiss out his name, gingerly wrapping your clammy fingers around his broad cuffed wrist. “hurry up.”

the white haired man snickers at your agitation, and once he teasingly ghosts two thick fingers over your throbbing protected entrance—his chest rumbles from wry laughter. “my, you’re so impatient. but fine, fine. spread these pretty legs, let me see what we’re workin’ with.”

right away, you sprawl your legs out even further then before and you hear him whistle.

“what a sight,” he purrs, and your head slumps back against his chest. it was almost half past ten at night and sylus was technically off work. your session ended about an hour ago but you just persisted that you needed one more thing.

an orgasm.

your nostrils smell his musky scent of loud rich leather and sandalwood that’s smothering all over his clothing. he brushes a thumb over the lace fabric of your panties before feeling just how soaked you were. “cute, bet you were soaked like this the entire time we were chattin’, hm?”

“f- fuck,” you swallow, and a plump tip of his finger gradually pulls at the string of your underwear. you remain laid back against his lap, gnawing at the bars of your enclosure.

the two of you were sitting on a fat cushioned sofa that’s dipping inward from the heavy pounds of weight. sylus was slow — painfully slow, he knew what he was doing. he lets out a raspy chortle, hearing your slow needy breaths featuring each exasperated gasp that leaves from your lips. “sylus, please.” you moan through gritted teeth, the wait just becoming unbearable.

sylus shushes you, pressing his soft lips up near the sloping nape of your neck. “there there,” and he talks over your whines before within seconds, a finger slowly inserts its way inside. you gasp, feeling your tummy heave. his finger was long, not only that but it was very very thick. you started to hear your heartbeat dramatically thump through your ears as he continues to speak. “pay attention now, this right here?” and you whimper, feeling his middle finger swirl around inside of your pussy. he taps against a spot that makes you feel almost every nerve shoot your body. “this is the clit, kitten. and this,” and you moan, hearing the sloshing sounds of your own mess fill the room. sylus gradually plugs in another finger - his pointer finger, and it fully extends immediately, reaching a spongy spot. “this is my favorite, your pretty g-spot.”

“s- sylus,” you suck in a frustrated breath, realizing that he had not one but two fingers inside. he’s very gentle regardless . . gentle and undeniably slow. oh, the wait was killing you. with your flapping lashes fluttering back against your hooded eyelids, you couldn’t help but gnaw at your quivering bottom lip. this was so much better than your own fingers. his was far longer and experienced. his plump lips starts to kiss near your neck this time, softly lolling his tongue down your skin, craving more of your sweet taste. “more, f- finger me.”

“yes ma’am,” he jibes, and it takes him a few dreadfully long seconds before he’s finally making haste. the tone of sylus’s voice was so deep that it nearly shakes you to the very core—you feel his exact rough vibrato against you. he hears the irregular changes of your breathing whilst his fingers continue to roam inside of your cunt.

“mhm, there’s about over ten thousand pretty little nerves stored up in here,” and he’s just casually talking over your babbling whines. the tips of his fingers were now already so soaked with your sappy slick. it’s gluing against his digits effortlessly — sweet like honey. your folds were just drooling, and every so often, he pulls his fingers out just to stare at the slippery sloppy mess. “how’s it feel? talk to me, sweet girl.”

as your body resumes to tingle from the circular maneuvers of his two fat digits, you let off a loud moan, peering at your left thigh that’s starting to mercilessly shake. “good—fuck, so good,” you whine, the stimulation making you merely bite down on your tongue. sylus hums in amusement, noticing how your thighs would just fail to stay still—it’s cute, you’re a jittery mess but your hand finds it’s way wrapping around his wrist again. “faster,” you plead, and your eyes nearly roll back once he’s just repeatedly toying with your precious g-spot.

again, and again, and again.

your gummy walls accepted sylus’s fingers freely and it was so snug, your mouth can’t help but start to salivate once you realize you’re coming close. he’s quick, plummeting such inches of just two simple digits in and out of you at such a maddened pace. he’s using his entire wrist, his finger work had your toes curling in awe.

“ah, easy now kitten. just relax and bare around ‘em. there’s no rushing a pretty pussy this sloppy,” and he’s speaking right up against your ear again. if you weren’t throbbing then, you definitely were now. sylus even licks against the edge of your ear, giving it a playful nibble. “c’mooon, give me that orgasm, uh huh. make me proud, sweetie.”

“hngh, s-sylus,” you whimper out loudly, your entire body growing tense. sylus’s free hand creeps toward your tummy, softly caressing against your bare skin that’s loosely tucked underneath your blouse. this was so risky. anyone could just walk in and see you - you and him, but you didn’t care—you didn’t care, especially when you were so close to making a mess all his sofa. “fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“let go for me,” he whispers, and his tone was so soothing. it’s almost as if he wasn’t inches deep inside of your swollen pulsating cunt with two thick fingers. in and out, he’s shoving them in and out of you, twisting them around and curling them all throughout your gripping walls. fuck, your toes were scrunched up, feeling such rippling waves surge through you. you were almost positive that if it wasn’t for the help of his hand holding you steady in place against his lap, you’d fall right from his grasp. sylus brings one final kiss toward the back of your collarbone before humming. “atta girl. just give it to me. c’mon, all on my fingers.”

but abruptly, right as you’re coming undone, you feel yourself spraying your translucent slick all on his pumping fingers. a shrieking scream dies from the back of your throat and he finds it oh so cute.

sylus feels you pulsing around him and he grows quiet—you huff out heavy heaving breaths, realizing that you’re squirting. it only lasts for a few seconds but it felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “oh my g- godddd.” you collapse back against his chest, his fingertips delicately plying with your prodding g-spot for just a few seconds longer before he pulls them out. slowly, sylus retracts his digits out of your puffy cunt, watching how it’s now glistening with your honeyed sap.

“aw,” he breaks the silence, hearing your pussy squeal again with numerous squelches as he’s dragging out his two drenched fingers. you’re still so sensitive, it’s like your entire body was burning up with fiery scorching hot heat. it’s intense, your thighs shamelessly try to squeeze themselves shut whilst you’re just rigorously shuddering on his lap. “would you look at thaaaat,” and his arms wrap around you. “such a good girl. although you’ve made quite the mess.”

in the midst of him sweet talking, praising you and all, you’re panting heavily. your sighing chest’s raising up and down as you’re just laid out on his lap, exhausted. as you’re chasing your own scurried breaths, sylus kisses the top back of your head. “again,” you moan, a strain in your voice. despite how your legs were still shivering—you craved more, you wanted to orgasm like that over and over. “t- teach me how to do again.”

“to squirt?” sylus raises a snowy white brow, turning you around to face him. his crimson eyes bore into yours and there’s that same sly smile stretching across his lips once you desperately nod. “hm, alright. but this time, i just might have to teach you with my tongue,” and you feel yourself throb once he’s slowly making you recline yourself back against his velvet-colored settee. “now lie back kitten, doctor’s orders. .”

[jacesvelaryons]

Can you write something about Jacaerys velaryon x targaryen wife reader

Where she gives birth to a baby that looks like jace and it bothered alicent but they don't care? :3

Saving Face (Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Reader)

(a/n): i’m sorry this request took over a year but my, what a great idea! i hope you like it

word count: 3.0k

summary: with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child's appearance.

warnings: slight angst, family tensions, complicated family relationships, implied incest (the targaryen way), not alicent hightower friendly

request status: OPEN

The joy of his newborn child is nearly eclipsed by the fear that his beloved would be called to face the same humiliation his mother endured upon his birth.

Even in distress, his beautiful wife still looked otherworldly silver hair spun in gold, and with her pale lavender eyes, he would not have that ginger sucker of joy to rob him from this life changing celebration. His relief that his beloved survived the precarious birth, worried about her lithe frame and the prostration it weighed on her during the pregnancy.

His little boy, his beloved son, a fragment of the other half of soul and his own. He is perfect, with his ten little toes and fingers, and he is all his.

Jacaerys is thankful his mother was in the birthing room with him and his wife, breaking protocol (as always) to be with the mother as she went into labour. Without her, he thinks he would’ve been hysterical and lost his mind without her guiding hand and comforting presence in seeing Y/N in distress.

“Where is my mother?” Y/N cradles the babe to her breast, as he suckled in his mother’s warmth and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as her face contorted in disappointment.

The child yearned for nourishment, and the midwives guided the young mother so she could feed the child with her milk.

The Dowager Queen remained unyielding even as her step-daughter arose as Queen, and she was still given some privileges even with her dispute with his mother. The marriage of Jacaerys and Y/N, her youngest daughter, was made as a desperate attempt to patch the two sides together and make peace as his mother sat on the Iron Throne.

Her mother attended the wedding, wearing a dark muted forest green that still appeared obsidian in certain angles, but the flame patterns could not be missed on her gown.

A mockery indeed as if she did not accept his mother’s ascendance to the throne and wanted her small rebellions in forms of cloth, he would not grant her the satisfaction of his reaction, for the sake of the realm and his wife, her daughter. It would be too scandalous to do so.

When his beloved was called abed, all pretense of dignity and calm collapsed underneath him. Whatever confident front he had broke apart as fear consumed him, sweat dripping from his forehead, hands shaking, heart beating wildly as he realized his wife was to cross the barrier between life and death to birth their child.

Seeing Y/N’s clean white robes stained the bed in scarlet as she quickens and the pain increases as the babe nears reminds him of the chills whenever he walks the path from the princess’ chambers to the queen’s, the same path forged in blood when his mother then Princess Rhaenyra, the crown princess and heir to the Throne, had to face the humiliation called upon by her stepmother, now Queen Dowager Alicent.

His blood boils when he sees the auburn former queen walk that path meekly nowadays on her way to see her daughter, as if it was all an act when she had pulled rank and caused so much suffering to his beloved mother. Jacaerys fears his wife, now the Princess of Dragonstone will have to walk those same halls, perform the same walk of shame and mummery with all the courtiers of the Keep to bear witness.

There is no possibility he will allow her to endure the same, he would bring fire and blood to all of Westeros shall she have to face that, yet it brings him relief when he reminds himself that woman is no longer Queen but his mother is, Queen of her own right and first of her name, and yet all the same, that woman is also his mother-in-law, mother to his darling. And grandmother to the child that shares his blood.

Jacaerys never left the side of his wife even when her birth continued onto the hour of the wolf, his hands intertwined with her own, assuring kisses on her temple and cheek and encouraging her when she would cry she wanted to relent. Across from him stood his mother, whose locks resembled her half sister and his wife, an experienced mother who has felt such joy and such sorrow too, with a maternal comfort gained with experience.

He would not allow a woman filled with hate to the brim in her heart to rob him of the joys of fatherhood and the relief of his wife safe and sound after such birth to their babe. Jace felt relief like no other when he began to see the dark haired head of the child crowning, and the guttural, final scream she exerted as the child exited her womb.

Jacaerys comforted and whispered assurances of gratitude and encouragement to his lady wife, that she be reminded how grateful he was of her efforts to grow their family, of her devotion and love for him, and fulfilling her duty with nothing but grace, peppering kisses all over her flushed face.

As he caressed the fine hair of his child much like own while he fed from his mother’s breast, his elated expression dropped as if in a chilling reminder when she asked for her mother. As despicable as that woman was, he could not deny her wishes if it brought her reprieve. Jace smiled and promised her that she would be coming and has been informed of the birth of her new grandchild.

When Y/N was beyond earshot, he approached the young midwife with a hardened gait, grinding through his teeth. “If the Dowager Queen wishes to see the prince, she will make her way here herself. She can walk, can she not?!"

While his wife was preoccupied and in isolation during the last few months of the pregnancy, Jace had made efforts to convince his mother to move the Lady Alicent to the second floor below the palace where the current royal family lived. “To remind her of what she’s done to us and may feel the pain we have endured.” He told Queen Rhaenyra, who was hesitant but accepted afterwards.

Jacaerys marched his way outside the ornate doors where his wife and their babe rested, raising his chin and standing with his chest puffed out, a cold indifferent expression, back straightened and fists clenched white as his wife’s mother made her way up the stairs with difficulty.

In the years since her queenship, the then young queen had begun to develop striking pain all over her body, especially down her spine and legs no matter what the maesters or foreign healers would advise. Jacaerys thought it was fitting for when he would make his mother walk up with him and his newborn siblings, bleeding across the hallways and staircases due to the green queen’s attempt to humiliate them.

Perhaps he is his mother’s son, as diplomatic, gracious, intelligent and cunning as he may be, grudges linger.

He could hear a pin drop as the auburn haired woman nearly stumbled down the final stairs and tripped over her gown, with a few septas rushing over to assist her but he showed no commiseration.

The doors swung open as Alicent limped towards her daughter’s bedside, slightly softening in consolation her daughter was safe in childbirth and the child was kicking like a goat.

“Praise the Mother, my girl.” She brushed her blood-smeared fingers over her silver hair shakily, whispering. He did not miss the glimpse of disappointment when she noticed the dark brown hair of the child, even when the boy had her pale lavender eyes.

Alicent cleared her throat, avoiding the gaze of those around her. “I see that the prince strongly resembles his father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, instinctively reaching towards the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. “Is that supposed to be a problem, Dowager?” He stomped forward, hovering above his wife and child.

“Not at all, my prince. He is a handsome boy-”

Queen Rhaenyra noticed the tension beginning to develop and interrupted with a smile. “She means no ill, Jacaerys. Merely an observation.”

“An observation?! She wished to have us named as bastards to replace you as heir with one of her spawns and humiliate you.” He raised his voice, accusatory at his mother’s former adversary, and he could feel Lucerys next to him, pulling him away to calm him.

His wife Y/N, exhausted and delirious from the birth, began to grow pale and overwhelmed from the commotion around her, just as her babe broke out in tears and wailed. The Queen ordered everyone but Jacaerys to exit the room and give the family their space. The door shut with a thunderous thud.

…

Hours later, the midwives finished cleaning up the afterbirth, bathed and cleaned the lady and the child before they both fell asleep in new linen sheets and fed.

Jacaerys never left his young family’s side, despondent he had lost his cool, distressing his family during a vulnerable moment, turning what should have been a celebration into an altercation.

He cringed as he could only imagine what the murmurs and whispers about his behaviour and the events that followed with his wife’s mother would share about him. He had brought this upon himself and his family.

AS Y/N began waking from her first rest since the labours, he turned to her as soon as he could hear her rise from her sheets, reaching for her hands in his.

“I have failed you, wife. I should have protected you but I have only raised in anger over old wounds and created altercations when I should have.” Jacaerys felt his tears brim, cheeks red with ignominy and shame.

Her eyes fluttered awake, still weary from the long delivery but visibly more rested already. She shook her head in understanding with an enervated sigh.

“I understand your relationship with my mother has been tense, for what she had done to Her Grace and your family. But I can assure her she has changed, if she is not with me, she is on the knees at the Sept begging for forgiveness and giving alms-”

“She looked at our son the same way she used to look at me and my brothers as children, when she would use her tongue to call us bastards! I fear she will do the same to you and the boy. What good will alms do if she still wishes to see me and our son six feet under ground for the colour of our hair!?” Jacaerys exclaimed, lips quivering in fear as he felt tears brim in his eyes.

Y/N brought their son closer to her arms, only comforted by the sight of her child and her beloved.

“I will handle her, trust me. She thinks I do not pay attention to these things, but I do.” She reaches her free hand to his, unmoving to not wake the babe and squeezes his larger palms into her own.

Jacaerys sniffles, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I do not wish to drive you apart from your mother, my love. I only worry about you and our family’s safety, and the throne. That you and our son may not suffer on my behalf.”

Their son had just begun to fall asleep in her arms, and she began bouncing him instinctively, quickly gaining the ropes of what it took to be a good mother. Jacaerys knew she would be nothing like her own mother, eagerly learning from his mother Queen Rhaenyra, speaking with other royal and noble mothers and even listening to wet nurses and nannies on how to rear children best.

“Are you sure you can handle this conversation? Would you like me outside or in the room with you?” He asks with uncertainty, not entirely confident with his wife even with her own mother.

The wife of the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone nods fiercely. “You forget I am a dragon too. We do not bow to these snakes that suck from their prey.”

…

In the overmorrow on the first day of spring, Y/N had just put her son in his cradle, handcrafted in limestone and marble with seahorses and dragons, lined with sheets of silk with pearls and aquamarines, befitting the future King, and the scion of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.

She hummed as she watched him sleep, having gone through feeding him herself to the surprise of the wet nurses she had followed through, unlike most royalty. She swore she would leave nursing and care to others if she had no other choice.

Underneath sat the hearth of the magenta and mauve swirled dragon egg surrounded by pieces of coal, emitting whirls of smoke that signified the life alive in those eggs. The egg was special as it was the first from her young ride, a nervous flighty thing who only managed to hatch when she found out she was expecting herself, rarely only having one dragon when most on Dragonstone laid many.

As she hums old Valyrian nursery hymns from the crypts of ancient Valyrian text retrieved from the tombs of the Keep’s libraries, she recognizes the steps of her mother without a glimpse.

In her jade hued robes, Lady Alicent was quaint yet undaunted to remind the court of her former standing as once the queen who ruled these halls. A black veil hid part of her auburn hair that turned to flames in certain lighting.

Her mother grimaces with a smile that does not reach her eyes, but relief is painted all over her being. “You are well, daughter? I presume so is the babe.”

Y/N curtly interrupts her. “The babe is your grandson, my child when I am your flesh and blood, mother. Most importantly, he is the future heir to the throne, second in line to my husband.”

Alicent frantically fidgets with her fingers, tugging at her old emerald rings in consternation.

“Of course, yes. His name, Aemon, is fitting for a future monarch.” She could hear the strain in her mother’s words, laced with lies. All her life she had learned those sealed with malice and deceit.

“You forget yourself, mother. My husband and my children are of the blood of the dragon, as do I. You do not understand the ways of the dragon, in your jealousy of wanting to unseat my sister and put Aegon on the throne. Your attempts to disgrace and dispossess my future husband and his brothers has brought the Stranger hanging over mine and my own son’s head!” Y/N chides in betrayal, voice tinged with disbelief her mother would do such a thing.

“Y/N-”

“I could not believe you, mother, that you still harbour such ill will after many years. My marriage with Jacaerys should have buried whatever disagreements you may have had with Queen Rhaenyra, but you value imbuing hate and division on this house more than choosing the peace and stability of this kingdom!”

“Your husband and your son are unbecoming of what Targaryen princes are supposed to look like-” The Dowager attempted to reason, but was impeded as her daughter held an imposing hand towards her.

“Unbecoming? Have you not glimpsed into a mirror? You are nothing of what a Targaryen queen should be, a mere second son’s daughter who brought nothing of value to the throne, and only sought discord to advance her family. Who replaced the Targaryen tapestries with ones of the Seven in hopes of bringing your radicalism to the rest of the kingdom!”

Guards barge in the doors of the babe’s nursery, their armour and swords clattering loudly in the quiet hall.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Y/N coldly turns away from her mother, even as she frowned the same way she would. “By order of the Princess of Dragonstone with the seal of approval of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,

I order your arrest for treason, and insubordination not only for your past grievances but your efforts to call my son a bastard. You will be stripped of your privileges of Queen Dowager, and turned into a septa who will serve the Seven for all her days.”

The former queen is astonished, struggling among the grips of the soldiers who surround her. “Daughter, you are mistaken, please do not do this to me. For all I have sacrificed for this realm and for your father, you must understand why I am the way I am.” She pleaded on her knees, hands clasped as she cried for mercy.

“No, you have served your ambitions and my late grandsire’s treacherous longing for power and the throne, that you would put the Hightower banners and replace Targaryen customs with the Seven and southern ways, that you would tear the kingdom apart for it. I have given you too many chances, forgiving you and turning the cheek in hopes you have accepted it and at least been happy for me, but I am a fool. I am not as forgiving as my father was to your digressions!”

Y/N paced slowly around her mother, sorrow on her face, but no regret or forgiveness.

“You are lucky I will not be putting you in a cell, because for better or for worse, you are still the mother who birthed me. But you would understand, there is nothing a mother would do to grant protection to her children.”

The princess dazed into the window, grasping onto the rails as she heard her mother being dragged out the halls and stripped of her royal ordinances. She could feel herself biting into her nails nervously after years of no longer doing so.

Jacaerys sauntered carefully, approaching his wife with comfort, rubbing her shoulders and bringing her into his arms, looking down at their son as he slept.

“Was I not too cruel, Jace?” She whimpered, weeping into his arms as she was devastated at whether treating her own kin in such a way was a fatal mistake.

He rests his chin on the top of her head before pressing kisses on her temple. “I understand why this troubles you, wife. As abominable and misguided she was, you still are her blood, her daughter.”

She glimpsed at her son, cooing at him as he quietly sleeps. “As a mother, I want to be nothing like her. My son will never be safe while she is around.”

[sunsburns]

okay but logan taking an interest in neighbor who works in fashion?? he always sees her carrying stacks of magazines, dressed in her chic attire that is sometimes a bit too tight in all the right areas, glasses slipping off her nose, always making calls on that damn phone, and yet he always wishes she looked his way…

oh anon ur cooking here. i think this is what's pulling me out of my writing slump 🥴 (wade breaking the fourth wall, suggestive 16+)

the first time he noticed you, it wasn't even in your building complex, but rather the stairs to the subway station down the street. you were rushing up the steps while he, wade, laura and al were just about to enter. it was al who noticed you first, calling out your name and poking your side with her walking staff.

you shrieked, dropping one of the fabric rolls you had been carrying, a curse at the tip of your tongue before you realized who it was. "al," you sighed, a little relieved, when you saw her and wade, who was dressed in a "i love nyc" t-shirt.

logan, being the gentleman he was, picked up the roll you dropped, handing it back to you. it was then that you looked at him, or well, briefly glanced his way with a quick "thank you" before wade started fucking talking.

that son of a bitch.

he didn't even have the courtesy to introduce the two of you to each other.

it was obvious you were in a rush, lips in a tight smile as you nodded and tried to smile at wade telling you all about how they were about to "hit up" times square.

logan felt bad for you, but only a little bit. the longer you stayed to listen to wade's painful monologue, the more he could look at you. he was a little shameless about it, perhaps not the most gentlemanly thing he could've done, but god you were just a sight for sore eyes.

a pretty thing in a mini skirt despite the cool late september breeze that was starting to kick, white, lace and ruffled. delicate with tall brown leather boots. and a washed-out denim vest you wore as a top, two buttons undone, a little pink bow tied to the pocket. logan didn't know a lot about fashion, but he liked the way clothes looked on you.

and then you were gone, al kicking wade across the shin to shut him the hell up when she realized you were in a rush. she let you go, and you left, quickly trading numbers with laura and without saying much of a goodbye or another glance logan's way.

but he watched you go, watched the way your skirt moved with the wind too.

"yeah, look at it bounce. god, i am no better than any man. " wade hummed, leaning all his weight on logan's side. "i didn't peg you as a creep, honey badger. with the way you were undressing the reader with your eyes, i would've thought you were on a registered sex offender's list."

"shut the fuck up, wade."

logan could hear the way laura snorted, her and al continuing their way down the stairs.

wade held his hands up in surrender before logan could try anything (and by anything, he meant to cut him to pieces. wade can't deal with that right now, the blood would take ages to get off his white shirt). "i'm just saying, after living with us for a few months, i would've thought you'd met her by now."

logan raised his brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i mean, she literally lives across the hall." wade turned his head to the side, pointing his thumb at logan, "he can't possibly be this stupid, right? it's gotta be for the plot to build up tension or something."

from that day on, logan's started to notice you more. not that he was looking for you, he's not that big of a creep. but he's spotted you out the window some days, running down the sidewalk, always in a rush. then he was able to hear the way you slam your door shut when you leave in the mornings or when you get back home.

every single day, you're usually out and about. unless it's a sunday, those are the days you stay in your apartment, sewing and hanging out with blind old al and sometimes even fucking laura. turns out, you were the one who got laura all of those new clothes, made them for her.

jesus christ, how out of the loop was he?

you stood out like a sore thumb, always carrying something. whether it be magazines, sketchbooks, fabric rolls, or bags, you're always struggling to open your door when you get home, keys sometimes slipping from your grasp as you're trying to juggle everything.

one day, logan had come back from a run and spotted you in the hallway. well, he had heard you from floors below and was able to pick up the lingering scent of your perfume by the time he entered the lobby. it took him a bit of courage to walk up the few flights of stairs knowing he'd bump into you.

what the fuck was this?

he was a grown-ass man for god's sake. you had him overthinking and blushing at the mere thought of being in the same space again.

when he saw you in the hallway, you were on the phone, the device tucked between your ear and your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you tried to pick up your keys. you were wearing a black dress that day, a black hat and a big maroon scarf around your neck, "no, emily, don't fucking buy it in that colour. it looks like fucking vomit. i don't care what amy told you, she's basically colour blind-"

you stopped mid-sentence when logan appeared in front of you, grabbing the keys for you. "oh- uh. thanks."

"yeah, no problem."

he noticed your nails and glasses were dark red to match the scarf. lipstick too.

you didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, he could tell from the way you froze, as if you didn't know what was supposed to happen next. he had disrupted your daily pattern, everything in your life moving constantly and quickly but all of a sudden everything is slower. it left you breathless.

"you're logan, right?"

he furrowed his brows. he hadn't expected you to remember him, nevertheless, remember his name. "yeah."

"wade told me all about you," you said, and your eyes dropped from his face a little, then lower, a smirk not too different from a sly cat's. you were staring shamelessly, eyes following every part and curve of his body, the way his long-sleeve shirt clung to his skin with sweat. "you don't seem austrailan."

logan tried not to groan. the picture of wade's stupid face in his mind now that you've mentioned him. he hated that the two of you seemed close. "i'm canadian."

"aren't you full of surprises?" you laughed, a smooth, teasing sound, and finally pushed the keys into the nob, unlocking the door. you turned, lingering by the door as if you were about to invite him in, but then the voice from your phone was trying to get your attention and you nearly seemed disappointed. "i'll see you around, logan."

and you were gone again.

logan liked to see your different outfits every day, dawning a different style every time you walked out that door. it was like you could never settle for one style, but you managed to look so fucking good in everything and every colour you put on.

he could never get tired of it. never get tired of you.

you and your tiny bottoms that he swore were getting smaller and smaller every day, even though the city grew colder and the days shorter. you and your stupid phone calls that sometimes went on late at night. you and your clothes, every single one different from the last.

you and your sketches, the ones he had started to find loose pages on the floor of the small hallway between your apartments, pretty designs of lingerie on a model that looked a little bit too much like you for it to be a coincidence.

though you never made another attempt to talk to him, you knew he was watching you. but you never chased, your heels were too expensive for that. you were just trying to give him a reason to come on you.

to you**

to come to you.*

sorry. typo.

[nicholasgoodgirl]

sin? maybe - father charlie

summary: your priest takes you home and it leads to other things

warning: p in v, oral (m receiving), face fucking, after care, virginity loss.

a/n: chat idk how to feel abt this at all and am too scared to read it back. i swear if i spelling his name wrong the whole time. im deleting this acc off the face of the earth

3:23pm

you were waiting in the rain; unbothered than anything. but there was no denying the tempeture change as the rain continued it was beginning to become unbearable. five minutes turning to ten, ten turning to fifteen. your mom still never came

you walked back into the church drenched from all the rain. your white dress sticking to you, it was still cold in the church nonetheless.

"y/n?" you turn around to your name being called "what are you still doing here?" father charlie asked.

"oh my mom never came to get me" she probably drank to much and passed out somewhere, it was embarrassing to admit but thats the only reason you went to church, so you can be far from her and to be nothing like her.

"you're all wet. how long have you been out there?" you shrug at his question. he tilted his head in observation looking you up and down; his eyes lingering longer on your breast.

that would have normally made you uncomfortable if it were anyone else, but it was father charlie and everyone knew him as the 'hot priest' and they weren't wrong either.

he clears his throat "uh I'll give you a ride home" he gave you a quick smile then grabbed his keys off the alter and on the way out grabbing his umbrella.

he put his hand on your lower back guiding you under the umbrella. he gave you the keys so you can unlock the car "why don't you start the car up while you're at it"

"oh i dunno how" you declined the offer politely but he insisted that you did it anyways so he can hold the umbrella for you.

you open the car door and bend over putting the upper half of your body inside the car and trying to start it up like that instead of actually sitting down. the key wouldn't really turn so you put your knee on the seat getting into the car more. while doing this you could gradually feel your dress raise. something in you just knew he was looking up your dress

you give up "i can't get it to start" he lets out a low chuckle and takes the keys from you and gestures for you to get out the car. you hold the umbrella while he gets in the car to start it up. the engine cuts on and he takes the umbrella from you and walks you to the passanger side and shuts the door behind you.

--

3:34 pm

in the car everything he did and had in his car intrigued you. the way he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other hand rested on his leg. the blankets he had in the backseat, the rosemary cross that was hanging from the rearview mirror

"whats your house adress?" he questioned parking at the stop sign, waiting for your answer.

you shrug again "you don't know where you live?" he probed. you did but it was embarrassing to think about how if your moms boyfriend saw you with a guy he would beat you.

"do you wanna come to my house instead" his question was almost hesitant but i accepted the offer with a smile.

--

4:01 pm

his house was nothing fancy, the aura of the place was comforting. he started a fire in the fireplace and it set a more warm tone in the room.

"you can use my shower. just walk down the hall, it's to your right. I'll bring you a warm towel and clothes"

you walk down the hall and take a turn to the right and find his bathroom. it was definitely not like the bathroom at your house. it was clean the, the scent of father charlie lingered.

you undress then walk over to the shower putting it on hot. a couple minutes into the warm water hitting your body changing your body temperature from cold to warm there was knocks at the door.

"It's unlocked!" i yelled from the shower. and the door opens "i have no actual clothes that you would probably wear to bed but you can wear one of my shirts" ,,don't even worry about it" you reassure

it didn't matter to you, you actually liked the idea of prancing around in that mans shirt. you couldn't forgive yourself for how bad you wanted him to fuck you in the shower.

"well call me if you need anything" he opens the door to leave out. "wait!- wait.. father charlie"

"you can just call me charlie" he corrects. "could you maybe talk to me about your day or anything i don't wanna be alone right now"

you could hear father charlie chuckle at the question "sure. why not"

he began talking about his day while i cleaned myself off. he went into detail about how he made his breakfast and how precise everything had to be. meanwhile i just couldn't get the thought of him talking me through sex.

"you're doing so well"

"how does that feel"

"you need me to slow down" the thought didn't stop it felt so wrong but you needed him. you were giving him hums to let him know you were still listening.

you turn the water off "can you hand me my towel" your hand reaches out of the curtain and you can feel the towel being placed in your hand "thank you"

"can i-" he was cut off by you walking out the shower with just your towel on. he cleared his throat "I'm gonna go" he reached for the door but you grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"will you stop it" he snaps. both his hands grab your arm "stop! im trying so hard not to sin but for fucks sake you're making it nearly impossible"his words comes flying out faster than you could process

"oh.." you mumbled. "y'know we can do something about your little problem" you look down at the buldge in his pants.

he wasnt wearing his vestmant anymore he was just in a black button up with some black formal pants making it more noticeable.

"fucking hell" he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "such a slut. i thought you would have been good. looked so pure" he spat almost like it wasn an insult. "guess not"

"have you ever touched youreslf?" the question wasnt one you would like to answer cause you always felt shame afterwards but nodded anyways avoiding eyes contact; not proud of your doings.

"of course you do" he breathed out "on your knees" ,,what?" you question unsure if you heard him right

"baby you have been so sweet to me so far and I'd hate it if i have to repeat myself"

you drop to your knees and he unbuckles his belt not breaking eye contact with you once. father charlie pulls his pants down and his underwear.

you grab his dick and put it in your mouth. hallowing your cheeks out "look at you taking me so well" he tangles his hand in your hair, grabbing ahold of it and pushing your head forward causing you to gag; you could feel him touching the back of your throat.

"lord please forgive me" he whispered so low it's a suprise you even heard the words come out his mouth

at this point he was just fucking your face, he was watching as his cock disappeared into your mouth. after a while your eyes began to water.

he pulls you away from him "stand up" ,,did i do something wrong?" you ask, letting your towel drop, standing to your feet. wanting to fix any mistake you made along the way. "no sweetheart, you did just fine i just wanna be inside you instead"

he turns you over but you weren't as thrilled about this as he probably was. you were a virgin and too scared to tell him.

he bends you over the counter and you grab ahold of it for support. he lines himself up with you and pushes in

"so fucking tight" he groaned. "wait-" you hit the counter top with your hand "please just wait" you whine

he stops what he's doing and waits for your signal to go "you can move.." my words come out sounding almost strangled.

he pushed in and out of you and for a second you can hear his breath hitch "are you on your period?"

"what!? no" you look behind you and see his lips slowly curl into a smirk "you're a virgin aren't you?" ,,mhm" you nod "even better" he gloated

you could feel his dick hit a spot that made your toes curl. the burning sensation goes away with each rut. you let a few whimpers slip and a grunt with every thrust; your body jolting forward.

he gripped your hips tightly to allow himself to pound into you. you could have sworn you felt his tip hit your cervix.

the sounds of skin slapping against eachother flooded the bathroom "you're such a slut. letting your priest fuck you over a bathroom counter"

he pulled your hair back putting you into a deeper arch, to hit your sweet spot. a guttural moan leaves your lips "oh fuck" you moan.

father charlies hand goes down to your clit rubbing firm circles, sharp uneven breaths pulled through you as you could feel your orgasm approching.

with no warning his warm seed coats your insides, as he rides out his high. his fingers continues to rub in circular motion which makes you finish next; unfolding right there.

you hold his hand to stop him. "im done i can't take anymore" you whisper.

"im sure" he pulls out letting a hiss escape, then walks over to the shower and letting the water run again. the both of you get in and shower together.

he got done before you and while you were still getting clean he made you a snack.

--

5:59 pm

you two were laid in bed. your head resting on father charlies chest while he traces light shapes on your skin.

"what do i tell my mom" you ask. "whatever you want sweet girl" he kissed your head. what were you gonna tell your mom, you were with another man in his shirt. and overall he's the priest of the church you go to.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

it’s downright pouring outside.

suguru rests on the living room couch, cooped up in a bundle of soft blankets, watching droplets ricochet against the windows. heavy, sharp, like the rain is trying to break into your apartment — a steady pitter patter that makes him feel at ease.

it’s cozy, he thinks. being indoors, safe and warm and dry, while the outside world is blanketed by gray. wearing baggy clothes, a pair of reading glasses, his hair tied up into a loose bun; slender fingers turning the pages of the new novel you gave him.

he thinks of you, and finds himself frowning.

suguru got home just before storm clouds gathered in the sky — but as far as he knows, you’re still outside. he’s memorized your comings and goings, what time you usually return home, the paths you tend to favour. as any attentive roommate should.

so he’s a little worried. usually, you’d be home by now. and you still haven’t replied to his messages.

tentatively, he reaches for the warm cup of tea on the coffee table, bringing the ceramic to his lips. sipping from the green, honeyed brew, letting the scent soothe his growing nerves. he shouldn’t be too high-maintenance; you’re a perfectly capable adult. if he nags at you all the time, you’ll just be weirded out. and the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

so it’s fine. you’re fine, he’s sure. there’s no need for him to freak out over your whereabouts. he needs to maintain his cool, calm exterior.

— suddenly, the click of a lock being turned.

suguru’s head whips towards the front door. a moment passes, and then he’s stumbling to his feet, untangling himself from the heap of blankets he’s burrowed into — gently setting the cup back on the table, fixing his hair, making sure he’s presentable — before making his way towards the hall.

and there you are. clumsily dragging the door open, stumbling inside, keys jingling as you step over the threshold; absolutely soaked. just as he feared.

”hey…”

you meet his gaze. panting softly, cheeks a little flushed, wet locks of hair sticking to your forehead and neck. disheveled, letting out a sheepish little laugh — gosh, why do you have to be so cute? — leaning down to pull your shoes off. you’re wearing a thin, white shirt. entirely drenched. 

suguru looks away, a heat sticking to his cheeks.

”hey,” you greet, a little out of breath. tossing your shoes away, tugging absently at your collar. ”god. i feel like a drowned rat.”

at that, he lets a little chuckle slip. shaking his head, taking a step back — careful not to let his gaze stray towards the soaked fabric of your clothing. ”why didn’t you call me? i would have picked you up.”

”well, i thought about it,” you hum, walking right past him, ”but i figured you’d still be at work.”

suguru frowns, ever so slightly, discontentment in his eyes. ”… they let me go early today. but you should have texted me, either way. what if you get sick?”

”i’ll be fineeee,” you slip on a grin, turning back to face him. ”just need a quick shower. don’t worry, okay?”

he narrows his eyes, playfully, enjoying the way your eyes crinkle in response. then he exhales, hands on his hips. feigning exasperation. 

”… fine, fine. need me to go get you a clean shirt?”

”ah. well...” you let out a wince, earning a tilt of his head. ”i haven’t done my laundry, in like… a week.”

a moment passes. suguru’s lips curl up, an exasperated exhale slipping from his lips. he gazes at you, ever so fondly, raising a brow. ”i asked you if you needed me to wash anything for you.”

”i know, but…” you scratch at the back of your neck, letting out a breathy sigh. ”i don’t want you to pull all my weight. we both live here.” now there’s a pretty little pout on your lips. it makes suguru want to run his thumb over the sensitive skin, soothe it away.

but he only clears his throat. 

”i don’t mind,” he answers, truthfully. ”i like doing laundry. you know that.”

”… still.”

his smile only grows, at your quiet mumble, something soft blooming in his eyes. he takes a step forward. ”we’ll see about laundry later. in the meantime… want to wear one of my shirts?”

the words have left his lips before he can think them through — maybe a little too eager. silently, he curses himself for being so forward. but you raise your head, meeting his amber eyes, blinking so sheepishly that he thinks he’d give you just about anything you could ask for.

”… is that okay?” 

”more than okay,” he reassures you, a smile on his face. ”i’ll get you something comfy.”

you quiet down, for a moment. still pulling at the collar of your shirt, making sure the thin fabric doesn’t stick to your soaked skin. ”… alright,” you exhale. ”that’d be great, then.”

a hum buzzes in his throat. suguru walks past you, towards the hallway leading up to his room, ruffling your wet hair in passing. his heavy palm on your head, a perfect fit. smiling to himself.

”got it. one second, okay?” 

behind him, you nod — but he can’t see it. walking into his room, rummaging through his closet, trying not to lose his mind at the idea of you wearing one of his oversized shirts. maybe a pair of sweatpants, maybe a tank top… he gulps at the thought. heartbeat accelerating, a jittery feeling in his throat.

he settles on a big, comfortable hoodie. bundling it up in his arms, before making his way back to where you’re still standing, still soaked, shivering a little. 

”here,” he hums, passing the bundle of soft fabric into your awaiting arms. you nuzzle into the pile, already looking comforted; warming his heart down to the marrow. he hopes you like the cologne he picked out, earthy and deep. a hint of cinnamon. ”now go take your shower, hm?”

”mm. thank you.” you give him a smile, cheeks still damp, a little flushed. ”you’re too nice to me.”

suguru resists the urge to frown. resists the urge to tell you that there’s no such thing, that you deserve every last drop of kindness he can wring out of his cramped-up heart. he knows he shouldn’t be too forward, but you’re making it difficult. you always make it so difficult.

(or maybe he’s just a weak, weak man.)

”oh, please,” he gives you a playful little roll of his eyes, sighing gravely. ”this is the bare minimum. we don’t want you catching a cold, do we?”

”we don’t,” you grin. ”i have a feeling you’d just end up feeding me soup all day.”

a chuckle flows from out his lips. he hopes it doesn’t come out as shaky as his heart feels, just at the thought — the idea of taking care of you like that. being allowed to tend to you, being trusted by you in that way. ”well, i am a chef. need to make sure i don’t get rusty, yeah?”

there it is, again. the crinkle of your eyes, that upturn of your lips, all things he finds himself constantly seeking — suguru exhales, somewhat in bliss. he might need to quit cigarettes for good, soon. it wouldn’t do for him to have more than one vice.

while you take your shower, your roommate lounges on the couch. or at least, he tries to — though his feet inevitably take him to your tiny kitchen, to the water cooker, to the cabinet with all his expensive tea bags. he picks out a nice, strong ginger brew. something to help boost your immune system. silently, drowsily, he pours water into a ceramic cup, stirs the slowly brewing tea with a honey-clad teaspoon. raindrops cascade against the window, and the faraway sound of thunder reaches his ears.

it’s cold outside, but warm and cozy in here. in the home you’ve made for yourselves. he’s really, really glad that he followed satoru’s advice — that he put out that advert, that the first person who reached out ended up being you. he’s happy to share a living space with you, these cozy leftover afternoons. he’s happy to have someone to brew tea for.

(what more could a man like him ask for?)

”um, suguru?”

he stiffens. ears perking up at the sound of your voice, that mellow little lilt — broken out of his syrupy stupor. after a moment, he turns around.

and his breath hitches in the back of his throat.

you’re standing there, right at the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room, hair a little damp from the shower — and you’re wearing his hoodie. it cascades down your frame, the hem of it ending right above your knees, sleeves rolled up to reveal your hands. that hoodie is baggy even on him, but you’re just drowning in the fabric. his heart feels like it’s about to burst, pupils wide as saucers.

suguru lets out a shaky sigh.

”jesus…”

a series of blinks. you tilt your head, like a confused puppy, glancing up at him with a doe-eyed look. fuck, he wants to bundle you up in his arms. he wants you to fall asleep on his chest, wants to keep you there forever. god, who thinks stuff like that?

(he needs to get a grip, and fast. he can already feel his ears growing hotter.)

”it looks… kind of ridiculous, doesn’t it?” you mumble, sheepishly, clouded with what he thinks must be shyness. cute. ”this isn’t really my size…”

suguru lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, raven locks swaying with the movement. ”i can see that. looks good on you, though.”

”… does it?” you let your arms fall slack, at your sides, the softened fabric swallowing your hands entirely. he can’t even see the tips of your fingers. oh, how his heart aches — it’s squeezing so tightly he fears his chest might cave in, but all he can do is nod.

he turns around, again, absently clearing his throat. clinking the teaspoon against the rim of your cup, stirring idly. ”is it comfortable?”

”mhm!”

a warm smile. ”good.”

silently, you scoot closer, taking your rightful place beside him. resting your elbows on the counter, watching his movements, the flick of his long fingers. one of his rings catches on the ceramic, a quiet clang.

”here,” he hums, pushing the cup towards you. when you look up, his eyes are crinkled at the edges, warm and sweet, a melting pair of honeycombs. ”drink up.”

a moment passes. ”… you really are too sweet for your own good, you know that?” 

suguru grins. his heart blossoms a little more; petals sticking between the ridges of his ribs. it manifests as a delighted little chuckle, flowing out his throat.

”don’t thank me yet — there’s sushi for you in the fridge. they let us bring leftovers home again.”

”really? i can have some?”

suguru raises a brow. smiling, all the while. ”would i be offering otherwise?”

(you can have anything, he wants to say. i doubt i could say no. i’m a little weak, when it comes to you.

such embarrassing words.)

a heavy sigh escapes you, laced with relief. taking hold of the cup, raising it to your lips, sipping slowly. ”god, you’re the best. i’m starving.”

”haha… better eat, then, yeah?”

nod, nod. you give him another one of those giddy grins, putting your cup down, taking a step back. suguru can’t help but turn his head, to catch a glimpse of you — how cozy you look, waddling around in that big hoodie, hair a little tousled. humming softly to yourself, tapping the tips of your fingers against the handle of the fridge. it mashes well with the endless pitter patter against the windowpane. a purr of thunder echoes in the distance, and suguru feels at peace. hyacinths line the windowsill, the crinkle of a plastic container being rustled rings out across the room. he watches, listens, observes. wallowing in the feeling. 

domesticity. 

with a breathy, blissed-out exhale, his eyes fall shut. smile dripping with sweetness, barely contained. wishing on every single droplet that you’ll stick around a little longer than your lease allows.

”here,” you grin, stepping into his line of vision. handing him a plate full of sushi, all his favorite pieces. ”you eat up, too.”

suguru smiles.

”what would i do without you?”

(that’s a bridge he’ll worry about crossing another day.

for now, this is more than enough.)

[lady-djarin]

independent contractor

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

fully inspired by this post

warnings/tags: no outbreak au, no sarah mentioned, but we can always pretend she’s at collage or something, infidelity by reader(reader’s hubby is an asshole), contractor!joel, age gap (late 20s/mid 50s) , masterbation (m), smelling of panties(?), sexting, oral (receiving), p in v (unprotected- don’t do that!!) general smut so children leave!! mdni 18+

word count: 6.1k

a/n: i understand not everyone is going to dig the infidelity thing so i get that, if you are not into that please just scroll on, thank you :)

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a beautiful dress but damn if it wasn’t complicated, the back had all these complicated buttons and clasps to hold it closed. You had managed to get yourself into the thin fabric but just as you needed your husband to close the dress, he had conveniently disappeared. He had been dressed for the party for a while and had been running around the house trying to organize the vendors. It was all for some charity thing he was throwing through his company. He was the CEO of some big company that even after 5 years of marriage you still didn’t understand. Something to do with finance? Maybe.

“Hon? Are you up here?” You huffed as you realized he was not in ear shot. Your husband had a habit of doing this, leaving right when you needed him in favor of something he needed.

You can now admit to yourself that the marriage you were in was a little rushed. Ok, maybe more than rushed. You were engaged within three months of meeting and married in less than a year. The first year of marriage was amazing, he would shower you with gifts and trips and practically worshiped the ground you walk on. It now felt like he only did this to rope you in. He began to take multiple long ‘work trips’ every month and you soon found evidence of an affair (or multiple). Once, there was long hair all over his clothes that was definitely not his or yours along with red lipstick smudged on a white shirt. Was he not even trying to hide it or did he just not care?

You had always told yourself that ‘you’d never be with a cheater’ and you wouldn’t fall prey to men who used women. Well, after a quick marriage, that you begged your parents to go along with, you felt like you had nowhere else to go. Your parents would not be happy and would surely find a way to blame you, and all your friends were also his. So, you kept your head high as your husband did as he pleased. You were now a forgotten trophy on the shelf he felt didn’t need polishing anymore. So you did as you pleased, with his money. One of the things you liked spending his money on was renovations to the house that you were usually alone in.

Currently, you were renovating the other side of the house to become a library/craft area for yourself. The contractor was actually at the house doing a walk through before the party got started. He happened to hear you calling for your husband from down the hall and came to your rescue.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think he went downstairs,” he was looking down when he first walked in, probably to make sure you were decent. What a gentleman.

“Of course he did, uhg,” you fumbled with the clasps behind your back and failed to make a difference.

“I can go get ‘em for ya?”

“No that’s ok Joel, thank you,” Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction. He had been so great from the beginning, knowing exactly what you wanted for the library, seeing your vision immediately. He was very much the southern Texan gentleman, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’, no matter how many times you told him you hated it. “and please, Joel. I’m not a ma’am.” Your smile drew his eyes up.

”My mama would kill me if she heard me call ya’ anythin’ but, ma’am,” he stepped into the room, already coming to help even with your refusal. “I’m more delicate than ya think, im sure i can handle some buttons,” he came up behind you in the mirror and his soft touch on your shoulder blade made you inhale. You held the dress against your chest making sure he had room to fasten the small clasps. You caught his gaze in the mirror that was fixated on the dip in the front of the dress.

He matched your smile.

His surprisingly nimble fingers secure every last fastening and it feels like you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest. It had been a long time since you were looked at the way Joel was looking at you. He was a handsome man, big and rugged but soft in his features. He had these deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and lips that would make a nun blush. He was affecting you in ways your husband hadn’t done in years, he was turning you on. A complete stranger was turning you on and you didn’t really feel guilty.

Did that make you a terrible person?

You know what, fuck it. Your husband cheated and left you alone in life, you were entitled to some flirting every now and then.

“There ya are darlin’,” dear lord, his voice. The deep southern drawl made your panties wet.

“Thank you… Joel.”

”Enjoy the party,” watching him walk away was the hardest thing all night, aside from having to laugh at all your husband’s bad jokes all night. All night your mind was occupied by the sexy contractor.

~

It had been about a week since the party and the library reno was well underway. Joel and his team, including the other half of Miller Construction, his brother Tommy, were working tirelessly. In that last week your husband had been in and out of the house at weird times. On this particular day he left early in the morning without saying so much as a word to you. You used the day to mope around on your phone or read but what kept stealing your attention was the attractive contractor.

His team wasn’t around so the house was truly empty, the quiet was starting to drive you mad. As you wandered up the winding staircase, you found a sweatshirt draped over the railing. That damn husband, he leaves shit everywhere. Without thinking much of it, you threw the hoodie on as you found the library under construction.

The sweatshirt smells like sawdust and something distinctly man. That's different from what your husband normally smells like. The thought of him buying new cologne for some mistress almost made your blood boil, if you truly loved him anymore it would.

The library was really starting to come together, the plans on the table laid out the new shelves and built in table being put in and you dreamed of the days you would spend in there. The rest of your day was spent inside, no husband in sight so you did what you wanted, camped out on the couch with snacks galore and bad tv. Your husband eventually came home, after midnight, to find you passed out on the couch. You were roused by him, he woke you to send you off to bed. He used to carry you.

“Hey, get to bed, it's late… New hoodie?” Your eyebrows narrowed and you looked at him confused.

“What? It’s yours?”

”No it's not, I don't work at ‘Miller Construction’…” his tone felt like sandpaper against your skin. Also, have you been wearing Joel’s sweatshirt this whole time?

~

You wore it almost every day. Refusing to even wash it, it would get rid of the smell. The smell of him. It was like a drug, anytime your husband left you alone in that big house you wrapped yourself in Joel.

The rumble of the engine told you someone was at the house, but the deep southern drawl was what told you it was Joel. You felt giddy, like a girl with her first crush. You were already wearing the sweatshirt because you were expecting him today. He was leading his team of guys up to the library, telling them what to get started on. You made your way up there, under the guise of greeting Joel and asking if they need anything. In reality you wanted to see his reaction to you wearing his clothes.

“Morning Joel, you guys need anything?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He noticed right away, scanning the hoodie and his gaze set your skin on fire. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stepped closer, the air was thick with tension and you immediately felt the mood change. His lips curved up in the corner slightly as he lowered his voice.

He looked handsome as always, the salt and pepper in his beard and hair was somehow very attractive to you. He was older for sure but you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t part of the attraction.

“Nice sweatshirt you got there…,” you could practically feel his heart beating just inches from you. “Miller.”

You had to strangle down a breath hearing his voice drop an octave like that, teasing you. This was real… Joel Miller, your contractor, was flirting with you. And you liked it, a lot. Not only the blatantly wrong flirting but the fact that your husband could come home at any time. It was making your skin flush with arousal and it felt like he could sense it somehow.

“I can wash it and get it back to you,” you wanted to gauge how into this he was. He did not disappoint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jesus christ.

“Keep it sugar, looks better on ya anyway,” he left you there, finally with enough room to breathe without inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Holy shit, holy shit!

Your mind never strayed far from the older man, you seemed to fixate on the memory of him crowding you in your own home. The rest of the day went smoothly, you went about your business as the Miller Construction crew worked on your new library. You could hear the men working upstairs and every time you heard that one specific rumbling southern drawl your heart stopped for just a beat.

You were screwed.

~

Joel’s day could not have been longer, though he was the only one that noticed. The rest of the crew worked through the day, trying to get their tasks done sooner rather than later to be able to go home on time. Meanwhile, he was thinking about the pretty wife of the man who is paying him. He knew it was wrong but damn if it didn’t feel good. He saw the way your husband acted around you the last few weeks, he was engaged in every conversation except ones with you. Joel could even tell that the man was cheating, he clearly wasn’t trying to hide it. That’s really the only reason he was letting himself indulge with you, that and you seemed to be on the same page as him.

He knew he was in trouble, he had already memorized your features, your lips haunting him most of all. Every time you spoke he was entranced, unable to look away from your mouth. This was so wrong, he was working for you and your husband. He couldn’t help it, you were perfect, everything he could ever want. He dreamed about feeling you under him and that thought kept him half hard in his jeans all day.

By the time he was set to leave he felt like if he didn’t get himself taken care of he was going to explode. All he could think about was you in that damn hoodie, and how he would bend you over with it on. He knew it would smell like you now, it would smell like both of you. As he hopped into his truck he was so distracted that he didn’t see you coming down the driveway towards his car.

“Hey Joel…” Fuck. “I just wanted to get this back to you before I forget.” The gray fabric already smelled like you from where you held it by his car window. Why were you giving it back? He told you to keep it.

”Oh thanks darlin’,” it wasn’t lost on him how your eyes sparkled at this nickname. You were in the most delicious little shorts, showing just enough of the tops of your thighs as you walked back into the house. Fuck, he felt like such a dirty old man. You were so much younger and bright and kind. He felt like he could never deserve you.

He threw the hoodie on the passenger seat as he felt another surge of guilt and arousal settle into this stomach. Just as he was about to pull onto the street, he noticed something much darker than the hoodie sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it to reveal a pair of lacy black panties.

His heart nearly stopped. He would have never expected this, a sweet girl like you leaving her panties in her contractors sweatshirt. His jeans became even tighter than before as he pulled the panties up to his face.

He really was a dirty old man.

They had clearly been worn and it made his head spin, they smelled like heaven and you, he worried he might cum at the smell alone. He needed to get home.

As he raced home with your underwear gripped in his hand, he battled his thoughts. He knew it was wrong to mess around with a married woman but he felt different with you already. You were like the light at the end of his very lonely tunnel, no one ever looked at him the way you did. He practically tore his front door off the hinges as he rushed up to his bedroom. He felt like a teenager with an uncontrollable boner trying to find release.

The black lace was tight in his grip as he shucked his jeans off, the constricting fabric making his blood boil. He pulled himself free and the first touch to his hard length caused a gravely moan to slip from his lips. Tension and heat gathered in his stomach as he stroked himself. His fingers were rough as they circled his weeping tip but he needed to feel relief. He couldn’t even get himself into the shower, he just dropped onto the edge of his bed and never stopped moving his hand.

Those dark panties were teasing him, you were teasing him. You had to be, maybe you were making fun of his obvious crush. No, there was no way you would have grinned like you did if you didn’t feel the same way. It was an offering, a way for you to make a move without being apparent.

Holy shit. You wanted him.

That made his lower muscles spasm suddenly and his orgasm started to barrel down his spine. He pictured you in your small shorts earlier that day and he lost it. A deep groan escaped his throat as he spilled all over his knuckles. He pumped until he was oversensitive, his whole body reacting until he fell back into the bed.

All night his brain juggled wanting nothing but you and telling himself it was wrong. And it was wrong, at least on paper, of course he shouldn’t be messing with a client's wife. Even if she wanted him back.

~

Last time you saw Joel outside his car was almost a week ago. It was driving you crazy. You worried that he took it the wrong way or didn’t even see them. You couldn’t decide if you should be mortified, nervous, turned on or all the above. Then your phone went off.

Usually the texts between you and Joel were regarding what materials or paint you wanted. Now it was something totally different.

5:04PM >Joel: Sorry I have not been to check on the progress of the library personally. There was an emergency at another job.

>Joel: Also, thank you for my gift.

Only someone like Joel would thank you for sneaking him a pair of your panties.

5:09PM <You: im glad you liked them

<You: i was a little worried…

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Your husband was right across the couch, engrossed in his baseball game more than you, per usual. Was it wrong to like this so much, the fact that he had no idea you were texting another man right now, in front of him.

5:12PM >Joel: Why would you be worried? It's the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

>Joel: Any man should be so lucky.

Your pulse kicked up again somehow. He was making it all sound so meaningful. Maybe it was to him. Maybe he never took it the wrong way. Maybe he took it exactly the right way.

5:14PM <You: did you use them?

There was a pause for a few minutes.

5:20PM >Joel: Jesus…

>Joel: I’m at work, darlin.

5:22PM <You: so?

5:25PM >Joel: You got a mouth on you, huh?

5:26PM <You: and i know how to use it

5:28PM >Joel: We might just have to have you prove yourself then.

5:30PM <You: just tell me when

5:31PM >Joel: You are dangerous, angel.

>Joel: I have them in my pocket right now.

>Joel: I couldn’t help myself.

Jesus, this man was going to be the death of you. He was carrying your panties around in his pocket, while he was at work. Your thighs instantly squeezed together and it was at that moment you decided.

Fuck it, he made you feel good and your husband clearly didn’t care about your needs. You needed a divorce, and not just because of Joel. It was about you finally doing what’s good for you.

Suddenly an idea came to you, admititly a very bad idea but again, fuck it.

5:36PM <You: hey, do you have any plans tonight?

5:37PM >Joel: You know darlin, I don’t.

Thank god.

5:38PM <You: what’s your address?

5:38PM >Joel: 7 Oak Village Rd. I get home at 7.

5:38PM <You: see you then

You needed a plan. Your husband wouldn’t really care if you made last minute plans, you just needed a reason. Since he barely takes the time to pay attention to you, he definitely doesn’t know your friends very well.

“Hey, I know this is super random, but my friend Ashley”(totally a fake friend) “just got dumped, Isn’t that awful? She wants me to come over so she’s not alone. Would you care if I spent the night with her?”

It wasn’t really an odd thing, you spent the night with friends before. You should feel bad for lying so easily like this but the thrill of it all was keeping you going. You knew he wouldn’t object but he barely even looked at you. A quick glance back before he focused on the tv again as he waved you off.

”Yea, I don’t care… Johnny’s coming over anyway. Have fun.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, you knew you should be upset but you were too used to it at this point. You went upstairs to pack a bag and get ready. It had been a long time since a booty call and you forgot how giddy it made you feel. Knowing you were going to a man's house who actually wanted you there and actually wanted you.

Once you showered and finished packing, you went down to head out the garage. Apparently while you were upstairs Johnny and many more came over and had taken over the couch as they all debated over some play in the game. You tried to get your husband's attention, calling his name and waving at him. Anger boiled over in your gut. Just another reason not to feel guilty about tonight.

You loaded up into the car and pulled out of the massive driveway without a regret in your heart. This was the beginning of a new chapter and it felt right in so many ways. Your skin was buzzing with arousal, you had been thinking of Joel’s thick hands that would soon be on you, throughout your whole shower.

Before you left the neighborhood you sent Joel a quick text.

7:13PM <You: on my way

7:14PM >Joel: Can’t wait.

You felt the heat creep up into your cheeks and down your neck. Your nerves did start to wear on you though, all the usual stuff; Will he like me? Do I look nice? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs? You decided to wear a thin silk slip dress/nightgown under a baggy zip up hoodie. You figured it was a good way to look ‘sloppy’ enough that your husband wouldn’t care, if he even looked your way. You made the short drive over to Joel’s neighborhood and your nerves seemed to melt away as you got closer. It was odd, normally this kind of thing would send your pulse skyrocketing but the thought of seeing Joel made you calm, almost serene. He definitely made your head swim with giddy arousal though.

You found the beautiful house marked ‘No. 7’ and knocked on the perfectly painted door. Of course his house was gorgeous, he was a contractor. Only moments went by until the door was pulled open by that very sexy looking contractor. His brown curls were slightly messy on his head and he wore some kind of faded shirt and loose sweatpants that hung way too low. You couldn’t look away.

“Hi darlin’,” he rubbed his neck and his cheeks went red. He was nervous.

“Hi,” you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face.

“Come in, here let me.” He gently took your bag from your shoulder and guided you to the couch where he had a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. The inside of his home was just as beautiful as the outside; the couch was large and comfortable, there was quiet music playing in the corner from an old school record player and books and plants littering the shelves. He came back and poured you both a glass and clinked the two together before you each took a long drink. He finally sat down and you turned so your feet were up against his leg, quickly feeling comfortable with him.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be ok… with me coming over.”

“Why?” God his southern accent was like honey.

“I don’t know, maybe it was…I was too forward.” You were sure why you felt the need to bring this up, maybe clear the air somehow. “I’m divorcing him, I can't do it anymore.” Saying it out loud made your heart lurch.

“I get it sweetheart, it ain’t fair that he treats ya’ that way.” You were leaning into each other at this point, unable to stop the magnetic pull between you. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his hand near your shoulder. He started to entwine his finger in your hair, his big brown eyes danced over your face and it made you almost want to shy away from his gaze.

“You don’t think I'm a terrible person?” You looked into his eyes finally, wanting to know how he felt about you, how he felt about this.

His fingers left your hair as his thumb brushed over your lips. “Y’not a terrible anythin’ darlin’,” then he moved.

He was on you before you could take another breath. He slotted his lips over yours, his tongue sliding between them. He devoured you, stole the breath from your lungs. It was all consuming the way he kissed you, it felt like he was starved and you were all he wanted to consume. He sat back and pulled you with him, your legs wrapping around his hips leaving your core right in his lap. His hand cupped both cheeks as you pressed yourself fully to him, your hips grinding down into his. Your baggy sweatshirt was obstructing your skin from touching his, you needed more and the fabric was too warm.

You leaned back and you finally got a good look at his face as you pulled the zipper down. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes were almost all pupils. After ripping the bulky fabric off he finally moved his hands to the rest of you. He traced your arms down to where your hands laid on your thighs, he then lightly ran his fingers up your back over the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“You are so… fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath and yours caught in your throat. He pulled you into him again but it still wasn’t enough skin. As his soft lips worked over your pulse and his rough beard scratched at your neck you knew you needed more of him. You groaned as you pulled away again and tried to pull his shirt off yourself but he was just large enough to make it difficult. He smirked at you as he leaned forward to remove the shirt and your skin finally made contact with his.

You both groaned as you came together once again, finally able to feel his warm solid chest against yours. He explored your body again as your mouths did the same, he kissed down your neck, over your shoulders and between your breasts. The thin straps holding up the nightgown were quickly pulled down, revealing your chest to him. He lavished you and you felt the vibration of his groans as he licked the crevice between your breasts before closing his mouth around a peak and sucking. Your whole body arched into his, your fingers carding through his hair which made him groan deeper.

“Fuck— Joel,” your skin was on fire and you were lightheaded. You knew somewhere deep down you should feel bad or guilty but it was the furthest thing from your mind. He made you feel like you were floating, your soul somehow detached from your body.

He pulled back from you, just enough to catch his breath and look into your eyes. His hands however never stopped roaming your skin. His pupils were blown wide, almost none of the deep brown in his eyes were left now. He dipped his head and dove back into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck and it made you groan and your core clench.

He groaned into you and you felt it rumble through his chest. You felt like you were losing grip on reality, you couldn’t tell someone your own name if they asked. It was all worth it because you were lost in the pleasure of feeling him under you, but you needed more of him.

You dropped to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees. You tried to pull Joel’s pants down his hips, almost frantically as if you didn’t see all of him now you would die.

“Hol’on darlin’,” he kind of giggled as he slipped the fabric off his hips and he fell back onto the couch and looked down at you with his mouth hanging open in awe. You met his gaze before looking down at his hard length.

Fuck, he was big.

You lowered your mouth to him, teasing your lips over his silky skin. His breath caught in his chest. You ran your tongue up and his hand came up to hold the back of your head, not to force but support. Eventually his fingers grabbed into your hair when you wrapped your lips around him and pulled him in. You felt his rough moan reverberate into your body every time you dropped your head. It was difficult to take him all at once but you had to feel him, everywhere.

“Fuck, oh my—gooood…” he dropped his head back onto the couch but you knew he was watching you, his eyes never left you. You felt your arousal spread between your thighs knowing you were driving him mad. Before you even got a chance to really do much Joel pulled you up on your feet. He stayed seated and looked up at you through his lashes and your heart stopped for a second seeing him below you like this made your stomach dip and your panties wet.

His eyes were blazing a path over your body, nightgown bunched around your waist with your entire chest exposed. You should be cold but you felt like you were on fire. He ran his palms up the backside of your legs until he reached the lacy fabric of your underwear. His eyes never left yours as he slowly pulled the fabric off your hips and over your ass, his hands touching skin the whole way down and helped you step out of it. That swooping feeling settled into your stomach again as he slid his fingers back up the inside of your leg until he reached your hot center, eyes never leaving yours. You both moaned as he dipped into the slick that coated your skin.

“Mhmmm, this all f’me?” He looked at you with a mix of arrogance and pure desire as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion. It was made easy by just how wet you were, you didn’t know if you had ever been this wet before. That’s the effect he had on you, or maybe this is just a primal kind of desire that you never had with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

Either way you were spiraling fast. You knew once you two came together you wouldn’t last long. You needed to feel him, it was driving you mad.

Joel seemed to be taking it slow, which you can admire as this is very new and he probably wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. While you admired him taking the time to make you comfortable you couldn’t wait anymore. As he kissed your chest and his fingers kept moving in agonizing circles across your sensitive bundle while you straddled his lap. His hard length rubbed against your center and both of your bodies shook with desire.

He groaned as he wasn’t expecting you to be on him so fast. His hands ran along every inch, taking you into him and never wanting to let go. You rocked your hips and slowly dragged your core across his length causing you both to stutter and moan. You were sick of waiting for the thing you had been thinking about non stop for weeks.

“Will you… make me feel good?” Your voice was squeaky and horse from all the moans and his eyes fluttered at your request.

“Oh darlin’… that bastard ain’t taking care of you huh? When’s the last time you were properly touched?”

You turned your eyes away from him, slightly embarrassed that he was able to tell that so easily. “Uhm… a while.” He gave you a pointed look, clearly not liking your non-answer. “A… a year,” his eyes widened at your admission. “Over a year…” You cringed at your final answer. You weren’t proud of the fact that it had been so long but you haven't been attracted to your husband in a long time.

”Oh… you poor thing,” he bracketed your cheeks with his large hands. “Don’t worry darlin’.”

Joel was losing composure quickly, he was ready to give you everything you deserved. His nimble fingers reached between your bodies and slid along your center, drawing a wanton moan from your chest. You ground your hips into his hand trying to create the friction he wasn’t giving you. He slowly spread your lips and ran his fingers gingerly over your clit causing your body to shake in his grasp.

“Hmm… y’all wet f’me?” His southern drawl was making his lust-drunk words slur together deliciously. The scruff of his mustache scratched at your neck but his lips and tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

“Mmhmm… Joel— oh god please,” you sounded just as lost. Your voice cracked and your hips never stopped moving over his hand, desperate for attention.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I gotcha,” he quickly flipped you and your back hit the plush couch. A soft ‘oomf’ escaped your lips and Joel was mesmerized as you lay beneath him. “Oh look at’cha, you’re so pretty baby.”

His words were like hot honey, warm and sweet. You shifted under him and wrapped your fingers around his hard shaft and the groan that reverberated through his chest made your breath catch in your throat. You kept stroking him as his fingers found your wet center again, spreading your release over your puffy folds. As you wrapped your legs around his hips, you guided his crown to your core and felt the sweet stretch of him entering you slowly.

He paused for a few moments and looked like he was trying to center himself again before pushing his hips fully into yours and held himself there. A deep rumbling groan broke through his lips as he began to move, the stretch was making you nervous at first but you felt more and more comfortable as he kept moving. When he started to rub your neglected clit, a bolt of pleasure shot down your spine causing your back to arch and nails to dig into his arms.

“Such a good girl, baby… ngh— you-you feel so good,” his syrupy words made your head feel fuzzy and limbs heavy. His hips started to snap into yours at a harsher pace and his fingers spent up between you in tandem. Your orgasm was quickly approaching with his movements, faster than you expected. Was this the norm for people with healthy relationships and sex lives, real attraction? You couldn’t even finish the thought before Joel sped up his fingers and started to hammer into you. He was surrounding you, hovering over with those dark eyes and large shoulders. The smell of him alone was about to send you over the edge, he smelled like soap and a little like sawdust, all over man. His voice broke you out of your hazy state.

“You’re gonna— cum for me darlin’, I—I can’t hold on…much longer baby.” His voice was rough and demanding and almost like your body listened, you fell over the edge. The lewd moans and shouts of Joel’s name coming out of our mouth surprised you both. At feeling you cum around him, Joel lost all of his remaining control. He stilled inside you and you felt his muscles contract in his release.

“Oh fu—fuck! oh my… god,” he slumped against you and you welcomed his weight. You both settled into the couch as you rubbed your arms up and down his back. “I’m— I’m sorry darlin’, it's been a while. Normally I'd have… taken my time.”

He sounded almost nervous, it made you smile.

“Joel, stop. You have nothing to apologize for.”

”I’ll redeem myself next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You smiled to yourself and hummed at the content feeling of being under him while he still filled you.

You drifted to a place of half consciousness and woke up in, what you were pretty sure was the morning to the smell of bacon. You turned over in a bed, Joel's bed, to find it empty. You looked around the room and found it to be just like Joel, cozy and masculine. You located a shirt of his and threw it on before heading down the stairs to find a very sexy shirtless Joel standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” his voice was thick with sleep and you walked up to him at the stove. With one large arm he pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head. A slow smile spread on your lips at the familiarity of it all, the warmness of having someone to take care of you like this, emotionally. Something you almost never had with your husband, soon to be ex.

“Joel… thank you, for this.”

“What’cha mean darlin?”

“Taking care of me. Letting me come over last night.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

You tried to blink away the tears gathering on your lashes but one managed to slip, Joel’s thumb catching it before it reached your cheek. Time felt like it stopped as you leaned in to each other, lips pressing together as you moaned at the feeling.

The day was spent lazing in bed and talking about all the things you two would do when your divorce was finalized. The idea of divorce was the scariest thing in the world when you first thought about it, but now, knowing Joel would be with you every step of the way… you couldn’t wait.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Nasty Girl ⟡˖ Older!Rafe Cameron x Perv!Reader ⟡˖

✰ Rafe is an arrogant dick, over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him. So why can’t you stay away? ✰

۶♡ৎ This is a request from my angel @babygorewhore I love you sm, this one’s for you pookie ۶♡ৎ

✰ Age gap (Rafe is early 40s reader is mid 20s), Obsessive behaviors, perverted acts involving panties, gagging, choking, spit kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, pillow humping, pussy eating, cum eating, size kink 18+MNDI ✰

You can’t stand Rafe Cameron. And the fact that you’re so obsessed with him only makes you hate him more. No matter how much you hated the way he walked around like he owned the world, or the rotating door of women he brings around, you can’t shake this irresistible pull he has on you. You shouldn’t feel this way, not only is Rafe a huge dick he’s also over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss. It started off small, stealing glances at him every time you visited your dad at work, dressing in your most revealing dresses and skirts to his work events, making off handed comments and brushing past him when there was clearly room to go around. It wasn’t until you caught him in a bathroom with some lanky blonde bent over the counter while noises that resembled a crow left her body that you finally lost it.

You decided to leave the company charity event early, making sure to pass Rafe’s car and leave your tiny pink thong on his side-view mirror. He wouldn’t know they were yours, but he would know that they didn’t belong to the girl he was currently balls deep inside of because you saw her coral thong pushed to the side. After that it was like you couldn’t stop. You started leaving your panties anywhere you’d think Rafe would find them. In his office on his desk or the chair, his car became a favorite, you even managed to loop one around his drink while he wasn’t looking at the country club once. After the first few pairs you started leaving dirty photos of yourself along with them. Not showing your face, of course. Just shots of your ass and tits, always matching the underwear you planned to leave. You thought about maybe just texting or even emailing them to him but your dad gave him both of those things “in case of emergency”. So you decided to do it old school and take photos on your Polaroid. It was sexier that way, anyway.

But you haven’t done anything like what you’re about to do. You’re upstairs with the sound of loud voices all drowned together barely making it through the thick, high floors beneath you. It didn’t take you long to find Rafe’s room. A double door at the end of the long hall with gold ornate knobs was very clearly the master. You also weren’t surprised he had a keypad lock on his door, especially throwing a party like this. Your dad and his coworkers are everyday businessmen to the sivlian eye but behind closed doors they’re into some pretty deep criminal shit. Luckily you already managed to break into his laptop. It was almost too easy, he navigates technology like a grandpa even though he’s only forty. You had a passing thought about teaching him a more efficient way to organize his work laptop but you quickly shut it down. You’re supposed to hate him. Even if you him to fuck you until you can hardly breathe. He had a whole entire document of passwords and key combinations and you may have written all of them down. So you easily slipped inside after entering the numbers on the keypad.

You spent some time looking around and it was about what you expected. Sleek, expensive furniture, no decorations, the white walls bare aside from a random picture of a boat near the window. It's so clean it almost seems like no one lives here but you assume that’s probably due to the cleaners. You go through his drawers, nothing of interest really, unless you count all the clothes you could potentially steal. His bathroom is just as clean as his room and you can’t help but smirk when you notice a full skin care routine sitting on his counter. So vain. But, you can’t deny a man who is invested in his hygiene is extremely sexy. You smell his expensive colognes, his body wash, even his fucking shampoo. You inhale every single one like it’s your drug of choice. Though, you’re sure they smell a million times better on his skin, mixed with his musk.

After spending some time snooping, your focus turns back to the real reason you came in here. You walk into his large walk-in closet and flick on the light. There’s a glass jewelry case in the middle, filled with designer watches, rings, chains, and sunglasses. You approach it and try to pull open the top drawer when you’re met with resistance, you notice another combination lock. But a lightbulb goes off in your head, remembering the key code marked “jewelry case” before pulling out your phone, finding the numbers and unlocking the drawer with a click. The first drawer is, as expected, more jewelry that matches the items in the display case above. The second drawer though, that’s a different story. When you slide it open instead of expensive designer, it’s filled with lace and silk.

Every single pair of your panties you’ve left for him are in this drawer, along with the Polaroids stacked neatly. Upon closer inspection you notice that they’re covered not just in your cum, but his too. It has your pussy nearly dripping, you were already wet from the minute you saw him earlier tonight but now you can feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs, causing them to stick together under your micro dress. You have to practically drag yourself away from the sight of your underwear under lock and key, almost like they’re treasure, covered in a mixture of Rafe's cum and your own.

You look around the rest of the space and the entire span of the closet is lined with his clothes hanging on wracks. One side is clearly business attire and the other is more casual. Though there isn’t a huge difference, you’ve never seen Rafe in jeans and a t-shirt. You can’t decide if the thought is more sexy or comical. It’s hard to imagine him being well, relaxed. You grab a black button up before exiting the closet, undoing the buttons as you go. A thousand dirty fantasies run through your mind as your eyes roam over the king sized bed. But there’s one you can make a reality right now. The whole reason you came in here. You grab one of his silk pillows and wrap his shirt around it before placing it in the middle of the bed. You turn around to grab your Polaroid out of your bag and then crawl onto the mattress, mounting the pillow. You don’t bother taking your fuzzy platform heels off either, he can sleep on the grime from the bottom of your shoes along with the juices from your pussy for all you care.

You start off slow, running your hands along your body, groping your tits through the faux leather of your dress, imagining that they’re Rafe’s much larger hands. It doesn’t take you long to get worked up, your juices starting to make the cloth underneath you slick. You're so wet that when you start to jerk your hips back and forth on the pillow that you practically glide. The lace of your thong gets pulled tighter, adding extra pressure to your puffy clit. Your dress rides up your hips, revealing your ass and the plush of your thighs as your hips start to speed up. Once you start to really get into it you pull your panties to the side and yank the zipper that goes all the way down the front of your dress down your chest so your tits can spill out. You switch up the movement of your hips every few moments, rotating between using the pillow for leverage and running your hands down your body.

You start to get so lost in the throes of pleasure you almost forget where you are entirely until your white sock covered shin smacks against your pink polaroid camera. You smirk to yourself in remembrance as you pluck it from the bed and turn it on. You hold it above yourself while you press your tits together and spread your legs far enough to show your mound on top of his shirt and snap a photo. You take more than one this time, using almost the entire roll taking pictures of your body from various angles. You shove your fingers in your mouth. Take photos of your tiny thong string nestled between your ass. You even take one with his shirt held up between your teeth. That ends up being the last photo because the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils and it has you inhaling deeply while your hips start to subconsciously grind down again.

Rafe practically felt like a madman as he tried for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes to get out of this conversation with your father and their business partner. Every single time he tried to slip away he was pulled back in somehow. But that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling to the tantalizing view on his phone screen every ten seconds. He felt like a cat who caught a mouse it’s been chasing for months. All without even trying. You lead yourself into a trap he didn’t even set and it couldn’t be more fucking perfect. The fact that you had no idea that his entire house was bugged with cameras that he could see directly in the palm of his hand made his cock twitch. Rafe checked his phone the minute he got the notification that someone was unlocking his bedroom door, ready to send security up there to grab a thief. But he was oh so pleasantly surprised when he saw it was you. You weren’t like any of the other girls he’s ever seen in all his time living on this island. Your platform shoes and dark make-up were utterly enticing to him and your bratty attitude made him want to bend you over his knee until you cried. He also knew you were a naughty girl, with a dirty little secret only he knew. Rafe’s obsession for you only grew by the day and now it was at an all time high.

He decided to let it play out for a bit. He watched as you surveyed his blank walls and rummaged through his drawers. Then you made your way into the bathroom and he watched as you greedily inhaled his colognes and body washes. You went into his closet and somehow unlocked his jewelry case. He’d have to figure out how you managed to learn his key codes later. His heartbeat sped up when you reached for the second drawer but the way you looked down at the trophies you had ever so graciously gifted him with elation only made his appetite for you nearly unbearable. What really sent him over the edge though was how you were currently strandling his pillow as you bucked your hips with his shirt held to your nose.

The entire scene had him losing his mind with lust and you just kept taking it further. He watched you pull your tits out, the way you took all those slutty pictures for him and he wished more than anything in the world he could turn his phone up to full volume so he could hear the pretty little moans leaving your lips. He could tell from the avid speed of your hips and the way your eyes are rolled back that you’re close to your end and he’ll be damned if he isn’t there to see it. He finally excuses himself under the guise of having to go to the bathroom and slips up the large staircase with ease.

You're so close. The pace of your hips is so quick that the entire bed shakes underneath you as delicious euphoria is seconds away. You have the corner of Rafe’s shirt grasped tightly in your fist as you hold it up to your nose. The cloth is pulled taunt against your clit just right, drool drips down your chin onto the black material as you take in Rafe’s scent. Heat washes over you and you moan with reckless abandon, too lost in your tidal wave of an orgasm to care if anyone can hear you.

“I knew you were a dirty girl, but this is even better than anything my mind ever could’a dreamed up…” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you practically scream and you clutch his shirt over your chest on instinct. Your entire body heats as you take in his large form leaning against the closed bedroom door. His arms are crossed and he has probably the most smug smirk you’ve ever seen in your life painted on his face as he looks over at you through hooded eyes.

“Rafe! I - aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?” You scoff and roll your eyes, clearly trying to change the subject when you’re the one who broke into his room.

“Well… you see…” Rafe stalks over to you like a predator that caught his prey and stops at the end of the bed. He places his large hands on the mattress so he can lean down only inches from your face, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes travel down your body before connecting with your own. “This little unassuming mouse wandered into my den without even considering that I have eyes on every inch of this house.”

“How - how long have you been watching?” You clutch onto the shirt tighter, hiding your boobs and bare pussy even though he’s already seen both on multiple occasions. Something about him knowing it was you was making you suddenly nervous.

“Oh, sweetheart, I get a notification when someone opens that door… I saw everything. What do we have here?” His eyes are blue fire as they land on the Polaroids and he picks one up with delight before picking up another and another until he’s seen every single one. He sets them aside in a neat stack before abruptly gripping onto the shirt covering you and ripping it down your body with a growl. You gasp in surprise and use your arms to cover your nipples while slamming your legs shut. “Oh, no, none of that. Don’t get all shy on me now, I’ve already seen it all.” Rafe grabs the pillow and pulls it from underneath you causing you to fall backwards on the bed onto your ass. “Would you look at that…” He looks down at the pillow with hungry fascination as a low groan rumbles through his chest. You watch as he runs the pad of his finger through the creamy wetness before bringing it to his mouth and holding eye contact with you as he sucks it between his lips. His eyes immediately roll back when your taste hits his tongue. “Fuckin’ delicious. But I’m always tastin’ you secondhand.. I can’t wait to taste that sweet pussy directly from the source.”

You’re utterly stunned for a moment. You look up at him with your jaw hanging open while you do your best to cover your most intimate parts when all you want to do is throw your legs open and fully submit to him. You always told yourself if he ever caught you that you would make him work for it. But with the way he’s looking at you now? You can already feel yourself slipping and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Who - who said I was going to let you taste me? And what do you mean secondhand?” You tried to say it in a biting tone but your voice squeaks and betrays your facade immediately.

“Oh, little mouse… this little back and forth we’ve been playing has been fun and all. But now you’ve wandered right into my bed and I’m done playing games.” Rafe abruptly grabs onto your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed until your feet are dangling off and you try to pull your knees together again but he grips onto them and pulls them back open. “Quit hiding from me.”

His hands grip tightly onto the meat of your thighs, the gold rings on his fingers pinching your skin in a way that has you holding back a moan. The look in Rafe’s eyes is nearly animalistic as he stares down at your puffy, wet pussy. Your little black thong pushed to the side, covered in creamy, white juices. His fingertips travel down your legs gripping hard enough to bruise with every inch. He brings his thumbs to the crevices of your thighs and presses his fingers hard on either side of your folds, pushing your pussy lips together. You can’t hold in the tiny mewl that leaves the back of your throat. He punches your slick cunt together roughly a few times before pulling you apart. Your pussy clicks for him from your wetness as he pulls you open.

“Been waiting for this moment, ya know?” Rafe runs his thumb along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing his thumbs to rub along the sides of your lips, teasing you. “I knew it was you. I had my suspicions from the beginning. Ever since you walked in on me in the bathroom…”

“How?” Your voice is a broken whisper, any thoughts of fighting back slipping further and further from your mind. Embarrassingly enough, you feel like you could come from just this.

“Well, I was almost positive after that cute little cherry thong…” Rafe grazes over your clit for just a moment before going back to teasing you. “Earlier that day you were wearing these sexy little jeans and when you bent over I got a view of that same thong. Then, to my surprise, the very same pair ended up in my office later that day.” He presses hard on your clit, giving it a few strokes and you think his teasing has finally come to an end but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. And he goes back to teasing your pussy tantalizingly. “But then, about a week later I saw you sneaking out of my office and I decided to let you get away with it.”

“You decided?” You push yourself up on your elbows and scoff with your eyebrow raised, your irritation with him returning. Rafe just smirks before shoving his thumb knuckle deep in your pussy and curving it against your walls. It makes your eyes roll back while you wriggle underneath him.

“Yes, princess, I decided.” His other thumb presses on your clit hard but doesn’t move. “Once I was positive it was you, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. Especially once you started leaving those little pictures for me. Who knew you were such a dirty slut.” He pulls his fingers from you before landing a harsh smack on your clit causing you to yelp.

“So you knew it was me and didn’t say anything? And then proceeded to keep them in a treasure box and jerk off all over them? Pervert.” Rafe slaps your pussy again, three times in succession.

“Stop being a fuckin’ brat. If I’m a pervert, what does that make you, huh?” He slaps your pussy even harder and then brings both of his hands down on your inner thighs with a loud smack. “Leaving me your panties, takin’ dirty photos for me, I saw you inhaling my cologne like it was a line of coke. And now I caught you in my bed, coming all over my pillow. You’re a nasty. Little. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a slap to your cunt and you can’t help but moan loudly for him.

“Yeah? Well you’re a nasty old man.” Your chest heaves but you still manage to paint a cheshire smirk on your face, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you use the last of your resolve against him.

“You know what? I’m sick of your bratty fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe grips onto the thin strings of your panties and pulls them down your legs before balling them up and shoving them in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag, but it’s not unwelcome. The act of dominance and the taste of yourself on your tongue has any and all attitude in you evaporating from your body. He grabs your chin and roughly shakes your head side to side. “That’s better. You gonna be a good girl and let me taste that perfect cunt now or do I need to beat the attitude out of you?”

You moan around the lace in your mouth and drop your knees to the sides, offering yourself to him. Rafe looks at you devilishly as he lays on his stomach on the mattress and throws your legs over his shoulders. He runs his nose along your inner thigh as he takes in your sweet scent before hovering over your pussy and inhaling deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ sweet, bet you taste even sweeter.” The flat Rafe’s runs through your folds up to your clit before circling it a few times. He nips it with his teeth and shoves his tongue as far as it can go inside of you causing you to cry out and arch your back off the mattress.

“Quit wiggling.” Rafe growls into your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His large hand splay on your hip, holding you down as he eats you like a man starved. He circles two fingers at your entrance before pressing them knuckle deep inside of you. He caresses your sweet spot while sucking your clit into his mouth and it has an explosion of pleasure washing over your body as your orgasm consumes you.

Rafe pulls off of you when you come down from your high and brings the fingers that were just inside you to his chin dripping with your juices. He smears it around before sucking his fingers clean, groaning like he just ate the best meal of his life. He leans forward and plucks the panties from your mouth before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is dominating and he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swirling it around and coating your taste buds with your own cum. He leans back to admire you and he feels like his cock is going to burst. Your hair is a mess, your dark lipstick is smudged and slick, and the zipper on that tight little dress is barely hanging on. Your tits are on full display as you lay like a perverted little angel with your legs spread beneath him.

“God damn. I’ve gotta fuck that pussy, baby.” Rafe pulls the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down before leaning up on his knees and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Take that shit off. Leave the socks and shoes though.”

He licks his lips as he continues to unbutton his shirt while his eyes practically swallow you whole. You quickly rid yourself of your dress and push yourself up onto your knees to watch him undress. You have to stop yourself from jumping him when he gets his shirt all the way off, his perfectly toned body towering over you. When he gets his pants down enough to get his cock out you can’t even hold in your gasp. He’s huge. So thick you aren’t sure you could wrap a single hand around him and so long that you aren’t sure if you could take him all down your throat.

“Fuck. I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” Your eyes are the sizes of saucers as you stare at his cock with your jaw slack. Those words make Rafe feel like he’s going to go insane and his hand flies to your hair, grasping onto it at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” His tongue slides over his teeth and he takes his shaft in his hand so he can rub his precum along your lips, adding to the mess. Rafe uses his grip on your head to manhandle you onto your back before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He smirks down at you while he pumps himself in his hand. “You want it?”

“Yes, fuck. I want it so bad.” You tilt your hips towards him searching for any kind of friction but his hand presses down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“Oh, come on, baby doll. You can do better than that. How bad do you want it?” He taps the head of his cock against your clit a few times before running it through your folds. You try to angle your hips to push him further inside of you and he just tuts at you like you did something naughty before pulling his cock away entirely. “Let me hear it, beg.”

“Please, daddy, I want it so bad.” Rafe breathes out heavily through his nostrils and grips onto your throat, leaning down so his face is inches from yours.

“Oh, little mouse.. you’re just full of surprises, huh? I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” Rafe chuckles darkly and leans back up onto his knees, positioning his cock at your entrance. He presses his head into you and he’s so thick you already feel so full by the time he’s only a few inches in.

“Oh, god. I don’t - I really don’t know if it’s all going to fit.” The air is nearly taken out of your lungs when he thrusts his hips forward and you’re sure he’s all the way inside of you now but he pulls almost all the way out before slamming his cock into you to the hilt with his hips flush against yours. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

“I thought you wanted it so bad, now you’re whining that it won’t fit? I’m gonna fuckin’ make it fit and you’re gonna take it like the dirty little slut you are.” Rafe rams his hips into yours at a brutal pace as he grips onto your throat again and squeezes tightly. His free hand comes to rub circles on your clit and it makes your vision blur. “Yeah fuckin, take it. You gonna come for me? I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yes, fuck daddy, please make me cum.” Your voice is a broken sob as your makeup smears messily down your face. “I’m so fucking full.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. Give me your cum.” That’s all it takes to have an all consuming orgasm washing over you. Your walls convulse around Rafe’s thick length and he picks up his thrusts, chasing his own high. He uses his grip on your throat to press you down into the mattress and your legs fall down onto his hips. You lace them around him and this new angle has him hitting so deep you swear you’re going to feel him for days. The hand not on your throat hooks onto your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open so he can spit on your tongue. You swallow without asking and then suck his fingers into your mouth greedily.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, ya know that? Letting your dad’s boss fuck you till you cry while he’s right down stairs. Leaving me your little fuckin’ panties. This perfect god damn pussy.” Rafe is babbling like a man possessed as he pumps into you hard and deep until his cock starts to twitch inside you. He growls as he fills you with ropes of his cum. When he pulls out you feel nearly hollow and then he shoves his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, collecting some of his cum on his fingers. You pull his hand back to your mouth and lick his fingers, moaning at your combined tastes.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you, little mouse.” Rafe stares down at you with a hunger that’s laced with obsession and you don’t even care because you’re just as obsessed as he is. “You’re mine now.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @xoxohoneymoongirl @tacymbcm @bunnies-p1tst0p @starkeysprincess

Dividers by @anitalenia

[itsonlydana]

Sleeping In Their Clothes | hobbit / lotr

how they would react to finding you asleep in their clothes

characters: Thranduil, Bard, Aragorn, Legolas x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of Boromir's death (Aragorn), age gap (Bard), romantic shipping

word count: 5,7k

an: trying something new! Have been struggling to write after some personal issues so please excuse the slow updates on this blog

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil:

Thranduil’s mood darkens the halls, clouds the air around him bitter and ashen. The elves he passes lower their heads at his strides, at his cloak billowing behind him as thunder rolls over the skies. No one dares to speak, no one dares to whisper or raise their voice at any volume below the hushed glances they share after he disappears behind a corner. The foul stench of anger and frustration traces his path, starting right in front of the doors he slammed after another day of negotiations and down the direct route to his chambers. 

He grits his teeth at the servants hurrying toward him and bellows a low: “Get out!” as hands reach forward and there’s enough fury in his eyes for the servants to scatter away like a heap of leaves blown apart by a particularly harsh wind. 

Even the thought of skin touching him when he is burning up… he shudders. 

There’s only one who he wants close to him right now.

He reaches out for you long before he’s in the bedroom, feeling for your fëa entangled with his in an inseparable union and he makes sure to be gentle, brushing you with his love rather than the anger bubbling hot inside him. 

The calling stays unanswered – a deep wave of security and comfort labs over him but by the tenderness of it rather than your usual playfulness, and by the time Thranduil sees the seethrough white curtains around the bed, he knows exactly what state you will be in.

And never one to disappoint him, your unconscious yet dreamy smile is all Thranduil needs to forget about the anger he yielded like a sharp sword; used to cut down any and all offers from the dwarfs and their stubborn and unreasonable trading offers. 

Instead of ripping apart conversations and insults, Thranduil’s hands are gentle as he parts the curtains and kneels on the feathery mattress with your shapes ingrained in it. All those nights spent close together and his warrior-heart will never fail to skip a beat at the sight of you wrapped in his robes. It’s one of the older, worn ones as well. Fabric that thins out at the cuffs – not that this would be a problem; you’re not close to reaching them –, a few cuts and holes in places twigs and branches bore themselves into the crimson, featherlight velvet. 

Thranduil sees your skin flashing through some of them. The one above your knee, drawn up, another one below your biceps, relaxed because you know nothing can hurt you here, and some more all over your chest, hinting that you are not wearing much else. 

He knows you well enough that you won’t be bitter if woken up and so he leans in closer from behind. One hand finds your head, cradling it into his large palm until you, still in dreams comfortable embrace, roll to the side and bury your face inside it, nose pressed right against his steady pulse while his fingers gently trace the curve of your ear. 

No time spent together will ever sicken him of this, your complete surrender into his care, the doubtless trust that wherever you laid down to rest, he would sit by and be there. The oath of protection is one Thranduil promised his folk the day he was crowned their King as well, not once has he doubted he would abandon it all for the vow he gave you the night you offered your heart and he gifted you his; you above all.

His thumb just brushes over your temple and the fine hairs that come loose of your braid when your lashes flutter, leaving him to readily dive into the pools filled with love and sleep.

While he maneuvers with cunning, a master of actions and power, playing a game of chess on a board he alone commands, you stand unrivaled with the art of words. Your tongue, sharp and precise, weaves wit and wisdom into every phrase. Whenever he acts rationally and leads by his heart, you would listen first, hearing out heart as well as brain, and come to a conclusion serving everyone. 

Your voice has the power to sway wars and balance the scales of battle. When you speak, your tone, thick with the remnants of sleep yet razor-sharp in purpose, reduces him to nothing more than a mere soldier—helpless in the face of your command, whether in war or love:

“I dreamt we were air.”

“Invisible?” Thranduil's voice is laced with a touch of curiosity as he revels in the warmth of your laughter, the puff of hot breath meeting his wrist like a secret kiss. Your presence is a balm, a reminder of everything that is tender and true.

“You, my love, know that this is not true.”

“It is not?” 

“No,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tender skin, lingering with your lips over the pulse and the veins rushing blood to the heart, your heart, inside his chest. A puppeteer of words. Even the silent ones. 

“I agree,” Thranduil muses, enticed by this playful exchange, “that the wind is what we notice, a fleeting glimpse of nature’s breath. But air – air is the unseen force that dances around us, invisible yet ever-present, until our souls merge with the very fabric of the universe.” He glides his other hand to your legs, slipping underneath his warmed robe. 

You squeak as he anchors his arm around your thigh and tugs you over to face him in a swift movement. Faced to lie underneath his larger figure, you shoot him a crooked grin. 

“You can see the air just as much as you can see the wind it turns into,” you start and get comfortable in his lap. Thranduil immediately jumps the chance to idly with the robe that’s draped all over your body. 

“In the particles that dance in the sunlight,” you continue, your voice soft and thoughtful, “in the flags that hiss and flutter. In the vapor rising from steaming ponds, and in the mist that clings to the earth in the morning fog.” He watches, entranced, as your palm flattens against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I see it here,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and he follows your gaze as you watch your hand rise with each of his inhales and fall with each exhale.

Your fingertips, soft and gentle, curl slightly into the fabric of his current robe – soon, undoubtedly, those same fingers will find comfort in the folds of this robe, curling into it as you slip into sleep.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, he will see the air too, in the way your breath mingles with his, in the way your presence fills every space around him, making the invisible tangible, making the unseen profoundly felt.

The air catches in his throat and he sees your eyes twinkle.

Then, not looking away from you, he lies down as well. He has no need for the blanket crumpled underneath you both, the sight of you facing him, drawing your knees back to your chest and skin flashing whenever the fabric of his robes part to allow him these glimpses, is warmth enough. He loves you, even if you have a habit of taking what is his. A spray of his scents to drive him crazy, a feather that you take between your teeth as you write, or his robes but all of those mean nothing and all since you have him as well, fully and completely. 

So he will request ten new robes, in colors that you like, and await the day he gets to your bedroom and finds you sleeping in them.

“So,” Thranduil repeats slowly. His hand drifts to your face, trailing lines over the smile you give him. “You dreamt we were air?”

“Yes,” the corner of your lips quirk into a quick smirk, one that fades quickly yet leaves traces all over, “and we were invisible –”

“Oh, you little minx!”

“Ahhh – Thran, stop, oh I beg you, stop tickling me!”

Bard:

The brittle stairs heave and sigh, creak and groan under Bard’s boots, once honeyed planks now gray from the flow time, heavy rain and the dampness of the lake coloring the edges mossy green, and with the days passing by, the steps taken as he rushes down to work or tiredly drags himself up, one hand curved around the splintered railing, he wonders how many steps these stairs will endure before his house comes crashing down into the murky lake. 

This winter seems to be harsher than the ones before, with the wind howling loud at night and rattling on the walls that he wakes to frames shattered on the ground and the curtains ruffled even if the windows are closed. This winter, he swears the ice is thicker, a nearly impenetrable obstacle for his boat and his clothes are never warm enough but then, in the end, he knows the next winter will be worse and he doesn’t dare to complain out loud, doesn’t think it’s right to curse for hands shaking and feet aching and his nose running. 

As exhausted as he is, and Bard is, so exhausted, so tired, so drained, he’s mindful enough to skip the last plank of the stairs. He lifts his feet higher, ignores how the muscles in his thighs complain, and steps over the plank that always sounds like it’s waiting to break through, always moans the loudest when he needs to be quiet as if his state isn’t mockery enough. 

Bard slips through the door, opening it barely to keep the cold outside, and when he turns around, finally, warmth takes over. 

It starts in his hands, in the tips of his reddened fingers, exposed to nature's icy companions the moment he sneaks out to work before the sun rises. It creeps higher, up his arms and to his shoulders strong enough to carry his family more than he can hold himself, parting ways to fill his cheeks in the softest of glow, a simmering fire that colors his skin an ember-red and travels down through his swooping stomach, lightening a hunger he knows food will not sate, and when the heat reaches his feet, Bard releases a small sigh. 

There, in the low and flickering light of a candle burned down to a hardened wax puddle, his eyes immediately find you resting underneath the only window whose curtains are drawn open. Most of you is covered by a dark blanket, hiding your face but that doesn’t matter to Bard; he has every inch, every freckle, every crinkle of laughter and wrinkle of pain memorized. 

Not that he should; you’re kind enough to look after his children while he works, accepting no money and hearing no ‘buts’, and here Bard stands, a decade older, widowed and tired, and knows exactly that your mouth will be slightly opened and that your lashes will fan over the rosy apples of your cheeks and that your shoulders will ache because you rather sleep on the bench under the window than take away Bard’s pillow. 

Stubborn girl.

Bard crosses the cluttered floor, avoiding Tilda's drawings hung up to dry on the wooden ceiling beams and Sigrid's books and tomorrow, he will tut over Bain’s clothes left hanging on chairs and stools, but tonight he walks past them and their sight burns in his chest. 

As Bard gets closer to you, he nearly trips. 

That’s not a blanket that you hide your face in, that keeps away the winds creeping through the gaps in the wood behind you, that you use as a shield against the cold yet the greatest thing it fights are the walls Bard pulls up around his heart.

That’s his coat. 

The dark blue coat he left to dry over the oven after last night's rain. 

You must’ve taken it and that dismantles Bard into millions of pieces, chips away on his walls like nature takes layer after layer away from the stairs outside. 

While he can’t know when exactly the latter will be too much to take on any more pressure, he feels the heavy weight of his coat around your sleeping body, and just like the stairs, his personal defenses creak and groan, heave and sigh and crumble down around him in a thumping echo in his ears, that Bard fears his choked breath will wake you up.

He is helpless. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you directly, as much as he yearns to brush away the strands of hair fluttering in your even breaths. Bard’s hands are rough from his work and your soft skin deserves better than the callouses and scars he bears, so Bard gently lays his hand on your shoulder, covered by his coat – his coat, Lord how ever will he survive knowing the fabric kissed your body?

“Darlin’,” he whispers in a voice that’s horse and gravely, though it softens as he speaks your name, daring to follow it up fast enough there’s no room for a pause between the term of affection to be separated from your name.

You stir in your sleep, shift to reveal your face some more and the crease between your eyebrows and the effort it takes Bard to hold back from smoothing it out with his thump could have moved mountains. Bard ignores to notice how your nose is buried deep into the coat and that no washing could’ve ever cleaned the heavy fabric of his smell; he swallows hard. 

A low sigh blows away the hair and Bard’s eyes fall on the plushness of your lips. You wake up slowly, closing your mouth and you pull the coat tighter around you, holding onto it, while Bard lets go of his restraints.

“Darlin’,” he repeats, and this time you hear him enough to evoke a tired smile.

When you open your eyes and turn towards Bard, the candle flickers in the reflection of them. “You’re back,” you mumble into his coat, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I know, Bard wants to say, I skip the last stair so the noise does not take away my chance to wake you up.

Instead, he shakes his head: “You shouldn’ be sleeping on this bench, it’s too hard and uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, the coat still far too large around your frame and you don’t make any attempt to part from it, “This bench is sufficient enough for a short nap, and I–,” a yawn interrupts and you grin sheepishly, “What I wanted to say is that I wasn’t that tired anyway.”

“Sure,” Bard's laughter is quiet but fills the entirety of his lungs and his own lips mirror yours in a grin. 

The look you share in the darkness makes him feel like he’s young again, filled with infinite love for a limited body, bursting through his cells and flooding every vein, rushing blood that burns hot for you up to his battered heart. Bard can see your eyes wandering over his face and he wonders if you can tell that this smile is only for you and that he fights a lost battle in telling himself he can stop what’s tugging you closer. 

He leans in further and lets his hand fall from your shoulders to run his fingertips over his coat. His knees brush against yours, and Bard tells himself it's only the late hour that makes him tender, that his weary, overburdened mind is surrendering to the forbidden's allure in the quiet moments when no one else is watching. Yet, deep down, he knows this is merely the rationalization of a lost man, drawn to the woman who cares for his children who are not her own in some ways and are in others, who sleeps wrapped in his coat, and who gazes at him as though he could reach up and give her the stars he can see through the hole in his roof. 

“C’mon,” Bard nods his head toward the back of the house, an offer he speaks out every night, “I won’t let you go home all alone this late.” 

All other nights you shrugged his offer off, had him walk you home over the planks and gurgling water until you kissed his cheek goodnight and Bard snuck back to his home, falling into bed to fall asleep to an aching heart. He prepares for it now, the apologetic smile that usually takes over your face, the tilt of your head to hide your eyes, all of it is memorized to his memory and even though they’re always quiet he hears your “I can’t, I must go home,” like the drums of war that shoot the heart that beats for you.

He awaits it. He will ask again and again, no matter how desperate it makes him seem and how the hurt will take over and push him through the day only for the night to repeat itself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Bard freezes.

You blink up at him, eyes full of sleep and dreams that shouldn’t have the image of an old man and his children in them, but you’re never one to listen to what’s expected from you. 

There’s no ache in his bones as he gathers you up in his arms, your head resting against his beating heart.

There’s no groan in his muscles as he carries you through his house and over the threshold to the little corner where he lays you on his bed, blue coat pooling over you as you smile and pat the small free space next to you. 

He doesn’t feel the pain of work, the exhaustion of days of darkness and the fear of surviving the night to get through the week.

Bard kicks off his shoes, discards his dirt-stained pants, and shrugs off the shirt dampened by water, ice, and snow. He vows that tonight, you won’t feel the cold. As he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under the weight of his trembling legs. You lift the blankets without hesitation, inviting him closer, and he accepts, silently aching for the warmth you offer. Your body radiates heat as you nestle in beside him, your smooth skin brushing against his legs. Almost timidly, you curl into him, your smaller form pressing against his chest and stomach. His arms wrap around you and when he allows himself to breathe a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder, he catches his musky scent left behind by his coat. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the crown of your head, feeling the fast beat of your heart under his hand, “my love.”

Aragorn:

Aragorn has been familiar with the pain of war ever since his father was murdered by orks when he was two. He knows how it flits through the body like lightning through water, cracking into all the ends of a being to render them helpless, burning through whatever energy and fight is left, and killing easily and efficiently. 

And yes, he has felt the pain of war on himself before, in the years he spent fighting as Thorongil under the hands of Lords and Kings in the West. Aragorn saw good men fall, saw better men than him die to the growing threat of Sauron and there has been a cloud of thunderstorm in his heart from there on.

Nothing hurts as much as the pain that took over your lovely eyes the moment you saw Boromir lying on the ground in colorful dried crunching leaves, pierced by arrows that had been aimed at you too, though that didn’t matter – to you – then. The scream that came next pierced through Aragorn blindingly white and he could do nothing but try to grab you, as you fell to the ground, scrambling away from his strong arms to get closer to Boromir, your weak efforts nothing but agony for him. You had cried bitterly, hitting Aragorn with curled-up fists and he took every punch, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

It only got worse when you realized the Hobbits were gone too. 

Aragorn saw the flame of hope flickering inside your eyes, a darkness of grief and pain behind them that he knew and yet he had no idea how to help you. 

He still doesn’t. 

The sun rose hours ago, red bleeding into gold, Boromir waving a last goodbye in the clouds, and the rustle of the wind brings shivers to the four of the Fellowship who are left. You’re setting up camp for the day; Legolas and Aragorn have not much need for speed but exhaustion can be a much crueler enemy combined with death and grief. Aragorn’s gaze wanders to you ever so often as you stand in front of the burning skies, staring at the pack that was once Boromirs and he casts his eyes downwards to where his heart aches. 

You suffer, obviously, and Aragorn, who fought for more years in his life than not, doesn’t know how he can battle your demons. 

If he could he would draw his sword and head into the fight, only return bloody-knuckled, the shadows wrapped between his tight fingers. He can’t though, and that may be what pains him more than the obvious heavy weight of witnessing Boromir’s last moments; his inability to take on your emotional baggage. It tears through his heart in aggressive jibes and stings like liquor on an open wound. 

This is why he’s the first volunteer when Legolas suggests splitting up. 

Aragorn nods at Gimli and they disappear into the forest, leaving Legolas who rests even less than Aragorn, and you, the walking example of why avoiding sleep after such traumatic events should be mandatory: your eyes drop, your hands shake and no amount of effort on your side is enough to hide the sacking of your shoulders. Every day that you walked further away from when you were nine – Mithrandir’s absence not accounted for – you distance yourself more, most likely to hide your suffering yet all that this behavior accomplishes is that Aragorn notices it all. 

How could he not?

He cares for you, most ardently, and these feelings brought forth a vulnerability, an open spot in his heart for love to slip in and make itself at home.

Aragorn leaves you in Legolas' care; the trust he places in the elf to protect you in your fragile state is grander than the one he has in himself. One soft whimper as you hide your face in your shoulder and stumble over feet that won’t listen and Aragorn might do something naive as pack his sack back up and hunt the orcs that took the Hobbits, the one coated in Boromir’s blood, on his own. 

It would be reckless, ignorant, a troubled journey without Legolas or Gimli or even you.

So Aragorn goes against his heart's urges and patrols – clearing the forest and trying not to think about your frail form, hugging yourself out of desperation and grief.

Gimli and he return hours later, under the warm rays of the sun – the gentle strings far too bright and calming for the last day's events, the wind a breeze swirling through the leaves crunching under his light feet and Legolas lifts a finger to his lips as soon as Aragorn makes eye contact.

He assures his steps are as silent as possible, avoiding the logs and twigs they would collect later for a fire to warm them, and walks past the elf, nodding his head and quietly thanking Legolas for keeping an eye on you. 

A hand lands on Aragorn’s shoulder, stopping him in his movement. 

“She’s asleep,” Legolas says quietly, leaning in closer, “We shall move forward when she awakes, rested.”

“No sooner,” Aragorn agrees and lets out a relieved breath that had been lodged deep inside his chest. He looks to the elf, then to the bundle of a small human shape underneath a tree. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Aragorn, we need your focus as much as we need hers.” The grip on his shoulder loosens, and the weight stays in Legolas’ eyes and Aragorn almost winces, would he not know his friend only means well. 

His voice is gravel, his words soft and exhausted: “I know.” He didn’t know his heart had been such an open show but then, Legolas knows him like no other, a companion that found him and a friend that he can always count on, a partner in battle and nowadays, Legolas seems to have taken on the role of fates worst messenger – reminding Aragorn that this, you, the differences, the looming war and the ones that never end… 

When Aragorn approaches you, the pain he carries with him dims, a candle dying out in refreshing winds. Bending his knees, he carefully sits down, resting his back against the tree's rough bark covering your gentle face in dancing shadows and flickering golden spots of sunlight that kiss your closed eyelids. Around your shoulders and over most of your body, Aragorn recognizes the cloak he’d asked Legolas to stow away when Gimli and him took off. Now that he sees you, finally asleep, he is glad the cloak found a better use than being shoved inside a bag where it would have never touched your skin. 

He reaches out, soft and slowly, making sure his movements will not wake you and pulls off his leather coat as well, placing it across the uncovered part of your boots and legs.

Aragorn is tired but he will keep watch, protecting you to sleep safely.

He is weak but only for you, so he will fight harder than ever before to ensure the Hobbits return to see the smile he loves so much on your face again.

There is a possibility this will all change faster than any of you could realize, these times are unpredictable and there is a taste of danger on his tongue and in the air. The journey of the Fellowship has barely begun and already the sun bleeds into the horizon in colors that mark the grounds of battlefields awaiting you.

Aragorn clenches his jaw and only unclenches it when he hears the smallest of sighs. Looking down at you, he dares to smooth away some strands of hair, leaving a streak of dirt on your sunkissed temple. 

In the grand scheme of things, there is of course the need for the bigger picture and the importance of all that connects to this journey, but in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of the forests and your breathing, Aragorn takes comfort in knowing he has this moment with you to remember all the small things count just as much. 

A cloak to sleep in.

The shadow of a tree.

Even the pain seems to have fallen into a slumber, resting to surely come back and hit him square in the chest like it has never left him but Aragorn has never felt this free as in the pain’s short-lived absence. 

And he can hear it in the silence and in the way you keep his cloak close to you.

War brings pain but you bring love.

Legolas:

Legolas may agree that abandoning his father's task of informing Lord Elrond of the disappearance of their captive to travel through the lands and destroy a ring in Mordor – whether the Fellowship will make it this far is still unknown – but then Aragorn brought you to the Council and suddenly Legolas finds himself months away from his home, listening to your laughter as you flip rocks over the lake you’re standing in front of. 

He can not remember the last time he saw someone be this amused by the ripple of water and the stones skipping across the otherwise calm reflection of the skies that cause the growing disturbance. Then again, Legolas never met anyone like you in general and every aspect of your personality that he gets to watch unfold like the meadows you ride across, the hills you climb up, the more eager he feels to find out what makes you laugh.

Stones, apparently. 

“No, not this one!” you chime in and take the stone he picked up out of his hand, your skin brushing his and sending ripples over his skin. 

“No?” he inquires and tilts his head in genuine confusion. “This one seems perfectly adequate for this, no different to the ones you chose.” 

You scoff, giddy giggling followed. “That’s outrageous! Calling this one adequate when it's clearly in no shape to even compare to these –” you lift your hand to his face and present the collection of rocks that you seem to keep in the pockets of your vest, a grin blooming across your face, “Look! They’re thinner, perfect to hop.. hopefully, four times?”

Legolas smiles, one that’s more tugged into his cheeks and corners of his eyes to really be called one. “I will leave you to find what you think–”

“I don’t think,” you interrupt him and roll your eyes, already turning your back to him again and bending your knee slightly. You turn your head over your shoulder and the sun reflects beautifully in your cheeky gaze, “I know. I feel. Look!” Then you twist your arm, pulling it into your chest at an angle before flicking the stone across the lake.

Five times.

You cackle loudly. 

And Legolas picks up the stone you thought not to be perfect and slides it into his pockets, ignoring how his heart skips five times.

The day flies by like the stones dance over water, fast, too fast for Legolas' liking yet by the time the sun burns low on the horizon, he is glad for the calmness that settles over the little camp they’d set up earlier. The others are scattered around the fire crackling behind Legolas, the warmth creeping into his bones and settling high in his cheeks, as he turns his head slightly and catches you staring out onto the water; the red fire and golden sunset basking you in a glow that pulls him into you like busy bees to the sweetest of flowers.

He can’t help but stare, even if it’s everything but appropriate. Your face is lit up, not only by the embers fluttering to you and the last of the sun's rays caressing the fullness of your cheeks but ever since you decided to tag along on this journey, nature bathes you in an aphrodisiac of wind-swept hair that Legolas wants to braid, rosy fingertips that he wants to hold and kiss each one of them. Whenever he looks at you – he could not tell how much, time is a rush of emotions, a whirlwind of hair and laughter, hands playfully slapping him and he counts the days by how often you blink up tiredly after waking up rather than the sun sets and rises – he is astounded of the beauty someone could possess and carry it out freely like it sits in your heart and not in your face. 

The sun sets and your eyes are full of wonder and molten gold, an open letter of your adoration for the nature that equally loves you back. 

Behind him, Legolas hears Merry and Pippin sing, hears the low chuckles of Aragorn, and lips that curve around a pipe, teeth clacking against shaped and glazed wood filled with smoke. He also hears your intake of breath as the wind swipes over you, gliding over the lapping water first, over the croaking frogs and wreathes around your naked arms. He hears the sound of your hand smoothing over the fine hairs that stand up on your prickled skin. 

He hears himself talk, before he thinks: “Here, this cloak will keep some of the cold away.”

Your eyes widen.

His heart skips five times on each breath taken in the moment of silence.

Legolas is sure that you would take the offer one way, but then you nod, lower lip pulled between your teeth as if that could stop the shy smile from tugging up the corners of your mouth, and you scoot closer, lifting yourself up by your hands and leaning in, until your shoulders brush his side.

He almost freezes, not because of the cold – this he can not feel, for multiple reasons, and mostly the advantages of being an elf though the warmth radiating from your body, suddenly so close to yours and the blush that he must blame on the fire – but because the way you slid into his side as he holds up one side of the green cloak leaves only the option to drape the fabric over your shoulder and awkwardly pull his arm away or–

There must be some of his father's braveness in Legolas for he lowers his arm around you, shaking ever so slightly. 

You sigh, contentedly, and draw your legs up to your chest. “Much better at this than skipping stones,” you mumble and a tired yawn accompanies your huff of laughter. 

Despite the teasing tone, Legolas can’t stop his smile. “Is this.. perfectly adequate?”

“No,” your head drops and maybe you don’t notice but you rest it on the arm, oblivious to the halt this causes to every single thought Legolas has ever had. “This,” you whisper and he can hear the flutter of your lashes trying to stay open, “is just perfect.”

All Legolas can do is hum in agreement, and even this sounds as shaky as his words would have been had he any of them readily and not swallowed up by the swarm of butterflies swooping through his stomach.

The sun disappears behind the line of trees on the other side of the lake, throwing one last wink of gold over you both before the silver light of the moon laps over you like the waves onto the shore. By the time your hair twinkles like the stars you seem to have lost the fight of keeping your head up; it rests against Legolas, just like most of your upper body that followed one last yawn. He sits still, not daring to move much now that you’re this close to him, your nose against his chest, the bones of your knees resting against his thigh, and all of you enveloped in his cloak.

The fabric rustles slightly as his arm slips from your shoulders to your middle, tugging you closer to keep the heat encased in this cloak and moment you’re sharing.

Legolas's other hand glides into his pockets, finding the stone hidden inside. His hand wraps around it, pressing the smooth surface against his palm.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

[aurorawritestoescape]

GOOD GIRL || Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you get caught in the rain on your way to Professor Miller’s house and your lesson gets derailed.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, big age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s), insecure reader, soft!Joel, praise, f!oral, unprotected piv, belly bulge, use of a morning after pill, slight Professor kink, power imbalance. Joel can pick up reader, reader has hair. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no physical description.

Word count: 7,9k

A/n: this is for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge. Big thank you to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing. Hope you all will enjoy it💖

MASTERLIST

You are rushing along an empty suburban street caught in a warm summer rain. Soaked strands of hair are sticking to your face and you brush them off, feeling your clothes getting wet too. Drops of water are trickling down your naked thighs as your skirt rides up and your shoes squelch with every hurried step.

The rain isn’t too heavy and you might have enjoyed it some other time but not now, not when you’re running late for your lesson at Professor Miller’s house. You could have waited it out under a tree but by the look of it, the pouring won’t stop soon.

You didn’t want to make Professor Miller wait. He is already doing you a huge favor, tutoring you a few hours a week in preparation for another year at college.

You decided to switch majors and, being a good friend of your mother, Professor Miller agreed to help you so you could catch up on what you had missed and get more confident in the new field.

Frankly you wouldn’t be late if you hadn’t been running circles in your room, trying to decide what to wear. Of course, you had a crush on Professor Miller. He was handsome, intelligent, nice and much older than you. But you’d never act on it because you couldn’t even imagine him looking at you like that. So you weren’t choosing anything to attract him that day. All you wanted was to look nice. You always wore formal clothing out of respect for him. One time you put on a band tee and a pair of ripped jeans for your lesson and felt terribly out of place next to the perfect Professor Miller. After that you swore to yourself to look presentable at his lessons.

You’re looking very far from presentable when Professor Miller opens the door to you now. Yet there’s not a trace of displeasure in his warm gaze.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re soaked!” he exclaims, eyes widened behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“Forgot my umbrella, so sorry,” you mumble, stepping inside. You take off your wet shoes and put on the slippers you always wear in his house. Seeing that you’re dripping water on the floor, you silently curse.

As a striking contrast to you Professor Miller looks impeccable. Beautiful dark curls are combed back, a black sweater over a white dress shirt and black slacks make him look like he’s on a red carpet rather than in a suburban house on a Saturday.

He rushes away, mumbling something about towels, and you peek into the hall mirror to check the damage.

What you see makes you want to jump out of the window - your mascara is running, the hair’s wet and disheveled but what makes your heart drop to your stomach is your white blouse, soaked, stuck to your torso and completely see-through. Your chest is fully exposed except for your white lacy bra which isn’t much help either as you can definitely see your nipples.

Your hands dart to cover yourself but you don’t want to attract more attention to it, so you try to cross your arms over your breasts as casually as possible.

“Here.” You jerk, hearing Professor Miller’s beautiful voice and take a towel from him with a quiet ‘thank you.’

“Can I use the bathroom?” You ask, hugging the towel close to your chest.

“Of course, take your time. Join me in the office when you’re ready.”

You love Professor Miller’s guest bathroom. All of his house actually. It’s always neat and feels warm and cozy. Every piece of furniture seems thought through, the colors are rich but calming and you often find yourself wishing to stay here longer.

You clean your face up and dry yourself as well as you can. Your hair is still damp, but the skirt is not that wet. On the other hand your blouse still makes you wanna cry. At some point you contemplate asking Professor Miller for a spare shirt but this seems very inappropriate.

So you take a deep breath and decide that you can cover your almost exposed breasts with a book or something else.

You walk to the office and hastily join Professor Miller at his desk. A cup of hot tea is waiting for you next to a stack of books.

“Take a seat, sweetheart,” he says, patting the chair next to him and you plop down awkwardly, trying to hide your indecency. “Drink this. It’ll help you to get warm.” His gaze slides over you fast, not sticking to anything in particular, and you ease up a little.

He starts the lesson by checking your homework and explains your mistakes. You nod but hardly listen to him. So close to Professor Miller you feel disappointed in yourself, looking like an idiot who forgets to check the weather before leaving the house.

A light breeze hits your back and you shiver.

“Oh, I’ll close the window.” Professor Miller rushes to stand up, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. As if electrified by the feeling of his firm muscles under your touch, you dart your hand back, as your cheeks burn and you say,

“It’s ok. I love the sound of rain.”

“But you must be cold? Here, take my cardigan.” You object but he doesn’t listen, grabbing it off his chair and putting it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, wrapping yourself in it as his scent envelops you. He smells of vanilla and cardamom and you can’t help but take a deep breath of him. He smiles, but you don’t notice it.

A couple of times during the lesson Professor Miller seems to lose his train of thought and you blame your look for it. He must be thinking that you look like a stray wet dog and your mood gets worse.

When he stands up to get a book from his home library you use the pause to apologize,

“I’m sorry again for looking like this. I should have waited the rain out but I was running late.”

He turns to you, standing at the wall full of books, and shakes his head, a warm smile on his handsome face,

“What are you talking about? You look great.”

“Ehm…I doubt it. I bet I’ve left a puddle in your hall like a wet dog.”

He chuckles, then grabs the necessary book and returns to the desk. He sits down and turns slightly towards you. His knee touches your naked thigh and you press your legs together, feeling the tingling between them. With a new wave of embarrassment overtaking you, you close the cardigan over your chest. He doesn’t look down but instead searches for your eyes.

“You look amazing, sweetheart, you always do. And I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s just rain.”

The sun peeks through the clouds for a second, and when its golden rays fill the room, you notice how beautifully Professor Miller’s eyes sparkle behind the glasses when the light shines on them. It takes your breath away and you lower your gaze with a smile. His praise makes you feel warm and fuzzy and your heart sings at the sincerity in his voice.

“Thank you.” Your quiet words are barely audible because of the sound of the rain outside.

Professor Miller takes a deep sigh. “Sometimes when I look at you…I wish I was younger.”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you look up at him and stumble, “W- what… why? Really? Why?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, my back wouldn’t give me so much grief.”

You’re nodding with a fake smile, disappointed by his answer. He’d never look at you this way, in a different way. He’s perfect and you’re …well, you. He interrupts your self-deprecation saying softly, “Sweetheart, you worry too much. You, young people, don't understand how lucky you are. You have the whole life ahead of you, you’re free of regrets, sorrows. And the youth passes so quickly.”

You’re staring at him now, lips half parted, and then suddenly blurt out, “I am afraid. Almost all the time.”

“Of what? Why?” He asks, looking concerned.

“I don’t know. Of… everything.”

You turn slightly to him on the chair but quickly avert your gaze and stare back at the open window. The thrumming of the rain outside makes it easier to talk, as if it is accompanying your words.

“I’m afraid of my future. How wonderful it can be or how unhappy I might become. I study hard thinking …wishing the result will give me happiness but what if it doesn’t. I worry about my future career, but I’m not even sure I want it. I.. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You feel wetness coating your eyes and glance at him. He’s looking at you with intent, his brows slightly furrowed in thought.

You sniff, turning back to the desk, and stare at your fingers fumbling with the corner of Professor Miller’s cardigan.

“Sweetheart, no one knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

Your head whips up and you gawk at him with widened eyes. You’ve never heard him swear and never thought you ever would. He smiles, as if finding your reaction amusing.

“I might look all put together but I’m just like you. Scared, unsure… hell, we all are. No matter the age, I doubt it ever goes away,” he says placing his heavy hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “But you can try to focus on the present, enjoy the moment, enjoy yourself.”

The sadness in your eyes makes him chuckle bitterly, “My intent was to help but it seems like I’ve done the opposite.”

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate you telling me this but I doubt I can do that.“

He watches you for a few moments and suddenly his face lights up and a charming lopsided smile twists his lips. You almost giggle at how mischievous and joyful he looks.

“I know what we should do.” He gets up and offers you his hand.

You look up at him confused but so much joy is radiating from him, you can’t say ‘no’. You take his hand and your whole body vibrates with skin on skin contact. You’re overwhelmed by his and your confession, by the unexpected turn your lesson took, and your heart is fluttering in your chest.

You follow him to the living room, your hand in his, and come up to the French windows which lead to the back yard. He lets go of your hand and you fix his cardigan that’s slipping off your shoulders.

Professor Miller opens the windows and a flow of humid slightly cold air rushes into the room and you wrap the cardigan tighter around your torso. The rain got heavier and you see little puddles on the patio.

He turns to you and says, louder than usual, so you could hear through the drumming of the shower.

“You know what I want to do now? What will make me happier?”

He starts walking backwards out to the wet patio and you open your mouth and giggle,

“Oh my god, Professor! What are you doing?”

He shoots you a wink and steps under the heavy rain. Then he tilts his head up, closing his eyes and exposing his face to the drops, falling from the sky.

“Please, come back inside!” You walk up to him, still standing under the cover of the roof. You place your hand on his shoulder and grab him lightly. “Come back inside, you’ll get cold. I’m not sad anymore, I promise.”

Just a few moments under the downpour are enough to drench him and when he looks at you, his glasses are all wet, curls are stuck to his forehead, his sweater is soaked.

“Do you like walking in the rain, sweetheart?”

“Well, sometimes yeah, I guess, but…”

“Great!”

With that, he grabs your hand on his shoulder and pulls you out onto the wet grass. You gasp, feeling the rain drops on your face and body again, your clothes and slippers getting wet slowly but surely. You try to get back inside but he quickly closes the windows and stands in front of you, not letting you through.

“Come on, sweetheart, enjoy this summer rain with me.”

“I will but maybe inside the house?” you plead, trying to cover your head with your hands.

“And where's the fun in that? C’mon,” he returns your pleading gaze with his own, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Let’s enjoy the moment. Do what you want. Don’t worry about the future. Live now.”

His hands leave your shoulders and he steps up closer, making you walk further from the cover of his house. Watching him prowl towards you like that, with a charming smile, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, sends a surge of arousal through your core and you feel yourself getting wet not only from the rain. You stop and he does too, an arm length from you.

You two are standing in the middle of the backyard, smiling at each other, while the heavy rain is soaking your clothes, drawing wet paths down your faces.

You follow his lead from a few moments ago, looking up and closing your eyes. You feel the drops caressing your skin, kissing your eyelids, nose, lips and then sliding down your neck. For a moment you let go of your fears and hopes that weigh on you rather than motivate you and just feel, taking a deep breath.

When you open your eyes a few moments later, there’s something different about the way Professor Miller is looking at you. His cheer is gone and he’s serious again but not in his usual ‘I’m a professor’ way. His gaze is focused on you, dark eyes tracing your features with quiet hunger.

“What would you like to do right now?” He asks you, tilting his head to the side. The answer comes to you like lightning and you act on it immediately.

You take a step, reach up and kiss him. It’s just a peck but you stay there for a few seconds pressing your wet lips to his.

He breathes in sharply against your mouth and the realization of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train. You part from him and step back, your eyes filled with terror.

You’re staring at each other for a few long moments, only the sound of rain and your pounding heartbeat breaking the silence. You open your mouth to dump all possible apologies on your tutor but you have no time to do it because in the next moment Professor Miller kisses you.

One hand on your neck, the other on your arm he’s kissing you, keeping you close, but not grabbing you. You can stop it any second. You don’t. You revel in the feeling of his lips gently caressing yours. They taste like rain. His thumb is sliding along your jaw and your pussy aches with need. You’re cold from the rain but burning up inside for him at the same time. A shiver runs through your body and his lips leave yours.

“Let’s go back inside. You are freezing,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You curse your body for interrupting the most beautiful moment of your life but follow him when he takes your hand in his and leads you back into the house.

You’re dripping on his carpet in the living room until Professor Miller brings towels and you dry yourselves. He takes off his sweater and you swallow loudly when he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt exposing his big forearms. His tousled wet curls take your breath away. One curl falls on his forehead and your heart hurts from how handsome he looks. He places his glasses on the coffee table and asks you,

“Would you like to change? I can give you my shirt. Or find something of Sarah.”

After discarding his soaked cardigan, you look down and see your sheer wet blouse sticking to your breasts but you don’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed any more. You shake your head, wanting him to see you, all of you. The realization makes you gush and your pussy tingles, making you press your thighs together.

“God, you’re shivering, you can get sick,” he fusses over you and he’s right, you’re trembling all over, but not only because of the rain-drenched clothes. Your whole world is upside down. You shoved your crush on Professor Miller into the furthest corner of your heart, being scared of it. You were always good at limiting and controlling yourself, at making yourself feel less, not acting on your desires.

Until today.

Shaking legs bring you to the sofa and you sit down. He takes a blanket from the side of it and wraps you in it, rubbing your arms and back over the material, trying to warm you up.

He’s so close to you. You stare at his wet face, lashes stuck together, lips shining with the rain or your saliva or both.

It feels like a dream that you don’t want to end. His hands leave you and you look at each other. His gaze slides down to your lips and your heart flutters. You wonder if you have enough courage to kiss him again.

Suddenly you hear a loud thunder and jump in your seat. You look around and it’s like you finally woke up. Your heart freezes at the thought, ‘You kissed Professor Miller! You kissed your fucking tutor! Your mom’s friend! Fuck!’

Your head whips back to him. “I’m so sorry,” you mumble, trying not to burst into tears, your throat getting squeezed with embarrassment. “I…I don’t know why I’ve done it. I must have lost my mind. I’m sorry. Thank you for taking pity on me, Professor.”

His hand darts to your shoulder but he swiftly puts it away.

“First of all, call me Joel, please …and what do you mean by pity? I didn’t take pity on you. I acted inappropriately but… I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”

You drop your head and murmur under your breath, “A complete mess?”

He sighs and takes your hand in his. His big warm palm engulfs it completely and you look up at him, not being able to contain yourself anymore, as tears well up in your eyes. His voice is warm and soft and so pleasant you wish he’d never stop talking.

“You’re a wonderful young woman. Intelligent, kind, capable of anything you’ll set your mind to. Your future is bright, I'm sure of it.”

You smile and tears roll down your cheeks.

“And you’re very beautiful. I hope someone tells you this.”

You sniff, eyes downcast, and shake your head, making your tears fall. Joel gently takes your chin between his fingers and tilts your head up so you would look at him. His face is blurry with all the wetness in your eyes. He cups your cheek and brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Well, then let me do it. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

Your heart stops. At least you think so because what you’re hearing can not be real. You died and went to heaven otherwise it’s unbelievable that Professor Miller… Joel is telling you this.

You’re gawking at him and he chuckles before taking his hand away.

“I love that I can see all your emotions on your face.”

You hastily close your mouth and try to collect yourself while a whirlwind of feelings swirls in your stomach.

“And I don’t regret kissing you.”

You search his face for a sign of a joke, but find none. He looks and sounds serious and you feel yourself lean closer to him.

“Me neither, Joel,” you whisper, his name sweet on your tongue, and lean forward a little. It takes him a second to meet you halfway and kiss you. He takes the lead and moves his lips slowly and gently against yours but you feel that he’s holding himself down by the way he breathes, the way his lips move faster and with more vigor until he stops himself. You feel hot wrapped in the warm blanket so still glued to him you unwrap yourself and it pools at your feet.

“You’ll get cold,” he mumbles against your lips and you shake your head no, still kissing him. You don’t want it to end so you desperately cling to him with only your lips touching.

Another thunder shakes the house and you feel his hand on your naked knee. You part your legs and scoot closer to him and his thumb brushes your inner thigh. Your whole body erupts with chills.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers as his lips leave yours, “Your legs are ice cold.” He puts his hands on your arms, “And you’re still shivering, poor thing.”

You’re about to explain that it’s not because of the rain or wet clothes, at least not only. It’s him, his plush lips on yours, his warm hands gliding over your skin, his eyes looking at you so differently from what you’re used to. All of it makes every cell in your body vibrate, your stomach churn, your core burn with arousal.

But before you can tell him all that, he says something that makes you stop in your tracks, “Would you like to take a bath?”

For the hundredth time today you’re staring at him with your mouth agape.

“H-here? In your house?” you stumble, blinking at him.

“Yes. There's a nice tub upstairs in my bedroom.” He hears himself and hastily adds, “It’s not like that. Ehm… You can take it and I’ll wait for you here. I’m afraid you’ll get sick because of my carelessness.”

His beautiful brown eyes are pleading you to agree. You don’t want to leave him but your sodden cold clothes make the offer of a hot bath sound better with every second.

So you nod and he beams at you. In a second he’s walking upstairs and you’re trailing behind him, your hand in his. He leads you to his bedroom and you quickly look around, seeing that it’s perfect like the rest of his house, simple but cozy. You follow him to the en-suite bathroom and he starts the water. He explains to you how to make it colder and hotter like you’ve never seen a bathtub before but you don’t get offended or annoyed. He’s nervous, it’s visible and it makes you jittery too. Suddenly the idea of being alone without him makes you sad and your heart aches.

The tub fills up fast and while he’s telling you about the bath salts and towels you interrupt him,

“Can you stay?”

Now it’s his turn to gawk at you.

“When…until it’s full?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, when I take it. Can you stay with me?”

He swallows loudly and takes a step closer to you.

“Sweetheart, I’ve crossed so many lines today. I’m not sure I can cross this one.”

“You told me to do what I want right? And I want you to stay with me, Joel,” you say louder, trying to feign confidence, before taking a step to him.

“Are you sure?”

You look deep into his eyes, so close that you can see your own reflection in them and reply,

“I'm not sure about anything in my life… but I'm sure that I want this,” you say, drawing an invisible line between your hearts with your finger, and add, “Really badly.”

His dark eyes are darting between yours as if he’s looking for a trace of doubt in them. He won’t find any. He’s reading your features and they probably tell him something because in the next moment he slowly leans to you. The kiss is soft but the more you taste him the more confident you get.

So you press your body to his and he groans when your lower belly touches his bulge. Your heart and pussy flutter when you realize how big and stiff he is. Is it because of you? A part of you can’t believe a man like him can be interested in you but his body can’t lie.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away but, in an attempt to interrupt something you don’t want to hear, you raise your hands and start unbuttoning your wet blouse.

Joel’s eyes are glued to your fingers, working their way up your top. Soon your belly is revealed, then sternum and your breasts, covered by the bra. You slide the blouse off your body and it pools at your feet.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel whispers, as his hand slowly lifts to your breast and he brushes your nipple through the thin lace of the bra with his thumb. It’s already perked up from all the kissing and the cold and you whimper, your body vibrating with desire at the slightest touch of his big hand.

You get impatient and take your skirt off too. You’re standing in front of him wearing nothing but a lace white set and Joel growls like a hungry wolf. You bite your lip, hearing the sound of his desire for you.

His gaze slides from your face to your breasts, belly, hips, legs and up to your face again. He seems to make a decision because soon he starts unbuttoning his shirt too.

“I’m going to hell,” he mumbles as the expanse of his chest is revealed to you and you salivate seeing his golden skin, soft belly, happy trail that leads down. Your clit twitches when he unzips his pants.

Soon his clothes join yours on the floor and he places his hands on your waist. You try not to look at the huge tent in his boxers but fail miserably. He smiles and pulls you into his arms and you hug his middle. He’s big and hot against your cold skin and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.

“Still shivering, poor thing, let’s get you into the hot water,” he whispers and his hands slide to your back. He searches for your eyes and after you look up and nod, he unclasps your bra and takes it off you.

His chest is heaving when his gaze moves down to your naked breasts but he doesn’t stop stripping you. With his fingers hooked in your panties, he waits for your permission and then slides them down. They fall on the floor around your feet and you step out of them.

His eyes are completely obsidian now and his hands dart to you but he stops himself.

“Could you help me?” You ask and turn around before offering him your hand. He takes it and you step into the full tub. The water feels scolding hot at first but all your senses are focused on Joel and you lower yourself into the hot water. Sitting in the middle of the tub you look at his bulge, which is at your eye level now.

“Join me, please,” you plead and he mumbles soft “yeah,” before pulling his boxers down. His cock springs free and your pussy buzzes with anticipation and fear because he’s really big and thick.

Joel gets in the water behind you, his legs bent at the knees by your sides. He puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you to lie down against his chest.

You rest your back on his warm broad chest and he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his cock twitch against your lower back and a quiet whimper escapes your lips, “Joel.”

He almost purrs hearing how you said his name. You feel his heart beating hard at your back. His body, so big and strong, envelops you, warms you up better than the hot water around you and you feel like it’s where you belong, in his arms, reveling in his warmth, his softness, ready to give him anything he’d wish for.

The ache in your pussy gets harder to ignore and you squirm between his legs. He takes a sharp breath and bucks his hips against your butt. You feel his lips at your temple as he plants a kiss there.

“You’re so hot,” he praises you as his hands slide up your body and he cups your breasts. He palms your pebbled nipples and you moan, pressing your thighs together.

Then you tilt your head to the side and back and look up at Joel. His face is twisted in pleasure, eyes blown, and he lowers his head and catches your lips with his. This kiss is different from the ones you’ve shared before. Craving, impatience in every stroke of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, and you drown in pleasure of his caress.

Suddenly it’s not enough for the both of you. Without saying a word to each other you sit up and turn around while he helps you shift in the tub with his hands on your waist. You’re facing him now, standing on your knees, and he takes in your wet naked body before whispering,

“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

You breathe out a soft ‘ok’ and in a second he lifts you up and sets you on the edge of the tub in the corner. You lean your back against the cold tile wall and shiver. Joel notices your reaction and starts pouring the water over you so you’d warm up again.

When you say that you’re not cold, he stands on his knees in front of you, his hands planted on the edge of the tub by your sides. He cages you in between his broad torso and the wall and your pussy pulsates for him.

“Could you spread your legs for me, please?” he says, sitting down on his heels, as his chest is pressed to your knees.

You slowly do what he asked and your pussy blooms for him, folds opening up to his view and Joel’s breath hitches and he llicks his lips at the sight.

“Oh, my,” he mumbles and glances up at you, "You have the most gorgeous pussy, sweetheart." That word on his lips sends a fiery wave through every inch of your body and you whimper, when he moves into the space between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his broad torso.

His plush lips parted, eyes blown and restless, he takes you in - his gaze hastily runs over your face, breast, belly, cunt as if he can't get enough of you. He reaches for your face and kisses you deeply and passionately. His hand brushes against your aching pussy and you moan.

"My sweet girl," he whispers against the corner of your mouth and his soft lips move down to your neck, collar bone, chest. He's swirling his tongue over your nipple, his hand kneading your breast while you are running your fingers through his damp curls.

Soon he gets to your pussy and when his hot lips touch you there you almost come against his mouth.

“You’re sweet all over, honey,” he mumbles against your twitching clit, hunching down. Then he grabs your ankle in the water and lifts your leg.

“Put your foot on the edge, yeah, like that, good girl.” You’re completely exposed to him now but your desire shuts all your insecurities and you ache to show him every inch of you without any shame.

Soon you’re moaning and writhing on the edge of the tub as his tongue is dancing over your clit before his lips close around it and he gently sucks on the bud, keeping your folds spread with his thick fingers.

You’ve never felt more euphoric in your life and he approvingly hums against your pussy, when you whisper his name again and again, alternating it with whimpers and soft ‘yeah’s’.

“Damn, I can come just from hearing you, honey. What are you doing to me?” He says, looking up at you from between your thighs, eyes glistening. He looks completely pussy-drunk and it must be taking everything from him not to spill his seed into the bath water right now.

You give him a little apologetic smile and he continues pleasuring you. Joel’s caresses are slow and gentle, he’s almost edging you but when you start moving your hips, searching for more friction, he reads your signal immediately.

“Need more, sweetheart?”

You nod eagerly and with his hands on your inner thighs he starts devouring your pussy, his growls full of lust. The flat of his tongue is rubbing against your clit, then the warm muscle plunges into your crying hole as his nose nudges your clit and soon you’re screaming, shaking with the hardest climax of your life.

Joel laps at your juices, generously dripping into his greedy mouth as you’re digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, clenching around his tongue when he slides it inside you.

“Yeah… like that. Oh, my good girl,” Joel mumbles, his words muffled by your pussy.

When your climax dissipates, you rest your head back against the wall and he stays between your legs, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. His palms glide up and down your legs as you’re catching your breath.

When you look down, your eyes well up with tears when you see this big, gorgeous, intelligent, hot man on his knees in front of you. A voice inside your head reminds you that he’s much older, your parents will kill you, you’re fucked. But you push all your fears away when he gently helps you get back in the water and sets you on his lap.

Straddling him, you look into his eyes. You’re feeling a myriad of emotions but the brightest one makes your heart sing - you finally feel like yourself, confident, free, happy.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, grateful for the pleasure but also for the self assurance he gave you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He returns your smile with the warmest grin and pulls you into his embrace before kissing you. His big arms envelop your torso as you melt against his chest.

His cock twitches between your bodies and the fire in your core ignites with a new force.

“I want you inside,” you whisper, nuzzling his neck.

“Oh, darling… I wish for nothing more but … I’m afraid to hurt you.”

You sit up straight and drop your gaze into the water. His cock looks painfully hard and huge and you take a sharp breath, imagining it piercing you.

“I wanna try,” you say with confidence.

He searches for any doubt in your eyes again and then nods. Joel helps you to stand on your knees in the bath, holding you steady with his hand on your hip, the other holding his cock at the base.

“Start slowly and if it hurts… stop any second, ok?”

You agree, positioning yourself right above his waiting cock and begin lowering your hips.

You feel his hot tip bump into your clit and, feeling a burst of pleasure, you grind against it a few times. You both moan at the sensation and Joel tightens his grip on your body.

His handsome face twisted in pleasure might be the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You don’t tear your eyes off him, wishing the image got sealed in your memory forever.

You shift a little, nudge your hole with his fat head and start sinking on his throbbing member.

He’s big. Really big.

You widen your eyes as his length parts your folds and slides inside you, surprisingly easily thanks to your recent orgasm.

Joel leans back against the tub and watches your pussy swallow him in the water, his brows furrowed, half-lidded eyes set on the place where you two are slowly joining.

You lower yourself further as your walls spread, trying to accommodate his member inside you. It hurts a little but you’re so aroused you hardly notice it.

Joel moans when you’re finally flush with him, his cock filling your wet heat perfectly.

“Fuck, ohhh, fuck… I’m sorry for all the cursing, honey, but your pussy feels fucking incredible.”

You smile at the praise and clench around him making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

You shake your head, but hastily add ‘no’, realizing he can’t see you.

“I’ve had a boyfriend. But he dumped me pretty quickly.”

He looks at you, brows furrowed, as he hears a slight sadness in your voice.

“His loss, sweetheart,” he says, gently taking your neck between his palms.

His gaze slides down your body to your pussy.

“Hnggg, you’re so tight.”

“Sorry. “

“What? No, it’s .. Gosh, I can’t think straight when you …look like this, wrapped around my cock. I’m in heaven.”

His warm hand rises to your face and he cups your heated cheek. You nuzzle into it smiling against his palm. Then you move your face a little and when you feel his thumb at your lips you part them and take it into your mouth.

His cock throbs deliciously inside you, and he moans as your tongue swirls over his thick finger.

“Oh my god, you naughty thing. You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smile around his finger and roll your hips a little. You both almost scream at the sensation. His thumb slips out of your open mouth as a wave of pleasure rushes through you. You seem to feel his cock everywhere. You can’t stop now, not with the way his thick length massages your pussy on the inside, sending bolts of ecstasy through your body.

You start fucking yourself on his stiff cock and you both fill the room with groans and whimpers, adding them to the soft splashing of the tub water.

He tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut while you feel another climax building.

“Oh, Professor,” you moan and he groans, clenching his teeth,

“Don’t.”

“What?” You ask and bite your lip, seeing that he’s deep in the pits of lust just like you are.

“Because I won’t let you stop calling me that,” he groans and your heart sings at the implication of you two doing it again in the future.

Not giving him any respite you breathe out, “It feels so good, Professor,” and start bouncing on his throbbing cock.

Joel moans but then holds you down.

“Baby, are you on the pill? I can’t… I’m gonna come soon.”

“No,” you reply through panting and he furrows his brows,

“Shit… not sure I have condoms,” he says, his eyes darting between yours. He clears his throat and adds, “I haven’t been with anyone for …some time now.”

You feel like he wants to apologize and you shut him up with a kiss.

“It’s ok. I’ll get Plan B. I want…want it inside me,” you whisper against his lips and sit up, starting to move again. You roll your hips, feeling your clit rub against his soft belly, and whimpers escape your parted lips again and again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he mumbles, watching your body slowly move on him. He’s almost drooling as his palm slides from your neck to your chest, over the swells of your breasts, brushing against your erect nipples, caressing the soft skin of your belly. He dips his hand in the water and presses it to a lump right over your mound and moans,

“Oh, fuck, I can feel my cock right here… do you feel me deep, baby? Tell me.”

“Yes, Professor,”

“Shit, I’m not gonna last, gonna fill you up.”

Looking down, you see it, the bulge in your belly moving up and down, his cock inside you stretching your skin.

With a loud moan, you clench around him and it sends a chain reaction making your pussy vibrate and contract, as another climax starts shaking your body.

“Yeah, baby, just like that… squeeze my fat cock, my good fucking girl.”

Not being able to hold any longer, Joel erupts inside your core, jets of cum spurting against your walls. You feel hot from the water and his heated body and now there’s warmth inside you too, your pussy’s getting filled with him.

You’re fucking yourself on his exploding cock while he’s sucking on your neck, and then he holds you so tight, it gets difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body is screaming with pleasure and you wish this moment never passed, he was inside you forever, holding you close.

When you both feel your climaxes subside, Joel leans back against the wall and pulls you to lie on his chest. You stay like this for a few minutes, plugged by his cock and full of his seed. You breathe in the scent of his skin, your hands on his chest as he rocks you like a big strong wave, slowly breathing in and out. You feel an immense affection towards him, and your throat gets squeezed with upcoming tears. You try to hide them from him but when you sniff he gently cups your cheek and makes you look at him.

“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” he asks, looking you over with worry in his gaze.

“No, I’m just… I’m just happy. I’m sorry.”

You smile at each other until he takes your face in his big hands and plants kisses on your eyes, cheeks, nose, chin, lips. You giggle when his facial hair tickles your delicate skin and he laughs with you.

Your bodies relaxed, hunger satiated, you stay in the bath for a few more minutes while he’s pouring water with his hands over your shoulders to keep you warm.

When the temperature lowers, he gets out of the tub and brings you a big fluffy towel while you shamelessly watch him move naked and wet around the bathroom. He helps you to get up and you bite your lip when his cock twitches at the sight of your body on display for him. He clears his throat and starts gently drying your skin. The memory takes you back to him drying you in his living room, before you crossed the line with him and you marvel how much changed between now and then.

You feel happy for the first time in a long time but also scared of what happens next. What if he goes back to being just your tutor, what if he doesn’t want to see you at all, what if your parents find out… The thoughts rush through your mind and he reads your face again and asks, “What is it, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, driving away your fears. Joel wraps you in the towel and you gasp when he lifts you. He laughs, carrying you to his bedroom, and then lowers you gently on the bed.

“Get under the duvet, sweetheart.”

You listen to him and get comfortable in his bed. The sheets smell of him and you can’t help but gush again. He brings your clothes and you sit up reaching for them so you could put them on but he stops you.

“Stay here. I’ll go get you the pill,” he says and makes you lie back down. After getting dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, Joel tucks you in and kisses you gently before leaving.

You hear his car drive off and fall into the comfort of his bed. You close your eyes for a second suddenly feeling tired.

You wake up from soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

“I hate to wake you up, honey, but your parents are worried.”

You sit up rubbing your eyes and holding the duvet over your naked breasts. You see the pill and a glass of water on the nightstand and take it.

“They called?” You ask, swallowing Plan B.

“Yes, I told them you needed to do some extra exercises.”

You giggle but he looks upset. Your fears come back again.

“You regret it,” you whisper, as your eyes well up with tears.

In a second you’re in his big arms and he whispers against your cheek,

“Never, baby. I don’t. But I can’t help but feel guilty. I should know better. I feel like I’m robbing you of your time. You should be someone young, someone who can give you more.”

You search for his eyes and take his face in your hands.

“No, I don’t want anyone else. I want… I need you.”

You kiss him and pull him to lie over you on the bed. You’re making out holding each other close. The rain has stopped and you can hear birds chirping outside through an open window.

“Fuck.. I need to go,” you whine, parting from Joel and reaching for your clothes at the foot of the bed.

“Language, young lady,” he scolds you with a smirk. You bite your lip and purr with a sultry tone, “Sorry, Professor.”

You love how this word makes him shiver with arousal now.

He adjusts himself, cursing under his breath and his dark eyes are watching you while you’re giving him a little show while putting on your clothes - gliding your hands over your body, slowly slipping into your panties and bra. When you slide your arms into your already dry blouse, he gets up to button it up for you. Soon your lips gravitate towards each other and it takes a lot from you to part from him again.

You go downstairs and Joel offers to drive you home but you politely refuse.

“I’ll walk. I love the smell of the air after rain,” you smile ready to leave, standing at the door, “besides someone told me to enjoy myself more so I’m gonna follow his advice.”

You smile at each other and he gives you a farewell kiss, hugging you, before whispering in your ear, “My sweet girl. Thank you.”

You look deeply into his eyes and ask,

“See you on Thursday?”

“Yes, but you’re going to study.” Your widened sad eyes make him chuckle as he adds, “Among other things.”

You beam at him, peck his lips and walk out of the door, feeling wings behind your back.

*****

Thank you for reading!🌺

Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! 💖

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[nickfowlerrr]

sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

--

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

--

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

[aronaut]

Warmth

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x gn!reader Summary: You're a former researcher that was working before the blacksite lockdown. Forgotten and abandoned, you have no other choice but to work with a certain shopkeeper. Needless to say, you have your differences. Warnings: Explicit mentions of blo/od and inj/ury in the beginning. Not beta read Word count: 4,191 (This is a drabble I plan to include in a long list of loosely connected ideas. Consider it the middle of an enemies to qp partners plot :] )

...The low, ominous groan and creak of metal is enough to put anyone on edge, you think, as you traverse the seemingly endless halls.

Rifling through the cabinets and drawers, scrounging up scraps left behind by hasty thieves, the unsettling ocean ambience is all you have for company. You wonder, just when did your life derail so horrifically, when the sight of a crumpled body on the ground fills you with elation. The heavy, steel doors slide open with little fanfare. Beyond the mangled corpse, your eyes immediately set on a black light laying just a few feet away. Stepping over the expendable, you collect the item. There is little battery left in the light you note, before stashing it in the worn messenger bag slung over your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh, you eyes scan below. Scarlet scatters across the floor in a chaotic spray, drawing your eyes towards the deep crimson pool steadily crawling towards the toe of your shoe. In the center of it all, lays the head of a late expendable, expression locked in a display of permanent shock. From below their eye, a coat of flaky, dry red webs down from their chin to all the way down their shoulder.

The collar of the expendable’s wet suit is torn completely; black shreds of neoprene fray out from below the sternum. It's hard to tell the rubber from the darkened crimson spilling out from the brutal tear in the prisoners neck.

Z-90– the Wall Dweller, you determine. Recent too, if the wet shine on expendable's neck is anything to go off of. The considerably uneaten state of the body leads you to believe it might still be in the area, biding it's time until it can claim the expendable's companions as well.

Or, well, possibly even you…

With that thought in your mind, you crouch down, your hands roaming over surface of the expendable’s clothes for any other possible hidden goods. Sparing glances every so often behind you, straining your ears all the while, you’re cautious during your search.

Any research the expendable might have had is completely useless now, waterlogged with sticky blood and pasted to the body. Attempting to reach into the pockets only rewards you with a sharp jab in your palm, the tips of your fingers cold and wet with spilled vial fluids.

Withdrawing from the body, you finally stand back up to full height. The sudden rush to your head is enough to make you sway, your stomach starting to pinch from the overwhelming, metallic stench permeating the room. With a shaky exhale, you urge yourself forward.

The persistent stinging in your eyes doesn’t do any favors for you as you try and navigate the dimly lit halls of the facility, an incredibly sore ache pulsating in your feet with every step. You are… so tired.

A distant roar of an entity sounds suddenly, reverberating across multiple rooms and rocking the facility. The floor rumbles faintly below your feet, and you can almost barely make out the disorderly sound of blinking lights. Bracing yourself against a wall, you wait out the tremors.

Though exhaustion tugs at you, you acknowledge that you cannot rest here. The dark corners of the room whisper dangerous promises, and as you traverse the rooms you can’t shake off the ever persistent feeling of being watched.

Any human in this place is simply prey, and as you tuck your hands into the pockets of your tattered, beaten white coat, your mind rings out with a grim thought; if every human here is prey, you are high game.

Approaching the next door, the screen doesn’t label it with a number but instead a red line. Taking the keycard from your lanyard, you unlock the door, and step inside. Instead of being met with lockers and scattered drawers, you find yourself in a familiar office. The small room is crowded with desks, computers that have long since powered off, and fake potted plants that fill you with a bittersweet sense of longing. Tucked under the desks, the rusted office chair beckon you to rest, but you push the thought out.

There is no doubt in your mind that he is getting aggravated over the fact that you’ve taken this long already.

Behind the desks there is another door, bracketed by two item lockers long since rummaged through. It’s marked by another red line, but you already know where it leads.

The door opens with an exhale, the frigid air greeting you as you walk on through. Unlike the rooms before, this room is brightly lit, the florescent lights buzzing loudly. Your eyes burn momentarily from the sudden change, taking a moment to adjust. The hall is short this time, and in your view you see another door marked ‘50.’

Your bag is disappointingly light on your shoulders, only holding a gummy flashlight, a few batteries, and the black light you just found. You’re not looking forward to the condescending comments that awaits you behind that door.

Resigning to your fate with a heavy sigh, you begin to trudge forward, but stop short suddenly when you hear what sounds like a loud flash, followed by a furious shout and the rush of footsteps. You only have a split second to react, hastily throwing yourself into a locker, the clang of the metal door muted by the hissing of an opening door.

Laughter rings out in the room, accompanied by a multitude of heavy footfalls. The light peaking through the vent of the locker momentarily obscures as you count three expendables pass by, completely unaware of your presence. They are loud and boisterous, a harsh rhythmic squeak of their boots resounding as they run through the hall, the dull thuds of drawers being pulled out to their full extent in a fruitless endeavor to find more loot. They don’t stay long, and soon enough you hear the hydraulics of the door once more and the footsteps dissipate.

You wait a minute before exiting the locker, hurriedly making your way to the fiftieth door. There is a low, agitated hiss drawing out low from the ground, echoing through the tunnel next to your calf. Crouching down, you crawl on into the vent, your elbows clanging against the thin metal.

Emerging on the other side, you find yourself once more in the confinement of Sebastian’s shop. It’s possibly the smallest room in the facility, the walls looming over you in a claustrophobic fashion. Or, perhaps, it’s just overcrowded with stacked crates strewn about, the floor littered with various gadgets inoperable by you, and piles of paper files scattered across the floor. Your eyesight leads to probably the most useless thing in the room, roaming over the giant tail fin flicking against the wall and up the elongated tail it was attached to.

Sebastian is rubbing furiously at his eyes, lure blinking not dissimilarly to the way the room lights do when in the presence of Z-283. He’s grumbling low beneath his breath, mumbling incoherently between rushed clicks and growls.

When he’s done, he acknowledges your entrance with very little care,

“About time. Stock’s so low, I’ve had to sell half-charged flashlights to the last gaggle of idiots,” his arms drop, and he glares to you. “What the hell took you so long?”

The messenger bag drops from your shoulder with little care, the metal of the flashlights clinging with the floor through the thin material. You fix him with a similar expression to his, squinting up at him.

“Trying not to get caught, asshole. If you want shit sooner get it yourself next time.”

He chuckles sardonically at you.

“Please, I’ve got better things to do,” he responds. “You keep up your half of the deal, and I keep up mine.”

You roll your eyes pointedly, breaking away from the staring match when the brightness of his lure starts to cause dark spots to swim in your vision. Crouching down, you begin to rifle through the bag. He looks unimpressed at the pitiful amount of batteries you set beside yourself, but you do notice the room getting ever so slightly brighter when you pull out the black light.

“Just keep being a good little errand boy, and your efforts won’t go unpunished,” he purrs. You clench your teeth, face warming in anger.

“Oh yes, your part. Totally. I go out, digging around for junk, risking my neck to monsters and delinquent prisoners, while you get to sit in here and play retail worker,” you ramble, frustrated, rolling the gummy flashlight over to his general direction with a not too gentle shove. “Fairest trade in the world.”

Your heartbeat picks up ever so slightly as you feel a shadow cast over you, the bulb of Sebastian’s lure hanging overhead as he leans down towards you, slow. You urge yourself to keep his gaze and stay there as his smile stretches into a sharp grin, light glinting off the razor sharp fangs. His hand stretches towards you, and your shoulders jolt in a half-flinch as they reach towards your neck. You don’t look down from his eyes as his claws pull at your lanyard, the thin fabric brushing against the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows furrow as he pinches the card between his thumb and index, his claw sweeping over it’s laminated surface.

“Would you like to switch roles, ‘doctor?’”

You reach up, and promptly slap his hand away.

Instead of retaliating, Sebastian merely laughs at you.

“I didn’t think so,” he drawls, before slowly ascending back to full height, away from you.

The bag, now empty, sits lightly on your shoulder as you pull it over your head. It’s weight is nearly nonexistent. You approach one of the stacked storage containers and with a tired groan plop down, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you.

It’s instantaneous relief, you note, your joints popping in rapid succession of one another as you stretch your arms up, crossed at the wrists. Your shoulders are practically buzzing, no doubt having been pinched at some point during your venture in the facility. Your knees creak and ache from crawling through vents and desks, your legs stiff and feet beyond sore. After your stretch, you slump down in your seat with a sigh. Finally, you get to relax.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Ugh.

“Resting, Sebastian.” You respond dryly. “I’m freaking tired, okay? Leave me be.”

Sebastian simply scoffs. You don’t acknowledge him as your eyes draw shut.

“Go somewhere else for that, I have a business to run.”

“And where do you suggest I go? Where is there that doesn’t have a wall dweller lurking or some other hellish atrocity waiting to get at me?” You argue, opening your eyes to challenge him with a glare.

“That isn’t my problem,” he leans down slightly, arms crossed and third arm tucked in awkwardly. “Leave before someone comes in.”

You mirror his pose, crossing your arms and tilting your chin up at him.

“Get out.”

You shuffle in place, legs crossing. Sebastian scowls, growling low in his throat. His arm shoots out, pointing to the vent and shouting.

“Get OUT!”

Your shoulders jump, but you’re stubborn. Drawing your arms around yourself tightly, you shout back.

“Screw you, man! There isn’t anyone coming!”

Sebastian hisses, the only warning you get before he darts down toward you, your arms pushed into your chest as he holds you in a tight grip, claws pinching your skin underneath the thin fabric of your coat.

He is directly in your face, eyes glowering at you as he spits,

“You absolute, goddamn MORON. If you do not LEAVE-”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and in your peripherals you catch the way the fins on the side of his head seem to twitch bizarrely. Soon you hear the pang of metal resounding off the walls of the vent and echoing into the room. With a quick, uttered curse, Sebastian quickly draws back, but he doesn’t let you go, instead pulling you up and with him.

Your arms sting in his hold, your face twisted in a grimace as suddenly your feet are no longer touching the ground. The weight of your body hangs as he effortlessly lifts you up.

“What the hell???” you wheeze. “Let me go!”

A cold hand slaps over your mouth harshly, clasping your face nearly entirely as Sebastian growls.

“Shut the hell Up!”

You get little warning as Sebastian all but stuffs you behind him, crowded by his tail. You try and leverage yourself with his tail, pushing up with your arms as your chest pressing uncomfortably against him. His tail coils and folds in response, pushing over your chest and weighing heavily till you fall back to the floor. The air punched out of your lungs, and you let out a strangled gasp. Panic seized you as you wriggled beneath him, writhing in place to try and breathe. Noticing your struggle, Sebastian lifts his tail ever so slightly, no longer crushing you. You jumped at the opportunity, attempting to sit up before Sebastian’s third arm came down, hand tangling into your hair and shoving you back down.

“Stay down,” he says, low, with a hint of a threat tracing the edges of his voice.

The weight of his hand on your head disappears, and you watch from behind him as his attitude immediately shifts from disgruntled to a calculated calm.

“Welcome, welcome!” he greets, near automatic and practically off a script. You cannot see who he is talking to from your position, but based off the sound of shuffling and whispers, you assume another group has just entered. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not gonna hurt you. Despite what you have seen, heard and/or been told, my name is Sebastian.”

He goes on with his typical spew, and you surrender to the solid weight laying over you. It’s a bit awkward for Sebastian, you realize, as he attempts to move along with his usual transactions now that the upper part of his tail is occupied keeping you hidden. You feel almost smug about it, counting it off as a win in the mentally constructed chart in your mind that keeps loose tabs on the constantly tipping scale between you and Sebastian. It’s not like you want to be seen by the expendables, as it risks the possibility of them reporting back to Urbanshade that one of their esteemed researchers were still alive down here and working against them with the active saboteur. Though, given how long you and Sebastian have spent down here, you highly doubt that is likely to happen anytime soon. The expendable project was a long going mission that has yet to bare any fruit.

As Sebastian drawls on, you can feel his voice reverberating through his tail. As much as you hate to admit it, the rumbling was soothing. The weight of him was less of a burden than it was before, instead it became rather pleasant in grounding you, not unlike a weighted blanket… and a cooled one, at that.

The transaction seemed to be dragging on longer than usual, or maybe that was just you. The events of the day quickly starting to catch up with you, slowing your perception of time as you stared up hazily at the ceiling, with Sebastian’s elbow and back occasionally coming into view. Pressing against the wall, you could feel the way the facility subtly rocked in the waters. Holding your ear to the ground, you could almost hear the ocean, the cold metal soothing against your flushed face.

You could barely make out the voices of the prisoners, and what you could you pieced together that they must be attempting to negotiate. Puffing under your breathe, you smiled, bidding them luck with that endeavor as your eyes drew shut.

When your eyes opened once more, the room was dark. You could no longer hear the prisoners, or even Sebastian for that matter. Lifting your head, you realized also that the weight over you seemed to have disappeared. Sebastian was no longer laying over you.

You couldn’t make out what was in front of you, but you still attempted to look around. Your thoughts were slow and disorientated, but slowly you discerned that you must have fallen asleep. How you managed in such an inconvenient expression, next to Sebastian of all things, you couldn’t fathom. You suppose you were more exhausted than you originally thought.

He must’ve moved you, you think. You could imagine the sneer he must’ve made at realizing you had fallen asleep. Where did he put you, exactly? You jostled awake fully at the thought that perhaps he threw you out in the cold, or simply dumped you in the nearest, darkest room to be preyed on by the experiments.

At this thought, you rushed to push yourself up with your hands, having awoken on your stomach. The floor was… odd in texture. It was rougher, not the smooth, biting cold metal that you were accustomed to. It was, also, ever so slightly warm. As you pushed against it, you noticed that while it was solid it also had a little give to it. Your mind reeled for answers, trying to piece together just exactly where or what you were laying on, when all of the sudden you realized you were moving. Or, more like, the ground was moving.

Your breath quickened as you slid ever so slightly down, and it registered finally that your legs weren’t supported by anything, instead hanging over an edge. Your thighs held together as your arms scrambled to hold on to whatever it was you were on, leaning forward with your face pressed up against something cool.

You could smell an an odd, distinct combination of what you could only describe as leather and fish. Cold air gently brushed down your forehead as you heard someone sigh.

Adjusting to the darkness, you could finally make out what was in front of you– or below you, rather.

Below you was a chest belonging only to Sebastian.

Clad in a white dress shirt and draped in a rough leather jacket, his chest rose steadily under you, raising you in tandem. Looking to his face, all three of his eyes were closed and you couldn’t make out his lure in the darkness. His expression was… peaceful. Relaxed. Despite this, you could see the dark crevices in his forehead and eyes, groves crafted and paved by long-term stress that he refused to let on existed. He was completely unguarded and vulnerable, and considering your position you concluded that he had willingly put himself there.

But why?

You couldn’t comprehend it. Maybe it was a mistake? You had never seen him asleep before… Given all of the traits he was spliced with, you wondered how long he could really go without sleep? Maybe he slept when you were gone? That wouldn’t make sense. He’s a research-fiend by nature, he’d never let a potential customer pass him by.

However, looking more closely, you took in his features. Unlike the rest of his body, his face was smoother; More akin to a human. Between his eyes and on the bridge of his nose, there was a very faint line– barely noticeable even in the light– a paler blue than the surrounding skin. A scar he had when he first came into the facility as a convict. As a human…

You doubt even Sebastian could reject the very notion of sleep. Beneath it all– the razor sharp teeth, the blue scales, and thin web veils on his ears and clawed fingers, you never stopped believing that he was human. You doubt he did, either.

It still didn’t make sense for you to be here, but that didn’t matter, because there was the definite possibility of him screaming at you when he woke up and saw you there in despite of his protests.

You gently tried to creep down, stretching your leg and trying to feel the ground with your toe. You stretched and stretched, flexing your foot before realizing that even at this angle you couldn’t feel the floor. You were up too damn high. Looking down, you could hardly make out the messy floor.

In the midst of your struggling, you felt a rumble pass through you from Sebastian’s chest. His hands, which you hadn’t at first noticed were resting on your hips, slowly caressed over your back before stopping at your shoulders. You laid there, frozen, peaking cautiously up at Sebastian to see he was, thankfully, still asleep.

Your situation got that much more difficult, you realized, as his arms laid heavy over your back and prevented you from moving any further without disturbing the serpent, likely into waking.

Huffing a sigh, you relented.

You still couldn’t see very well in the darkness, and you would no doubt sprain something trying to dismount Sebastian. He’s so cranky awake, you don’t want to imagine what he’d be like shorted a few hours of beauty sleep.

And as much as you loathed to admit it, the position wasn’t… uncomfortable. You felt warm, but not stuffy despite the room. Sebastian was like a pillow with two cold sides, and you discovered that as you sunk back down into him, that his skin seemed to absorb your heat.

You shut your eyes.

There was no point in struggling to leave, or worrying about Sebastian’s reaction right now. Bottom line is, you could go for a couple more minutes of rest. Chances are Sebastian would tell you to hop right back to work first opportunity he got, so you might as well take advantage of the situation.

Your breathing slowed, and as you relaxed you could just barely make out a very soft rumbling crackle coming from Sebastian’s chest, reminiscent of a cat’s purr. His fingers absently curled over your shoulders, the weight of them strong and comforting. You could get used to this, you thought, and didn’t bother to fight against the absurd belief as your thoughts slowed down, sleep creeping in.

A shrill scream roars outside, and the body beneath you jolts violently, jostling you in the process. You hear lights flicker discordantly, before hushing entirely.

You don’t dare to open your eyes as you feel Sebastian move under you, hearing him exhale loudly. From behind the lids of your eyes, you notice the room get slightly brighter. Sebastian is awake.

You brace yourself to be grabbed, or even thrown, as his claws curl that much tighter over your shoulders. But that doesn’t happen.

His hands go lax, and you feel him sink back down, his third arm coming to rest over your lower back. The upper arms gently soothe down your back before brushing back up. Your brows furrow in confusion when a hand rests on your head, combing through your hair.

Warm breath ghosts over you as he leans down with a sigh, arms pulling you further up his body as his chin sets down over your head.

You dare to peek your eyes open, met with the light blue hue of Sebastian’s neck, gaze tracing over the smooth transition between human skin and scales. You feel Sebastian’s clawed hand leave your scalp, once more joining it’s counterpart in soothing up and down your back, the third hand picking at the frayed edges of your shirt.

You can see the bob of Sebastian’s throat as he swallows, coughing lightly in an attempt to clear his throat. His nose presses ever so slightly further into your hair, and you have to suppress the sudden need to jump when the third hand traces up your back, under your shirt.

Your hands brace against him, ready to launch yourself upward and ask just what the hell he is doing, before acknowledging that his hand doesn’t go any further than that. You decide to wait it out, see what he does. Maybe you can catch him doing something embarrassing, and use it as leverage in your next argument. Another point to your metaphorical score.

The other arms continue to stroke over your back, albeit more slowly, as his third hand continues to trail up your spine, leaving a path of goose bumps. The hair of your back raises at the temperature change. His hand is freaking cold. Colder than the rest of his body. Why is that?

As this continues, you feel him slump ever so slightly, all three of his hands slowing to a stop. His chest evens out once more, and you realize, he is asleep.

The hand under your shirt has become significantly warmer, and that is when you realize; Sebastian is cold blooded.

Well, you didn’t just realize, you knew this from the start. It explained his bizarre actions though, and as you took in your position you pieced together you were no different than a weighted blanket you accused his tail of being not long ago. A heated rock for his comfort. Like a snake or lizard basking in a lamplight, you were his source of heat.

Your mouth twitched into a smile. You were totally going to hold this over his head.

[yeonzzzn]

Jake (your roommate) who has oral fixation who can't help but want to suck on your nipples and clit anytime and anywhere he wants (in school, in his car, in cafes, in your dorm). And as the helpful roommate, you try to wear clothes that would give him easy access all the time.

-🪻 hiiii i misseddd putting req here 🥹🫶

hi again🪻anon🥰 i’ve missed your reqs🥹🫶🏻 oral fixation jake has me weeeaaaaakkkk😮‍💨 I kinda went off the deep end with this one. I couldn’t help myself. this request is so *chefs kiss* and bless kay for helping me with the title for this 🤭😘💍

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taste of you: sim jaeyun

pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: 2.9k

For as long as you’ve known your roommate, he’s always had an oral fixation even before he became your roommate too. 

You and Jake attended the same college. You would always pass him in the hallways on Mondays and Wednesdays and have Chemistry with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Man always had something in his mouth to chew on. 

Gum, the ends of his pens and pencils, the bottle cap to his water bottle, straws from his drinks, the plastic spoons, knives, and forks from lunch, the strings to his hoodie, the plastic on his cup if he didn’t have a straw, and hell, even his fingers if there wasn’t anything else. You could tell just from staring at him across the lecture hall that he had this fixation. 

Fate brought the two of you together when you posted an ad on the campus bulletin board about looking for a roommate after your old one moved out. Jake was the first to respond to the ad, and since you already knew him, you disregarded the other applications. Jake was moved in within a week. 

His oral fixation was a lot worse than you thought and was tame while on campus. Jake had the same normal habits on the things he chewed but added a few things: his shirt while sitting on the couch watching TV or playing on the PlayStation. The cord to his headset when he played on his PC in his bedroom. The cord to his phone while it charged and he was scrolling through social media. Your fingers, lips, tongue, nipples, and clit. 

Crazy, right? It didn’t start that way, his mouth on your body parts. It wasn’t a thought in either of your minds until you came home one afternoon after work and took a shower, not bothering to put a bra on afterward, letting the girls have some time to breathe. So you walked around in your shorts and oversized tee shirt. Jake returned home a couple of hours later from soccer practice, wanting nothing more than a nice shower and a good meal. So you told him to shower and that you’d cook for him. Jake couldn’t hide the smile had, being so happy and lucky you were his roommate. 

Jake didn’t even notice you weren’t wearing a bra until you stood from where you sat on the couch, your nipples poking through your white shirt. The hoodie string Jake had in his mouth fell out as his eyes were glued to your chest, watching how grazed your shirt as you walked around the couch and towards the kitchen. Jake quickly jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. Splashing his face with the water of his shower, trying to push the thoughts of your perfect nipples being in his mouth. The way he would bite, lick, and suck on them. 

Jake had to lean his body against the cool of the tile wall to get his body temperature down but failed miserably as his thoughts continued to run in his brain. Thinking about the ways your cunt would ride his cock as his mouth worked on your tits. Before Jake knew it his hand was wrapped around his hard cock, biting his lips to keep from moaning as he pumped himself til his cum was dripping down his hand. Jake prayed and prayed that once he was out of the shower you could have put on a bra. Because it’s an asshole move to think about your roommate like that, right? It crosses your boundaries and that’s the last thing Jake wanted to do. 

But to his dismay, you still stood in the kitchen…braless. Once you noticed he was out of the shower, you called him over, “Jae, I made pasta for dinner and this cake for dessert. Come try the icing and tell me what you think?” 

Jake swallowed, knees weak as he slowly walked over to you. Your long hair was now pulled into a loose ponytail and oh man was it driving Jake up a wall. His eyes wandered everywhere, to your nipples, your earlobes, and the cute spot between your shoulder and neck. His mouth watered as he looked back and forth, wanting to pin you to the kitchen counter and place his mouth all over those parts. His dick was hardening and he was doing everything to try and keep you from noticing. 

You got a spoon from the drawer and scooped up some of the icing and held it to his mouth, “Say ahh!” you said cutely, taking notice of the small pink tint on his cheeks as he slowly opened his mouth taking the spoon in. 

Jake’s eyes widened as you pulled the spoon away, “Goddamn, YN, this is fantastic!” Jake loved your cooking and baking. It made him even more excited to eat the pasta and have a dessert to look forward to. 

You noticed some of the icing was on the edge of his lips, you giggled softly and reached up, “You’re so messy,” you teased him, taking your index finger and sliding it across the edge of his lip. 

The moment you touched him it was over. The feeling of your finger on his lips even if it was just the slightest touch sent him into a frenzy, his mouth was opening, head tilting to the side to wrap his lips around your finger, his tongue licking up the icing you wiped away and then sucking on it. His eyes closed tightly as he softly grazed your finger with his teeth. Jake didn’t know what came over him, but the moment he realized what he was doing his eyes shot back open and connected to yours. 

You weren’t surprised and showed no sign that it bothered you that he was currently sucking on your finger. Instead, you gave him a small smile, inching your middle finger to his lips. Jake was the surprised one but opened his mouth anyway, letting you slip your middle in with your index. 

You always teased Jake about his oral fixation, always giving him some type of hell for chewing up specific things. Like the amount of phone chargers you’ve had to rebuy him, and the amount of headsets Jake had to get replaced from chewing on the cords. The amount of gum packets that lay around the apartment just for him. You found it cute to tease him. And you never knew you wanted your fingers in his mouth until right now. Which is why it didn’t bother you. Honestly, your fingers were better than the cords and other plastic things that would eventually ruin his pretty teeth anyway. 

You’d be lying if it didn’t turn you on. Jake was hoping for it, truly. Keeping eye contact with you as he wraps his tongue around your fingers, sucking on them and biting them softly. If you continued to let him chew on your fingers, he was going to lose all control. 

“I know you want to do more than just suck on my fingers,” you whispered to him. You already knew he was hard as a rock and your panties were soaking, “Why don’t you take what you actually want?” 

Jake didn’t hesitate to pull your fingers from his mouth, his lips attaching to yours and sucking on your bottom lip as his hands slid to your thighs, picked you up, and set you down on the countertop, biting hard on your lip, “Give me your tongue,” he hisses between his grip on your lip and only let go once he saw the muscle slide out of your mouth and taking it in his. Jake was in pure bliss getting his oral fixation off on something other than random small items. His cock twitched hard at it too. It was everything he could have wanted. 

As he continued to suck and bite your tongue, his hands slipped under your shirt and slid up, his hands stopping at your tits to rub at your nipples, making them perk up more. You knew Jake was preparing them for his mouth, his skin sending a chill down your spine and goosebumps on your skin, hardening your nipples even more, “fffuuuccckkkk,” he hisses after releasing your tongue from his mouth, dipping down in the same movement of lifting your shirt over your breasts and attaching his mouth to your right nipple as his left hand continued to pinch at your other nipple. 

You moaned his name and gripped his shoulders as his tongue flicked your nipple, as his teeth bit down on the sensitive nub and lips wrapped around it to suck. He moved back and forth between the two, not leaving one out. You already knew your cunt was soaking the countertop and you think Jake knew too. Mostly by the way his hands moved to cup your ass and slide underneath you. He let out a groan against your nipple before removing his mouth and scooped you up, quickly turning in the other direction and laying you down on top of the kitchen table. He kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip back into his mouth in the same motion of his fingers looping between your shorts and panties to pull them down. 

Jake sank to his knees as your shorts and panties hit the floor, him spreading your legs wide to give him better access to your cunt. His mouth watered at the sight of your sopping pussy, your slit dripping out your hole and onto the table. Fuck it was making him dizzy. 

“Fuck you’re so sexy,” he breathes, sticking his tongue out to lick up your hole to your clit, stopping there to take the bud between his teeth and lips. Jake sucked, licked, and bit your clit until you came into his mouth. He didn’t even stop there, no no. He wanted you. Wanted his shower fantasy to come true. So he pulls you from the table and onto the floor with him, quickly removing his sweatpants and boxers and moving you into his lap. 

You rode him as his mouth worked on your nipples again, moving between them both and stopping every few minutes to kiss you and suck on your lips. You even shoved your fingers into his mouth a few times as you fucked him. This kept going until you came again and he was cumming deep into your pussy. 

It was safe to say you both would have a major mess to clean up in the kitchen. And even have to reheat the pasta. 

This was only the start of Jake using you to get his oral fixation in. You gave him full permission to use you as he pleases to get his fix. Jake would be stupid to turn it down. 

It benefited both of you, truly. You both had the benefits of this new agreement. He would get his oral fixation and other sexual needs met, you’d also get your sexual needs met on top of saving money from having to replace the items he’d normally chew on. 

The only terms were he could only have your fingers and lips in public, but could have everything else in the safe space of your shared apartment, or either of your cars, or if no one else was around. 

Again, Jake would be an idiot to turn it down. 

He forced you to move to the back of the classroom room with him so he could suck on your fingers during lectures without anyone noticing and anytime he wanted. 

You’d sit in his car with him during lunch or before his soccer practice so he could make out with you and get his mouth on your tits. 

Then at the apartment? He’d spread your legs. 

One of Jake’s requirements was you having to wear specific clothing for him to have easy access to while at the apartment. Loose tee shirts with no bra. Any type of shorts or sweatpants or skirts with no panties underneath. 

It truly was a dream come true for Jake. The best roommate he could ask for. This whole dynamic worked for the two of you. Both parties were getting pleasure and their needs met while maintaining a good friendship with each other. It was perfect. So completely perfect. 

Your favorite thing was when Jake would return home from his other classes or work and immediately sink down to his knees in front of you saying, “I need your cunt in my mouth right now,” or lifting your shirt off your body instantly and saying, “I need your tits against my tongue.” Or your personal favorite thing he’d say is, “I need you on my cock as I suck on those pretty tits of yours.” 

Again, so so so perfect. Yet…

…when it came to matters of your heart, you started to love him. You had your suspicions on whether you were actually gaining feelings or if it was just the sex and the way he’d work his mouth on your body that was making you confused. But your feelings became apparent and so clear to you when one day you lay on the couch, scrolling through TikTok to watch the latest trends when Jake stumbled into the living room. He had a hard time at practice that Saturday morning, beating himself up over not making the winning score during the practice match against another team. Jake slid himself under your arms and just laid his head against your chest and got himself comfy on top of you, making no moves to undress you to get his fix. “I just needed to be close to you right now,” was all he said as he snuggled his face into your breasts and slid his arms underneath you, squeezing you tightly to him. He wasn’t horny or anything, just genuinely wanted to be with you. It took everything to keep your heart from fluttering. From it completely busting out of your chest as he slowly fell asleep on top of you. You were done for. You loved him. 

And oh god did Jake fall so hard in love with you too. How could he not? You accepted his oral fixation and even let him get his fix by using your body. Yeah at first it was strictly to get his fix in, the sex just being a bonus, but the more time that passed, the more he fell. He would get so drunk of your scent as he worked his mouth and cock on and in your body. You became his every waking thought and not just in ways to get his oral fixation needs met. He wanted to spend time with you. Take you on dates. Show you off to his friends. Yeah, having a roommate who gave into his oral fixation was such a hard flex. But to call you his girlfriend who also gives into his oral fixation, was an even bigger hard flex. Jake knew he loved you when all he wanted was to be in your arms after his terrible practice that morning. 

It took a week later for him to confess. 

His cock was buried so deep in your cunt, his mouth biting and sucking on your ear lobe as you screamed out his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It was as good of a time as any, Jake thought, what better way to confess his love for you while being balls deep inside you?

“Be mine,” he moans into your ear, detaching his mouth from your lobe and lifting you up from the couch in a swift motion, rolling the two of you into a sitting position with you in his lap. Jake bites at your skin between your neck and shoulders, his hands shoving you down onto him to press his cock even further into your cunt, “be mine, please,” he says between each suck, kiss, and bite at your skin. 

You couldn’t believe you heard the words escape his mouth, not knowing if you heard him clearly or not, “What?” 

Jake released your skin with a pop, his hands moving to your tits, squeezing them together and giving them a lift up, licking your nipples then biting them softly, “I am in love with you, I can’t stand not actually getting to call you mine,” he sucks one nipple into his mouth, bucking his hips up into you, being so lost in the taste of you, “Be mine. Be my girlfriend.” 

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you bounced on his cock, throwing your head back, “Yes,” you moan, “Yes, Jae, yes. I love you too. I’m in love with you too.” 

Jake quickly switches the positions again, pressing your body against the coffee table by the couch, fucking into you with everything he had. He kissed you with so much love and want and need. Being so happy he could finally call you his. You finally being more than just his roommate/fuck buddy that gave into his oral fixation. 

He bites down on your bottom lip and pulls it as he comes undone, his hips snapping to a stop to press his cock against your cervix hard, his cum filling you whole. 

Jake releases your lip and smiles down at you, his eyes wandering to every part of your body he had his mouth on, loving the way his teeth marks look on you. On his girlfriend. Thank god you ended up being such a good roommate.

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