exuber

[exuber]

Burnt Cake & Melted Ice Cream

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Category: friends to lovers, and they were roommates!

Summary: Gaz returns home from deployment earlier than expected.

Warnings: fluff, kissing, best friends to lovers, reader can’t bake, reader is a bit of a chaotic mess, that’s it I think

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: How am I supposed to pay attention to anything this man is saying when he’s got those big beautiful brown eyes? They’re distracting! Dedicated to @sofasoap who I asked ages ago for advice on this and then never actually got it finished <3

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The cake was burning.

You were blissfully unaware.

Blissful may have been an exaggeration. Unaware was not. In fact, you were entirely too busy cleaning up your living room for the arrival of your best friend and roommate whose plane was scheduled to land in two hours time. You were trying not to panic as you were nowhere near ready to welcome him home and certainly not prepared to leave to go and pick him up from the airport within the next hour. You hadn't even showered yet!

It was a regular thought in your brain about how it was possible for you to make your home such a mess when Gaz was away. It's not like he was regularly doing the housekeeping. But maybe his absence meant that there was no one to keep you in check.

So this happened every time he was on his way home. You'd sweat as you desperately tried to scrub away any evidence of your sinful sloth state while he was away. And hate yourself for leaving it to the last minute as always.

You were knocked out of your hypnotic cleaning state by someone at your front door. Not knocking. Just making a vague scratching sound against the wood. Your first instinct was to attack. In self defence of course. So you grabbed the item closest to you - a bottle of furniture polish.

With the metal tube gripped tightly in two hands, you made your way towards the door where it now sounded like someone was attempting to pick the lock. You desperately tried to remember the moves Gaz had taught you to ward off stranger danger. None of it was coming back to you.

So with the furniture polish held high above your head, and a scream ready to leave your lungs, you waited for the intruder.

You were pleasantly surprised when a familiar face emerged from behind the door and sent you the smile that made the edges of his brown eyes crinkle.

“Hey- what are you doing?” Gaz’s face dropped as he took in your attack stance, gaze flicking over the bottle in your hands back towards your open mouth.

Your hands fell back to your sides, your heart rate decreasing rapidly in relief. “I thought somebody was breaking in!”

“With a key?” He held up the little metal object for you to see.

You sniffed and folded your arms across your chest. “Picking the lock.”

“Ah, right.” He nodded in understanding.

You suddenly realised that he shouldn’t be standing in front of you in your home at that time. "What are you doing here? Your flight isn't supposed to land for another two hours! I'm supposed to be picking you up at the airport!"

Your best friend shrugged. "Yeah, I lied."

You frowned. "Why?"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"But I wanted to surprise you! I baked a cake!”

He unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. “Why did you bake a cake?”

“Welcome home present or something, I don’t know.” You sighed and looked at him properly for the first time, suddenly thankful he was home and healthy. "I missed you."

Gaz visibly relaxed. "I missed you too."

As the two of you embraced with a warm hug, you remembered what state you were in.

You pushed away from him and looked down at yourself. "Shit, I haven't even gotten dressed yet."

He reached out and playfully tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I like you in your pyjamas."

"Not exactly the prettiest sight to come home to though, is it?" You scoffed and slapped his hand away.

He closed the door behind him and kicked his bags to the side. "Do you think I care? I'm just happy to see your face again."

"You've got that photo of me." You countered, starting to walk back to the kitchen.

He followed. "Nothing beats the real thing."

"Well, I can agree with that." You said with a mock arrogant sniff.

With a laugh, Gaz thought about something. "You been wearing that t-shirt I gave you?"

"Yeah.” You glanced away bashfully. “Stole another one from your wardrobe too."

"Why?"

"First one stopped smelling like you." You confessed, stopping in your tracks when the distinct smell of burning hit your nose. You ran towards the oven, switching it off and wrenching the door open. Smoke spilled out in a black cloud. "It's all gone to shit."

Gaz looked over your shoulder. "It's okay. I wasn't very hungry anyway."

You knew he was lying. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiled softly at you. "Ice cream?"

You nodded, appreciating how he was sparing your feelings. "Ice cream."

Ice cream was always the solution for the two of you. Bad day at work? Ice cream. Terrible first date? Ice cream. Feeling down? Ice cream. It always worked.

As you pulled the piece of charcoal that was supposed to be a cake out from the oven, Gaz seemed to hesitate at the sight of the ice cream.

“Uhhh…”

You groaned. “What? Don’t tell me we’re out.”

“No, not out.” He paused.

“What then?”

He looked at you with apology in his eyes. "I think our freezer's broken."

“It’s what?!” You gasped, running to his side only to find out that he was correct. Everything in there was very defrosted. Including the completely thawed ice cream which had leaked from its tub into a large melted puddle. “Aw, shit.”

“It’s okay.”

You could’ve cried. “No, it’s not. I just wanted it to be all nice for you when you got home this time and look! I fucked it all up.”

“Broken appliances aren’t your fault.” He swung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close next to him, burying his nose in the top of your head. Physical affection wasn't uncommon between the two of you. It was, in fact, the back-up plan for when ice cream was out of the picture. “Besides, coming home to you is enough.”

“Shut up, Garrick.” You mumbled but didn’t push him away, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his torso to hug him closer to you.

“Let’s just sit down, order some food and watch a movie, yeah?”

“Alright.” You sighed, letting him drag you back to the living room when the two of you collapsed into the pile of cushions and blankets that you had failed to tidy up before his early arrival.

“Did a bomb go off in here or something?” Gaz looked around the room and took in the disarray.

“Was cleaning.” You grumbled into his shoulder. “Wanted it to be nice.”

“Mhm, you said.” He paused. “Do you always do this before I come home?”

“Yes.” You sat up to look at him again. “You deserve it.”

The two of you held eye contact for a few seconds, probably too long to be called platonic but you pushed the thought away. Until Gaz spoke.

"I thought about you a lot while I was away."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the possible connotations behind that broad statement. "I'm flattered. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to remember your best friend back home. Really appreciate it."

He shook his head. "No, I mean- I mean I thought about you all the time. All the time."

That caught you off guard.

"Really?" You squeaked.

Gaz chuckled. "Yeah."

"Why?" You knew why.

He uttered your name softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Why did it suddenly feel wrong to touch you? “I think you know why.”

“Say it.”

He didn’t want to be too forthcoming with it. So he settled on something he hoped to be more gentle and subtle. “The thing we’ve always avoided talking about. Even when people imply it.”

“Kyle…” You rarely used his first name. Nobody did. It was reserved for particular moments. You decided this was one of them.

He took it the wrong way. “No, I get it. You don’t feel- that’s okay. I’m sorry for-“

“No, that’s now what I-“ You cut yourself off with a frustrated huff. "I just don't want this to be some fleeting thought you had whilst getting shot at because I'm the closest person in your life."

His eyebrows shot up. "It's not."

“No?”

“No, I promise.”

You watched him for a moment, the sincerity that was pouring off of him. Maybe he was being serious, maybe he truly meant it. You figured there was only one way to test it.

“Kiss me.”

He looked shocked. "Kiss you?"

"Yes, kiss me."

"You want me to kiss you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, Kyle. I want you to kiss me."

He sat up straighter, fixing his posture. "Okay, I'm gonna kiss you."

"You better." You laughed.

"Alright, I'm about to kiss you."

"Just shut up and kiss me, Garrick."

And he did. With one hand on the side of your face, the other on one of your thighs and yours tangling in the front of his shirt. The two of you kissed for the first time. It was long overdue, the both of you knew it as soon as your lips touched. It was sweet, and tender, and almost a little desperate, and it felt right.

The two of you pulled back for air with a slightly shy giggle.

"Please tell me that worked for you. Because it really worked for me." He mumbled, swiping his thumb across your cheek.

“Oh, it really did.” You replied, leaning back in to kiss him again which he was only too happy to reciprocate.

The burnt cake, the melted ice cream, the untidy room, and any previous doubts went forgotten for the rest of the night.

A/N: it’s a crime how long it’s taken me to write for Gaz :(

#call of duty #gaz x reader #fluff #aww this was so sweet #q

[exuber]

adrian chase being super whiny and talkative when you can’t get a word in with how good he feels please help me (he whimpers, can confirm first hand)

oh MY GOD yeahhhhh YEAH!!!! saw this ask and immediately went feral, please send me more nasty adrian thoughts i love to see it. Hope you all enjoy this lil piece of filth <3

insult to injury

adrian chase x reader, vigilante x reader warnings: smut, dubcon elements, swearing, dirty talk, unprotected sex. Obviously the content is 18+, Minors DNI. as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo

It was supposed to be a one time thing, you had sworn not to get involved with people in your line of work. Made sense, since a lot of those people were either assholes or criminals anyways.

And yeah, maybe Adrian was both. But none of them were as pretty though, nor had such incredibly persuasive puppy dog eyes.

He only needed to breathe into your mouth a desperate and high pitched "Oh god, can we fuck?" after making out for only a few minutes outside a dingy bar for you to be disarmed immediately.

"Yeah? please? Fuck, I'll let you do anything you want-" He asked, filling up the space you could have used to answer him with his inpatient words and then his needy tongue slipping past your mouth.

You could have tried to answer him properly, but all you could do was nod and hum in agreement, growing desperate yourself with the way he was already rutting against your leg like a dog in heat.

It's not like you stood a chance, really.

Now the air in his shitty car suffocates you, its humid and hot and you really should have thought about cracking a window open before hoping on him in such a hurry to unzip his pants.

Your mind is fuzzy due to the lack of air, but the filthy and obscene noises Adrian makes are only adding insult to injury.

He's not only loud when he fucks, he's whiny.

A particularly deep thrust inside you makes him cry a pathetic and tortured “o-ohh fuuuuuuck” that stretches for long enough that his breath leaves a heated and moist print on the side of your neck. 

Your eyes roll back and your hand pulls at his hair to try and get his attention."Adrian, s-slow down-"

Its been a few times yet its embarrassing how much his noises still affect you, and how much effort it takes to not come in the first few minutes of him being inside you.

"But i thought you liked it like this." He says with a petulant look, his voice tight with the effort to say it. "Fuck, I know you do. I can feel it, its spilling onto my pants. Hhhnnng-" He whimpers around his words, and then his head falls back on the seat to let out a strained and broken moan that surprisingly turns into a laugh when your body reacts to it. "See?Just like that!"

He's right, you do like it.

But you cant speak, you cant even look at him directly knowing how fucked out he probably looks with hair sticking to his forehead and veins popping from his neck.

You dont know how to tell him that everything about this, that everything about him overwhelms your senses so much its almost scary.

That he's so - "Good. Adrian, you're so-" You try and say, but its barely a squeak of a sound.

"Shit thats fucking hot!" He interrupts, not giving you a chance to finish your own sentence. "You sound so hot! I'm for s-sure gonna be thinking about this next time Im tugging one out."

The image alone of him doing exactlythat makes you let out a frustrated moan that he instantly reciprocates with a seemingly bashful chuckle. You dont believe it for a second though.

Because of course he has to continue, he has to tell you all the details you aren't asking for.

"I used to jack off right here after our meetings in HQ so i could have your voice fresh in my head, but this is so so much better than spilling into my hand. Oh fuck its so much better-" He babbles, like its an easy task. Like he's not struggling to keep up his pace with how much oxygen it takes to not be quiet.

And you just gape at him, your peak catching up with you so fast that its hard to absorb all the implications of what he is saying or how your body is going limp from use.

Theres only the glassy look in his eyes and the sweet and filthy noises he makes in response to every stuttered movement you make against him.

You realize now that you can act all frowned upon or roll your eyes at him in disdain as many times as you like in front of Peacemaker, Harcourt, Economos or Leota, but in private...

Adrians making you seize up inside, as much as you try to block out his voice and pathetic noises they alone will soon cause you to tighten around him in a vice grip.

That he will inevitably spill inside you with a loud, whiny and lewd rendition of your name. Just how he likes it.

So much for keeping things professional in the work place huh?

#peacemaker #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #filth (smut tag) #GODDDDDDDD this is EXACTLYYYY how i like adrian lmao glad we're all on the same page

[exuber]

Grab the Bull by the Horns (Konig x F!Reader)

CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Minotaur!Konig, breeding kink, monster fucking, predator/prey dynamic, dub-con, size difference, porn with a lot of plot.

Summary: You were selected as the bride of the Ox King, hopefully you would be the one that lasts.

Word Count: 2.3k

A long time ago in a place now unknown there was a King and Queen, who were arrogant and uncaring in their rule. The King was a haughty man with an apathy towards the struggles of his people, while his Queen was a gluttonous and materialistic woman. While their kingdom withered around them, they locked themselves in their lush and rich home, a private garden to hide away from the agony of the land they ruled.  

When famine racked the country the fanciful foods they were accustomed to stopped arriving to the castle, as the people prioritised what little they had for themselves. This caused the royal couple to burst into a vengeful fit, and they ordered the guards to go out and seize any food that the peasantry is hiding – whether that be scraps, plants, or livestock, all of it was to be brought to the palace for their own selfish uses.

Sitting in the banquet hall, the two dined through eight courses whilst their people starved. As they cut into the finely cooked steak that fell apart on the fork a loud crack of thunder sparked through the room. The God of Sovereignty had seen their wicked ways and placed a curse on their meal that evening, that as the Queen’s pregnant belly was filled with steak, that her child may be born a monstrous illustration of her own gluttony and selfishness.

Konig was a large baby, 5kg, with a hefty layer of fat. But not only that, he had been burn with fur and hooves on his lower body, and a calf tail that flicked lazily. His temples split with nubs of keratin that were threatening to grow into huge bull horns.

It was decided then that a large labyrinth be constructed under the castle where the boy could be locked away from people, out of sight and out of mind. This worked for some time until the boy grew into a beast of a man. Then he would rampage and devour any one who came to check on him, consistently breaking out and demanding someone quell the ache in his stomach.

That’s how this all began.

A tradition 40 years old.

You were lined up in the courtyard with hundreds of other girls, all of you dressed in impeccable white silk dresses with veils. Your hands are bound with a ribbon with a cowbell dangling. The attendants pull a calf on a rope around, allow it to sniff at each girl, let it lead to some degree.

Big brown eyes gaze at you, an ivory white calf approaching you with a bleat. You try to shoo it away, try to glare at the creature, tell it to leave you alone, to not cement your fate. Its nose bumps against the bell and you feel your heart falter and the breath escape your lungs. Then it bumps against the bell with a soft ‘moo’, its long tongue poking out to lick the brass. It’s you, you’re the bride of the Ox King.

The guards are grabbing you as you kick and scream, “No! No! This is a mistake! Unhand me! Please! Mercy!” but it’s all hanging in the air and blown away by the gentle breeze as unsympathetic gazes watch you be carried to the ornate doors installed into the courtyard ground. It takes four men to open the doors with a thunderous noise, revealing a weathered staircase that leads into dark, fathomless depths below. The lair of the beast.

You descend the stairs into the elaborate labyrinthian cave system. Every small step echoes like you’re a galloping horse, it’s dark, cold, and wet, and sometimes you think there’s a rat or insect scurrying around too close to your feet. Your hand stays planted onto the rough stone walls to identify twists and turns and keep you walking. Your breath is the only warmth you find as your dress begins to cling to your cold skin with the humidity.

Every tunnel you trudge your feet along feels like it lasts for an hour. Sometimes spider webs tangle around your ankles or a drop of water squeezes its way through the cavern roof and lands on your head, causing goosebumps to raise across your skin and the hair on the back of your neck to stand to static.

You hear it. Something hard and heavy dragging against the stone floor. A hoof. One that didn’t even bother lifting itself up, instead it taunts you, lets you know it’s coming. Drags each agonising step out, allows you to hear it growing louder, the beast growing closer.

The sounds of huffing, animalistic breaths expended from the nostrils. A bull.

It’s down the hallway behind you, eyes baring into your soul through the darkness, and you do not dare look back. Your feet fly into a frantic sprint as you let out a shriek, your arms extended in front of you to catch you from flying into the walls. He’s charging after you, long and even strides that barely warrant being a run, navigating these halls like he carved them out himself.

Light! There’s a light! Flickering, weak, but golden and full of hope, it looks like the sun trying to crack through the stonework! You push yourself towards it like a flower desperate for love. The air begins to raise a few degrees as you draw closer and then just as you’re closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh air, to bask in the sun, to have outrun the beast and been the only bride to survive … you don’t.

A large central chamber with no other exit than to turn back. A torchlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling with a messily made bed sprawling across the majority of the room – this thing, this man must be massive. You see tears of old white fabric from years before, a history of brides with no survivors.

You take a step back and bump into something warm and firm, your hand touches coarse hair. You look over your shoulder and then have to crane your neck to look up at the creature, expecting to be met with the hideous combination of a man-cow. Instead, a well-defined, weathered face with grey eyes - sunken and tired - studying you. His nose is aquiline with a silver septum piercing, his thin lips drawn into a snarl. Long, mottled auburn hair wisping down his neck and large bull horns protruding from his temples. His chest is rising and falling dramatically with every snuff and huff, his defined muscles tensing as his eyes scan over your body.

“Name.” His voice is soft but demanding, and you find yourself telling him your name, and he hums in thought.

“Pretty. I think I shall call you Königin.” He decides for you with no room for argument, his large hands settling over your hips, engulfing them and using them as handles to steer your body as he pushes you back into his nest of blankets and pillows.

He has the skirt of your wedding dress bunched up at your hips, your underwear long torn from your body as his large tongue licks your twitching slit. He’s so much larger in every way, his hands on your thighs almost swallowing the soft flesh whole, his tongue lapping at your desperate cunt is so large he barely need to move it to cover every inch of pleasure he can rip from you. His broad shoulders have your legs spread so wide that your hips ache and threaten to pop.

Moaning against your swollen pussy he pushes his face in to inhale your musky scent of desire, making your hips raise up to meet his mouth. He laps at your entrance, tongue sneaking in teasingly before swiping up to swirl around the clit and give it a kiss.

His large hand climbs from its place on your hip to find the neckline of your dress and tear it in one firm tug, exposing your breasts to the cool air for only a second before his hands swallow them in their grip, massaging and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your attentive nipples as his tongue continues to bring you closer to orgasm.

“No- No!” You whimper out as you try to squirm away as you feel your orgasm burning in the bottom of your loins, about to erupt all over his face.

Growling, he grips your hips and pulls you back onto his face firmly as his tongue dives into your entrance, stretching the hole open while his nose grinds against your clit, his moaning sending vibrations of ecstasy through your swollen folds.

You orgasm with your vision turning white as this creature laps up every drop of your release he can, helping you to ride through the violent bliss before pulling away, his nose down covered in creamy slick that he drew out of you.

“Taste so good, Königin… much sweeter than any bride before.” His hands travel back down to your hips and grabs them with authority, “Means you’re made for me. Welcoming my cock, make an heir for my kingdom.” He smiles sweetly.

His cock is as monstrous as his form, an easy ten inches in length with the girth of his wrist, as he rubs it between your oversensitive folds you whimper, the tip leaking pearls of precum over your stomach.

“That won’t fit!” You whimper out and attempt to close your legs in defence but he uses his own thighs to keep them spread wide and have you pliant to his every touch.

“It will have to, Königin, if you are to bear my children you will have to take my cock and consummate this marriage.” He tuts as he lifts you to flip you onto your hands and knees, shoving your face down into the plush, soft pillows, “Do not look, mein Liebchen, just allow me to take care of you, perform my husbandly duty.”

The tip of his hard cock prods against your twitching entrance and you already fell your stomach drop in fear. The tip alone pushes in and causes an aching stretch to your wanting cunt.

“Deep breaths, dear.” He coos as his hand smacks your ass, leaving a blushing handprint on your jiggling asscheek. He pushes in deeper, ignoring your whimpers and begging to stop because he’s going to break you, that it’s too big, that it won’t fit – but he knows you can take it. Because you’re the only bride who didn’t run, the only who didn’t fight back.

It feels like he’s splitting you in half, his hard cock burning your midsection as he spears you on it with a guttural moan. It drags across your pink, aching walls and runs over every delicious spot of pleasure, making you cry out in pleasure as he fills you. He doesn’t stop until his pelvis is tight against your soft ass, his cock buried balls deep in you, your stomach visibly swollen from the huge length inside rearranging your guts.

“See?” He chuckles, his hand coming to the swell on your tummy, rubbing his cock through the soft skin, drawing a moan from you both, “This will be the first day for the rest of your life that this stomach is swollen.” He husks into your ear.

He rolls his hips without pulling out, his length rocking you over in pleasure and causing you to cry out in overwhelming pleasure as your cunt clenches around his length, an orgasm ripping through you like lightning as a foamy ring of pleasure rings around the base of his cock and leaks down his huge ballsack.

Then he begins a relentless pace, dragging his cock back out for what felt like forever and then slamming it back in and sending jolts of pure delirium through your body. He folds his huge form over you and cages you in, pinning you down like a helpless animal as he fucks into your pliant and vulnerable body like its nothing more than a hole for him to breed. Your hands reach back and catch onto the hard bone of his horns and scratch them for some anchor on reality. It arches your back in such a delicious way that he groans and lowers his head more to allow yourself to do it.

“That’s it, Königin.” He grunts into your ear as he bites on your earlobe, “Submit yourself. Allow yourself to bear my children. Look so pretty so full and swollen-“ he mumbles obscenities into your ear as his cock is building to build another tower of pleasure through you.

His hips slam so hard into you it begins to bruise your soft ass, tears run down your cheeks as you scream out your pleasure, drool escaping from the corner of your lips as you begin to get caught up in the dizzying pleasure this beast is putting you through.

“I’m going to fill you up, engel.” He grunts, a whine pulling from his chest as he comes closer to release, “Going to breed you like the good cow you are. Watch you become heavy with my-“ he shivers and sends agonising thrusts through your guts, “-fucking seed.”

You cry out desperately as you feel the pleasure washing over you again, your orgasm cresting like a tidal wave as he pounds into you at a bruising pace. Your aching, swollen pussy clenches around him desperately as you sob, squirting all over his cock and coating his fur-clad thighs with your pleasure.

That’s all it takes for you to feel burning white cum pumping into your stomach as he holds you firmly to his pelvis. Your stomach swells with the sheer amount he’s pouring into you and he squeezes your round stomach, making some of it leak out over his cock.

“Take a breath, Liebchen. I won’t stop until my wife is with child.”

#call of duty #konig x reader #filth (smut tag) #monsterfucking! #q

[exuber]

Dare

Rated: T+

Pairing: gn!Reader/Adrian Chase

Summary: Inspired by [this post ​]: “What would you do if your fave was dared to kiss the prettiest person in the room and without missing a beat they came to you?” 

Warnings: Some smooching. 

Word Count: 2553

A/N: Big shout out and thanks to @pretendfan​ for helping bounce ideas around and for encouraging me after I got critically hit with impostor syndrome while writing this. ❤

[Masterlist]

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#peacemaker #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #ooohfhhf to be kissed like this by adrian chase. am drying rn

[exuber]

Into Your Arms

Summary: Your life is disrupted after a chance meeting with the 11th street kids, and despite your better sense you find yourself drawn to the chaos.

Pairing: Vigilante (Adrian Chase) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes, canon-typical violence, gore descriptions, blood mentions, TW some PTSD related stuff

Word Count: 2.3k

Request: can I please request an Adrian Chase x fem!vet!reader...

a/n: I have the flu! Hope this makes sense 🙈 eep! edited to add the entire tag list

Master List | Tag List Form | Adrian Chase Master List

With tears in your eyes, you stared down the barrel of a gun at the motley group in front of you. They were talking, their voices filling the small space, but you couldn’t make out their words over the roaring in your ears, over the man who was holding that gun and had said without an ounce of remorse that he was planning to kill you.

You’d been intubating an English bulldog when he came in with a busted up eagle–of all things. Your breath stuttered as he raised his voice, the force of it causing him to move the gun. It was funny. You were about to die and all you could think about was that dog in the back. 

Dr. Hurwitz had managed to keep the eagle alive, but it hadn’t been enough for the man in front. He’d kill you all because you’d seen his face. With blurry vision you looked away from the barrel of the gun and at the man himself. He was dorky–in that boy next door way. In a different life, you’d consider him handsome. He reminded you of the goofy labradors you saw each day at the clinic, with his big eyes and soft hair.

Fear gripped your chest, forcing your breath out in small, panicked puffs. You were only dimly aware of Greg, one of the other nurses, whispering at you to “get it the fuck together.” 

“Hey. What the fuck are you saying back there?” The man with the gun asked, looking between you and Greg. 

“Just trying to calm her down; she’s hysterical.” Greg told him, and as if you’d rehearsed it, another sob wracked through you. 

“Oh, god. Are you okay?” One of the women asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Of course not, she thinks she’s about to die.” The other man answered, the one who had come in the beginning with the eagle.

You felt worse than you had before, but now your brain was soaking up the visual information you’d missed. Despite his gun still trained on you, your eyes were drawn to Vigilante–that’s what they had called him. 

“What other choice do we have besides killing this veterinarian, this nurse, this nurse, and this male nurse?”

“You can just say two nurses, man.”

“If I just say “nurse,” I think people will imagine it as a woman.”

“He’s standing right there! We don’t have to imagine anything. 

“It must be weird, waking up every day and being a male nurse.”

“You’re a fucking busboy!” 

“Oh great! Now we definitely have to kill them, because you’re giving stuff away about my secret identity!”

“Do we really have to kill these people?”

The pause of silence was too much for you, the shared uncertain looks between the group. A small whimper left your lips, and you cursed the sound. 

You had higher hopes for yourself than this. You never imagined you’d be in this scenario, of course, but when it came down to it, you’d thought you would be able to handle yourself. Instead, you’d turned into a sobbing fool at the first sign of danger. You weren’t even begging. You just stood there, metaphorically pissing yourself and waiting to die.

You willed yourself to stand straighter, but kept your arms up in the air. You’d die with a bit of dignity, even if you’d had to summon every ounce of courage and self to do so. 

“No,” The blonde began and that was all you needed to deflate completely. The false bravado simply slipped from you as fast as you’d mustered it. The fleeting confidence roared in your ears, drowning the rest of the conversation. You let yourself be jostled around, ziptied, and left in the waiting room of the vet office.

Your life gets simpler after that. You keep working at Dr. Hurwitz’s office; thanks to a considerable bump in pay, for not leaving (re: suing), you were finally able to drive a few hours to the coast for a little relaxation. You heal. The journey is as odd as the day that precipitated it. You settle back into your routine and can watch your regular procedurals–and don’t bat an eye at the guns, violence, and death. But a man talking too loudly at you in the office, his tone mean and cutting, and you’d crumple to tears in the staff room pawing at your phone for the speed dial number of your therapist. 

But it’s good, your life is good because it’s the one you didn’t expect to have. You take nothing for granted, and you spare yourself no criticisms. You learn to love yourself, and the inspiration of finally liking who you are seeps into every facet of your life. You take up photography as a new hobby, and you start going to the gym. It’s there you find a class in self-defense, and though you aren’t kidding yourself about your skill level against some supe, you figure you owe it to yourself to at least learn how to throw a punch.

You’re leaving class one night, taking a gulping sip from your water bottle, admiring the new ache you’d gotten from your sparring partner, when the street goes sideways. You hit your elbow hard, and barely register the clatter of your bottle and bag hitting the street. By the time you catch your breath, the attacker has made himself known. 

For a brief, blinding moment, you don’t move. Your chest is seized, your blood sluggish in your veins. You want to scream, run, fight, but you can’t move your stupid, useless body. A flash of blue, a great clap, and a spray of red followed by the kind of primal scream only the dying can make–and then you were being lifted up. 

Your elbow was a throbbing scream as your feet hit the pavement, right side up.

“You okay?” A man asked, though muffled from beneath a blue and black facial mask, you’d know that timbre and cadence of that voice anywhere. You want to scream, kick, spit–something to show this asshole that you aren’t the same scared girl anymore. But he’s lifted your arm to inspect the damage, and he’s taken his glove off. His touch is so gentle, the softest caress, that you actually answer his insane question.

“Yes.” Your voice is a hushed whisper, though not a scared, timid thing. 

“That was a sucker punch, by the way. You totally coulda kicked his ass.” You hissed as he pressed a particularly tender spot, and though he hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to you, his head snapped up. “That hurt? Oof, yeah. That’s a bitch. Let me take you to the hospital. We’ll take the Vigimobile.” He rambled off, nearly sing-song, and began to tug your other arm behind him. “I’m Vigilante, the car is mine, obviously. D’uh.” He paused only when I pulled back from him.

“What’s up?” He asked, looking around, like there might be a second thug.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You told him, exasperated. 

“Why not?” His head cocked to the side, and you have to literally shake the image from your head as you remember thinking of him as a labrador.

“Why not?” You echo, your voice nearing hysterical.

“Your elbow is dislocated, at least. Worst case, fractured. I’m the only one here. Your phone is smashed, and you don’t have car keys in your bag.” He lists off items by raising a finger with each point. 

“You tried to kill me four months ago!” You scream at him, throwing your hands up to accentuate your point, remembering the pain in your elbow too late. The sharp pain that slices through your body leaves a fuzzy ring around your vision, and you see Vigilante take a step towards you as the world tilts sideways for the second time of the night. 

You groan as you pull yourself from that inky abyss, and smack your lips against the paper dry feeling of your tongue. 

“Where the hell am I?” You manage to croak out, and the shuffle of feet is the only indication you get that other people are around.

“Hospital.” A man’s voice tells you, and you have the funniest feeling you know the voice. The gentle comfort of that wraps around your delirious mind and pulls you back down.

The next time you awake it’s because of the sun. The windows were left open, meaning that the bright rays of the morning hit you full force. You blink harshly against the intrusive light, and remember being attacked. Fearful of the state of your body, you gingerly begin testing your toes and slowly you work your way up your body. You’re twitching your fingers when a knock at the door startles you. 

You don’t know the person standing in the frame, but you wish you did. He’s holding a balloon, flowers, and a stuffed dog. Confusion paints your face, and he waves sheepishly.

“Hi, you up?” He asks, shuffling closer hesitantly.

“Just barely.” You murmur back, shifting in the bed.

“They gave you a lot of pain medicine last night.” The man tells you. You wish you knew more about this whole bizarre situation. You couldn’t remember anything over the pounding in your head.

“That’s right, because I…” 

“Your elbow. It was dislocated, which is better than a fracture. But you did tear a tendon, which means you’ll be in a sling for a few weeks.” He explains, fidgeting with the stuffed dog.

“Did I have surgery?” You push, figuring he’ll at least answer some questions.

“No, no. I asked them to monitor you overnight.” 

“Why?”

“You…you might not remember me, but we’ve met before. I’m Adrian, and I threatened to kill you once.” You blink at his deadpan, waiting for the punchline. But you know he isn’t joking, somehow. You know him. He’s the one from the vet clinic, the one who saved you from the guy last night.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, wondering partially if he’s here to finish the job. He laughs, too loudly.

“A little bit. I feel horrible about it.”

“The stalking?”

“No. When I tried to kill you. It was a precaution. But I’ve changed my mind about that. About a lot of things, actually. Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry for all of that, and I hope you feel better soon. I brought you some stuff.” He explains before dumping the stuffed dog in your lap and putting the other stuff on the nightstand. You try not to gape at him.

“Okay, I’m going to head out.”

“You just got here.” You say, surprising both of you. 

“You want me to stay?”

“For some reason, yeah. Would you?” With his eyes wide, he nods and takes the chair beside your bed. 

“How’s the eagle?” You ask, voice soft and unsure. Adrian picks up the conversation easily though and is soon animatedly telling you all about the bird's latest antics. 

You’re not sure how Adrian became such a regular part of your day, but you find yourself waiting for his visit all the same. He doesn’t have a pet, but he comes by the vet clinic and asks for your advice on all his potential pets everyday. He also tells you about his day, his night, and anything else he can think of. When he isn’t talking to you in person, he’s blowing your shit up with memes and weird emojis. 

The idea of seeing him every single day would have made you want to call your therapist before, but after he saved you, his choices began to make sense. Maybe you were making excuses, but he had become such a stable part of your life that you began to love his daily visits. When he missed one, which happened from time to time, you were miserable. He always made up for it, though.

“I’ve got a cinnamon chai for the apple of my eye!” His voice rang out, drawing you from your small cubicle to the front. Your smile grew when you took him in, and his own was full on beaming.

“Adrian, you didn’t have to get me a drink.” You scolded, secretly pleased as you sipped from the steaming cup. 

“Course I did, I wanna do that stuff for you.” He told you bashfully. You wanted those things too, even if it felt insane to consider.

“Actually, I had something I wanted to ask you.” He began, and you watched as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Would you wan…I mean, I would like to, if you want to, uhm. Dinner?”

“Sure, Adrian, I’d love to.”

“Sick. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay, seven, it is.” You agree, taking another sip of your drink, and watch as he leaves. He must think you’ve looked away because he fist pumps into the air. You stifle your laugh and go back to work, thinking very hard about what you were going to wear.

@michi-reads @strawberriesandknives @uncle-eggy @fictionlandslanddreams @uwiuwi @lostinwinderland314 @kidd3ath @maplefire18 @zekegorilla @hypnoash @greenxtea0 @myguiltypleasures21 @Goblynnrockz @racetrackheart @ticharluv @likeficsinthewnd

#peacemaker #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #q #MEET CUTE you wanted me dead but now u just want me <3

[exuber]

in plain sight, chapter i

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader | Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re back home in Austin for the summer and you start dating Tommy Miller, a boy you know from high school, a boy you had a crush on when you were a teenager. All you’re looking for is an uncomplicated summer fling, just some fun, until you have to go back to college in the fall. What you didn’t know is that Tommy has an older brother. And that older brother can’t keep his eyes off you right from the start …

Warnings: mentions of food and alcohol | smoking | reader has hair that can be grabbed | car sex | semi-public sex | a little bit of dirty talk | reader is a tiny bit bratty (in a blink and you’ll miss it kind of way) | two (2) pussy slaps | a tiny, tiny bit of degradation | oral (m and f receiving) | p in v sex | voyeurism | exhibitionism

Notes: The story of how I came up with the idea for this fic is actually very silly, so I'll spare you the details, but I will say it had something to do with a certain movie from 1978. Anyway, I'm so so excited to finally be able to share the first chapter of this!! I can't remember the last time I was this excited about a story, so that's a good sign I'll manage some semi-regular updates. I want to thank Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for answering some of my questions about Austin, and, of course, Dani @alexturner who said it'll be good for me to write a story like that 🤭

***

“Back for the summer, eh?” was the first thing Tommy said to you after the both of you hadn’t spoken in seven years.

You were standing in line at the ice cream truck, holding your niece’s hand who was jumping up and down, giddy with excitement. Tommy was driving past in his red pick-up truck, a car you’d seen around the neighborhood, unaware it was his. Hell, there wasn’t a lot of awareness where it came to Tommy Miller in the first place. You almost didn’t recognize him that early June day leaning out of the window of his truck, elbow propped up against the door, a bright smile on his face. The boy you remembered from high school, the boy you had a crush on all those years ago, looked so different. Scrawny, lanky, greasy hair, a face full of spots. Sometimes you scrolled through old photos, laughed at yourself because you had lain awake for nights, imagining how he would confess his love for you, ask you to run away with him. The man in the truck that sunny afternoon was just that … a man. His tight, stained shirt was clinging to his arms and chest, grown big with muscles over the years. His hair that used to fall into his eyes, obscuring half his face, had been cut short. His tight curls were hidden underneath a baseball cap that had the logo of a local brewery on it. His face was tan, a dark golden color; it made you do a double take, made your palm grow sweaty against your niece’s hand, embarrassed by his attention. Because surely, he had mistaken you for someone.

“Tommy?” you asked, stumbling forward a few steps when your niece yanked on your arm. “Tommy Miller?”

He laughed so hard his chest heaved. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Then he ran a hand across his sweaty brow, his dirty cheeks. “Don’t tell me I’ve aged that badly.”

Of course he asked you for your number that afternoon, and of course you gave it to him while your niece was busy with her ice cream. You scribbled it onto the palm of his hand, thinking it was a quirky, romantic gesture. It had nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to touch him. The heat of a Texan June afternoon smudged the pen so badly before he got home that evening he couldn’t decipher your number. Luckily, he knew where you lived and came by the next day with a bouquet of flowers to ask you out on a date – officially.

That date went well – more than well. He took you to the movies, to a steakhouse, to a new bar in town. He was so different from the boys you met at college; he had been to war, he had his own company that he was running with his brother, he wanted to know about you and didn’t use your time together to talk about himself and his grand plans for his professional future. You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time, hadn’t enjoyed a guy’s company that much in … well, if you were honest with yourself, you couldn’t remember ever having had that much fun with anyone. You didn’t want the night to end, and when Tommy dropped you off back home afterwards, he kissed you in his truck, then said, “Tomorrow’s my day off. Let me take you somewhere.”

You had skipped up the stairs to your parents’ porch while his truck had idled at the side of the road until you were safely inside.

What followed the next day left you hungry for more. Tommy took you hiking, then he took you to a small ranch outside Austin because you had mentioned you’d never been on a horse before, but would like to try. You stayed there until the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and a bonfire was blazing next to the barn. You drank beers and watched the stars come out. Then someone pulled out a guitar and Tommy asked you to dance. That night, you got home well past midnight, feeling like you’d been somewhere very far away.

You didn’t see Tommy for a week after that. He was busy at work. You were busy telling your friends from college about him. “Just a bit of fun for the summer,” you said. They either cheered you on, asking for the saucy details, or reacted with, “That’s so typical. Anywhere you go, men fall for you.” You didn’t let that bother you because it wasn’t true. Besides, if anyone was turning heads it was Tommy.

The next Friday, he picked you up later than usual and a broad grin spread across your face when you saw him. He had decided to grow a mustache after you’d admitted to him that you used to have a crush on this handsome teacher in college who happened to have a mustache. Tommy handled your laughter well, said, “Get in the truck, college girl,” and sped off toward an unknown destination. You felt excitement wash over you whenever you glanced over at him. Because you hadn’t been idle that week either. You were wearing a matching set of underwear, a deep red color, delicate, hiding only what was necessary. Because Tommy had admitted to you that he had a thing for women wearing nothing but high heels and lingerie. You hoped just one of those would do the trick too.

That night he took you to a small concert, just a guy with his guitar and a cream-colored cowboy hat up on a brightly lit stage. He sang about the open plains, proposing to his wife, about how women don’t want a man in a suit, they all want a cowboy. And he had a point, you thought, after Tommy dragged you off into a dark corner during a brief break and kissed you until you could hardly breathe. None of the boys at college had ever kissed you like that. For the rest of the night, Tommy was hovering by your side, finding excuses to touch you. And when the concert was over, he led you back to his truck, opened the door for you and said, “Listen, my brother is out of town this weekend. Would you like to come back to my place?”

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You made it to the couch in the living room where you sat pretending to be interested in polite conversation while your heart hammered against your ribcage and Tommy kept shifting, trying to hide a growing bulge in his pants. Your friends had warned you, “Don’t sleep with him before the 4th of July. The summer is still so long and he’ll lose interest.” Yeah, there was no way you’d be waiting for almost another month for this.

Tommy made the first move but only because you waited for him to make it. His hand was high up on your thigh when he leaned over you to kiss your neck, and you quickly pushed him back against the couch, straddling him, taking off your shirt. His appreciative gaze told you you had gotten it right. That he later took your panties off with his teeth was just the cherry on top.

He made you come four times that night, twice on the couch (first with his tongue, then with his cock buried deep inside of you), one time in his bed (you rode him until he pushed you off and took you from behind), and one time very softly (with his finger, just before you fell asleep). It was obvious the next morning – he wouldn’t lose interest in you and you would have the best summer of your life.

*******

A week later, you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear the doorbell ring. This is only your third weekend going out with Tommy, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t recognized the sound of his pick-up pulling up in front of your house. The memories from last weekend are still fresh on your mind and it makes you giddy with excitement to wonder about what he might have planned for tonight.

When you come downstairs, Tommy is sitting on the living room floor, cross-legged, while your niece is introducing him to all her toy horses. Your sister is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, shooting you a knowing look. You ignore her. Because no matter how much fun you’re having, you’re lightyears away from thinking about Tommy as anything more than a summer fling.

“Ready?” you ask, and when he looks up at you there’s that hunger in his gaze. Self-consciously, you tug at the hem of your very short dress.

“You’re really going out in that?” your sister asks you, and you can hear the thinly veiled jealousy in her voice.

Tommy gets up, slings his arm around your waist, and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “I know I’m supposed to call you beautiful,” he mumbles into your hair, “but you look so fuckin’ hot, darlin’.”

Your face heats up at hearing that pet name. To hide how flustered you are, you tousle your niece’s hair and say, “Don’t wait up for me,” to your sister without looking at her.

The smell of Tommy’s truck engulfs you when you climb inside, and you relax against the seat. It’s funny, really, how a scent you were unfamiliar with just two weeks ago can make you feel so much at ease now. In the driver’s seat, Tommy rolls down the window and lights a cigarette before he looks back toward your house.

“Your sister, is she divorced?” he asks, fidgeting with the lighter.

“Why? You interested?” you tease.

He pulls a face. “She needs to loosen up. Maybe a good fuck would help with that.”

You playfully slap his arm. “You’re impossible,” you laugh. “My brother-in-law takes good care of her.”

He shoots you a doubtful glance, then starts the truck.

The suburbs of Austin are quiet this evening. People are staying inside to escape the lingering heat of the day or they are already in town. You hardly see anyone, hardly pass any other cars as Tommy drives slowly, an old country song playing on the radio.

“You were on my mind all week,” he finally admits, pretending to keep his eyes on the road, but you notice how he glances at you.

You touch your neck, surprised by how hot your skin feels. “Nothing bad I hope.”

He chuckles. “Depends on your definition of bad.”

You briefly close your eyes and let your memory take you back to last Friday, to the image of him kneeling before you while he spread you open on the couch, tongue buried deep inside of you.

“Well.” You clear your throat. “I’m not usually like …” You trail off, suddenly worried you gave him the wrong impression, your head buzzing with your friends’ advice on how to keep him interested in you.

“You don’t usually sleep with a guy after the third date?” Tommy inquires.

“I don’t usually come more than twice in one night.” You whisper the offensive word.

“That’s hardly your fault,” Tommy replies with a shrug. “Those college boys are dull.”

“Who says I’m sleeping with college boys?” you ask.

He glances at you, the words, “oh come on,” written all over his face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who would go after their dads.”

That comment sparks something in you. “Who says I’m not going after their moms?”

He laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now that’s a sight I’d love to see.”

“Do you think those college boys taught me all those things we did last week?”

Tommy clears his throat. “I think there’s a couple of things I’d like to teach you. Just as long as you promise not to use them on any college boys.”

A brief silence settles over you. Then, “Who taught you how to do all that, by the way?” you ask.

“All what?” Tommy teases.

“You know …” You shrug, but shift excitedly when he puts his warm hand on your naked thigh. His fingers are rough from his daily work, but his touch his so gentle that something melts inside of you.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

You sigh and glance up at the roof of the cabin. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re … what we did last week was the best sex of my life.”

Tommy squeezes your thigh. “There’s a wrong way to take this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head is what I’m saying.”

“It’s too late for that.” He pulls a grimace, brings the car to a stop in front of a red light. “Tell me more.”

“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me where you learned all that.”

“What? Eating pussy?”

“Oh my God.” Your face heats up because of him for the second time that evening. “Yes, that, but also … I’ve never been with a man who was so concerned about my … my pleasure.”

“I was in the Army,” Tommy answers.

“And they teach you that there?” You can’t quite tell if he’s being serious.

“If you’re on leave in some Godforsaken place, and there’s fifty other strappin’ young men you’ll learn fast enough how to please women. Or you’ll spend every night alone.”

You nod slowly. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no, missy, you’re not changing the subject.” Tommy’s hand climbs higher on your thigh; he’s almost touching the hem of your dress now.

You shrug. “You’re right; those college boys are boring. You’re … you know what you’re doing.”

“You’re just sayin’ that because you have no one to compare me to.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “No, I’m saying that because it’s the truth.”

Tommy glances at you again. “I don’t like that laughter.”

“Jealous?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits.

“Don’t be,” you tell him, your voice suddenly soft. “There’s no reason to.”

Tommy pulls off the main road then and onto a dark parking lot. You’re about to make a teasing remark when he turns the car and suddenly the glistening Austin skyline is sitting right there in front of you, like a mirage in the desert.

“Wow,” you breathe and sit up straight.

“Did I promise too much?” Tommy wants to know.

“You didn’t promise me anything,” you remind him.

Your gaze wanders to take in everything, the dark trees shielding you from the road, the city that sits right there as if it wants to tempt you to reach out and touch it, the nearby bridge where a car passes in your direction.

“Wait a minute,” you say slowly. “I know exactly where we are.”

“And where’s that?” Tommy asks, a barely concealed smile on his face.

“I’ve heard stories about you and this place.”

“What kind of stories?” Tommy grabs a can of beer from a cooler on the backseat and opens it with a sharp hiss. “Only good ones, I should hope.” He hands you the can and you take it, but pull a grimace at him at the same time.

“What?” he asks.

“You used to take girls here when we were in high school,” you answer after taking a sip from the beer. “Lots of girls.”

“A handful, at most,” Tommy corrects you.

“More like a handful at the same time,” you mumble.

Now it is Tommy’s turn to ask, “Jealous?”

You take another sip before you answer. “I was back then. I had the biggest crush on you.”

“I’m flattered.” It sounds as if he’s mocking you but the flush on his cheeks tells a different tale.

“You never noticed me, of course,” you go on.

“You were a bit young,” Tommy points out.

“And now I’m not?”

“Now you’re a well-traveled woman who’s back in her little town for summer.” You open your mouth but he goes on. “Now you can tell when a man is takin’ you for a ride and when he’s serious about you. Do you still have a crush on me then?”

You shrug. “A different kind, maybe. I definitely don’t fantasize about you confessing your love for me anymore. Or about us running away together.”

“Why not?” Tommy takes a big swig from the can. “I think you should start doin’ that again.”

“Or I could fantasize about other things, less innocent things.”

Tommy shifts and clears his throat. You can’t help but smile at how little it takes to shift the mood.

“Like what?” he asks, and the beer can cracks in his grip.

“Like how you held me down last week,” you answer, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Or how softly you touched me afterwards.”

“You don’t have to fantasize about those things. Give me somethin’ new.” The slightly commanding edge to his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well … when we were in high school, I used to wonder what it would be like to be taken here by you. What did you do with the girls you drove out here?”

In the distance, you can hear the sound of another car gliding across the bridge.

“Can’t you guess?”

“I was very innocent back then,” you remind him. “My thoughts never went past a small kiss on the lips.”

Tommy licks his. “Yeah, but now? What would you like me to do with a woman I take here?”

The tension has become unbearable and you giggle, searching to relieve it. It doesn’t work. Tommy’s hungry gaze wanders down to where your dress has ridden up your thighs and you inhale sharply.

“I still think a kiss would be nice,” you answer finally, your voice no longer steady at all. “But it doesn’t have to be all that innocent.”

Tommy puts one of his warm hands on your naked thigh, then leans in closer until he can hear your breath hitch. “Where would you like that kiss, darlin’?”

“How about you figure that out for yourself?” you tease him.

His lips are firm against yours, the pressure insistent until you open up for him. He tastes like the beer he just downed, the cigarette he just smoked. He also tastes like Tommy, and you relish how familiar you are with it after just two weeks. You sigh into the kiss, feeling all the tension leave your body. His teasing remarks and slight bravado are backed up by his skills, and you shudder remembering what else he can do with that tongue. You bite his lip to draw it out of him, but he only huffs and pulls back.

“Careful, darlin’,” he warns, his voice deeper now.

“What? Too wild for you?” you ask with a small laugh.

“Don’t get into somethin’ you can’t handle.” The tips of his fingers are under the hem of your dress now and you squirm, but he digs his nails into the soft skin. “See? I haven’t even touched you yet and it’s already too much for you.”

You raise your chin. “It’s not.”

“Have you ever fucked someone in a car?” Tommy asks, his hungry gaze fixed onto your face.

“No,” you reply slowly.

It’s not as if you didn’t know this was where the evening was going. It’s not as if you didn’t want it to go there. But now you’re here, you’re very aware of how exposed you are, even inside Tommy’s truck, and how many laws you would be breaking if you took this any further.

“Relax,” Tommy chuckles. His dark eyes are glistening in the lights of Austin. “You said it yourself: This isn’t my first time doin’ this. I’ve never been caught.”

“Oh, so I’m just another one of your conquests.”

“You can be anythin’ you want to be.” With that, he pushes his hand between your legs and places the tips of two of his fingers straight against your clit.

It’s as if your legs follow their own will when they spread open to give Tommy more room. He doesn’t need it, moving his fingers in a small circle, not breaking eye contact once. When he increases the pressure, one of your hands flies up to grab his shoulder, the other finds purchase against your seat.

“You like that, huh?” Tommy teases.

You nod, pushing your hips forward into his touch.

“Is it worth the risk?” His touch is lighter again, his fingers move slower.

Now it’s your turn to warn him with a, “Careful, Tommy.”

“Why?” His touch is feather-light now.

You move your hand that’s on his shoulder up to his jaw, cupping it. “You don’t want to turn me into a bad girl, do you?” You feel silly when you say it out loud like this, but his eyes light up.

“As I said, you can be anythin’ you want.” The tremor in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“How about we start by turning me into someone who gets fucked in a car?”

Suddenly, he turns his head, biting into the heel of your palm, making you squeal. When your laughter dies down, you notice how his fingers are moving faster again, accompanied by a wet sound.

“God,” Tommy groans. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you.”

Something tells you that you should be embarrassed by how little it took for him to turn you on, but then he increases the pressure on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut with a moan.

“I can see you overthinkin’ this,” Tommy whispers, so close you can feel his warm breath on your neck and ear. “Don’t. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

“Tommy …,” you groan, and you don’t quite know why. Do you want him to go faster? Slower? Do you want him to make you come?”

He doesn’t allow you a single second to find answers to those questions. “I love it when you say my name like that.”

You roll your hips into his touch, and his other hand grabs your thigh with a firm grasp. “Don’t. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You open your eyes to find his gaze fixed on your face, eagerly licking his lips. In that moment, you don’t remember ever wanting anyone as much as you want him. Out of curiosity, you try to roll your hips again, and he lands a soft slap against your pussy in retribution, one that makes you groan with pleasure.

“Do that again,” you pant.

He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then does as you ask, a little harder this time. You fold, your upper body bending toward your knees, your head fuzzy with pleasure.

“I need you … inside of … of me, Tommy, please,” you stammer. You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. He only rolls your clit between his fingers, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Please, Tommy, please.”

“Shhh,” he makes, and kisses your temple. “Later, darlin’. I want to see you come in your panties first.”

You grab his shoulder, feeling yourself tumble toward the edge. His fingers are moving fast enough to drive you insane with pleasure but it’s not quite enough to get you there. And he must know that, judging by the smug look on his face.

“Please,” you whimper.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal.

You risk a glance down between his legs, the obvious bulge in his jeans making you clench again. Then you press your hand against his moving between your legs, just so the pressure becomes a bit more …

Tommy slaps your hand away. “Harder, Tommy,” he says in a voice mocking yours. “Come on, say it.”

“Harder, Tommy,” you moan immediately.

And you’re rewarded with an orgasm so intense you see stars dance in front of your eyes. Your moans make your ears ring, and when Tommy doesn’t stop, they turn into desperate whimpers. It’s only when you grab his wrist that he stops and you try to catch your breath with a shuddering sob.

“Fuck,” you groan and close your eyes.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “Can’t believe you really just came in your panties for me.”

You laugh, your voice breaking when you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful right after an orgasm, you know that?” Tommy goes on, and you want him to keep talking like that more than anything.

“Why?” you ask, then gasp, when he presses his fingers against your clit before removing his hand.

“You’re so perfect,” he answers without hesitation. “I guess I like seein’ you come undone.”

You straighten your dress and look at the glistening Austin skyline in front of you. “You bring out the worst in me, Tommy Miller.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s almost impossible to take the good out of the girl.”

You glance down at his bulge again, lick your lips at the thought that it’s just sitting there, waiting for you. “It’s much easier than you think,” you reply, then begin to unbuckle his belt.

His hips jerk in response. “Careful, darlin’.”

“What? Can’t handle it when the tables are turned?” you tease.

He shoots you a crooked smile. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I intend to.” You grip his hard cock and pull it out of his jeans, relishing how his hips jerk again. Your mouth waters when you run your thumb over the glistening tip and hear Tommy inhale sharply. Your short, tight dress makes it hard for you to climb up onto the seat while still preserving some of your dignity, but one glance at Tommy tells you he couldn’t care less. His pupils are dilated and his mouth hangs slightly open while his chest rises and falls rapidly. All that just because you’re holding his cock in your hand. You stroke across the tip again, then move your hand down toward the base and lock your lips to his, capturing a deep groan. Tommy’s eyes flutter shut and you lower your head, closing your lips around his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, one hand immediately tangling in your hair.

You shift, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it’s hard, even if the bench of the pick-up is bigger than most car seats you’re used to. Tommy doesn’t care. He pushes himself deeper into your mouth and you swallow around him, his sharp taste overwhelming. It’s hot in the truck, and you can smell his sweat, smell your own arousal on his hand resting on his thigh. You pull off him until only his tip is still between your lips, then move down again, while he pushes, almost impatiently. Your neck strains uncomfortably, but you want to make this work. For him.

“Stop,” he says after his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. “I want to be inside of you.”

You straighten your back and smile at him. Your lips feel swollen. “You are, Tommy.”

With his thumb, he swipes away saliva and pre-cum from your bottom lip. “Not like that.”

The way he looks at you, heated, yes, but also with an unguarded softness in his eyes, makes something flutter inside your chest. “What did you have in mind?” you ask.

He leans forward, his mouth so close to your ear his breath tickles your skin. The presumed forbiddenness of what he’s about to tell you makes you hold your breath. “I want you on top of me,” he whispers in your ear, voice low. “Use me however you want.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine and you nod, cheeks burning up. What have you done to deserve a man like him in your life?

You move to climb on top of him, but he stops you, his hand spread across your chest. “I think we’d be more comfortable on the backseat. Don’t you?”

You glance over the front seats at the dark space beyond and nod again. It’s also harder to spot you back there should someone decide to drive into the parking lot.

With practiced movements, Tommy tilts his seat, then climbs over it, briefly struggling with his loose jeans. You grin and follow him, body humming with pleasant anticipation. Tommy pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes and jeans, but when you start to take off your dress, he stops you.

“No. Just your panties.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

You can’t really tell in the dim light but he looks flushed when he searches his trouser pockets for a condom.

When you finally lower yourself onto him, you can feel his chest vibrate with a deep groan under your palms. He jerks and shifts trying to adjust himself, but you hold him down and roll your hips from side to side until he nods. For a while, you both just sit there and look at each other, his hands stroking your sides, your fingers playing with the coarse hairs on his chest. To you, this is the definition of paradise.

You roll your hips in small, slow circles at first, so imperceptible it takes him a while to notice. But when he does, he jerks his hips upwards, urging you to go faster, so you press your knees into his sides.

“No,” you tell him, and when he opens his mouth to protest, you put a raised finger against his lips. “Let me take care of you.” For a second, you think he’ll reject you; but then he nods. “Good,” you say, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip before pulling your hand back. His chest and neck are a deep red now.

It’s not like you’re planning on torturing him forever. You roll your hips a little faster, and with every deliciously lewd sound he makes for you, a little faster still. Soon, your resolve crumbles, and you allow him to stroke your naked thighs, to squeeze your clothed breasts, even to play with your clit. The humid air in the truck clings to your skin, and to Tommy’s, and you’re transfixed by a bead of sweat making its way down his cheek. You capture it with a kiss, then throw back your head with a moan when he rolls your clit under his thumb just so.

That’s when you notice it – the other truck parked next to yours. Was it already there when Tommy pulled into the parking lot? Did it pull up afterwards and you just didn’t notice because you were occupied with other things at the time? Whatever the answer might be, it’s not important right now, not when you notice the other truck isn’t empty.

A man is staring at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. He looks older than Tommy, but not by much, maybe a few years. His face is framed by dark hair and a dark beard, very prominent on his upper lip, less so on his cheeks and chin. His eyes are dark too, hidden in the shadows of the driver’s cabin, but you can feel them on you, watching every twitch of your hips with intent. And he definitely isn’t alone.

You can’t see the person he’s with; she’s kneeling in front of him, hands and knees on the backseat, and he’s holding down her head with his outstretched arm. All you can see is that she has dark auburn hair that the man uses to hold her in place. The back of your own scalp prickles at that sight and you wish someone would hold onto you like that.

You should stop and tell Tommy about the stranger in the car next to yours who is fucking a woman you can’t see while watching you fuck a man he can’t see. Or you should move to the other side of the car where he won’t be able to see you. The least you should do is look away. But you don’t do any of these things. Later, when you’re alone, you’ll ask yourself why, but there is no answer other than not wanting to break the connection you feel to that stranger at this very moment. You’ll think it a weak excuse then, but right here, in Tommy’s truck, it feels like the most sensual experience of your life. You’re both fucking other people and yet it feels like you’re fucking each other.

Beneath you, Tommy groans deeply, and he twitches inside of you. “Keep goin’, darlin’,” he mumbles.

You don’t know if Tommy is watching you or if his eyes are closed, you don’t know if his mouth hangs open, you couldn’t name the shade of red coating his neck. Instead, you watch as the stranger bites his lip, watch as his eyes flutter shut after a particularly deep thrust, watch how he presses the woman’s head down further. You can almost hear his pants and growls, and in turn your breath comes in short bursts. Why doesn’t he look away? And why don’t you?

His thrusts come faster now, and it’s not as if you’re consciously changing your pace too, but suddenly you catch yourself matching the roll of your hips to his. You groan when you see the smirk on his face, and your upper body falls forward, forcing you to brace yourself against Tommy’s chest. Why did that stranger’s smirk set the base of your spine on fire and why did your small moment of weakness make his face darken with resolve?

When you look up again, he has his eyes closed, so you close yours too, and for an instant, just one brief moment, you imagine it’s him thrusting up into you. That vision is so powerful you half expect it to be him below you when you open your eyes again, but it’s Tommy, and he’s watching you.

“Feel so good,” he mumbles. “So, so good.”

A twinge of guilt gets mixed in with that already explosive cocktail of feelings brewing inside of you, and you’re not sure what to do about it. Are you crossing a line with this? You don’t know; you’ve never heard about anyone in a situation like this. All you know is that when you lift your head, the stranger’s gaze hits you like a bolt of lightning. You feel it tingle in your fingers, up and down your legs, on the tip of your nose, and at the back of your neck. But most importantly, you feel it deep in your core that clenches with desperation. He lifts his chin and rolls his shoulders, pushing his chest forward, like he’s showing off to you, and you can’t help it – you dig your nails into Tommy’s skin and he groans with pleasure.

The air in the truck is so heavy it is becoming hard to breathe. You only realize that when you would need it most desperately. Over there, in the other car, the man’s hips suddenly still and you watch as he throws back his head, as a deep, dark flush climbs up his chest and neck. You can almost feel it, how he empties himself into that woman he’s fucking, how he empties himself into you. And before you can fully grasp what is happening, you’re clenching around Tommy hard and fast, making him snap his hips up into you.

“Fuck, fuck! Fuck!” he swears, holding you in place with two hot hands on your sides.

Your orgasm is still making your entire body shake, but it also feels like it doesn’t belong to you at all. You’re praying for the stranger to look at you again, one final time, but he has disappeared. All you can see is his back from time to time, and the woman’s knees that look like they’re trembling, as he goes down on her. You can’t help the jealousy that is clawing at the inside of your stomach.

Tommy pulls you down and gives you a searing kiss. “You’re fuckin’ amazin’, you know that?” You giggle and bury your face against his neck, trying to shake off that strange feeling of desire and yearning. “I’m very sorry I doubted you,” Tommy goes on. “No college boy could’ve taught you that.”

“That good, huh?” you ask, running your hand through his curls.

“Good’s an understatement,” he mumbles.

Carefully, he lifts you off him and takes off the condom. You’re on the other side of the truck now and can barely see the top of the other one. That loss is strangely irritating.

“Take off your dress,” Tommy orders.

You look at him, at his flushed cheeks, at the drunk desire in his gaze. “Ready for round two already?” you tease.

He shakes his head. “No, but I won’t make you wait for me.”

His mouth is hot against your sensitive clit, and you roll your hips up against his tongue eagerly. Above you, the roof of the truck is cast in shadows. You stare up at the boring gray, eyes wide open, because as soon as you close them, you see the stranger, as clear as if he was still right in front of you. And you refuse to give him that kind of power over you.

***

joel miller taglist: @almodovarispunk | @chippedowlmug | @daimyosprincess | @giggly-otter | @girlbossnancy | @hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsstuff | @jennaispunk | @lexloon | @mandalaur | @mandinlore | @n7cje | @sin-djarin | @swimmjacket

in plain sight taglist: @shellshocklove

permanent taglist: @alexturner | @amneris21 | @din-jarhead | @harriedandharassed | @martellthemandalor | nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now | @od-ends | @pedrorascal | @pedrostories | @radiowallet-writes | @xoxabs88xox

#the last of us #tommy miller x reader #filth (smut tag) #OOOOOOOO tasty i like this

[exuber]

A Bouquet (Adrian’s way, of course)

Summary: The one where he doesn’t have a green thumb, so he improvises. (An Adrian Chase x gn!Reader fic) 

Warnings: fluff, slight angst (Adrian overthinks and sometimes Chris can be a bad friend), gets a wee bit steamy toward the end (they kith and the action of going further is heavily implied), Adrian mentions his dick (kind of the norm for him tbh), some curses (as like, a basis of my writing unfortunately), also back on my bullshit with an excess of italicization, parentheses, and em dashes (no I will not apologize)

A/N: Okay, so… I have been on a year+ long hiatus because I was super burnt out. But, this guy—this guy—has reanimated my previously dead will to write. So… yeah. I have more WIPs it’s just a matter of keeping the writing momentum ig. And yeah—I hope you guys enjoy! 

Keep reading

#peacemaker #fluff #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #q #this was so freaking cute

[exuber]

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

#bg3 #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #oh fuck me i am going to pass away. this was so gd good #filth (smut tag)

[exuber]

a fine wee lass, a bonnie wee lass ch.1

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 2k

Warnings / Tags: Smut, infidelity, size difference, references to previous underage romance (when they were both teens).

Summary: You're the bridesmaid at your brother’s wedding and his best man, John MacTavish is back in town. You just hope he doesn't remember when you last saw him, when you tried with all your might to stop him from joining the army.

A/N: I've not played COD since like 2012 but I keep seeing clips of Soap on TikTok and my wee Scottish heart just fancies the pants off him. This is inspired by a Scottish folk song called 'Bonnie Wee Jeannie McCall'. The dialogue is written in Scots - I hope you can follow along.

ALSO I just found out about @glitterypirateduck’s challenge by a happy accident the day after I wrote this and this fits nicely into:

Prompt 28: They don't need to know

Masterlist (there’s no other COD stuff here sorry)

Chapter 1: The first night I met her she was awfy, awfy shy

You pull your shawl around you as you stand outside the old castle. Rain lashes down across the sprawling Falkirk countryside while revellers laugh from the wedding inside. The music hasn’t started yet - you think that you’re safe to have a breather before you need to go inside for the first dance. 

You stand as close to the wall as you can, taking cover from the rain. Your pink satin shoes are getting soaked. Not that it matters. The shoes your brother’s new wife chose for her bridesmaids are so ugly it’s unlikely you’d have worn them again anyway. But she’ll be fuming when she sees the state of them.

The door to the castle opens behind you and you move over, dodging a puddle to let the newcomer seek the shelter of the castle wall too.

“Awryt, darlin?” asks a voice and you look up from the puddle at your feet to see John MacTavish, your brother’s best man, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I didnae think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say, putting your vape to your lips and raising your eyebrows once.

He pulls a sour face. “Them? They’re fulla chemicals and like, mercury, and that.”

“Oh aye? What’s in these? Vitamins?” you ask, flicking the pack of cigarettes in his hand with a forefinger. “You didnae smoke afore joinin’ the army.”

“Aye, well, I was sixteen when you last saw me. And you were, whit, twelve?”

“Fifteen, John.”

There’s only a year between you and your big brother, Tam. But the way he and John treated you, you’d have thought there was a decade between you. Acting like you were an annoying wee tag-along. You just wanted to be included from time to time.

But that was ten years ago. Last time you saw John, he was just a boy, and you, just a lass. But now he’s older, with a scar on his chin that’s only highlighted by his coarse, dark stubble. The scar cuts across the hair there like white lightning. He’s taller, and broader than when you last saw him and his hair is shaved much shorter and neater than the teenage John you remember.

“Aw, aye. I mind now. You and your pals had wangled your way intae the sixth-year leavers’ gaff. As usual.”

“Did I? Any excuse for a drink back then, I s’pose.”

“Aye, but I remember ‘cause I wis leavin’ in a few days for the army. And you were -” He cuts himself off suddenly.

“I was whit?” a smile cracks across your face, waiting to hear his description of how you looked that night. Beautiful? Stunning? Mesmerising? You see yourself as you had been - your hair perfectly straightened, your Oh Polly bandage dress hugging your form in all the right places. In your memory, you were the embodiment of a siren. You had dolled up that night to impress the older boys. Or, if you were honest, one particular older boy.

“Well, I mean,” he says putting a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminates his face, casting shadows that seem to momentarily harden his features, making you remember he’s no longer a boy of sixteen but a man of twenty-six. “You were absolutely gantin’ for it.”

Your mouth falls open and you hit his arm. 

Mortifying. 

“Whit? Fae you? Aye, right !” you say, sarcastically but your face flushes bright red, immediately giving you away. You might have been drunk but John MacTavish rejecting your drunken advances as a teenager was probably the defining moment of your formative years. 

As your words, brushing off his teasing, hang in the air, the jolt of embarrassment reminds you of a different party.

On that fateful night, ten years ago, the music was much louder. The floor was littered with empty cans and bottles and you’d ‘accidentally on purpose’ bumped into John in the hallway before pulling him into someone’s parents’ bedroom. You’d recklessly thrown your arms around him.

“Woah, woah, woah. What you daen?” he’d whispered in a panic.

“Please, Johnny,” you’d slurred drunkenly. “I dunno when I’ll see you again. Somethin’ tae remember me by.”

You had leaned in to kiss him but he turned his head. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You sucked on his neck, feeling that dark stubble under your sloppy tongue as your hand found his cock in his jeans.

But he’d stopped you in your tracks. Pinned your arms to the side. He was stronger than you, even as a teenager.

“Naw, look, I cannae,” he had said. And even though your eyes could barely focus on his, you could tell he was annoyed at you. But you didn’t care. You just wanted him so badly. 

“Aw, come on, John. Please? I’ll show you my tits,” you had said. “I’ll - I’ll go the full way. I’ll do anythin’. Just - just don’t leave, awryt?”

The sound of cheers from the reception hall cuts through your memory and snaps you back to your current, rainy surroundings.

“Aye, well, I was probably just dreamin’,” says present-day John. “It probably never happened.” 

It’s considerate of him, to pretend that it never happened.

But no matter how hard you try to pretend, there’s no denying that you made a fool of yourself, plain and simple. 

Sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, the memory makes you cringe as you replay that embarrassing moment. You try and cut yourself some slack, remind yourself that you were just a desperate, heartbroken teenager who’d drunk half a bottle of vodka working up the courage to make the move she’d always thought about. Begging John not to join the army. Begging John to fuck her. 

He had declined both requests.

But that doesn’t matter because you’re a fully grown woman now. One that hasn’t spent more than a second thinking about John MacTavish coming home for her brother’s wedding. No, sir. Not one second. Definitely not.

You exhale a laugh like it’s a funny memory. “Maybe it did happen. I cannae really remember, I must have been steamin’ drunk,” you say. But you know what happened. He knows what happened. And he knows you know. 

John's response comes with a delay, his chuckle soft and tinged with a hint of meaningful self-deprecation, to try and frame some of the embarrassment back onto himself. “You must’ve been steamin' to have tried it on wae the likes of me. You were always far too good for me,” he laughs, but this time his smile doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes. 

There’s a long silence as you say nothing. With a deliberate motion, you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the action grounding you back to the here and now as the artificial kiwi-passionfruit-guava fills your lungs with something that you know must be bad for them. As you exhale, your gaze drifts down to your soaked shoes, the pink satin darkened by the rain. They’ve changed beyond recognition.

“Woah,” he coughs his own puff of smoke. “Now just whit is that ?” asks John, his eyes clocking your left hand.

You tilt your hand subtly, letting the diamond catch the cloudy daylight. “Did Tam no mention it?” The words linger between you, almost casual. “I’m engaged, John.”

For a moment, John just stares at your hand, his face unreadable. Then, a low whistle escapes him, a mix of surprise and something unspoken. He glances up at you, his eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that he doesn’t voice. “Engaged, eh? Tam never said a word.” His gaze shifts away, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s the lucky man the night?”

“He’s offshore the now - he works on the rigs.”

“Christ, I’ll say,” says John, taking your hand and examining your ring. “He’d need tae be workin’ in oil for a big rock like this wan.”

Your hand feels small in his. His thick brows soften from a frown when he pulls his gaze up from your engagement ring to meet your eyes. His eyes are blue and full of a warmth that you wouldn’t expect from someone who, from Tam’s account, is a hardened soldier. 

Your heart thuds in your chest when you realise that he’s been holding your hand for too long. But you don’t retract it.

“Aww the best tae the happy couple, then,” he says softly. “I suppose Tam never telt me ‘cause he had a lot to be dealing wae his own wedding and that.” John lets go of your hand. “Dae you no miss your fella, wae him being offshore?”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off. I see him plenty… More than your missus sees you, I expect. How often d’you come home? Once or twice a year?”

“I’ve no got a missus so I don’t need tae worry about that.”

The raucous laughter from inside the wedding venue dies down suddenly. And you hear the master of ceremonies announcing the entrance of the bride and groom.

“Gads,” says John, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette. 

“If we miss the first dance, we’re fucked,” you say. “I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

You try to carefully step over the puddle - John takes your arm and holds on to you so you don’t fall. He opens the oak door for you but as you’re about to pass, he grips you tighter, stopping your movement. 

“Listen, darlin’, there are some things that are just off-limits,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in your ear as he leans close. He smells like cigarettes - normally that smell would turn your stomach but there’s something sweet in his aftershave, like vanilla, that makes the tobacco smell musky and warm. 

“Meanin’?” You look up at him, confused.

“The last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “You were mad wae it. I couldnae, in good conscience, take you up on that offer when you were that drunk. And you’re my best pal’s wee sister tae boot. I couldnae dae that tae Tam.”

“John, that was - that was a long time ago. It was nothin’.”

“And now,” he continues. “Now you’re engaged. Which means you’re even more off-limits.”

Off-limits?  

He’s talking like you’re in that bedroom again, begging for his attention. Except you’re not. You’re not begging for John again. He’s just assuming that you’re about to.

That presumptuous bastard. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, John MacTavish. Who are you tae try and let me down gently? It’s been ten years and I’m no even slightly interested in you anymore.”

“Naw, I know,” he says, refusing to match your volume or tone of indignation. “I’m just tellin’ you out loud why I won’t be trying it on with the most beautiful lassie in the room. And why I said no back then, as well.”

“Haul! You two!” You and John spring apart to see your tiny, furious wee auntie storming down the hallway. “You’re missing your brother’s first dance with his new wife and you’re both supposed to be on the dancefloor.” 

“We - we are?” you stammer.

“Aye, did you no hear the emcee telling the wedding party to join the bride and groom? That means bridesmaids and groomsmen, ya pair of glaikit idiots. Your maw’s fuckin’ ragin’”

And with that, John lets the door behind you swing shut and you both leg it past your auntie to the reception room, with you leaving wet footprints in your wake as you go. The music from the room swells into clarity as you burst through the doors and skid inelegantly onto the dancefloor. 

Your brother and his wife are too absorbed in their own happiness to have noticed your late entry and you breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived. You immediately stiffen again when John takes your waist and you realise that he’s your dance partner.

As the two of you begin swaying to the music, your mind races. You’re no longer that sad, rejected teenager, yet here, in John's reassuring grasp, you feel the ghost of her stirring. His gaze is careful, and guarded, but there's still that question in his eyes that he’s forbidden to ask.

And behind your own eyes, you can’t help the stream of curses going off inside your head. 

You curse your nerves for being the reason you got so drunk at that party. 

You curse John for being Tam’s best man.

But most of all, you curse yourself as you watch your left hand rest on John’s shoulder as you dance, the giant diamond ring glittering like a heavy disco ball. 

#call of duty #soap x reader #q #oh hell yeah let's fuckin GO.

[exuber]

first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #fluff #this was so precious!!!!!

[exuber]

CADENCE: Part Two

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Audio Erotica Creator Reader

Summary: Matt encounters you in the wild when he needs some coffee.

Warnings: Inappropriate boners, male masturbation, Matt getting flustered. MATT IN GREY SWEATPANTS. This might be the most tame chapter, but it's still spicy.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Kind of a short filler installment, but it does move the story forward. Also, I just wanted to make Matt bust a nut in the middle of a coffee shop.

The next morning Matt awoke to the sound of his phone screaming “FOGGY FOGGY FOGGY” at him before his alarm went off. He threw the covers off his body, and groaned as he rolled over to answer his phone. 

“What’s up, Fog?” he asked with a yawn. 

“Just calling to check and see how you’re feeling. Also, just wanted to let you know you can have the day off today in case you are still feeling bad. Karen and I are going on a little field trip upstate to do some research for the Morrison case.” 

“Okay, sounds good, buddy. I’ll just do some work from home today.” 

“Let me know if you need anything. And try not to work too hard, Matty. You sound like shit.” 

“Thanks for that, Fog. I’ll see you and Karen later.” 

Matt hung up the phone and hoisted himself out of bed so he could trudge to his kitchen to get coffee. After rummaging around his cabinets, he realized that he ran out of coffee yesterday morning, and forgot to put in a grocery order so he could get more. Sighing in defeat, he went back to his bedroom to throw on a t-shirt, hoodie, and shoes so he could walk to his favorite coffee shop for his morning caffeine fix. He thought about calling Foggy back to ask him to bring him some coffee, but he didn’t want to interrupt his trip with Karen. The coffee shop would suffice, and maybe getting some fresh air would help him shake the cobwebs off. 

—---------------------------------------------

Your colleague that worked the register during the morning rush called in sick, so you were relegated to filling in for them. It wasn’t your favorite, because you really weren’t much of a people person, but it had to be done. Things finally started to slow down after the initial morning rush, so you were about to take your break, until you saw a rather handsome blind man make his way into the coffee shop. You had seen him here a few times before, but you never interacted with him because you were usually busy making drinks behind the bar. Even though you desperately needed a break, you were feeling generous, so you decided to take his order before going to break. Besides, you had a bit of a hunch that his order wasn’t going to be too complicated.

“Good morning! What can I get started for you?” 

Matt opened his mouth to give you his coffee order, but the words got stuck in his throat as you spoke. There was something familiar about the tone of your voice, but he couldn’t place it right away. He knew he had heard your voice somewhere, and it wasn’t his trips to your coffee shop. 

“You okay, sir?” you asked, cutting through his inner monologue. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry. Just need some caffeine,” Matt laughed. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that! What can I get started for you?” 

There was that tone in your voice again. He tilted his head to the side like a confused dog as he tried to place exactly where he knew your voice from.

“Uh, just a grande drip coffee, please.” 

“Sure thing! Can I get a name for that?” 

“Matt, my name is Matt.” 

“Okay, Matt,” you crooned as you wrote his name on a cup with a Sharpie. “One drip coffee coming right up. Would you like room for cream?” 

The room suddenly got smaller, and it hit him like a ton of bricks where he knew your voice from. It was your voice that he had been getting off to for the past few weeks, and you just happened to work at his favorite coffee shop in Hell’s Kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath as he grabbed onto the counter for leverage, desperately trying to keep his composure, but then you spoke again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Matt?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, but could you excuse me for just a moment? Also where’s your restroom?” he stammered out.

“Just behind you and to the right,” you answered.

“Thanks, uh, be right back.” 

You furrowed your brows together in confusion as you watched him tap his cane against the floor and make a beeline for the bathroom. You set his coffee cup to the side, and decided to wait for him to come out of the bathroom to pour his coffee so it wouldn’t be cold. 

Meanwhile, Matt slammed and locked the door behind him once he was in the bathroom. He leaned against the back of the door and started palming over the bulge in his sweatpants. This can not be happening, he thought to himself. There was no way he was getting an erection while wearing gray sweatpants in the middle of a coffee shop. He stepped to the sink and  turned on the cold water to splash his face, but it was to no avail. There was only one thing that was going to quell the dull ache between his legs. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid his boxers and sweatpants down just far enough for his cock to spring out, and he slowly started stroking it. He thought about your audio that he listened to last night, and that got him right where he needed to be. The more he thought about your honeyed voice, the faster he pumped his cock in his hand. He was now fully erect and bucking his hips into his hand, chasing the release he so desperately needed. If him fucking his pillow to your voice was depraved, him masturbating in the bathroom while you waited to pour him a cup of coffee was downright perverted. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out as he smacked his free hand on the wall for leverage. He kept thinking about your voice as he got closer.

“You’re such a dirty boy, Matt. The people out there might be able to hear you, better keep quiet so they don’t know you’re in here fucking your own hand.” 

“I know baby, I’m so bad. Just…..need to c-come and I’ll be fine.” 

“Will you be fine? Or should I show you what else I can do with my mouth, hmmm?” 

“Oh, oh, fuckfuckfuckFUCK!”

Imagining what your mouth would feel like on his cock, he came in his hand with gritted teeth. He was breathless and still holding onto the wall, and he realized he never turned the sink off from splashing his face. Thank God for that, he thought, because maybe the running muffled the sound of his grunts and moans as he jacked off thinking about your voice. He grabbed a wad of paper towels to wipe the cum from his hand, then he pulled his pants back up and washed his hands. He took a few deep breaths before splashing his face off again, then he left the bathroom to go get his coffee. 

You were sitting on your favorite couch in the back of the shop when you saw him come out of the bathroom looking flustered. He was clearly shaken up, but you hopped up from your seat to go get him a fresh coffee, hoping that would help with whatever was going on with him. 

“Hey, Matt!” you called out to him, and he immediately perked up. “I’ve got your coffee at the bar here, wanted to make sure it was fresh for you.” 

He approached the bar, hoping that he didn’t look too disheveled, and he felt around the counter for his cup of coffee.

“It’s right here,” you said softly as you touched his hand, putting the cup of hot coffee into his. 

Electricity coursed through his body at the contact. Your hand was so soft, just as silky as your voice, and he had to keep himself from grabbing your hand and pulling you across the counter. 

“Thanks so much, and sorry about that. Anyway, how much do I owe you for the coffee?” 

“Oh, this one’s on the house! I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you kinda look like you’re having a rough morning, so hopefully this helps,” you said with a sweet smile. 

“No, this has actually been a great morning,” he thought to himself. 

“Thank you so much. I’ll get you back next time, I’m in here quite a bit,” he replied as he took a sip from the cup of coffee. 

“Well, hopefully I see you around again soon. Have a great day, Matt.” 

“Thanks, I’ll try.” 

You went back to your spot on the couch in the back of the shop, and Matt made his way towards the door. Little did Matt know, you were taking your break as an opportunity to put the finishing touches on your latest post and put it up on your page. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Matt finally made it back to his apartment with his caffeine fix in hand, and he decided to open up his laptop and try to get some work done. As soon as his computer came to life, it dinged with a notification, and it was letting him know you had posted a new audio. Since he was alone in his apartment, he opened it right away, and he was completely taken aback by what he heard. 

“I’m afraid I’m guilty, but is there anything I can do to lessen my sentence? I heard you’re a really good lawyer.” 

Matt laughed as he felt his cock twitch, and he reached his hands down his pants to pleasure himself for the second time this morning. 

“I’m sure we can work something out, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.” 

“I can’t offer you money, but I can offer you pleasure. Would that be okay? I’m just so scared.”

“Don’t be afraid, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” 

#daredevil #matt murdock x reader #filth (smut tag) #q

[exuber]

something sweeter | eddie munson x reader

summary you get a tattoo. eddie takes care of you [1.5k]

warnings 18+ for suggestive theme, nsfw, established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, tattoos, fem!reader, idiots in love, no s4 spoilers besides eddie, requested here

<3

“…something sweeter,” Eddie’s talking in that quiet voice reserved for you, missing his usual bravado. Even softer, he looks at you in the passenger seat through a tangle of dark curls and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. What’s sweeter?” you ask, smiling apologetically.

You push your clammy palms into the scratchy fabric of your short skirt. Eddie’s unconvinced.

“I was only saying,” he begins, reaching across the gap to wrap his ring-heavy hand around your thigh, “that it surprised me. What you chose. I thought you’d get something sweeter.”

“You don’t like the bat?” you ask, nibbling at your lip.

His rings are cold but his fingers are warm, rubbing a short, comforting line into the dough of your inner thigh. He gives you a quick squeeze before returning both hands to the wheel, concentration face in place as he parallel parks the van outside the tattoo parlour. His eyebrows pinch up.

“No, I love the bat. You’d hope I would, right?” he says as soon as he’s done, pulling the keys from the ignition. He gestures to his arm and the trail of bats flying up his skin.

“I thought about it. Getting something pretty. A garter or a heart or something.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“But I wanna look cool like you,” you say.

Eddie waves a hand at you, rolling his eyes though he’s smiling. His face is transformed by his pretty smile. He’s ridiculously handsome like this - it makes your chest hurt, his puppy eyes and his almost demure grin, so at odds with his eccentric and, at times, rough personality.

He scratches his collarbone, sneaking a peek down at the watch on his wrist, lips parting. “Are you ready?”

Keep reading

#stranger things #eddie munson x reader #AUGH this is so cute

[exuber]

(His) Home for the Holidays: A Meet Me in the Back Christmas Special | (joel miller x fem!reader) (18+)

Part 4 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: joel texts you while he's horny during the holidays, and you decide to visit him at his house after work. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink,  face-ridin', dick-ridin', ass-eatin' (Joel tosses reader’s salad and gives her a side of housemade ranch iykyk), kissing after said ass-eating, some nasty cumplay, brief fingering, kissing!!!, taking nude photos, unprotected PIV, pussy...job? idk reader strokes him off w her pussy lips, v brief mentions of cigarettes and weed, fluff??, characters actively avoiding Feelings™!!!, so many fucking stupid dirty christmas puns, reader can fit in Joel’s coat, has hair, and doesn't necessarily celebrate christmas, but is very familiar with it ig word count: ~5.2K | ao3 a/n: thank you guys so much for loving this fucker as much as me. we get into some real naughty list shit here!! i hope you like it, and don't be mad at me about the end ok thx <3 also s/o to @cafekitsune for the adorable divider! Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic! Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

The days before the Christmas holiday are always the longest. The office is relatively empty, no real action happening, and yet you’re stuck here for eight hours a day regardless. You find yourself bogged down with busy work and rubbing at your eyes with the strain of staring at your screen. 

You hear a vibration on your desk and check your phone. 

Joel: Wat r u up 2?

You roll your eyes a little, but you won’t lie to yourself. You're glad for the distraction. 

You: Working

Joel: cum over

You: I literally just said I’m working dude

Joel: leave early. want u

You: I can’t just leave early. I’m stuck here. 

You huff and toss your phone on your desk, trying to get back into your flow, but your phone keeps buzzing. 

Joel: im so horny 4 u rite now

Joel: cock is all harddd

Joel: needs 2 be inside u

Joel: permishin 2 send pic???

You groan, your forehead falling into the palm of your propped arm. He has gotten much better at asking before he just sends full hog, and you’re grateful for that. 

You glance around quickly, ensuring that no one is lurking in the proximal area, and you give him the go-ahead. God knows you need a little excitement while you’re dying of boredom in corporate America. 

The picture arrives quickly, and you look around one more time before opening the text. 

He’s actually taken the time to set up his phone at the end of his bed, clearly with a timed shutter, because he’s naked, up on his knees, with one hand gripping his massive length and the other dangling a twig of some kind of greenery above it…is that mistletoe?

Joel: u gotta come kiss it now. sry I dont make the rules

Fucking mistletoe. 

You: Jesus. Did you buy mistletoe JUST for this little bit of yours?

Joel: no comment

Joel: cum over and suck it baby he needs it real bad

You don’t know what the fuck it is about this man, but he’s getting more and more dangerous for you. You’ve become much more inclined to jump when he says so. And the sight of his cock, thick and hard and ready for you has your body responding in kind. You squirm in your chair, pressing your thighs together and feeling the pressure building there. 

You sigh and respond. 

You: I’m off in three hours. Don’t you have to work tonight?

Joel: its my day off. let santa stuff ur tight little stocking real nice n full bby

You scoff at the cringey line, as used to his disgusting language as you are. 

You: Yikes

Joel: yikes what? 

You: Just everything about you. 

Joel: and yet u scream around daddys cock all the same every fuckin time dont u. dont kid urself. just cum get ur present

You drop your head back with a quiet whine, the arousal between your legs only intensifying as he lays out so plainly how deeply he’s come to own you and your desires. 

You don’t let yourself linger too long on your response, promising you’ll be there as soon as you’re off and requesting his address. 

__

The mobile home park where Joel lives is…not exactly well-kept, but you try not to judge. You get momentarily lost, but eventually see Joel’s beater pickup truck pulled up next to one of the trailers, and you pull in next to it. 

You: I think I’m here?

You confirm the number on the outside of the house and gingerly step out of the car. 

Joel: doors open

You steel yourself as you climb up the small flight of rickety, crumbling wooden steps and pull the clattering metal door open. 

“Joel?” You call out, taking in his living space for the first time and kicking off your boots. 

It’s pretty small, but you suppose that’s fitting for a man living alone. A minimal kitchenette cluttered with food items and dirty dishes, a shrunken living room with a ratty couch and a recliner set in front of a television with a chipped coffee table littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, an overflowing ashtray, and a bong. A skimpy fake Christmas tree adorns the far corner of the room with cheap ornaments, some tired-looking garland, and flickering multi-colored lights, but it does have a certain charm to it. 

“Back here,” You hear him call out from the end of the narrow hallway to your left. You shrug off your purse and coat and hang them on the hook by the door, next to his coat. The same coat you’d wrapped around yourself when he helped with your tires. 

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you lean in to take an exploratory sniff. 

It still smells like him, of course. His cologne, his cigarettes, his weed. But there’s something else. The very subtle aroma of your perfume. An indulgent smile bleeds across your face. Sure, maybe he’s just lazy and hasn’t bothered to wash it. But you like that you’re there. That it’s not just him leaving bruises and ink on your skin and a deep aching between your legs every time he fucks you, but you’ve also left your mark on him. 

Your reverie is interrupted by Joel’s voice once again from down the hallway. 

“Come see what Santa brought you for Christmas, darlin’.”

You shake your head, but your smile is still intact. 

The floorboards creak under the shag carpet as you make your way towards his voice. His door is only partially shut, so you slip yourself inside tentatively. 

And he’s there, just as you’d suspected. Naked as the day he was born, lounging on top of his sheets with hands clasped behind his head. He's got one leg extended and the other bent and spread wide to showcase his hard cock slapped against the pudge of his stomach. He's still got that tacky gold cross around his neck. But the pièce de résistance is the goddamn Santa hat placed jauntily on his head. 

“Knew you’d come runnin’ when I called.”

You click your tongue dismissively against the roof of your mouth and curve a hand around your hip. “Please. You had to beg to get me here. You and your Discount-Strip-Mall-Santa ass.”

Joel’s face pinches, tugging at the rim of his cap, “Ouch, baby. This here’s the finest quality Santa hat that money can buy at the dollar store.”

You snort, wetting your lips against your tongue as you banter back, “Shouldn’t you be ringing a shitty bell at the local grocery store panhandling for donations or something?”

“Nah,” Joel refutes, scrunching his nose in the most annoyingly adorable manner, “Gave me the boot after I fucked all the lady clerks in the break room.”

“Ah, naturally,” You nod, stifling a giggle. 

You watch as his eyes give you his customary scan from head to toe. 

“Goddamn. Look at you, all done up.”

You glance down at yourself and lift a brow at him as you jog your memory of your chosen outfit for the day. Black trousers, a button-up blouse, and a simple blazer. Nothing you’d normally bat an eye at, but you guess Joel has only ever really seen you in casual clothes. “This? Really?”

“Mmhm,” Joel hums, scraping his teeth over his lower lip as his gaze heats up. “Daddy likes.”

“Wait, I’m confused,” You joke as you crawl onto the bed, Joel tracking you with his eyes along the way until you’re straddled above him. “Are you ‘daddy’ or ‘Santa’ right now? I’m a little lost in this roleplay.”

Joel chuckles, pinching your chin in his fingers and angling you down toward him. “Come on, now, ain’t you ever heard that song? ‘I Saw Mommy Kissin’ Santa Claus’? We’re one and the same, darlin’.”

“That mean I’m supposed to kiss you now? I thought that only applied to your cock, Mr. Mistletoe,” You laugh. 

Joel shrugs, leaning his head up closer to you. “I’m not picky.”

You stare at his lips and weigh the decision. You’ve never kissed him before. He’s kissed parts of you. Possibly every other part of you. But never your mouth. And since you know very intimately what he smells like, you have a good idea what he’ll taste like as well. 

You sigh, meet his eyes for a beat, and then press your lips against his. They’re soft, faint remnants of chapstick clinging to the crevices, serving as a gateway to his already searching tongue. You welcome him into your mouth and he strokes at yours with an unexpected tenderness, tasting how you’d imagined. The tang of his most recent cigarette, the depth of every smoke he’s had every day prior, a hint of mintiness from either gum or toothpaste. And the weight of his tongue in your mouth…it rivals what you’ve felt of his cock when you’ve tasted it. Maybe not in size, but in sheer magnitude. 

You lock your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and drop down to grind your crotch against his cock, your nice dress pants be damned as his dripping head soaks into the fabric and you continue luxuriating in the feel of his tongue filling your mouth. 

Joel grunts at your movement, tugging at your hair enough to lift your lips from his. “Sweet as a fuckin’ sugarplum, baby.”

“And that’s not even where I’m sweetest,” You whisper, smiling against his lips. 

“Don’t I know it,” He mutters, capturing your lips again and squeezing at your ass to kickstart your grinding again. “But how about you remind me?”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Come ride Santa’s face.”

“I don’t remember that part in The Night Before Christmas,” You tease, twirling the ball on the end of his cap. 

“Probably stuck it in them footnotes,” He chides. “Take off your pants.”

You dismount to shuck off your trousers, and the rest of your clothes just to save time and not feel so overdressed in comparison, and he manhandles you until you’re situated directly above his waiting mouth. 

“Take a seat, darlin’. Might not be Santa’s lap, but it’ll be just as comfy, I promise.”

You don’t take much convincing, to be completely honest. You very willingly subscribe to the philosophy that if a man suffocates on your pussy, well…there’s not much of a better way to go. So you sit until Joel’s facial hair scratches and prickles at your skin, and you feel the broad length of his tongue stroking up the line of your pussy. 

You moan out a breathy sigh and settle yourself onto his face, your hands stabilizing on either side of the pillow cradling his head, and start to roll your hips against the graze of his tongue. He’s attentive and thorough as he works at you, alternating between lavish licks to your folds and circling your clit with the point of his tongue, making you gasp and your stomach tighten intermittently. 

It is a little weird not having him spewing heinous shit into your ear as he pleasures you, but you’re certain his brain is actively crafting more bizarre turns of phrase to plague you with as he eats you out from below. 

His tongue spears and you moan out as he penetrates you with the muscle, fucking into your slick entrance as you rock down onto him harder. Joel moans in return, his brows drawing together as he strives to fuck you as deep as possible with his chosen tool. 

“Oh, fuck, Joel, that’s…god, that’s so fucking good,” You whine, raising a hand to squeeze at your tit and steadying yourself against his wall above his head with your other hand. Joel must get inspired, because his own hand comes to grope at your unattended breast, working it in tandem with yours. 

His other hand presses upward lightly on the back of your thigh, and you lift, looking down with a shred of concern. 

“Just wanna knock at that back door a bit, baby,” He reassures. 

“Huh?” You ask, brain a little fuzzy with arousal. But then his nose is nudging at your pussy and his tongue is prodding at your asshole, and your voice cracks mid-moan at the blissful sensation. You’ve never had someone eat your ass before, never really cared, but holy fuck. “Oh my god, Joel.”

“Call me ‘daddy’, sweetheart. Or ‘Santa’ if it gets you off,” He offers before diving back in on the tight ring of muscle with his lips and tongue. 

“Fuck. Daddy…” You whimper as you feel the tip of his tongue breach the pucker of your asshole. The whole “daddy” thing is a losing battle at this point if he’s just going to push for it each time, and you might as well lean into it. He sucks lightly at the ring of you as he thrusts it inside softly. “D-daddy, that’s…”

You swear he laughs against you as the hand on your breast slides down to your hip. And you can’t help yourself, you dip your hand below your stomach to play with your clit to build upon the pressure Joel is stoking in your belly. The hand on your waist inches inward until his thick, wide thumb is sliding into your cunt, fucking you in time with the thrust of his tongue in your ass. 

“Oh, god, daddy, I’m gonna come,” You whine, increasing the pace on the sensitive bud of your pussy. Joel growls between your cheeks, sucking and fucking you until you buck up into your hand with a shout and your pussy beats against the pads of your fingers. You feel your ass squeeze around his tongue, your cunt around his thumb, and Joel grunts as he coaxes you through your orgasm. And he doesn’t stop until you physically pull yourself off his face and fingers and collapse onto his chest. 

“Oh fuck,” You pant, your mouth agape and dragging against the sheen of sweat on his skin. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Not one goddamn motherfucker has eaten your ass?” Joel asks, his voice appalled but delightfully raspy and wrecked. “That’s a fuckin’ crime against humanity. That’s a perfect fuckin’ ass.”

“You probably wouldn’t be surprised how many men don’t give a fuck about going down on a woman’s pussy, let alone their ass.”

“Fuckin’ absurd,” He mumbles, smacking his hand on your asscheek and gripping it under his fingers. “Ass deserves to get fucked every which way.”

You shake your head vehemently. “You’re not fucking my ass with that third arm between your legs,” You shut him down immediately. “I’d never shit normally again.”

Joel rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. “We’ll just table that for now.”

“No,” You protest, slapping his chest, “Not tabling. It’s buried. Six feet under.”

“Alright, alright,” Joel concedes with a chuckle, gripping the back of your leg and hitching it at his waist. “Guess that snatch is still plenty tight for me, ain’t it?” He says, latching onto your lips, sucking your response off your tongue. It’s only after he’s invaded your mouth entirely that you recall where he’s just been, but the dizziness in your mind has you shoving that knowledge as far back as you possibly can. 

“And what about me?” He nips at your lip with a grin. “You wanna lick Santa’s big candy cane?”

“God,” You huff out with a smile of your own, your forehead dropping onto his chest. 

“Or would you rather just take a ride on his North Pole, huh?”

“You know, I almost respect your commitment to this bit.”

“What bit? Can’t a guy just get in the holiday spirit with his little hoe, hoe, hoe?”

“Ok,” You groan, pushing yourself off of him to get up from the bed. 

“Woah, now, hold on,” He protests, a strong hand circling your arm and gently tugging you back. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere yet.”

“Why? I got what I wanted,” You shrug, sitting back down beside him and laying a hand on his chest. “Santa is seeming a little selfish right now. Isn’t it the season of giving?”

“Season of givin’ you this dick, maybe,” He retorts, pulling you onto his mouth again, and you groan against him. He croons at you as his lips brush yours, “Let me fill that stockin’ like I said I would. Show you what Santa’s got for you in his big sack.”

“I already know it’s coal. Can’t be anything else when I’ve been letting a strange old man hit it this often,” You say, wending a hand down south to wrap around what you can of his cock, and grinning with pride when you see his eyes pull toward the back of his head as you start to stroke him. 

“Well, that’s because I know all the best puss is on the naughty list, don’t I?” He groans, thrusting into your hand. “You don’t think Santa gets his little helpers from the Nice List, do ya?”

“Guess you got me there,” You concede, leaning down to taste him again. He moans into your mouth as you jerk him, and the sound of him so desperate and horny has your pussy thirsting after him again. 

“Climb back on top, little sugarplum. Let Santa deck those fuckin’ halls of yours,” He breathes over you, and you don’t even question it, you just swing your leg over his hips and settle the lips of your pussy onto the length of him. You skate your soaked core up and down the underside of his cock as it rests against his stomach and dip your thumb into his tip to simultaneously massage his frenulum with his own wetness. 

“Christ,” He pants out, clamping a hand onto your hip to push and pull you up and down the outside of his cock. “I could fuckin’ come from just this, baby. But I need to fuck this nasty little slit.”

“What, no dirty holiday-themed pun for that one?” You smirk as you take hold of his length and position him at your entrance. 

“Just eager to fill you with all my Christmas spirit, darlin’,” He rasps, squeezing at your hips and stroking the creases of your thighs with his thumbs. 

“There it is,” You quip as you sink down onto him slowly, your mouth dropping open as he…well, he does a damn good job filling you with that colossal Christmas spirit. And as your ass sits flush with his thighs and his cock kisses your cervix, you have to admit…you’re feeling pretty goddamn jolly. 

The ease of which your body welcomes Joel inside you now has you equal parts comforted and terrified. If you’d have told that naïve, reckless young woman who flashed her tits at a convenience store clerk that you’d soon be hurrying over to that man’s dilapidated single-wide in a sketchily quaint trailer park, sitting on his monster of a cock like it’s an old friend, bantering with him about his stupid fucking puns…you might’ve had to admit yourself somewhere. 

But the way he fills you, makes space for himself within you, makes you feel like you’re the most velvety, divine cunt he’s ever sunk into, it sends tingles up your spine and a pulsing in your pussy. 

“Shit, baby. Lookin’ like a star on top of a goddamn Christmas tree with my big trunk shoved up inside you. ‘Cept you got these sexy little ornaments,” He coos, cupping your tits again and fiddling with your nipples between his knuckles as he gropes at them. 

“Play with them a bit more,” You moan, grinding on his cock and feeling it drag against your walls, “Maybe I’ll light up for you.”

Joel smiles wide, massaging your breasts with rough, dexterous hands. “Look pretty bright already to me with this cock rammed up your tight little cunt. Got you glowin’ with it, baby.”

“Shut up,” You brush off, embarrassment heating your cheeks as your hips begin to rise and fall onto him. “The glow just comes naturally. Nothing to do with you.”

“Sure, sugarplum. All you,” He placates, leaning up to suck one of your peaked buds between his teeth. You gasp as he grazes over it, pinching the other in his hand as his upward movement causes his dick to drag along your cervix. 

“Oh my god,” You keen, toppling forward onto his chest and burying your face into his neck. Joel’s hands glide around to your back, holding you against him and using his new leverage to thrust into you from below. 

“That too much cock for you, baby?” He sings in your ear as you clench around him. “‘S it overflowin’ your little stocking? Rippin’ at your seams?”

“‘S deep,” You manage to whine breathily. “So fucking deep, daddy.”

“I know, little sugarplum. Daddy gets real fuckin’ deep, don’t he? So good at takin’ all this cock, baby.”

You whimper into his neck, your nails scraping down his back as he fucks you open on his lap. Your clit grazes against him and you can feel your release climbing again as he continues to pound into you. 

“You’re not gonna come again are you? Slutty fuckin’ thing. Can’t help but squirt all over this massive cock, huh?”

“C-can’t help—fuck, daddy, I can’t,” You cry, your teeth scraping at his neck as you grind your clit against him. 

“Yeah, fuck, baby. Make a mess around daddy’s cock,” He orders as he thrusts, pulling your hips down onto his length. 

Your vision starts to shimmer around the edges as he slams into the end of you, and you feel yourself splintering open, losing all grip you have on yourself. You burst apart around him with an inexcusably loud, animalistic scream, one sure to spark gossip among Joel’s neighbors for days to come. 

“Fuck yeah, such a nasty fuckin’ slut. Feel you soakin’ my cock, baby,” He grunts, your juices flowing out of your pussy and down his balls as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

And you can’t seem to get anything else other than “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” for a good thirty seconds. Joel seems to revel in that, encouraging it as his cock keeps splitting you open. 

“Yeah, that’s right, tell me who’s makin’ you feel so fuckin’ good. Who’s big dick keeps you fallin’ apart like this. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel has no intention of letting you rest as he chases after his own completion, and his hips start to hammer up into you as he edges closer. 

“Fuck, I’m close. You want me to come down your fuckin’ chimney, little sugarplum? Give you a real fuckin’ white Christmas?” He grunts as his fingers dig into your hips and his cock pounds against your walls. 

You squeak out some semblance of an answer, unintelligible, and bear the brunt of his cock seeking its release. 

“You know what I want, darlin’? Want you to jerk off my cock with those pussy lips like you were before. You do that for daddy?”

You whimper and nod into his neck, and you gasp when his length slips out of you entirely and he drops you on top of him. 

“Grind on it, baby. Stroke daddy off with that drippy little fuckhole,” He instructs, helping to guide your hips back and forth. 

You undulate your hips on the exterior of his cock as you stay buried in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily into his sweaty skin. 

“Let daddy see you, sugarplum,” He urges, pushing you up by the shoulder until you’re upright. 

You position your hands behind you and fall back onto them, giving Joel an unobscured view of your movement on him with the strength you’ve regained since your disorienting release. Your lips glide along him effortlessly with the ample supply of your own slick and come. Joel starts to jerk you forcefully back and forth on his cock with hands on your hips, like a ragdoll, until his grunts morph into deeper moans. 

He finally comes with a slew of curses, his spend spitting from his cock directly onto his stomach and throughout the hair smattered on the skin there. You slide on his length until his hips buck with sensitivity and you slow to a halt, panting and staring down at the mess you’ve both made on his abdomen. 

“So fuckin’ good for me, baby. Shit,” He groans out, stroking his hands down your slick thighs. 

“That was…kind of incredible,” You breathe, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“‘S’all you, baby. ‘S’all you,” He praises, and actually seeming to mean it this time. 

You smirk slightly as you swipe a finger through his semen and pop it into your mouth, moaning around it. 

“Fuck me, sweetheart. That’s…that’s a fuckin’ sight,” He sighs, dimpling your thighs with his fingers. “How about you go for another little ride on daddy’s tummy, huh?”

You quirk a lazy eyebrow at him and then drop your gaze to the mess on his stomach. 

“Come on, sugarplum,” Joel rasps, nudging your thighs forward until you’re hovering over the puddle of his come, “Dip your cookie in Santa’s milk. Just like that.”

And you’re too far gone to even unpack the weird shit he just said, you just lower yourself down onto his soiled belly until you feel it seep through your folds. Your hips move almost on autopilot, dragging through the mess and honestly…feeling fucking heavenly. The slick slide of it over your core, the slip of his hair swirling in his own spend on each pass of your lips, the low rumble of Joel’s voice as he coaxes you on. 

“That’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Seein’ my nut coatin’ that beautiful snatch. Can I take a picture of it?”

You nod, leaning back on your hands again while he retrieves his phone from his nightstand. 

“Spread those messy lips open for the camera, sweet little sugarplum.”

You do as you’re told, tilting your hips up and using one hand to part your lips. You hear him snap a couple of photos and then he turns the phone around to you for your inspection. And it looks hot as hell. Your puffy cunt drenched in both of your fluids, his hairy, curved stomach very clearly soaked with the evidence of your activities. 

“Send that to me.”

He smirks up at you and you watch his fingers move on his phone until you hear a buzzing in the heap of clothing on his floor. You lean down and put your weight on your elbows on either side of his head, lips ghosting over his mouth. 

“Thank you, Santa,” You whisper, sealing your lips together. 

He moans into your mouth as your tongue strokes along his. You suddenly feel something plopping onto your head and your eyes fly open, hands shooting to the top of it. Joel’s grin is incandescent as you realize he’s rehomed his Santa hat. 

“Gross,” You groan, flicking at the fuzzy white ball at the end of it. “It’s all sweaty.”

“So that’s where we’re drawin’ the line now?” He jokes, stroking his thumb down your chin. “Looks better on you.”

“I dunno,” You impart nonchalantly, avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t look so bad on you.”

“I’ll be damned. You think I’m handsome, sugarplum?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Y’did. I heard it loud and clear.”

“Hearing things, old man,” You dismiss, dropping one more kiss to his lips and unstraddling his lap, your pussy making an entirely unsexy suctioning noise as you extract from the stickiness between you. 

“That was fuckin’ hot,” Joel remarks, rolling onto his side and hauling you back towards the bed by the back of your thigh. You yelp quietly as you stumble forward on the carpet and feel Joel mouthing at your messy cunt. 

“Ok, Jesus. Down, boy,” You giggle, shoving Joel’s head from between your legs. Joel’s smile doesn’t budge as his mouth shines with your shared spend. 

“Sorry, baby. Just too fuckin’ tasty. Irresistible.”

“You’re ridiculous,” You mumble. “Where’s your fucking bathroom?”

“Door on the left,” He answers smugly, settling back in against his pillow with his hands clasped behind him, just as you’d found him, only sans his festive hat. 

You roll your eyes, maybe with a smidge of affection, and head off to clean up. 

“Mmm. Hate to see you go—”

“Don’t finish that,” You cut him off, not even looking over your shoulder as you go. 

“Give her one Santa hat and suddenly she thinks she’s got allll the power,” He calls out after you as you slip into the bathroom, and you can’t wipe the stupid fucking grin off your face. 

When you’ve relieved yourself and tidied up a bit, you re-enter his room with a clean washcloth. 

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” You raise a brow at him as you throw your leg over his thighs again and begin softly wiping at his belly. 

“Ain’t nothin’ funny about this, baby. Just a nice view,” He says, unbothered against his pillows. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” You say as sternly as you can, but you can’t rein in your smile entirely as you do. 

“I won’t,” He pauses, eyes flicking to your hat, “Mrs. Claus,” He ends with a smirk. 

“Okay, we’re not…” You head him off, plucking the hat from your head and chucking it at his chest as he laughs and you try not to smile. “Keep that shit to yourself, please.”

“Whatever you say, sugarplum.”

You wipe at his stomach as the conversation settles, but not for long. 

“Thanks for takin’ pity on me this joyous holiday season. Fuckin’ an old man and all.”

You glance up at him long enough to see the sly little upturn of his lips, his heavy, sleepy eyelids, and shake your head a bit as you focus back on your current task. 

“You’re not so old,” You utter quietly, but you’re sure he hears it. “As far as I know, anyway. And you can still get it up. That’s what I care about.”

“Yeah? That all?”

You jot your eyes up to his face again, then quickly back to his stomach. “Yup.”

You see him stick out a lip and nod out of the corner of your eye, securing his hat back on his head. “Fair enough.”

You sit back on his thighs and toss the dirty rag into his overflowing hamper. “Well, thanks for my gift, Santa. I’ll forgive you for not wrapping it, I guess.”

Joel scoffs, squeezing at the side of your thigh. “You ain’t ask me to wrap a goddamn thing since the first time. Haven’t heard you complainin’ ‘bout it.”

“Guess not,” You muse, your fingers subconsciously filtering through your folds for a moment. “Anyway, I should go,” You mutter as you come back to yourself. 

“Or you could stay,” He poses, gliding his thumb over your thigh. “Could play again later. I got all night.”

“I don’t think so,” You mumble, maneuvering back onto the floor and pulling your clothes on. 

“Hey,” He calls softly, and you look up at him as you do up the fastenings on your trousers. He’s got a crease between his brows. “This is just fun. You and me. That’s all it’s gotta be, yeah?”

Your fingers stumble as they button up your blouse. “And that’s all it’s gonna be. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

You smooth out your collar and take a deep breath. “Yeah. So. Thanks for the fuck. It was good. Really good.”

His eyes roam over you and settle on your face. “Anytime, sugarplum.”

You nod once, resolutely, and head out the door. 

Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic!

#the last of us #joel miller x reader #filth (smut tag) #q

[exuber]

✧ MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ✧

a/n: this fic is without a doubt probably the filthiest thing i've ever written. i had to pause when i was writing cause i felt like i was getting too unhinged. but it's marc spector so are we really surprised i wrote my filthiest thing with him? a massive thank you to @sunflowersteves for beta reading it for me (and screaming with me).

day five - guided masturbation + intercrural sex | kinktober 2023

summary: "in fact you were used to sleep evading you, but something about falling asleep in their bed made things better."

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: marc spector x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, intercrural sex, guided masturbation, cumplay sort of, minor dirty talk.

The alarm clock on the side of the bed was taunting you—laughing at how you couldn’t fall asleep. Part of you wanted to chuck it into the other room and be done with it, but you knew Steven had to get up the next morning. He couldn’t risk being late for work again. Which meant you were stuck, staring at the red glowing numbers in the dark—watching them flip higher every minute.

You had been fighting sleep for an hour yet nothing seemed to be helping. No amount of counting sheep, tossing and turning, or even trying to read one of Steven’s history books helped you. So there you were. Stuck in an exhausted haze, waiting for your body to eventually shut down.

This wasn’t abnormal by any means. In fact you were used to sleep evading you, but something about falling asleep in their bed made things better. When you were here, you found that your body melted into the soft sheets—your mind finally settling down. Tonight however seemed to be the exception.

“Dammit,” you sighed, twisting over to your side and trying to force your eyes to stay shut.

A groan sounded behind you—thick with sleep. It caused you to freeze, your body stiffening for fear of waking up Steven. That is until an arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you back towards the hard body behind you—the warm breath you knew now hitting the back of your neck. His nose nudging into your hair. The sensation was soft, achingly familiar, and you fell into his hold without any fight. Already knowing he was seeking you out in his sleep.

That is until—

“You keep tossing and turning and I’ll have to tie you down,” he joked, sighing against your neck.

The voice was so clearly American, meaning you hadn’t disturbed Steven, but instead woken up the man who might be able to help you sleep.

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling his palm slide along your stomach. “I couldn’t sleep. Brain’s too wired.”

He mumbled something too low for you to hear—his body shifting even closer, the warmth seeping into your skin. “Should have said something baby.”

You sighed, body shivering, when his hand skated lower, dipping beneath the oversized shirt you wore. “Didn’t—oh—want to wake up Steven.”

The grin against your neck was prominent as his fingers trailed along your now wet panties. “Steven’s asleep.”

“I didn’t know—”

He slipped under the fabric, fingers sliding through your slick and groaning at the feel of it. “Fuck you’re soaked.”

Something shifted in the air, sparking to life as he circled your clit and suddenly you didn’t want to sleep. Instead you allowed the feeling he brought out to consume you—wrapping you up in its hold so tight you’d never be able to escape. Yet you didn’t want to. You wanted to drown in the sensations—allow your entire self to be nothing but this.

He grunted, shifting behind you as he shoved down his sweats—the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your lower back sending shivers down your spine. Your mouth went dry, heart racing as he maneuvered you, his hand cupping your breast in his palm. Rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Alright baby,” he said—the rasp evident in his voice. “Wanna try something?”

You nodded frantically, willing to do whatever he asked of you. Marc often took control when it came to sex, but you weren’t one to argue. You trusted him, felt safe within his hold, and that was all you needed. All you wanted.

His hand slipped down, grasping yours and leading it down to your throbbing clit. Just the slight touch of your fingers had a moan tumbling from your lips—your body alight with that burning flame that threatened to consume you. Something about following his lead only heightened every single touch. Turning you into a pliable version of yourself. Someone he could mold.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, grinding back against him as he held your hand still, barely brushing where you needed it most. “Marc I need—”

Teeth scraped your ear, his hand shifting your hips back. “I know what you need. I’ve got you baby.”

His cock slid between your thighs and you could feel your pussy gush, coating your skin in slick as he fitted himself closer. A soft grunt echoed in your ear when he thrusted forward, his hand pushing yours down finally. He guided you towards your clit, letting you gather up the wetness that practically leaked from you—swirling it around the aching nub.

“That’s it,” he grunted, shifting forward and sliding between your thighs with ease. “Touch yourself for me.”

You moaned raggedly, fingers gripping the sheets as you followed his lead, rubbing figure eights along your clit as his cock continued to fuck the soft meat of your thighs. The sounds that reverberated through his chest right into yours made your body shake. A new kind of high building with every swipe of your fingers.

“M-Marc I’m—” You gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

“Yeah?”

Something pulled tight in your stomach, spreading throughout your body and nearly sending you over the edge, but Marc had other ideas. Rolling onto his back, he dragged you with him until you lay on top of him. Your body pressing him down into the mattress. A yelp escaped you, but it was quick to shift into a moan when he wrapped his legs around your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Other hand,” he panted into your ear, gripping both of your hands now and leading them to your aching cunt. “That’s it.”

“Oh—fuck—” you garbled, bucking into your touch when he sunk two of your fingers into your entrance, keeping the pace as he gripped your wrist.

He thrusted up, the head of his cock peeking out—precum dripping along the top of your thigh. Heat spilled through your body, curling tightly around your nerves and nearly setting you aflame as he continued. Bringing you even higher than you expected. Moans tore from your throat, echoing off the walls of the flat, which only seemed to spur him on further. A throaty groan was pressed to your neck, his lips sliding along the sticky skin damp with sweat—his tongue licking up the salty taste.

“Gonna cum,” he grunted, plunging two of his own fingers into your cunt. “Wanna feel you.”

His name was a ragged sob on your lips, your eyes rolling back when his fingers curled perfectly, nudging along the spongy part of your walls. He sped up, fucking your thighs as if he was buried inside of you until you felt it. The hot sensation of his cum spurting along your thigh, coating your already wet pussy as he lost himself in bliss.

Your breath caught in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as you followed him, a searing heat burning through you. He continued to pump his fingers, drawing you even higher until a loud shout bounced off the walls. No doubt alerting Steven’s neighbors to what was happening. He smiled, kissing your jaw when you came down, practically melting into his hold and sinking against his body.

“That was…” You panted, reaching for his hand that trailed shapes along your stomach.

“You tired now?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he breathed, nipping at your jaw. “Go to sleep baby. I’ll clean you up.”

“But Steven—”

“Will wake up when his alarm goes off.”

You nodded, allowing your eyes to slip closed, sleep pulling you in softly. But not before you heard him mutter three words against your ear, his arms tightening around your torso.

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #filth (smut tag) #ooh this was fun

[exuber]

CADENCE: Part One

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Audio Erotica Reader

Summary: Matt can't wait to get home to listen to your latest audio. He's a loyal subscriber, and you get him worked up like no one else does.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. Mutual masturbation (sort of), pillow humping, dirty talk, some light sacrilege. You know, THE GOOD GOOD. Reminder that you are responsible for what you see once you click "Read More".

Author's Note: I would like to thank the Academy (@bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms and @souliebird) for enabling this. Edited, but not beta read, we die like Ray Nadeem (RIP). ENJOY!

Divider by @saradika

Matt was sitting at his desk going over a deposition when his phone buzzed with a new notification. He had been waiting for word on something specific, so he switched his headphones from his laptop to his phone to see what it was. As soon as he heard the source of the notification, he slammed his laptop shut and started packing up his things to leave. Foggy heard the commotion from his office and came to check on Matt to make sure everything was okay. 

“Hey, buddy. You okay?” 

“Yeah, Fog. Just feeling a headache coming on. The seasons are changing and you know how that messes with me,” Matt replied as he stuffed his laptop in his bag. 

“You want me to walk with you?”

“No, it’s okay, Fog. I can make it just fine.” 

“Alright, buddy. But text me when you get home. You know I worry about you and your headaches,” Foggy called out as Matt walked out the door. 

“I know, Foggy. But I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, buddy!” 

—--------------------------------------------------

Matt walked home as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to break into a full on sprint. Once he made it to his building, he dashed up the stairs two at a time, and threw off his jacket as soon as he shut his door behind him. He furiously loosened his tie as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and used the voice command to open up the notification once again. This time when he opened it, he was met with the sound of your voice. 

“Hey baby, I missed you. Did you miss me?” 

Your smooth and sugary voice went straight to his cock, so he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, stepping out of them on his living room floor. He palmed over the bulge in his black boxers and pulled off his tie before going to work unbuttoning his shirt as your voice continued to play through his phone.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I even had to excuse myself from a meeting to go touch myself in the bathroom, but I wished it was your hand. You know just what to do to make me feel good.” 

Matt was so caught up in your voice that it took him a moment to realize he was now half naked in his living room, right on display in front of the window. Truthfully, he didn’t care if the neighbors saw him, but he grabbed his phone and went into his bedroom. He placed his phone on the nightstand, shed his boxers, and climbed under his silk sheets. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out as he slowly stroked his cock while you continued to talk. 

“Am I turning you on, baby? I can see you’re getting awfully worked up in those dress pants. I’m getting pretty wet, myself. You’re so fucking hot. You wanna watch while I rub my clit?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Make those pretty noises for me,” he replied as if you were in the room with him.

You let out a moan as you rubbed your clit, and Matt swore he could hear how wet you were. He started stroking his cock faster and you moaned louder. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

“Yes, come for me, sweetheart. Fucking scream for me.” 

“But I wanna come with your cock inside me, so I’ll wait for you. I want you to feel me, and I want to feel you. Let’s come together, baby.” 

Suddenly his hand wasn’t good enough anymore, so he sat up in the bed and stuffed one of his pillows between his thighs to straddle it. The cool silk of the pillowcase felt like heaven against his achingly hard cock that was dripping with precum and begging for release. He started counting the Hail Mary’s he was going to have to say later for this depraved act in his head, but in the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to care. 

“You’re so big, baby. Do you think you’ll fit?”

“I’ll go slow, sweetheart, I promise. We can make it fit.” 

Matt rolled his hips against the pillow at the same time you let out another moan, and he grabbed onto his headboard for leverage. 

“You feel so good, filling me up so perfectly. Fuck me, baby” 

“You feel good too. I’ll go slow at first. I want to feel you.” 

“You’re not gonna hurt me, I can handle it. Just fuck me, baby. Please.” 

“How can I say no when you asked so nicely?” he purred. 

He quickened his pace as you continued making soft sounds of pleasure. He should be ashamed of what he’s doing: fucking his pillow while listening to audio porn and responding back to you as if you could hear him. But, he didn’t care. Once he accidentally discovered erotic audios, he couldn’t get enough, and you were his favorite creator. Your voice was like a drug to him, and he was always jonesing for another hit. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually fuck you instead of his pillow, but he would have to settle for this for now. 

“Oh, fuck I’m so close. I’m gonna come baby. Are you gonna come too?” 

“Fuck. Yeah, sweetheart I’m gonna come.” 

“Come inside me.”

You let out a guttural, almost feral moan, and Matt screamed in tandem with you. His thrusts became more erratic, sweat was beading on his forehead, and he was white knuckling the headboard. He was getting closer with every sound you made, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. 

“Oh, OH F-FUCK.” 

“Yes, sweetheart. Oh yes, oh FUCK.” 

His chest heaved, his breathing was ragged, and his hips stuttered into the pillow as he came hard. He collapsed backward onto the mattress, a thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. “Shit,” he breathed out as he ran one of his hands down his face. 

“Did you like that? Be sure to subscribe for more, and don’t be shy about leaving me a comment! Until next time, audiophiles…”

After a few minutes, Matt sat up and reached for his phone to close the app. He knew that pillowcase was ruined, but that could wait. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. As much as he loved your voice, and how turned on he got by it, he longed to have you in his bed so he could hold you afterwards, and maybe even join him in the shower. 

When he was done washing the post-coital sweat off his body, he dried off and put on a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants, threw the defiled pillowcase in the trash, and sat down to leave you a comment on your latest audio that he got off to. He set his phone back on his nightstand, laid down in bed, and allowed his mind to wander about how you actually felt and how your skin smelled. Maybe one day he could find someone with a voice as gorgeous as yours. 

—-----------------------------------------------

The “CLOSED” sign had long since been displayed in the door of the coffee shop, and you were finally done with your closing duties for the evening. Your boss said you were free to go, so you grabbed your bag and your jacket, said your goodbyes, and headed out to your shoebox of an apartment. You loved living in New York City, but it was expensive, and just being a barista didn’t pay the bills. No one knew about your “side hustle”, and you liked it that way. It was oddly empowering to you that you were a caffeine peddler by day, but you used your voice to get people off by night. It was perfect because you could have fun living out your own fantasies, but no one knew your face. 

After scarfing down the take out you picked up on your way home, you sat down to check the notifications on your latest audio post. There were always lots of comments to sift through, but there was one username in particular that commented on every single audio you posted, and you always looked forward to their comments. 

As you scrolled through the comments, you finally saw the one you were looking for: “rllygdlwyr commented: So hot as always, sweetheart. I ruined a silk pillowcase with this one. May have to start buying them in bulk if you keep this up.” 

You laughed and bit your lip at the comment. Normally, subscribers calling you pet names would creep you out, but this one was loyal, and they pretty much paid for your take out habit with their subscription and their tips. As much as you hated to admit it, they kind of kept you going.

Once you were done checking your account and responding to comments, you took a shower, put on some slinky lingerie, and pulled out your favorite toys to make a new audio. According to their username, they were most likely a lawyer, so tonight you decided to try a little roleplay. 

“I’m afraid I’m guilty, but is there anything I can do to lessen my sentence? I heard you’re a really good lawyer.” 

#daredevil #matt murdock x reader #filth (smut tag) #q #oooooo a desperately and excitably horny matt <333

[exuber]

Hard to Break the Habit  | (joel miller x fem!reader) (18+)

Part 3 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you need some air in your tires, joel does some filling  warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, light breeding!kink, brief oral (f!receiving), brief fingering, body-marking, taking nude photos, unprotected PIV, creampie, Joel being good with cars i.e. competency!kink ig, mentions of reader being in the dead dad club, v brief mentions of cigarettes and weed, something kinda sorta resembling…fluff??, Joel being his normal, sleazy self that we all know and love atp, also I typically try to make reader as accessible as I can/is plausible but in this case reader can fit in Joel’s coat and knows jackshit about car maintenance word count: ~5K | ao3 a/n: we know him, we love him, we can't stop writing him. i love this joel so much, and we get just like an OUNCE of cutesy in this part, so I hope y'all like that shit 💖 Series Masterlist | Masterlist

It takes a good, long ponder before you make the decision. The tire light on your car has been on for at least a week now, and you’ve been putting it off. You did a thorough check of them and came to the conclusion that they just need air. Something that you presume should be easy, but you’ve never done it before. 

You’ve always happened to have a boyfriend (or boy toy) around to do it for you. And before them, there was your father. You’ve somehow managed to go this long without ever filling up your tires yourself, and you feel fucking stupid about it. 

Anything regarding the actual maintenance of your car feels vastly out of your depth, and even though you’re sure you could learn, you’re plagued with an overwhelming anxiety that you could make one wrong move and your car will blow up. 

It’s that anxiety that ultimately has you pulling into the gas station on a chilly Saturday night at 2 AM, when you know Joel will be there and won’t be busy. The station has a free air pump, so he must know how it functions, right? 

Your zip-up jacket and leggings don’t do much to keep you warm, so you all but sprint inside to the sickly chime of the bell on the door. 

Right where you’ve left him every time, he’s on his stool, Maxim between his thighs. He glances up at the sound of the bell, and you think his eyes light up just a titch. “Well, well. Didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

“Wasn’t sure I’d let you,” You banter back, your hands shoved into your jacket pockets, arms clinging to your sides for warmth as you thaw inside the warm store. 

“Wind is bitin’ out there. The hell you doin’ out so late when it’s this cold?” A knowing smile creeps across his face. “Couldn’t resist the allure of another ride on the ol’ Joel-er Coaster, huh?”

You stare at him, face riddled with bemusement. “Really? Joel-er Coaster? Do you just sit here all night, coming up with stupider and stupider shit to say to women?”

“Got a lotta time on my hands here, little girl,” Joel says, gesturing broadly to the empty store. 

“Well, then, can you give me a hand with something?” You ask, biting your lip with slight apprehension. 

Joel grunts through his words as he pushes himself up off his stool and tosses his magazine on the counter, “Sure can.”

His hands are already on his goddamn belt when you rush out, “Not with that! Something else.”

His fingers freeze halfway through pulling the end of his belt through the buckle with a quizzical look. “The hell else would you be comin’ to me for?”

You sigh, rubbing your palm into your eye socket as you brace yourself for the impending embarrassment. “I need someone to fill up my tires.”

Joel’s brows draw down as his hands fall to the counter instead of his belt. “Fill up your tires? That’s it?”

“I’ve never done it before, alright? I don’t wanna fuck something up.”

“You ain’t got a daddy—an actual daddy—to show you how to do that shit?”

You avoid his gaze doggedly. “It’s complicated. Short answer is no.”

“And so I’m the closest thing to a daddy you got?” Joel lets a low whistle. “Shit, I’ll take what I can get.” Joel throws on a thick utility jacket from an alcove under the counter and heads out the door. “Come on, darlin’. Faster we get you filled up…” He looks over his shoulder with a little glint in his eye as he winks, “Well, faster we get you filled up.”

You scoff quietly, but trail after him, wrapping the ends of your flimsy jacket around you as tight as you can with your hands buried in the sleeves. 

As you make your way over to the pump where you pulled up your car–proud of yourself for at least being able to identify the right machine, all things considered–Joel chats casually with you.  “So your daddy don’t live around here?”

You can see your breath as you exhale, not particularly wanting to have this conversation, but you don’t feel like arguing. “Doesn’t live anywhere anymore.”

Joel halts at your car, peering over his shoulder at your shivering form. “Shit. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s whatever,” You brush off, your teeth chattering, and you have no fucking idea why you didn’t grab a warmer coat. 

“Jesus, darlin’,” Joel exclaims softly, wriggling his arms out of his jacket and handing it to you. “Gonna catch your fuckin’ death dressed like that.”

“Joel, it’s fine. You’re in short sleeves! I’m not—”

But he thrusts the coat against you with finality until you wrap your arms around it tentatively and mutter a “thank you” as you pull it on. He hasn’t even worn it long and it’s already warm, smelling of cigarettes, his cologne, and a hint of weed. It’s oddly comforting in a way you are definitely not granting yourself liberty to analyze right now. 

“Reckon you don’t know your PSI off the top of your head?”

“That would be a no,” You admit, teeth doing significantly less chattering in the heavy coat. 

“That’s alright. Unlock your car,” He instructs as he pulls on your driver’s side handle. 

You rear back a little. “Fuck no. I’m not letting you in my car.”

Joel sighs, propping an arm on his hip, the hairs on his arm raised in goosebumps from the chill. “Relax, I just need to check your PSI threshold.”

“PSI threshold?”

“Yes. Stands for Pressure…Somethin’…Somethin’…I don’t fuckin’ know, it just tells me how much to fill up your tires.”

“And that’s found inside my car…?”

“In the door frame typically, yes.” 

You eye him warily, but he seems as even-keeled as he ever has, so you sigh out a cloudy breath and pull your keys from your zip-up pocket and hit the unlock. 

“Thank ya kindly,” He nods with a little salute as he opens the door and crouches. You round the car to watch for any funny business, but he just taps on the small label right in the frame of the door. “There she is.”

“Oh shit. Never even noticed that before.”

Joel shakes his head. “Jesus. Operatin’ this thing and don’t know a goddamn thing about it.”

“I know how to drive it,” You sass back, leaning in obstinately with your arms crossed, “That’s all that matters.” 

Joel’s eyes flick up to you before studying the text on the little sticker, muttering under his breath, “Until you need to fill your fuckin’ tires.” 

“Someone usually does it for me, okay, dickhole?”

“Not the one I’d be calling a dickhole out the two of us, but alright,” He mumbles. He cranes his head to look up at you and inquire, “You at least got a pressure gauge?”

“The fuck is that?”

“Jesus. It’s usually like a little…metal shaft with a bulb on the end,” He explains, doing his best to mime the shape with his hands. 

You narrow your eyes. “That supposed to be some kind of euphemism for—Oh! Wait,” You cut yourself off, remembering the weird silver thing an ex left in your car once. You scurry over to the passenger’s side and pilfer through the glove compartment until you spy what you think he’s looking for, holding it up in the air. 

“Is this it?”

Joel grins widely, holding his hand out for it. “Atta girl! Nudge her along in the right direction and she just might surprise ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, you already know I’m a quick study,” You brag, crouching down to his level by the front tire. 

Joel’s gaze falls over you as he rhythmically thuds the metal shaft of the gauge into the palm of his hand, scanning you up and down with that telltale look that he always seems to get with you. “That I do. That I fuckin’ do.”

And god knows why, but you can feel your cheeks heating up, and you’re fairly positive it has nothing to do with his coat on your shoulders. 

Joel takes it from there, showing you each step of the process as he goes, since, in his words, if he’s gonna be your daddy, he might as well teach you a thing or two. 

In what feels like no time, your tires are pumped and the light on your dashboard flickers off, much to your relief. 

“Thanks,” You force out when the job is done, sitting on the hood of your car as Joel wipes his hands on his jeans, still not showing any signs of the cold getting to him and his broad as fuck figure. 

“Welcome,” He offers back, reclining against the hood next to you. “You ever need help with this fucker, you come to me first. Don’t want you gettin’ ripped off by some shop when they see a sexy young thing like you who don’t know shit about cars.”

“I dunno. Seem to be able to get whatever I want with just my body. I might never have to pay for something a man’s selling ever again.” You peek over at him with a smirk, just to find that his eyes are already on you, lust glazing over them. 

“Hell, might not even need to flash him anything. Just wear his goddamn clothes.”

You snort, but draw his coat in tighter on you against the chill. 

“You know, I added a li’l somethin’ to the stockroom I think you’d like.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What, some increased hygiene?”

Joel breathes out a laugh and pushes off the car, jerking his head toward the store as he walks. “Come see, sexy girl.”

He’s most of the way to the front door before you swallow your pride and follow. 

—

“Wow.”

“You like it?”

“Sure is something.”

The tiny, lumpy, floral-upholstered loveseat is crammed in the back of the crowded room, the swooping wood paneling on the front of the arms deeply chipped and scuffed to hell. It looks like someone’s dead grandmother’s old couch that got left on the curb. 

That’s probably exactly what it fucking is, from your perception and expectations of Joel so far. 

Joel’s breath raises the hackles on the back of your neck as his firm hands slide his coat from your shoulders and he whispers in your ear, “You wanna give the old thing a whirl?”

You swallow thickly, the memory of Joel’s massive cock throbbing in between your legs as his hands grab your hips, his mouth sucking at your neck. 

“Joel,” You sigh, your eye falling closed as your head drops to the side to grant him more of your skin. 

Joel tuts disapprovingly as his fingers flex at your waist. “You know what to call me, little girl. ‘Specially after I was so generous in teachin’ you somethin’.”

The tips of Joel’s fingers tease at the seam of your cunt through your leggings, and your jaw drops in a gasping moan, “Daddy.”

“Good girl,” He encourages, using two fingers to stroke up the expanse of your pussy over the fabric. “Tell Daddy Joel what you want.”

“Want your cock, daddy,” You moan, rolling your hips against his fingers and pulling a sharp intake of breath when the sides of his fingers pinch at your clit. “Please,” You add on for good measure. 

Joel groans in your ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell as he begins to disrobe you. “You want this big fuckin’ horsecock ticklin’ your fuckin’ tummy, naughty girl?”

The cold from outside has absolutely nothing on the fucking shiver that runs down your spine at his words. Your lips feel chapped as you slide your tongue over them and breathe out, “Yes, please.”

As Joel ravages your neck, your clothes slump to the floor one by one until he has you startlingly naked in comparison to his fully clothed form. He shoves you playfully in the direction of the sofa, and you flop onto it on your back, draping one leg over the top of the couch and the other hanging off the edge to spread yourself open as wide as possible for him. 

“Jesus, Mary, and fuckin’ Joseph,” Joel rasps at the sight of you as he wrangles his cock out of his pants. “Fuckin’ hell I’ve been missin’ out on this view. Goddamn animal shelter ain’t never seen this much pussy.”

“Please just fuck me,” You moan, dipping your hand between your legs to rub at your clit. 

Joel growls at that sight too, and practically dives headfirst onto the couch and between your thighs. His mouth latches over your lips and clit, shaking his head rapidly back and forth like he’s attempting to motorboat your cunt. 

A wanton cry pushes out your throat as he licks broad strokes over your sensitive flesh. When he comes up for air, he’s panting against your stomach, a blazing fire in his eyes. 

“You keep these legs spread wide open for me, darlin’. Wanna watch this little slit stretch.”

“God, yes, I need it,” You whine, using your fingers to part your lips and give him full access. 

“Oh, she needs it now, does she? She needs daddy’s big cock rippin’ her open?”

“Yes,” You whimper as the thick head of his cock skates up and down the length of your core, soaking it embarrassingly quick. 

“Swear to god this little snatch looks tinier and tinier each time I see it, don’t matter how much I stretch it out. Just snaps right back like a bad habit, don’t it?”

“I like that,” You insist, your voice kicking higher as he starts to tease you on his downstrokes, pushing the tip of him into your opening with the barest amount of pressure, and popping right back out to rub it against your clit with the additional slick. “Like that it stretches me every time.”

“Not so scared of it anymore, are ya?” Joel points out, smacking the length of you with the length of him in increasingly wet thumps against your pussy. 

“No. Love it, daddy,” You whisper into the musty room, fingers scratching against the hideous upholstery on the arm of the soft above your head. “Please put it in.”

He doesn’t disappoint, lifting your ass onto his thighs as he positions himself at your entrance. That familiar grunt floods the room as he pushes inside you for the first time tonight, his lips pouted open in pleasure as your body lets him in. “Shit, baby. Already chokin’ daddy just right. Look at that pretty stretch,” He moans, admiring the strain of your cunt wrapping around his giant cock. 

You keen at the stretch, how could you not, even after the third time. It prickles and stings along the thin flesh that encompasses him in the fucking best way, the pain vibrating to your clit as he pushes in to the hilt and you feel his thatch of curls smashing into your slick folds. 

He doesn’t let you adjust for long before he’s pulling all the way out, the head of his cock catching on your stretched pussy. “Such a slutty, fucked out little hole already, baby,” He groans, lining himself up once more as he slams all the way into you again to hear you shout for him. 

“Fuck, fuck, god, fuck me,” You plead, doing what you can to meet his thrusts as they gain speed, peeling you open for his taking. 

You can see your vision going unfocused, forcing your senses to feel him instead as your body clings to him, begging him to stay tearing you apart. 

A racket suddenly starts up outside the door, like someone yelling and pounding on glass, and you both startle, heads whipping toward the door. 

“Fuck,” Joel spits, wrenching his cock out of you with a wet squelch and dancing on his feet as he zips up his jeans in a rush. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he instructs as he hobbles through the door, shutting it securely behind him. 

You whine to yourself and do your best to distract your mind from your aching pussy clenching around the abrupt nothingness, the gaping cavity left by his unjustly huge cock, and strain an ear to assess what is happening outside the room. 

“Jesus fuck, can’t a man take a leak in peace?”

“I need gas! What, this ain’t a fuckin’ gas station after 2 AM?”

“Then pay with a goddamn card at the pump, ya broke bastard.”

You hear more muffled altercation, the ding of Joel’s register, and the chime of the front door. Then heavy footsteps leading to the door until his hulking frame fits the doorway, sealing the two of you in again into your grimy paradise. 

“Sorry, darlin’. Duty callin’. Hope your little hole didn’t shrivel up in the meantime,” He prattles as he heads back over to you, pulling his still-hard cock from its confines once more. 

“Just put it back in,” You sigh, your head falling back into the lumpy cushion. 

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice, dirty girl.”

His knees indent the couch again on either side of you as he sinks down and guides his cock back into you. He grunts a deep, low sound as your heat envelops him again. “Nah, still fuckin’ perfect for me. Clampin’ down on my big pecker just right. I know my girl, know just how she squeezes and creams around me.”

“Not your girl,” You pant out as his pace picks up right where he left off, hammering into you like you’ve done him an unkindness. 

“Y’are when you’re impaled on my cock like this, darlin’,” He grits out, his hips swinging, smacking back and forth into you like a pendulum. “Ain’t no other word for it but mine. Daddy’s filthy little girl.”

“Oh, fuck,” You squeak out as the head of Joel’s cock smashes against that golden spot inside of you, your head arching back in ecstasy with your neck on full display. Joel growls, stealing the opportunity to bite into your neck, like a dog with a chew toy, like he wants to tear you apart. You moan as you feel the blunt of his teeth on your flesh, denting the side of your neck. “Fuck, give it to me, daddy,” You whine, sufficiently lost inside the pleasure this man arouses in you against your better judgment. 

“That’s right,” Joel rasps, his hot breath melting into your skin as he nips at your jaw, “Let daddy have it. Let daddy have all of it.”

You can feel your eyes lazing into the back of your head as his cock continues to punish your g-spot, your tongue hanging out of your mouth as you heroically claw for each breath that Joel seems to be sucking out of you with every stifling press of his cock through your walls. 

You’ve never been a match for him, for his massive length, even from the get-go. From the time he sent you hurtling into the first orgasm you’d had on his cock in this same backroom, overwhelmed by such all-engrossing pleasure that you weren’t even sure what it was until your pussy was begging him to stop, to give you a sensory break to analyze what the fuck had just happened. With your tits that you’d flashed him in public mere minutes prior hanging out for his enjoyment, your pliant body bent over a box, and his cock shoved so deep up your cunt it felt like he was taking a self-guided tour of every organ you house within your skin and bones. 

No, you’ve never been a match for him, but he still manages to set you ablaze each time you strike against him, stretch open on him. And goddamn it, he makes it feel like you fit. Like he fits inside you, like you fit together. 

You fucking hate it. You fucking crave it. 

You dig your heels into his ass, a feral scream ripping from your throat as you wordlessly demand more, a concept that you never could have fathomed after that first time. Wanting, needing more from this mountain of a man with his paralyzing cock. 

“Yes, fuck yeah, bitch. Let me fuckin’ hear you. Let me hear how fuckin’ insane this cock makes you. How cock drunk I got you when you’re split open on daddy’s dick. Spit it in my fuckin’ face,” He rants, nails digging into your shoulder blade as he pulls you down onto his length to meet his punishing, rewarding thrusts. 

Your throat feels raw, beat to hell like the dripping hole between your legs, but you can’t stop screaming for more, tears welling and falling at some instance you can’t pinpoint, but now your face is wet and calling out for him. The “daddy”s and “please”s and “your cock”s rattling, singing off your tongue like sacred psalms for him. 

Until you feel the greedy grasp of your orgasm wrenching apart your insides, clinging to his cock like a final lifeline as the remainder of your body splinters into fractions. 

“Yes, baby, yeah, fuckin’ come for me. So fuckin’ pretty fallin’ apart on daddy’s cock. That’s fuckin’ right,” He grinds out, fucking into your body until it goes limp from exhaustion. “Open up for Daddy Joel’s come, darlin’. Take every fuckin’ drop,” He growls, finally screeching to a halt as his own release overtakes him, balls deep inside your waiting cunt. 

You feel the flood of him, pumping you full and somehow seeping out from the iron clutch of your cunt around him. You already feel him dripping onto the christened couch, and selfishly, senselessly, you hope that it’s the first time for the furniture, at least from Joel’s doing. Logic would argue the contrary, but in your post-orgasm haze, you suddenly loathe the idea of anyone else feeling this goddamn good at this man’s mercy. 

“Just like that. Let me breed that little snatch,” He purrs into your ear, the grate of too many cigarettes vibrating from his throat into your already buzzing bloodstream. And fuck wouldn’t that be a concept. Allowing Joel to ingrain a part of himself inside you so deeply that it eventually becomes sentient. A living creature sprouted from pure, unadulterated lust. 

You don’t want it. You don’t want kids. At least not now, with him. But shit, you need this man to swallow you whole. You don’t know how else to get there. 

But how the fuck did you even get here? Full to bursting with a carnal need for this…menace. This grubby, inappropriate, sleazy sack of…trouble. Loads and loads of trouble. And load after load of his…

Fuck. 

As the devil speaks, Joel’s spent cock wriggles out of you, slick and coated with the pair of you and what you’ve done, over and over again now. No longer a one-off or a let’s just test if it was as good as the first time. You’re a repeat fucking offender now. The flow of his come trickling out of your ransacked pussy more than just a memory, but an expectation. 

You run a heavy hand down your face and then bury it in your hair with leaden eyelids concealing the shame within them. Thick fingers drag up the seam of your cunt, press inside you with the escaped rivulets of Joel’s spend, fuck into your stretched hole with disarming tenderness as he plants every bit of himself within you as he can, despite the barriers you have firmly in place rendering his actions moot. 

“Don’t wanna waste it,” He mutters, voice thick and deep with his own post-orgasm sluggishness. Wetness presses against your lips, and you give no thought before opening them for him, the weight of his digits monumental on your tongue as you suck your shame off of them with concave cheeks. 

Your spit tracks down your chin with the drag of his fingertips along it as he frees them from your mouth. You’re vaguely cognizant of them drifting down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach before he mumbles a “Don’t move,” for the second time tonight. You’re just as unwilling to disobey as you were the first time, only it’s the bonelessness in your limbs that fosters it now, rather than that bone-deep longing. So you allow your eyes to rest as they have been. 

His presence is gone from the couch for less than a minute before he’s straddling your thighs again. You jump involuntarily when you feel a light tug on your skin under your belly button and above your mound, of something slightly cooler than the temperature of your skin. You lift your head from the sofa in lazy curiosity, to find the tip of Joel’s tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth and a Sharpie in his hand, scrawling on your skin. 

“Joel, what—”

“Shh, I want it to be legible. I got notoriously shit chicken scratch.”

You give a brief whine, but drop your head back and remain steady, letting the pull and drag of the marker hypnotize you into a peaceful contentment. 

“Alright. You can look.”

You lift your head again, but you can’t quite make it out. You prop yourself onto your elbows and see, “Daddy Joel’s Pussy” with an arrow pointing directly down to your cunt in sharp but still notably sloppy handwriting. Undeniably Joel in a charming sort of way. 

Your eyes widen, and you flop back onto the couch. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

“Don’t like it?” He says, a smirk in his voice. “Lemme do somethin’ else. This is fun.”

“You need to get back out there,” You argue, indicating toward the door. 

“I don’t gotta do nothin’. ‘Less someone starts bangin’ down the door again.”

Joel’s tongue darts out once more as the marker bleeds on the curve of your breast. This time you watch every stroke, every line, until you see “Joel’s Slut” adorning your skin, one word inked over each nipple in his terrible penmanship. 

“This is gonna be such a fucking pain to get off,” You grumble as Joel eagerly, with almost a childlike intrigue, continues to sketch over your torso. “Just please not anywhere visible.”

“Roger, Roger,” Joel mumbles absentmindedly, transfixed on his next art installment between your breasts. This one he finishes quicker, and you see why when you glance down. It’s a crude dick and balls, the head pointing upwards toward your neck, nestled right in your cleavage, with scattered tiny lines you guess are meant to represent a cumshot. 

“Fucking hell, Joel…”

“You ever seen what a sternum looks like on one of them diagrams? Looks like a fuckin’ cock,” He imparts, a youthful glow on his face, like pride at his cleverness. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it, smartass. But if we’re going with actual anatomy, the figurative balls would be at the top and the figurative dick would be pointed down,” You lecture, vague memories of the subject surfacing in your brain that, admittedly, you also only remember because you thought it looked like a downward facing dick when you learned about it. 

“Don’t spoil my fuckin’ fun with your facts,” He scowls, a crease between his brows as the marker drags over your abdomen. “I like that it looks like I’m squirtin’ a load on your tits.”

“This is so fucking stupid, Joel,” You protest, laughter in your voice. 

“Shut your slutty little mouth and let me play.”

With your bones still feeling like jello, you let him. The minutes tick by until Joel announces proudly, “There. You’re a fuckin’ masterpiece.”

You hazard another look down, and your torso is covered in ink. 

Daddy’s Bitch

Golden Gash

Cocksleeve

Gutterslut

Gas Station Hooker

A myriad of other disgusting sentiments plastered in big, bold letters, etched on your skin in permanent marker. You groan, throwing a hand over your face. “Jesus, Joel.”

“Lemme get a picture. You look so pretty.”

You peek through your fingers to find Joel standing over you, his phone poised at his artwork. You cover your face as thoroughly as you can, doing what you can to avoid associating your face with your body as he snaps his photos. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna bust a nut over these later. Maybe two,” He moans as he slips his phone into his pocket and paws at your tits, squeezing them together and pinching at your nipples. 

You slap a hand down at him to shoo him off and start pulling on your clothes. “Hope you had your fun. I’m gonna make sure this shit is gone by the next time,” You insist, studying down yourself just to ensure no marks are showing through your clothes. 

“So we’re sayin’ ‘next time’ now, are we?”

You look back at Joel who is very smugly seated back on the couch, manspreading with the best of them as his face beams. 

“Shut up,” You mutter, fixing what you can of your hair. 

“Gimme your number, sugartits. I think I’ve earned that.”

“Yeah fucking right,” You scoff, but Joel is holding out his phone insistently. You stare at it for a long moment before sighing and snatching it from him. You consider giving him a fake number, but the incessant ache between your thighs keeps you honest. You toss it back into his lap. “There. Don’t make me fucking regret it.”

“Haven't regretted him yet from what I’ve gathered,” He chides, grabbing his crotch obscenely as you roll your eyes. 

“Go do your fucking job. I’ll see you around maybe,” You throw noncommittally at him as you make your way out, trying to purge that look of smug pride on his face, the existence of your naked, graffitied body on his phone, from your memory. “And…thanks. Again,” You tack on as you walk backward out the door for a couple of steps, seeing him give you a wink as you turn back around. 

The second you settle into your car, your phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. You heave a heavy sigh and open it. 

An image, the exact image you’d been trying to forget, of your naked, graffitied body, with your face masked by your hands. Accompanied with one word. 

“Mine.” 

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#the last of us #joel miller x reader #filth (smut tag) #ANOTHER FUN DELICIOUS CHAPTER. YAY.

[exuber]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #15 - FINALE

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: All things end.

Word count: 3,400

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous]

Traveling through Strange’s inter-dimensional portal is a different experience from going through one of Miguel’s. It’s less of a laser light show and more of a psychedelic drug trip.

Shapes and patterns warps in front of you, and the strength of gravity seems to press in against you from all sides as you fall upwards through an endless space.

You lose track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. It could be hours or seconds, but you can't tell the difference. Then it stops.

There is a gentle light ahead of you, and as you pass through it, the soft warmth of it trickles away. Then you find yourself standing in a familiar vast and empty space once again.

Staring into the far distance, the only thing you see is the blank whiteness ahead of you, just as jarring and endless as last time.

You clutch onto the pink-gemmed amulet hanging from your neck, gifted to you by Strange. A magical artifact that’s meant to help you keep your physical form in this space so you don’t fade away like you did last time.

Everything is static here, stale. There’s no air flow, no sense of temperature. The environment is neither hot nor cold against your skin, but somehow you feel an ever-present chill seeping into your bones.

Taking a deep breath, you start to walk forward.

You're shivering with each step you take. There's no sound under your step. No shadows cast under the soles of your feet.

"Boss lady,” Lyla pipes up, her hologram avatar hovering over your shoulders. “I really don't like this. Let's go back home, Beyoncé is holding a concert in Amsterdam! I got us front row seat tickets."

It's a valiant attempt, Miguel really did a great job coding her, but you’re not going back without him. Ignoring Lyla, you continue on your path.

There’s no sign of Miguel anywhere. It's all infinite whiteness as far as the eye can see, with no signs of an end.

The last two times you were here, you didn’t have a chance to gain an understanding of how big this space is. For all you know it could be as vast and endless as the universe itself. What if you’re stuck wandering in this place for an eternity and still never find Miguel?

You walk on, eyes roaming the space, and a dull ache starts to form behind them from staring at the glaring brightness.

There! Off to your left, you finally spot… something.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you clock a disruption in the blank whiteness. A tiny disruption. Or maybe it’s just far away? The emptiness of this place is hell on your depth perception. You veer in that direction, squinting as you approach, until you’re finally close enough to make out what it is.

In the middle of the vast nothingness, there is a tiny ball of crumpled up yellowish paper floating at knee height.

Huh?

Isn't this a complete void where nothing exists or can exist? Why is there trash here?

You squat down hunching over your knees until the little paper ball is eye level and inspect it closer.

The color and thickness of the paper is familiar. It looks like a post-it note that’s been folded in half, tiny, uneven triangles sticking out at each of the four corners.

How weird.

Crumpled as it is, you can see now that the crooked folds and creases aren't all random. Looking closely, there seems to have been a failed attempt of trying to fold them in a sequence but lacking the proper hand to eye dexterity to do it properly.

Wait, is this…? It must be.

You recognize it now. It’s one of your unfortunate attempts at an origami frog from when you were killing time with Miguel at your work. But what is it doing here of all places?

Tentatively reaching out, you poke at the piece of paper. To your surprise there’s resistance.

That's... odd.

There's nothing else here. Nothing holding it.

Just the failed paper frog suspended in thin air.

You try again, grabbing a corner of the paper this time, but the results are the same. It stubbornly refuses to move. When you tug, it jerks back, away from you.

Squinting your eyes, you lean closer and carefully observe the space in front of you.

Now when you’re paying close attention, you can just about make out a vague, almost invisible outline.

It’s barely there, and you can only tell because the blank whiteness in front of you seems to warp slightly with the smallest tremor of a movement.

Whatever this is, it really doesn’t want you to take your piece of trash back from it.

You frown in annoyance. This doesn't make sense. Why would your poor deformed paper frog even be here? The only people who even had anything to do with the stupid thing are you and–

"Miguel?"

The movement stills at your voice.

When you don't look away, it seems spooked by your gaze, shirking at the attention. The thing shifts in its shape, shrinking down like it's trying to make itself smaller.

You try to move closer, and the obscure translucent form moves away from you, gliding seamlessly into the empty space.

Without a shape it takes you a few moments before you register its movement and what it's trying to do. It's moving fast, as if it's trying to flee from you.

Because it is. Shit!

You run after it, guided by the vague hazy contour against the nothingness that surrounds you. Even without legs, this shapeless thing is moving fast.

"Stop!" you shout, "Stop, stop, please stop! It's me!"

You leap forward, grabbing at the empty outline in front of you, and to your surprise find purchase on the nothingness under your grip.

"Miguel, stop running!" you shout.

It does. He does.

There is something there now, a semi-invisible mass, slightly more opaque than it was a second ago.

You open your mouth to speak, but you don't know what to say. Don't even know for certain that this is Miguel or not.

But you hope it is. Have to believe it is. You’re too desperate to overthink it, and you spout the first thing that comes into your head.

"Come back, Miguel. Come back, and I'll take you back to that cheap Chinese diner you liked so much. We can get all the food you want, all of it deep fried! I'll even share the egg tarts this time."

You think you see something shift before you. It could just be your imagination, but the tiniest speck of color seems to emerge from within the translucent mass.

Somehow, whatever you’re doing must be working, and you quickly try to think of what else you can say that will tempt him to come back.

Food. Maybe more about food will work? It worked for you, after all.

"The Reese buttercups in our other apartment are all expired, but I think they'd still be okay to eat, and– and– And I'll make you cookies if you come back! Blue spiderman ones that match your suit."

The speck of color pops, fading into thin air, your fingers sinking further into the nothingness of his form, and a spike of panic stabs through your chest.

Why isn’t it working!? Was it not the food that made him react after all? You don’t know what else to try.

That first time you were here, Miguel was able to bring you back to yourself with the intimate details he knew from the other lifetime you two had shared. Maybe you can do the same.

"Your name is Miguel O'hara," you start, "and- and-" And then you have to stop, not sure of what else to say. "And your eyes are red... for some reason. And you have fangs! Fangs that can deliver some kind of fucking paralysis venom, which is completely ridiculous by the way!"

Nothing happens. There’s no change save for that the form underneath you squirms and tries to get away from your grip.

"And... and..."

Shit. This is getting you nowhere.

Unlike Miguel, you haven't had the front seat experience of living a lifetime together with him. There's only so much you know about him. Because that man is more secretive than a CIA agent.

You bite down on your lip in frustration.

"Goddamnit, Miguel! I barely know anything about you because you never tell me shit!"

The shape underneath you stops wiggling underneath you.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you gather yourself, then you reopen them again, staring up at the upper part of the half-invisible shape like he's standing in front of you.

There's no point in trying to beat Miguel at a game of knowledge. You will never win. You never got to learn or memorize every personal and intimate detail about the man and his life. But there's one thing that you know beyond any doubt.

"I miss you," you tell him.

Strokes of soft colors streaks through the translucent mass at your words. A gentle blossoming spreads and you can see the opaque material reform inch by inch, until it vaguely resembles the silhouette of a body.

"I can’t even eat without you around, which has never happened to me before. I’ve been able to eat through food poisoning. But now the cupcakes from Gladis remind me of you and how you're not here, and they taste like cardboard."

He feels firmer somehow, more solid, and there’s even the faintest trace of warmth under your fingertips. Hope flutters in your chest at the change, and you tighten your grip on him.

“I miss you. More than I ever thought it could be possible to miss someone."

You can faintly make out limbs and shoulders, and the outline of a head.

"I miss falling asleep next to you. It's too quiet without your snoring, and the bed is too big without you there."

The body grows taller, and you can see the familiar tan of his skin now, the line of his jaw and the sharp angle of his nose re-materializing before your eyes.

"I miss watching you eat three dozen tacos in one sitting, scaring the tables around us. I miss having you with me and getting to talk to you, or even just sitting next to you doing nothing.”

You lean up towards him, raised on the tip of your toes, until you're up against him. “I just want you to be here with me. Please come back," you whisper into him.

Then he's there. Right in front of you, large and firm and warm as he towers above you, forehead pressed against yours, in your arms.

He’s here. Miguel is here.

His hair is a soft tousled mess. Eyes warm and hazy as he slowly blinks them open like he's just woken up from a hibernation while he gazes down on your face in an intimate silence.

It doesn’t last for very long. His gaze sharpens, blinking in rapid succession as confusion bleeds into his face. You can see the exact moment that consciousness and awareness fully return to him. Because he steps back from you, red eyes burning with an angry determination.

"What are you doing here?" he snarls at you.

Because of course he does. Of course anger is his first reaction at seeing you here.

"You can't be here," he says.

You don't even get a word in before Miguel reaches for your wrist.

"Lyla!" he barks out, and there’s a ping on your arm in response.

"Lyla, stand down," you command, smacking your palm over the face of the dial before the hologram can pop up. You already know that the next words out of his mouth will be a command to whisk you away again if you let him speak.

His lips twist into a frustrated snarl. Eyes glowing with that red fury that you recognize by now as the beginnings of an anger tantrum.

“Why don't you get it? I need to do this," he seethes, gesturing at the void, "I have to disappear. For your sake! It's my fault. I'm the reason you keep dying. I’m killing you!”

“That’s not true! You saved me! You caught me when I fell off the Chrysler building—twice!—and–”

“That doesn’t matter!” he snarls, rounding on you, “Don’t you understand!? You’re still going to die! If I'm with you, you die.”

There’s a moment of resounding silence, and you watch as the anger bleeds away from Miguel’s face, leaving something else in its place.

Something like grief.

“I can’t– I can’t do that again,” he says quietly, and he looks so sad that it damn near breaks your heart.

“Miguel…”

You don’t know what to say in the face of such raw and obvious grief. Until… suddenly, you do.

“Whether you're here or not, I could still die, Miguel."

Your words seem to hit him like a blow, and he flinches back, his eyes going round and liquid, open mouth quivering for a moment before it pulls right into a hard downturned line.

"Even if you were gone, there still wouldn’t be any guarantees," you say.

You brush your hand alongside his, trying to hold his hand in yours but he draws it away.

"You could save me by erasing yourself from existence and tomorrow a bus driver that isn't paying attention might hit me and I'd die anyhow," you continue, and he flinches visibly. "You can't control these things, and I would rather be with you and take the chance and be happy until it happens."

His hand balls up in agitation at his side. "I– I just don't want you to die again," he says, helplessness bleeding through every syllable of his words.

Your heart aches at his obvious pain. All you want, all you've ever wanted is to make that pain a little bit smaller. You step forward closing the distance between you, and he doesn't back away or move from you this time.

“Everybody dies. Regardless of what happens here I will too someday. But you’ve given me extra time. You did that. You saved me, again and again. And I’m so happy that you did. That I got to have that time with you. To share donuts with you in bed, or fold post-its frogs in the office."

His eyes close tightly, and he gives a slight shake of his head, grief and denial warring in his features. “None of that matters if you don’t survive,” he says quietly.

“You say it doesn’t matter, but it does, Miguel. Those moments matter to me. And even if we die here in this stupid video game loading screen, or if we make it out of here, but something else gets me, it will still matter to me.”

There's no telling if your grand speech is actually getting through to him because he's still not looking at you or meeting your eyes. You grab at his shoulder for his attention. It's all you can do to not shake him and rattle him until he accepts what you are trying to tell him.

"I want to be with you, and even if you can’t save me in the end, that's okay. I just want to be with you for as long as I can. However long or short of a time that is, I won’t have any regrets as long as I get to spend it with you. I told you, didn’t I? Every me in every universe would say the same, given a choice."

He doesn’t respond this time and part of you feels like you’re talking to a besieged wall. Reaching up, you cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his face down to meet your eyes.

“How many other universes are out there where those versions of us never get to know each other at all? …Thousands? …Millions? We’re the lucky ones, Miguel. We got to meet, and we have a chance against all odds. So what if it means we have to jump through a few hoops and universes to be together?”

His eyes open fully at your words, and lock on your face. You think you can see the cracks in his defenses. His hands unfurl and twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting himself to reach for you.

"I love you,” you tell him, and his lips part with a slight tremble.

You’re running out of things to say that can convince him now. The only thing that’s left is for Miguel to make the choice.

Your hand slides down from his face, and he looks distraught at the loss of contact as you take one small step back and away from him.

"Let's try to be happy this time," you tell him.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you try your best to smile through your nervousness, hoping that he is going to say yes to you this time despite his trademark stubbornness that you’ve come to love and hate sometimes.

Miguel looks at your hand, hesitation carved into every shade of red in those eyes. His hand flexes by his side, but doesn’t move.

He’s still unsure, and hope falls flat in your chest at the thought that he might very well make the choice to stay and destroy himself despite how much you don’t want him to.

But then he nods, and your heart begins to sing.

Tentative as it may be, his arm still reaches out towards you, fingers seeking out yours and he takes your hand.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. “Let’s be happy.”

Your smile grows wider, eyes watery as your vision blur around the edges when you look up at him. Happiness blossoming in your chest until it feels so full you think your ribs might burst from it.

You squeeze down on his larger hands in yours, to reassure yourself that he is really here, with you. And he is.

"Lyla," you say, and your watch pings at your command, before Lyla’s face lights up the space above.

"Good to have you back with us, boss," she says with a salute in Miguel’s direction. “Where to now?” 

“Lyla,” he acknowledges with a faint smile and a nod, but he doesn’t look away from your face. "Do the thing. Take us home. Home-home."

Warm amber light rises up to surround you both, and Miguel pulls you into his chest. A kaleidoscope of colors explodes before your eyes, swirling around the two of you as he holds you in his arms.

You can't stop smiling at him, grinning like an idiot, as you tilt up to press your forehead to his.

Reality reforms around you, specks of navy-blue filling the large and vast sky. You're standing on the rooftop of a tall building surrounded by the skyline of brightly lit skyscrapers, a labyrinth of levitating bridges and streets laid out beneath. Floating vehicles buzz and soar through the sky like flamboyant dragonflies. Below your feet there is an ocean of dotted neon lights and colorful hologram billboards filling every inch and corner of the city below.

This must be Miguel's home dimension. What did he call it?  Earth-3000-something? Nueva York, he said, and it certainly looks new—bright and fantastical, like nothing you’ve ever known before—but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Miguel pulls back slightly, squeezing down on your hand.

"So what do we do now? As long as I exist, the universe will still be out to get you," he says.

Despite the bleakness of the picture he’s painting, his eyes are soft and there’s something that sounds like hope in his tone.

You smile at him, eyes narrowing against the bright neon lights of the tall towering buildings around you.

"We live,” you answer, “Together. As long as we can. I hear you're some kind of genius scientist or something. I'm sure we'll think of something fun to do in the infinite multiverse."

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

“Sleep.”

He's smiling at you, the corners of his fangs peeking out against his lower lip, eyes squinting in a way that makes him look almost boyish.

The sight of it makes your cheeks warm pleasantly and affection blossoms endlessly in your chest for him.

This isn’t the end, but if it were, it feels like it's a good one this time. Miguel walks out towards the ledge of the building, turning back to reach out his hand to you.

"Let’s go, Cielito."

[Nueva York, Earth 928-C]

The end.

Credit and Dedication: One final time, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who is my muse, my partner-in-writing-&-brainstorming, who makes writing so much more fun everyday.

And then of course. To everyone of you. We are finally here. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I want to thank everyone who has followed along in this story this entire time. Writing Every You Every Me has been one of the most joyous writing experiences I've had. That is largely because of you guys! Thank you for every heartfelt feedback you guys have left here, thank you for coming into my asks, thank you for clicking that little heart on the bottom letting me know you've read it and for the lurkers who has followed along all the while, thank you for taking the time to read this story of mine! Having this audience has made me grow so much as a writer. Having your company while I wrote this has brought me so much joy. Reading everyone's reactions and theories has been a privilege that not a lot of writers get in the process of writing a multi-chaptered story. Thank you so so much.

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#spiderman #spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #WE DID IT GANG WE MADE IT!!!! #q