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msgexymunson · 10 months

Text

Forbidden Fruit Part 4

Description: Your relationship with Eddie is all consuming. How will you deal with the aftermath?

A/N: I love this series, this Eddie, and you lot. You're beautiful and I love you. My God, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood, please comment, please reblog. I’m not always responding due to my mental health but I see you and I love you I promise.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, this isn’t for you babies, p in v unprotected sex (surely you know this by now) Age gap, Eddie is 43, reader is 21. Violence, I’m not saying more I don’t want to ruin it ;)

4k words

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Light dapples through the hotel curtains, uncovering swirling dust motes in the air, dancing in front of your vision. Yawning, you feel warmth and safety; Eddie's side flush with yours, your legs entwined in a sleepy embrace.

His breathing is slow and deep. As your hand rests lightly on his chest, you can feel it. In, and out. It's comforting, a comfort that reaches into your bones and warms them from the inside out; your entire being at peace. The skin on his chest is soft, a slight spackling of chest hair lays under your hand. Unconsciously, you're already running your hand through it, fingers stroking his inked chest.

Hair splayed on the pillow underneath him in an angel's halo, his lines are finer, relaxed. He looks so peaceful and content that it makes your heart swell. A smile plays at your lips, one that touches every part of you. A perfect moment.

The steady breathing changes, and he moves beneath you, a rough hand reaching up to stroke your shoulder.

"Mornin' sweetheart."

His voice is gruffer than usual, enriched with sleep, the deeper cadence unknown to you before this moment. God, you would do anything to hear it every morning.

"Morning baby." Returning his greeting with a croaky one of your own, he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost possessively.

"This is nice."

You purr your approval, tightening your own grip around him.

"So, breakfast?" You ask.

"Five more minutes." He replies, pulling you on top of him to deepen the hug.

********************

The day was spent together, being the couple you never got to be in the real world. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious, you held hands until it got in the way of eating. Then a drive, where he took you shopping and bought you a dress just for you to wear tonight. You told him you'd pay for it but he insisted. Lunch at a quaint cafe in town was just perfect. Then a walk, arm in arm as you explored the place.

Back at the hotel, you were taking advantage of the suite he'd booked, soaking in an enormous bubble bath you're pretty sure you could do a few laps in. You had invited Eddie to join you, but in his words, 'if that happens we're never gonna eat dinner sweetheart.'

Drying off, you get ready for your date tonight. The other bra and panty set you bought just for Eddie resides under the beautiful purple satin dress he had bought you, along with your own hold ups and heels. Piling your hair high on your head in the fanciest updo you can manage without a team of hairdressers, you frown at your reflection. Not perfect, but good enough.

Mascara, a soft eyeshadow, and a lipstick to compliment your skin tone completes the look. Transfer proof, of course. You were going to dinner with Eddie after all.

As you're spritzing perfume, you hear Eddie's deep muffled voice from the other room.

"You ready princess?"

"Yup, coming."

Breathe, it's Eddie, why the hell are you nervous?

But this is the first date you've been on with him really. Butterflies flutter in your stomach in expectancy. Exiting the bathroom, you lock eyes with your date.

Eddie looks good. Ridiculously good. He's handsome, that's a given, but seeing him in a suit? Fucking hell.

The black suit jacket he's slung over his shoulders looks expensive, clearly tailored to him, with matching dress pants. A black shirt with a slight sheen to it clings to the muscles on his torso, it might be satin, or silk. He's even wearing smart shoes; they gleam in the light. No tie, you notice. Not that it surprises you, he doesn't look the type to even consider a tie, even for the most formal occasions. Not that you miss it; the top buttons of the shirt are undone, showing off his chest tattoo and a thick silver chain.

"Eddie, you clean up good." You smile. Real good.

"Sweetheart, fuck me…" He's frozen, staring at you.

"Eddie, you've seen the dress!" You laugh, walking towards him.

He stumbles back, holding his hands to his heart as if you shot him.

"But I didn't know you'd kill me when you put it on!" He exclaims, dramatically falling to one knee.

"Eddie…" you laugh, walking toward him.

"I don't know… if I can… go on." He breaks down on the floor, hand outstretched in a silent dramatic plea.

"Eddie you idiot!" You giggle, grabbing his hand and pulling him upright.

You're impossibly close now, bodies an inch from touching. All joking forgotten, he grabs you by the waist, pulling you close. Hot breath fans across your face as his lips nearly touch yours.

"We better go to dinner. You look so, so, sexy, that if we don't…" a kiss is forced onto your waiting mouth, full of longing.

"I'll hike this dress up and fuck you against," stopping to look around, he points, "that wall."

Your fingers wrap around his, bringing them to your mouth.

"Maybe later."

"Hmm, promise?"

"Promise."

Tugging him toward the door, he huffs dramatically, flinging his head back like a toddler.

Making your way to the door, you turn around suddenly.

"Wait. We need to play the part, right?"

Eddie looks at you, amused.

"Yes? What you thinking sweetheart?"

A plan comes to mind, making you shiver with anxiety. Hoping against hope that Eddie doesn't run a mile, you take his hands in your own, sizing up a likely candidate. That ring looks perfect, the backing is a straight band. Taking it off his finger, you place it on the ring finger on his left hand, backwards. You do the same with one of yours.

Holding your makeshift wedding bands next to each other, you look up at him.

"See? Playing the part."

He surveys them for a moment, a moment that has your heart beating in your throat.

"Perfect." Bringing your fingers up to his lips, he kisses the makeshift band.

"Dinner?"

Shoving your feelings down as far as they'll go, you swallow the lump in your throat and grab his outstretched hand so he can lead you downstairs.

Arm in arm, you enter the dining room together.

"Mr and Mrs Munson, here for dinner?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words.

It's just a part we are playing, that's all. Don't let it go to your head.

"Of course, please follow me."

After being ushered to a table, you order food and drinks. Then you talk, and talk, and talk. He's really opening up to you finally. All about high school, his love for music, his life. The conversation continues as you eat, about him becoming a mechanic, finally opening his own shop and building it from the ground up. He's charming, and funny; each piece of information gives you just that little extra insight into the man you've come to care for so much.

You start to tell him about your own life, some things you've never told anyone before. You speak about school too, your qualification in English Literature that you are working towards which you'd mentioned before, and looking to train as a teacher after that, which you hadn't. Or, you thought you hadn't.

"I know sweetheart, you told me that."

"Did I?" Racking your brains over the last couple of months just leaves you coming up empty.

"Yeah, about six months ago. We were in the kitchen, I was helping out, fitting the stove. You were wearing that blue skirt with the flowers on."

Oh.

"You remember that?" Wide eyed, you pause from taking a sip of your wine and stare at him.

"Yeah. Sorry, that came out really creepy." He smiles but doesn't meet your gaze, as if he's ashamed.

"Eddie, how long have you had a crush on me?"

"Honestly? Nearly a year. I remember seeing you all dolled up for your 21st and thinking I was being a fuckin' pervert."

"Well, that makes me feel a little better. I kinda had a thing for you around the same time. Dressed up a bit when you were around." Admitting it is embarrassing, but also freeing. A weight you didn't know you were carrying is lifted, flying free to the heavens.

"Ah, so that wasn't my imagination. Why'd you think I helped out around yours all the time? I gotta admit, that bikini you got, the red one. Fuck, that was when I knew I was down bad" he smirks, reaching over to hold your hand.

"I got it for you." You whisper, touching his outstretched hand.

"Naughty girl."

Your thighs clench under the table. A rush of blood to your cheeks aided by the wine you've drunk makes them burn hotly at his words.

"Sorry to interrupt." You both turn to see your waiter looking very awkward.

"Would you like any more to drink? Or the dessert menu?"

Eddie looks at you for confirmation.

"No, no we're fine. Can we take the rest of the wine upstairs?" Eddie's eyebrows raise at you, fingers stroking the hand he's still holding.

"Of course, have a pleasant evening Mrs Munson."

As the waiter departs, you stand up immediately.

"Oh it's like that, is it?" Eddie's grinning, the devil dancing in his eyes. He palms the bottle and pulls you from your seat so fast you may have whiplash, guiding you to the elevator.

Once the doors close you are on each other like a rash sharing an urgent, messy kiss. One of his hands is in your hair, pulling you toward him greedily as your tongues fight for dominance. You pull at his shirt, silky material bunching under your desperate hand.

The elevator doors ping open and he throws you over his shoulder like a caveman, landing an awkward smack on your ass since he's still holding the bottle of wine. You shriek as he practically runs down the hallway, placing you down gently to fumble with the room key.

Throwing your arms around his neck as he does so, you press needy open mouthed kisses to him, hitting any skin you can reach. Eddie's breathing is laboured, from his impromptu sprint as well as your attention on his neck.

"Sweetheart, I can't get the damn key card in the thing when you do that!"

Laughing, you suck a bruise in his neck making him groan as he puts the card in the slot. It flashes red once, twice, then finally green, the door swinging open taking you by surprise, so much so you nearly fall.

Vision sliding sideways as Eddie drags you in the room; he kicks the door shut with his foot and reaches for you once again, slamming your back against the wall.

"Was it this wall?" He asks, voice a throaty growl as he undoes his belt with one hand and whips it through the loops at lightning speed.

"Huh?" Thoughts are impossible right now, unable to see through the alcohol and lust that clouds your judgement.

Eddie's hand reaches and grabs you by the neck. All you can focus on is his rough grip, squeezing at the sides of your throat, and the heartbeat hammering in your cunt.

"The wall I was gonna fuck you against. This one, yeah?"

Nodding emphatically, you reach your eager fingers to his pants, palming his rock hard length.

"Fuck." Letting go of your throat he pulls your dress up and over the curve of your ass, exposing the tiny thong you were wearing.

"These new too?"

"Yeah."

As you answer he rips them off, the flimsy lace falling apart.

"I'll buy you a new pair."

His mouth is on your neck before you can protest, teeth biting harder than usual as he unbuttons his pants to push them hastily down.

Calloused fingers seek your pussy, rubbing through your folds.

"God, you're already soaked sweetheart."

You whine, back arching against the wall.

"Just fuck me Eddie, please, I need you."

The tip of his hardened cock runs through your seeping wetness as he lifts you up. Legs clamping around him instinctually, your fingers grasp the lapels of his jacket, tearing it down his arms. It's flung off and away, your hands gripping his shoulders.

He plunges his throbbing length into you then, large hands grabbing you by your ass, helping him to fuck up into you at an unforgiving pace.

The sounds of your conjunction are slapping through the room, your slick making dirty squelching noises that would make you cringe if you had any thoughts in your head. All that's echoing in your brain is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. A heartbeat.

He's pounding into you so hard your head starts hitting the wall, the thunk echoing.

"Fuck, sorry, just hang on," he says, gripping you harshly and carrying you over to the bed. He throws you down, making the air force out of your lungs with an 'ooft' noise.

Then he's pulling your knees up, giving you no time to breathe as he pushes into you hard, hitting that spot inside that makes you quiver and beg.

"Eddie, Oh God!"

His grip, his thrusting movements, his harsh demeanour has your head spinning. You're on the brink of unravelling.

"Eddie, please, can you- fuck, can you hold my throat again?" You plead, voice hot and raw from moaning.

"Sweetheart, anything for you." Gravel in his voice. His lips curve into a smile, but there's no mirth in it. His face is hard, and something about it is setting your insides on fire. One hand glides its way up and over your curves, coming to rest on your neck. Rough finger pads squeeze onto your throat at the sides, not too hard, though enough to make your head reel and your pussy clench.

The string holding you to this reality snaps then as you gasp for air, fibres flying free. You unravel, entirely and completely, dissolving into a mess of tangled threads.

Eddie merely grunts his appreciation, fully lost in the depths of your cunt, beast mode well and truly activated. Short fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, ass, thighs, hard enough that you're sure he's drawing blood.

He releases into you with a bloodthirsty groan, nearly collapsing onto your fucked out form.

After a few breaths, he manages words.

"Sorry princess. I get a bit… rough when I've had a drink."

"Don't apologise. That was… Just, need more of that."

"Now??" His eyes widened impossibly at your words.

You giggle at the incredulity in his voice.

"Maybe in like, ten minutes?" You pout.

"Twenty."

"Done."

********************

The time had come. You had both had to rid yourselves of the fairytale, the fantasy, and drive back separately to your real lives. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, a lemon rind of reality soaking onto your tongue, sour and unwelcome.

Saying goodbye was a sickening experience that you'd rather forget. A brief hug and kiss in the hotel car park, making you feel cheaper than you ever did. Like some sort of prostitute. It hurt, more than all of this put together.

Driving away with tear stained cheeks, you sought solace in the roads of tarmac ahead of you. That, and the last words he spoke to you which echoed your head, 'soon, sweetheart, soon.'

You pulled up to your family home and noticed your mom's car in the driveway. Walking in and dumping your bag at the foot of the stairs you shout out in a feigned cheery voice.

"Hey, I'm back from Stacey's house!" The lie you had told them. One of many.

"Hey honey, we were just heading out! Tell us about it later, we'll see you soon!"

Your mom rushes by you in a cloud of perfume and smiles, your dad in her wake. A kiss is laid on each of your cheeks as she waltzes out.

The house is silent and still. You move to the kitchen to fix yourself a drink.

A knock startles you for a moment, making water slosh out of the glass in your hand. Looking up, you see the vision of your desire silhouetted in the patio windows. T-shirt tight across his frame, hair dishevelled, and his usual bright face frowning with discomfort.

You open the door and he stands there, looking you up and down, like he hadn't seen you for a week, even though it had only been a couple of hours. He makes no move to join you however.

"Your parents, they gone?" .

"They just left. Why?" Your eyebrows tighten in confusion but widen in surprise when he strides inside, grabbing you by the ass and lifting you up.

He drops you unceremoniously onto the counter top, your nearly bare ass on the hard granite. His lips are on your neck, but instead of hot kisses, warm breath is breathing life into you.

"This weekend, it was supposed to be it."

"What do you mean?" You ask as your stomach drops.

"This." He gestured to the air between you both, "was it. I was going to say goodbye."

"But, Eddie-"

He interrupts your heart burning to ash, stopping the flames with a simple wave of his hands.

"I said this was supposed to be it. But I-I can't." He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs desperately.

"I care about you too much. We need to come clean, fuck the consequences."

His mouth is on your jaw, nipping at you harshly, hands groping at your flesh as if this were the first time, or the last time.

You moan, throwing your head back as your fingers grip at his shoulders, feet digging into his back to force him between your legs, closer to your expectant heat.

"Honey I forgot my purse-"

The world freezes. Your mother, still as a stone, stuck in between shutter speed frames. Her keys have fallen to the floor, splayed on the floor in her shock.

"What the fuck!"

Your dad stands behind her, face twisted as you've never seen it; volatile, angry and red. A vein is popping deep in his temple, cheeks nearly purple in their rage.

Eddie steps away, body shielding you with his hands held upward in supplication.

"Mick, look, we can explain-"

"Explain? Explain why you've got your hands all over my daughter??"

"Listen, I-"

"You fucking listen, get out of my house!"

Eddie steps away from you, hands still outstretched to the heavens as your mouth falls open. You're in shock, limbs refusing to respond to the impulses you're sending via your brain to move, damn it, move.

Eddie exits the front door, your mother and father behind him.

Finally, your legs find it in their muscles to listen. You shakily follow, finding your lover standing on the grass on the lawn, your father in front of him, clenched fists at his sides.

It's not long before your fathers fist strikes out, landing on the side of Eddie's face with a glancing blow. Eddie staggers and stands firm, eyes flashing defiance, but hands making no move to defend himself.

"Eddie, what the fuck do you think you're doing? She's half your age!"

"Mick, just listen, I know what this looks like, I'm sorry, but-"

"No, there's no sorry, she's my fucking daughter!"

The other fist lands, hitting Eddie square in the eye. This time he falls backwards onto the well manicured lawn, hands still reaching to your father, begging. Neighbours are beginning to edge their way outdoors, drawn by the carnage.

"But I love her!"

The words you never thought you'd get to hear were spilling from his soft lips, not a doubted syllable between them. The words you begged for silently, in the dead of night. Time stands still, at least for you. Your mom is frozen in time with you, hand hovering over her mouth. Your father, however, breaks the spell.

'Get the fuck off of my property."

As Eddie stands, you remember your voice.

"No! No, Dad, I love him too. I love you Eddie!" Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks at the slightest blink.

"You, inside. You don't even know what love is!" His angry fist is outstretched toward you, giving you a frightening glimpse of your father that you've never known.

"Mick, calm down, we should listen-"

Your mother is silenced with a violent glance.

"Inside, both of you. We'll talk in the morning."

There's nothing you can do but witness Eddie getting up and walking to his house without a backwards glance.

********************

Three days. It's been three days since that fateful encounter; three days since you knew your feelings towards Eddie were reciprocated. Your mother and father have practically kept you under house arrest during that time, holding some unknown shift pattern in order to keep you there.

As far as you're aware, your father has lost it. It was never in him to discipline you as a child, but it seems he reached his limit that day, threatening to incarcerate you until the end of your time on earth was spent.

Your mother is softer about this, but no amount of talking seemed to sway him. You'd even tried to sneak out of the house to find him at the foot of your window.

It was early. Sunlight was seeping through the folds of your curtains as you lay there, cheek fastened to your pillow as it has been for a while. Bed sores were a real threat; not that you cared. Nothing mattered anymore, apart from the fact that Eddie loved you, and you loved him, and you were never going to see him again.

A distant noise reverberated outside, one you barely cared about. Footfalls then, on the landing. Familiar footfalls.

As your door flings open, you look up with bleary eyes.

"Did you mean it sweetheart?"

It's Eddie, your Eddie. Flinging your body off the bed, you envelop him in an urgent embrace.

'Oh Eddie, I'm sorry, I didn't know that-'

'Shh sweetheart, it's OK. Just… did you mean it? Do you love me?"

"Eddie, I love you more than anything."

His lips press against yours, hard, firm and brief.

'Good. Pack a bag. We need to be quick."

"Why, where are we going?"

"Vegas."

Masterlist

Tag list (if you want to stay please reblog my sweethearts!)

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden

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hermionewrites · 9 months

Text

Impatient

summary: after his confession you and aaron come back to his hotel room. UNIMPORTANT PART 3

warnings: MDNI, piv sex, eating out, sexual situations

a/n: i hope you like!! it was what the people wanted! please like and reblog.

word count: 1484

The two of you sprinted up the back stairs of the hotel up to the fifth floor. Stopping between each floor to connect in a heated kiss. The corridor to his room seemed to go on forever as he grabs your hand and leads you to it.

Pulling out his key card the scanner lights up green and he pushes the door open. The click of the door is loud and suddenly you are pressed up against it, his lips on your neck. “You’re sure?” He pulls away for a second to whisper.

“As long as you are.” You whisper back and yank him up by the lapels of his blazer, smashing his lips onto yours. You couldn’t believe this was happening, your boss, the man you’d been mooning over for years was pressing you against his hotel door. It didn’t feel real.

His clothes were expensive, you could tell by the way your hands slid across them so easily, no snags or threads getting caught on rough patches of your fingers. His face was smooth against yours and the deep wooden scent of his aftershave overwhelmed your senses as your hands gripped onto his shoulders. Your nails dug into the shoulder pads as you made a small noise as your back arched up, pushing yourself into his chest.

“Oh God.” You moan out as his lips disconnected from yours and make their way along your neck, sucking in dark marks. He stands up to his full height, picking you up with him. His mouth still on your neck, you wrap your legs around his torso and grab at his jacket pushing it off onto the floor. The navy silk lining catching the light on the ground.

He walks you to the bed, sitting down on it. You now straddling his lap and you start to kiss again. Now jacket-less, you reach up to his tie. It’s also navy and designer, it feels expensive. Your next project was working that off from around his neck and throwing it back with his blazer, discarded on the floor. The two of you pull away in panted breaths and stare at each other for a second. Basking in the company.

The nerves got to you then, his eyes were just so intense. But hands still wander, yours to his shirt buttons, slowly undressing him. His hands travel down your back, his fingers teasing with the zip then splaying down your back and one lands on your hip, the other on your ass. His shirt was open and you couldn't help but marvel at him. His chest was muscular and hairy, covering the entire of his pecks and travelling all the way down into his trousers. He didn't have a full-on six-pack but the muscles were still hugely defined. You couldn't help but dart your tongue out and wet your lips.

"Like what you see?" He smirks and snapping out of your daze you look back up at his face. He was so smug and he was right to be, just looking at him clothed did unimaginable things to you.

"Of course I do, Sir." You can't stop touching him, it's addicting, he's hard and soft, pawing at his skin you are careful to avoid the nine scars littered across the skin.

"Aaron." He corrects, growling into your neck and quickly pulls the zip of your dress down, falling to your waist. "We're not in the office. You're not my assistant here." One finger drags up your ribcage softly, causing you to arch and shiver, essentially grinding against him, feeling how hard he is underneath you.

"But what if." You start and move your hands down to his slack buttons and begin to undo them. "I want to assist you." You lean in and whisper into his ear.

“You serve me enough.” He says and lifts you off of his lap and places you down onto your back on the near hotel bed. Hair splayed across the white sheets. He pulls down the dress and it joins the pile of clothes on the floor, leaving you in your black lace thong and bra. “It’s my turn.” He says and kisses down your stomach and to the navel. He pulls down the thong and continues to kiss you, this time up your legs.

There wasn’t a feeling that you could equate to the feeling you felt when his tongue hit your clit. His hands held your thighs apart as your knuckles turned the same colour as the sheets you were gripping into so hard, you thought you might rip a hole in them. “Aaron!” You sang his name out like a prayer as he ate like a starving man. Gasping and writhing you feel a finger nudge inside of you.

You look down and see him with his eyes shut, your legs cramped around his head. Your toes curl and you think you’ve said his name more in the past couple minutes, than in the years you had worked under him. He was the player and you were the pawn on the board that was moved and placed wherever he wanted.

Getting closer to the edge, you craved to finish but with your better judgment you reached down and pushed his head away from you. “Need you.” He nods with a smile and pulls away slowly. You get up on your knees and meet him half way. “Now.” You rasp and rip the shirt off of his shoulder and pull out the condom you had stashed in your bra the entire time.

His slacks come off and sit at the end of the bed, you pull the band of his boxers down and open the condom. At the same you slide the condom over him, he reaches behind you and takes off your bra, it joins the pile.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this horny in your life as you pull him down on top of you. He lines himself up with you and pushes inside of you, finally. He slowly thrusts and bottoms out, waiting for you to adjust to him, gripping onto your hips as he waits for your nod of approval.

“Fuck me, now.” You felt strange being the one to make the demands at him. But that melted away as he started to move. “Oh my god.” You chanted and added more scratches to his shoulders and back. He was also moaning and sighing into your ear and one. of his hands plays with a boob.

That feeling was back again, the one you couldn’t quite place. Now you could. At first you thought it was pleasure but now you knew what it was. It was euphoria. Your hands crawl up to the nape of his neck and fall into his hair. Pulling his head up, you put his lips on yours and you moan into his mouth desperately, bucking up to meet his thrusts.

The two of you moulded together perfectly as your legs began to tremble slightly when he reached down to rub gently at your clit. Years of longing and staring came to a head as his thrusts get more uneven frantic.

Getting closer to the edge the chanting of his name and his huffing of yours sped up and you brought your legs up around his hips. The euphoria was right there and all you needed was a groan from Aaron and you were sent hurtling over the edge and so was he.

“Invaluable, truly.” He whispers as he cums in the condom and you shake underneath him, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut and you call out his name again.

Panting, you and him lay next to each-other in the bed. You get up first and try to locate your thong and bra to put back on. He follows with his boxers and then you’re back on the bed.

Something catches the corner of his eye as the gold of it catches the light, it’s under the pile of clothes the two of you had ripped off. He goes to grab it as you are distracted from putting your bra back on.

“Is this yours?” He asked and holds out your lighter in his hand and the blush rushes to your face immediately. Knowing you’d been caught.

“Yess.” You say hesitantly and take it from him, placing it on the bedside table to your right. “Like you didn’t know.” You look at him accusingly.

“Know what?” He feigns innocently.

“Like Pen didn’t spill and tell everyone.” You smile and lay down, getting under the covers.

“Maybe she did.” He shrugs and continues, “I meant everything I said. You are invaluable to me.” He faces you in the bed.

“Do you maybe want to have dinner?” You ask and can’t contain your smile as he answers.

“I’d love to.”

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #oneshot #aaron hotchner smut #smut #he’s so sexy i need him

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cityofdreams-writing · 2 years

Text

Forever With You

Rating: E

Pairing: Pran x Pat

Word Count: 1.4K

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Smut, swearing, established PatPran, married PatPran, Pran has a big dick, size kink, dom/sub dynamics, slight dom/sub play, voice kink, Pat has a voice kink, Pat loves Pran's voice, bulge kink, pet names, Pran growls a lot, and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything.

Author: @cityofdreams-writing

Description: Pat wakes Pran up at 4 AM and finds out that he loves his voice when he wakes up. A little too much, actually.

Notes: I wrote this at 1 AM, help- but this is a gift for my girlfriend, happy birthday baby! My sweet baby girl, I wish I was there to celebrate with you, but unfortunately I can't, so have this little story. I hope you like it! @maybe-a-lee

Soundtrack: None

"Pran."

Pat's voice is soft, barely a whisper as he turns in his husband's embrace. The silver rings, one on his finger and the matching one on his lover's that signify their eternal life together, glint in the dim light of their shared bedroom.

His fingers run down smooth muscles, carving the lines that he's touched so many times. Pran shivers and slowly flutters his eyes open with a sleepy groan.

"Pat? Baby, what are you doing awake at this hour…? Did you not sleep well? It's 4 am…" Sleepy mumbles of his husband's voice reach Pat's ears, rough as sandpaper, yet smooth as honey.

"I'm hard." Pat's eyes slowly drag down to his cock, where sure enough, there's a outline prominent against his shorts.

Pran's eyes snap open fully, widening comically, and his jaw drops open. A goggle-eyed boy stares at him.

Pat chuckles shyly. "What?"

"No way. You can't be. What were you dreaming about that got you so hard?" Pran's voice is incredulous as he rolls over to switch on the light by his bedside.

His voice is still husky from sleep and doesn't help Pat's situation. It just goes straight to his dick.

The light switches on and now he can see him more clearly. Toned abs peek out from underneath the duvet cover, leading up to plains of honey gold skin.

God, he's so turned on.

"You. And your stupid voice that does things to me…" Pat mumbles, embarrassed as he feels himself clench around nothing and his dick twitch at the admission.

Pran smirks, finally realizing what's got his husband all hot and bothered.

"My voice~? You like when I talk like this, don't you~?"

Oh. Oh god. The teasing's started.

Pat doesn't like when he teases like that, because he cums so much faster like that.

"Y-yeah…" He squeaks out when Pran kisses his jawline all the way down to his neck, nosing his sweet spot and licking it.

"Mm…" Pat's breath hitches as he whimpers softly when Pran sucks gently on that one spot that makes him go crazy.

Pran starts to move down, down, down…until he traces a finger against the outline of his cock, earning a whine and a slight buck of his hips into his hand.

He pulls down his shorts and briefs, admiring the swell of his ass. The other boy whimpers, little sounds that go straight to Pran's cock as he gives it a light slap.

"You're so naughty, my prince." He chuckles deeply as Pat moans, begging him silently to touch.

"Ah, fuck. W-wanna feel you, please Pran…do something!" The boy in question can feel himself grow achingly hard. He can't tease any longer, simply because he's Pat and the boy is fucking whipped for him.

"Shh, I will." Pran quickly lubes his cock, spitting on his hand and stroking it to full hardness. He enters smoothly, no prep needed.

"Touched yourself without my permission, puppy~?" He growls in Pat's ear, biting it softly.

"I-I, shit, I did, 'm sorry, baby…" Pat's voice is more breathy moans than anything coherent at this point, because Pran has started to move slowly and boy is he big. And also, his voice. The growls. And oh my fucking god, the pet names…he certainly can't handle that. Puppy?! He loves that name, and by god does Pran know it. He's fucking milking it for all he's got.

He falls apart under Pran, body rocking slightly against the bed and it's just so filthy, the creaks the bed makes, the squelching noises and the rubbing of his cock against the bed is all too much for Pat. So many sensations and all of them feel so good and so, so overwhelming.

The little ah noises that Pat makes turn Pran on more. Breathless little sounds that go straight to his dick. He's barely thinking logically anymore, which is terrifying to think about because this is Pran we're talking about, he always thinks logically. All his thoughts are to fuck Pat so hard that he doesn't even know his own name.

Pat Napat Jindapat, what have you done?

He starts to move faster, practically destroying Pat in the process, reducing him to an incoherent puddle of loud, lewd, almost pornographic whines.

And fuck, does that make him want to go faster, to hear more noises like that fall from his red, kiss-swollen mouth.

He looks down, to where there is a little bulge in his belly and touches it with his hand tenderly like it's a baby bump. He can almost cum from this sight alone, seeing how big Pran actually is.

"F-fuck…you're so big…and s-so deep…" Pat hisses softly before letting out a pornographic moan loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Hopefully they wouldn't be having to attend to noise complaints later. (Spoiler alert: they would. Lots of grumpy neighbors were awakened.)

"Can I move, love? Let me know if it's too much." He shakes his head before whining exasperatedly. "Fucking—just move, Parakul! Hard and fast, make me forget my own name!" He squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, clenching around Pran's cock.

Damn you, Pat.

That's all he needs to start pounding into Pat with no mercy, growling loudly and feeling him clench heavenly around him. Pran's eyes flutter shut, long black lashes caressing honey golden skin flushed a pretty pink with exertion. His prostate sends waves of pleasure down his spine as he arches his back. Pran is deadly in his aim, both in and out of the bedroom.

"You're such a little whore, aren’t you~? Touching yourself like the slut you are and then waking me up just to fuck you~? Hm~? Tell me, Pat, is this what you wanted~? For me to rail you so hard that you forget your own name~?" He pulls his hair, growling absolutely filthy thoughts in his ear as Pat turns into a moaning, screaming, shaking mess. His hips smack his ass, creating lewd sounds that even PornHub would be willing to die for.

The coil builds fast, so fast that Pat barely knows it, heat pooling in his gut.

"P-Pran, g-gonna c-c-cum-!"

And then it snaps, making Pat cum with a loud cry, all over the bed and his body. Fat tears roll down his cheeks as he sees stars explode across his vision and his mind goes blank.

Oh, but Pran isn't done. Pat may be, but Pran certainly isn't. He keeps going, thrusting into Pat's spent body and overstimulating the crying boy.

"Ah, ah, Pran! It's too much!"

"Too much, hm? What happened to forgetting your own name? Surely you can last a few more rounds." Pran's voice is a low growl due to exertion and Pat can feel his cock twitch back to life just because of that.

Pran keeps pounding into him, relentless in the way he thrusts. The sight in front of him is mouthwatering to say the least. Pat shakes under him, his eyes glazed over with tears and red, swollen lips slick with saliva. His hole clenches around his cock, pre-cum dribbling out of it. His hair is a mess to say the least, sweat coating his entire body and incoherent babbles and moans of Pran's name falling from his lips.

The sweet sounds that fall from his lips urge Pran to angle his hips upwards to drill into his prostate with every hit, making him grip the sheets harder and cry out Pran's name over and over.

"A-ah, Pran! Fuck! I-I, cum!"

He barely gets out a coherent sentence before he shoots a second load onto the bed. Pran empties his cum into him, growling softly and kissing his neck, stroking the tense muscles of his back and feeling them relax under his touch.

"Ah, ahh…" He collapses onto the bed, falling in his own mess and burying his face in the pillow. Pran turns him over, cleaning his face with a wet washcloth to get rid of the sweat. Next he turns to his body, riddled with purple bruises and red hickeys where he was bitten. Wiping it down and also ridding him of the cum in the process, Pat opens his eyes slightly, enough to see that the feverish haze of lust is gone from his dark orbs. Instead, it's replaced by a clear fondness in his eyes. It's love.

"Don't leave me, please…" Pat mumbles, looking up at his husband, who's finishing up gently cleaning him. His eyes swim with unshed tears.

Pran smiles softly, holding up the hand with his ring on it and touching it to Pat's. "I can't, my love,"

"Because I'm forever with you."

#Bad buddy writing #patpran #bad buddy the series #bad buddy series #bad buddy gmmtv #bad buddy pran #bad buddy pat #Bad buddy smut #Patpran smut #Pat x Pran #Queue will never be King 👑

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alrightieaphroditie · 3 months

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joel miller and the five love languages

*:·ﾟ✧ back to masterlist

pairing*:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc*:·ﾟ 5.3k warnings*:·ﾟ 18+ minors please do not interact! features pre-outbreak!joel, post-outbreak!joel (both the qz and jackson eras), one mention of child's death, some talk of insecurities, mentions of kissing/making out, oral (both f and m receiving), dirty talk, praise, p in v penetration (not really specified whether it is protected or not), some light period play, nothing too detailed, just a hodgepodge of things really :) an*:·ﾟ ahh this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest amount of time and i finally decided to scrap it and rewrite it. i did this same kind of post with eddie munson awhile back, and it's safe to say this genre of writing is one of my favorites. this is essentially a little character analysis on joel's character and how he would handle the different love langauges with a hint of nsfw elements for each! i really loved writing this, and i hope i did his character justice. any and all feedback, be it comments or reblogs, is welcomed! this is also wildly unedited, so please forgive me lol

i. physical touch

for joel, physical touch is a way for him to stay grounded, almost. to kind of remind himself that you're there, you're real, you're okay. the action brings him a sense of peace, even if it's simply his pinky finger brushing against the tip of your shoulder or his knee gently bumping into yours when you sit together. he loves feeling your skin under his rough, calloused fingers because you're so fucking soft in comparison. that difference between you isn't the only one, but it reminds him that while you're everything he isn't - patient, friendly, pure, and utter sunshine - you're still his. his to touch, his to hold, his to love.

even though he'd never admit it, to anyone or himself, joel is quite the cuddler. the first time you spent the night in his bed, this information was a pleasant surprise. you had woken up halfway through the night needing to pee and found yourself tangled up in joel's limbs; one arm was underneath your pillow, the other securely wrapped around your middle. his legs were woven within yours, with his muscled thigh pressed between them at a spot that had your cheeks heating up. you had to untangle yourself from him to get up, and he had let out the smallest of grunts in disappointment. as soon as you were back in his bed, though, he immediately pulled you back in his orbit, his face pressed against your neck as both of y'alls breathing steadied out again.

when it comes to public displays of affection, though, this is where it differs. pre-outbreak!joel would be more willing to commit these acts; you'd be used to having his hand in the back pocket of your jeans while strolling the farmers markets or being kissed for longer than a few seconds while waiting in line to check out at the grocery store. he wouldn't be obnoxious with it, but he'd definitely want to show off and claim you as his out in public.

post-outbreak!joel is a different story. now, he doesn't really see the appeal of those public displays. not that he's against them, per say, but it's more of him not wanting to really let his guard down enough to give in to the temptation of touching you in public. even without these public acts, everyone knew you were joel's girl, and he is quite alright with just that. so it's not that doesn't engage in these acts, they're just slightly more subtle, slightly more restricted.

sometimes, he lets himself brush back your hair when it blows in your face while you're walking down the street, lets himself gently tuck it behind your ear while you grin up at him. sometimes, he lets himself press the swiftest of kisses against your forehead, taking a second to breathe in your scent before pulling away. sometimes, he lets his arm rest across your shoulders with your body firmly pressed against his, reveling in the way you fit against him so rightly.

these little moments barely fulfill that innate urge he has to touch you, to give himself that sense of peace you bring him, but it only fuels that need exponentially when you guys are eventually confined in the safety of your home.

this love language translates quite nicely into the bedroom, too, because joel simply cannot get enough of you when the two of you get intimate.

every time your kissing gets a little needy, it's like he physically cannot control his hands; they start against the sides of your face, cupping you gently as he hungrily moves his lips against yours. his thumbs will brush against your cheeks while his other fingers dig into your hair. then they'll move to your shoulders, usually so that he can guide you into a different position. then they'll drift down your sides, digging into your waist for a moment before slipping underneath your shirt - that is, if it's not off already. he'll let his hands caress the smooth skin of your stomach, your back, before bringing them to the hard peaks of your breasts. he never spends too much time in one spot, though. his hands have to be everywhere.

his favorite positions are the ones that allow his body to be completely pressed up against yours; the classic missionary, which allows him to settle his weight just nicely on top of yours, allows him to grind his hips into yours and pushes his cock even deeper inside you. allows him to feel your tits bouncing against his chest as he kisses you hard while he fucks you even harder. your wrists would be enclosed together above your head by his hand, and the other would be stroking the side of your face, the side of your hip, anywhere he could reach.

he loves when he can fuck you on the couch, having your body propped up in his lap while you rock against him. he finds it so cute that you'll tuck your feet underneath his thighs to use as leverage to bounce yourself along his cock. you usually crave that physical connection with him just as much as he does, fulfilling that need by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, tugging on his hair, pressing his mouth against your chest. this always causes you both to be more sweaty than comfortable, which always leads to round two in the shower, so that's always a bonus.

his third favorite position? good 'ole sixty-nining. he fucking loves having your weight on top of him, your pussy pressed and rocking against his face as he eats you out so greedily. his hands, once again, can roam over most of your body; they can spank your ass when he feels the need to, massage your calves ever so gently after you've came all over his face, press against your back to push your stomach and tits even closer to his abdomen, card through your hair to guide your movements as you deepthroat his cock.

and every time after, when you're both exhausted and spent, joel will pull you into his arms, lay a kiss against your lips and forehead, and hold you close until your heartbeats have evened out.

ii. words of affirmation

truthfully, words of affirmation is not really joel's strongest suit (at least, in none sexually settings, but we'll get to that in a second). as a single dad, he really has tried his best to show his daughter (daughters) that he loves and appreciates them with words, but truthfully? he really struggles with articulating how he's feeling, even when it is positive. so, getting those affirmations out are harder than anything else, most of the time.

pre-outbreak!joel has a bit of an easier time with this, as he isn't as guarded as he'll become yet. he has no problem cheering for sarah during her soccer games, or admitting to tommy he did a good job at one of their worksites. he has no problems with it when it comes to you, either, as he often reminds you of how beautiful you are every time he sees you, be it first thing when you wake up together or after you've pampered yourself a bit for a date night. the man will constantly tell you how stunning you are, how lucky he is to have you, all of that jazz. you'll eat it up every time too, because the one thing that stayed with joel before and after the outbreak was the fact that he'll never say something he doesn't mean. so, when he's consistently hyping you up, you know it's real.

post-outbreak!joel is much more secluded in this love language, though. he'll tell you sometimes that you look good, only mostly when you're only wearing one of his t-shirts or his flannels. it's not that he doesn't think you're beautiful - he genuinely believes you're the most gorgeous, heartbreakingly beautiful thing he's ever seen - it's just that, with the way the world is now, he finds that to be so trivial to compliment.

instead, he'd rather congratulate you on being able to grow the new seeds you received from bill and frank, even when you've never really had a green thumb. he'd rather comment on how smart you are, when you figure out how to make your own bubble bath solution because you missed having them when you soaked in the tub. he'd rather tell everyone of your achievements, simply because he was so fucking proud of you and in awe of the way you handle everything with grace.

despite this love language not necessarily coming naturally to joel, he has absolutely no issues with giving you affirmations in the bedroom. absolutely none. in fact, he likes giving you praise just as much as you like to receive it. he so deeply wants you to know how good of a girl you are, how good your body feels against his, how good your pussy takes his cock. the man is simply obsessed with complimenting you in this area that it's insane.

when you two first got together, there honestly wasn't that much talking involved. besides a few subdued grunts and moans, joel was otherwise pretty quiet throughout the experience, which in turn made you feel like maybe you were doing something wrong or that the chemistry you thought you felt just wasn't really there to begin with. once you communicated those feelings to him, though, and you both became more comfortable and trusting of each other, in intimate settings and out, that's when things started to change.

joel could now recognize that you needed those thoughts he had in his head to be said out loud, needed to know that he was enjoying himself to the point of no return. and so, he did.

when you started kissing, and your breaths were turning into pants and moans, he'd whisper against your mouth as his hands roamed your body; "can't get enough of those lips, baby. they feel so soft and right against mine, yeah?" "god, you feel so good underneath my hands. you like bein' touched by my rough hands, don't you baby?"

when you were both undressed, writhing against each other as you frantically tried to get closer to one another: "fuck, but you look so pretty underneath me, honey. this is where you belong." "how did i get so lucky, hm? to have someone like you beggin' me to touch you, to kiss you? your little whimpers sound so good, baby. so fuckin' good." "that's it, sugar. move those hips against mine, just like that. i want that pretty little pussy comin' against my thigh real soon, okay? don't disappoint me, darlin'."

and especially when he finally sunk his cock inside of you, mixed in between his moans and grunts as he fucked you how you liked it: "jesus fuckin' christ. it's like this pussy was made just for me, don't you agree, honey?" "look at how well this little cunt is takin' my cock, baby. don't i fill you up so nicely? we look so good together." "you're such a good fuckin' girl, rubbin' that clit while i make you take this dick. you wanna come, huh? well go ahead. soak my cock, baby."

and after, joel praises you while he takes a wet rag to your skin, cleaning up the mess you both made. he praises you while he helps get you in the shower or the tub, whatever you prefer that night, and praises you while he helps dry you off. he praises you while tugging one of his shirts over your head, while helping you slip on a fresh pair of panties, while tucking you in under the blankets and while pulling you into his side.

iii. quality time

quality time is probably one of joel's main love languages, as he's the kind of person who can comfortably sit in silence with someone he likes and feel so content. joel is honestly a really solitary individual, he likes his own space, doing his own thing. he doesn't mind allowing people he trusts into his orbit, but he's not someone who needs to be constantly doing something with someone else to enjoy time together.

some of his favorite moments with sarah are when they'd sit on the couch together, a game show playing in the background while she flipped through a magazine, and he jotted down information for his work sites. sometimes they wouldn't talk for over an hour, but the ease he felt while simply sitting there with her was unbeatable.

with pre-outbreak!joel, there were a lot of moments like that with you, too. movie nights were often in his house when he was able to get home from work at a decent time. it could've been a movie he'd already seen a thousand times, and yet he wouldn't mind it at all because that meant he got at least a few hours of time with you pressed against his side, or your head in his lap. he also liked when you two were able to cook together; you'd usually turn the radio on some modern station that he never cared for but got used to listening to because sarah also listened to it, and he'd be content to listen to you hum along with the songs while he diced whatever food you slid his way.

after the outbreak though, there wasn't really a lack of quality time between the two of you, unless he was off on some hunting or scavenging trip. when your relationship became official, joel all but moved into your house. you'd wake up together, brush your teeth in the small bathroom together, fix breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, wind down together, fall asleep together. the amount of time y'all spent together would probably seem like a lot compared to others, but joel didn't mind it one bit. he loved being involved in your life, loved just being near your presence that rivaled the sun for him.

his absolute favorite moments were when you two would wind down before laying down. you had the habit of drinking tea before bed, which is something he picked up as well, and so you'd brew the tea, spruce it up to each of your likings (joel drank his straight up, but you loved added in some honey or vanilla when able to). you'd settle into the couch in the living room, curling up on one side while joel sat on the opposite. after a long day of helping around the town, joel mostly would relax with his head tilted back, eyes closed, while you preferred to read or attempt to knit.

throughout the night, your legs would find themselves crossing the distance of the couch, with your feet resting in his lap. his hands would be massaging the soles of your feet or tracing up and down your calves ever so softly. no words would be shared between the two of you, unless there was a passage in the book you were reading that you wanted to share with him, and some people might have deemed that uncomfortable, but for joel? god, was it fulfilling.

it gave him the time to reset his mind, slow down his body. he didn't have to think about anything besides how soft your skin felt or how cute it was that you'd curse at yourself when the stitch you were attempting didn't go right. he could simply bask in your presence, build himself back up again. and that is something that meant the world to him.

his other favorite part about nights like that were, despite the usual routineness of it, most of the time it led to other things which equally satisfied his need for that quality time. and really, the options for that were unlimited.

sometimes, after feeling the smooth expanse of skin on your legs, joel would decide that he needed to feel more. his hands would turn greedy; rather than simply grazing his fingertips along your skin, he'd put more pressure behind the movements, making his intentions well known. he'd shift to reach more than just your calves, pushing his hands up to your knees, your thighs, the peak between your legs. by that point, whatever activity you had been filling your time with would have found itself settled on the nearby coffee table, your attention solely on the man next to you.

his urge to be closer to you would manifest in different ways after this point. some nights, he wanted the focus to be on you only. he'd sink to his knees in front of the couch, guiding your legs gently to rest over his shoulders while he found ecstasy between your legs. he'd take his time with you, ignoring how much his joints hurt pressed against the wooden floors simply just to hear you moan his name. he loved feeling your hands in his hair as he lapped up the wetness from your pussy.

other nights, he wanted it to be a mutual endeavor. he'd yank on your ankle, dragging you halfway down the couch before gripping your hips and pulling you on top of him. kisses would be shared, clothes would be shed, and orgasms would be had while you ride his cock until you were begging him for a rest. his hands would leave half-moon bruises along your hipline as guided your body along his, his mouth leaving little red love bites across your neck and chest as he soothed you after an orgasm.

and some nights, joel wanted the focus to be solely on him. he'd lure you in with a kiss, drawing you up on your knees to get closer while his hand worked on his belt. before you even knew it, his cock was out and in your mouth. one of his hands would be holding up your hair, the other would be palming your pussy through your clothes as he thrusted his hips up in time with your movements.

it was the care he gave you afterwards that remained his favorite part, though. joel loved taking baths or showers with you, loved getting you all comfortable in the bed before he let himself do the same. loved holding you afterwards, stroking his fingers along your skin soothingly. talk was limited here, oftentimes as you both were too spent to communicate anything at that point. but by the way he held you, by the way you let him hold you, rough hands and all, that was enough to solidify the love between you without words.

iv. receiving gifts

joel miller has never been the richest man. he's worked for everything he has, for everything he's given other people. it's that quality that makes his gifts hold so much more meaning; he wasn't trying to buy your love, by any means. instead, when he did offer you a gift, it was heartfelt and had value behind it.

pre-outbreak!joel would've loved to spoil you as often as he could, but as a single dad and contractor, he wasn't really rolling in dough. in a way, he always felt guilty that he wasn't able to buy you flowers every week, or that sweater you saw in the store while shopping with sarah. and you had told him over and over again that you weren't with him for the money ("clearly," he'd scoff at himself every time you mentioned it) and that the fact that he wanted to do those things was simply enough for you.

occasionally, though, he was able to set aside a little money for gifts for you. sometimes, a bouquet of flowers would show up at work, the card inside reading nothing more than "thinkin' of you" every time. sometimes, after pointing out a dress you found online that joel couldn't help but fall in love with too, you'd come home to a package on the porch, the dress inside. on your one-year anniversary, joel surprised you with a simple gold chained necklace that had a tiny letter 'j' pendent.

later that night, while sarah was still at tommy's, you had just barely made it through the threshold of your house before joel threw himself at you. his kisses were needy and rough, his teeth clashing into yours at the beginning with the intensity behind it. he managed to kick your door closed, never moving his mouth from yours as he started stripping you out of the red dress you had worn. you never even made it to the bedroom for the first two rounds.

instead, joel hoisted you up against him, your back pressed into the closet near your front door and your legs wrapped around his waist. his nimble fingers pulled your panties to the side, caressing your wet folds and lightly strumming his thumb across your clit before pressing his hips flush against yours, filling you completely. and later, when you stumbled to the couch and joel had you bent over the side, his hips bucking against yours and his fingers digging into your hair, all you were wearing was the necklace.

you never took it off after that night.

post-outbreak!joel is a bit of a different story. there wasn't really much around anymore that he could buy for you, per say, but he did a pretty good job at finding things to give you despite that fact. joel is a provider, so while his gifts may not have been flowers and fancy jewelry now, they were necessities and things you needed, sometimes things you never even mentioned that he picked up on.

when you first started talking to joel, you had mentioned offhandedly that you missed blueberries, as that fruit had been a staple in your morning breakfast. a few weeks later, after returning to the qz from a visit to bill and franks, he produced a packet of blueberry seeds from his jacket pocket, setting it besides you on the table while kissing your forehead.

another time, while strolling down the market on the main street, you had stumbled upon a barrette that you absolutely adored. it was dirty, the gold metal needing to be wiped clean from the mud stuck to it, and it was missing one of the pearls in the middle, but it stuck with you for some reason. you never said anything about it, considering you had nothing worthy to trade or sell, but joel saw you turn it over in your hands, saw your gaze go back to the stall more than once. while you were conversing with a friend further down the street, joel had doubled back to the stall with the barrette and provided the worker with a few pills on the down low in exchange for the clip.

he even cleaned it up himself before presenting it to you. the action had sent you over the moon, feeling so giddy and so normal as you held the hair clip in your hands. you had asked joel to help you put it in your hair, which shocked him. but he obliged. he carefully tucked some of your hair up behind your ear, gently placing the clip in the right spot and pressing down just enough to secure it.

it was such a simple moment, but it took his breath out of his chest for a second, seeing you grinning up at him with the clip he had provided for you in your hair. that was the night that your relationship took a step further; joel couldn't really explain why he felt the primal urge to claim you just then, but he just knew he needed to. you had asked him how the clip looked, and instead of responding, joel had crushed his mouth against yours, sweeping you up off your feet and leading you to the bedroom.

his kisses were frantic, as were his hands; he didn't know what part of you to touch first. you were really taken back by this sudden reaction, but it had been a long time coming, so after the initial gasp you had let out, you were just as eager and frantic as joel was. your fingers were trying to nimbly open the buttons on his shirt, but somehow you managed to rip it open and send a few flying across the room.

it was the noise of the little beads scattering on the wooden floor that made joel pull back a little, glancing down at his now-ruined shirt before looking at you, gazing up at him with wide eyes. his brown eyes stayed on yours, and eventually, a small laugh escaped your lips as you apologized for his shirt. he couldn't help but chuckle himself, chastising himself a little for rushing things so much when all he wanted to do was savor this moment, savor you. he glanced at the clip again, slightly covered by some strands of your hair that had fallen out and ducked down to capture your lips with his again.

v. acts of service

this is the love language that joel understands the most and acts out the most. as mentioned before, this man is a provider, a caretaker to those he loves. he will do just about anything to keep those people safe, keep them comfortable, keep them alive. there is quite literally nothing joel wouldn't do for you.

pre-outbreak!joel is a handyman, for sure. he's who you'd call if your car breaks down or a tire blows out. he's who you'd call if your sink starts leaking or one of the lights in your bathroom goes out. even just a simple text will have him heading to the hardware store, gathering the tools he needs if he doesn't already own it himself, before immediately heading to fix whatever you need.

he loves stepping into that role of taking care of you in that sense, mostly because it just really makes him feel needed, important to keep around. sometimes he wonders what you see in him, a single dad trying to make ends meet. it's the ways you allow him to help you out, though, that are what keep him filling fulfilled and loved. he knows you can be as independent as you want, but the fact that you trust him enough to immediately turn to him when something is wrong? that's the best feeling in the world to joel.

this joel is constantly doing these little acts of service, too, to the point where it just comes naturally for him. every time you stay the night, he's up a little earlier to make breakfast for the two of you, even if he burns the food more than not. he always keeps an eye on your gas levels, sometimes taking your car out to fill it up himself. same with the oil changes; he has the dates and mileages written out on a post-it so that he's in the loop, just like you. when he's at the grocery store with sarah and he sees the body wash you use that's almost out, he'll go ahead and grab a new bottle without you even asking.

this continues even after the outbreak, too. if anything, that need to feel important, to feel like a provider for someone strengthens the longer the world turns to shit. post-outbreak!joel is all about those acts of service, because he might have failed sarah when this all began, but he sure as hell is never going to fail you or ellie.

at the qz, he's all about making trades for the betterment of your life together. whatever he thinks would benefit you the most, he's doing it - even if that means he's gone for weeks on end to secure the goods necessary. you found yourself spending time in the lower city to pass your days, helping out any shopkeepers with their still-standing stores or watching over the kids as their parents do their duties. joel will walk you there every morning before he's off on his own duties, and every evening he waits for you to be done so that he can walk back home with you.

in jackson, he'll fulfill this language in a multitude of ways. he's always the one to do the dishes, even if he's also the one who cooked that night. you always fuss about that because joel has arguably worked harder and longer than you did on most days, but every time you bring it up, he simply shoos you away with the dishrag nearby before continuing to scrub at the dishes. he's always the one to make sure you're stocked up on firewood during the colder months, always making sure that your pipes won't freeze or that the fireplace is properly managed. joel will make sure you're stocked on the tea you like to drink at bedtime, make sure you have enough books to keep you occupied, make sure he's left enough of his shirts at your place to keep you satisfied.

this easily translates into the bedroom, too, because while this man likes control, he is nothing if not a giver. his back could be aching, his knees could be weak, and he'd still lay on his back against the hardwood floors so that you could use the couch to prop yourself up on while he eats you out from below. if he senses that you've had a rough day, he'll immediately guide you to the bedroom so that he can figure out how to help you there. you could not even touch him once and he'd still be a happy man, just as long as you've come.

if you had a headache? no problem. joel's always claimed that a good orgasm can help keep those at bay, so he won't stop until you've given him at least three. the first is always by his fingers, brushing through the slick of your skin before pressing them inside your sopping pussy. his thumb will be caressing your throbbing clit ever so gently, not applying as much pressure as you really need but just enough to still feel that friction.

the second will always be by his mouth, as he can't keep his tongue away from the glistening skin between your legs after coming on his fingers. this one is always the shortest, too, because joel's tongue flattening against your clit has you on the verge of another orgasm in seconds. and, finally, the third one is always by his cock. he'll push into you slowly but deeply, keeping his hips pressed against yours as you adjust to his length. and then he'll tease the shit out of you; never thrusting in a dedicated manner, pushing you to the edge of your last orgasm before pulling back to prolong it.

he's even willing to help out when you're riddled with period cramps, because joel miller is not the kind of man who is afraid of getting a little dirty in the bedroom. if anything, he loves being able to finger you into oblivion to ease the cramps because the tylenol just doesn't work as well when it's been expired for years. he'll keep his fingers inside of you until you're begging him to stop, until tears have been shed from overstimulation and not pain. depending on where you're at on your cycle, he'll even insist on fucking you, too. claims that he can give you a better orgasm with his cock, that being full of him would ease the pain a little better because you would be focusing on the sting of the stretch rather than the cramps happening on the inside.

his logic might be a little flawed, but like i said - joel miller will do pretty much anything to keep you happy, even if he has to get a little dirty every now and then.

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

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lonersclub · 1 year

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Khorg’s Sword

A stupid fanfiction I wrote to torment online friends in a dnd campaign. Tried my best to make it as shitty early 2000s fics as possible.

Yes, it is the worst thing I have written. I am not sorry.

Tags: M4A, enormous penis, enormous cumming, biting, bottoming, blowjob, religious experience, ball fondling, character study, consent, daddy kink, hand job, kissing, lgbt, praise kink, caring, communication, reader-insert, abs, muscular, roughness, sexual content, khorg, soulmates, spanking, teasing, topping, interracial, sixty-nine, vocal, doggy style, climaxing together, missionary, cuddling, I’m sorry

Khorg grabs the sword of the pack leader with his strong, muscular hands. He swings it down voraciously against the enemy, his biceps rippling with unimaginably sexiness. He flings his hair back with his off hand, his sweaty, blushed face glistening in the moonlit jungle.

“Khorg,” he mumbles underneath his breath. The timbre of his voice sends ripples of electricity down your spine.

You watch as he twists and turns through the swaths of enemies, bathing in their blood like an Olympic swimmer. He is as majestic as a mermaid on land. Seeing the way he handles his girthy sword makes your mind wander.

Indubitably, this Adonis is your soul mate. There is no one who comes close to the sheer perfection of this specimen. No one rises to his intellectual level, his skill in battle, and his undeniable sexual gravitas.

That night at the campfire, Khorg pulls off his shirt to doctor his wounds. You watch from the other side of the fire. The flames highlight the myriad of crooks and crannies of his mammoth muscles. He grimaces as the final cloth relinquishes his beatific form. Khorg curses under his breath, “Khorg.” Sweat and blood create a marbled mosaic over his perky chest and broad shoulders.

You stand, not wanting to see your dreamboat beefcake in any more pain. You run over to assist but are frozen in place as the raw sexual energy radiating from Khorg like a radioactive isotope hits you like a freight train.

He smiles. “Khorg.”

He’s so funny. You try not to laugh but can’t help it. The charisma. The machismo. It is too powerful. But you are also an intrepid adventurer. You like danger.

“Please, Khorg, let me help,” you say, your breathing heavy.

Khorg’s eyes twinkle in the light. “Khorg.”

That’s all you needed to hear. You step closer and examine his cuts closer, starting on his back. His broad shoulders lay like an easel, and you are the painter.

Khorg’s skin is exquisite, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You can’t help but trace a hand over the abundant scars that line his skin like a bad tattoo. His skin is warm, yet cold. Hard, yet soft. Khorg is a man of innumerable intricacies. He is a paradox, a puzzle. You want to know him. Understand him. Love him.

Khorg’s scent fills your nostrils and makes you like a cat sniffing catnip. You feel intoxicated simply being within his presence.

“Khorg,” he says quietly.

You pause, remembering what it is you are supposed to be doing. But before you can start, Khorg turns, making direct eye contact with you. You see your own reflection in his own large, empty eyes. Once you thought they were beastly, but now you truly understand the goddess that lies within.

Your breaths mingle in the humid jungle air. Khorg brings a hand up to your chin, his muscular thumb running over the tips of your lips, tracing back and forth. His magnetic touch pulls you closer until your lips meet his. They meet like pieces of a puzzle: they are made for each other. Nothing has ever felt so right as Khorg’s lips.

His arms wrap around your waist as you drape yours over his shoulders. Khorg’s tongue drives into yours, wrestling you for dominance. A sword fight of tongues ensues, fencing back and forth. Challenging. Dancing. You parry his assault and riposte, forcing his tongue backwards. Khorg spins around your tongue like a serpent, dizzying you and slips past in your confusion. He’s good. Too good. He’s had practice.

Khorg’s hands are not idle. They move up and down your back, his fingers digging deep into the rivets of your armor. He pulls it off your body, tearing it straight down the middle. Khorg drops it to the ground around your feet.

Your bodies press together like a vice, your nipples dallying together. You feel your stomach mesh with his washboard abs. They grind against you sensually.

“Khorg,” he says, hoarsely. Khorg takes control. You let him. But he is gentle, as you well know. He brings you to the ground. It feels cold, but Khorg radiates heat like a furnace. You wrap your legs around him as he pushes onto you from above like a hawk diving for their prey. He ravages you like a lion, biting into your neck. You feel a growing pressure from his waist. You pull with your legs tighter, keeping him your prisoner.

You reach down as Khorg’s lips trace along your collarbone. You pull, tear, and kick off his trousers. His thick ass like two well-rounded loaves of dough bounce from the effort. Khorg’s sword stands firm. Veins bulge and soft tufts of hair sway in the gentle night breeze. Khorg now is held bare in the firelight. His cheeks flush as he looks down at you. “Khorg?”

“I need you, Khorg,” you say, looking at him longingly. His head is perfectly framed by the round cheeks of his enormous derriere.

“Khorg,” he says, smiling. His eyebrows danced up and down suggestively.

“Please,” you beg.

He relents. Khorg repositions himself over you. He enters. Bliss fills you from below, rising through your stomach and escapes from your mouth in a groan. Khorg moves slowly, testing you.

“Oh, Khorg,” you groan. You run your fingers through his ringlets of hair and grip them like reigns. “More.”

“Khorg.” Khorg obliges, increasing his pace like a steam engine on a train. His body and yours create a rhythm together. The symphony of your pounding love echoes through the trees of the jungle, broken only by the screams of your pleasure.

Khorg silences you with a gag of his own tongue. The duel of mouths continues once again. You scream into his mouth as Khorg khorgs back into yours.

Without a pause in the constant rhythm of hips, Khorg picks you up off the ground and places you on his lap. “Khorg,” he says smugly. You are now on top, looking down over his muscular forehead. Khorg is letting you dictate the terms. He’s respectful like that. You cup his head with both your hands, and he smiles up at you. “Khorg.” The engine kicks to life once again. This time, you’re the conductor.

You rise and fall off his hips like you’re riding a wild stallion. You are. Khorg’s drive is unlike any you have ever encountered. You both rock back and forth, swaying in the movement. You can feel his member deep within you, squirming like a perverse worm. With each stab of his sword, you fall in love with Khorg ever more, as if he is penetrating your heart, not your hole.

Khorg’s body is like the bedrock to your mantle. The sturdy base to your rapid movements. His eyes penetrate through to your soul as you move above him. He throws his head back and forth in pleasure. You feel glad that you are making him feel good. His sword burrows deeper and deeper into you with each thrust like a mole digging in the ground.

Khorg’s hands grip your hips holding you tightly, his large fingers digging into your skin. His simple touch is enthralling. You are at his mercy with each jab. Khorg’s hands trace down your back, sending waves of goosebumps everywhere he goes. He gives your ass a light slap. “Khorg.”

You’re proud of your ass. You worked hard on it. To hear such a thoughtful compliment from this alluring beast sends your heart aflutter. He slaps your hand again, with more fervor this time. You give him a little twerk. He chuckles, “Khorg.”

He leans forward and spins you around like you’re a pencil in his fingertips. “Khorg.” His muscles make you light like a feather to him. He places himself behind you and places a hand between your shoulder blades, gently pushing your forward. You understand. He wants more of your ass. You go to your hands and knees for Khorg as he enters you again. The girth of his manhood almost splits you log a lumberjack chopping wood.

Khorg’s two hands squish your ass like a marshmallow as he repeatedly rocks you. The combination of the thrusts and his playful slaps create a complex percussion. He is the conductor now, but rather than a train, you are the orchestra. You are pleased to be Khorg’s instrument.

“Khorg,” his voice rumbles behind you. He stops suddenly, leaning over you. Khorg kisses your back a few times.

You feel Khorg’s hands direct you to lie back down on your back. You could use the breather. Khorg, however, is just getting started. But Khorg is also a gentleman and understands how to please.

The kisses lead from the belly slowly downwards like a trail until his robust head is between your thighs. He places his hands over the crooks of your hips and looks up, a sly smirk causing his eyes to glow mischievously.

“Khorg,” he says, as he digs in. Ecstasy follows immediately. Khorg’s tongue frolics over your nether region, masterfully enveloping you with a euphoria you’ve only dreamt of. Khorg hungrily ravishes you as you throw your head back, covering your mouth with one hand and gripping his hair with the other. His tongue flicks like a snake’s but much thicker and stronger. He has purpose and drive and knows exactly where he wants to go but is enjoying the taste and smell of you all the same. Khorg’s fingers move up and down along the sides of your back, reading you like a blind person.

After what feels like an eternity bliss you start to realize that you are a selfish, dirty little slut. You pat Khorg’s shoulders and pull his head away from your hips. You quietly turn him over to his back and climb on top again. You hover your legs over his head while now having a clear view of his enormous package and vascular, hairy legs. The length and girth of his pole makes you feel like a firefighter. You always wanted to be a firefighter. This is a chance to make your childhood dreams come true.

You grab the base with your right hand and feel Khorg’s heat. He twitches in your hand and his thigs flex. “Khorg,” he whimpers from underneath you. His hands trace up the sides of your ass again and you feel his lips rise to give you a gentle kiss from below.

With your other hand, you palm Khorg’s perfectly symmetrical testicles and juggle theme like a mime in France. Your right hand begins to slide up and down Khorg’s girthy shaft. Khorg begins to feast on your end, requiring you to maintain extra focus on your task at hand. You want to please Khorg as Khorg has pleased you.

Khorg’s immaculate manhood makes your mouth water. You lower your head and give it a gentle kiss on the top. “Khorg,” he gasps under you. You give him another affirmative tug. He rocks under you like a mechanical bull. You hold on tight, though, and push back with your hips, feeling his nose squish in between your butt cheeks.

You bring your attention back to his package. You give it a lick from base to tip, before attempting to engulf it with your mouth. Khorg is far too much for you. You cough. You gag. But you have no care for yourself, you simply wish to make Khorg feel.

By Khorg’s murmurs of pleasure, you appear to be successful. It doesn’t take long for his hips to buck slightly underneath you. You know he’s close. You persist, suctioning off the tip of his penis like you’re a vacuum cleaner caught on a blanket. Like the climax of a symphony, you both erupt together simultaneously. His love fills your oral cavity. And you lap it up like a starving orphan. Starving for love.

Khorg pulls you away from his hips. His cock still expunges like a wild firehose trying to douse a burning building, but he doesn’t care. He brings your face up to his as he lies on the ground. “Khorg,” he whispers. You both are still panting.

You blush. “I love you, too, Khorg,” you say. Khorg holds you tight, clutching you in the crook of his shoulder. You nestle in, hand tracing the lines of his abs. The cool air of the night washes over you, but you do not mind. The warmth of Khorg and the roaring heat of your combined love is enough to keep you content. Khorg kisses you gently. Repeatedly. Lovingly. You’ve never felt more beautiful.

#shitty smut #dnd

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lady-lauren · 3 years

Text

Call Me Daddy

Pairing: Dilf!Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: daddy kink, breeding, age gap, authority/power dynamics, praise with a dash of degradation, rough sex, mention of bruising, claiming, belly bulge, size difference, creampie

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Well. I don’t know what to say. I have been literally so god damn horny with thoughts of Dilf Bakugou today, so I said fuck it, let’s be bred. Special thanks to @whats-her-quirk for helping me brainstorm and thirst today, and to @mindninjax and @lookslikeleese for reading over it all and giving me the love and validation to know I did Katsuki right 💕

It’s a sweet surprise for Katsuki to find you sleeping on the couch when he returns home. An exhausting night of hero work has left him drained, sans for the adrenaline still snaking through his veins. The sight of you makes his heart hammer in the confines of his chest, his cock twitch against the spandex of his hero suit.

You’re not supposed to be here.

You should’ve been gone hours ago, should’ve taken your cute little sundresses in your overnight bag onto the train after his ex-wife came to collect the rowdy kids he pays you to watch over. Instead, you’ve rolled onto your stomach, throw pillow clutched underneath your face, hem of your dress hiked to where he can see the curve of your ass, the fat of your thighs.

The news is rolling on the flatscreen, accounts of his heroic deeds flashing across the pixels. Your dewy skin catches the colors, blues and yellows dancing across your shoulder blades and sinking between your spread legs.

Katsuki’s hands are itching to touch you. The spaces between his fingers feel empty, eager to touch soft skin and the cotton of your panties.

He debates waking you with a hand between your thighs.

You’ve tempted him long enough, spent nearly a year holding his babies in your arms and running around in your shirt and stupid little thongs in the morning to get them fed and dressed. You’re practically a live-in nanny, he might as well reward you with something special for all your overtime.

He removes his gauntlets and mask by the door before crouching down in front of your sleeping form. The way your lashes curl against your cheeks, how glossy and plump your lips are, how smooth your skin is—it all reminds him how fucking old he is. Grey peppers his temples, crows feet kiss his eyes, he’s got scars lining thick muscles.

How young you are just makes you more appetizing. He could teach you a few things, if you let him.

Katsuki holds his fingers next to your ear, grinning as he sets off the tiniest spark of an explosion in his palm that makes you jerk awake and look at him like bright-eyed prey.

“Havin’ sweet dreams after watching me on the TV, kiddo?”

You’re so startled that your tits are heaving, a strap of your dress hanging limp down your arm.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, sir, god it must be late, I—”

“Save it, it’s fine. And cut it out with that sir shit, you know I don’t like it.” Because it makes him feel old, reminds him that he pays you and has some weird authority over you. The authority part he doesn’t mind, even makes him a bit hard because he’s always loved having a dash of power, but the old part grinds at his ego.

“I was scared when I saw you fighting that villain not too far away. I got worried and started watching the news and I guess I fell asleep.”

“Scared?” he shifts his weight forward on his toes, arm reaching to latch onto the back of the couch, “sweetheart, you’re in my house, ain’t nobody gonna be hurting you here.”

Epinephrine is rushing through his body still, making his ears pound and crimson eyes pool with lust. He’s got you all alone, all to himself, no crying babies calling for your attention.

“It’s past your bedtime, anyway, kid.” But he doesn’t move to let you stand, instead he creeps forward, hand on the couch moving to toy with the strap dangling on your arm.

Delicate as you are, you don’t back away from his advances.

“I’m too old to have a bedtime. Besides, you’re not my daddy.”

“Is that right?”

Katsuki chuckles as he cocks his head, making a show of looking you up and down, gaze lingering on your chest, taking notice of how your thighs are clenched together. You smell sweet, young, like fresh roses in rain and whatever girly shampoo you use. Your nails are pricking into the pillow, anxious, waiting.

He’s played with you a few times before: trapped you between him and the kitchen counter just so he could feel your breasts squished against his chest, touched your knee one too many times whenever he sits next to you, hell, he once even grabbed the entirety of your perfect ass as an excuse to help lift you off your toes to reach a book on one of the kid’s shelves. You’ve never pushed him away, only gotten a little flustered and batted your lashes.

You want him. He can practically smell that, too.

“Well, daddy has had a long, hard day. And he thinks it’s time for bed.”

There’s a retort bubbling in your throat, he knows, but he doesn’t care.

He takes the plunge, grabbing your waist and hoisting you up and over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing. And you do, to him. He’s stronger than you could ever imagine.

The way you squeak a quick “Katsuki!” as he marches toward the stairs makes his pants too tight around his thighs. Your dress bunches around your hips and he’s quick to capitalize, large palm cupping the meat of your ass as he follows the well-worn steps to his room. He doesn’t even consider the guest room. No, he wants you in his bed, where you belong, where you’re going to stay.

“This is what you’ve wanted, yeah? Always bein’ such a good girl and tryin’ to get my attention,” he doesn’t even bother to shut the door, just drops you and lets you bounce on his sheets.

“I think this is what you’ve wanted,” you sit up on your knees and reach for him, tugging him closer by the orange straps on his chest, “always teasing me, touching me.”

He likes the way you giggle, how your small hands pull apart his costume piece by piece. He likes how your nails scrape against his chest when you peel the black fabric away from it.

The scars, pink and marred and arching into the sparse blonde hairs across his pectorals, his biceps, he wonders if they bother you. You seem to pay them no mind, too eager to pry at the green leather of his belt.

Age has taught him to be more patient, but he’s too hungry for you to take your time undressing him.

“Oi, quit it,” he brushes your hands away, following the routine he’s memorized of removing all the clunky bits and pieces of his costume.

You watch him intently, like you’ve wondered what all it takes to get him out of his gear.

“Don’t just sit there and stare, take that fucking dress off.”

By the time your flimsy little piece of clothing hits the floor, he’s naked.

Katsuki crawls over you without a second thought, capturing your jaw between thick fingers so he can kiss you like he wants. You’re so receptive that it makes him groan, lips and legs parting like the fucking sea. He always knew you were submissive, breedable.

You match his pace, meld your mouth against his and arch your back, whiny and greedy like a little cat in heat.

“Oh yeah,” he growls as he rolls his hips between your legs, hard cock nestling against your wet panties, “Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good tonight, sweeheart. Pound a baby right into your perfect little cunt.”

“Oh god, please, that’s all I want.”

One of your legs loops around his side, fingers sinking into his hair and urging him to kiss you again. And again. And again. He loves the way you taste, how your tongue twists around his and your mouth slants just right. Perhaps you’re more experienced than he thought, but he still knows the steps to this dance better than you.

“What a little slut,” he drags his lips down your jaw, finds where your pulse is humming in your neck and sucks, “daydreaming about being bred n’ drippin with cum.”

He likes the way you react to the sound of his voice, tits pressing against his chest and whimpers filling your mouth. Katsuki spends his time with the delicate arch of your throat, drinking in your skin and sucking until blood wells just below the surface. He’s going to mark you, claim you. He’s thought about it so many times, how you’d look so fucking pretty with handprints on your ass, hickies on your neck, wearing them with pride around the house because you’re his.

Your nipples are already puffy, sensitive from dragging along the plush muscles of his chest. He sucks the fat of your breast between his teeth, eyes flashing up to watch your face as he does. Bliss tinges your cheeks, has your lips, wet with his spit, parted and moaning. God you look sexier than he imagined.

And he has imagined this, too many times to count. Fucked his cock into his hand at night thinking of your thighs, thinking of what your tits look like beyond the thin layers of clothes you wear. He’s thought about you whispering daddy please over and over again as he takes anything and everything he wants from you.

“Gonna fill these up with milk,” he soothes your nipple with his tongue, hot and flat. He cups your tit, kneads into the flesh, rough and greedy and it makes you sing. Your panties soak as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He rolls his hips, your slick smearing against his cock, even coating his balls.

Spit clings between your tit and his mouth as he dives for the other, lavishing it in the same attention as the other.

“Oh, daddy, fuck, fuck!”

If he wasn’t so keen on showing off his experience, he’d push you down and fuck into your tight hole this very moment. But he keeps his composure, despite the fact that pre is dribbling down his cock.

“Atta girl, calling for your daddy. Now let’s see how fast I can make you cum.”

The threads of your panties splinter so easily, just a flick of his wrist and they’re ruined. Not like you hadn’t already soiled them.

Katsuki settles between your thighs, grinning so hard it hurts as he spreads the folds of your pussy with his thumbs.

“Can’t believe you’ve been hidin’ this pretty pussy from me.”

He could stare at you all night, watch the way your muscles clench and your slick pours from your tight little hole. Hishole.

You mewl as he runs a knuckle between your folds, uncurling his index finger to toy with your aching clit.

“S-sorry, sir, I—!” He shoves two thick fingers into you, having to bite the inside of his mouth at how fucking hot and tight you are around him.

“I said fucking cut it out,” he plunges his fingers in and out to make a point, “with the sir shit.”

The way you whine makes his cock thump against his lower stomach, all high-pitched and blissed out. Your hips grind down against his hand, one of your hands flying into his hair for stability while the other clutches his pillow. You’re babbling a string of sorry daddy, I’ll be good, promise, promise, and he can’t help but swirl his thumb over your clit and watch how your thighs shake.

Oh he’s going to fucking wreck you.

He doesn’t even have to put his mouth on you to make you cum. Normally that’s his trump card; quick kitten licks over your clit while he curls his fingers just right. But you’re wound tight, so tight he can feel all your walls clenching with every push of his fingers. He’s thrusting hard, fast, purposely pressing against a spongey, ridged spot deep inside of you that has you moaning like a whore. And his thumb is relentless, like clockwork against your clit in perfect tight circles that has you lit like a flame.

Your legs clamp around his wrist as you scream, tummy spasming over and over as ecstasy crawls over every nerve.

You look so pretty when you cum, eyes squeezed shut and your tits heaved to the sky. It’s like he can see the heat traveling over your body, feel the waves crashing over you.

He can’t wait to make you do that again. And again. And again. He’ll make a mess of you, tonight and any night he wants.

“That all it takes?” He chuckles, keeping his fingers lodged inside of you as you come down from the high. You blink a few times and catch your breath, smiling like an idiot.

“You’re good at that,” you muse.

“Of course I fucking am. I’m twice your age, sweetheart. I’ve fingered more girls than you’ve had orgasms.”

You sit up on your elbows and watch him with glassy eyes as he sucks the juices from his fingers.

“Oh I don’t know about that, daddy,” you’re up and moving quicker than he expected, hands on his shoulders as you push him back, straddling him, “I’ve made myself cum so many times thinking about you.”

A hot flash twists through his chest at your admission. The thought of you playing with those pretty tits and burying your fingers into your cunt with his name on your tongue makes his lips part. He grips your hips meanly, strong fingers gripping hard enough to bruise as he pulls you down and drags your messy cunt along the length of his cock.

“Yeah? And what’s a young thing like you doin’ thinkin’ about an old man like me?”

You lean over him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to mimic what he did to you earlier, kissing and sucking at his skin until he groans. Your nails sink into his musculature, dig into his obliques, skim over his abs. He’s not as cut as he once was, but he’s stronger than he’s ever been, spent years sculpting himself into a powerhouse.

And now he’s moaning beneath a little girl, hips rolling just to get another kiss from your cunt.

Your face comes to hover over his, darling eyes taking in the lines of his face. Your hips rise and he bites back a groan at the loss of contact, only to feel your hand grasping at his cock and lining him up with your entrance.

“I think about having blonde babies,” you start sinking down on him and he has to hold himself back from crushing your hips, “think ‘bout being your little whore, your fucktoy you keep locked away in—”

He slams his mouth against your to shut you up, mind already fucking dizzy just from feeling your pussy slowly suck him in.

The moans you release into his mouth drive him wild, make him arch his hips off the bed and spear his cock into your depths.

That makes you fucking scream.

Your palms slam into his chest as you sit up on his cock, sinking down more as he fucks up into you. Head falling back, you keep moaning from your chest, vibrations tingling over his skin. He can tell you want to match his rhythm, but he won’t let you. He keeps his grip tight on your hips, bucking up into you and fucking you just how he wants.

“You love daddy’s cock, don’t cha? Take it like a fuckin’ champ, too.”

And he means it, he can’t keep his eyes off where your sweet flesh takes him in, a ring of cream already pooling at his base and dripping down his balls. He’s mesmerized by the scene of young, pliant flesh sucking him in. Your lower tummy is bulging from his girth, head of his cock visible with every fresh plunge.

“Gonna fuckin breed you, sweetheart. Pump you full of seed and watch you swell with a baby.”

Nails dig into his chest enough to hurt, making him groan. All you do is nod your head in response, too busy trying to keep your breath while he fucks you at a maddening pace. A triumphant, hearty laughs claws out of his chest, so damn pleased with himself to be fucking such a pretty thing.

A tumble of curses rains down from your mouth, smothered by the sounds of his balls barreling against your ass. You’re getting tight again, your clit being pounded by a thatch of golden curls and fit muscles with every thrust he gives you.

“Yeah you like this? Like gettin’ fucked dumb?”

“Ah-ah, yes, yes daddy, yes!”

Music to his fucking ears.

Katsuki needs more leverage, wants even more control. He keeps himself rooted inside of you as he rolls you onto your back, never missing a beat with his thrusts as he changes positions. He sits back on his knees and pushes your legs back, strong hands folding you practically in half so he can watch himself slide in and out, in and out. That bulge in your belly is even more prominent when you’re on your back.

“So fucking good, sweetheart,” he can feel sweat beading down his back, a familiar sweet scent like candy filling the room, “you want babies? My babies? You better start fuckin’ beggin’.”

He loves the way your back arches at his words, tits bouncing and cunt clenching.

A calloused hand snatches your jaw, pulls your face to look at him while he fucks you. Tears are pooling in the corners of your eyes, overwhelming pleasure taking its toll all over your supple body.

“D-daddy please,” your eyes roll a bit as he fucks into you deeper, his hand pulling your hips down so he can grind into you.

“Louder, want the fuckin’ walls to remember what you say,” he digs his fingers into your warm cheeks to cement his point.

“Fuck, daddy, please! Want your cum so bad, want you to make me a mommy!”

Even his balls tighten at your words. Thoughts of making you a fucking mommy, watching you ripen with his child overtake every space in his brain. Your little body is so willing, practically begging for it with the way you’re creaming around him.

Katsuki’s instincts go into overdrive, both hands grasping at your hips and pulling you down with every snap of his hips. He doesn’t even care that sweat is dripping from his brow, that blooms of bruises are welling up underneath hands that look too worn to be on your skin, all he cares about is forcing every ounce of cum from his balls into your cunt.

“Such a good little slut for daddy, aren’t you? Gonna make you mommy, give you babies that look like me.”

He’s racing up that euphoric mountain, can feel it heavy in his shoulders, in his stomach. Your pussy is twitching, squelching, pleading for another release. His thumb takes residency on your clit again, pressing far too hard than he should, but he needs to feel you come undone around him. He deserves it.

The moment you cum again, he loses his goddamn mind. Immediately he has to take his hands off you, his quirk unleashing in his palms as he spurts hot cum into your depths. He’s seeing stars, colors, orgasm shattering over him like an earthquake under the ocean.

He can’t remember the last time he came so hard. His chest aches, heart pounding as he gasps out your name in the last seconds of his release. But you’re not done, your hands have taken hold of his forearms as you keep your pussy sheathed over him, legs closing in around him as you cry out from the devastating euphoria cracking over your senses.

His knees ache by the time you’ve both fallen from your highs.

It almost hurts to pull out of you, cock still raging with blood. Your whimper when he leaves your cunt, like you’ve lost something.

“You alright, sweetheart? Didn’t break you?”

You nod numbly, a too-pleased smile etched into your cheeks.

He’s been around the block enough times to know that your hormones are racing, that it’ll take far more time for you to come back to earth than him. He flops onto his back and throws his arm over his forehead, groaning when he feels you wind yourself around him, tucking one of his thighs between your legs.

Cum drips onto the downy hairs of his leg and he couldn’t be more satisfied.

“Meant what I said, kid.”

You hum and raise your head to look at him, chin tucking onto his chest.

“I’ll give you any fucking babies you want.”

Your laugh actually makes him feel warm, like it’s a sound he’ll never get tired of hearing.

“We have time, Katsuki. Besides, you already have two that I need to take care of.”

His fingers trace circles onto your back before he pulls you in even closer.

“Nah, I’ll hire a new nanny. You have new fucking job.”

#Bakugou smut #Katsuki smut #Bakugou x reader #Katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou #katsuki #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo Katsuki x reader #bnha fanfic #bnha bakugou #bnha Katsuki #dilf bakugou

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no-droids · 3 years

Text

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. ��Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back.�� “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Note

Hello!! Do you think you could write something John Shelby where his gf is very shy and innocent (like the complete opposite of him) like John was her first everything and after a while she asks John to be more rough with her in bed?? Like more dominant and aggressive?? Hope that made sense, thank you !!!

a\n: hey babe! ty soo much for requesting this cause i liked it so much i had to make an entire fic about it. i’m a sinner. hope you enjoy!!

tagging my bestie @stxdyblr-2k ik you’ve been waiting love u !!

love, abi xxx

desperate - john shelby x reader

warnings: nsfw!!! degradation, praise kink, power play, john being sexy as fuck

John Shelby was a sight to behold in bed. From the moment he had taken your virginity, slow and sweet in your best friend Ada Shelby’s guest room, John’s touch was slow and torturous, fingertips searing into your skin as he was soft and slow with you, making you come with his mouth and hands before even attempting to broach the subject of his cock inside you. You were already his, his pink lips a welcome relief as he lapped at your cunt, obscene sounds echoing off the walls. The two of you were tipsy, the rest of the party obscenely dancing to music playing from the gramophone downstairs. John had always been irresistible to you, but you were his younger sister’s innocent friend, whom you thought he never noticed. He was surprised that you even showed up to the party hanging off Ada’s arm, clad in a light pink silk dress that clung to your curves in a way that made his mouth water. He had watched you make your way through the party, downing whatever drink Ada passed your way. Finally, he got drunk enough to make his way over to you, your eyes sparkling as they met his, gin and tonic sloshing in the glass in your hand. The two of you fell into conversation, John’s fingertips grazing your bare back, causing goosebumps to prickle on your skin.

“Having fun?” John’s lips brushed against your ear as the two of you stood at the edge of the party, at the entrance to a hallway leading to a few spare rooms. You shivered at the contact, alcohol pumping through your veins, giving you the courage to be blunt. “It’d be better if you kissed me,” you smiled shyly, looking up at John through your eyelashes. John’s lips met yours, backing you up slowly against the wall as he kissed you gently, teeth tugging at your bottom lip for access. You let him in, like you’d dreamed of so many times before, kissing him back with fervor, letting out a soft whimper. John groaned, abruptly removing his lips from yours before tugging you into the nearest empty bedroom. He shut the door quickly, lifting you up with his hands on your ass as he connected his lips with yours again, setting you down on the bed before looking down at you with dilated pupils.

“John, there’s something I need to tell you,” you murmured, looking down at the blanket on the bed.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” John asked, peppering kisses on your collarbone.

“I’m-I’m a virgin,” you blurted out, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

John stopped and locked his blue eyes with yours. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about that, darling. It’s just.. Are you sure you want to do this? With me?”

You nodded, looking up at John under hooded eyes. “Yes.”

John wasted no time in covering your body with his, kissing you harder than before. And now, here you were, back arching into John’s face as he continued rubbing circles into your clit while he devoured you. You weren’t even conscious of the noises leaving your mouth as you came all over John’s face, eyes rolling back into your head as you reached your climax. John groaned into your cunt as he watched you come, continuing his ministrations through your orgasm, causing your legs to shake. John finally stopped, chuckling as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“So fucking pretty when you come.”

You blushed, as John made little work of the rest of your clothes. He spent the next hour showing you just how hard he could make you come, and you couldn’t help but let him. He was headache inducing, in all the right ways. From then on, he’d always find ways to get you alone, from in his office, in his car, in various hotels, to even in the goddamn movie theater once. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, the way he took his time with you, and always paid attention to how your body reacted. However, you knew there was more to John Shelby than the sweetness that he showed you. You had overheard many heated phone calls; heard the rumors spread about his reputation. You found yourself longing for more. You wanted to see the dark side of John, wanted him to use you to his satisfaction.

You could hear John swearing into the telephone before you even opened his office door, the air thick with the tension of the day. You quietly slipped in, not wanting to interrupt. John stood at his desk, eyes trained on the papers spread across it as he snapped into the receiver, shooting his whiskey between sentences. His shoulders were clenched underneath his dark grey suit, making you want to run your hands across the taught muscles in an attempt to help him relax. Profanities spewed from his soft lips as he argued with whoever was on the other line, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.

“I gave you a deadline, yeah? Now, you need to fucking deliver!” John slammed the phone down, exhaling as his eyes found you. A small smile replaced the frown that had previously occupied his mouth.

“God, you’re a fucking sight for sore eyes,” John exhaled.

“Could say the same.” You smiled up at him, walking behind his desk and kissing him, breathing in the intoxicating smell of his cologne. John picked you up and sat you on the desk, deepening the kiss. Before he could continue, you freed your lips from him. John furrowed his brow in confusion, but before he could say anything, you spoke.

“I need to ask you something.”

“What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” John looked slightly concerned, his blue eyes trained on yours.

You steadied your breath. “I was wondering if… you know…. you could be, um, rough with me?”

John let out a sigh, dropping his head slightly before bringing it back up to meet yours, the light of the fireplace reflected off of his eyes. his arms on either sides of you. “Fucking christ, sweetheart. Never thought I’d hear those words come out of that sweet little mouth, hm?” John grinned at you as you ducked your head in embarrassment.

John lifted your chin so your eyes met his again. “I’ll do it, but only if you promise to tell me if it’s too much. You say stop, and I’ll stop, yeah?”

“I promise,” You replied, blushing slightly.

John smiled at you before pressing kisses down your neck, causing goosebumps to prickle. “Pretty little thing like you, wanting me to treat you like a whore, eh?”

You shivered at his words, and John took note, letting out a low chuckle. “Look at you, getting all riled up. Barely even touched you yet sweetheart.”

“John,” you whined, and his eyes darkened.

“Don’t be a fucking brat.” John’s harsh tone went straight to your core as he continued pressing sloppy kisses to your collarbone. You fucking wanted it, and he knew it. Your back arched into John at the mere touch of his hands and mouth. You were already so far gone, it was ridiculous.

“John, please,” you whimpered, looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes, cheeks flushed. This was the look he couldn’t resist, and some part of you knew it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna take care of you,” John crooned, his fingers finding their way to your sopping wet core. “Jesus, Y/N, you that wet for me already? Been thinking about my cock all day, huh?”

You couldn’t do anything but nod, moaning at John’s fingertips curling against the spot that made your head spin. John chuckled darkly. “Pretty little girl, couldn’t even wait for me to get home, hm? Had to come see me so I could give you what you need.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, and John’s eyes darkened as he reached a hand up to grip your throat, making your breath hitch.

“Watch your language, princess. Don’t wanna have to make me punish you.” John rumbled, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit as you squirmed, nodding with flushed cheeks as you looked up at him.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped between whimpers, as John wasted no time connecting your lips roughly. He flipped you over, shoving your skirt over the curve of your ass before entering you, groaning at the feeling of your wet heat practically sucking him in as he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your upper half off the desk as he fucked into you at an infuriatingly slow pace.

“You don’t even care that I’ve got you bent over the desk like a whore, huh? You that desperate for me, sweetheart?” John grunted, savoring the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you slowly. The only speech you could manage other than a fevered nod was almost a cry, and you almost could feel John grin at the state you were in.

“Please, sir,” you managed to blurt out, aching for more from him.

“Please, what?” John mocked, but it went straight to your lower abdomen. It was like he already knew which buttons to press to get you as riled up as possible. If you were screwed before, you were definitely fucked now. Quite literally.

“Please fuck me harder, sir,” you moaned, attempting to fuck yourself back onto him. John grinned at the sight of how eager you were for him; how willing you were to take whatever he gave you.

“Should’ve fucked you like this sooner, huh? Knew you loved my cock, but fucking ‘ell, darling,” John crooned, watching you cry out and grab for the top of the desk for leverage as he pounded into you, savoring the whimpers that fell out of your mouth.

“I’m gonna-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence as John quickened his pace, his hand toying with your clit.

“You gonna come all over my cock, pretty girl?” John growled as he slammed into you roughly, fingertips bruising at your hips. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came as hard as you had ever in your life, body going limp as John chased your orgasm with his, grunting as he released into your pulsing cunt, stickiness dripping down the back of your thighs.

“Fuck,” John groaned as he took his cock out of you. He reached into a drawer and produced a dry towel, cleaning you up and pressing kisses to the curve of your back as you laid there panting, seeing stars.

“You alright, love?” John questioned, pushing your hair behind your ear and planting a kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, smiling up at him before he pulled you into his arms for a kiss.

“Let me take you home and make you dinner, hmm?” John queried, pressing kisses to your hair.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured into John’s neck, sleepy yet satisfied.

#john shelby smut #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

thank you for infecting me with total naoya brain rot, nat. can i request a breeding kink scenario with him and curvy, thick reader that he thinks looks perfect for bearing him an heir 👀 feel free to make him as nasty as you want, i love to read about this absolute trash fire of a man

Covet - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.6k)

Naoya wants something from you - you see a chance to get something you want too.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. breeding. power imbalance (reader is a maid at the zen’in estate). talk of pregnancy, knives, misogyny, fingering, coming inside/creampies. the mandatory warning that this fic is about naoya.

You are fairly certain that Naoya Zenin does not know whether you exist. If he has ever noticed you attending to your duties, so much lower and less important than he, he probably doesn’t like you.

At least, you did not think he liked you before this moment. Even now, with his hands on your hips and your body pressed flush against the wall outside his chambers, you’re not certain – there’s a weight to the way he’s holding you, a twist to his lips that you can see from where your cheek has met cool wallpaper. He looks like he’s considering you; sizing you up.

Your cheeks burn as he sizes up your lower half, eyes tracing your hips and ass and thighs without even a hint of remorse, as if it’s his god-given right to look upon you like this even though you’ve barely ever spoken more than a cursory polite; ‘I brought you this, Sir’. That’s what you’ve been taught to do.

Be respectful, stick to the shadows, do what you’re told. It’s an honour to serve the Zenin clan, it’s an honour to be here in the estate – it’s an honour to get a brief moment of any of their time, even if they’re just making demands on you. You sometimes hate yourself, for not being born one of them - you want, you want, you want, like a physical ache. The luxury. The nice treatment. People to think that you merely blessing them with a look is an honour--

It’s an especial honour to be worth Naoya’s time – everybody knows that he’s going to be the next leader. There are always rumours buzzing around the grounds about him; about his power, about his temper, about his personality . . . about which pretty young woman he’ll make his wife and have beside him to rule the clan.

You’re brought back to what’s currently happening by his hands sliding down from where he is clinging onto your hips, generously tracing the curve, admiring just how broad they are.

“Pity you have to hide beneath that,” he says, smirking. Your cheeks are hot. “You’re pretty, you know. At least. . .” One hand moves from your hip, thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks to turn them more thoroughly towards him. He looks entirely unruffled by the situation, every inch of him at ease that you will bend to what he wants. “Your body is pretty.” Eyes scan over your face, and you’re suddenly aware of every imperfection, every feature you’ve ever scrutinised. “Hm. Not bad either.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” You find yourself breathing. He raises one elegant eyebrow. The hand that’s on your hip moves, tracing the plush of your ass through fabric, his lip curling into a smirk. He presses a little bit forward and you feel something stiff press against your other cheek (the one not occupied by his hand) – and your throat goes dry as you realise precisely what he means.

Oh.

You should run. Good girls do not do what Naoya wants you to do. You have duties to attend to! You have things that must be done, lest your seniors sigh and tut at you and punish you for neglecting your work. But your throat is very dry and your heart is pounding and there is suddenly a strange twist of heat low in your gut, as Naoya Zenin looks down at you with the air of a man who will devour you if you let him.

You can’t deny it’s thrilling to be wanted – more thrilling to be wanted by someone like him.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” he says, and his tone is patronising. “If you don’t want me to take you to bed and fuck you, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

He says it so openly, so brazenly – you suppose that’s what comes of being born into this family. He has nothing to fear in these walls. Not like you.

You imagine yourself underneath him for a second, his hair in disarray, hakama abandoned, his perfectly composed face twisted in pleasure. You should not go to his bed. But . . . you want to. And don’t you deserve something you want, when you’ve spent your entire life watching other people enjoy it?

“You don’t need to,” you breathe, swallowing. Naoya pulls back in amusement, his eyes darkening. He seems so much taller and stronger than you. Even swathed in fabric, it’s clear that there is muscle and strength beneath the clothes. He has been trained to within an inch of his life since the day he was born. He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat. A thumb trails over your cheek.

“Are you sure about that?” The smirk in his voice says that he knows you are. “I won’t be gentle with you, you know. I don’t have all day to romance you. I just want to get you on your back . . .” His thumb slides over your jawline, past your earlobe, until he’s taken a hank of your hair and yanks it back roughly, exposing your throat and making you gasp. “And fuck a son into you.”

He must see the look on your face, because he laughs, the sound cruel even to your ears. He’s still pressed so close to you. Nobody who walked down this hallway would mistake the embrace the two of you were currently in for anything clandestine. You suppose he has nothing to worry about – but your reputation? He’d ruin you for marriage.

“Come on,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Have you seen yourself? You’re made for bearing a child, sweetheart.” The pet name is almost mocking, but your heart skips a beat anyway. “Don’t worry too much. You don’t think I could take care of you, if you carried my heir? You’re a servant, right? You already know how to behave.” His smile is like a wolf. “So, I give you my word that if it takes, I’ll take care of you. Sounds fair, huh?” He jerks on your hair again. “Ten seconds,” he reminds you. “If you want to get out of it. You don’t think there are girls lining up around the block to have me?”

(Judging by the whispers about him, you actually don’t think there are – but judging from Naoya’s eyes, he certainly thinks so.)

He lets go. He steps back. His eyes are still on you, but he raises his arms either side of him as if to show you that you’re free to go. And you do consider it – you let the possibility of running flicker through your head. It’s quickly replaced by the thought of Naoya on top of you, an end to the aching between your legs, and the knowledge of just how you might be treated if Naoya did succeed in his mission.

It’s fine to want nice things, every once in a while.

“Five,” he says, warningly, but his eyes are dark with hunger. “Four. Three.”

You turn towards his bedroom door and grasp the handle, and he laughs, the sound very loud.

“Oh,” he says, “so you’re going to be fun.”

The minute his bedroom door clicks behind him, Naoya wastes no time on being on you. He’s full throttle, immediately – hands pulling at your clothes, rough, his mouth on your neck. He avoids your mouth, like he doesn’t quite want to kiss you – but as you bite back a moan as he nips at your throat and he groans in response at the noise, you realise that he wants to hear you.

Figures a man like that wants the reassurance that you’re enjoying yourself. Figures he wants to crow over every whimper that drops from your lips. Hands pull at your kimono, almost ripping it in his hurry to have the fabric out of his way and on the floor. You barely even notice he’s been pushing you across the room until you’re pushed hard down, and your back meets pillows and sheets instead of the floor.

The way you fall makes a perfect tableaux; the material of your outfit pooling around you, your body in the middle of it, clad in only your underwear. His light eyes rake over you hungrily.

“Fuck,” he says. His hands immediately go to your hips, thumbs pressing hard into the soft flesh. You barely fit in his hands, the curve of you dramatic. “You’re going to be perfect for this, huh? Look at you. It’s a fucking shame you’re not knocked up right now--”

Your body reacts to his touch and his look, though you can’t help but be embarrassed by it – it’s one thing to be entranced by someone pretty, you think, but it’s another thing to be entranced by the idea of how pretty someone will look when their stomach is swollen and their breasts have swelled and their hips have filled out because they’re bearing your child.

He doesn’t bother with unclipping your bra. He reaches into his hakama and panic flashes before your eyes when he pulls out a knife, but he uses it merely to slice the gore between your bra cups, right between the cute bow adorning them.

“I—I liked that,” you say, but your voice sounds very wobbly in the room, under Naoya’s gaze, under his hands. He snorts.

“I like you better without it,” he says shortly, as if your likes and dislikes are not a consideration to be taken into account. For him, you suppose they’re not. “Besides.” Hands travel from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the meat of the mounds so that you groan and arch your back, desire pooling between your legs. “I wanted to see these. I wanted to touch them.” He grins. “I wanted to imagine how nice they’re going to look when they get bigger.”

He squeezes the point of each of your nipples, so hard that the pleasure almost becomes pain.

“I think I’ll leave marks on you,” he says, conversationally. He pulls an arm back and suddenly has slapped you, your breast stinging, a brief imprint of his hand showing on your skin. He admires how your breast moves with the force – you’re too surprised to even make a noise of pain. “Good girl. I want you to remember how I feel when we’re done.”

You don’t think you could forget. You definitely can’t forget the sting of the second slap, this one making you moan – it hurts, but part of it feels good to be marked by him. You definitely can’t forget his thumbs hooking into your underwear, dragging it past your thighs – the way that he drinks in the wet patch on the fabric. You definitely don’t think you’ll be able to forget the chuckle that leaves his mouth as he spreads your thighs and sees your sex for the first time, already slick.

“You like being treated rough, huh?” He asks you. There’s that grin again; a predator, a man who has never been told no, a man who doesn’t know what it’s like to not have everything he has ever wanted at his fingertips. “Good. I like playing rough.”

He still doesn’t kiss you. He dives his head down, though, his teeth once more nipping at your neck, at your breast, tongue lathing across your nipples. One of his hand delves between your legs, spreading the plump labia, fingers briefly stroking your clit and sending a hot bolt of lightning all through you.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, as he pushes a finger inside of you. You’re slick and tight around his digits, hot and silky – one of his fingers alone is like a vice. You’re going to feel so good. He doesn’t much care whether his cock hurts you or not – but he wants you to be so fucked out by the time he’s come inside you that you don’t care about him leaving your legs propped up so not a single trickle of come leaks out of you. He doesn’t want a whimpering little bitch in his bed – he wants someone who’ll lie there, patiently, prettily, and let him make sure it takes.

You’re going to be good for that, he knows it. With a body like that, and eyes like that, and a clear longing for something better than the shitty hand you’ve been dealt? Oh, yes. You might not know it, but Naoya likes you immensely.

That you’re a servant, who’s been taught your place - that you’ll look at the ground respectfully and walk behind him and agree to whatever he says, like women should? Even better. Perfect. Fuck any of those snooty young women of a clan who think that just because they were born with a name, they were somehow more than a cunt for breeding--

Two fingers. This one gets a cry from you, almost too full – Naoya clicks his tongue against his teeth. He’s not patient, but he slows down, scissoring you open. One of your hands seems to flex out as if going to grab his bicep – but thinks better of it, clutching for purchase on the bed instead. Cute.

He can’t help but watch his fingers dive in and out of you, already coated in your liberal slick. They already look so good – he can’t even imagine how good his cock will look, hilted so deep in you he’s all you can feel.

Three fingers. You’re making soft little noises, circling your hips – there’s a coil in your belly that Naoya’s fingers are stoking in a way you didn’t expect, one that you feel like you’re so close to getting to spring forth – he slides his fingers out of you as he feels you tightening and tensing around him. If you’re close enough to come on his fingers, he reasons, you’re close enough to take his cock.

He didn’t expect to be so entranced by how pretty you looked, all curves and soft on his bed – but there’s time for that later. Right now, his cock is driving a hole through his own underwear. The thought of fucking his seed into you, of having you coming around his cock . . . you moan in frustration at the lack of stimulation as his hands busy themselves peeling off his own clothes.

“What’s the matter?” He asks you, a little breathless. You don’t notice that – good. He hates people witnessing weakness. “You need to be filled up?”

“I—” your teeth dig into your bottom lip, and Naoya has the urge to kiss you that he pushes back.

Not now. Not yet. Not while you’re still scum. He can transform you, and maybe you’ll be worthy of that – but right now, you’re an empty shell, and Naoya needs to mould you into something fuller and better before he’ll lower himself to brush his lips over your own. That’s too intimate. That’s too much.

“You don’t need to use your words,” he purrs. “You’re soaking wet.”

You urge your thighs further apart as Naoya’s clothes slip off of him and you see his cock jutting proud against his stomach. You haven’t had much experience to know whether it’s a nice cock, whether he’s big – but Naoya grins when he sees you looking, ferocity sparking in his expression.

“You may as well look at it,” he tells you, “because it’s going to be buried inside you in just a moment--”

He’s on the bed, his body on top of yours. His hands are clinging to the hips he’s admired so much, his grip tight enough to mark. His face is close enough that you can see the sculpt of his lips and the fan of his eyelashes, the dark pupils. The wet head of his cock smears precome on your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance – and as he sinks inside, your body welcomes him.

He hisses in fluid pleasure as his cock descends inside of you inch by slow, inexorable inch – the stretch, the burn, the slick fluid pleasure. This time, one of your hands does find purchase on his shoulder – but Naoya is enjoying the feeling of your walls kissing his cock, embracing him tight and deep, too much to snap at you for being such an insolent thing. Your nails leave little crescent moon marks in his shoulder that he decides to forgive. After all – you’ll have bruises in the shape of his handprints tomorrow, he knows it. He doesn’t have a single crumb of shame about it.

If he gets his way, you’ll have more than just those as a mark of tonight. He hilts inside you, his skin pressing hot against yours. You’re so full – he feels so very deep, buried as far as he can go. All of your breath has been knocked out of you.

Your eyes meet his for just a moment.

“Better hold on,” he tells you. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”

The first pull out is swift, immediately thrusting back inside you with such force that your body rocks on the bed. He wasn’t lying about not being gentle; his hips quickly establish a punishing rhythm, helped along by the slick glide of your channel, the wetness leaking around his cock. He pulls you a little with every thrust, the hands on his hips assisting him being able to watch his cock drive in and out of your sex. It’s a mark of the strength he has that the only sign that you weigh anything at all is a huff of breath in between his thrusts – you’ve never exactly felt delicate in your life, but something about Naoya’s way of handling you makes you think that he could break you in half if he tried.

That is, if his rough thrusts in and out of you don’t split you in two first. You give up trying to do anything other than hold onto him, your mouth dropping open in a series of wordless wails and moans.

(Naoya prefers quiet women, he has to admit – but there’s something endearing about you giving up in bed, giving yourself to him in voice as well as body. Perhaps he doesn’t mind a loud woman, as long as the reason she’s loud is because he’s fucking her silly).

His skin slaps against your skin. The sound mixes with your own whimpers and gasps, Naoya’s quieter breathing, the embarrassingly wet sounds of his cock plunging in and out of you. The release that was denied to you earlier with his fingers is creeping back up on you again, all hot pleasure and tight tension. With every thrust, Naoya is hitting a spot amongst your plush walls that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your body all hot and needy. He doesn’t care if you come, really – this isn’t about you – but . . . just another of those things he supposes he could get used to, as the ball of pleasure inside of you finally unravels and you feel yourself come.

And oh, he could get used to that feeling too – how your walls pulsate around him, pulling his cock tighter inside of you, practically milking him. His hips just get faster, snapping against you like a man possessed – heh. Isn’t that funny?

Your chest is heaving, but he’s enjoying the feel of your hips too much to play with your tits again. When they’re all swollen with milk and bigger and rounder, he’ll probably fuck you again, slower . . . and then, he’ll get his feel of touching them. Just like he’ll get his feel of your thighs even plusher, your stomach rounder, your hips even better in his grip--

It’s those thoughts that push him over the edge. Your body softened and rounded with his child – his son, his heir. You’re fucking perfect for it. He groans, his hips snapping and driving so deep inside you that you think he’ll break – and then, he’s groaning, and his cock is pulsing inside you as the sensation of his come painting your walls hot and thick overtakes your senses.

He pumps his cock a few more times inside of you after the initial release, as if he’s trying to push his seed even further within you. You’re shuddering, exhausted, your body aching – and so, you don’t argue beyond a soft noise of pain at the unpleasant prickle as he pulls his cock out of you. You don’t argue when he slides a pillow beneath your hips and says;

“Keep your legs bent like that.”

Naoya takes a moment to admire you. Your pretty cunt is darkened from his aggressive fucking, clit swollen, slick with your own desire-- he frowns as he notices a drop of something whiter and thicker. That won’t do. Two fingers roughly push his come back into you, pressing it deeply, making you groan and your hips weakly thrust against them.

It’s cute that you’re still welcoming to his fingers; that your sex still sucks them in as if it’s greedy to be fucked again. Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy – your lips bitten dark. He thinks he could fuck you again and you wouldn’t even complain.

Yes. He grins at you. Give it a little while, to make sure his come takes – and then, he thinks, he will fuck you again. There’s no harm in being thorough, right?

#not sfw #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk posting #afab reader #fem pronouns #misogyny for ts #knives for ts #breeding for ts #writing #Anonymous #jjk writing tag

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helenazbmrskai · 3 years

Text

Till My Last Breath (M)

– drabble to celebrate 1.1k followers! thank you!

Pairing – Vampire! Taehyung x Witch! Reader

Genre – Smut, Drabble; Supernatural

Summary – [Your relationship is forbidden. If your coven knew who you invite into your bed as soon as they fell asleep you both would be dead but it never stopped Taehyung from coming for you.]

Warnings – unprotected sex, magic, bondage, sub! taehyung, dom! reader, handjob, reader cuts her hand with a knife, feeding, blood-drinking, bites, kisses, blowjob, edging, begging, orgasm control, creampie, implied plot, star-crossed lovers, enemies fucking but they’re fond of each other, switch! taehyung for like a minute or so

Word Count – (2k)

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Taehyung squirms under you, spellbound. Veiny hands resting against the pillows in a submissive position, fingers curling around the edges of the soft material, in hard contrast with the rings adorning his long digits that digs into his pale flesh. The open position leaves his chest exposed and vulnerable to your advances; to your exploring hands. Restricted by the magic that you sweetly murmured into his ears.

The enchanted vampire feels his limbs growing heavier against your comforter with every passing minute. Unable to lift a finger as you suck your purple mark onto his skin peppering his neck with kisses and gentle bite marks.

As you kiss down his chest following the rigid lines of his muscles with your fingertips, your magic is taking over, spreading through his bloodstream, numbing his sense of touch everywhere except for his throbbing cock that lays fully erect on his stomach. You see it from your position with your ear pressed against the spot that normally would let you feel his once beating heart underneath how his erection begs for your attention. Red and heavy.

The man that’s supposed to be your enemy now lays under you, handing over the control to hurt him and use his body as you please. From the outside, he’s like every other man but his cold body and pale tone lets you see his otherwordly traits. The fangs peek out from between his lips as he pants due to your touches. The sight of his half lidded and lust filled eyes empowers you as you lick his cock from the salty tip to the base sucking on the prominent vein that blesses your ears with a pretty moan. Taehyung is a shy man, it takes you some well-directed coaxing to have him moan your name wantonly. Pretty sounds from a pretty man.

”Look at you, my sweet vampire.” You caress his cheeks affectionately, your smirk only widens when he whimpers pathetically as soon as you pull away, he tries to chase your fingers but his head goes this far, realising at that moment that he’s being restricted. Frustrated how his head wants to follow your touch but his body refuses to listen. He lets out a cute huff when his head falls back to the pillows.

”Aren’t you shameless? Laying in my bed naked and helpless. Do you like being bound? Have my hands all around you?” To prove your point you stroke his cock with a firm fist a couple of times that have him double over as much as your invisible restraints let him bend and twist. The intense pleasure makes his blood buzz pleasantly. Glazed eyes let you know his head clears out and only lets his mind wander to your strokes, only seeing your smile and smelling your delicious scent.

”Did you forget who I am? What I am?” You thug harshly as you ask him, this time fully intending to get an answer to your question, making him release a broken moan. To ease the tension you built up with your rough handjob you compensate him by focusing on his tip, collecting his precum before it could spill from his slit and smear it all over using featherlight touches. Mixing the right amount of pleasure and pain that you know the vampire likes.

”N-No.” His fringe falls over his eyes as Taehyung shakes his head. Shuddering when you draw tight circles over the head of his cock.

”No?” You tease him further with a smile. ”Tell me then. What am I?” The moment he opens his mouth to speak you cruelly fasten your pace, forcing him to forget the words he put together just for you. Moaning and grunting like he suddenly forgot how to form a competent sentence but his speechlessness comes to an end when you slow down again. Giving him a chance to reply.

”A w-witch.” He chokes out the word with a dry throat, desperately trying to feel more as he bucks his hips into your fist. You let him fuck himself using your hand, tightening your hold to show him you’re pleased with the effort he put into answering. Making it messy you pour a generous amount of lube over his length watching Taehyung hiss and jerk his hips instinctively pulling away from the cold.

Mesmerised by how every muscle in his body contracts you place a soothing kiss onto the centre of his lower stomach. With your free hand that’s not tightly wrapped around his dick, you part his lips his breath hitting your wandering fingers as you press down on his tongue watching his canines elongate.

”Open wide baby, let me see your fangs.” You encourage him, pleased when you see his jaw go lax following your order to show off his pretty teeth. ”Good boy.”

He’s careful not to prick you as you trace the shape with your finger affectionately. Taehyung’s holding his breath as you gently pull, feeling the hunger that comes hand in hand with his arousal; there’s nothing more that he wants than sinking them into your neck or to the delicious vein on your inviting thigh. He longs for your blood, you have completely taken over his senses all he could hear is your blood pumping through your arteries and your arousal smelling sweet in the air. He wants to have both. Taehyung wants to drink you in every way possible.

”So beautiful.” You whisper the praise into his ear, suddenly feeling impatient you trail your hands over his stomach going up you dig your nails into his shoulders as you straddle him properly.

Feeling his body shake under you, you rub comforting circles into his skin to distract him from the hunger – relaxing him to the bed with a special spell. When his shaking subdues to light shivers you pull your panties to the side and start sinking down on his large cock.

His generous size slipping in with ease thanks to the lube and your own arousal. Taehyung moans when he bottoms out. Feeling your snug walls hug his cock, his fangs itch to pierce through your skin now more than ever before. He can’t give in to his carnal desires as you still have his hands bound above his head preventing him from moving too close to your neck to get a whiff all he can do is thrust into your welcoming cunt and circle his hips pressing against the spongy spot that makes you keen. You admire your little vampire’s pinched face, you don’t have to wait for long until he’s begging for you to finally fuck him.

”Y-Y/N!” Taehyung calls out your name in a scream when you intentionally clench around his dick but not moving an inch. You bask in the feel of him stretching your walls, loving how full your usually empty hole feels. ”Please, Y/N, please. Move. Fuck me, please, I c-can’t…take-ah-it anymore.”

Taehyung ruts into your heat as you sit on his cock staying still, your hands pushing down his hips while frustrated groans leave his chapped lips the motion is not nearly enough to create the friction he needs.

You reach for the knife you prepared beforehand on your bedside table bracing yourself on his chest while you fetch it. The movement forces your hips to rise (once the knife is in your hand) until his cock almost slips out but you lower your body with a hard slam before that could happen. Providing your pleasure deprived vampire with the delicious drag of your walls he has been craving for.

Taehyung’s cute little whimpers encourage you to ride him faster with his eyes screwed shut he didn’t see the knife in your hand at all until he smells the sweet aroma of your blood lingering in the air.

You cut your palm and as your ruby red blood spills from the wound, you have it placed over Taehyung’s eager mouth, muffling his noises of surprise as you give him no choice but to gulp every drop down his burning throat. He licks the cut clean with vigour moaning around your hand uncontrollably as you keep riding his cock and pressing your palm against his mouth, squeezing him, prompting him to cum deep inside your pussy while feeding on you.

When you pull your hand away you see your blood smeared across his cheeks and lips, eyes glazed over as he watches you with admiration. His cock is still throbbing inside of you begging you to let him cum. You release him from his binds murmuring the same spell you whispered into his ear in the beginning and throw in a healing spell for your palm in the mix.

Showing him his new freedom you place his hands on your waist, letting him roll you over without pulling out. ”Such a good boy, Taehyungie.” You sing his praises as he starts thrusting into you with intensity using his superstrength to fuck you stupid, marking you with his bruises.

”Can I cum? Please I was good right? Please…” He begs even when he’s the one in control, he could easily ignore your words but he waits till you tell him he can. He doesn’t want to disobey you.

”Harder.” You sigh, dreamily watching his cock thrusting in and out of your wet heat amazed at how his gritty length disappears in you. Taehyung’s speed falters you could tell by the way his eyes stay closed with a pained expression that he’s close but he’s trying to calm down as you didn’t explicitly tell him he could cum. He changes up the speed of his thrusts, going much slower but reaching deeper that seem to have the opposite effect that he wanted. From this angle, he reaches your special spot. Your cunt convulses around his hard pulsing length, your inner muscles squeezing him tight as he repeatedly finds it.

”What’s wrong baby? Do you want to cum?” Cupping his face with both hands you pull him down for a sweet kiss, disregarding the metallic taste in his mouth as you push his tongue around. Your blood got on his cheeks when you fed him but by now it has already dried on his skin.

”Yes. Please.” Taehyung pleads, chasing your lips kissing and licking until you pull him back by grabbing his hair. He’s trying hard to meet your needs without breaking your rule of not cumming until you say he can but it drives him mad. He’s nearing his limits, Taehyung’s eyes roll to the back of his head overwhelmed to have your warmth surround him so perfectly. Grabbing your left thigh with his iron grip he pushes it to your chest opening up your pussy to aid his hard cock drilling into you; harder and faster than before.

”Cum. Fill me up Taehyungie.” Feeling your end nearing you give him the green light to cum whenever he wants. Even when your pussy quivers with oversensitivity you let him drag you over his cock wanting to have his cum. He’s gorgeous when his face contorts in pleasure, finally letting go as he fills you up. This time Taehyung is careful to let your leg go and place it back on the bedsheets. Both of you spent and in a way, exhausted with sweat clinging to your bodies.

”Can I bite?” Taehyung nudges your neck with his nose, waiting till you have your breathing under control before he asks. Rolling your eyes gently even though he can’t see it from that position you breathe out a simple ’yes’ and grip the back of his head twisting your fingers into his hair while he licks the perfect spot to place his bite. It doesn’t hurt when he pierces through the thin layer of skin, you only sigh in the familiarity of the sensation of your warm blood tickling down your neck tainting your sheets. All thanks to your witch origins to have a convenient spell to chase away the uncomfortable feeling of his sharp teeth.

Taehyung licks up the blood he spilt when he’s done feasting, the air is filled with comfortable silence while his cold palm on your stomach is cooling your heated body fingers tracing patterns on your sweaty skin. Things are left unsaid between the two of you but you feel the emotions behind every caress and drag of his tongue. How foolish of you that your heart beats faster when his lips meet yours in a slow kiss.

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Homesick Remedy

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: nsfw. Smut and fluff. Tender sex, hickeys/marking, oral (fem recieving), unprotected sex, creampie, breeding mention, praise kink (sort of/interpretable). afab reader.

Notes: Gojo returns home from a job and spends some quality time with the reader. domestic fluff turned smut

You're not quite sure when you hear the door open.

Gojo usually comes home late. It's the nature of his job. Being one of the world's best Jujutsu sorcerers doesn't exactly follow a 9-5 schedule. Curses don't care if you're sleeping. Most nights you would stay up to greet him. Your schedule was nearly as hectic as his, you dealt with this often. If he found you dozing off on the couch he'd press a kiss to your forehead and carry you to bed.

You had gone on a job the day prior. It was nothing of note; something you could easily handle on your own. A curse was proving to be difficult for lower level sorcerers so they sent you in. Mistakenly you let your guard down—only for a moment—and it cost you. The curse landed a blow on you. Nothing fatal. While your injuries weren't the most visible, they sure don't feel that way. You found yourself unwilling to tell Gojo, though. You could take care of yourself, but he always fussed over you. If he noticed something was off this morning, he made no mention of it.

Gojo's hand briefly touches your head, messing up your hair.

"You're home early." You say, reaching your arms out for him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

He leans down to give you a quick kiss before hauling you into his arms. Instinctively you bury your face in his chest, inhaling the woody scent of his cologne. As much as it smells nice, he puts far too much on. The scent tends to linger long after he's left the room. Something metallic hangs onto it. Blood. Although he doesn't appear injured.

Dramatically he flops back onto the couch. You shift so you're sitting in his lap, facing him. Dark circles line the skin under his eyes. It makes you wonder when he's last slept. His hair is a mess. Idly you brush it out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.

"Missed me?" This dumb looking grin spreads across his face.

"You? Never."

He visibly deflates. Of course you missed him, but his ego could survive a hit or two. There are very few things you enjoyed more than bullying your boyfriend. All in good fun. He's rarely bothered by it. Unfortunately you love him.

You often wonder how you got so lucky.

When the two of you first met, you couldn't stand each other. It was so long ago that it's hard to believe now. There was an obvious rivalry in school. He was always the best at what he did. Though he was a few years older, and moments you ran into him were rare, so it was often shrugged off. If you found something you thought you'd be good at, he was always better. Growing up, he was annoying like that. For someone like you, it made you furious. You had a petty, competitive streak. You had to be good at everything you did. You had to be one of the best sorcerers. You had to be the best in your class.

And you were, but he was always better.

You're a very talented sorcerer yourself, but it's hard not to feel inadequate standing next to him. Most people could say the same thing. Half of the Jujutsu world either wanted him, or wanted to be him. He always fit in so well.

It wasn't until well into adulthood that your paths crossed for long enough to talk. The two of you were more similar than you ever thought. You gave him a chance. Reluctantly so, but you did. Your work only made the two of you grow closer.

He shifts so you're in a more comfortable position in his arms, head resting against his chest. The sudden movement makes you wince. His demeanor completely changes. Gojo handles you like you're fragile; like you'll shatter in his grasp.

It pisses you off just a little bit.

"Is everything alright?" He asks.

He scans you over for injuries. The feeling of his eyes on your body makes you want to shrink back and hide.

"I may have had my ass handed to me on that last job." You let out a nervous sounding laugh, burying your face in his jacket. You're not quite sure why you're embarrassed. It was a mistake, nothing more. But he never makes them.

You're not sure if that makes it worse or better. So you don't question it.

You lean back in to deepen the kiss. It's the first distraction you can think of. It seems to work. The strong muscle of his tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth. He tastes sweet. The scent of his cologne is heady, and makes your head swim.

"Do you want to?" He asks.

He's almost certain of the answer, but it never hurts to check.

You nod—maybe a bit too quick—but you nod. Despite the way your body aches, you want him.

"We're doing this in bed then." He says.

Gojo doesn't give you any time to respond before he's hauling you up into his arms bridal style, heading straight for your shared bedroom. The way he tosses your body onto the bed is a bit rough. It sends a sharp pain up through your ribs. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels in front of you. As you try to sit up, he pins you. His hands hold your wrists to the headboard, his knees straddling you.

Gojo coaxes your shirt over your head, humming in amusement when he realizes you don't have a bra on underneath. He palms at your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers, working them into stiff peaks. He leans forward to take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. It feels nice, but you can't help the throbbing ache it sends right to your cunt. Your hands tangle in his hair, gently guiding him where you want him most. It hardly takes him any time to turn you into a moaning, babbling mess.

You'll have a collar of hickeys in the morning.

Part of you hates how quickly he can turn you to putty in his hands. He knows all the ways that make you melt.

You palm at the growing tent in his pants. He's half hard, his cock leaking against his thigh. He's been gone so long, maybe you've missed him more than you thought. He's certainly missed you. He always finds himself wanting to come home to you at the end of the day.

You lift your hips enough so he can slide your shorts—along with your panties—completely off. Then Gojo's shirt. They're tossed in a heap to your side, landing by your discarded clothes. You're always surprised at how muscular he is without his jacket. It hides a lot more than you thought, you suppose. His eyes scan over you, and the instinct there is to hide. He notices you shying away and stops for a moment.

"Do you still want to?"

Again, you nod. You'd have stopped him if you really didn't.

He pulls you in for a kiss—just a quick peck this time—then plants one on the tip of your nose. Your cheeks turn bright red at that. His head dips down to press a kiss to your sternum; the valley between your breasts. He trails kisses down your bare stomach. Somewhere during that time his hands find your breasts, kneading the plush flesh. He's always admired the curves of your body. His was nice, but it was all angles and hard muscle.

His cock is around average in size—maybe a bit bigger—about six or so inches. It's pretty, like a pornstar's, and he always keeps it well groomed. He's not very intimidating. The head is a ruddy color, with a prominent vein running right to it. Although he's clean shaven, the hairs at the base of his cock are the same white as his head. That question bothered you for years before you finally got an answer. It doesn't take a whole lot of prep to take him, but he always likes working his partners up. Anything you could deal, he'd dish back out double. Never anything you can't handle, but Gojo can be a bit of an ass.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, sucking a dark mark where you won't be able to see. The action sends an ache of need right to your core. Heat pools low in your stomach, slowly building in intensity. Gojo's arms hook around your thighs, pulling you towards him. Your legs rest just over his shoulders. The aching need in your cunt makes it hard to think straight. All you want is for him to touch you. He licks a long stripe up your slit. His own eyes are clouded with need, his cheeks flushed, lips bitten pink. His strong hands knead the soft flesh of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin. He licks a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. You jump as he presses kitten licks to your clit, working the bundle of nerves in achingly slow motions. You taste sweet, he notes.

Your hands bury in his hair, guiding him to where you need him most. This time he relents, leaning in to lap at your clit in soft, steady motions. One of his fingers presses against your entrance. They're long, but thin, and dexterous. After a moment, he adds a second, pressing up against your g-spot. It's another moment before he starts pumping them. The sounds of your slick sex and moans fill the room. He sucks onto the sensitive bundle of nerves so desperately that it feels like it'll pop off. He swirls his tongue around it in a way that makes your toes curl and your fingers bury in the sheets. You get louder the closer you get to your own orgasm. He takes note of this. It's only a moment later when he pulls away. The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light. He makes a show of licking his fingers, groaning at the taste. Gojo leans back in for a kiss. Not much more than a quick peck. You can taste yourself on him. He finds your shocked and disappointed look endearing.

"Please,"

A smug look spreads across his face. "Please what?"

"Fuck me,"

He cages you in his arms, pinning your wrists against the bed. You might be able to wriggle out of his grasp if you really tried; not that you want to. He can't help but admire the mess between your thighs.

You take his cock into your hands, giving him a few quick pumps. He's painfully hard. Precum beads at the head, which has turned an angry shade of red. Gojo wastes no time in lining himself up. His slick cock head traces around your entrance before pushing in. He takes his time, slowly bottoming out in you. The stretch stings slightly, but isn't necessarily painful. With all the prep, he slides right in. He groans as you take him right to the hilt.

As he starts to thrust, your scramble for purchase against his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck, your fingers lacing together behind his head. His hair tickles your neck. He coos words of praise into your ear, telling you how good you take him, how good you feel around him. You clench around him, pulling him back in. Gojo sucks dark marks into your neck, only adding to the collar of hickeys. He takes pride in seeing you all marked up. Some possessive part of him loves seeing the marks he leaves behind.

Gojo's hips roll against yours in lazy thrusts. To him, there's no prettier sight than seeing your form writhe under him. His hands grab your legs propping them up on his shoulders. The new angle allows him to hit deeper than before. He picks up in pace, snapping his hips against yours in short, quick motions.

His free hand traces circles around your clit. The heat in your stomach soon grows scorching in nature. You're close. He notices the way your breathing grows shaky, how your moans get louder and more desperate sounding.

When you cum, you cum hard. Your legs clamp around his hips, pulling him back in. The way your pussy spasms around him is enough to send him over the edge. It almost catches him off guard—he didn't expect to cum so soon—he bites into his tongue hard to stop the moan that escapes him. His cum paints your walls white, filling you up more than ever before. As he pulls out, he does so slowly to not spill any of his cum.

He pulls you so your back is flush to his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and maybe a bit of saliva. The sound of his steady breathing threatens to lull you to sleep. He smooths a hand over your hair, brushing it out of your eyes. Gojo looks at you with such adoration that it makes affection swell in your chest. Moments like these are rare; falling asleep next to him. Life rarely seems to allow it. It's always nice when you can take a break together.

"I missed you." You finally say.

"I know." He plants a kiss on your forehead. "I missed you too."

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #not sfw #jjk smut #gojo x reader #afab reader #fluff

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julek · 3 years

Text

for @greyduckgreygoose, my beloved <3 | read on ao3

! explicit

Jaskier was oddly quiet.

It was an unforgiving summer afternoon, the sun burning bright in the sky as they walked together on the dry roads. Roach followed close behind them — mindful of the heat, Geralt had dismounted as soon as he was able — and stomped her feet in displeasure every time they had to abandon the cool shadow of the trees, following the forks in the road that lead to Cleves.

They had spent the night in Maribor, after Jaskier had sung his voice out in the marketplace’s small summer festival. They’d drunk cool beer and eaten sweet pastries, tumbling into bed at an ungodly hour and rising with the sun. Geralt, for once, had actually enjoyed himself — being able to accompany Jaskier on his many outings had long since become routine, but seeing him in his element, lute in hand and winning smile on his face, was still enough to make Geralt’s chest swell with pride, knowing he was the only one who would hold his hand at the end of the night, and take him home.

Now, as they moved on through the deserted road, Geralt became suddenly too aware of how quiet it all was — apart from the fresh air running through the trees, there was no humming, no half-lines being sung. It was… suspicious. He looked to his left and found Jaskier fidgeting with the strap of his lute, mindlessly watching the thick foliage of the trees they passed by.

Against all demands of decency and decorum, Jaskier’s chemise was unbuttoned to the navel, tucked into his breeches in a half-hearted attempt to keep it from sliding off his back. He’d pushed his hair back in the early morning — as he was wont to do when the heat became unbearable — but by now a few wayward strands were falling on his face, matted with sweat. His chest was an inviting sight, one that always seemed to take Geralt by surprise, the swell of his muscles and the thick hair that covered it making his breath catch in his throat. He was walking a bit slower than usual, adjusting the waistband of his breeches from time to time — Geralt had simply shrugged it off as still being exhausted from the night before. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Jask.”

He turned around. “Hmm?”

“You’re being quiet,” Geralt observed. “Last time you were being this quiet it was a curse.”

“Not cursed,” Jaskier replied, biting his lower lip. “Though it is sweet to know you care.”

Geralt hummed. “Then?”

Looking at Geralt, his head tilted, he smiled, snapping his lute strap into place. “Just thinking.”

There was a row of low-hanging trees on the edge of the path, and they passed underneath them to enjoy the cool shadow, if only for a few moments. Geralt was about to speak when a soft breeze wafted through the air, and made him stop dead in his tracks.

That scent. Sweet like ripe fruit and sharp like the spices at the marketstalls — lust and desire and need, all in one. Not covered in scented oils, not masked by perfumes and rosewater — just pure Jaskier, sweaty and unwashed and wanton.

Geralt looked at Jaskier again, and the bard must have seen the way his nostrils flared because suddenly his cheeks were pink and his lips were swollen, bitten and cherry red. Geralt stepped closer, Roach’s reins slipping from his fingers, and just breathed in. He could feel himself giving into it, desire pooling low on his belly, just by thinking about taking Jaskier like that, sheltered by the trees and surrounded by nothing but their own skin.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, his voice rough. “Here?”

Jaskier licked his lips, and his voice was already a wreck as he whispered, “Yeah.”

His back hit a tree as their lips crashed with an unbidden sense of urgency, Geralt’s hands reaching for as much skin as he could touch. Jaskier gave as good as he got, sucking bruises he knew would fade soon on Geralt’s jaw, his neck, his ear.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Geralt panted against Jaskier’s collarbone when they parted, fingers stroking the soft skin of his belly, just above his waistband. “Could swear you were pretty dead to the world this morning.”

Jaskier scoffed a laugh, pressing kisses to Geralt’s face, uncaring of the heat. “I may have a surprise for you.”

Geralt pulled back to look at him, a small frown knitting his brows. His thumb was dangerously close to the pretty knot that tied Jaskier’s breeches together. “And what would that be?”

“Can’t tell you.” Jaskier’s grin was wicked. “Guess you’ll have to find it.”

Groaning, Geralt stole a quick kiss, making Jaskier laugh. He linked their hands together and walked deeper into the forest — they’d had too many a close call, pleasuring each other on the side of the road — and whistled for Roach to follow.

“Tell her to stay back!” Jaskier whisper-shouted, looking at Roach walking toward them. “I don’t want her—”

“Seeing us?”

“Yes, Witcher, seeing us. She’ll be scarred for life.”

Geralt snorted, but motioned for Roach to move along a line of trees. “There.”

“Good,” Jaskier purred. “Now, where were we?”

Almost tearing the fabric, Geralt took Jaskier’s chemise off his back. He needed to feel his skin, have no layers between them — with quick movements, Jaskier divested him of his armor, deft fingers making fast work of the buckles holding the plates together. Their lips met again and again, a vicious hunger running through their veins, demanding to be sated.

Pinned between Geralt and the trunk of a sturdy tree, Jaskier arched under the bruising kisses being sucked into his skin. Geralt caught his hands just before they moved to the laces of his breeches and placed them above his head, taking control. Jaskier shuddered.

“If you’re gonna tease me,” he rasped, “at least take your clothes off. Put on a proper show.”

Geralt hummed. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

“That is correct, which is why I’m—”

Jaskier’s words dissolved into a groan as Geralt finally, finally pushed his breeches down — but, too soon, his hands stilled.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was low, almost too low to be heard.

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “You like that?”

The bard wasn’t wearing any underclothes — just his breeches, all day long, under the offending sun — and it made some animalistic instinct in Geralt burn, something primal and raw melt his senses into nothing but Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier.

He bit down on Jaskier’s neck as an answer, and his moan went straight to Geralt’s cock, already hard and aching for release. He wrapped his free hand around Jaskier, stroking hard and slow, the way he knew set the bard on edge — but then he remembered.

“Where’s my surprise?” He asked, smiling when Jaskier rocked into his hand, tiny whines escaping his lips. “I do recall being promised one, of sorts.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to answer, but then, right then, Geralt twisted his wrist and sped up his movements, wringing punched-out ah, ah, ahs from him. “Jaskier.”

“Y-yes,” he managed, his forehead pressed against Geralt’s shoulder. “There’s— ah, fuck—”

“It would be rude of you to come now,” Geralt whispered in his ear, his voice rough with want, though his movements didn’t falter, his thumb gliding along the slit messily, “before I got to unwrap my gift.”

“I— I won’t last,” Jaskier confessed, his eyes shut and his brows knitted in a frown borne of ecstasy, clearly reaching his peak. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Geralt smirked. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier let out a broken moan as Geralt withdrew his hand entirely, leaving him unsatisfied and aching, panting against his chest. Geralt pressed small kisses to his hair, his face, his hands. “You okay?”

Though he seemed miserable, Jaskier gave him a soft smile before burying his face where Geralt’s neck met his shoulder. “Always.”

Geralt took him in his arms, relieved. He knew what Jaskier liked, was sure of what he wanted — making sure was part of it, all the same.

He waited for Jaskier’s breathing to even out, let him rest against his body even though he kept subconsciously rocking against Geralt’s cock, which strained against the leather of his breeches with unfaltering desire. After a few moments, Jaskier rose from his chest with a knowing smile on his lips.

“Well, then,” he said, turning around and leaning his front against the tree, arms lifted above his head in surrender. He looked at Geralt over his shoulder, “won’t you come get it?”

Every bit of restraint and patience Geralt had been holding onto vanished, disappeared as he moved forward and pressed himself close to Jaskier, shoulder to knee. “I’ve fucked you in the woods before,” he observed, reaching for his own pants to unfasten them, “what’s special about this one?”

Jaskier chuckled. “Ah,” he said, clicking his tongue. “But you’re mistaken.”

Geralt watched as his hand traveled down his back, slow and teasing, until it reached his tailbone. Jaskier slid his fingers down his crack and pulled, spreading himself open just the slightest bit, enough for Geralt to see—

“Fuck, Jaskier.”

Down in the forgotten streets of Maribor, there’d been a small shop Jaskier knew very well. It was where they regularly got their oil supply, where Jaskier often complained to Geralt of high prices for feathered hats and embroidered underpants. The night before the festival, Geralt had watched Jaskier come in particularly pink-cheeked, smelling of chamomile and expensive perfume, a small velvet pouch hidden between his hands. He’d thought nothing of it — after all, he was the one who’d asked Jaskier to get their oil this time — and had almost forgotten about it.

Now, Geralt watched as a small, polished plug in a dark shade of blue was pressed inside Jaskier, keeping him open. It’s for you, the animal that lived inside him said, he’s wearing it for you. A low groan escaped him as he reached out and tapped the base once, making Jaskier squirm.

“Do you like it?”

Jaskier’s voice wavered the slightest bit, and immediately Geralt cursed himself for standing there quiet so long. Their eyes met, and that was it — Geralt surged forward and kissed him ferociously despite the awkward angle, just to show him how much he liked it.

“I do,” Geralt said against Jaskier’s mouth, “I really fucking do.”

“Then show me.”

Geralt turned Jaskier around so he was facing the tree, and felt the wet dirt on his breeches as his knees hit the forest floor. This close, he could see just how far the plug went; the way it stretched Jaskier further and further with every move. He groaned. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

Jaskier couldn’t manage to answer. He let out a broken moan as Geralt licked a stripe down his cleft, briefly sucking on the plug and making Jaskier’s knees almost give out. His scent was so strong, here, so heady and raw, Geralt wanted nothing more than to get drunk on it.

He teased his tongue around the plug, pulling it out with his fingers just a little, only to push it back inside. It drove Jaskier mad, made him let out weak, breathless moans as Geralt licked him relentlessly. “Geralt,” he breathed. “Please.”

Geralt hummed, making Jaskier whine. “Yes?”

“Just,” Jaskier said through gritted teeth, “d-do something.”

Geralt pulled back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Something?”

Jaskier looked down at him over his shoulder, and Geralt couldn’t suppress a shudder — he looked wrecked, his cheeks red and scratched from pressing them against the tree, his hair pushed back and gleaming with sweat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. An amalgamation of sin and innocence, purity and desire. His voice was rough when he said, “Anything.”

And Geralt gave it to him. He gripped the base of the plug and pulled, taking it out in one fluid motion, hearing Jaskier groan at the stretch. He immediately replaced the plug with two spit-slick fingers, feeling the warmth of Jaskier’s walls clenching around them.

“Geralt, Geralt— Geralt,” Jaskier chanted, his name suddenly a prayer, as Geralt pressed messy kisses to his hole, took playful bites at his cheeks. Jaskier’s cock still was hard and straining against his stomach, and Geralt could see he was holding himself back from rutting against the tree.

Abruptly, Geralt pulled away and sat back, bringing Jaskier down with him. “C’mere,” he rasped, settling Jaskier on his lap, his fingers still deep inside him. He swallowed each one of Jaskier’s moans, kissing him fiercely as he added a third finger. “Are you gonna come, little bird?”

“Not yet.” Jaskier shook his head. “Want— with you.”

Geralt groaned against his bard’s shoulder. Of course he’d think of Geralt even on the verge of his orgasm, of course he’d want him to take his pleasure as well. If only he knew what he did to Geralt — that seeing him incoherent and lost in desire was enough to bring him to the edge. Still, Geralt nodded. “With me.”

Jaskier unlaced Geralt’s breeches and pushed them down, just enough so they could rut against each other, skin on skin. Geralt hissed as Jaskier rocked his cock against his own, felt the dribble of precome slick the way as Jaskier’s palm wrapped around them both. He let out a low groan and caught Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that was mostly teeth and tongue, but that felt like diving into a frozen lake on a hot summer day. He felt Jaskier fucking himself on Geralt’s fingers as he stroked them both to completion, his movements faltering.

“I’m— Geralt,” he choked out.

Geralt nodded feverishly against his temple. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Jaskier twisted his wrist once more, and Geralt came over Jaskier’s hand and stomach. Even under the hazy cloud of his orgasm, Geralt presses his fingers inside Jaskier still, brushing his prostate with nearly every stroke. Suddenly, Jaskier stilled, and came with a muffled sob against Geralt’s shoulder, his come hitting Geralt’s chest.

They sat together, catching their breaths for a moment. Geralt pressed soft kisses against Jaskier’s neck, the side of his face, wherever he could reach. Devotion, he realized. This is what devotion feels like.

Jaskier melted against him, pressing lazy kisses of his own against Geralt’s scarred shoulder. “That was…”

“Good,” Geralt rumbled.

Jaskier pulled back slowly, with a grin that quickly transformed into a groan. “Fuck, no,” he growled as he watched Geralt run a finger through the mess on his chest and suck it into his mouth. “Fuck.”

Geralt shrugged. “You taste good,” he said simply.

“You can’t just say—” Jaskier pressed his face against Geralt’s neck, defeated. “You’ve killed me. I’m dead. Please grieve accordingly.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “We have to get going soon.”

Jaskier tsked. “Can’t. Dead, remember?”

Geralt knew there was no competing against Jaskier’s soft afterglow. With a dramatic sigh — damn Jaskier and his endearing theatrics — Geralt laid down, his back on the damp summer grass. Jaskier burrowed into his side, nuzzling his nose against Geralt’s neck, their legs entwined.

Geralt looked at the sky. Its blue was slowly giving way to the soft oranges and pinks of the late afternoon, sunlight melting against the clouds. He knew they would have to move eventually, saddle Roach and keep going until they reached Cleves. But for now, they could lie close to each other, their breaths and heartbeats as one, and worry for nothing but each other.

For now, Geralt could look into Jaskier’s eyes and find nothing but a mirror of his own, could whisper sweet nothing against his ear and watch him flush and smile, embarrassed, until the sun set. He could press soft kisses on Jaskier’s skin and find nothing but the scent of sweat, and salt, and love. Find roundabout ways to tell him I love you, and I’m yours, and I never want to be without you, and I would never run.

He would always stay.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geraskier #geraskier smut #hope you all like it <3

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

kaleidoscope, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Don’t let him back in. Don’t kiss him. Don’t hold him. And above all, don’t say his name. If you don’t say his name, then it’s like he’s never here. If you don’t say his name, then he’s just a body to use and fuck, not someone who broke your heart and is coming back to piece it together.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; angst; hate / make-up sex (fem reader, too much crying and it gets everywhere; nipple play, fingering, f-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - exes to lovers

–

it's an emotional kaleidoscope when i face you >> now playing – forget me too by machine gun kelly ft. halsey

You hated this part right here, because one minute you were shoving him and yelling at him, and telling him he was stupid and dumb and shouldn't be here, but the next moment he grabbed your head and crashed his lips to yours, holding your face, telling you he loved you, and you kept crying and saying that was stupid, so stupid, because you should never take friendship personal, and he had all this shit going on, so it was a terrible idea, a terrible idea to kiss him back, a terrible idea to let him grab your sleep shirt and yank it up and over your head.

"We broke up because you didn't want to commit," you hissed, his hands on your bra-covered breasts now, squeezing roughly, breathing hard on your chin. "Because you didn't want this."

"I know."

His right hand, covered in tattoos, cupping your face, brushing your tears away, replacing them with his because he was crying too, crying for what? Crying because he told you that he didn't want this anymore? Stupid. Kissing you between tears, black hair brushing your face, wild and intense and you were pushing his jacket off, dumping it to the floor, revealing his tattooed right arm and bare left one, wearing only a black t-shirt underneath.

"God, you're so fucking stupid," you muttered, pressing your chest against his, knowing you were just as stupid, just as stupid for grasping his shirt and pulling him to you, kissing him over and over, wet, messy kisses with too many tears. "Some bitch turn you down or what?"

"Nobody turns me down." he muttered, kissing you back, hands on your waist, digging his fingers into your back and scratching harshly, leaving burning lines of lust. "I was making out with my date and it was fine until I thought of you kissing someone else and then it was suddenly shit and I hated it and I didn't want it anymore."

You wanted kisses full of tears? you wondered, but you couldn't say anything, because his hand travelled up and unhooked your bra, pulling it off and tangling it in your arms, not caring, grabbing your tits and squeezing them, pinching your nipples just the way you liked. You moaned into his mouth and flung your bra aside. It tumbled to the floor, just like everything else.

You didn't want to say his name, because it would be like he was here, and you didn't want to think he was here, leaning down and making out with your tits, licking them all over, taking your nipples in his mouth and flicking them with his tongue, telling you how good they tasted, how sexy they were. He hurt you, hurt you with his stupid excuses, and this wasn't fair to you, it wasn't fair to him, but you were doing it anyway, because it wasn't him, he wasn't here, as long as you didn't say his name.

He came back up to your face, kissing you again, tasting like your nipples, breathing your name, telling you he loved you.

"Shut the fuck up. You're an asshole."

You tried to sound rough, annoyed, and you were, but your voice was cracking, because this wasn't fair, wasn't fair that he smelled like someone else's perfume and was dumping it all on you, mixing it with his cologne and the smell of your nipples, kissing you over and over.

“I hate you so fucking much,” you muttered wetly, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and yanking it up and over his head, ruining his hair even more, accidentally smacking him in the chin, but fuck it, he deserved it, it deserved it all, wasting your time and making you think you had love before denouncing it for what it was and taking it all away, grabbing you by the ass and pulling you to him, onto his jean-covered crotch, his lap that someone else had sat in hours before, multiple people maybe. Who the fuck knew? His mouth, so good on yours, his teeth biting your lips, wiping your tears away with the back of his hand as if that would do anything.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chanted against your lips, taking your exhales, taking your hopeless breath, taking it all away, the nights you spent alone, staring at pictures of him and you, wondering if it was real or not.

“You liar,” you breathed, rolling your body into his, the familiar heat and hardness, making you moan as your sensitive nipples touched his skin, touched his skin like some other bitch must have touched him in between your tears, in between your pretend make-believe that you were okay, your make believe you lived by day, saying he can’t hurt you, not you, the impervious, the confident, the glass house that shattered the second the bullet of his pleading gaze pierced you at your doorstep. His hands sliding up your back, scratching you again, leaving his marks on you, hot pain shaking through your nerves and you holding onto his shoulders, body asking for more, lips on his some more, your pleas in his mouth, don’t stop, fuck, don’t you fucking stop.

His cheek pressed against yours, soaking you with salt and tears. “I’m not a liar.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t an asshole.”

He left one hand splayed on your stinging back as the other slipping down your side, snaking between your legs, the soaked heat burning you and him, igniting you and him, pushing his moan into your throat as he slipped his fingers underneath your panties, running his nails over your slippery folds. The worst, the worst that you wanted it, one hand in his black hair, bunching it up and yanking on it, the other on his back, leaving scalding lines of lust, swearing to yourself to ignore him, just fuck him and destroy him, fuck him and rip up his lies and ruin his life, don’t believe him when he tells you he loves you while plunging his fingers into you, heated kisses and building the pace you loved most.

“I didn’t think I would ever want anybody,” he gasped, dragging you with him, deeper into your apartment and your life, putting himself in places he didn’t belong. “But I want you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” you gritted out, pulling harder on his hair and making him groan, pressing his straining erection against your thigh.

“I don’t fucking know.”

Pain rippling through his voice, breathing harder, forcefully shoving two fingers into the deepest parts of you, pleasure flowing through you, trying to lower his head to suck on your nipples again, but you didn’t let him, firm grip on his hair, and he moaned, denied, kissing you instead, desperation and pace increasing, faster, faster, driving you to the edge of the world and throwing you over, throwing your head back and spitting curses, so wet it was disgustingly loud and embarrassing, you hated it, hated that you liked the feeling of him pulling his fingers out to gasp and lick his fingers off, savoring your taste, before kissing your again, the taste of your pussy and nipples mixing together with his addictive saliva and his whispers of love.

“I’ll be good to you this time, I promise,” he murmured, nudging you with his nose, tongue tracing your lips, reminding you how good it was, reminding you of long nights flat on your back and his head between your legs, coaxing the pleasure out, so he could drink it all and walk away from you.

“That’s a load of shit,” you scowled, pushing his head down by his hair, his tongue extending, swiping down your torso licking every centimeter of skin you let him have access to, nails digging into your back and all the way down your ass, dragging your panties down, down.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say his name and he won’t be here.

Dark brown orbs looked up on you, his knees colliding with the floor, shirtless, hard muscles all tense, tattoos on his right arm gleaming with sweat, still wearing his dark jeans, regret poisoning his handsome features, black hair a mess in your hands and all over his face, pink tongue hanging out, begging for your taste, but your grip on his hair preventing him from getting any closer.

It wasn’t fair.

He whined in his throat, fingernails tearing up your skin, his marks like tattoos, permanently on your skin because you missed him every second of every day even though he ruined everything.

“You’re the worst, Jungkook.”

You rolled your hips into his face, colliding into his teeth, and his eyes rolled back, hungry tongue lapping it all up, warm and soft like his embrace when he held you all those nights before he fucked it all up. He drank you like he was parched, dying, and you didn’t know if it was a lie or the truth but you didn’t care anymore.

Just didn’t care whatever the fuck Jeon Jungkook was.

His eyes snapped back to watch your face and you bucked your hips into his mouth, throwing one leg over his shoulder, squeezing his jaw, brows furrowed, keeping your orgasm at bay, making him work for it, making him ache for it, his fingers sinking into your ass, tongue swiping all over, inside your folds, funneling your nectar into his throat before latching onto your clit, soft and fast and tight, furrowing his own brows, knowing you were denying him, but why did you care, he did this to himself.

“I hate you,” you gasped, tears falling again, staring down at him, clutching his black hair, everything shattering, riding his face, tipping your head back so you weren’t looking at him anymore, gravity forcing the tears back, back, riding the high instead, fuck the sadness and turn into your drug, your drug between your legs, breath constricting in your throat as you came, filling his mouth and splattering on his chin.

Jungkook moaned your name and shook his head in between your legs to smear your juices all over his face, tugging on his own hair in your hand.

“I love you,” he panted, licking you all over, his saliva dripping down your thighs with your orgasm.

“I don’t want to hear the shit you tell everyone else,” you scoffed, releasing his hair and throwing him back, unhooking your leg and backing up, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand and flicking it aside, breathing hard, head and chest tight, not thinking straight, high on pleasure and low on life, naked and guarded, still backing up as Jungkook got to his feet, pushing his hair back from his messy face, using his own shirt to clean it off before throwing it back down on your floor, your marks all over him and his marks all over your body and your surroundings. You wished you could find him ugly with bloodshot eyes and ruined hair, his scratched-up torso shuddering and struggling for breath, guilt weakening his strong features.

You stared each other down, heavy exhale matching heavy exhale.

Jungkook said your name, streaked with pain.

“Say my name again.” Coming closer to you, voice cracking. “Even if it’s with the words, ‘I hate you, Jungkook.’ I just want to hear you say my name.”

Remembering all those days and all those nights, throwing your phone aside as he ignored your call for the hundredth time, screaming alone at your walls, wishing these same walls would cave in and take you with them, wishing you weren’t going out to drink way too much and pray you didn’t wake up anymore, wishing it wasn’t Jeon Jungkook who did this to you.

Was it him?

Or was it you, loving to hard, knowing it was going to crash and burn, knowing that this love had been a cigarette that had an ending, a burn that would turn to ash and float away, two people who weren’t ready for anything more than that?

You turned away, unable to look at him anymore, throwing yourself on your bed, the crying place, the place of lust, the place of long nights alone, looking up at the ceiling, wishing the walls would cave in and crush you so you didn’t have to wake up alone.

He was on you in an instant, hands on your hands, pushing you onto your back, kissing you again, getting on top of you, looking for love and you gave it to him, yanking your hands out and grabbing his face, hungry, desperate, messed-up kisses, your taste on his lips, his apologies getting stifled by your tongue forcing its way into his mouth, fucking him mercilessly, turning his words into moans, hooking your legs around his waist and pressing your wetness all over his pants, all over his jeans, replacing that cheap perfume and his own cologne, covering him with you.

“You think all your whores will want you when they know you’re back here with me?” you snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders and rolling him onto his back, pinning him down with violent kisses and brutal scratches down his chest.

“Probably,” he gasped, following your mouth when you pulled back, his words in your throat. “They want me no matter what.”

You clicked your tongue, yanking at his jeans, undoing them sloppily.

“Just like how I love you no matter what.”

You pulled them down, curling your lip in distaste at his response, seeing the wet spot in the front of his underwear, his pre-cum soaked through. You dragged those down too, his hard cock popping up, reaching down to his back jeans pocket, pulling out the condom he always kept there. Your gaze flickered up, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re so stupid, Jungkook.”

He was breathing hard, chest torn up by your rage, red lines on tan skin.

“Yeah, I am.”

You ripped the condom open and took it out, throwing the wrapper aside, rolling it down his stiff length with him moaning, pants will half-on, but you ignored it, getting up and sinking down on him, swallowing him with your heat, setting him and you on fire, riding him agonizingly slow to piss him off, to make him growl, enduring it for only a few minutes before grabbing your arms and pinning you to his body, rolling you back over to your side of the bed and planting his hands on the bed, fucking you forcefully and hurriedly, clenching his jaw.

“So eager to finish?” you taunted, almost spitting in his face, so furious your core tightened, muscles choking his cock and making him hiss. “So ready to run away just like how you ran away last time, Jungkook, telling me bullshit about how you didn’t want to be loved by me?”

He grabbed your legs and pushed them up to his shoulders, slapping his hips into yours, his crotch and balls getting soaked with your cum and his saliva, wet loud smacks that used to fill up this room most nights, his eyes staring into yours, nearly black with his expanded pupils, the dark sea swimming in those orbs, drowning you and drowning him, dotting your face with his tears once more.

“Shit on me some more, why don’t you?” he ground out.

“You fucking deserve that shit,” you shot back, now slapping your hips back into his, feeling it now, feeling the unbearable lust and heat and fury and pain and desire for this to be real, your hands finding his hair again, pulling on it with every thrust, your whines and his cries mixing together, chasing blind release, watching his cock disappear into you and fill you to an almost unbearable tightness before looking back up to his face, neck and jaw tense, harder, harder, you holding back and him holding back, a stupid game of cat and mouse, his fucking favorite.

“Cum for me, fuck,” he panted. “Fucking cum for me, I need it, need you to feel good with my cock, please, fuck, don’t do this, please…”

Harder, faster, louder, you pulling his head down to kiss him messily, tits and bed bouncing, nails digging into his scalp, so close, barely holding on as it always was with him, on the verge of fireworks, getting your hands singed and burnt along the way, cursing loudly, your fate, your luck, and him, all at once, the feeling racing down your spine and exploding in between your joined hips.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook moaned in your mouth, cock milked by spasming velvety walls, shooting large spurts of cum into the condom, your pussy responding in kind, drenching his balls and crotch, your softness bent underneath his hardness, his kisses all over you again and you tried to shove him off, only for him to pin your wrists down, kissing you deeply, and you exhaling in his mouth, filling him from below and above, drowning him with you.

“Let me stay…” he sobbed in your face.

“So you can leave before I wake up?” you hiccupped, the pressure in your head and your legs numbing you, swearing you would never fall in love with Jeon Jungkook ever again, but you didn’t have to, because you were already in love with him, still in love with him, stupidly in love with him.

“Tie me down, lock me up, I don’t care,” he managed to get out in between sniffles, letting go of your hands and lowering your legs, wrapping his arms around you and rolling your bodies, putting you on top of him, his cock sliding out, but he held you tight, soul crushingly so. “Don’t sleep, watch me all night, anything you want.” Your name formed wetly on his lips, his hair and his scent all over your pillows once more, the place he looked best, the place he belonged. “Anything.”

You seized his head, shaking him. “Don’t you see how crazy you’re acting?”

Those dark brown orbs were sinking with his thoughts and your anger.

“That’s how I know I made a mistake.”

His hand cupped your cheek, searching your eyes, looking for his validation.

“I promise it’s different this time.”

His promises didn’t mean anything.

“Just forget me, Jungkook…” you cracked, forehead hitting his, adrenaline dying out, the crushing weight of your mistakes excruciating, wishing it would all go away. “Remember that you were the one who didn’t want this.”

He kissed you, far too long and too wet, a complete and utter mess.

“My memory’s shit,” he whispered, shudders shaking his tone and soul. “Absolute fucking garbage. It only remembers that I love you more than anything else in the world.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

You closed your eyes and, when you opened them again, his clothes were all over the floor.

His taste still on your lips.

His tears still soaked in your skin.

His body still tangled up in your life, his lips still saying I love you like a broken record.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

My Number One Hero

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4.6k

[ ✘ (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰!), ☀︎ ] smut with a sweet, savory aftertaste

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : dom!shouto, temperature play, edging, dirty talk, choking, begging, light degradation, cock/body worship, creampie

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : After months of careful planning and preparation, you finally get the chance to make your move on your favorite Pro Hero, Shouto. Upon learning you’re his biggest fan, he decides to give you the VIP experience by offering to accompany you to your hotel room for the night.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i said a smut, smut, smutty smut. smut smut smutitty smut. feels like it’s been a while since i’ve written porn without plot! i guess this has a little story, though, so it’s not just complete sin ;)

└───────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ─────────┘

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅂irens echo in the distance, faraway blaring interrupting the otherwise serene, chilly night. You can hear them through the open window as soon as you slip inside the room, having left it open hours ago when you made your way to the hotel bar; the very place that you would lay in wait for the target of your affection to arrive.

Lady Luck has smiled fortunately upon you tonight— it's all you could really ask for, at this point. You had done your research— you’d flown in for the Hero conference, booked your room in the same hotel that hosted the event, and even figured out his itinerary for the weekend. How you had managed to actually convince him to return to your room with you, you aren’t exactly sure, but you also don't really give a damn for logistics. Not when the telltale click of the lock turning sounds, and it’s just the two of you, finally alone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Then he’s pressing your body into the back of the door. Strong hands seize your waist and thread into the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back so he can lean down and smother your lips with his. You let out a moan, receptive of his sudden onslaught of kisses. His tongue runs across your bottom lip before it parts the seam of your mouth, stroking yours in greeting. Your head is clouded with lust, everything about the man simply addictive. You’ve idolized him for so long, fantasized about him endlessly. And now that you’re given the chance, you’re going to absolutely worship him.

Before you know it, the kiss becomes frantic. His grip on you tightens, crushing your body between his powerful, slender frame and the solid wood of the door. A lean, muscled thigh splits your legs as he presses himself against you, like he’s desperate for every inch of your bodies to touch, to grind against each other. Your tongue tangles with his, your fingers coiled in his silky, dual-colored hair.

As he lets out a particularly throaty groan, your hips buck and your core brushes against the sinews of his sturdy quad, your head falling back to thump against the door while you moan out his name in response. “S-Shouto— mmph~”

His lips claim yours again, leaning down so he can force your mouths together harder as he flexes the muscle and rubs it between your legs a few more times before pulling back. You gasp as his hands unlatch from their rough grasp on you and instead grab onto the back of your thighs, long fingers curling into your plush flesh as he yanks you into the air. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck and fingers fisting his hair roughly. You share a moan between kisses, mouths slotting to move in sync with one another as his feet begin to navigate toward the bed.

Somehow in the dark of your hotel room, he manages to stumble his way to his destination. The mattress creaks under your shared weight, your breath escaping you as your back hits the comforter, hair flying to fan out around your face. The moonlight illuminates his face, your heart rate picking up as you take in his strikingly handsome features. Without thinking, you reach out and run your fingertips along the edge of his jaw, eyes focused on the way your thumb catches over his lip. When you look back into his eyes, you find yourself pinned with his ardent gaze— the stray beams from the moon’s glow making his two-toned eyes look like galaxies with the sole intent to devour you whole. You can barely contain the wanton moan that dares to sound when he pulls the zip down the front of his hero suit, shrugging the material off and then tearing his undershirt over his head to reveal his chiseled torso to your wide, appreciative eyes. He allows a moment for your gaze to flit over every inch of shredded muscle, making sure you trace down his adonis belt and bite your lip before he speaks, confidence clear as day and ever-growing.

“Enjoying the view, my little fan?” Shouto rumbles, the hand that’s not supporting himself moving to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, then sliding down to rest threateningly on the column of your throat when you don’t respond.

You nod, unable to speak, tongue poking out to wet your lips as your hips wiggle underneath his narrow ones. Your legs are still locked around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours without any room for argument.

He sighs and ducks his head into your neck, releasing his grip and allowing you to breathe as his lips start to plant wet kisses over the skin his fingers had just dug into. “As am I,” he groans when he rips your blouse open, the buttons flying from the seams and tinkling all across the hardwood floor. His eyes light up at the sight before him, not even acknowledging the intricate white brasserie that hides your tits from his gaze, eyes purely wandering across the swell of your cleavage and the soft skin of your stomach. It takes him a moment to realize your choice of undergarments, the white lace accented with a deep scarlet on the trim. He chuckles lowly, cocking a brow as a smirk lifts his lips. “Well you came prepared, didn’t you?”

“Just for you,” you manage to squeak out, still battling your shock that the Pro Hero is even here in your hotel room with you, let alone the fact that you can feel his hard cock pressing against your cunt through your clothes.

He ruts his hips experimentally against yours as a reward, savoring the whimper that slithers out of you and the way your legs squeeze around his waist, back arching off the bed. “That’s right, love,” the pet name sends shivers through your body, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as you pant, “you did say you’re my number one fan, didn’t you?”

Your fingers dig into the sheets when he begins to kiss your neck again, warm lips trailing down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” you gasp, his teeth peeling the rim of your bra down, nose rubbing over the sensitive skin of your areola. “And you’re my— my number one h-hero, Shouto, ahh~” His hot tongue rolls over your nipple, taking the perked bud into his mouth and swirling it around playfully. The sensation makes your head spin, his hands coming to knead at your soft breasts. His thumb swipes back and forth across your other nipple, stimulating you further. Despite the generous attention he gives to your chest, your core itches for the delicious friction his hips provided again, trembling and leaking into your panties.

As if he’s reading your mind, he shuffles back onto his knees, making you feel small and prey-like under his sizzling stare while he tears your pants down your legs. You can feel his eyes taking in every inch of skin revealed, especially when he zeroes in on the wet line staining the middle of your panties, which match your bra and also sport his distinct red and white. Once the offensive material is rid of your body, he pauses as his eyes linger on your covered cunt, licking his lips. But then he gets off the bed, choosing to stand next to the edge of the mattress. “Get up, then,” he instructs, “Come show me I’m your number one with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Your body is up and following his command within seconds, eager to please. Your knees hit the floor as you settle yourself so you’re hovering over his foot, face just a short distance from the part of him that’s entertained your late-night thoughts for months on end now. Tentatively, you place a kiss to the front of his pants, just underneath his belt buckle. Heat floods your cheeks when your lips touch the length of his hard cock through his clothing and it twitches in response, your hands drifting up the inside of his thighs on their own accord. Then they’re undoing his belt and zipper, restlessly tugging the cloth down his pale, solid thighs. You leave his pants at his knees, impatient to have him in your mouth already while you slide his briefs down to meet his pants.

Shouto chuckles darkly when his cock springs out of its confines, your expression revealing your shock and intimidation as you eye his impressive member. But lust dominates your hesitance almost immediately, your eyelids falling to half mast as you open your mouth and lick a long stripe along the underside of his cock, from balls to tip. His hand flies to your head, digits gripping your hair when you take the swollen, leaking head into your mouth.

Your tongue washes at the bitter pre-cum that’s pearled at his tip, sucking gently as you start to sink deeper onto his cock. If you could, you would smile at the choked sputter that Shouto makes. Settling yourself into position, your hips rock forward and your panties drag across the smooth rubber of the white boots he dons with his hero suit. You moan, his cock halfway lodged into your throat and vibrating with your noise of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Shouto moans, pulling you off his cock just to rub his wet cockhead across your lips. You open your mouth, tongue extending out to chase his heavy length and slip it back inside. He taps the tip against your outstretched tongue a few times, sliding the hard shaft up and down. “How’s it taste, baby? Does it taste like you’d imagined, hmm? You like having my cock in your mouth?”

You whine, just wanting to swallow him whole at this point, hips still gyrating back and forth to rub your slickening cunt against the top of his foot. “Tastes so good, my hero’s cock tastes so good, so big… please, lemme taste it, make you feel good.”

He bites his bottom lip, letting you take his cock back into your hot, wet mouth. He groans loudly when you ram his length deeper into your throat, nearly taking the whole thing into your mouth in one go. An elongated expletive hisses out of his mouth as he throws his head back, your head beginning to bob up and down his throbbing member. “There you go… just like that, love… that’s right, you look so pretty drooling for me.”

The fingers in your hair slacken their hold, allowing you to work his cock even faster, eagerness more apparent than ever. You’re sucking his dick with vigor, like your only goal in life is to make him cum down your throat. No matter how hard he tries not to show you how affected he is, he can’t help but let out the varied range of moans and sounds of bliss that your blowjob triggers.

Each noise makes your pussy twitch in your panties, the slow grinding against his footwear not doing much to satiate your growing hunger for the hero. Shouto clicks his tongue at the action, and although he tries to sound cool, his voice comes out heavy, affected. “Fuck, you’re even humping my boot, so desperate my little slut…”

His praise only makes you purr on his cock, sucking against his thickness with a smile. Just as you’re getting into a rhythm, Shouto pulls you back by the scalp abruptly, a string of split stretching to connect your lips to his thick cock. He only gives you a second before you’re in his arms again, and then you’re back on the bed, back flat against the comforter and legs peeled apart.

Your heart starts to beat faster, Shouto moving to sit between your legs. He’s naked now, white moonlight cast across his hips and making his erect cock glisten and catch your eye, your legs spreading wider in welcome of the sight. But he only laughs at you, shaking his head as his big palms come to coast up the backs of your legs. “Not yet, my little fan…” he murmurs, “gotta return the favor first.”

One hand wraps around your ankle and he closes his eyes, lips brushing along the front of your shin. Then he looks at you again, casting you a predatory gaze while his fingers creep up your thighs, eventually coming to tug at the soaked material of your panties. Once they’re off from around your ankles, he hums as he inspects the mess inside of them, thumbing over the wet patch whose existence is his complete fault.

“Seems only right for my number one fan to get this sloppy from merely sucking me off..” he comments while toying with your slick, eyes shooting over to yours momentarily. “Wonder how easy it would be to just slip my cock inside of you right now,” he continues, fingers resting on your thigh as his thumb parts your slit, calloused finger pad bumping over your clit and just barely dipping into your drenched hole. It makes you moan and shiver, and he smirks in response. “I think a real hero could get you just a little bit sloppier, though.”

You cry out when his mouth descends on you, warm tongue running up and down your slit. Your hips buck up but Shouto already expects that, his hands slamming them down before they can even lift off the sheets fully. Then he’s sucking at your clit, flicking his tongue against you, and finally diving into your cunt. His forearms cross over your hips as he pulls your hips into his arms, nesting himself between your legs so he can plunge his tongue deep inside of you.

He plays with you til you’re completely soaked, dripping for him and edged to the verge of cumming just from him fingering you one knuckle deep while his tongue flicks across your clit. “Shit, you’re wet for me,” he pants, breath ragged from going down on you for so long he’s starved himself of oxygen, “You fantasize about this or something?”

You give him a look. He only smirks and slides his fingers in deeper, all the way to the knuckles, rough finger pads rubbing along your gummy walls. “Yes,” you purr, pleased with the stimulation, “I only think of you when I touch myself, Shouto. You’re my hero, after all— the only one I want.”

He clicks his tongue and groans at that, leaning down to press a kiss onto your clit. “Just your hero?”

The sheets shuffle as you shake your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. “M-My number one hero,” you correct yourself breathlessly.

Shouto hums. Then, his tongue dips into the pool of excess slick dripping around his knuckles, dragging the wetness across your bundle of nerves. He teases you and brings you back to the edge once more, this time much quicker than the last as his fingers dig into your insides, curling into you mercilessly. “Don’t even know if you deserve to have my cock in you, baby,” he sighs, eyeing how your hips tremble and follow his hand when he pulls it away. “You’re already about to cum from just this, huh?”

“No,” you deny, moving to unclasp your bra and fling it off to the side. Shouto eyes your naked chest, gaze directing to the jiggle of your soft tits as you gasp for air. “I’ll be so good, Shouto, please— whatever you want.”

He tilts his head, considering your offer. All the while, his slender fingers pump inside you, curving to press against your spongy walls and tickle someplace deep inside of you.

At his silence, you pipe up. Offer an olive branch, so to speak. “I won’t cum until you say so,” you promise, still panting from your latest, denied climax and desperate for more of his touch. “I won’t, just— you can’t touch my clit, please, otherwise I’m gonna— o-ooohh, fuck Shouto~”

He cuts you off by thrusting his fingers inside you knuckle-deep, reaching his long digits and scraping at your velvet insides with tidy fingernails. “You won’t cum,” he parrots amusedly at your determined indignation, “Mmm, baby… you shouldn’t make such promises so lightly… I think you’ve forgotten who exactly is here between your trembling legs.”

You whimper at his response, eyes shutting and nails tearing at the blanket beneath your straining body. “I won’t,” you repeat, sounding almost like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “I— I won’t cum, not til you let me, fuck, please Shouto. Need it— anything for your cock inside me, please. Pleaseee.”

“Hmm,” Shouto feigns thought, his digits still pressing into your pussy earnestly. The stimulation has you clenching on him, fluttering around him. But just like you say, you don’t cum on his fingers. Not even when he rocks his hand flush against your mound, long fingers reaching deep, deep inside you and making saccharine-sweet mewls pour from your lips. You take it like a champ, not allowing yourself to climax even when he begins to thrust his fingers rougher inside of you. He relishes your screams when he activates his quirk, digits becoming cold and contrasting against your heated, quivering walls.

“Aha— hnnggg, a-aHAaa Shouto! Oh my god!” You nearly cum when his hot tongue laps at your clit, his fingers still digging just as far into your soaking cunt. It feels so good that you don’t even admonish him for breaking the one rule you’d set; your brain too foggy from the building pleasure in your abdomen. The temperature is a stark contrast to the fingers squelching inside of you, sending you nearly straight off the edge he’s brought you to many times already. You’re much too close, but he wont stop, won’t give you a second to breathe. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease put it in, fuck, please fuck me Sho, please be my hero and stretch me with your fat hero cock, pleaseineeditsofuckingbadddd.”

Then everything stops. His hand retreats, as does his face, and you wail at the loss. You’re hurtling back to earth, feeling like you’re falling through the clouds and the atmosphere as the orgasm you were so close to experiencing fades away. But the bitter comedown only lasts for a second, because then Shouto’s tugging your hips down the sheets so the pink head of his cock presses flush against your dripping entrance. His hips jerk forward and you’re so wet that he enters you effortlessly.

A strangled groan rings the air in the hotel room, and you’re unsure if it was from you, him, or the both of you. His cock is hot and thick, filling your pussy to the brim and stretching you so deliciously. His length spears past the point of comfort, but the ache of penetration feels so terribly good that when you try to find your voice to complain, all that comes out is a long, erotic moan.

Shouto drops onto his elbows, trapping your open legs against the mattress as he begins to fuck you. He growls at the way your cunt suffocates his cock, squeezing and hugging him so well. Placing sloppy kisses on your throat, his thrusts begin to pick up. “Gonna fuck you stupid, love,” he swears as his hot breath fans your neck glistening with his saliva. “Fuck you so good that I’m the only one who can satisfy you— make you mine, my little fan.”

Your reply is a babbling of yeses strung together, eyes rolled back and legs pulling his hips as close to yours as they can. His promise sounds so good, his cock feels even better, and your pussy tightens around him— he’s bringing you to the edge yet again.

He can feel your impending climax, and it only stokes the flames of his ego. He smiles down at your fucked-out expression, but it turns out as more of a snarl. It doesn’t matter— you’re not even looking at him, trying your hardest not to cum right then and there from his ruthless assault on your g-spot. Moving his weight to one arm, he reaches down and starts to rub your clit, taking your nipple between his teeth at the same time and ravishing it with his quirk-cooled tongue.

“That’s cheating!” you sob but it turns into a moan, fingers clenching around his bicep in warning, your body thrumming with waves of building pleasure. Your pussy’s clenching onto him, trying to suck him back inside and milk him for all his worth, your mind too clouded with lust to really do anything in retaliation.

“But you seem to like it when I break your rules,” Shouto replies cooly as he lets your chilled nipple fall from his mouth, continuing to thrust into you, and having the gall to stare daggers directly into your crumbling glare. Each slick, powerful slap of your fronts coming together has your legs wrapping around him, your toes curling in preparation, heels digging into his firm behind. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge— honestly he's surprised you even managed to last this long.

There are tears of pleasure dotting along your lashes. Your hips are widening with every crash of Shouto’s hips against them, your body arching to welcome the ripples of pleasure each rough push against your g-spot produces. Then his fingers pull away from your clit again without warning, and you whine at the loss, orgasm stunted and sliding toward the drain.

“I do,” you gasp, hips jumping to chase his receding ones, and slamming his long length balls-deep inside of you. Shouto groans, pauses, and then grinds his hips and stirs his cock inside of you, teeth seizing his bottom lip hostage and eyes glinting down at you, daring you to say it. You’re so fucking close to just creaming all over his cock that you’re desperate, you don’t care if that’s how you come off in this moment. You need to cum. “I like it— Fuck, I love it, please— please be my hero, Shouto. Please, want you to fuck me and let me milk all the cum out your big hero cock please, I need it, Shouto— pleaseeee, ple—aHHA!”

Shouto savors the way you cry out when he pins the backs of your knees into the comforter, pulling himself up to sheathe his cock inside of you completely, then flattening you with his torso and crushing your hips with his. It’s so deep that it hurts, but the burn of your walls stretching around him makes tremors flutter through your pussy. You look at him through barely-open eyes, arms thrown up and hands digging into the blanket as you share a look of mutual understanding.

You’re absolutely done for.

One. Two. Three strokes of his fat cock inside of you and your cunt is throbbing around him, velvet walls hugging tight as your body shivers in euphoria. Shouto moans as you squeeze him ruthlessly, your body begging for his seed. You’re having an out-of-body experience, writhing with mind-numbing, brain melting ecstasy as Shouto manages to slip out of you partly, then shoves himself back into your soaking pussy just as deep. He swears as your body presses against him as close as possible, your hips hooking to nestle his cock deep inside your pulsing cunt. As if you’re not breathless enough, his rough fingers come to latch around your throat, squeezing the sides so you’re almost choking. Then he’s drilling into you without restraint, fucking you so hard you can feel your ass making an indent in the cheap hotel mattress. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more.

“Fuck, should I cum in my number one fan’s tight little cunt?” he taunts, watching how the desperation in your teary eyes shines brightly. “Would you like that, cutie? Want me to fill your slutty little hole with my seed, hmm?” Sweat runs down his chest and gleams in the moonlight, the crevices between his sculpted muscles shining as he exerts himself. “A-Agh— Bet you’d like your hero’s cum inside of you, huh? Dripping… fuck— dripping into you and filling you up nice and good, yeah?”

You nod wildly, jaw unhinged but unable to speak, his hand on your throat still just as tight. Your orgasm is just starting to fade, overstimulated tears glittering down the sides of your face. Shouto’s broken pants transform into a crescendo of moans, his hips slapping the backs of your thighs harsher than ever as he chases his own release. You whimper when a wild, savage growl tears out of his chest, movements stalling as his cock twitches balls-deep inside you, sticky ribbons of white spurting and volcanoing out of him. His hulking biceps pull your chest flush against his heaving one, the hand around your throat sliding to hold the back of your neck up so he can kiss you deeply through the throes of his orgasm.

Your tongues caress each other slowly, passion peaking as he holds you in his arms like you’re a delicate, glass figurine about to shatter under his weight. He’s panting, chest rising and falling swiftly in between kisses. When you’re satisfied with his affection, he lays your body down onto the comforter, removing himself from you with gentle precision. Then he comes to lay beside you, pulling you close so that your head lays on his broad chest.

“Thank you for playing along, baby,” Shouto whispers, scattering kisses across your warm cheeks. “You did so well, my love. That was a thousand times better than I ever imagined.”

You laugh wearily, hand coming up to trace his sharp jawline with your thumb. He leans into your caress, a hand covering the back of yours and squeezing gently. “My pleasure,” you respond cheekily, closing your eyes and attempting to calm your racing heart. “You were kinda hot, though— all dominant like that. You’ve got a surprisingly dirty mouth, mister.”

“Really?” he hums, seemingly pleased with your praise. “I thought you were the hot one, begging for your hero’s cock like that all cute and desperate.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, laughing lightly.

You smile and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Mmm, well you are my hero, Sho. My number one hero… always.”

Shouto sighs happily at your confession, a shy smile spreading on his lips. “Aw, baby… now I’m hard again.”

That earns him a smack in the chest as you giggle at his revelation. Curious, you glance down at his cock, and sure enough, there’s a telltale shadow standing upright in between his hips.

“I wouldn’t mind a round two,” you suggest, turning to wink at him.

“Ready for some good ‘ole married people sex, then, love?” he suggests, a brow raising as his hand glides over your propped-up hip.

“So ready, my sexual-deviant husband.”

“Good, my naughty little wife. This time, you can call me the usual, then.”

You bite your lip, batting your lashes and looking up at him with a glint in your eye. “Yes, Sir.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

make sure to let me know if you enjoyed!! thank you sm for reading my sho-hoes hehehe :) <3

➥ masterlist

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki shouto smut #todoroki shoto smut #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bnha smut #mha smut #my fics

2K notes · View notes

foli-vora · 3 years

Text

more than words, pt.5

masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for your patience! Honestly I struggled so hard with this chapter and I don’t know why, I wrote and deleted things so many fucking times (overthinking, as usual), so I hope this lives up to your expectations! ☺️ and thank you for all of your love for this fic—you’ve all truly made my heart explode! 🥰 also, really sorry if I’ve missed any tags! Okay, here we go!

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catish’ Morales x f!reader

Word count: lmao... just under 5.6k I’m sorry

Warnings: okay, let’s see... swearing, ✨ smut—finally ✨ 18+, no minors! fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving) unprotected p in v sex (wrap before you tap people), masturbation (f), cum shot, cum eating, Frankie’s a messy pussy eater and no I will not be taking constructive criticism because he’s a thirsty man and you know I’m right. I think that’s it! (please let me know if there’s something I should add!)

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3 / pt.4 / pt.6

Fuck. He was really here.

He was really here, in the dim lighting of your tiny apartment, hands buried in his pockets as he watches you shuffle on the spot.

Well shit. Now what?

“Um, so... this is my apartment.” Duh—you idiot.

You frown a little at yourself, palms clamming up with nerves. Your usual moves had all but vanished from your mind. You used to be good at this, so fucking good, but now, with Frankie standing right in front of you in all of his fucking glorious flannelette perfection, you felt a little out of your depth.

How did this shit usually go? You can’t remember. Fuck, you can’t remember. How did you get from point A to point B? Shit. You’re going to embarrass yourself. You can feel it. Oh my god, are you sweating?

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, his gaze flickers around at your words, taking in the many small personal details that make the space your own which he had missed earlier, before landing back on you, eyes darkening as your tongue slips out and runs along your bottom lip.

“It’s nice.” He comments, voice coming out a lot huskier than normal. You can’t help but clench in response, insides twisting pleasantly as his raspy tone settles in your ears.

“Can I—can I get you anything? Coffee?”

Stop. This is ridiculous. The both of you were damn near close to combusting in the truck and now you’re offering coffee? You might as well just show him his way out.

He senses your nerves then, relieved he wasn’t the only one seemingly unsure of how to move this along, but keeps his eyes on you, testing the waters as he speaks, “Maybe in the morning.”

Well, fuck. Okay then.

You swallow, chest heaving slightly as you inhale, heart fluttering away in your chest. God, just kiss him. You don’t need a build-up, just do it. You could feel the ghost of his previous kisses along your lips, could feel the heat of his hands run across your body from when he had pressed you up against the windmill. You needed it all again.

It’s quiet as you both study each other, lost in feeling of growing arousal as your clock ticks slowly somewhere in the background, and then something just snaps.

You both jump forward at the same time, Frankie’s arms immediately wrapping around your waist and bringing you flush against his body while your hands tangle in his hair, tugging sharply and pulling a low groan from him as his lips eagerly mash against yours.

The strength that you meet each other with throws you both off balance, and you stumble into your dining table, breathing a quiet chuckle at the apology he mutters against your lips. You shift to sit on the edge of it, widening your thighs to make room for him as he steps closer and presses his hips tightly against yours.

Your hands shake as you desperately attack the buttons of his flannelette shirt, all but ripping the damn thing down his arms when it eventually parts, and making a small noise of impatience when your hands slide along cotton instead of skin. He briefly pulls away from your mouth, hands quick to tug the plain t-shirt he had worn underneath his shirt up and off his torso, melting back into you the second he drops it to the floor.

Holy shit.

His skin is warm and smooth under your palms as they hungrily feel along his chest and dip along his stomach, grabbing desperately at his waist when his tongue slides into your mouth. He responds eagerly to your touch, pushing your dress up and out of the way to run his hands along on the bare skin of your legs. They stop just below the line of your panties, his thumbs tracing along the inside of your thighs and smoothing dangerously close to your covered pussy.

He feels your muscles move under his touch, feels the whimper fall from your mouth and into his when he squeezes your thighs. Your hips roll forward automatically, needing his touch to go just that little bit higher.

“Please touch me,” you plead quietly, lashes fluttering as you gaze up at him and his chest tightens.

His fingers are quick to move the lace aside and fuck—

He watches your face with open wonder; watches how your eyes close when his fingers lightly trace over you, watches how your breath catches when his thumb swipes through your arousal and spreads it over your swollen clit, rubbing soft insistent circles that have your toes curling in your shoes.

“Frankie—”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against the skin of your throat, tongue circling over your pulse point before his nose trails up and along your jaw, pressing a kiss at the corner of your lips while your face pinches in pleasure, brows burrowing and grip tightening on his arms.

“More… please—”

He hums lowly, a finger soon swiping through your folds and prying at your entrance, sliding into the wet heat of your pussy with no resistance. You’d been ready for hours, practically dripping for him the second he first laid his hands on you. Your breath catches when he curls it, curious and searching, his lips twisting into a smug grin when your back suddenly arches, a startled cry falling from your lips.

“There we go.” And then he’s pressing soft kisses along your temple, adding a second finger into the mix and thrusting steadily, grinding his palm along your clit as he does so.

He drags it out and you hate that you fucking love it.

With the patience of a saint, he works you slowly, more than happy to drag out your pleasure as long as he likes. He holds you close with his spare hand supporting the back of your neck as you arch into him, lips never straying too far from yours as his fingers drive you closer and closer to the edge.

And then he changes something, moves his fingers just the right way, and it hits you out of nowhere.

Slamming into you like a freight train, the blissful torture hits its peak, and then you’re crashing down, nails digging into his arms as your pussy gushes around him and he’s quickly leaning in, swallowing the cry that flies from your lips.

His fingers slow before he gently pulls them out and then your hands are desperately reaching for his face, teeth clashing slightly as your mouths meet harshly.

“Bedroom?” He mutters hoarsely, throbbing in his jeans and aching to spread you out somewhere more comfortable, to see and feel more of you properly.

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up and register what he says, but when it does, you’re slipping off the table onto unsteady feet and grabbing his hand, stumbling in your haste to get to your room. He works the dress from your body on the way, hands eagerly spreading across the newly bared skin as you spin in his arms, meeting his lips as he backs you to the bed.

“My turn?” You question sweetly against his mouth, hands trailing lightly over the bulge digging into you before landing on his belt, fingers making quick work of the buckle.

He grins, stilling your hands. “Not even close—get on the bed.”

As soon as your ass meets the bedding, he’s on his knees in front of you, warm hands smoothing up along the soft skin of your legs and gently spreading your thighs. You brush a stray curl from his forehead softly as you recline onto your elbow, fingers gently trailing along the side of his face as he smiles at you, turning to kiss your palm softly before his hands are greedily grabbing at your panties and pulling them down your legs.

There’s no working up to it this time… no patience, no soft strokes.

Frankie dives in like a man starved, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he spreads your legs and licks a long, wide strip along your pussy. You feel him groan against you, your hips squirming on the bed as he tries to pull you closer against his mouth, tongue probing at your pussy and hungrily lapping up the mess he had made of you on the table.

Your hand moves to wind into his soft hair, whimpers falling from your mouth as his facial hair tickles at your thighs and tongue rubs relentless strokes over your clit.

Body still strung out and sensitive from the orgasm he had all but ripped from you before, it doesn’t take long for the gentle strokes of his tongue to build another, your stomach clenching as he tightens his hands, feeling the unsteady shake of your legs in his hold.

You dance precariously on the edge, stomach clenching in anticipation. “Frankie, I—fuck—I’m—”

His mouth works you faster, “Fuck, please—”

You shatter at his softly spoken plea, back arching and hand tightening into a fist as you tug harshly at his hair, crying out and drowning the sound of his own groan as you flood his mouth. He takes everything you give him, tongue diving to push into your pussy as you ride out and come down from your high. He pulls off of you with a small pant, licking his lips and brushing his chin with the back of his hand.

You make a small noise of contentment, “Thank you.”

He chuckles quietly, grinning at the look of blissed out mortification that washes your face following your words as he climbs over you. “You’re welcome.”

You grind your hips against his when he presses into you, hissing when your sensitive clit rubs against the rough denim, but your message gets across loud and clear, Frankie’s eyes darkening as he moves in to kiss you slowly. He breaks away for a brief moment to kick his jeans off, and then he’s covering you again, warm body pressing you into the mattress.

“I have a—”

You make a noise of refusal, hands reaching around to grab at his back to keep him on top of you. “Wanna feel you… ‘m safe—”

He can’t help the small groan that falls from his lips, nodding as he dives in for another kiss. “Me too—”

You whimper when he shifts his hips, slotting further between your thighs. He slides the head of his cock between your slick folds, slowly rocking back and forth across your clit and your chest heaves in anticipation, eyes falling shut when you feel him start to slowly slide into you. Fucking finally—

He fills you slowly, cock rubbing deliciously against your walls and you arch into him when he finally bottoms out, his face falling to rest in the curve of your shoulder. He shudders under your hands when he pulls out, thrusting softly into you and cursing quietly when your pussy flutters around him.

You whine, “Fuck. You feel so—”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He starts moving, hips moving back before slamming forward again and again, the breath escaping your lungs as he moves to rest on his forearms, lips seeking yours for one more bruising taste of your mouth before he pulls completely away. A hand grabs your thigh, hitching it high around his waist and groaning quietly when he hits deeper on the next push.

You’re lost in a hazy sea of pleasure as he starts to move, frantic in his thrusts, the incoherent mumbling falling from your lips driving him to push harder. You have to smother your mouth with your hand to stifle your scream when he grabs your head board, using it as leverage as his hips start to ram harshly into yours.

He knocks the hand away from your mouth, eyes fierce, “I want to hear you.”

“Fuck—”

A thumb starts rubbing at your clit and you sob from the overstimulation, the burn of it sending shocks throughout your body as your body tenses beneath him, fighting the overwhelming sense of it being too fucking much while clinging to the heat of climax quickly building in your core.

“Come on—”

Your body responds to his words immediately. You’re not even sure what sounds comes out of your mouth when your body completely shatters from the inside out, stars blinding you as your pussy clamps down around him. His hips stutter and then he’s quickly pulling out and away from you, fisting his cock with a quiet groan until his cum is painting your pussy, covering your clit and sliding down your slick folds, mixing with your cum leaking from your entrance.

He all but collapses on top of you, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You’re too tired to open your eyes and watch him as he moves away, bed dipping as he stands and disappears.

A wet warmth covers your thoroughly wrecked pussy, and you blearily blink your eyes open to watch him softly clean you with a face cloth, smiling lazily at him when he glances up at you softly. He throws it into the laundry basket by the door and climbs up next to you, gently manoeuvring your tired body under the sheets before wrapping around you.

You blindly reach for his hand, interlocking your fingers as your body slowly calms and melts into the mattress and into the body radiating warmth behind you. The last thing you feel are soft lips pressing against your temple, a hushed goodnight ringing in your ears.

Soft fingers tracing down along your nose drags you gently from sleep the next morning. The smile that stretches your lips is automatic as your eyes focus on Frankie, dressed in his clothes from yesterday and perched on the bed next to you.

“I have to go.” He mutters, eyes soft and apologetic as the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheek.

“Oh,” you try not to let the disappointment flood your tone, but your face doesn’t get the message as it falls into a pout.

“I know—I’m sorry.” He smiles, fingers still caressing the skin across your face. Your chest tightens the longer he gazes softly at you, something shining deep in his eyes that makes your heart race. “Can I take you out for dinner sometime in the week?”

Delight radiates from your chest as you smile, nodding eagerly. “That would be nice.”

“Last night was…” he trails off, unable to find the words to describe what he felt about the evening before, and a flush of pink grows along his cheeks, his stomach flipping as your moans echo in his ears.

How the fuck is he meant to go about his day and run errands when the picture of you spread out beneath him and crying out his name as you cum keeps playing over and over in his mind like a fucking prime time movie?

“Incredible.” You provide softly, blinking shyly up at him as he grins.

“Incredible.” He agrees just as quietly, feeling like a complete idiot with how hard he was smiling. What was it Benny said the other day? Whipped.

You hold your breath when he leans down, nose scrunching slightly when his moustache tickles your upper lip, his mouth moving unhurriedly as his tongue slides against yours and quickly turning your brain to complete mush. You hum as he moves away, nose brushing softly against yours.

“Are you sure you have to go? You can’t stay for just a few more minutes?” You breathe against his lips, heat spreading across your skin as his eyes darken and slowly lower to where the sheets only just cover your breasts. He groans quietly, flicking a hand out to check his watch and brows pinching as he studies the face of it.

“A few minutes,” he finally decides, hand ripping the sheet away and lips curling up as you yelp in surprise.

He spreads your legs with firm hands, shuffling onto his stomach as he flings your thighs over his shoulders. You sit up onto your elbows, laughing quietly.

“This wasn’t what I had in—oh.”

Fuck—

His finger’s part you gently before his tongue is softly moving over your clit in wide, lazy strokes, and you fall back onto the bed with a whimper, unable to resist grinding against his mouth. Your hand blindly reaches down and soon warm fingers are interlacing with yours, his thumb rubbing across your skin as his lips wrap around your clit.

Fire erupts in your core, electric heat spreading throughout your body as he steadily works his mouth against you, nose brushing your clit as his tongue dives into your pussy, his groan muffled as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck Frankie, so good—”

His movements turn frenzied, face pressing up harder against you as his tongue swirls sloppily around your clit, the sounds filling the room obscene as he hungrily laps and sucks at your pussy. All you can do is hold on, the hand intertwined with his tightening as your other flies to his ruffled curls, tugging sharply.

Holy shit, just like that—

You struggle to fill your lungs, struggle to feel anything other than his mouth and how it works savagely against you, pushing you higher and higher until you’re right fucking there—

He feels your legs tense, and anchors himself to you with an arm across your hips, groaning when you cry out and gush around his mouth, coating his tongue and chin.

His mouth is still on you when the wave of bliss dissolves into a dull tingle, hurried movements now languid as his tongue smooths through your folds, his head resting against your inner thigh. You watch him through tired eyes, hand gently brushing his hair from his forehead as his eyes close at the soft caress, tongue curling one more lazy swirl over your pussy before he presses a light kiss to your clit and sits up.

“Now I really have to go.”

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Benny yells across the café, ignoring the heads that turn to frown at him. Frankie rolls his eyes, hand running through his hair as he quickly advances to the small group and slides into the booth.

“Sorry—truck wouldn’t start.”

“Mhm.” Santiago hums lowly, hiding a grin behind his cup as he sips his coffee, eyeing Frankie with a critical eye. “What was wrong with it?”

“What?”

Benny crosses his arms on the table and leans forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Your truck—what was wrong with it?”

Frankie shrugs, eyes falling to browse the menu in front of him. “Battery.”

Now fucking drop it.

Pope raises a brow, “Was it flat?”

Fucking Pope—

“Sure.”

Will snorts across the table, grinning wryly as Frankie glares at him. “’Sure’? It was either flat or it wasn’t.”

Fucking Miller—

“Look—I’m here now, let’s just eat so I can go and get Mena.”

The table goes quiet and Frankie sighs in relief, his eyes falling back to his menu. It stays quiet for so long that Frankie actually starts to think the subject has been dropped.

He should’ve known better.

“Fish got laid.” Benny coos softly, Pope and Will snickering behind their menus as Frankie sighs deeply, lips twitching as he fights the grin spreading from their teasing.

Rain softly pelts the roof of the truck as you giggle against Frankie’s lips, his dark gaze softening as you smile up at him. You brush a hand softly across his cheek, pressing another zealous kiss to his lips which he returns eagerly, hand smoothing along your thigh and pushing under your skirt to squeeze your thigh, grinning when you whimper into his mouth.

You had said goodbye a few times already, each time ending the same way—lips locked in a bruising, passionate frenzy, neither of you quite ready to let the night come to a close. You break away with a sigh, head tilting as his mouth trails greedily along your throat, tongue soothing the sudden sting away as he nips at your skin.

“I wish you could come up.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. He shouldn’t be—it’s not like he didn’t want to. He had a toddler to get home to. You understood, of course, but it didn’t make the goodbye any easier.

“It’s okay.” You smile at him, his chest tightening as you do.

“You could...” he trails off, chewing his cheek in thought as he looks out of the windshield before turning to you, eyes showing the nervous uncertainty that had flooded him. “You could come back to mine, if—if you want to.”

You blink, pulling away to look up at him searchingly. “What about Mena?”

Would he want you out before dawn or something? Sneak out of the house like you were teenagers or some sort of one night stand? You know he meant no harm by it, but the thought of having to grab your clothes and disappear in the middle of the night had you feeling a little insulted.

“I don’t mind you staying... if you want to meet her. You don’t have to, I was just... I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s—it’s on the table, if that’s something you’d be interested in.” His hands rub along his jeans, wiping the nervous sheen of sweat that had gathered on his palms.

You’re quiet, letting his words soak in and thinking over it seriously. You had no kids, obviously, and no friends that had kids, either, but... wasn’t it a little early for something like this? Although, she was still young—it’s not like she’d know any different.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s early—”

“Can you wait while I pack a bag?”

His heart speeds up as he nods. Shit—was he nodding too fast? He returns your grin as you quickly hop from the truck and rush through the light rain and into your building, disappearing from his view as the door slams behind you.

Did he do the dishes? Fuck—he left his folded laundry on his bed. Why didn’t he just put it away earlier?

It’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe he could fake going to the bathroom and just throw them into his cupboard before you saw anything. Yeah—that’ll work. It’s fine.

You reappear sooner than he expected, a small overnight bag slung over your shoulder and he can’t help the elation that floods his face, grin making his cheeks ache as he quickly leans over the seat and shoves the door open for you. His hand doesn’t leave your thigh the entire way to his place, your fingers drawing random patterns on the back of it as you listen to him sing softly to the music playing from the speaker.

The first thing you notice when he pulls into his driveway is how perfect his house seems to fit him, and he chuckles when you tell him as much. You stay wrapped into his side as he holds his jacket over your head to keep you from getting too wet, quickly ushering you up and onto his porch just in time as the rain comes down heavier.

He ushers you in when he finally gets the door open, and your giggling stops short at the amused gaze you get from the dark-haired man shrugging his jacket on in the entryway.

You wave politely, feeling like an idiot, standing close to the door as Frankie steps in behind you. “Hi,”

The man fixes his jacket on his shoulders, his dark knowing eyes sliding from you to Frankie as a sly grin starts to work its way onto his face.

“Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He replies, grin widening as Frankie comes to stand next to you, nervously fiddling with his keys.

How the fuck did he completely forget about Pope? Jesus Christ—

Santiago reads the message rolling through his friend’s eyes—a big fat ‘get the fuck out now’, but instead of heeding the unspoken warning and disappearing, he leans his hip on the back of the couch, thoroughly enjoying the twist of Frankie’s features as he makes himself comfortable.

He holds a hand out, “I’m Santiago—the good looking one of the group.”

Frankie rolls his eyes as you give your name in return and shake the outstretched hand, turning to throw his keys in the bowl sitting on the table next to the door, and hissing a quiet insult under his breath.

“That’s debatable,” is your immediate reply, your eyes shooting to land appreciatively on Frankie with a smile, watching the angry flush of pink rise along the skin of his throat as he grins back at you.

Pope watches quietly, eyes flickering between the both of you before he chuckles. “You guys are cute. You need a rubber, Fish? Whoa—hey—okay, I’m going—”

You bite your lip to stifle the laugh bubbling in your chest, watching Frankie immediately wrangle Santiago under his arm and all but shove him out the door. Pope throws you a wave over his shoulder, grinning as he mutters something you didn’t catch in Spanish that had Frankie straightening up and growling a retort.

Your eyes roam around the room as the two men bicker behind you, taking in the comforting warmth that oozes from the space.

You step forward to wander the lounge quietly, smiling as you study the many pictures hung perfectly square on the walls. Your eyes find the familiar faces of Benny and Will in a few of them, along with Santiago and another taller man.

You pause on one, heart fluttering and chest tightening as you study Frankie, darks eyes locked on the blanketed bundle in his arms. The one next to it is newer, more recent—a bright eyed little toddler perched on his hip as they both grin at the camera, colourful streamers hanging above them and a giant ‘1’ balloon in the background.

Fatherhood suited him. He was glowing.

The sound of the door closing has your attention returning to him, eyes fond as you watch him start making his way to you.

“She’s a mini-you.”

He grins, looking at the photo of him and Mena, and nodding. “I know—poor thing.”

He laughs when you slap his chest lightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leading you further into his home. “Would you like anything?”

“I won’t say no to another kiss, and maybe something else.”

He turns on his heel instantly, brow rising as he winds an arm around your waist and dips you slightly back with a curious ‘oh?’. You grab at his arms, giggling as you clutch his sleeves, “Frankie!”

He chuckles deeply, lips pressing softly against yours. You sigh at the feel of them, your hand cupping his cheek as his tongue slides out to meet yours, his hand grabbing a greedy handful of your ass and bringing your hips flush against his. You’re both completely oblivious to the door reopening behind you.

“I forgot my phone—don’t mind me.”

“Pope—” Frankie barks, frowning over your head as Santiago jogs to the couch and holds his phone up, wiggling it in his hold.

“What? I’m not looking.”

Santiago disappears, the door clicking softly behind him and you grin, kissing the corner of Frankie’s lips as he eyes the door, half expecting Pope to come waltzing right back in with some other bullshit excuse.

“Frankie…”

His dark eyes meet yours instantly, his stomach flipping at the mischievous shine in your gaze.

“There is something I’d really like.” You continue quietly, straightening up and slowly pushing him back towards his couch.

He’s putty in your hands, wide eyes blinking at you in awe as you run your tongue along your lip. He drops onto the couch with a small exhale when you push him, heart thundering in his ears as you drop to your knees in front of him.

“Can I?” You reach for his belt, fingers running along the cool metal of the buckle.

Fuck. You’re so pretty.

He must’ve spoken aloud because a shy smile curls your lips, eyes briefly falling before flickering back up at him from beneath your lashes. Your fingers move when he gives a shaky nod of consent, quickly working the belt open and diving for the button of his jeans.

Wait—

“Hold on a second?” He stands, carefully stepping around you and walking to his door, locking every latch and bolting the deadlock securely before turning and making his way back to you. “I don’t need Pope interrupting this.” He mutters in quiet explanation, lips twitching at your chuckle.

He settles himself back in front of you, inhaling deeply when your fingers work his jeans open and pull them down his legs. He’s already half hard, the mere idea of your mouth going anywhere near his cock enough to stir a hunger deep in his belly.

“You didn’t let me have a turn when you stayed over.” You accuse quietly, hand wrapping around him and giving a slow tug, working him softly until he was fully hard and pulsing in your hand.

“’m sorry,” he mutters, tongue running his lower lip as you continue to work him gently, his hips squirming under your ministrations.

“I think about this all the time.” You admit, eyes watching his cock throb in your grasp. “How you’d feel, how you’d taste.”

Holy shit—you did?

He makes a quiet noise when your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, collecting the small drop of precum that beads there and smoothing it along his skin. You watch it glisten, pussy clenching as it smears silkily under your thumb.

“Can I taste you, Frankie?”

He’s nodding before you even finish.

The wet heat of your mouth envelopes his cock and he exhales sharply, hands flying to grab at the cushion beneath him. He can’t help but buck into your mouth when your tongue slides along his slit, collecting the precum you had spread there, before running it along the underside of his cock.

You moan at the salty taste of him on your tongue, hands finding purchase on his thighs as you push yourself to take him deeper, fighting the resistance at the back of your mouth and taking him down your throat, holding steady as he curses above you.

Pulling back, you inhale sharply before starting to bob your head, lips wrapping tightly around his cock and sucking lightly as your hand moves to pump what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, so perfect—”

Your panties feel slick as your thighs rub together, your arousal soaking the fabric as Frankie moans quietly, head dropping to fall back against the couch in bliss. You run your free hand under your skirt, whimpering when your fingers press against your clit through the lace and start to rub little circles in time with the movement of your head.

You take him deeper, saliva pooling and spilling from your mouth as you gag around him, your pussy aching with the need to have something, anything, filling it. You hear nothing but Frankie; nothing but the small whimpers and whines that fall from his lips, and your fingers slip into your panties, swiping along your slit before thrusting them into your pussy, your moan muffled as you take him down your throat again.

His eyes fall to the hand disappearing under your skirt, your hips moving in time to whatever the fuck your fingers are doing and his stomach tightens.

“Fuck. Are you—” his eyes flicker up from your hips to watch your brows pinch together in pleasure and then he’s fucking done for; the thought of you getting yourself off while sucking his cock completely tearing him to pieces. He groans loudly, cock throbbing and twitching as cum spurts from his tip and floods your eager mouth.

His hot release hits your tongue and back of your throat, and paired with the incoherent praises spilling from his mouth, it triggers your own body shattering climax. You choke out a moan from around him as your walls tighten around your fingers, his cum overflowing and spilling from your lips as you struggle with the fullness of him down your throat.

You slip your fingers out from your fluttering pussy and sit back on your heels with a heaving gasp once his cock starts to soften in your mouth, tongue messily lapping at the cum that spilt over your skin.

He dives forward eagerly, lips wrapping around your fingers and groaning as your familiar taste floods his tongue. He soon moves to your mouth, tongue catching the drop of his cum from your chin before he’s pushing it into your mouth, groaning when your tongue eagerly swipes along his.

Your kisses soon turn tender, gazes gentle as you part from each other.

Something’s happening—you can feel it in your chest. A feeling tugs at your heart, soft and insistent. It grows when he smiles, radiates warmth when his hands take yours as he helps you from the floor. You briefly wonder what it could be before shaking the thought from your head, devoting your attention back to Frankie as he walks you through the house to his bedroom.

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#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x afab!reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #more than words

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