#his mussed up hair I can’t even think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

augustinewrites · 5 days

Text

yesterday afternoon - after an unsuccessful coffee shop date - you’d decided that dating sucked. it was much too awkward and formal and not at all like it was in the movies, putting too much pressure on the people involved.

last night - after watching shoko flirt her way into free drinks - you’d been tipsy enough to take her advice.

casual sex! it doesn't have to be with a stranger, just pick someone you know. someone you’re sure you won't fall in love with.

this morning you’d woken up to find gojo laying in bed next to you.

you lay shoulder to shoulder with the one person you should not have picked, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak.

“did we really–”

“three times,” satoru confirms happily, rolling onto his side to grin down at you. “i'm surprised we didn't do this sooner, really. our sexual tension has always been off the charts.”

when he leans in to kiss you, his lips meet your palm as your expression wrinkles. “don’t get familiar.”

“we’re naked together in bed– we slept together in more than the literal sense. can’t get more familiar than that.”

“and this never happen again,” you promise, refusing to look at him.

“why? because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me? it’s okay to admit it. i'm extremely lovable.”

you’ve seen the way girls fawn over him. how they swoon over his pretty eyes and confident smile. he’s satoru gojo. a legend amongst jujutsu society. you’re no one in comparison, not a user of an otherworldly cursed technique, not from a major clan.

people like him don’t fall for people like you. you’re afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt.

“we’re friends,” you tell him honestly. “i don’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something like this.”

he tilts his head as your look at him. “shoko told you to try casual sex, didn't she? why not with me?”

“she told you?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face and making a mental note to never ask your roommate for advice for anything ever again.

“hey, look at me,” he urges, grasping your hand. you do as he says, meeting his earnest gaze. “i can be casual and chill, it’s not like i have a huge crush on you or anything.”

it’s so hard to say no to him. you really wish you could.

“i’ll think about it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes when he fist pumps. “but you need to go home before shoko sees you.”

but you’re dealing with satoru gojo, who almost never does what he’s told. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. come here.”

he winds an arm around you, pulli my you in so you’re snug against his chest. explicit memories of last night flash through your mind, sending heat through your veins.

“i can’t.” you tell him (though you’re mostly reminding yourself.) this is insane— satoru, what are you—”

you’re cut off when he shushes you, whispering let’s sleep in for a little while longer.

he starts to drift off again as you struggle to escape his grasp, but your efforts are futile. even on the throes of sleep, satoru is stronger than you.

so you give up, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of…cuddling. shoko isn’t a morning person anyways.

after a minute, you find it's not entirely awful. it’s a purely physical reaction. gojo is good looking, even with his hair mussed with sleep and his mouth hanging open. because you know that under the softness of his skin lays defined muscle, and spending the morning in his nicely toned arms isn’t the worst thing in the world.

(it’s purely physical, is what your head tries to convince your heart, which is beating a little faster than usual.)

a very soft, content sigh slips past your lips.

then, shoko knocks on your door.

“hey! don’t tell me you’re too hungover for grocery shopping.”

“shit!” you whisper harshly, shoving him away from you. “she cannot see you in here.”

“afraid you’ll have to share?” he teases, narrowly avoiding being hit with a pillow. “okay, okay! where do you want me?”

“closet!” you instruct, scrambling my around the room to make sure none of his clothes are lying around. you thrust them into his hands, pushing him into your closet.

he catches the door before you can close it, smiling down at you. “aren’t you glad we’re doing this?”

you shove him inside, slamming the door shut just ask shoko bursts into the room.

“hey,” you greet, trying your best to appear casual as you lean against the door. your heart beats in your throat, as she squints at you, then lets her gaze sweep across the room.

“did you bring someone home last night?”

“no.”

she looks at you. really looks at you, you think.

“okay,” she finally says, though you can’t tell if she believes you. “i just– i thought i saw you leave with gojo. suguru said you two were flirting all night.”

“gojo and i?” you try to laugh, but it comes out a little strained. “never in a million years.”

shoko only shrugs, and you let yourself relax when she turns to leave…

…only for her to turn around once more, leaning the the doorframe. “well if you really don't like him, just let him down easy, alright? suguru told me he has a huge crush on you.”

wait–

“gojo?”

you hear a sharp inhale through the door.

“yeah,” she nods. “you really couldn't tell?”

gojo…has a crush on you. it takes a few seconds to truly sink in. “i had no idea.”

“of course you didn't. he’s definitely got a really weird way of showing it.”

she turns to leave for real this time, but you wait a couple extra seconds before opening your closet, finding a wide eyed, blushing satoru staring at you.

you can't help but laugh. at his expression, at shoko’s revelation, at this entire situation.

dating sucks, but maybe it won’t be that bad if it’s with him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

3K notes · View notes

seraphicsentences · 1 month

Note

hlllo can you pleas do football!ellie ina rush and really needing her sport shirt that reader is wearing, but since reader is so unbothered to change she takes it off right there n it gets ellie thinking if she should even go!!!!!! maybe a little smutty smut ‼️‼️inluv with yur writinggg

hi baby yes i can thank you for the request sweet girl. sorry this took a little while i appreciate your patience. also yes i know i said i was going on a break yesterday and then proceeded to bang out this entire thing, my bipolar ass got bored. enjoy! <3

“BABE?”

“BAAAABE?” ellie calls louder as you hear her stumbling through your shared apartment, clearly in a rush.

“babe, have you seen my-oh there it is,” she swings into the room abruptly, stopping in her tracks when she sees her much needed football jersey, adorned by yours truly.

“hey els, what’s up?” you ask, propping yourself up on the bed, and shooting her a look so sickly sweet, savage starlight comic in hand.

ellie’s existence can be found in all aspects of you at the moment, from the clothes you’ve “borrowed” and your choice of fine literature, to the purpled bruises littering your jaw and collarbone.

ellie can’t help but let her buzzing pre-game thoughts slow at the sight of you, and fester around thinking mine, mine, mine.

“hey pretty girl, i just really need my jersey for practice. do you mind changing, pretty please? i’m late,” she says softly, leaning over the mattress to press a warm kiss against your forehead.

“aw, fine, i’ll just wear nothing then,” you joke, reaching over your head to pull off the top in one swift move, revealing your bare chest with marks to match your neck.

you watch knowingly as ellie quite literally shutters: caught up in the sight of what’s literally a physical manifestation of the guilty pleasure that is her possessiveness.

—and you revel in the power trip that this is. because how is it that mere nakedness, something that’s more you than anything else you could put on your skin, is enough to make ellie fucking williams crumble.

and so all you do is smirk when, without sparing even a glance away, ellie tosses the held-out jersey lazily over one shoulder and leans in to indulge herself with another kiss; this time a proper, messy one on your parted lips.

“on second thought,” she says, in between breaths, before diving down to swirl her tongue around your hardened nipples, greedily sucking and licking at them like your own fucking baby.

you’re nothing but powerless to her hypnotic ministrations, as much of a fool for her as she is for you, letting low moans out freely from the back of your throat.

moving back up to kiss you like she wants to consume your sounds, the aggressiveness of ellie’s actions leave you nowhere to go but fall backwards onto the bed, chest pressing up to brush your pointed nipples lush against ellie’s chest.

“fuck, baby,” she rasps into your mouth, slipping her hand between the two of you to knead at your breast, calloused fingers thumbing over your nipples. she watches in awe as you shudder at the sensation, hooded eyes begging for more.

“fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles with a smile, mouthing over her previously left bruises with a hot, flat-tongued lick. feeling the vibrations on your throat as you laugh at her, she gently nips at your skin, letting out a laugh of her own as she feigns annoyance.

“shut up,” she chuckles, suffocating your laughs with the press of her mouth, continuing to make out with you in the delicious way that it is to make out with her.

ellie pries a knee between your squeezed thighs, nudging it upwards in such kind offerance to your burning heat— to which you take, hips immediately grinding up in desperation.

but just as quickly as it was given to you is it taken away.

ellie sits up with a jolt, mussing with your hair as she replaces her shirt with the jersey hurriedly. she stumbles towards the door with a guilty look in her eyes, pausing only to ramble, “coach is gonna kill me, sorry babe. that’s what you get for being such a tease! i’ll make it up to you, you fuckin’ minx. i love you!" before sprinting out the door, shoelaces undone.

you lay there, frozen and topless with your panties soaked, and you curse ellie out, that little bitch.

785 notes · View notes

mineau · 6 months

Text

“st-stupid sl—ohh my god, fuck you.”

he’s honestly a sight to behold. glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, nearly sliding off with fogged lenses, his face flushed red and his bitten lips bruised a pretty pink color. his hair is mussed from the kiss he’d pried from your lips earlier, a mess of rough hands and barely bitten back groans.

and now you’re on your knees, drool slipping down your chin with six inches of him down your throat to the navel. you’d laugh at his easily disheveled state if your mouth wasn’t stuffed full.

your study sessions went a lot like this with him, most days. he’d taunt you for the required two hours of tutoring a professor ( you were positive was out to get you— ) had assigned, claiming you’d needed to get your grades up if you wanted to pass their class. and who better to teach you than honor roll student kim seungmin?

it’s kind of funny, now that you really think about it. you run your tongue along the underside of his cock just to watch him shiver visibly, suppressing another moan. it’s not that you didn’t know the material. you’d just resigned to skipping classes every so soften because you’d end up sleeping throughout the lecture anyway—you were very much capable of picking up the slack.

after meeting seungmin though, your interest had piqued.

pulling off of him entirely, a smirk graces your wet lips as you finally get your first poorly hidden sound of the might—a pretty gasp from the cold air hitting him. his cock twitches from the lack of heat enclosed around it, and his hips shift, half impatient, half nervous.

“why’d you stop—?” he grumbles, narrowed gaze filled with feigned discontent as you slowly rise up to tower over his slumped form. you can see his nerves fraying from the way his hands shake in the grip on his chair, and it almost makes you pity him. almost. “i didn’t say you could—”

“god, shut up.”

in one swift movement, you situate yourself in his lap, lifting your skirt up to slide down all the way, buried all the way to the hilt. seungmin chokes, a strangled noise escaping his throat as his glasses slide down his nose even further.

you hum in momentary bliss, shifting your hips around to the sound of his stuttered breaths. “can’t believe someone as smart as you can’t even see what’s happening. useless with the kind of cock you have… shame.”

you hide a smile when you fill him twitch inside you, a breath wheezing out of his chest when you squeeze.

“wha— wait, fuck me—”

“maybe, if you’re good.” you turn back to the table, picking your textbook up from where your left off. “we’ve still got an hour left, no?”

#ehehe.#seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin hard thoughts #seungmin hard hours #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts

2K notes · View notes

sugurusflower · 7 months

Text

ꨄ — 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘’𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 (𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒)

CHARACTERS: kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru getou, toji fushiguro

WARNINGS: smut (18+ content, mdni!) fem reader, PIV sex, both protected and unprotected sex, hair pulling, degradation (+ slut is used once), praise, cumshots/facials, light bondage, dom/sub dynamics, biting, blindfolding, hickeys, teasing, overstimulation, edging, oral (both m and f receiving), dacryphilia, pet names, mentions of bruises, sixty-nine, implied strength kink, ass slapping, nipple play, breeding kink, rough sex, quickies, dirty talk

KENTO NANAMI is a selfless lover. your pleasure is his, in other words.

he enjoys slow, drawn-out and intimate lovemaking when he has the time, choosing to worship your body for hours on end before he even thinks about relieving the straining hard-on beneath those tight grey trousers.

out of all of them, he’s the best by far with his hands. his fingers are thick enough to give your pussy a nice stretch and they’re quite long too, but most importantly he knows how to use them. he’ll finger you until you’ve come at least once or twice. he’ll add his tongue in there too to make sure you’re ascending to heaven.

he’s also a man who prefers missionary, or any other position where he’s both close to you and can see your face. will fuck you deep and slow, hand intertwined with yours as he watches each pleasured facial expression intently.

he loves slow sex when he has the time, but he’s a busy man. when he’s stressed and overwhelmed with work, it’s like all that patience floats out the window. in these moments, he just needs to be inside you to releive some of that 9-5 stress so he’ll pull you aside for a quickie, pants and boxers pulled down just enough for his cock to spring out. all he’ll do is hike up your skirt and pull your panties to the side and he’ll either pin you against a wall or hit it from the back, thrusts quick and powerful.

he’s a bit rougher during quickies too, yanking your hair a bit or holding your hips tight enough to bruise because he’s desperately trying to chase his high. by the end of it, his tie is crooked, hair mussed and pants crumpled but he always gives you sweet kisses on your lips and forehead while he helps fixing you up before adjusting himself and rushing off.

he’s grateful to cum anywhere on or inside you, but loves cumming inside your pussy the most.

do you like when i finger you, darling? you keep sucking them in so greedily.

you don’t need to do a thing, my love. i’ll do all the work, so just lie back and let me make you feel good.

wish i could take my time with you, sweetheart, but i can’t be late to work. be a good girl and spread your legs for me.

SATORU GOJO fucks in all different ways. he’s versatile when it comes to sex and will try most things at least once just to say he’s done it, but one thing that’s always consistent is he’s always full of contradictions.

he may seem like some sort of sex god but he loves giggly and soft sex from time to time. laughs traded between your mouths as you kiss, the feeling of a smile against your cunt as he eats you out so skilfully. when he makes love to you like this, he prefers when you ride him because your faces and bodies are so close and he loves the way you look when you bounce up and down his shaft. it also means he has full view of your face when you giggle at his words.

besides soft sex, he’s such a fucking tease, to the point where it can even be considered mean sometimes. he’ll fold you into the most ridiculous positions as he drills his cock into your weeping cunt, teasing the way you drool and babble, or the way your face looks when you’re bent this way or that.

he’s the definition of someone who praises and degrades simultaneously. will call you the sweetest names in the same sentence as some of the most vile words strung together.

he’ll overstimulate you at one point and then deprive you when he works you back up and you want to cum again.

he also loves to use his blindfold on you during sex too and has used it in multiple different ways.

will laugh meanly when you give him head and gag on his length but in the next second gently talk you through it as he pushes the hair out of your face.

no matter what’s going on, you’ll always hear him laughing during sex.

to him is all about your reactions. basically anything he does is to get a a pout and a rise out of you, or to be graced by your gentle smile and soft eyes.

he loves cumming on your face the most. again, to see your reaction.

sweet girl’s so fucked out she can’t even use her words now? aw, s’all good, baby. i love it when you go dumb on my cock.

you like it when i use my blindfold for dirty things like this, yeah? such a pretty little slut, hands tied behind your back like that.

there’s that smile… you’re s’cute, you know that? fuck, i’m gonna cum…

SUGURU GETOU is a soft dom through and through. by the time he’s done with you, he’ll make sure you’re a trembling mess, it’s guaranteed.

he’s a talker during sex. he’ll instruct you on what to do, will whisper pretty things in your ear when you’re lost in pleasure and will coo endearing names so sweetly when you cum on his cock.

loves overstimulating you.

he will take things slow at first, wind you up with each touch of his until you’re begging for it and then give you exactly what you want.

he likes any position where he can watch you writhe with pleasure beneath him, but is also a fan of reverse cowgirl because he likes the view of the curve of your spine and he can control the speed and pace easily whilst also allowing you to grind against him.

his pace depends on how fucked out he wants you, and he can alternate between slow and prolonged to hard and fast.

he loves going down on you just so he can feel you tug on his silky black hair. in fact, any time you touch his hair is a turn on for him. whenever you run your fingers through the inky strands, he practically melts into your hands.

he loves blindfolding you, and relishes in the way it heightens your sensitivity to touch. he’ll touch you with the gentleness of angel’s wings before pinching your nipples or slapping your ass so his touch remains unpredictable and more exciting for you.

going back to his talkative nature, he’ll whisper dirty things in your ear when you’re blindfolded just to see you squirm in anticipation. he loves how he can get you wet from his words and voice alone.

he will mark you up. not out of possessiveness or anything, but for the sole reason that he finds you so attractive covered in hickeys and bite marks.

similar to gojo, the most exciting thing about sex for him is your reaction. unlike gojo, it’s more about how your body reacts rather than your expressions. he savours every tremble and twitch.

loves cumming on your back and ass the most.

if only you could see yourself right now. you look so beautiful taking me, angel. you’re the prettiest when i fuck you.

oh, the things i’m gonna do to you... was gonna say i’m gonna make such a mess out of this pretty pussy, but it looks like you did that all on your own. did my voice turn you on that much, sweet girl?

you can cum for me one more time, love. c’mon, i know you’ve got it in you, let’s see it.

TOJI FUSHIGURO is the most experienced out of them and he’s fucking smug about it too. a few touches and you instantly melt for him. oh, and he’s also got the world’s highest sex drive. fucking him doesn’t just have you seeing stars, but also the entire solar system.

he’s the perfect balance between sweet and rough, especially when you give him head, which happens a lot.

he’ll gently rake your hair back as he bucks his hips into your mouth at a steady pace. he’ll praise you as you choke and gag on his thick length, his lips stretched into an amused smirk.

he’s a simple man. he loves boobjobs too.

he’s also a big fan of 69. he loves watching you try to stay focused on sucking him off but ultimately failing when he works on your wet cunt with his skilled tongue and lips. the way your jaw goes slack and you moan around his cock makes him go feral.

he eats pussy like a starved man too!!! it’s so obscene, all the sounds he makes, his grunts and groans mixing with the slick sounds of your pussy.

this man fucks. he always preps you because he knows that most of the time, it’s quick and deep thrusts that have your your back arching and your toes curling. when he is slow from time to time, he fucks into you so deep that you swear you can feel him in your belly.

will degrade and tease you if he knows you’re into that!

he likes to make you cry, whether that be from the overwhelming orgasms he gives you or from struggling to take his fat dick no matter how determined you are, your sweet little tears turn him on to no end. he usually kisses them away, or laps them up with his tongue.

definitely uses his strength to his advantage during sex. easily lifts you or guides you into different positions. with this also comes positions where he has you lifted in the air, nothing supporting you but his strong hands gripping onto your thighs, forearms and firm chest keeping you secure.

has a bruising grip from his strength. your thighs and hips will most likely have little finger-shaped bruises once you’re done.

his biggest weakness is sloppy kisses while you’re fucking. pulling his face to yours and entwining your tongue with his makes him go crazy. loves it even more when he’s taking you from behind and you crane your head back just so you can kiss him.

i’m torn between him wearing a condom during sex and having a breeding kink so i’m just gonna say that if you’re in a more casual relationship, he wears a condom but if you’re in a more serious one he’s definitely filling you to the brim with cum.

loves cumming on your boobs! he also cums a lot…

you cryin’, sweetheart? thought you were a big girl and could handle my cock. you were practically droolin’ over it earlier. what happened, huh? too much for ya all of a sudden?

it’s alright, pretty, i gotcha. it feels better like this, right? so fuckin’ deep, feels like i’m in your womb.

fuck, ‘m gonna stuff this tight little hole with so much cum, just you wait. you wanna carry my baby, mama? you’d look so hot swollen with my kid. ah, i’m gonna cum just thinkin’ ‘bout it…

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

steve harrington + friends to lovers maybe? definitely feeling lovesick steve rn 😮‍💨

Thanks for requesting lovely mal <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 698 words

The movie theater is dark, and yet Steve catches sight of you the second you step inside. His heart does a dumbass little somersault.

“Y/n’s here?” he whispers to Robin, who’s sitting next to him and using her licorice as a straw. On his other side, Eddie’s kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him like a total asshole.

“Oh, yeah.” Robin waves to you, and you spot them, heading over. “I invited her.”

“You didn’t say she was coming.”

Robin gives Steve a sideways glance. It’s tinged with a meaning he refuses to decode. “I didn’t realize I needed to check with you.”

He huffs. You’re climbing the steps, still three rows from reaching them. “Move over by Eddie.”

Robin turns towards him now, eyebrows raising. “You’re not serious.”

“Go!”

“Dingus.” She musses his hair spitefully as she stands, just so he’ll have to fix it, waving over her shoulder at you as you start shimmying down their row.

You wave back, smiling bemusedly as you take her seat beside Steve. “Hey,” you say.

“Hey.” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he can’t seem to stop. He wasn’t expecting to see you today. “Long time, no see.”

You go a bit sheepish, the previews casting a red hue over your features. “Yeah, sorry. Work’s been keeping me busy lately. Three people quit at once, so everyone’s expected to cover until they can hire new ones.”

Steve grimaces. “Yikes.” He has the urge to tell you to quit and let him pay for everything, as if that’s something he can fiscally manage or even remotely normal. “That sucks,” he says instead.

“Yeah, hopefully it’s not for long.” You get comfy, slipping off your shoes and putting your socked feet up on the seat. Your knees lean onto your shared armrest, within a pinkie’s reach of Steve’s hand. “I actually just got off, I didn’t grab anything from concessions because I was worried I’d miss the beginning.”

“Oh, no way.” The movie starts, and he lowers his voice but neither of you turn towards the screen. “Want me to run and grab you something?”

You give him a funny smile. It makes your cupid’s bow flatten out and Steve thinks that if he were to kiss you, he’d start there. “No,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have to miss anything either.”

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “I don’t even really care if I see this.” He has been looking forward to it ever since he saw the commercial, honestly, but he’s happy to miss it for you.

“I’m fine,” you reply, “but thanks, Steve.”

“At least have some of mine.” Eddie shushes him loudly, and Steve kicks the underside of his knee, making the other boy curse. “I’ve got coke and popcorn, that okay?”

The movie glows blue over your face as you grin, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Classics. But I’m not gonna take your food.”

“I’m not gonna eat it all,” Steve argues. “These are both extra-larges. You think I bought that all for myself?” He absolutely did.

You lean in closer, your knees touching the side of his hand. “You paid for them,” you whisper.

“So?”

“So, I’d feel bad.”

“Then make it up to me.” Steve hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. He’s never been able to lay on the charm with you like he can with other girls, he doesn’t know why. Or maybe he does. “Come with us back to my place tonight. We’re ordering pizza.”

“So,” you murmur through a smile, “make it up to you by taking more of your food, is what you’re saying.”

“Uh-huh, exactly.” He takes a sip of his coke and then angles the straw in your direction. “Deal?”

You drop your eyes for a second, shaking your head like he’s silly, and Steve knows he’s won even before you meet his gaze again.

“Deal.” You wrap your lips around his straw, sucking in a mouthful before letting go. “You drive a hard bargain, Harrington.”

Steve grins, laying bay in his seat and totally not thinking about how his pinkie is grazing your thigh. “Yeah, that’s what they tell me.”

546 notes · View notes

kimchikrust · 1 year

Text

Simon prefers to take breaks next to you. He likes to lean against you and feel your body pressed against him. When you run your palms over him, it reminds him you’re there.

He worries that one day, he won’t have you and won’t know how to stop. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you or your kindness. The way you insist on him resting. The way you insist he lowers his mask.

You’d never ask him to remove the mask, you love him whether or not he wears it. It’s not up to you what he reveals to everyone else, but when he’s with you…Just you… it’s different.

And you can tell. The entire squad can tell. He carries a gentleness reserved for you, and you feel like you’re on top of the world when he shows it to you. When he silently pulls his balaclava back, his cropped hair stands in all directions. When you can see the love in his eyes behind the faded black paint.

Simon hates sleeping by himself. The bed is always too empty, too cold. But when you’re with him, and some part of your body is draped over his, the warmth from your body and steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.

He doesn’t know how to express his feelings through words, but it’s enough to know that he trusts you. He can rest with you, sleep peacefully, and not worry so much.

You’re his loyal teammate, and you’ve been around for so long that Simon doesn’t like to think about before you entered his life.

Sometimes he gets scared of your recklessness. How you don’t value your life compared to his or Price’s.

“You’re my best friend,” you murmur to him one quiet night. You’ve joined him outside for a smoke, and what’s great about your company is that you don’t force a conversation. You’re as content as he is sitting in silence.

“I’m your only friend,” he gruffs in return because he can’t find himself to deny it.

You’re so expressive compared to him. You love sharing how you feel; sometimes, Simon doesn’t know how to react.

“You think we can be happy?” You ask him after returning from a mission. He lost you somewhere in the middle, but when you returned to the group, you were covered in blood that wasn’t yours. Even though you pointed a gun at him, assuming he was the enemy, he could remember the relief he felt when his mind registered that it was you. Unharmed, a little traumatized, but safe.

He looks at you, stone-faced with the skull mask. “I do.”

Even though you’re sent through hell, it doesn’t matter to Simon. Aside from the mission, he only cares about getting you back home. When a situation worsens, he imagines the night after returning from the mission. When Soap convinces everyone to drink, he can watch you drunkenly dance from the bar.

And he thinks to himself, What would I do without you?

“I’d die for you, Si,” you confess when it’s just the two of you in the gym, not looking at him but finding your fingers more entertaining. “Not because you’re my Lieutenant.”

I know, his voice whispers in the back of his head. And he hates that you’d throw yourself in front of a bullet for him. “I know,” he answers quietly, and the way you solemnly nod your head makes his head hang low. “I need you to live for me.”

And when you finally sacrifice yourself for him, his hands shake against you as he compresses the wound. He’s sweating, but he feels cold with you lying in front of him with a paling face and glossy eyes.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You need to get-” You can’t finish your sentence because you’re choking on your blood.

“I’m getting you out too, runt,” he huffs, hauling you up in his arms like a doll. You can hear gunshots and feel Simon running as you jostle against him. “Don’t close your eyes.”

You die that day. Your heart stops beating, and your chest doesn’t rise for air.

But somebody decides you deserve a second chance. Or that Simon deserves a break. And when he’s informed that you’ll be okay and that you’ll recover, his knees almost give out.

He’s next to your bed when you finally wake up weeks later. And even with a hospital gown, crust-rimmed eyes, and mussed hair, Simon thinks you look like an angel when you smile at him.

“You can’t do that to me,” he whispers. “You can’t- I thought-...I thought I lost you.” It’s just the two of you in your hospital room. The door’s locked because Simon pulls his mask off to reveal his grief-stricken expression.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you croak with weak chords.

Simon grits his teeth, and his eyes are brimming with tears, and he doesn’t know why he feels overwhelmed suddenly. “I was never afraid before you showed up.”

You laugh softly, giving him a watery smile. You hold your hand out for him, and he rests his paw in your frail hold. He feels you try to squeeze his hand the best you can. It’s a reminder that you’re there with him. Alive.

“When’s the last time you slept, Si?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t know the answer.

You take his silence as an answer and carefully tug him closer. Simon sits beside your bed, and you keep his hand against you. You’d rather he join you on the bed, but it’s too small, and you’re still in pain.

“I’m okay,” you gently remind him. “You can rest now.”

And even though he’s sitting upright in a chair, and your monitors are beeping obnoxiously on the other side of your bed, it’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had since the mission.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost x you #mw2 #cod mw2

5K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 1 year

Note

Play wrestling with bff Steve and getting giggly when he just straight up manhandles you 😭😭😭

✶ ┄ SORE LOSER !

summary: steve harrington doesn't like to let you win until he realizes how good it feels to lose. pairing: best friend!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 1.6k warnings: a lil bit suggestive towards the end, but nothing crazy a/n: i got super carried away with this lol i kinda just took this request and ran with it and well... here we are :) enjoy!

Steve never lets you win.

He thinks it’s letting you off too easy.

The boy’s competitive to a fault. He can’t stomach a loss, even if it’s in something as meaningless as a carnival game you only wanted to play for the giant dinosaur plushie that’s half the size of you.

He always ends up giving it to you when he inevitably wins, wearing a big smug smile on his pretty, pink lips. You take it from him with a pout. The childlike scowl is quelled only by the funnel cake he buys you after.

It doesn’t matter what it is — a game of monopoly, trivia questions on the ends of popsicle sticks, taking in the groceries — Steve finds a way to make all of it competitive. He wants to have the most fake money and little fake properties, he wants to shout the answer before anyone else can, he wants to carry more heavy plastic bags than everyone else. Just to say that he did it.

If you put this much effort into school, you’d be in college right now, Harrington, you’d tease.

Not my fault you’re a sore loser, he’d retort. I’ll let you win the next one, sunshine. Promise.

He never does.

You and Steve play-wrestle like a couple of kids. It usually comes out of nowhere. You’ll make fun of him, he’ll shove at you, and you’ll shove back harder. Then it just turns into a game of who’s stronger than who — and it’s always him. Obviously.

You try your hardest to prove your strength, pushing at him with nimble fists and wriggling something fierce in his hold, but you come out red-faced with a participation ribbon laced within his taunts. And even though he’s got several inches on you and quite a bit more muscle, he never lets you win. Ever.

He manhandles you, perhaps a little too rough at times, but it wasn’t like he had to be kind to you. You weren’t dating or anything, you were best friends — this is what a couple of pals do, right?

They play fight on the carpet of the other’s movie room after being told their closest confidant would murder them in a game of fuck, marry, kill between Anthony Michael Hall and Robert Downey Jr. with zero hesitation.

Friends totally force the other onto the ground by grabbing at the bottoms of their thighs before kneeling over them, wrenching their wrists in their grip and pressing their hands to the ground on either their head.

It’s the definition of being best buds. Truly.

For the first time, you manage to get the better of him. You’re pressed beneath his weight, breathing heavy and rapidly tiring, and you wave the white flag of surrender.

Just when Steve's letting you up and swiping a hand through his mussed hair, you force him onto his back and straddle his waist — like he always did to you — and giggle with mirth at the idea of finally beating him.

He doesn’t find a similar enthusiasm in it, though. His tune changes almost immediately.

You beam down at him, the words of a taunt on the tip of your tongue, and you notice how his cheeks flare pink. His honey-colored eyes widen and his mouth falls softly agape. He glows red in embarrassment and you think he’s just upset that he lost, but he sounds like he’s panicking. The words rush out of his mouth — “Alright, shit, fine— you win, sunshine. Get off, alright? Off, off, off.”

His hand swats at the side of your knee to hurry you off him.

“Alright, jeez!” you concede with the roll of your eyes, halfway annoyed that he just can’t let you win anything. “You don’t have to be such a sore loser about it, Harrington—”

You understand his haste in that moment, when you feel him brush your inner thigh. Like, all of him — as in, the boner trapped in the sweatpants he’s wearing, all rock hard and raging in its cotton confines.

Suddenly, you’re just as bashful and panicked as he is.

Your eyes lock at the rock hard realization but neither of you can think of anything to say.

Do you apologize? Do you act like you didn’t feel anything? Do you trust your voice to make a stupid joke so you can move on and forget any of this ever happened? You’re not quite sure.

And in the five-second silence, Steve just wants to die. Internally, he’s praying for a strike of lightning to take him out on the spot because he’s never been more embarrassed in his life.

He’s certain that he’s grossed you out, or worse, made you irreversibly uncomfortable.

In the mess of thoughts running through his head, he tries to rush out some apology that might soothe the awkward air. Your laughter does all the work for him before he can.

It bubbles like sunshine from your mouth, filling the silence and allowing Steve to breathe again. He finds himself chuckling under his breath with you, though he’s still red-faced about it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, sunshine,” he chides with the roll of his eyes, though a smile hints at the edges of his mouth. He rises on his elbows to look at you. “What was I supposed to do? Your tits were in my face and your ass was on my dick— sorry for being human!”

“Sorry, alright? I’m sorry,” you manage through hearty giggles. You settle finally at his side and look over at him, still grinning. “Want me to leave so you can… take care of it or whatever?”

He knows you’re joking but he shakes his head anyway. “Nah, it’ll go away. Let’s just… finish this stupid movie.”

“Stupid movie? You picked it!”

“Yeah, so I could see Kelly Lebrock in a bikini!” he argues back, more thankful for the familiar bickering than he ever thought he’d be. “But you made me miss it!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Watch it, sunshine,” he grumbles, half-heatedly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I think you’re the one who needs to worry about finishing, Harrington,” you joke and giggle when he shoves you.

You would’ve helped him, if he wanted you to. You know it’s uncomfortable and that it’s partially your fault. You also know that all of those are just excuses to cover up the fact that you’ve always wondered what his cock looks like.

He’d need only ask you, but you know that he won’t.

Even if he did like you in that way, it’d just make things all complicated. And that was totally the opposite of the effortless relationship you’ve developed with him. The kind of effortless where he can be rock hard next to you, and you’ve both decided to just move on from it.

Steve, meanwhile, spends the rest of the movie not watching a single damn minute of it. He’s too busy trying to calm himself down like a teenage boy and figuring out he can get you on top of him again without being too obvious about the whole thing.

He decides he might just start swallowing his pride and let you win sometimes.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #st drabbles #stevie drabble

5K notes · View notes

newluvrs · 1 month

Text

Anton ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: JUNO - CHOKER word count: 1.8k

“is this okay?”

The room is hazy from the glow of your bedside lamp, the smell of weed perforating your room as a result of your shitty roommate hotboxing your apartment last night. Your hoody is pushed up over your hips at present, everything feels sticky and hot from too much body contact with too many layers of clothing on. The sheets are kicked down by your feet, your legs at present hanging over Anton’s shoulders. His lips are all swollen, having spent the last half an hour lip locked with you. At this point in your relationship(?) neither of you had gone past make outs coupled with grinding and feeling each other up. When he started to kiss down your body you felt nervous, but your need to be touched screamed louder than any doubt in your brain.

“Please.”

You know Anton asked for reassurance more for himself rather than you, his own nerves and excitement getting to him. It was one of the first things you had noticed about him, and something you adored, how he could be simultaneously awkward and self-assured. Like he didn’t need validation from anyone, but he so badly wanted yours.

“please what?”

Okay now he was just fucking with you.

“Anton.”

“I was only joking..”

He flashes you his boyish half-smile, pulling your sweats off as he does so. His hair is all fucked up from his beanie and the amount of times you’ve ran your hands through it in the last half-hour. You can only imagine your own hair looking mussed as well. But none of this matters when he settles between your legs at the end of your bed, face to face with your boy shorts. He glances at them, then at you, half-amused half extremely turned on.

“Sorry if you were expecting lace.” You let out a scoff, trying to hide how vulnerable you feel right now. Now you really were thinking to yourself maybe you should have dug out your nice underwear, the ones reserved specifically for situations like this.

When he doesn’t answer, you look away from him, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling. It’s quiet for what feels like too long to you. Neither of you making a sound, the only thing playing in the room being your playlist accurately titled “music to kiss boys too.” You’re starting to feel really fucking awkward, even with the heavy bass of the current song thrumming through your body.

“Anton-“

Your cut off by your own gasp when you feel him lick you through your shorts. His arms are wrapped around your legs, helping you hold them up. He bites the inside of your thigh, making you buck your hips towards his face.

“you’re so pretty, and you don’t even have to do anything.”

He stares at you now, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

“you could wear a trashbag and I would still think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You turn away from him again, a blush taking over you. You can’t remember the last time you felt shy, it’s always you who makes him feel flustered. Showering him in compliments endlessly about how cute you think he is. How hot you think he looks doing simple everyday things. You liked watching the way he stumbled over his words after, his face turning a pretty shade of pink. You didn’t ever feel like you needed compliments, or at least you never voiced your need for them. But now, laying here under him, it’s all you want to hear.

His fingers dip under your shorts, groaning when he comes into contact with your wet heat. Your hips shift in his hold, trying to move closer to that single touch. He giggles at this, pulling his hand from your boxers.

When you open your mouth to complain he finally gives you what you want, putting his mouth back on your cunt. The material thin enough for you to feel his tongue prodding at you. It’s taking you everything to restrain yourself from fucking up into his face. Especially when he starts sucking on your clit. Your hips jerk up, your hands balled into fists and coming up to grab at your pillows, resisting the urge to pull his hair.

“Fuck, Anton please.”

Your voice is so whiney, a breathless edge to it. He pulls off of you briefly, bringing one of his hands to thumb at your clit as he speaks.

“What is it baby?”

When you look back down at him, you realize his hoody is also still on, making this whole thing look hotter but also making you wonder why you’re the only one half-naked.

“I- fuck, please.”

He’s still rubbing at your clit, making it hard for you to talk, upping the speed when you open your mouth to speak. You know that he knows this, and you know that he thinks this whole thing is fucking hilarious but god you just want more so bad right now you don’t even care. He decides to throw you a bone.

“Want me to pull your shorts off?”

You’re so embarrassed right now, all you can do is whine, covering your face as you nod your head.

“Sorry, what was that?”

He mumbles this into the side of your thigh, trying to hide the shit-eating grin adorning his face right now. You feel like you’re going crazy.

“Anton, I swear to god-“

“I’ll pull them off if you admit you look sexy in them.”

His request throws you off-guard, he speaks up again as he takes in the confused look on your face.

“All you have to do is say that you think you’re sexy.”

“you can’t be serious.”

When he stares back at you incredulously you realize he is in fact serious.

“okay i’m sexy, now pull them off.”

He tsks, rolling his eyes as he moves to pull his hand away from you. You could scream you’re so frustrated.

“please just take them off.”

“not until you give me what I want.”

Before you can protest he goes back to lapping at your clit through your panties, the fabric starting to turn obscenely wet from the combination of his spit and your juices. You toss your head back, hands scrambling against the sheets now, the sudden stimulation overwhelming. You look down at him again, noticing for the first time how he humps against the mattress as he goes down on you. You whine out his name again, pleading with him to give you what you want already.

“Sorry baby, I can’t hear you.” He mumbles into your pussy.

It’s just not enough, its everything and its so much but its not enough. Your hands fly to his hair now, unable to stop yourself from humping his face. In between your whines you could swear you hear him let out a ‘cute’. Desperation overtakes you, fueled by the need to get off.

“’m sexy.”

You say it so quietly he can barely hear over the obscene sounds of his mouth sucking on wet fabric.

“baby?”

He glances up at you, and he nearly cums in his sweats right there. Your eyes are half lidded, cheeks pink with your hair all fucked up, whimpering as you still have a grip on him, trying to fuck your hips up into his face as he pulls off of you.

“I look so sexy….”

You sound embarrassed as you say it still, but it’s good enough for him, just happy to have you look so fucked out and shy just because of him.

He sits up briefly to pull his sweats down to his knees before he finally, finally, pulls off your boy shorts. It’s obscene the way they stick to your cunt, completely drenched from the previous activities. For the second time tonight, Anton nearly cums again just from finally seeing your pussy. He spares a glance at your face and you just look dazed and breathless, too needy to be touched to think of anything else.

He settles back between your legs, letting out a groan at the way his cock feels through the thinner material against the mattress. He runs a thumb against your clit once, just to see the way it throbs when he pulls away.

“s’cute.”

He plants an opened mouth kiss to your cunt, not even complaining when you move your hands back to rest in his hair, gently guiding his mouth back to your pussy. You could cry when you finally feel his tongue come into direct contact with your clit, letting out an obscene moan into the thick air. From there the two of you fall into a steady rhythm, you humping against his face as he humps against your sheets, both dazed and mesmerized by the other, just watching. When he brings two fingers to your entrance, you’re so wet theres hardly any resistance when he slides them in. You cry out as he crooks them up, pushing and pulling them slowly in and out of you. He’s gentle as he does it, just petting your insides, feeling the way you squeeze around him. He pulls away from your clit to rest a cheek on the inside of your thigh, just watching his fingers stroke in and out, watching the way you cling to them not wanting to let him go.

“anton.”

“mm.”

“m’gonna cum.”

He smiles at this, moving to suck on your clit again with an “okay baby.”

You cum exactly like that, watching your boyfriend fuck your mattress as he presses against that gummy spot inside you, lapping at your clit. When the stimulation becomes too much for your tired body you push his head away from between your legs. He moves away from your cunt to rest his head on your thigh, just staring up at you with starry eyes as he speeds up his movement against the mattress. You reach to bring his hand up to your face, sticking your tongue out to suck on the fingers that were previously inside you. He lets out a full body shiver, groaning and cumming as soon as you wrap your lips around his fingers.

“so sexy y/n, pretty baby.”

When his hips still, you both lie there, catching your breath. In the midst of your panting you notice your playlist keeps looping on a single song, you wonder to yourself how many times its played before you noticed. Quietly, so quietly you can barely hear yourself, you ask.

“you really think I’m pretty?”

You’re looking away again, trying to come off as nonchalant to ward off the vulnerability. You hear shuffling from the edge of your bed. Then his hands are gentle on your chin, pulling you in for a kiss. This one is sweeter than any of the ones before, his mouth gentle against yours, fingers delicately placed on the sides of your face to keep you in place. When he pulls away, he leaves one more kiss on your forehead.

“the prettiest.”

#riize smut #riize x reader #anton lee #anton smut #anton x reader

330 notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 4 months

Text

a/n: live from the meadowlands! i’m freezing my tits off in new jersey and getting ready to head into the stadium to scream my head off for the boys! so i figured it would be a perfect time to provide some best man mat smut - this is so unedited it’s not even funny, but i hope you guys enjoy and i’ll catch up with you all on monday once i’ve thawed out! 🧡💙🤍

word count: 3.3k

tw: dirty dancing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, creampie, let me know if there’s anything i missed

summary: it’s ethan and lenasia’s wedding day and mat’s the best man. it’s not your fault that he looks so damn good in a suit

“And if there’s anything you take away from this speech tonight, it’s yes, I can actually read! Let’s raise a toast to the bride and groom,” Mat smiles, laughs a little, and lifts his drink in the air to toast Ethan and Lenasia. You swallow a giggle and then a sip of champagne, setting the flute down on the table so you can call and cheer wildly as Ethan cups Lenasia’s face and kisses her deeply.

By the time the clapping tapers off, Mat is back in his seat next to you, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, causing a blush to heat your cheeks. “How was it?” He asks, sounding slightly nervous, lips tilted in a self-conscious smile.

“Perfect,” you grin, leaning slightly into his personal space. “Who knew you were so good with words?” Your silk-covered knee knocks against his tuxedoed one.

Mat scoffs and takes a drink of water, his hand dwarfing the glass. “You know I’m very good with words, babe,” he winks at you. He sits back in his seat, watching as Lenasia’s maid of honor steps up to the front of the room to give her speech. The pad of his thumb rubs against the underside of your ring finger, catching on the pavé band of your engagement ring. You let your knee knock against Mat’s again and the corner of his mouth curves up in a smile, his attention focused on the speech.

A few short minutes later, you’re lifting your glasses in another toast to Ethan and Lenasia. Mat’s hand never leaves yours and he squeezes your fingers gently as he sips at his champagne. You can’t help but stare at him, taking in his mussed hair and unbuttoned shirt. The hint of skin and collarbone has you feeling overly warm. He’s always looked sinfully good in formalwear.

“Like what you see, babe?” He laughs, leaning into you when you’re sitting down again, starting to poke at the salads in front of you. His lips brush against your cheek and you shiver.

“Always,” you murmur back, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking about how good you look. How I didn’t get to see you at all today.”

Mat shifts in his seat and you grin wickedly, glancing down to see the effect your words are having on him. Since he’s the best man, he’d been up and out of the hotel room early to get ready, so all you’d gotten this morning was a rushed make-out session and an ass squeeze, leaving you unsatisfied.

“Later,” Mat whispers in your ear, a promise and a threat.

“I’m holding you to that,” you grin, turning your head slightly to capture his lips with yours. You bite down gently on his lower lip and Mat groans quietly into your mouth.

He presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth when you pull back and mutters, “gonna hold you to something, for sure.”

You snort a laugh and shake your head at him a little, pushing at his thigh where it’s pressed against yours. “You’re so cheesy,” you tease, digging into your salad.

“It’s weddings,” he replies around a mouthful of food. “They bring out my inner Hallmark movie hero.”

The subtle tease at your preferred guilty pleasure entertainment makes you roll your eyes. He joins in on watching the Christmas movies more than he’d ever admit. You smirk at him, “keep this energy up for Christmastime.”

After that, you both fall into conversation with your friends at the table, eating dinner as it’s served and drinking too much. Mat continuously delivers you bay breezes, the vodka flooding your veins and making you pleasantly tipsy by the time you’re on the dance floor.

Mat’s hands are all over your body, holding you close as you sway and scream along to the music, hips bumping together. Your hair is slowly starting to fall out of the updo you’d spent most of the morning working on, little pieces frizzing around your face and sticking to your forehead. Mat’s hands are hot on your skin through the silk of your dress, leaving a phantom impression whenever he moves them.

The music changes, slows down, and Mat pulls you close, hands landing on the curve of your ass. You grin at him, buzzing from the alcohol and skin tingling from his touch. His eyes are a little unfocused from his own drinking but he lands a kiss on your lips with precision accuracy. He tastes like whiskey and beer and Mat. You smile into the kiss, giggling when he grows sloppy, kissing the corners of your mouth. “You look gorgeous,” he says, mouth close to yours. “Like a…a…a gorgeous woman.”

You laugh out loud, clearly Mat’s drunker than you thought he was, and press yourself closer to him as you sway. “I thought you had a way with words?” You tease him, stroking your fingers through his hair and over the nape of his neck. He shudders in your arms at your touch, sensitive against your gentle ministrations.

“I said words, didn’t I?” He laughs, turning his head to kiss the inside of your arm. “You are gorgeous, what else m’I s’posed to say?”

“Hmm,” you hum, head pleasantly fuzzy from the drinks, “I dunno, anything else you think is appropriate.”

Mat’s silent, for once in his life, and Elvis croons about falling in love.

“How about,” he grins, holding you close and lowering his voice so you’re the only one who can hear him, “I wanna fuck you until you forget your own name.”

His breath ghosts against your cheek and your knees wobble, the surge of lust in your blood overwhelming. Your fingers tighten around Mat’s hair, tugging sharply, and you lean even closer to him, soaking up the warmth of his body. “I like that plan,” you giggle, the sound tapering off into a little gasp when the music changes and Mat grinds his hips into yours. The bulge of his cock presses against you, a promise for later.

The reception lasts into the wee hours of the morning, music bumping and drinks flowing. You’ve taken a spin around the dance floor with Ethan, scream-sung along to the Spice Girls with Lenasia and some of the bridesmaids, and given baby Gracie some cuddles before she was ushered off to bed by Lenasia’s mom.

Now it’s just the straggler, party-animals left and you’re once again in Mat’s arms, his chest pressed against your back. His hand is warm against your stomach, fingers splayed out to cover as much of you as he can. You lean your head back against his shoulder, swaying along to the music completely off-tempo. Mat’s lips are against your skin, kissing your temple, your hair, every inch of you he can reach.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re so pretty.” His words are a little slurred, running into each other. “Someone should marry you.”

A drunken laugh startles out of your mouth and you lift your left hand, engagement ring glinting in the low lighting, back to curl in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “Someone is,” you tease, kissing the point of his chin.

“Who?” He turns his head and plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Cause I’ll fight him. I wanna marry you.”

“You dork,” you laugh, “you’re marrying me.”

Mat’s hand stops its movement over your stomach and chest, fingers frozen where they’re curled around your breast. “Oh fuck yes,” he crows. “How’d I forget that?”

“I don’t know, exactly how drunk are you, my love?” Your hand tangles further into Mat’s hair, hips never stopping their lazy grind against Mat’s groin. Your other hand cover’s Mat’s tracing over his knuckles and the veins underneath his skin. You’re not even remotely close to sober yourself, alcohol blurring the edges of all your thoughts, making your movements slow and loose.

“Not drunk enough that I won’t be able to fuck you in the hotel room,” he promises, biting down on your earlobe and making you shiver.

“Good,” you grind your ass back against his cock, grinning impishly when you feel him twitch against you, “I’ve been looking forward to it all night.”

His hand squeezes your breast tightly and you yelp a little, nipples pebbling under the silky fabric of your dress. Mat’s mouth marks a hot trail over your jaw and down your neck, kissing at the join of your neck and shoulder, burying his nose against your skin. “You smell good,” he mumbles, holding you close. ”Love you so much.”

“Love you,” you reply, squealing when Mat grabs your hand and twirls you out to the side and then back in, your back slamming against his chest when you lose your balance. He wraps his arms around your stomach, hands clasped over your belly button, chin resting on your shoulder, and sways along with the music.

Mat’s lips are hot on your skin, magnetized apparently since he can’t stop kissing your exposed neck and collarbone. You melt against him, leaning heavily into his embrace, butterflies kicking around in your stomach. Every shift of his hips presses his erection against your ass, hard heat searing through the thin silk of your dress. Arousal grows slick between your legs, your panties damp and your thighs gliding against each other.

He tugs gently at the fabric under his hands, bunching it a little so the hem of your dress starts to inch higher. His heart beats against your back, his bare chest hot against your skin. The fabric of Mat’s unbuttoned shirt tickles your sweaty skin and you wonder, deep in the back corner of your mind, where his tie went and if he’ll ever get it back. Then his palm is sliding up your thigh and you have no more thoughts, just the feeling of Mat’s skin on yours.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Mat whispers in your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. “Wanna be inside you.”

You nod and Mat drags you off, hand tight around yours, your heels clipping along the floor as you hurry to keep up with him.

——

“You taste like pineapples,” Mat comments, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and laving over the pebbled bud with the flat of his tongue.

Your back arches, Mat’s hands at your lower back bracing you. “Oh my - god,” you gasp, “I sp-spilled a drink earlier.”

Mat licks up over the swell of your breast, sucking a mark at the top. He nuzzles his nose against the skin of your sternum and your breath hitches in your chest. Your hips roll over the bulge in his pants, soaking the fabric of his slacks.

Your panties have been tossed to the side and the skirt of your dress is bunched up around your waist, making it easier for you to straddle Mat’s lap. He’d made quick work of pulling the straps of your dress down over your arms, baring your breasts to him and wasting no time marking them up with his mouth.

“Love these tits,” he groans, licking a hot stripe through the valley between your breasts and up to the hollow of your throat. “Bouncing so perfectly while you ride me.”

You whine and dig your nails into his shoulders, “M’not riding you,” you complain, rolling your hips over his clothed lap. “Take your pants off and fuck me.”

His shirt is on the floor, hair mussed from your hands, but his slacks are still on and you’re getting frustrated, whiny and desperate for the burn of his cock in your cunt. Mat’s hands roam your back, one cupping the nape of your neck and the other sliding under the curve of your ass. His fingers tease at your entrance and you clench, a fresh rush of arousal staining his slacks.

“Mat,” you whine his name, pressing closer to his fingers and burying your face in the crook of his neck, “please, please, wanna fuck you. Wanna have you fill me up.”

“Needy,” Mat teases, kissing you solidly as he lifts you off his lap and deposits you on the mattress. “Touch yourself while you wait,” he demands, hand on his belt buckle. You blink up at him and he cocks his head, raising an eyebrow. “Go ahead, babe, give that pretty pussy the attention she deserves.”

With Mat’s gaze focused on your bare cunt, you bring your hand to the swollen, sensitive flesh. Your fingers tremble a little as you circle them around your clit, head falling back against the mattress and a breath stuttering out of your lungs. “Oh god,” you moan, applying more pressure and picking up your speed.

Distracted, you don’t realize Mat’s undoing his belt and pants, shucking them down his muscular legs and kicking them to the side. “There you go, baby,” he rasps, sitting back down on the mattress, watching arousal drip out of your cunt. “Gonna slide right in, you’re so fucking soaked.”

He fists his cock lazily, running the flat of his palm over the reddened tip. Your fingers stutter as you watch him, ready for him to fill you up. “Can I - Mat,” you exhale harshly, rubbing your fingers hard over your clit. He hasn’t told you to stop, so you won’t, but you’re losing patience. “Please,” your voice cracks a little and Mat takes pity on you, reaching his free hand for your thigh.

“Aw, come here, baby,” Mat murmurs, hauling you over his lap again, hand falling away from his cock. Your hands brace on his shoulders and you settle your knees on either side of Mat’s hips. “Gonna sit you right where you belong, stretched out on my cock, okay?”

You nod desperately, chanting his name and then gasping when Mat lines the head of his cock right at your entrance, dragging you down by the hips until your ass is flush against his thighs and his cock is fully sheathed in your cunt.

“Ohhhh god,” you moan, head falling back and hips moving of their own accord, bouncing on Mat’s cock. The drag of his cock against your walls is delicious, the bare heat of him blistering from the inside. “Feels so good, god, fuck, Mat.”

His fingers are tight on your hips and Mat’s eyes are locked on your bouncing tits. “Baby, god, so tight. Been wanting to fuck you all night, fill this pussy with my cum, lick it out of you, make you scream my name.” Filth drops from his lips until he can’t help himself and he leans in to tug one of your nipples with his teeth, grinning around you when you shriek.

His pace never stops, his hips bucking upwards into yours, his cock head hitting your g-spot and making you see stars. Your nails dig into Mat’s shoulders and your thighs burn with the bouncing, but your stomach is tightening with pleasure and you beg Mat not to stop, chanting his name.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles against your chest, slicking your tits with his spit, “come on my cock, baby. Soak my dick.” His hand snakes forward and he pinches at your clit, drawing a scream from your lips. Sweat drips down both of your bodies, mixing with your arousal on Mat’s thighs, the glide of his cock in your cunt so smooth.

With his cock pounding into you, his fingers on your clit, and his mouth on your nipples, Mat drags you over the cliff and your orgasm hits like a freight train. You come with a scream, gushing around his cock and soaking his lap. Mat’s not too far behind you, bucking his hips up into yours while you shake through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His cock thickens inside of you and you babble in his ear, talking to him and coaxing him into coming inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” he grunts, biting hard on your shoulder when he comes, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. Tears well in your eyes at the sensation, toes curling. He flops backwards onto the mattress, taking you with him with a little yelp.

You’re crushed against Mat’s chest, the bunched up fabric of your dress sliding against your slick skin, his cock softening inside of you. You bury your face against Mat’s neck and giggle lightly, wiggling happily when Mat’s hands caress your asscheeks. He groans into your hair, “Squeaks, I think wedding sex is our thing.”

Your laughter is louder now, vibrating through your body. It’s not like there’s always that many opportunities - besides tonight, you’d been to three of your friends’ weddings this summer and honestly, yeah, you’d had some pretty mindblowing sex after all of those weddings too.

Your fingers card through Mat’s sweaty hair, pushing it off his face and tracing his browbone gently. “Hmm, just imagine how good it’s going to be after our own wedding,” you tease, biting at your lower lip.

Mat lifts his head to capture your lips with his, teasing at your lower lip with his tongue until you release it from your teeth. His fingers trail all over your lower body, dipping between your legs and dragging the mix of your fluids over your skin. “Wedding night sex?” He says when he pulls back, eyes twinkling with mischief, “that’s the night I’m supposed to pretend we’re both virgins who’ve never seen each others’ ankles, right?”

You laugh and shift, the movement dragging your messy cunt over his cock. Mat winces at the graze, soft against your thigh. “Hmm, I don’t think either of us can pretend to be virgins,” you kiss his cheek and reach down between your bodies to stroke your fingers over his lower stomach and then lower, over the hair at the base of his cock and cup his balls, enjoying the groan Mat can’t hold back when you squeeze gently. “Not with our raw animal magnetism.”

Mat snorts a laugh, “raw animal magnetism? Why am I marrying you again, you weirdo?”

“My world class roast chicken and gold medal blow jobs, obviously,” you flip your hair off your shoulder, immediately wincing when your fingers catch in a knot. “Oh fuck that. My hair is a rat’s nest.”

You roll off of Mat’s chest, legs still tangled with his. He rolls to his side and drapes a hand over your hip. You study his face, swollen lips and hazy expression in his eyes. Stubble is sprouting on his jaw and you reach up to scrape your fingers against it, making him smile and press his face into your touch like a cat. “You do make a really good roast chicken,” Mat mumbles, eyelids shutting. His blinks grow lazy and it takes a few seconds longer than usual for his eyelids to open again. You hum happily, still stroking his face.

Mat’s completely asleep a few minutes later, mouth wide open, drunken snores echoing throughout the room. You roll your eyes affectionately - how is this the man you’re going to marry?

Carefully, you wiggle off the bed so you can take off your dress and shower, the hot water soothing your muscles and washing away the sticky feeling between your legs. Your mind wanders as you shower, thinking about how amazing the wedding was and how much planning you’ll be doing in the upcoming year for your own wedding.

Mat’s still asleep when you get back into the room, but now he’s wrapped himself up in the sheets, sprawled out on his stomach. “Blanket thief,” you mutter, crawling up next to him and wiggling under the duvet. A bobby pin digs into your scalp and you run a hand through your hair, trying to dislodge it but too lazy to actually take your hair down. It shifts a bit, not actively lobotomizing you, so you close your eyes and press your face into the pillow, yawning wide enough to crack your jaw.

As sleep takes over, you feel Mat’s hand move around the mattress, finding yours and lacing his fingers with yours.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

470 notes · View notes

tasteracha · 1 year

Note

pleaseeeeeeee write something about minho's long hair, i'm begging and freaking out 😫😫😫

a/n: oh i’m screaming. this ask was made for me. i can’t do this. i’m going to go more feral than i already AM DHSKDJDHD

your hands tangle into his hair, strands of it spilling out of your fingers as you pull him closer to you. it’s so soft, silky and pillowy in your grip, unlike the way his teeth scrape over the skin of your throat.

his lips don’t leave your neck as he lines himself up at your entrance, collecting your juices on him to make the slide easier. his cock passes over your sensitive clit and you arch up into him, bucking your hips against his.

“in,” you gasp, repeating the action when he properly bites your neck and sucks at the spot. “inside of me, now.”

he leans over you with a chuckle, tufts of his dark hair falling over his face and shrouding him in darkness. his glinting eyes are peeking through the strands, catlike and squinted as he takes you in. his face goes slack as he sinks into you, eyelids fluttering closed in pleasure as he rocks into you slowly. his hair follows his movements, swinging back and forth as he moves in you, and you can’t help but be transfixed by it.

your hand moves to tuck a bit behind his ears and you revel in how red his ear has turned. the lock slinks back out as quickly as it was tucked away, spurred on by how he’s started to fuck into you faster. you’re rewarded with a soft moan when you scratch a bit at his scalp and his movements stutter a bit. you try out a tug, a small piece of his hair locked between your fingers, and he gasps. that’s new.

he moves back to look at you with wide eyes, his cock forgotten and hard inside of you while he stared at you in reverence.

“do that again,” he says, breathless. all hints of his precious confidence, his casual humor as he makes you fall apart under him, are done. you do what he says, taking more of his hair into your hand and pulling, harder than before. his entire body shudders as he collapses against you, head pressed into your neck to hide his whine as his hips pick back up in a harsh rhythm.

usually, he loves to take his time with you, making you shake apart several times before finishing, your pleasure overriding his. but now, with your hands tangled into his long hair and tugging at it, his movements are almost wild as he fucks into you with a rare kind of desperation. he comes in you at the same time as you do, when you pull especially hard as you clench around him over and over. the room is filled with your moans twisting around each others’, pants and groans escaping into the air in bright colors.

you release your hands as he pulls out, the sight of him almost sending you into a spiral. his hair is a mess, carefully crafted strands mussed up from your work. his face is flushed, a war of embarrassment and pleasure making itself known.

“well,” he says, moving down your body until he’s a hair’s breadth away from your pulsing core. “looks like you discovered something new. don’t you think you deserve a reward, kitten?”

he dives in, lapping up his own release from your body, his tongue feeling perfect on your aching pussy. his hands move to grasp yours, guiding them to land on his head.

oh.

with his permission granted, you twine your fingers back into his hair like they belong there, pulling his head further into you and chasing your pleasure. he moans against you, the hum of it sending vibrations sparking up your spine.

even when it becomes too much, when your oversensitivity takes control and every stripe of his tongue or brush of his lips makes you buck up, he keeps going. your hands fist into his hair, trying to tug him off of you but he just groans into you and keeps going, one arm reaching up to brace against your hips, holding you down against the bed.

when you’re both laying in bed, teeth brushed and showered and in clean clothes, you tug experimentally at his hair. you can’t help the smile that takes over your face when he inhales sharply, sharp eyes flickering over you.

“careful,” he drawls out, pulling you into him and trapping your hands between your bodies.

you’re definitely using this knowledge to your advantage from now on.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know imagines

3K notes · View notes

jobean12-blog · 3 months

Text

Everything

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (No!outbreak!Joel- friends to lovers)

Word Count: 4,359

Summary: You live next door to Tommy and fall into an easy friendship with him but then you meet his older brother and fall into a lot more than friendship but will Joel's struggles stand in the way...

Author's Note: This is for @the-slumberparty February Sleepover Challenge and Eight Types of Love. I went with Philia (deep friendship) again because I just love the whole friends to lovers trope and wanted to do something with Joel. This has a little of better off friends (in Joel's mind) too. Thank you loves for hosting and thank you all so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension, flirting, some light angst mixed in because Joel has his head up his ass, softness, fing-er-ing, o-ral (f rec), p in v, pet name, a curse or ten, Joel gets dom a bit- think that's it lol

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You begin to wake to the quiet sound of Joel murmuring in his sleep, the room dark other than the flickering television. His arm is heavy across your waist and your back is pressed to his chest. The warmth from his body has seeped into every part of you and you can’t help but snuggle into him.

He whispers your name and his arm tightens at your waist.

“Joel?”

With no verbal answer he starts to slowly roll his hips, introducing you to the hardness between his legs.

You gasp and meet his movements. He groans and his hand starts to move, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and slipping under.

His hand continues to explore your skin as he mumbles sleepy words but you can only catch some broken phrases.

“…a dream…you’re too good…but it’s all I…”

His words trail off but his fingers keep wandering and when his hand slips down the front of your leggings you grab his wrist and push it lower, wiggling your ass against him with a desperate plea.

“Please Joel. More.”

He tugs you closer, murmuring in your ear with another roll of his hips. You moan out his name and he suddenly goes still, his panting breaths echoing in the quiet.

“What the hell?” he says into your neck.

Everything comes back to him in a rush. The movie, you falling asleep first in his arms and then his own eyes closing as he gave in to sleep. And now he’s woken up with his hand halfway down your pants and his arousal digging into your ass.

But there was more. Your whispered pleas, his name on your lips...had he imagined it all?

His eyes widen and he lunges up from the couch, away from you.

“Fuck darlin.’ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He rakes both his hands down his face.

“No. I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s ok.”

“Were you even awake? Did you ask me to stop at any moment? Tell me the truth.”

He waits with a pained expression after his rush of questions, worry etched across his handsome face as he holds his breath.

“I was awake enough and I knew you were dreaming but I didn’t want you to stop.”

He swallows the growl that tries to burst from his throat.

“Why didn’t you want me to stop?”

He can’t help his question, can’t let his curiosity go unchecked even though he knows you’re too good. Too good to be true. Too good for him. That you deserved better.

You don’t hesitate when you answer. “It felt good, so good. I love having your hands on me.”

It’s too much, your confessed words already branding themselves onto his skin and as much as he wants to pin you back down to the couch and finish what he’s started he takes another step back.

“I thought I was dreaming…are you sure you’re ok?”

“I am and I should be apologizing.”

His hand runs forcefully through his sleep mussed hair and let’s out a quiet curse.

“We were both half asleep. It was nothing.”

He says the words without meeting your eyes and you withdraw with a sharp intake of breath and when he finally lifts his gaze to yours he nearly crumbles to his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

“Oh...I guess you’re right.”

You glance down at your hands and blink away the wetness in your eyes.

“I’m a guy darlin’…I fell asleep with you pressed against me, and I reacted. I’m sorry if you thought…”

“No. I didn’t think,” you whisper, standing and wrapping your arms around your middle like a shield.

“It’s late,” you say as you back away from him.

“Right,” he answers, having to hold himself back from reaching out for you.

He swallows hard before walking toward the door and slipping his boots on. He stares at you in silence before he quietly says goodbye.

You nod and wait for the door to close before collapsing back onto the couch.

Your first knock goes unanswered and when you catch the buzz of a saw on the other side of the door you knock harder. The sound stops and is replaced with the heavy footfalls of his boots.

He opens the door to reveal you standing on the other side in your pretty dress, cookie box in hand.

Once his initial shock wears off it’s replaced with the familiar intensity he holds only for you, as if you’re all he sees and it’s everything.

That’s why when he shouts, “what are you doing here?” you wince slightly.

“I’m here because I missed my friend,” you state. “And I brought you cookies.”

He wants to tell you he’s missed you for every second of the last three days. Wants to wrap you in his arms and keep you there forever but he remains silent.

When he doesn’t say anything you continue on. “Are you going to let me in?”

“If you don’t mind the mess, go right ahead,” he says, stepping back.

“I don’t,” you murmur and brush past him.

He sucks in a quiet breath when your scent wafts up to his nose and closes his eyes for a moment to savor it.

“Watch the tools,” he says. “You’ll get hurt.”

“It looks great already,” you tell him as you swivel on your feet, careful to mind any sharp tools.

Joel nods before rubbing the back of his neck. “I can show you around, since you’re here.”

He holds his hand out toward the steps and you start to walk up them. He keeps his eyes focused on your feet, willing them not to travel any higher to peek under the hem of your dress.

You walk from room to room as he explains what he’s been doing to the new house he’s renovating, your brightness emanating into every space and filling it up with new light.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asks, his voice tight.

His foot kicks out at some saw dust, sending it dancing into the air, illuminated by the streaks of sunlight filtering in through the window.

“I took a long lunch,” you explain. “I have to go back soon, I just…”

“What? You just what darlin’?” he asks, hating his hard tone.

You place the cookies down on the work bench in the room and look him in the eyes.

“I hate that we haven’t spoken in three days. I hate not knowing if you’ll want to hang out with me again. I know you’re unhappy about what almost happened the other night, but I think you’re taking this a bit too far.”

He takes a step closer to you, keeping his hands on his hips, knowing if he reaches out to touch you, he won’t be able to stop.

“Back up darlin.’ Did I hear you say I was ‘unhappy’ about what happened?”

“Yeah…I know it was my fault. You left and I…”

“You did nothing wrong,” he states, moving closer. “Nothing at all. Are we clear?”

Your back presses to the wall when he’s close enough for you to touch and your brow furrows.

“But you were upset and I…”

His palms land flat above your head on either side of the wall, his teeth griding in his jaw.

“I’m warning you darlin’.”

Several seconds pass where your gaze lingers on his face before your lashes lower and fall between his legs to his obvious arousal pressed against the tight fabric of his jeans.

Your breathing quickens and you lick your lips, parting them to speak but your words and any coherent thoughts are lost when he kisses you.

You melt against him, pliant and willing and he moans into your mouth, crowding you against the wall until there isn’t an inch of space left between you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck and takes a deeper taste before he feels your hands flatten along his chest with a gentle pat.

Breathe.

He breaks away with a groan and scans your face for any signs of regret but instead sees swollen lips and bright eyes and it’s everything…it’s achingly beautiful. He sears the image into his brain forever.

With a sigh he leans forward and rests his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You do want me.”

Your words are husky and when he meets your eyes again, the hunger burning brightly in his morphs your expression into one of relief.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along yours, “want isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel…for what I want to do to you.”

You breathe out his name, grabbing fistfuls of his soft tee shirt when you ask, “which is?”

His lips meet the shell of your ear and the truth comes out in a rush of warm breath that makes you shiver.

“I want to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk straight the next day.”

The evidence of his words pulses against your stomach and it gives you courage to ask your next question.

“Do you want to fuck me against the wall…or spread me out on your bed Joel?”

He hisses out a curse and goes still before pinning you with a glare.

“You should be telling me to fuck off darlin.’ I walked out on you after I gave you some bullshit excuse…you better tell me, or else…”

“Or else what? What are you going to do?”

His fist lands on the wall with a heavy thump. “You’re getting yourself into trouble here angel.”

Your eyes light up at the endearment and he takes note.

“What does that mean? Trouble? Are you all talk or are you going to show me…”

Your words end on a gasp when he drops his hand from the wall and reaches under your dress, the feel of his big, work-roughened fingers on your skin making you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

You reach up and rake your fingers through his tussled hair, feeling empowered by the shiver than passes through him, his eyes closing.

“Joel. Please.”

His eyes pop open and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your heard with one hand while the other remains hidden beneath your dress, teasing the waistband of your panties.

“You deserve better,” he rasps.

You shake your head side to side, moving closer until your lips are a breath apart.

“No one treats me better than you.”

It’s a whisper against his mouth and when you see the fierce look in his eyes you expect him to pin you against the wall again but it never happens.

He falls to his knees and lifts your dress, burying his face between your thighs. The hair lining his cheeks and jaw rub roughly against your skin and his calloused hands yank your hips closer.

“Is this what you want angel?” he asks. “Want me on my knees for you, begging to taste you.”

Your fingers land in his hair again and you give it a sharp tug.

“Fuck,” he growls before moving your wet panties to the side and sliding his tongue straight through you.

Your legs shake and your head rolls along the wall.

“Joel,” you whine.

When he flicks your clit with his tongue it sends you reeling, rolling your hips into his face as he repeats the motion over and over then sucks it into his mouth. You’re so close to the edge but when he abruptly stands and cages you against the wall again, you let out a whine of frustration.

His hand slips down your body and he teases you before sliding a thick finger inside, his head falling to your neck with a muffled curse. You fumble with his jeans, managing to pop open the button and pull the zipper down far enough to press your palm against his hardness.

His hips buck into your hand and you feel him thicken, your breathing heavy when you ask for “more.”

With a groan of satisfaction he pushes a second finger inside you, your name coming out in a strangled hiss when you tighten around them.

Without warning his hips stutter and you feel warm moisture coat your hand. You keep one hand locked on his broad shoulder, still feeling unsteady on your own feet. His fingers are still buried deep inside you when his lips press softly to your neck and trace a path to your mouth.

When his eyes finally meet your own he slowly pumps his fingers, drawing small gasps from your parted lips.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous angel. I can’t help myself…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his fingers free and you whine at the loss, earning a teeth grinding warning from him.

“I’m not sorry,” you say and steady your gaze.

“Oh yeah,” he answers, his body still caging you in. “It’s not good enough. I’m not…”

“Don’t say it.”

You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t tell me what’s good enough for me. I know what I want.”

“Please angel,” he says, his voiced laced with pain. “I can’t stay away.”

“And I don’t want you to.”

The breath rushes out of him and he sags against you.

Sensing he needs some space and knowing you are running out of time you rise up to kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering on his skin and breathing him in.

“I’m going to clean up and then go back to work…but I’ll see you this weekend.”

His fingers ghost along your arm and trace the curve of your shoulder before he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your mouth to his for one last kiss.

Lost in thought, Joel takes no notice of Tommy as he walks up to the truck window, the knock making him jump in the seat.

“What the fuck?” Joel mutters when he turns to see Tommy staring back at him through the glass, looking amused.

Joel pushes the door open and steps out, walking around Tommy without a hello.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Joel asks when he reaches the back of the truck and opens the hatch.

“Hello to you too brother,” Tommy teases. “And you never answered your phone. I need to know if you can pick up beers for the party this weekend.”

“Are you really having a birthday party? Aren’t you too damn old for this shit?” Joel says with a shake of his head.

The corner of Tommy’s mouth lifts. “Listen, just because you’re a grumpy stick in the mud doesn’t mean the rest of us need to be. I feel like celebratin’.”

“What were you thinking about in there anyway?” Tommy asks. “You looked like you were on another planet.”

When Joel doesn’t answer Tommy just smiles.

“She’ll be there of course.”

Joel remains quiet and Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, brother, but if my girl was going to be at a party, looking damn fine, I’d be there. And early.”

“My girl,” Joel muses as the rubs his scruffy jaw. “I’ll be there.”

“And don’t forget the beer!” Tommy shouts as he walks back to his own truck and gets in.

You check the time and see that it’s still early before you have to get dressed so you walk over to the window and peek at Tommy’s house. Your thoughts wander to Joel and you wonder if he’s already at Tommy’s. As if you’ve summoned him he appears at the front door with a black garbage bag and starts walking toward the side of the house.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt instead of a tee shirt and it’s tucked into his tight-fitting jeans. It makes your breath catch in your throat and without thinking you rush to your kitchen garbage and pull out the half full bag, tying it quickly before tightening the tie of your robe.

You open your front door and keep your eyes forward as you walk toward the pails. The sound of a loud metal bang drags your attention toward Tommy’s house where you find Joel standing, hands on hips and eyes on you.

You throw him a wave before dropping the small bag of garbage into your pail and starting back toward the house. He moves in your direction, gently grabbing your wrist before you reach the door.

“Hi,” you say sweetly.

“Hey darlin’,” he murmurs, not letting go of you. “You wearin’ that tonight?”

At the teasing tone of his voice you feel relieved and smile, glad things aren’t entirely awkward since the last two times you were together.

“It’s comfortable,” you say. “But no.”

“But you look good,” you tell him. “Really good.”

He rubs the back of his neck and then using the hand still wrapped around your wrist, tugs you into his chest.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

You shift closer and he asks, “do you usually walk around in nothin’ but your robe?”

“Who said I had nothing on under here?”

He keeps his eyes on yours but drops a hand to the tie at your waist, giving it a light pull.

“Did you ever eat those cookies I made you?”

Your question catches him off guard and he barely has time to register his surprise before you continue.

“Or did you have enough dessert?”

You raise an eyebrow at the pained expression on his face and when he closes his eyes and groans you lift your hands to the collar of his shirt and toy with the fabric, pulling him closer.

“You’re not holding back at all are you?” he asks. “Not that I’ll ever forget how you taste.”

“Why should I?” you counter. “I know what I want.”

“Then say what you want, angel.”

You visibly preen at the nickname, wetting your lips before you speak and close the small space between you.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Damn it,” he breathes, twisting the tie of your robe in his fist.

His mind instantly fills with filthy thoughts but he doesn’t respond with more than his initial curse.

“Say something,” you whisper. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t,” he replies.

“Yes,” you counter with firmness. “I do.”

“I told you…one taste…it’ll never be enough. I want you every way I can have you. Every way you’ll let me. I want to do everything to you.”

You sway into him and your lips brush his ear just as you’re about to speak.

“JOEL!” Tommy yells. “Where the hell are you?”

Your eyes go wide as the haze lifts and you tuck your face into his neck, murmuring something incoherent. He echoes your frustration with a sigh.

“What time will you be ready?” he asks, his grip on you still tight.

“Just need another twenty minutes.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up then.”

You reluctantly pull away from him and give him a wry smile. “You’re going to pick me up? At my house? Right here?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “Why not?”

You open your mouth but he presses his finger against your lips. “Just let me come pick ya up darlin.’ Please.”

“Ok,” you breathe out before taking a step back.

“See you in twenty,” he says and watches until you’re safely inside.

Joel stands along the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he scans the room, avoiding Tommy’s prying eyes, but it’s to no avail.

“Don’t look so bored big brother,” Tommy drawls. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.”

Joel checks his watch. “Actually, she will be because I’m going to get her right now.”

“You’re picking her up? But she lives next door!”

Joel ignores Tommy’s comment and pushes off the wall with a huff.

When he reaches your door he knocks and hears your “come in.” He walks in and quietly closes the door, his eyes instantly landing on your couch as he relives the memory of the other night for the millionth time.

“I’ll be right there,” you shout from down the hall.

He rubs his palms on his jeans and tries to look relaxed even though it feels like he’s about to combust.

You walk into the living room and smile. “Ready.”

He stands up straight, hands clenched at his sides as his eyes sweep over you from head to toe and his voice a rasp when he says, “you’re not wearing that angel. You’ll have to kill me first.”

You look down at your form fitting dress with a frown then lift your eyes and chin. “Oh yes, I am!”

“The fuck you are.”

Your irritation wars with the blaze of heat trailing across your skin but you manage to walk forward toward the door and past him.

But his arm shoots out and grabs you around the waist, spinning you until you’re plastered against his hard chest.

“Fuck angel.” His hands flex on your hips. “I don’t think you understand. If anyone sees you in this…anyone but me…”

“It’s just a dress,” you say. “And I like it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please. Go change.”

You soften at his gentle pleas but you can’t help to push a little harder, knowing he’s about to give in.

“Make me.”

His eyes darken with warning and you lean closer, invitingly.

“You want to show off his gorgeous body,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers under the thin strap at your shoulder. “You’ll show it off to me.”

“Joel…”

He pushes the strap until it slides down then drags his rough fingertips along the neckline of the dress, stopping at the swell of your breasts.

“You were just going to walk into that party wearing this…what do you expect me to do?”

“I told you what I want you to do Joel.”

“Say it again,” he growls.

“I want you to fuck me.”

You enunciate all the right words even though your breathless by the end of it.

His fingers continue to your other shoulder, dropping the strap there and circling your soft skin.

“You’re a tease. You’re driving me insane.”

“I’m not the tease,” you shoot back. “You’re a tease and I’m tired of it. Either you want me. Or you don’t.”

He lifts his hands and cradles your face between them, brushing his thumbs across your skin.

“All I want is you angel. I want to be yours. I want to know all your favorite things, in and out of bed. All of it. I want it to be mine.”

With a concentrated effort you remind yourself to take a breath, seeing that means every word of it, his expression daring you to contradict him.

You reach out with the intention of unzipping his pants, but he catches your wrist. “Not yet angel. If you touch me, I’m going to need to get inside you and I need to taste you again first.”

He walks you backward toward the kitchen table and you collapse back with his gentle push. Your dress is hiked over your hips to reveal your panties and a hungry sound hums in his throat as he takes you in. Slowly he drags the delicate fabric down your legs then stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans before he spreads you open.

His tongue drags over you teasingly at first until something inside him breaks and costs him his discipline. The calloused hands that hold your thighs apart grow rougher, his throaty growls vibrating right through you as his tongue circles your clit.

Your fingers find purchase in his wild curls and he makes an appreciative noise so you give them a tug.

“So good, Joel. Oh my god.”

Already your muscles start to tighten and you know it won’t be much longer. He slides two thick fingers inside you, sucking your clit into his mouth at the same time and it sends you tumbling over the edge with a cry of his name.

His hands are soft and delicate as they caress your skin and he takes you in his arms, sitting you upright. You hold on to the edge of the table and watch him as he frees himself from his pants and palms his cock. The sight makes your mouth water and it takes all your restraint not to reach for him.

“Fuck angel,” he murmurs as he slips himself between your legs. “Do you have any idea how you’re looking at me right now?”

“How?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Like you’d beg for it if I asked.”

You work your hips in a slow circle, coating him in your arousal.

“Is that what you want?” you purr.

He groans and grits his teeth.

“Please, Joel. Please.”

“Fuck, stop. I can’t take any more,” he hisses, before he thrusts into you hard.

The sudden, perfect fullness of him makes you whimper and when he starts to move your eyes roll back in your head.

His lips find yours and he swallows every moan of pleasure as each pump of his hips drives you closer to your release. You pull his bottom lip between your teeth, begging him for more. Harder. Faster.

He gives you what you want and the pressure that builds inside you is threatening to swallow you whole and when his hand smooths over your thigh and slips between your legs, pressing right where you need it, you lose control.

His fingers dig into your skin, hard, as you clench around him, hips moving so fast they start to stutter.

“So good, angel. You feel so fucking perfect.”

You feel him thicken before his warmth fills you up and he chants your name in a breathless whisper. He falls against you, cradling you in his arms and tracing the line of your neck with his lips.

You tremble in his embrace as your hands dip inside the open buttons of his shirt to feel more of him. He whispers your name, his mouth moving along your skin, hot and wet.

“No one else does this to me angel. I already want you again. Fuck.”

@lizette50 @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal x reader #friends to lovers #navy and roo's sleepover #typesoflovesleepover

471 notes · View notes

pinkmirth · 9 months

Note

nfl reiner braun tears his alc and requests the best surgeon to work on it. he gets, youuuu, sweet smelling pink doctor coat wearing you and he can’t even take you serious when you’re going over his chart or requesting to feel the muscle with those pink gloves on. you even look younger than him and he’s telling you: “darlin’, listen… im a big deal around here and i need someone to help fix me not give me a boner.” or something like that and you almost don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re the best that there’s ever been at this hospital.

RECOVERY, reiner braun !

୨୧ — pairing: footballer!reiner braun x fem!reader

୨୧ — synopsis: this doctor’s got a hardheaded patient! it’ll take some effort to convince him of your effectiveness . . .

୨୧ — contains: ( 1.4k words of . . . ) modern au, slight nsfw (more like suggestive!), footballer!reiner, surgeon!reader, fem!reader (black coded), reiner has an ACL tear, reiner’s touch-deprived/sexually frustrated, rei’s kindaaa conceited (just a little bit!), palming, minors shoo!

୨୧ — mira’s note: ramona, my love! i adore all your reiner concepts, they’re always sooo perfect 🎀 thank youuu for sharing your rei-rei thoughts with me :) now here’s a lil drabble for my gorgeous man! (not really proofread thoroughly, i apologize for any typos or mistakes!)

isopropyl.

it’s all that reiner can smell. he’s a healthy man, he hardly belongs here— in this chilled surgeon office with the most pale, unflattering lighting. the parchment-like exam table paper rustles beneath him with every stretch and maneuver he makes, and his weight is enough to pry a creak out of the treatment table every now and again.

a recurring clack of footsteps and the whine of the door lets reiner know that you, the ‘sexy doctor lady from earlier’ has returned from reading his screenings. he wasn’t able to catch your name amidst the splitting pain from his acl tear, so that’ll make do in the meantime.

you set down your clipboard and turn to face him. your dear patient appears a bit mussed from the big game that took place earlier— his golden hair’s all fluffy and wild, that red football uniform of his is streaked with the green of the field, and his left cheekbone got a little scratch somehow. you’ll make sure to dab that with rubbing alcohol later.

“your vitals are well above average.” you commend. his reply’s a mere grunt. he can’t bring himself to take you seriously. just fucking look at you; pink latex gloves pulled over manicured hands, welcoming eyes all doe and shiny, with a sweet glossed smile that he won’t forget for days to come. he hates having to meet such a beauty under these grim circumstances– after all, you’re the kind of woman he’d take out on a date.

“lucky for you, mister braun, your injury isn’t a complete tear . . . so your recovery time shouldn’t be too long. it’ll last about six months, give or take.”

he isn’t listening.

reiner isn’t even sure of when he began to space out; your lips are just so plush, so alluring. his surname sounds sweeter than it should when falling from your mouth. before long, you clear your throat. it’s enough to snap him out of it. “i’d appreciate your undivided attention, sir. we’re currently going over your healing plan— ”

“lemme ask you, sugar,” he interjects with a low rasp. reiner braun’s well known around these parts, and you can only assume that being such a big deal has gotten to his head. what he says next throws you off, “when’s the real doctor comin’ in, hm?” it’s hard to remain professional, but you do. no furrowed brows, no scrunched up face— nothing but a tight, forced smile.

you suck in a breath through your nose, maintaining composure. “what makes you think it isn’t me, mister braun?” he can hear the tinge of vexation in your voice. clearly, this footballer has struck a chord or two.

“you’ve got pink gloves on, barbie.” he snarks out a laugh, just a bit mean. he’s much too handsome for such a condescending tone.

you bring a gloved hand flat to his chest, pushing reiner back into the examination table. his breath catches in his throat when you knead your fingers into his thigh, right where the tear resides beneath firm muscle. you’re assertive, and goddamn, does he love it.

“i’m your doctor.” you assure, voice firm. he groans out at the calculated pressure; it feels good. makes the throb of pain fade, just a bit.

“you’ll have to put some faith in me, hm?” your tone is warm, words soft and patient in a way he doesn’t deserve. reiner can’t lie, it was crass of him to have undermined you that way.

“my apologies, doc.” he addresses you in the rightest way he can. it’s his tiny little way of making amends.

“so, how long— fuck, how long did ‘ya study for?” reiner tries for small talk, voice low and shaken. you’d like to believe that whatever left his lips just now wasn’t a moan. no, it was more like . . . a groan of pain, perhaps?

“about six years. graduated early,” no wonder you look just about his age, if not younger. all his previous doctors were just as old as his parents.

“smart and pretty, huh?” he graces you with a feeble grin, a white gleam of teeth surrounded by neatly trimmed stubble. it’s safe to say that he’s your hottest patient up to date.

you continue on with prodding into the thick meat of his left thigh, and those throaty whines of his make you feel a way you simply shouldn’t.

it’s been a while since reiner’s been touched this way. he knows it’s just a regular inspection for his stupid injury, but he can’t recall the last time a woman’s splayed their hands on his body. he’s always busy with football this, training that. there’s never any time remaining for hook-ups, talkless of a relationship. that being said, it isn’t long before he begins to grow excited.

“m— mister braun,” you call out, voice airy, “you seem a little, um . . . worked up.”

“huh?” his eyes flit up to meet yours. you lock onto his honey-brown pools of desperation.

nothing else is uttered. you wordlessly direct your gaze towards his crotch, and give him a knowing look. reiner finally catches on— he fucking knew he felt his bottoms getting tight. hesitantly, the blonde lifts his head to peer down at his pants. surely enough, a boner’s prodding at the centering cloth of his football shorts.

“goddamn,” he drops his head back onto the examination table, bashfully throwing his forearm over his eyes. humiliation eats at the proud man, reducing him to a jumble of hormones.

you can hardly bring yourself to contain your chuckle, which makes his reddened cheeks burn further. it seems that his bodily reaction to your skilled hands has given him a sense of humility at best, and embarrassment at worst.

“i’ve never been appointed to a lady before . . .” is his hushed excuse. he’s still got his eyes shielded with his arm— he can’t even fucking bear to look at you. it’ll only spur him on further.

‘i turn you on?’ is what you’re just longing to question him. you know that you do— he’s been looking at your lips with bated breath since he got here. not to mention the peeks he’d taken at your ass whenever you turned around to read his chart or grab a cotton ball.

it’s quite bold of you— more like dangerous— to bring your ministrations upwards, closer to the ache under his pants. you’d tell yourself to stay on task, but professionalism has long been thrown out the window.

your gloved hands trail mischievously, placed directly atop reiner’s hard-on. warmth radiates from your palm, and you squeeze. his eyes blink shut, hips gently bucking upwards. his tear burns from beneath his skin, but he doesn’t fucking care. he bets he could cum from your hands alone.

reiner eventually manages to pull his arm away from blocking his viewpoint, chest heaving with every passing second. if you were to use your stethoscope on him, his heartbeat would be nothing short of erratic.

“trust me, mister braun,” is your reassuring whisper, “you’re in good hands.”

1K notes · View notes

quill-and-quiver · 10 days

Text

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: house of the dragon | aemond targaryen x fem!reader 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: After years of pining after Prince Aemond Targaryen, he finally allows you to meet his prized possession—his dragon. 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: i don’t think any. this one’s mild - others won’t be lol | if u noticed anything i missed, pls let me know 𝚆𝙲: 2.7k — 11 min read time .·:*¨༺➻𝙰/𝙽: hi omg! my first post on a shiny new blog (◕‿◕✿) i know i’m like wayy late to the game with aemond but the new trailer coming out kicked my ass into gear. this is pre-s1e10 so we're pretending that aemond does, in fact, have control of vhagar 💀 also what i learned from this fic? aemond calls u pet. i don’t make the rules sorryyy. ALSO ALSO - requests are open - pls send some! 🤍 mills

✧❦༺ 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 |.☽.| 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 |.☽.| 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ༻❦✧

As he lies asleep, his head resting on the leather cover of a large tome, you study the features of his face. Your eyes trace the delicate curve of his nose, the sharpness of his Cupid’s bow, his angular jawline. Entranced by him, you may not have even noticed when he stirs if it isn't for the soft hum that slips from his lips. As Aemond lifts his head, you quickly turn back to the open book in front of you.

For the last three months, you have spent an unbearable amount of time with him. He’s recently fixated on the history and technique of dragon riding, and you’ve been helping him with his research. And for the last ten years, you have spent an unbearable amount of time gazing at him from a distance, waiting for him to really notice you.

While you relish the time you spend together in private, you tire of it. The truth is that you’re itching to make a show of your friendship. Publicly. Unfortunately, you doubt Aemond will be so understanding. You’ve spent many late nights together in the library or the study. You’ve even fallen asleep more than once in his private chambers, though not wrapped in his warm arms as you might wish. Especially recently, you’ve begun to waste the nights away talking, commiserating, and comforting one another.

But in the light of the day, under the watchful eye of society, everything is so different. Though you wait for his call during the day, it never seems to come. At times you wonder if Aemond is keeping away from you on purpose. When you cannot avoid one another, he pays you no mind as if you were a simple servant and nothing more. You’ve grown closer over the past months, but he still holds back. He is a man with many secrets, and you don’t appreciate being one of them.

As he groans and stretches, you exert every morsel of self-control to avoid glancing at him, even though you know that the muscles in his neck are likely pulled taut.

“What happened?” he mutters, his voice low and rasped.

“You fell asleep,” you reply as you pretend to be immersed in your book.

“For how long?”

“No idea. I was busy and enjoying the rare silence.”

A lie. You know it’s been at least a couple of hours. The truth is that you couldn’t have woken him up, even if you wanted to. Seeing him rest… You’ve never gotten the chance to before; you’ve always fallen asleep first. But he looked so content, peaceful, young. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, and you couldn’t be the one to destroy it.

“Surely the silence pales in comparison to the charming sound of my voice, does it not?” he says.

You can’t resist the temptation to lift your eyes, and you’re glad you do. You catch him just as the corners of his mouth curve upward into his signature smirk. Even in the dim light of the library, you admire the way his cheeks wrinkle when he smiles.

“Perhaps the way it sounds in your head. To the rest of us out here, it’s rather nasally, actually.”

You offer a grin of your own. He chuckles, leaning back in his seat. He drapes an arm lazily across the the chair. His silver hair is ever so slightly mussed from his nap. As you try not to imagine what it would feel like to run your fingers through it, the light catches on something at his throat. Your eyes flick down to the dragon-shaped hooks on his leather tunic.

“Ah, I found something for you,” you say, searching around the desk. You slide a dusty, red book toward him. “It’s a record documenting the pedigree of several Old Valyrian dragons. I checked and, unfortunately, Vhagar is not among them. The book is old, outdated. Still, I thought you might find it interesting.”

He hums in approval, running his long fingers over the spine of the book. You drag your eyes away from him, busying yourself by trying to find where you’d left off reading.

“I’d like you to meet Vhagar," he says.

Your head snaps back up, your eyes widening.

“What?”

“I want you to meet my dragon.” His unwavering stare tells you that he’s absolutely serious. “You’ve never seen a dragon before, have you? In the flesh, I mean.”

“Well…yes, I suppose I have seen them at a distance but not up close.”

“Good,” he responds, that horribly charming smirk returning. “Then it’ll be educational for you.”

“No, I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse more convincing than ‘I don’t want to.’

“Why? Are you afraid, pet?”

All of the excuses you’ve whipped up in your mind suddenly evaporate. That stupid word that always makes your knees weak. Apparently, you’ve made it obvious that he can have anything he wants when he calls you by that one sweet name.

“Is it not reasonable to be weary of an ancient beast?" you counter. “Dragons are fickle creatures, no matter how much training they’ve had. And that’s not to mention the sheer size alone of Vhagar. I can hardly even imagine.”

“So you do fear her then. Or is it that you do not trust me to protect you should something go awry.”

His eyebrows furrow and head tilts inquisitively. You sigh and shake your head.

“I do trust you, Aemond. It’s just…as I said, dragons are fickle, unpredictable, wild.”

“I can assure you that I have full control over Vhagar.” He pushes the chair behind him and stands before stepping closer. His hand moves to the table, and he leans over your shoulder. His silver hair drops over his frame, nearly brushing against the bare skin of your forearm. In a low, deep voice he says, “I bonded with her, claimed her, rode her with no training. The largest dragon in the known world obeys me and me only.”

Your cheeks heat as his breath ghosts over your neck. His words drip with honey, and you imagine what it would be like to hear those words said of you.

You heave a deep breath and toss him a warning glare before putting a strip of parchment in the book and snapping it closed. You sneak a glance at the clock in the corner of the room and gasp when you realize the time of night. Before you can protest any more, Aemond holds out his hand, his open palm beckoning you forward.

“Come.”

Evidently his persuasion doesn’t just work on Vhagar because at the single command, you too obey him.

He pulls you into one of the Red Keep’s secret passages, tugging you along through an unfamiliar maze of shadowed halls and steps. You follow blindly, realizing just how much you’ve allowed yourself to trust him. And wondering if it’s a good idea. What feels like an eternity later, you step outside into the chilled night air. A quick glance around allowed you to guess at where you are, and you’re proved correct as you eye the massive stone structure before you. The Dragonpit.

You’ve never been inside. You’ve never needed to until now. And you’re in absolute awe of the entire place, craning your neck to take in as much as you can. Once inside the main hall, Aemond gestures for you to wait as he retreats into the shadows.

You aren’t quite sure what to expect. You envision dragons as harsh, violent beings, but Aemond talks about them as though they’re household pets. Trying to imagine Vhagar like a common dog is impossible. Though you’re doing your best to focus on the beautiful craftsmanship of the building, you keep noticing alarming features like ash-stained walls, talon marks slashed through stone, crumbling marble columns.

“Ready?”

Aemond’s voice startles you to a jump. Your head whips to the side to find that he’s snuck up behind you and is standing less than a foot away. He smirks again as you nervously chuckle and nod. When he angles his gaze toward one of the archways, you follow it.

“Māzigon, Vhagar,” Aemond says firmly. He’d used one of the few High Valyrian words you know the meaning of. [come]

You gulp as the lumbering giant moves into the firelight, her massive wings swaying from side to side with each step. Although there is plenty to take in, your eyes immediately latch onto the giant rows of sharp teeth. Vhagar snarls as she prowls forward. An acrid, foul smelling burst of hot air surrounds you - her breath. As the dragon stalks toward you, you can feel your body instinctively shrinking back. You inch closer and closer to Aemond. The beast comes to a pause before you, its nostrils flared.

“Y/N,” Aemond announces, lifting his chin proudly. “May I present the largest dragon in the world. My dragon.”

“She’s…lovely,” you quickly respond. You really hate the way Vhagar’s orange eyes are trained unwaveringly on you.

“Would you like to touch her?”

There he goes again, talking as if he had just presented you with a standard house cat, no larger than a small child. You glance over at Aemond, tilting your head.

“D-do they like to be pet? I hadn’t really thought of them that way.”

“Like it, not so much. But she’ll tolerate it,” he leans closer, offering a sinister crooked smile, “if I command her to.”

A tingle ricochets down your spine. You’re sure he’s just poking fun and, after all, he's talking about Vhagar. But you cannot deny that you, again, pretend you’re the one he’s playing with. You shake yourself out of your head and shrug.

“Alright then. How do you suggest I do this?”

“Lift your hand, flat palm, facing her. I’ll have her come to you. Oh, and try not to move, pet.”

You nod and take a deep breath before extending your arm as far as it will go and positioning your hand as instructed. Aemond steps forward in front of you, waving Vhagar forward.

“Māzigon, Vhagar,” Aemond repeats.

With a huff of hot air and a low growl, Vhagar begins to walk forward. It takes most of your willpower not to shy away. Aemond turns, standing to the side of you and Vhagar as the dragon inches closer and closer to your outstretched arm. She pauses just a few inches from your fingers. You freeze, unsure how to proceed. After a few moments of awkward silence, Aemond speaks.

“You can touch her now,” he teases. “She won’t come closer, you’ll have to meet her halfway.”

“I…right,” you mutter but remain still.

Aemond chuckles, circling around to stand behind you. Once again, he leans closer to you, his voice sounding sweet in your ear as he says, “I told you before, there’s no need to fear her. I have complete control. She won’t harm you.”

You know he’s probably right, but you still can’t bring yourself to move a muscle. You will every fiber of your being to obey you, to reach forward and touch the thing in front of you. But you can’t. More silent moments pass.

Suddenly, you feel the warmth of Aemond’s broad hand as it flattens on the small of your back. You arch your spine in response, startled yet electrified by his gentle touch. His other hand moves to wrap around your forearm, and his body molds around the outside of yours. With careful movements, he pushes your arm forward. Vhagar jerks, tossing her head with a growl. Aemond stops abruptly.

“Manda, Vhagar,” he says quietly. “Manda.” [gentle]

Vhagar huffs but lowers her head just enough for Aemond to guide your stretched palm onto her forehead. You release a breath, smiling despite yourself.

The feeling of her scales is strange - not how you expected. She is smooth and hot, like the ceramic surface of a warm teacup. You giggle, feeling almost giddy at the fact that you’re petting a real dragon as if it were a pup. You marvel at her, running your fingers over her broad head.

“She’s very important to you, isn’t she?” you ask, the thought escaping your lips before you really have the chance to stop it.

A few moments of silence pass before he replies, “Yes. She was…”

His voice fades but you nudge him with your shoulder.

“She was what?”

He heaves a sigh.

“A way to prove myself. To show everyone that I'm not to be passed over simply because I am the second son.”

You nod, your fingers still trailing over Vhagar’s scales.

“While I cannot understand the feeling, I can imagine how difficult it must be,” you reply. “Particularly when your older brother is someone like Aegon, who avoids his responsibilities like a sickness. When you are the one training, studying. It cannot be easy. But she is a very fine dragon, indeed. One you’ve earned. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me. For sharing her with me.”

You’re still so fascinated by the texture of her scales and blurred by the sound of your nervous heart pounding in your ears that it takes you a moment to realize Aemond’s palm sliding up your arm to cover your own hand. Your smile fades.

He’s never touched you before. Not like this - not so…intentionally, sweetly. You turn your head back to glance up at him and are surprised to find him staring down at you. His parted lips and furrowed eyebrows make your knees feel weak. His hand slips onto your wrist, pulling your touch away from Vhagar. He guides you to face him and wraps his free hand around your other wrist. You don’t resist as your gaze drops down to his lips and then returns to his eyes.

“Qrīdrughagon.” [leave, away]

He doesn’t even bother to look at Vhagar as he speaks the command. With his hands secured firmly around your wrists, he gazes down at you. His thumb brushes along your skin, almost in time with your rapid heartbeat. You dare to look into his stormy eye once again, doing your best to seem enticing but not desperate. Though, by the gods do you feel it.

“I knew you would understand, pet. You’ve always seemed to understand me. No one else ever tries like you.”

He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles across your cheekbone. Your eyes close in contentment at the sensation of his touch on your skin. When his finger hooks under your chin, you raise your face willingly. Aemond guides you toward him, your noses touching. Your hand slides onto his chest, a fist curling around the leather fabric of his tunic. His breath is hot and fast on your mouth. You release an involuntary gasp.

And then his lips crash onto you, slipping in between yours. When your mouths separate, he wastes no time coming back to you. He angles his head to reach you better as his grip slips from your face to curve around your waist. His other hand, still encircling your wrist, pulls your hand toward his chest and holds it tightly against his heart. His lips move expertly on yours. He pushes against you, and you meet his energy to deepen the kiss. You can feel his grasp tightening, his fingers clutching the material of the fabric on your back. The pressure sends your back into an arch and presses your chest flush against his. He begins to drag his fistfull of your clothes upward. You separate, breathless. But your fingers grip at his tunic, refusing to let him move any further away. He chuckles breathily and moves to attach his lips to yours again. A loud snort from Vhagar startles you, and you jerk back from one another.

“Oh…” you muse and chuckle quietly.

“I should take her back,” he says, breathlessly.

You smooth your hair as Aemond glares at Vhagar. He releases you but not before lifting your hand, curled tightly around his, to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to your fingers. He steps away to take care of his dragon. With his back to you, he glances over his shoulder. His chest still rises and falls heavily as his eyes flick up and down your frame, the ghost of a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“Troublesome girls, the both of you,” he says teasingly.

When you return to your private chamber the next morning after breakfast, you find a small, stuffed dragon with greenish-blue bronze scales and a handwritten note, which reads:

𝒯𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓏𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑒𝓉. 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒. 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

— 𝒜.

tags: wanna be tagged?

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fic #quill and quiver

229 notes · View notes