#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[always-andromeda]

𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Ellie Williams x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1232

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ You and Ellie enjoy an all-too-rare "quiet" moment with each other.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ soooo...this is my first time writing something for Ellie...please be gentle lmao. I decided to be a little easy on myself and start off with something light with absolutely no plot. Just pure, fluffy porn. That being said, I want to add that from this point onwards, anything I write based in the TLOU universe, I will be including links on what we can do to aid Palestine. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

HOW YOU CAN HELP PALESTINE

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact, please and thank you), reader has no physical description aside from being afab and able-bodied, fingering (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), pet names (babe, baby), slight overstimulation, general softness, nothing else I can think of!

Early mornings suit you, Ellie decides. Especially when it's all cold and quiet and blue light as a thin layer of frost covers the outside of the window by her bed. You're both thankful that it obscures the view of any eyes that may have been peeking into Ellie's garage.

They would've seen you sprawled out on her mattress and Ellie slotted firmly between your legs, paying all sorts of attention to your thighs. And thank fucking god, you're the only one who can hear the filthy words that fall from that wonderful mouth of hers.

"You're so fucking soft, babe." Then she chuckles, "And so easy to work up."

Your thighs shiver with anticipation and you're far beyond the point of feeling any kind of shame about it. There's only urgency filling your chest as you hope that Ellie's teasing turns into something. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd spent so long on you that Jesse had to come and "wake her" for patrol.

Now that had been a special kind of torture: Ellie hoisting herself up off of you and yelling to Jesse that she'd be right out as she pulled on her hoodie and gathered her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She grabbed her backpack, kissed you on the forehead, and muttered, "See you tonight," with a cocky grin. Then she fucking left.

And you'd have to shake away whatever mounting pressure she'd built up inside of you and uncomfortably shuffle your way home in yesterday's clothes all while trying to avoid the watching eyes of Jackson's population. It felt like every ounce of deprivation was written on your face in those moments and you hated it.

So you thread a hand through her hair, gently urging her towards your cunt.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm gettin' there," she teases and removes your hand.

“Now, please,” you whine.

But it’s no use. With a little laugh under her breath, she keeps peppering kisses along your bikini line. You know she relishes in it, listening to you gasp as she gets closer and closer to where you need her only to pull back moments before her lips could connect with your center.

She must be feeling nice this morning; she hasn’t admonished you for squirming or whining. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have patrol today. Or maybe it’s because you spent hours after dinner the night prior relieving her stress as well. Or maybe it’s just the simple fact that quiet moments like these are rare. All you know is that you can handle it; you can handle her.

You ball up the sheets in your fists and adjust your hips ever so slightly, settling in for whatever Ellie has planned for you. She uses a finger to pull the thin cotton crotch of your underwear to the side and groans to herself.

She laughs, “I don’t even have to try and you’re soaked.”

You lift yourself up on your elbows to look down at her. “Imagine what would happen if you did try,” you quip.

“Tough talk for a girl in your position,” she says. Before you can give her another snarky reply, she licks a long stripe up the center of you. The sudden warmth is welcome but it still startles you. 

Ellie adds with a scoff, “Besides, I don’t need to imagine. I am well aware of what happens when I try.” With that, she eases a finger in you.

In and out, she patiently worked you open until asking, “Want another, babe?”

You give a breathy yes. A beat passes where you wait for her to request a please alongside it. But it never comes. She must be feeling really nice.

With a whine, you feel her slip that second finger in. She’s methodic, curling her lithe fingers with each pump and carefully itching an ache inside of you that begs to be scratched. Bit by bit, she only feeds the flame; only makes it climb higher and higher up your belly until it seems to burn at the back of your throat. That wet squelch between your legs intensifies as she fucks you faster. You let out a soft moan and Ellie curses under her breath.

“That’s right, baby. You’ve got it.”

You can’t quite see her expression but you can tell she’s got that smug smirk creeping across her face. It’s the face she makes when she can tell just how well she’s playing you.

Right then she decides to go for the kill. Her tongue flicks over your swollen clit in time with her scissored fingers and before too long, you’re chasing it. Rutting against her mouth, you follow that all consuming fire that burns away each and every one of your better senses. It craves nothing more than pleasure and the praise of the girl you love more than life itself.

Strangely, you don’t mind it. In another world, you could afford to be so needy and so selfish whenever you wanted. Perhaps that’s why you’re so drawn to the feeling now; to the fleetingness of it. It’s lightning in a bottle. And with the heat mounting, you feel ready to burst.

A string of wanton curses falls from your lips. Bones scorched with pleasure, you're quickly approaching the point where you’ll be nothing more than ash.

Ellie groans desperately against your cunt, “C’mon, give it to me. You’re almost there.”

That’s all you need to fall over the edge. You shatter as soon as your climax makes contact. You’re a mess of limbs. Legs wrapping around the woman attached to your cunt. Heels digging into her back, still chasing that endless more until it damn near hurts. Chest heaving as you start to realize that it never will be enough. But somehow, that’s alright. If it was enough, there’d be nothing left for her to give; nothing left to yearn. And you’d rather spend the rest of your life wanting her than wandering in oblivion.

Finally, the pleasure gets to be too much. You’re all but a pile of smoldering cinders, terrifyingly close to blowing away in the wind. You cry out and tap the side of Ellie temple, signaling the end of the

She quickly obliges and switches to pressing gentle kisses to your mound between whispered praises. Hands gripping your thighs, her thumbs swirl soothing circles to your trembling flesh. Her kisses work their way up your belly, between your breasts, across your collar, up to your lips.

“You alright?” she asks softly.

Your head still spins a bit but you manage a nod and a low hum which only makes her chuckle.

A thin layer of sweat on her forehead sheens in the light. The smattering of freckles you adore dance with the flush on her cheeks. Judging by the creases next to her eyes and the smile she wears, she’s languishing in how you look too.

“I sure did a number on you, huh?”

“A little,” you mutter. But you know you’re not fooling her.

Ellie settles at your side and weaves an arm behind your neck, loosely holding you to her. You stay like that for a few seconds; quietly intertwined.

You look up at her through your lashes and break the silence. “Love you, Els.”

She smiles and presses one last kiss to your nose. “Love you too, weirdo.”

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us part 2

[always-andromeda]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Frankie Morales x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3,038

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ After recruiting you to be his plus one for yet another wedding, Frankie can't help but ruminate on and regret the last one he brought you to.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Lolabee!! I'm super excited to finally share that I'm your secret Valentine!! I apologize in advance for posting this so late in the game; exam week has been super hectic. That being said, I decided to give myself a little bit of a challenge and write something for Frankie for the first time ever. I should preface this by saying that when I read your prompt for rom-com vibes, I immediately began filing through all of my favorite rom-coms. And since my current favorite is Plus One, this fic is very much inspired by it!! Happy late Valentine's Day!! (dt: @thelightsandtheroses) (divider credits: @cafekitsune)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ fluff with little bits of angst (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no physical description given to the reader except for the fact that she wears makeup, mentions of alcohol and references to the reader drinking, the slightest references to Frankie's past, this fic is almost entirely removed from the movie's canon (these characters are basically my paper dolls that I'm making do cute things<3), idiots in love, they tease each other, they go to a wedding, misunderstandings occur, but it all works out <3

“You’re bringing your own tissues this time, right?” Frankie called from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He’d slept in far worse places. But he could already feel new knots forming on top of the old ones in his back. Needless to say, he wasn’t looking forward to spending yet another night attempting to sleep on the dense hotel room mattress.

You replied from the bathroom, “Oh, yeah, don’t worry. I’m prepared.”

“You better be. Because you’re not using my tie to blow your nose again.”

If you were in the room, Frankie could’ve practically felt your glare burning a hole through him. But instead he only heard the clear exasperation in your tone when you answered, “I did not use your tie to blow my nose.”

“Might as well have…” he mumbled. Santi’s wedding had claimed that casualty. By the end of the ceremony you’d soaked his tie in tears and covered it with a fine layer of translucent powder from dabbing your face off. And as much as he teased, he hadn’t minded it. He hadn’t minded it any more than he’d minded the distant friends and relatives who’d assumed that you were his girlfriend. Which…wasn’t an insulting assumption by any means.

The next time – at Benny’s wedding – Frankie brought you tissues. He didn’t like to think about Benny’s wedding. But if there was one thing he was happy about, it was that he’d thought far enough ahead to bring them for you. He was glad to see your smile. To feel your arms wrap around him as you thanked him and told him he was such a sweetheart. He was also grateful for the Hawaiian sun; for the developing sunburn that had prevented you from seeing how much that one nickname made his cheeks flush in that moment.

Your head popped out of the bathroom doorway, your makeup only half done, to aim a smartass smile at him with your lined lips. “Hey, I like to think of it as a gift. You should too.”

“Your ability to cry at the drop of a hat?”

“You're damn right,” you said indignantly.

Frankie sighed, pushing his hair back for about the dozenth time. He then laid back on the bed and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. “If we’re lucky, this is the first and last time you’ll need to worry about packing some to begin with. Will’s the last stop on the wedding train.”

The thought almost made him misty eyed. Within a few hours, he’d be the last single man in his crew. The last one awake at the sleepover. Eyes so wide they were practically ablaze staring through the uncertainty of night. Unable to find sleep. Unable to believe he’d ever find it to begin with.

Your voice cut through his trance. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Maybe next year we’ll get an invite for Tom’s second wedding,” you teased. 

Frankie rolled his eyes. At least he could take some sort of comfort in that. Redfly had tried out the whole settling down thing. And it just didn’t work. Frankie wished his buddies well, but he couldn’t help but feel deep down that they’d never be made for domesticity. They weren’t made for teary-eyed speeches and destination weddings. 

“Don’t count on it,” he drawled.

“Don’t count on it,” you mimicked Frankie’s slow, gruff voice which earned a small laugh from him. “I’ll tell you what, I bet you that Ben’s best man speech isn’t going to be nearly as good as Will’s was.”

He attempted to recall what Will had even said only a few months prior. It had to have been good, the man was a public speaker, for Christ’s sake. He guessed, “That one was long, right?”

“Yeah…don’t you remember it? Frankie, were you even there?”

“I was there alright.” He laughed to mask the wince he wanted to let out. Then he cleared his throat, throwing out another vague guess, “But I seem to remember that by the end of it, he needed some damn tissues too.”

“If you had a shithead little brother who managed to get married before he could experience massive head trauma, you’d probably get a little choked up too.” You added more to yourself than to him, “God, Frankie, how do you forget a speech like that? It was fucking beautiful.”

There was a very high likelihood that he had forgotten. Frankie spent almost every day following that entire night trying to forget it. And he wondered how in the world you remembered it either considering how much you’d drank.

If you could remember what Will had said…you should’ve remembered what you’d said too, right? You, standing in the bathroom and observing yourself in the mirror as you combed through your lashes to separate them, had to have known what you said to him that night. Because he knew it. Whether he liked it or not, he had that particular speech memorized with the way it ran through his head.

Frankie had known you were in a tough spot. Hell, it was part of the reason why he’d brought you along; part of the reason why Benny had insisted Frankie take you. 

She just got broken up with, Frankie had tried to reason.

Benny had merely smirked, Which is the exact reason why you should invite her out. Give her a chance to get fucked up. Spend the night with one of the bachelors. It’s the quintessential wedding experience.

Frankie couldn’t have even pretended to mask his disgust at the idea. But he couldn’t lie…bringing you along again sounded leagues above going alone. 

And now, sometimes he wished he had toughed it out instead.

No matter how much he tried to forget, the details always flashed through his mind. The way your fingers ran through his hair. How your touch managed to stay so soft despite how completely out of it you were. But that’s how you’d always been with him. Even at his absolute worst points when he was a less than ideal man, you found some shred of decency inside him that you never hesitated to cradle and nurture.

Maybe that’s what had made those tangles form in his stomach; the idea that he was taking advantage of that kindness.

Because that wasn’t…you. You wouldn’t have done that in your right mind. If your boyfriend hadn’t just broken up with you. If you hadn’t just found out that the entire time Nick had been cheating on you with that woman from accounting in his office. If you hadn’t drank way too much. None of this would be happening if you weren’t at your absolute lowest. 

So he wiped the slate clean. It’d almost always been easy to do that. To simply forget. But he should’ve known better by now. Those things he somehow managed to lock up always found a way to ooze out of the cracks in his facade.

There were a few times Frankie thought you might crack during the ceremony. Especially when Will read out his vows, because of course the guy went the extra mile, delivering them with that stern reverence that made him the kind of guy you wanted on your team. 

But you didn’t cry. This time…you grabbed his hand. It almost didn’t occur to him that you had until Will kissed his now wife and you squeezed Frankie’s hand in excitement. For a moment, he wondered if you’d managed to get a drink in before the ceremony. You couldn’t have; the bar wasn’t supposed to open until afterwards. He knew it couldn’t have been an alcohol induced action but he was still afraid to acknowledge it. 

So he kept as still as possible. Even when the ceremony ended and you began to pull him around the venue. Though he knew his hand was getting clammier with every minute that passed, he let you drag him around the little circles of friends and family of the bride and groom. He had checked out enough that he didn’t quite realize what he’d gotten himself into until you were bringing him to the dance floor and positioning his hands on your hips.

Only when you let go of his hand and placed your own on his shoulders did it strike him how similar this felt to that night at Benny’s wedding.

You spoke like you were treading thin ice. “That speech was…surprisingly alright.”

“And you didn’t cry,” he remarked equally as carefully.

“I didn’t cry!” you exclaimed.

“It would’ve been fine if you had.”

You shook your head, “That wasn’t the kind of speech you cry at. It was simple. Sweet. I liked it. Who would’ve thought Benny’d have it in him, right?”

“So what do you do for that kind of speech?” Frankie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A polite clap. Maybe a cheer.”

“A cheer? Maybe you should’ve brought your pom poms instead of tissues.”

The way you scrunched up your nose into a playful grimace tugged at his heartstrings. Then you laughed, “Shut up.” God, he loved when you and him fell into this groove. 

So he continued with the bit, “You should get some for Tom’s wedding. The guy deserves a whole damn squad if he gets all tied up again.”

“Thought you said I shouldn’t count on it?”

“If you’re gonna count on anyone getting married soon, it’s better if it was him.” Frankie clicked his tongue, “Not like I’m going off the market anytime soon.”

“Oh, Frankie, stop it.” Your smile dropped ever so slightly, eyebrows turned inward as you gazed at him with something akin to pity or sympathy; he wasn’t sure which was worse. “You have no idea what the future could bring.”

“Not a wedding, that’s for damn sure.”

Your expression only intensified. He recognized it well after the amount of times you’d talked him off a ledge. “You can’t just discount the possibility entirely,” you argued.

“I can and I will,” he said stubbornly.

You were quiet for a few seconds, “So you’re telling me you’ve never thought about it? I mean…who would your best man be?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Your lip quirks to the side of your face as you feign a contemplative look before concluding, “Probably Santi.”

“Look at you, you did it for me,” Frankie deadpanned.

“I could plan the whole damn thing for you, don’t test me.”

“Why’s that?”

This time you pressed your lips together. And Frankie swears he felt you stumble over your own feet ever so slightly; like he’d caught you off guard with the query. “Oh, you know…weddings usually aren’t those things that people are eager to plan.”

“But why would you specifically be planning it? Unless you’re–”

A beat passes before you break out into an incredulous grin. “You’d want me to marry you and plan our wedding? That’s a tall order. I’m afraid you’ll have to pick one or the other, sorry.”

Frankie chuckles. He let the remark pass. He always enjoyed this back and forth. How you and him had always been able to bounce off of each other. It was hard enough keeping up with some of the guys. But keeping up with women was a whole different story. He always seemed to be a few steps behind most of them. For some reason, your pace was just perfect. Your humor, your timing, it all clicked with his personality.

Just like you were prone to doing, you broke the silence with an awkward laugh and big eyes staring right into his. “So…which one do you pick?”

He almost didn’t catch the question; almost didn’t want to. “Hm?”

“Would you rather marry me or have me plan your wedding?” you clarify.

“Come on, you know I’m not answering that.”

And the tide shifted once more. Just as quick as you were to smile, your expression melted into one of muted mortification. Like you’d just tilted your hand a little too far

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumbled to yourself. Your hands slid off his shoulders and you wiped them off on your dress before wrapping them around yourself. That was when you retreated, leaving him standing there looking like more of a fool than he ever thought he had.

He stared after you for a few seconds, struggling to process what had just happened when it finally registered.

Soon he was following after you. How you knew to navigate the venue so quickly, he couldn’t be bothered to wonder. All he knew by the time he got to the lobby of the wedding hall was that something was wrong.

He spotted you rushing down the sidewalk as he stepped outside. In all his exasperation, all he could get out was, “Hey, what the fuck?”

The cool night air of the fall settled in and billowed around him like a curse. He wasn’t quite sure if the deep chill that ran down his spine was from the weather or the sight of you turning around, eyes already wet with tears that you were desperately trying to blink away.

Your voice came out hoarse as you shouted back, “You’re asking me what the fuck? No, Frankie, what the fuck is up with you? I kissed you…God…how many months ago? And you don’t say a fucking word. I keep talking about Benny’s wedding and you keep acting like none of it fucking happened.”

Frankie threw his hands up. “You were drunk. I don’t even remember how many fucking drinks you had.”

“I had a couple virgin cocktails,” you scoffed. The admittance wasn’t stubborn. But it did come with a tone of disdain, “I wasn’t drunk.”

“You wouldn’t–” he stopped himself. You wouldn’t have done any of that unless you were drunk.

“You acted like you were drunk.”

You shook your head. “I was having fun. I was with you and I was having fun, you dumbass.” Then you sighed, gaze darting towards the street nervously. “And I woke up the morning after and I thought that…I thought you would’ve at least said something. I thought you would’ve asked me how I felt. I thought you would’ve had the decency to at least check in. But you were just…you were completely fine.”

“I wasn’t fine…”

“And now you want to crack jokes about marrying me?”

Frankie wagged a finger in your direction, an almost childish defense. “You brought that shit up first.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie, that doesn’t matter,” you muttered before raising your voice once more. “What matters is that I kissed you. I looked into your eyes and told you I fucking loved you and you said nothing.”

Hearing your voice say it again, even filled with such frustration, such anguish, he could help the way something fluttered in his chest. And even still, he shoved it down deeper than he ever had before.

“Because I wasn’t going to hurt you the way that Nick did.” He watched your gaze soften. “It would’ve killed me to hurt you like that.”

With the sounds of the city passing you both by, Frankie caught one of the worst sights possible. The tear that rolled down your cheek. And then the few more that followed, all shamelessly continuing their desolate stride down your neck. How you unclenched your jaw and unfolded all of the pain you’d kept since that summer into a few words. “You hurt me worse than Nick ever did.”

Your whole being compacted in on itself once more, recoiling from the vulnerable admission with a breathless conclusion. “Fuck you, Frankie. Fuck you.”

There it all was. And all he could think about was that night at Benny’s wedding. The night you told him you were glad Nick was gone. The night you smiled softly at him, thumb running over his bottom lip as you whispered.

I love you.

They were such fragile words. Words he hadn’t wanted to put any weight on, lest they shatter from beneath him and leave him falling face down in his own hopes. Because a small part of him had almost always hoped it was you. He never let himself truly believe the idea for long. But, God, he wanted to…could he still? He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back his own tears.

“I’m sorry.” His voice trembled in time with his hands. And he’d fully come to terms that it wasn’t just the cool air. He wasn’t a stranger to fearing for his life, with the work he’d once done, it was a given. But this wasn’t that. This was different. It was a fear of something a little more abstract. Because following this risk, there wouldn’t be oblivion. On the other side of his eyelids was a world where you either forgave him or you brushed him away. He certainly believed he deserved the latter with the way he’d been. But he’d never know unless he took the plunge.

When he opened his eyes again again he was grateful to find you still standing in front of him. He wouldn’t let this night steal his courage again. He repeated, voice firmer than before and charged with certainty, “I’m sorry.” Then finally replied, “I love you too. I love you.”

You gave him those hope filled eyes once more. He saw how it slowly morphed into joy; the kind that carried peace. You stepped closer, fingertips brushing against the material of his jacket as you reached for him.

Frankie closed the gap without any hesitation, his own hand moving to cradle your face as he moved in to kiss you. None of his recollections of the first time he’d done it could’ve ever lived up to the second one. There was no dread, no looming guilt, no fear. Only excitement and hope.

“If I could only pick one. I’d marry you. Any day…I’d marry you,” he mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back. And with his eyes still closed, he felt you smile as you answered, “Maybe I’ll ask you again next year. For now, let’s have this.”

“I can handle that,” he smiled then melted into you once more. And already it was something he knew he could easily get used to. Next time you asked, he’d be ready.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #spacesisterssecretvalentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic

[always-andromeda]

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1182

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Once upon a time, Joel Miller was the love of your life. Life, however, got in the way.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ I got to write this piece for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge. This song is one of my favorites off of Folklore and so I was immediately inspired by the prompt!! I highly recommend taking a look at the rest of the challenge masterlist too and sending the other creators on there some love!! Gorgeous divider by @saradika-graphics!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact), nipple play, fingering, pet names, reader has no physical description aside from being afab and able-bodied, spans from pre-outbreak to post-outbreak, mentions of guns, bits and pieces of angst, let me know if I need to add anything else!

Your youth was defined by Joel Miller. All of those delicate parts of yourself that you pretended not to see…he stared straight into the eye of the storm and protected the fragility within it. The most important thing about Joel: he was patient. To an almost frustrating degree.

He taught you how to drive with the stick shift in his beat up pickup truck. Afterwards, he showed you how to kiss properly. His hand cupping the back of your neck, he gazed at you through his lashes and asked if it was okay to kiss you. His voice smooth like molasses, you had no choice but to nod before immediately pressing your lips to his.

Even back then, Joel was a working man. His hands were rough with calluses, his mouth was filthy, and he put them both to good use. As he laid you across the bench seat of his truck, somewhere deep in your belly, you believed you could trust him. 

You supposed it was exciting for him, showing you how things were done. How a man could really use his hands to tell a woman exactly how he felt. The best Joel’s words could do came in the form of his sweet pet names.

Darlin’. Pretty girl. Baby. Honey.

Each of them wrapped up in his velvety tone and delivered specially for you. Sure, he spoiled you, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

On your twenty-first birthday, he was there for your first drink. He slowly nursed his beer, making sure to keep a level head as you danced around the bar. No matter how hard you attempted to throw yourself at him, he kept his hands to himself. And as soon as you started to get sleepy he drove you home and tucked you in before passing out on your living room couch.

The morning after he was teaching you even more. How to handle a hangover. How Joel sounded rasping, “Happy birthday, honey,” against the column of your throat. How to come with just his hands on your tits.

The trick was a nice, slow buildup. He’d pinch and pull at a nipple before leaning down to press kisses to it. You’d gasp as his teeth grazed your skin ever so slightly and a laugh would rumble through his own chest. Your cunt wept so badly it ached. Still, Joel refused to pay it any mind. Not until he had you whimpering and writhing beneath him.

Even as he was breaking your heart, it was slow; it was painful.

When he told you that he’d gotten another girl pregnant, you almost didn’t believe it. Sure he teased you, but this was a step too far. That was the first time you caught him deliberately averting your gaze. The second you detected that shame, you wanted to scream at him.

You’d never known him to be shy around other girls. But you’d also never known him to be so careless. That pristine picture you had of him was gone in an instant.

The second it was said, you retreated. Or you were discarded. You’d never been able to remember who was the last one to call the other only to be met with an answering machine. You suppose it didn’t really matter anymore.

Years passed and soon those memories turned into mementoes of an entirely different world overnight.

There have been many lovers since then; none as kind as he had been once upon a time. Then again, if Joel was still alive, he was most likely just as rough around the edges as any of the men you’d been with. In fact, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him once since those days. You felt his calluses on every man’s hands, his thick fingers filling you, his stubble prickling your neck. Those men taught you many new things. The first being that patience wasn’t owed to anyone in a world where you could wake up dead. The second? Perhaps you didn’t want patience anymore.

After all, what had patience ever given you? When the world fell apart you got fuck all from simply waiting around for something to happen. You’d rather be torn apart by a clicker than get herded into a QZ where you’d scrounge for rations.

The first chance you got, you claimed a spot in a nomadic group. You did what you had to in order to prove your worth. The first time you shot a gun, as the smell of gunpowder filled your nostrils, you thought of Joel again. Tried to imagine him at your shoulder, chuckling and then muttering under his breath, “Dadgum, girl. Not bad.” 

Every single time you managed to take out one of those infected, you heard that smooth voice of his. It was equal parts frustrating and…comforting. Frustrating in that he had managed to linger this long. But also frustrating in the sense that that version of him no longer existed, if it ever did to begin with. It was like you’d never really left behind him, his honeyed words, his skilled hands, or his goddamn pickup. Joel Miller just…had a way of hanging over you. 

Jackson was a welcome reprieve from that cloud of grief. You were stubborn to the charms of that commune. You’d trusted more promising things before and been burned.

Those years really flew by. Old wounds finally began to close. With each passing kindness, it became easier to live again. For once home felt like a place you could tangibly hold instead of some far off fantasy. 

You were so content that by the time Tommy showed up one spring, you only saw it as a blessing. He was alive, goddamnit. It didn’t matter that his dark eyes were damn near the same shade as his brother’s. And it didn’t matter that the twang of Texas still lingered on his tongue. You simply told yourself what you’d been telling yourself for years.

Joel was just a man. A man who thought that because you were young, he had some sort of claim over your heart. His heart had never belonged to you. More importantly, yours hadn’t belonged to him. He made his mark and you’d paid your dues in heartache. That was all.

Which is why it felt all the more haunting when he showed up on your porch.

A little over three decades later and Joel’s right there in the flesh. Even with the town buzzing about his arrival, you suppressed any notion that he’d pay you a visit. But now he steps forward into the porch light and through the fog of his breath in the cold air, you catch how much he’s changed. He’s almost nothing like you remember. Silver dappled stubble, pursed lips, forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brow.

The expression falls as soon as he sees you. The crinkles by his eyes relax as his gaze softens. Just like it used to so long ago.

Yet you swear he hasn’t changed a lick when he finally speaks.

“Hey there, darlin’.”

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfic #the last of us hbo fanfic

[always-andromeda]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓

𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⭐︎ 3,416

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⭐︎ so. here we are. I have been bewitched by this gorgeous golden himbo. absolutely do not come for me on my knowledge of Marvel canon and me talking as if I know everything about the Sovereign because I don't <3 we're just winging this thing based on the little research I did. thank you to my wonderful best friend, Storm (@quietsounds) for helping me with brainstorming different ideas for this thing!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⭐︎ smut (we know the drill, minors, please do not interact), light mentions of mommy kink, free use kink, praise kink, temperature play, descriptions of p in v sex, oral, and handjobs, little bits of fluff but mostly pure filth, nothing else I can think of!!

𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱)

He means well, but he's definitely a little clueless about the whole aftercare of business. Mostly because he himself doesn't need too much of it himself. He can go a few rounds and barely even break a sweat so he'd almost expect you to bounce back just as quickly as he can.

Not to worry though, he's pretty quick and eager to learn. The more attuned he becomes to what you need, the quicker he is to offer it as soon as you're both done. Need to be cleaned off? He's up as quick as a flash and wetting a washcloth. Need to be held? His arms are ready. Need to be talked down? He's fantastic at checking in and making sure that you're feeling okay.

𝐁 = 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫’𝐬)

Adam isn't all that interested in the aesthetics of his appearance. Though I think he does slowly become aware of how attractively he was created. But if he absolutely had to choose...he'd say his hands. He's quite relieved that the High Evolutionary decided that hands were the ideal tools for him to wreak destruction with. However, with him being a very tactile sort of lover, he gets to use them in many other scenarios. From scissoring you open with his fingers to caressing your cheek with his thumb, he's glad he has them to show you just how passionately he feels.

On the flip side, any sort of softness you have, Adam loves it. Especially your stomach. He'd love to just wrap himself around you and lay his head on your tummy while your fingers card through his hair. Maybe it's a dash of mommy issues, but he's obsessed with sinking into your plush skin and really feeling the warmth of blood rushing beneath it.

𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐦 (𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐦, 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)

The Sovereign have no need for sexual reproduction so he's not exactly the most familiar with cum? Therefore, any sort of fluids you produce? Automatically the most fascinating thing to him. He'd stare at his own fingers, holding them up to the light and admiring how you cover them. This man can do a range of impressive things but you better believe he's entirely captivated by something as minute as the way you cum.

𝐃 = 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬)

He gets...weirdly needy. It makes him kind of possessive and paranoid. Though he knows firsthand that you can take care of yourself perfectly fine, he makes it his personal mission to be trailing behind you almost all the time.

And to Adam, it's a complete secret just how obsessed he is with you. He thinks he's the master of keeping his cool and being the most normal boyfriend of all time. Never mind the fact that he's immediately at your side asking, "Is this guy bothering you?" the second he catches someone he doesn't know talking to you. He almost can't help it. He's never known affection like this and it's incredibly intense for him.

Throw him a bone. And by throw him a bone, I mean drive him absolutely insane and tell him that you're his during sex. Watch his chest puff up with pride and his stomach tense up as he ruts into you harder. Whenever you can affirm that you truly want him, he can't express enough how wild it drives him.

𝐄 = 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

Considering he's still pretty fresh from his cocoon, this guy has no experience whatsoever. It’s all completely brand new for him. So he definitely has a great deal of curiosity about basically everything. Be prepared for him to tilt his head in wonder and furrow his brow in confusion over almost everything you teach him.

𝐅 = 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠)

This man is so strong that he'd have no trouble picking you up like a bag of potatoes and doing whatever he wanted with you. And sometimes he does. But he likes it more when you show him your power too.

He'd really like it if you took control, straddled his muscular thighs, and let him feel just how badly you wanted him. He'd be looking up at you through those piercing eyes, head tilted back and anticipating your lips on his neck. Then, when he's had enough of you warming him up, he'll put his hands on your hips and drag you along his cock at an almost punishing pace. That's when it becomes obvious the kind of strength he has working for him.

𝐆 = 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

He's very serious about sex at first. Mostly because it's an act that he's so unfamiliar with and he knows how special it is to humans. He doesn't want to risk screwing it up, especially since he's got superhuman abilities on his side.

The first few times, you can tell he's holding something back. All these new sensations blow his mind but he won't let them really hit him because he's afraid of going a little too far. He remembers all too well how he injured you the first time he flew into Knowhere looking for Rocket and he isn't looking to do anything like that ever again.

So it takes a little while to break down his walls and really let loose. It would be the little things that would eventually make him crumble. You kissing his nose during the calm before the eventual storm, making him scrunch his nose and squint in confusion. You rubbing his arms comfortingly, sending shivers up his spine and easing his nerves.

"You humans and your strange ways of showing affection," he'd mumble as you turned him to jelly. It takes a little while to soften his serious demeanor, but it's completely possible.

𝐇 = 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

The High Evolutionary absolutely seems like the kind of guy who would view almost any sort of body hair as unsightly, so I wouldn't put it past him to design Adam to be almost completely hairless aside from what's on his head. So do what you will with that information.

𝐈 = 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭)

Romance doesn't come very easily to Adam. He's not smooth and doesn't exactly exude charisma. The not thing he does have on his side is how down bad he is for you. And the way it comes out in the moment...sure, that could count as romance.

Sometimes it takes the form of him giving you little kisses on every bit of skin he can see. Or it's him when he first buries himself in you, groaning, "I wish I could stay here forever..." before he begins to thrust. It's also him raking his fingers over your flesh as he takes you from behind, trying to anchor himself to any part of you that he possibly can. Neediness is how he expresses romance.

𝐉 = 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 (𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧)

When he gets turned on, he's honestly not quite sure what to do about it. Power courses through his veins almost all the time and it's difficult for him to differentiate that from arousal. So the majority of the time he's humping his pillow; chasing a release that he hardly even knows where it'll lead him. Luckily, where it leads him is somewhere beautiful.

𝐊 = 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 (𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬)

Adam definitely has a bit of a thing for a little free use. Blame his unrelenting appetite. Or the fact that he's obsessed with you. Either way, he can work himself up at the drop of a hat and before you know it, he's nipping at your neck and murmuring in your ear that he'd love to touch you. And, god, when he's like that he is very convincing. That's the best kind of power he can imagine having; making you fold with just a few of his words.

Also, praise kink. All the way. We all know this guy just wants to do his best for you. This is present in all aspects of your relationship but goodness gracious is it glaringly obvious when it comes to sex. No matter how much he loses himself in the feeling of you, he will still be asking if he's doing alright. And besides, knowing that you do like it only sends him further down the rabbit hole.

Maybe a bit of a mommy kink. Not enough so that he'll be a completely whiny sub. But just enough that his stiff demeanor would definitely falter a little when you start to take care of him. Bury his face in your chest and take his cock in your soft hand and...oh...he wouldn't mind that. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

𝐋 = 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨)

From the beginning, location isn't exactly the biggest concern for Adam. He has no concept of normal human boundaries and the risks associated with voyeurism. So very little stops him from initiating things almost anywhere. It's not like he wants to get caught or gets off on it exactly? He just has very little shame in that department. And he's a needy, horny little fiend.

Which leads to countless quickies on the ship that you hope and pray that Rocket will never find out about because he'd probably never let either of you on a mission again if he knew just how many times Adam's had you softly moaning into his hand against the wall of the ship. 

𝐌 = 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐧, 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠)

Adam is very reactionary. So something as simple as a small kiss can get the wheels turning in his mind. He's so inexperienced that it's hard for him to not get completely worked up at the smallest bit of affection. Your softness is something that also goes a long way for him. If he catches you taking care of Blurp or one of the children, it sets off this strange little spark in his mind. And it's strange because he can't quite understand how in this moment, he can feel your humanity just radiating from you. And it only makes him want you more.

𝐍 = 𝐍𝐨 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐬)

He has a massive aversion to causing you pain. Whether that be him accidentally holding you a little too hard or even just a bit of overstimulation, he's not into it. And considering it's so easy for him to go over that line, he's usually a little on edge. With the amount of self control he's exercising and the way he pays attention to your responses, he's constantly prepared to apologize for anything.

𝐎 = 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ����𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

This man is a giver all the way. If he could drown in your cunt, he'd be the happiest living being in the galaxy. He unabashedly buries his face into your mound with the flat of his tongue. It's sloppy and it's loud and you can tell he's having the time of his life. He definitely needs to be taught how to actually be good at eating pussy, but he is always incredibly eager about it.

Anytime you go down on him, he's very polite despite the fact that you can tell how badly he's crumbling inside. He tries his absolute best to keep his thighs still since he doesn't want to risk you gagging or choking (because we all know that he's pretty decently sized). He'd be holding your hair back or brushing it off of your face out of pure respect. You may be on your knees, but he'd do whatever he could to communicate that you're the one with the majority of the control over the situation.

𝐏 = 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

Adam is a superpowered being. And a fairly new one, at that. He hardly knows his own strength. So there are many times where he'll exert that force a little bit more than he probably should. It's not on purpose, of course not. He'd never want to hurt you. He just gets...enthusiastic.

One minute he's looking at you. Your eyelids fluttering, mouth open, and your whole body bending to his movements. That image is intoxicating to him. It makes him lose control for a few seconds, his fingers will dig into your thighs a little harder. He puts more power into his thrusts, just to make you convulse even more. In those moments before you finish, he's so lost in soaking all of it up, using it to fuel his own climax.

Just know that as soon as Adam comes down from it all and notices the little marks on your thighs, he's immediately filled with remorse. He wraps his arms around your legs and rests his head against your plush thighs. His breath is warm as he breathes on them softly between small kisses and hoarsely whispered apologies. 

𝐐 = 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

I see him quite liking quickies, actually. Not that he doesn't love having one of those long, multi-round sessions. It's just that the urge hits him often and he's not the kind of guy who's eager to wait for release. Besides, it fills him with pride that even just five minutes with him before a mission can have you walking funny. The Guardians would tease you about you being off your game. Adam would stand there with folded arms and a wide smile, holding back a snort and knowing full well that regardless of the teasing from the others, you don't regret your little moments with him whatsoever.

𝐑 = 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

He's pretty open to experimentation. He's inexperienced and he's also just a curious guy by nature. There would be a lot of questions and a lot of him trying to work out the logistics of activities beforehand to make sure that both of you feels safe. But for the most part, he's honored and open if you want to explore new territories with him.

𝐒 = 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭?)

Oh boy. This man doesn't quit. And sometimes that's both a blessing and a curse. If you're on the same wavelength as him, we're talking hours of pleasure with multiple positions until he's got you so fucked dumb that you're seeing stars. If you let him know beforehand that you're only up for one or two rounds, he'll understand it, of course he will.

But that only encourages him to make his one round as good as he can possibly get it. It's one of the few occasions where he prefers edging both himself and you. Finally, he'll slow things down just a bit. His touches are more intentional and a little less selfish. He doesn't enjoy being mean, but there is a little cruelty in how he'll build you up and up and up, only to take his hand or his mouth or cock away, letting you plummet to the ground just so he can do it all over again. Then he'll whisper reassurances that he'll give you what you want, you just have to be patient with him. By the end of it, he'll have you shuddering and nearly as exhausted as when you go four or five rounds.

𝐓 = 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦? 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬?)

He himself doesn't use toys, but he takes a great interest in yours. The day he comes across your vibrator and asks you what it is, he takes it as a challenge. After all, he can manipulate energy. Something tells me that before too long he'd be able to figure out how to do the same thing with just his hands, rendering your toys obsolete.

𝐔 = 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞)

Not really the biggest fan of teasing, both taking and dealing it. He just doesn't see much of a point in putting off the real action. He's not waiting. Life is too short to wait when you really want something. And if you want him, he'll give himself to you. 

In fact, it's the only time he'll really get whiny at all. Sure, he's all for you going at whatever pace you find comfortable, but god, he's so spoiled and can't take the teasing. Especially since by the time you get to teasing he's probably been aching for something more for quite a bit already. It's no matter though, Adam would make sure he gets his way by kissing you hard and fast, trying to communicate as best as he can that he needs you now, not later.

𝐕 = 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

Oh, Adam is vocal alright. He has almost no concept of shame or subtlety so he'll let out those grunts and groans with little hesitance. He'll grit his teeth and bite his lip, but that does little to suppress how much he enjoys every feeling running through him, both emotional and physical.

𝐖 = 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 (𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫)

Here's the deal, Adam can manipulate energy. Usually this would be beneficial in fighting off enemies with the Guardians, sure. But I'm sure once he gets a better hang of his strength, he could find a way to use them for your benefit.

This manifests not only in him creating vibrational waves just for your pleasure but also bits of temperature play here and there. It's almost a point of pride when he can warm you up and get you squirming with a simple touch. It's never enough to properly do damage, just enough to get you on the track that he wants you on.

𝐗 = 𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲 (𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬)

We all know that this man is packing. We're talking seven inches of straight up gold heat. This man is armed and possibly dangerous since he's kind of clueless on how to use it at first. It definitely takes a lot of adjusting to fit him and it takes a while for his technique to catch up with the equipment he's got. But make no mistake, while the High Evolutionary created some awful things in his lifetime, this specific part of Adam is not one of them.

𝐘 = 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞?)

Oh, it is so stupidly high. Sometimes his behavior is akin to a horny teenage boy with how needy he gets for some sort of contact. He can learn to control himself over time, of course, but that doesn't defeat the fact that occasionally...he is an absolute fiend who needs you like he needs air.

𝐙 = 𝐙𝐳𝐳 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬)

The Sovereign are so evolved that if Adam does need sleep, he doesn't need much. But still, he's not the type to get tired when you do. So if you say you're done, then he's usually down to tuck in for the night.

He used to be kind of awkward about the sleeping part, actually. Was he supposed to stay there? Just...looking at you while you slept? Was that weird? He could never really figure out what was and wasn't weird and he sure as hell wasn't going to wake you up to ask. The one thing he knew for sure was that you wouldn't want him to leave. He was able to grasp that having sex with you and then leaving in the middle of the night was probably the worst thing he could do.

So he stays as quiet as he can. Then he holds you close to his chest. And eventually, when he's sure that you're fast asleep, he'll hum some tunes. He's quite fond of seventies rock music and it shines through in his choices of lullabies. It's a mix of Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan, Eagles, Foreigner, and whatever else he's picked up from his time consuming human culture. At that point, with you steadily breathing and him holding you in his arms, he doesn't feel quite as weird or alien anymore. It makes him feel...good. Like he can be good.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy volume 3 #adam warlock #adam warlock x female reader #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock smut #will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter x you #will poulter x y/n

[always-andromeda]

⋆⁺. ❅ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ❅ .⁺⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ With Sarah away for the holidays for the first time ever, Joel is stuck without a single clue as to what to do for Christmas. That is when you decide to show him the most wonderful time of all. ♡

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Jana (@janaispunk)!! I'm your Secret Santa!! I really liked your prompts, so I ended up going with a little bit of almost all of them. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write some absolute tooth rotting fluff and hopefully you enjoy some of the creative liberties I took!! I am a massive fan of your writing so I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy this little piece!! Happy Holidays!! (divider credits go to @saradika-graphics)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ absolute fluff, bits of angst (Joel misses his daughter and has a hard time adjusting ;-;), no actual smut but there are a few suggestive moments (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no outbreak universe, mentions of Sarah sprinkled throughout but no mentions of Ellie whatsoever, mentions of alcohol consumption, non-religious celebration of Christmas, overall it's a decent helping of fluff with Joel learning to enjoy the holidays in a new way.

Sarah wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

When she had first called to deliver the news, Joel hadn’t known how to reply. He gave a curt affirmation and listened to go on about Christopher and everything pertaining to him. Christopher’s sister was going to take her shopping. Christopher’s parents owned horses. Christopher was going to take her to see a production of A Christmas Carol after having dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher.

The protective father in him was glad. Hell, he was overjoyed that she’d managed to find a guy who was so good to her. But the lonely, single father in him was…deflated.

For two decades she’d been home for the holidays. Year by year, no matter what changed, she was the one constant. There she was, dragging him off the couch to make cookies – because no matter how old she got, Sarah always insisted upon leaving some out for Santa. They’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate and for that moment in time…everything was wonderful. It didn’t matter how the business was doing or what kind of trouble Tommy had gotten himself into. Joel had his little girl. And for the longest time, he told himself that that was all he needed.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Work kept him busy enough. He took pride in being one of the few contractors in town who’d take work with the holidays looming so closely. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the celebration forever. Especially when you started questioning, “What are we doing this year?”

For the last two years you’d joined him and Sarah on their yearly tradition: takeout and Christmas movies. It had been the time of his life, spending Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and waking up to you beside him on Christmas morning while Sarah made cinnamon rolls. And before Christopher came into the picture, he could’ve replayed that Christmas over and over again and he never would’ve gotten sick of it.

The first time you asked about plans, he evaded it, giving some vague excuse about not knowing what his schedule was going to look like.

The days flew by and your tone grew more impatient until one day, while you sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your question turned into, “Joel, what’s going on?”

He’d just pulled into his driveway. If he wanted, he could dodge the question again. He could get out of the truck and slam the door behind him, putting an end to the conflict before it even had the chance to begin.

Then he risked a glance at you. Already, your brow was furrowing in frustration. A solid pang of guilt thumped heavily in his chest. He really couldn’t afford to avoid this one.

“I just–” he hesitated, not knowing how to word it; not wanting to embarrass himself. “Usually Sarah would be home and–”

“Oh…” you trailed off, obviously detected.

Joel quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’m just used to her bein’ here.” You still wouldn’t meet his eye. He softened his tone before carefully taking your hand in his. “Listen, darlin’, it’s not that I don’t wanna spend the holidays with you. Believe me, I do. It’s just that I haven’t had a holiday without that girl in so long. I ain’t even sure what I’m supposta’ do.”

You nodded solemnly, voice quiet but rigid as you replied, “I get that.”

Joel sighed. “I raised that girl for her entire life. Every year I had to figure out what a girl her age might want for Christmas. An’ every single year she’d get all excited waitin’’ for Christmas mornin’. Gettin’ to see that girl smile as she opened up her presents…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Finally, you spared him a look as he stared off into space, his eyes getting a tad misty from the memories.

He met your gaze, smiled wistfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I just miss my little girl. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed to put on a smile with pursed lips. Even if you didn’t understand exactly how he felt, he was grateful for the compassion. If he had told Tommy or one of the guys on his crew…hell, he didn’t think he’d have been able to express it in the first place.

But they wouldn’t have accepted those emotions like that. Tommy especially probably would’ve offered to take him out for a few drinks later to forget about it all. And sometimes Joel didn’t mind that. But something told him that this wasn’t something Joel could just drink to forget about.

You continued suddenly, “How would you feel if I came up with some activities for just the two of us? Every day this week leading up to Christmas, we’ll do one thing. And you can opt out on whatever days you want if you have something else in mind. Let’s just have a quiet, gentle Christmas, okay?”

Sarah was only going to get older. And if things with Christopher went well enough…there were going to plenty of Christmases without her to come. Joel had to accept that sooner rather than later.

And that was how the so-called Wonderful Week began.

Day one was simple enough, or so it seemed.

In all of his grief, Joel hadn’t really thought to put up the Christmas tree. After all, that was something he usually did with Sarah. And he’d done a pretty damn good job at avoiding anything relating to her for the first half of December. But if there was any hallmark of the season, a tree was most definitely the big one.

So he wasn’t incredibly surprised when he came home from work to see a massive box sitting in his living room.

“Hey, what’s this box for?” he called out in the house as he set his keys down in the dish beside the front door.

You emerged from the kitchen, smiling ear to ear, two whiskey glasses filled with a milky substance in your hands.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey?” Joel cocked an eyebrow, noticing the bright red Santa hat on your head. “What the hell do we have here?”

That only seemed to make you smile wider. Your eyes lit up as you walked across the living room and handed him one of the whiskey glasses. “What we have…is a brand new Christmas tree,” you answered proudly, pausing and waiting for his reaction.

Joel only squinted before stating, “I still got a perfectly good tree in the garage that you coulda’ dragged out.”

“Perfectly good?”

“Perfectly good,” he affirmed.

“Joel, remember when we put that thing up last year? Almost all of the lights were completely burnt out. Remember how we had to go buy a separate string of lights? And remember how much you hated putting them on and taking them off? You’ve had that old thing since–”

“Since Sarah was little,” he answered curtly.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Your smile turned sheepish and Joel could practically see the gears turning in your mind, wondering if you’d stepped over the line. 

Joel shot another hard glance at the box that sat smack dab in the middle of his living room. It seemed to challenge him. Was he really going to get this hung up over an old tree? Or was he going to take this opportunity in stride?

He looked back at you. You and your little Santa hat with the white puff ball at the end resting elegantly on your shoulder. Then there were your hands, nervously fiddling with the smooth edges of your whiskey glass. His gaze swept up to your hope-filled eyes that were awkwardly searching him for some sign of tension. He couldn’t be upset at any of that. You were only trying to cheer him up. What kind of Grinch would he be to get upset with a creature as gorgeous and lovely as you?

With a deep breath, Joel spoke, “Well. If we’re gonna put this thing together tonight…might as well get started, I suppose.”

At that, your whole being seemed to practically glow. You set your drink down on the coffee table before making your way to the box to cut at the tape holding it closed.

Joel took a swig of his drink. Egg-nog spiked with something. Another sip made him realize it was Kahlúa. He snickered and shook his head.

That was another little thing you’d gotten him into. Joe was firmly a hard liquor sort of guy until you insisted that if he liked plain coffee, he should at least try coffee liqueur. Sure enough, he liked it. Most of the time you were right about stuff like this. And here you were doing it all over again with this silly tree.

Before too long, you’d both lifted each section of the tree from its cardboard confines and nestled them on top of each other before locking them into place. Joel normally hated fluffing out the tree, and it certainly wasn’t made any better considering it was fresh out of the box. But the liqueur and the Christmas music you’d turned on and had softly playing in the background added a little ease to the task.

The best part was definitely adding the ornaments. Thankfully, you’d stuck with the old box of ornaments that he’d kept beside the old tree in the garage. For a moment he was grateful you hadn’t gone as far as getting brand new ornaments too.

He liked the old ones ten times more than he liked the old tree.

Of course there were random filler baubles in various shades of red, green, silver, and gold. But the ones that got to him were the handmade ones. Some of those went back thirty or even forty years. He pulled out a flat clay sculpture of a dog painted in blue that had faded significantly over the decades. Joel ran his finger over the words on the back.

Thomas Miller, 1980

Tommy had only been seven years old. His art teacher had just fired all of the ceramic ornaments the kids made before going off for winter break. Joel only vaguely remembered the day his little brother came home with that ornament in hand. But he remembered all too well how every year since he’d hit adulthood his brother would take a little glance at the little sculpture and proclaim that it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever made with his own two hands.

“Because I made it for my big brother,” he’d say in a faux sentimental tone. But underneath the machismo and the teasing, Joel knew that it really did mean a great deal to Tommy. Which was why he was still hanging it up thirty years later.

However, the next one made him stop in his tracks. Joel carefully pulled the ornament out from under a layer of bubble wrap. Though it was also made by Tommy, 

Sarah’s first Christmas hadn’t been the easiest. Her mother had just left and money was tight. Joel had been taking every job he possibly could to scrape together money for rent and the necessities. Tommy was still in high school and had his own life to live, yet he always offered to babysit Sarah after he got out of class.

That year, Joel hadn’t had the time to worry about the holidays. Little did he know that Tommy had been saving up since Halloween to get a little tree and some cheap plastic ornaments. But the cherry on top of it all was the one other ornament that Tommy made.

It was a small circle of clay, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Right in the center was a little footprint. Words carved into the clay underneath it said: Sarah’s First Christmas, 1988.

Joel could picture it then, fifteen year old Tommy carefully pressing his niece’s foot into the clay before rewarding her with Cheerios. That period of time forged them into something greater than brothers, Joel thinks. It made them Sarah’s protectors. The ones who would always make sure she was taken care of. And no matter how old she got, that would always be true.

Right as tears started welling in his eyes from the memory, he felt your hand brush his shoulder. “You alright, Joel?” you spoke softly.

“Look at this one,” he answered hoarsely before showing you the ornament.

To his delight, you smiled tenderly and asked, “Where did that come from?”

Much of the night went that way with Joel telling stories about the various ornaments that were in his box and you telling stories about the ones that were in yours. After another drink, he found himself loosening up even more.

The two years prior hadn’t exactly been like this. Both of those Christmases happened before you’d moved in. Back then you were merely observing his and Sarah’s celebrations. This year was different though. This time…you and him were making up your own celebrations.

In the days following, Joel found himself looking forward to whatever you had planned. It was a relief to know at the end of a long day, he’d get to come home to you waiting with some new trick up your sleeve.

Day two immediately presented a challenge in the form of two gingerbread house kits. Because, you argued, who better to construct a gingerbread house than a contractor? Joel couldn’t help but snicker and roll his eyes when you pulled out a level and the tape measure from his tool kit.

“Think you got this wall straight, Miller?” you joked, holding the level up to the solid cookie wall. 

“You’re funny.”

“Just making sure everything is all even,” you shrugged. “One would hope that the big fancy contractor would care that his gingerbread house was up to code.”

Day three was a bit of an unexpected one. You finally got him to load up the boxes of old clothing and other odds and ends that had been gathering dust in his garage for far too long. Joel kept telling himself he’d donate them some weekend but continually forgot. So of course you were the one to remind him by remarking how important it was to give a little for the holidays.

It was a little bittersweet, especially since a good chunk of it was stuff Sarah had gotten rid of before moving out for college. Joel was all too aware that there was a small part of him that feared that the second he gave it all away, his daughter would definitely be calling him up just begging to have that butterfly tank top she wore in fifth grade back. But he also knew that that probably wasn’t going to happen.

So bye-bye went the dusty boxes of hand-me-downs, off to homes that could appreciate them again.

Day four brought popcorn garlands. He opted out of spiked drink for that one, knowing that he needed a steady hand if he was going to be able to thread delicate little pieces of popcorn onto some string. However, with his thick fingers, he still managed to poke himself with the crafting needle.

And really, making the garland was soon forgotten by the dozenth time you grabbed his injured hand to kiss it better. Joel really didn’t need any sort of alcohol in his system to start feeling lightheaded before pulling you into his lap for a bruising kiss.

By the end of the night, both of your garlands were only long enough to hang in a single doorway. But that was just fine with Joel.

Day five was Christmas Eve. Another night where he was sure you had something big planned – he later learned that you originally wanted to make Christmas cookies. But Joel was never any good with the whole cooking and baking thing. And tonight seemed as good of a night as any to take a load off.

“What will Santa eat when he comes down the chimney?” you protested in a teasing tone.

Joel scoffed, “Santa can starve for all I care. Tonight, I want to settle down and relax with my lady.”

“Lady,” you rolled your eyes. “Who are you calling lady?”

“You, Little Miss Christmas. Now go put your pajamas on. We’re gonna have a nice night in and you’re gonna like it.”

You laughed one deep laugh from your belly and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The next time you showed your face downstairs, Joel had planted himself firmly on the carpet with a box of old photos.

“Whatcha’ got there?” you asked as you folded your legs and settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Joel glanced over, catching the tail end of a wide eyed expression on your face as you peeked over his shoulder. 

“What’s that look for?” he chuckled.

Joel tilted the photo in your direction. It was a picture of you and him from the year prior; the second Christmas you spent with him. You were ice skating, Joel standing firmly behind you, one hand placed firmly on your hip and the other wrapped around you, keeping you from completely falling over.

“I didn’t know you got a picture from that night,” you mumbled.

“Oh,” Joel set the photo down and picked up a small, leather bound album from the box in front of him. “Sarah took a whole buncha’ pictures that night. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Really?”

Joel didn’t miss the sentimentality in your tone. He himself had almost forgotten that Sarah had brought her camera along that year. She’d taken a photography class during her freshman year of college; so it was practically attached to her almost every time she came home that semester.

She’d surprised him with the album a few months afterwards, raving about how adorable you and him had looked the entire night. I’ve never seen you get so sappy about a woman before, she’d teased him before adding, but it’s kinda cute, ya know?

Joel had brushed it off then, putting it with the rest of his old family photos. But over time it quickly began to mean something more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled that little book out and flipped through the photos. And now, for the first time you were looking at them with him.

“Really,” he asserted. “You look real pretty in all of ‘em.”

And God, did he mean it. On the next page was one of you wearing this red, satin number at a dinner party. He could easily remember the way that the material practically flowed down your curves like water. And he remembers the way his attraction for you pooled heavily in his belly and the way he had to make himself stay cool until he could get you home and get that outfit off of you himself.

The shot right next to that one was from the same dinner party. Joel had a can of whipped cream in one hand and a dollop of the stuff in the other. And there you were, attempting to lick at the smear of whipped cream on your nose.

He showed you the album and you grimaced before smiling sheepishly, “God, I can’t believe Sarah got that moment.”

God, that smile, Joel thought to himself. He could never get tired of that smile.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “I’m glad she did. I tell ya’, that girl can really capture the beauty in a moment.”

You started to speak, “You say beauty…I say–”

“Beauty,” Joel repeated. “You’re beautiful. And that’s that.”

You were quiet for a few seconds as Joel continued to flip through the album. The more little moments he remembered from the year before, the more gratitude welled up in his chest. And before he could really control it, his mouth was moving.

“You know I’m glad I get to spend time with you, right?”

“Oh, that’s good. After last night I was sure that you were just sick of me,” you quipped.

“I mean it,” Joel said with a playful nudge at your side. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’m old and I’m ornery and I’m probably a real pain in the neck sometimes. And the fact that you’re willin’ to put up with a pain in the neck like me…especially around this time a’ year…it means a lot. Everything you’ve done this week…all for me? I’m grateful, darlin’.”

Your expression faltered and you batted your eyelashes, gaze fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I just like taking care of you. I like making you happy,” you murmured.

Joel turned his head and leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

“Good thing you always make me happy, darlin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

As he pressed a kiss against your lips, his hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you into his arms. The little photo album dropped between his legs and was soon forgotten, the same way a lot of his worries for the holidays had as soon as you came in.

At that moment…he didn’t think about Sarah. Didn’t think about her never spending another holiday in his home again. She'd come back home at some point, just like his worries probably would; he’d always worry about his little girl. Though he wouldn’t forget the years of memories he’d had before you, he wouldn’t let himself dwell on them for so long that he forgot about you. Your presence was more than enough of a present for him.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #space sisters secret santa 2023 #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy. 

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed. 

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged. 

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge. 

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fic

[always-andromeda]

⋆｡˚୨ 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃' 𝒱𝒾𝒹𝑒𝑜 𝒢𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 ୧˚｡⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1039

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ You spend a quiet moment showing Abby your Animal Crossing island; a testament to your love for Sanrio characters and your favorite girl.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ on my old sideblog, my sweet Saia requested that I write something with Abby involving Animal Crossing. buuuut, since I've deleted that blog, I thought I'd repost it here! I've made some little edits so it's a bit longer than before; but here it is in all its glory again! this one is entirely dedicated to you, @abbysdolly; thank you for being so lovely and so supportive, dear. I hope you enjoy this again!! alsoooo, divider credits go to @cafekitsune!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ minor swearing, absolute tooth rotting fluff, nothing else I can think of!

"Fuckin' video games..." Abby spoke under her breath as she fiddled with the controls of her switch. She'd only had it for a few days (thanks to some gentle persuasion from you) but she was already moments away from giving up on it completely.

"What's wrong?" you leaned over from your spot on the couch. Her character now stood blankly in front of her starter tent. You rested your chin on her shoulder, breathing in the pine scent that felt like home to you by now as you tried to see what the problem was.

"There was a scorpion and he just–"

Realizing her plight, you giggled, "Stung you?"

Abby set the console down and reclined back on the couch, taking a deep breath. "How did you get so good at this in the first place?"

"I dunno," you hummed. "You just gotta work on it."

Of course. As much as Abby fancied herself an expert at all things, part of her was alright with taking the loss on this one; especially knowing how happy you got when you finally got to best her at something. You could have this one.

Abby rolled her eyes and continued, "Ah, it's whatever. Show me what you've got on your island, babe." 

Your eyes lit up and a smile bloomed across your face. Letting out a chuckle of her own, Abby swore she'd never get sick of that expression. You picked your own console back up and snuggled closer into her side.

Immediately your fingers flew, maneuvering your character around the screen. Abby smirked, catching a glimpse of the pink bunny that decorated the skin of your console. She never had a single clue how she managed to land a delicate thing like you. It always made her a little afraid of breaking you; something she didn’t worry about with most. She was abrasive and proud of it. But not with you. Never with you. She hooked a strong arm around your frame and pulled you closer.

"The first thing I have to show you..." you trailed off as your character disappeared inside of a pastel pink house. The main room of your house was thoroughly decorated with polka dot wallpaper and white wood floors. Pastel couches and a white coffee table with a decorative cake and tea set on top constituted your home’s living room. Underneath it all, a fluffy looking rug tied the whole soft atmosphere. Except…it didn’t look like any old carpet. It was a picture of some sort of cartoon character tucked inside a bright blue teacup.

Abby squinted. "Who's on the rug?"

You looked up at her, "I've told you about the characters, Bee. Guess."

Noticing the long ears on the character, she spitballed, "Isn't that the bunny? MyMelody?"

"Nooo..." you whined and tapped the decal on your switch. "That's MyMelody. The rug is Cinnamoroll. And he's a puppy, not a bunny."

Abby scoffed, "Well, sounds like I've gotta do more studying."

"Yeah," you replied matter of factly with a glint of pride in your eye, "you really do."

As soon as you showed her around your house, you then graduated to running around your island. You'd sunk hundreds of hours into the game and it showed, considering every nook was themed and immaculately adorned with various trees, bushes, and flowers. She couldn’t help but be a little jealous. It wasn’t fair that these little virtual creatures could live in a paradise, entirely hand crafted by you. That sounded like a dream to her.

"So, this is Toby," you introduced her to a yellow rabbit with big eyes and teal hair. "He's part of the Sanrio set of characters. I'm trying to collect them all."

"Now, that is a bunny. It has to be. Geez, how many bunnies does this brand have?" she grumbled.

You giggled again, "Yes, he's a bunny. But he's based off of Keroppi," you added with a pointed glance in her direction, obviously expecting her to fill in the blank.

Now this is one Abby knew. She blurted out, "The frog!"

"Good job, Bee," you smiled proudly.

"Eh, it's no big deal," she brushed you off with a teasing look that told you she was playing her humility up. She had to preserve some respectability.

Then she watched as your character ran over to a secluded piece of land that looked over the ocean. The sun was setting over your island paradise as your character plopped down on an iron bench. Cut off from the rest of the island by a thick layer of trees, this area was quiet. The normally upbeat music subsided so you and her could clearly hear the wind blowing and the waves crashing. It was strangely kind of…calming.

"This spot is nice," Abby mumbled.

"I made it for us,” you replied quietly.

"For us?"

Your gaze was especially sentimental when you answered, "Yeah! So when you finally visit my island, we'll have a place to sit and watch the ocean."

Abby blinked vacantly. "You know...we can totally do that now too...in real life?"

You chewed on your lip as you watched the screen. "I mean, yeah. Of course. But I want to sit with you and watch the sunset virtually too."

Abby was quiet, thinking about all the hours you put into this endeavor. How patient you had been, sharing all of the things you loved with her. God…how had she been lucky enough to find you again? 

Finally, she spoke, "Ya know...maybe I won't quit the game just yet. At least not until I get to sit on the bench with you...virtually..."

"You're such a goober," you smiled, laid your head back on her chest, and hopped off the bench in game so you could keep showing her around.

Her emotions weren’t showing up too visibly on her face. But she was undoubtedly and thoroughly impressed. For one, she was amazed at your eye for design and the way you coordinated everything without making it look too uptight and proper. Your island felt comfortable, just like how you made her feel. And more than anything, she was happy that it was a kind of comfort you always wanted her to be involved with.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou #abby the last of us #the last of us #the last of us part 2

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ DBF!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 4801

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + once is not enough + “Do you like when I touch you like this? I can keep going if you want me to.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ Sorry for the massive gap in posting fics! I've been getting into the swing of things with school and I wanted to do these justice instead of rushing through them!! I also want to preface this one by acknowledging that some folks hate this trope and if that’s the case…please don’t leave me hate on it. I am merely a twenty-two year old baby living her older man fantasy (cue that tiktok of Fred Armisen going “I’m sowwy. I’m a widdle baby.” 🥺)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact!!) fingering, unprotected sex, age gap (reader is in her twenties, Joel is in his forties), slight voyeurism, slight dacryphilia, pet names (darlin’, honey, sweetheart, girl), nothing else I can think of!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You'd come home from college hoping for some relaxation over summer break. Maybe you'd catch up with family and some old friends. Or maybe you'd find yourself. The opportunities were endless and you were excited. At least until Joel waltzed into the picture. 

The last time you remembered seeing him was your going away party before you moved away for college. He'd been one of the many who clapped you on the back and congratulated you on getting into your school of choice. And when he'd looked at you with those soft eyes and said sentimentally that he was so proud of you...you had no chance at stopping the butterflies that went wild in your stomach.

His praise hit differently.

It had reminded you of a younger version of yourself who'd idolized the man. Your own father was decent. But Joel was the best. Joel was the one you'd call when you ran into trouble and he'd been keeping your secrets for as long as you could remember.

The first time you'd gotten blackout drunk during your senior year, he drove you back to his house and let you shake off the hangover before sending you back home the next morning without a word to your dad.

When your ex-boyfriend dumped you over text, who else was there to save the day but Joel Miller? With a stack of rented eighties action films and an excess of coupons for a local pizza place, Joel gave you a night that felt normal.

If you'd been alone, you might've sulked and sobbed over that shithead. But in his own brooding way, Joel proved that you were worth more than that. Part of you had been a little in love with him for it. 

So, as he'd wished you well on your journey into college, you decided you'd let go of that frivolous teenage fixation. Instead, Joel was reduced to an aspiration. A blueprint for the kind of guy you wanted to be with. A blueprint that had proven to be nearly impossible to fulfill.

To your shock and surprise, most college guys in their twenties couldn't keep up with the maturity of a man who was rapidly approaching his forties. You couldn't help but feel a little repulsed by your new dating pool. Which propelled you to focus more on your studies...which only stressed you out even more. By the time finals came around, you were on the brink of tearing your hair out.

This summer was well earned. And you hated to admit that you'd been a little too enthusiastic to possibly see Joel again.

You hadn't necessarily been looking for Joel's attention. Upon your homecoming, your parents have invited him and a few other family friends over for a barbecue. It should've been a night of ice cold beers and suburban simplicity. But the itinerary suddenly changed once you got some time alone with him.

Standing on the back porch, you watched your parents and their other friends laugh and roast marshmallows over the fire pit on the lawn. As you rested against the wooden railing, you nursed a beer; your third one that night.

Joel emerged from the sliding glass back door with a bear of his own and took a place beside you on the deck.

As doting as ever, he gestured to your drink and asked, "How many of those have you had tonight?"

"Only a few." 

Joel raised an eyebrow.

"Easy, old man," you giggled. "I've spaced them out. So I'm not drunk. Just a little tipsy."

"Ah, so I take it that college taught you how to handle your alcohol better, huh?"

You smacked his shoulder which earned a laugh from him. When his head turned, you got a real good look at him. He'd hardly changed save for a few stray silver hairs and his facial hair being a little scruffier. If anything, those changes only made him that much more enthralling.

So enthralling that it was nearly impossible to pay attention to his small talk. He did what everyone else did. Asked about your classes, your major, what you wanted to do with your degree after graduating. You answered each question with quick answers, eager to get to something more nitty gritty. Because that was what you appreciated Joel most for: his ability to cut through the pointless fat and treat you like an adult. Something that you were sorely missing after only a few days back at home.

You'd taken a long swig of your beer before throwing caution to the wind. "So, Joel?" he looked over at you with raised brows. Then you asked, "You seein' anyone?"

His chest rumbled with a small laugh before he took a sip of her own beer. With his lips pursed around the mouth of the bottle and his eyes crinkled, he tried to conceal his amusement. "Nope," he replied with an air of casualty. "How about you, darlin'? You breakin' those college boys' hearts?"

You scoffed, "No, more like they're breakin' mine."

His brow creased with concern. "Do I need to break some bones?"

"As kind as that sounds...I wouldn't have anybody in particular to send ya to."

That caught his attention. "You mean you're not seeing anybody?"

Not wanting to sound like a complete loser, you explained, "I tried to go on a few dates at the start of the semester. But none of them really worked out. They just weren't my type."

A note of silence passed over you two before Joel wondered, "What would you say is your type, darlin'?"

You wished Joel hadn't been staring at you, waiting for your answer. He had to know this was dangerous territory. He had to know that it wasn't an easy thing to casually admit; the fact that you searched for him in every single man you'd gone out with. 

"Oh, you know..." you trailed off wearily. "Intelligent, strong-willed, no nonsense...but with a good sense of humor...mature–"

"Mature?"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You thought of an explanation quickly, "Yeah. Like...someone who's developed..." Joel eyed you strangely. "...in the mind, I mean. I don't want a guy who I have to practically train before I feel like I could date him."

Joel nodded thoughtfully before teasing, "Well, honey, if you're looking for a mature man...I think a college campus is one of the worst places you could've picked to look."

"Where should I start looking instead?"

His next words seemed to be testing the waters. "Maybe...maybe you should be lookin' a little closer to home."

For the first time you got the idea that it could be possible. He'd only ever looked at you straight with no inkling of duplicity. But now his eyes were going up and down, taking you in like he hadn't ever looked at you right before.

"How close are you thinking?" you asked.

Tipping his head back, Joel drank the last sip of his beer and you watched his Adam's apple bob. Watched a drop of the liquid gold fall from the corner of his mouth before disappearing into his beard. Watched as he set the bottle down on the handrail and straightened himself out.

Then he replied just loud enough for only you to hear, "Maybe the kitchen."

The descent into deviance came fast. From the moment you leaned back against the kitchen counter, Joel's lips were on yours. He tasted like the hops from his drink and smelled woody, it was a distinctly masculine combination that had made you clench your thighs together.

With his hand on the back of your neck, he guided you through the kiss in only the way he could and ensured that it ended before you were ready for it to. His nose bumped against yours as he searched your glazed over expression for any kind of reluctance.

"You sure you want this, darlin'?"

"Fuck, yes. Please," you pleaded breathlessly.

Once he let out a little laugh, he turned you around and you braced yourself on the counter. Starting below your ear, Joel trailed down your neck and along your shoulder. One of his hands was making a similar journey from your hip right up to one of your tits. 

You gasped as he squeezed the mound of flesh gently and you had never been more glad to have taken off your bra earlier on in the day. Because Joel seemed incredibly pleased feeling the full weight of your tit in his hand, all warm and willing to be played with.

His other hand went the opposite direction. Down, down, down it went until it was cupping your sex over your jeans. Which were becoming increasingly uncomfortable as you squirmed in a fruitless attempt to find friction. Middle finger running up the seam of your jeans, you knew that if you were two layers lighter, he'd be so close to dipping into your folds. He was so close it could've driven you insane.

His lips were by your ear again when he whispered, "Do you like when I touch you like this?"

Back pressed flat against his heaving chest, you nodded.

Joel toyed with your zipper. "I can keep going if you want me to..." 

You nodded once more and whined, "Please, Joel, please. Keep going."

And keep going he did. He kept going until you'd finished on his fingers twice. The first orgasm had been hard and quick, intensified by two of his thick fingers fucking you through it. Nothing could be done to conceal the sticky sounds of your cunt clenching around his digits nor the sound of you panting as you came down from the high.

With every ounce of your being you hoped and prayed that you wouldn't be interrupted. Because there was no normal excuse for Joel having his hand down your pants and his erection poking into your back. None whatsoever. And besides, getting caught meant ruining your parent's suburban simplicity.

So, for the second climax, Joel clapped a hand over your mouth and murmured, "Let it all out, honey. Don't worry, no one'll hear. I promise." You followed his directions to a T; practically shrieking when this climax crept up on you and washed over you in a relentless wave that had your thighs trembling and your back arching. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

Because when Joel pulled his hand out of your pants and wiped them off on his own jeans, all you wanted was more. Your body ached with that want.

As much as you knew that Joel was just looking out for you both, it felt like he was deliberately being mean when he mumbled, "Better get back out there before folks get suspicious."

With a quick peck and a light tap on your ass, Joel sent you off. Slick still plastering your underwear to your needy pussy, you waltzed back outside on shaky legs.

And it seemed like your mind spent every waking second thinking about it; about him. His voice, his hands, his scent, his body. Each aspect on its own could make you wet all over again. But all together? He turned you into a goddamn mess.

You couldn't shake him. Like an ever present itch, Joel had etched himself into your bones, ruining you for anyone else. And he made it all the more difficult to forget about him in the aftermath. It astounded you how Joel could shamelessly hang around your dad after that night, offering to help out with his various projects before sitting in your living room and watching baseball with him, just feet away from where Joel had defiled you. That was the brazen behavior that made you hide away in your room for that first week.

The night your parents decided to go out on an impromptu date, you were relieved. With some time alone to think and breathe, you'd sort yourself out. Tonight was reserved as a Joel Miller free evening.

Throwing yourself on the couch, you turned on some show you'd abandoned ages ago. You couldn't quite remember the majority of the plot threads. But that didn't really matter anyways. You doubted you could've scrapped together the mental awareness anyways. All of it was focused on him.

No matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your mind wandered back to him. The promise of his hard cock and his firm hands. Every part of him still had you hypnotized.

Not even your own hand could break that. For a good few minutes you fruitlessly played with yourself. You felt silly and almost pitiful trying to replicate the motions Joel had made. But it wasn't the motions you weren't getting right. It was the feeling. It was the thickness of just his middle finger separating your folds before squeezing your lips between three digits. It was his breath on your neck and his words egging you on. It was the edge of danger. It was the fact that he shouldn't have been able to stir up all of that arousal within you. And it was the fact that he did regardless.

You could never replicate that on your own.

Ruined. Fucking ruined.

Too lazy to get up and grab your vibrator from your room upstairs to help you along, you laid back and whined pathetically, relieved you had the house to yourself. But some 

higher power had to be at play and had a fucked up sense of humor. 

"What the hell are you doin'?"

Head snapping up, you spot the one man you didn't want to see ever again standing in the archway leading into the living room.

Joel Miller had his brow arched like this was some sort of surprise. Like you were on his couch in his living room in his house playing with his–

Before you let yourself finish the thought, you spoke, anger flooding your tone, "What the hell are you doing here? My dad isn't home, so what do you want?"

Joel leaned against the archway casually, still with an air of confidence that felt entirely too cocky. "I know," he shot back. "He said he and your mom would be out late tonight. 

Gave me a spare key earlier and asked if I'd check in on ya on my way home." 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you responded quickly, "Well...you've checked in. I'm fine. Thank you."

And you know the second the words leave your lips that Joel doesn't believe them. He doesn't move. Instead, he surveys your figure sprawled on the length of the couch. Of course Joel is smart enough to infer your guilt. There's almost no innocent reason for your legs to be spread so wide, for your hair to already be so mussed up.

He tilted his head slightly and you knew he was putting the pieces together and picturing you writhing against that couch minutes before.

Finally, he concluded, "You don't seem all that fine, honey."

"I'm perfectly alright. I don't need anything else from you, Joel," you spoke his name pointedly, almost a warning against whatever other ideas he was concocting.

Silence. And you partially hoped that would be the end of it.

Instead he ambles further into the room before seating himself near your feet and gazing across at you. "Are we gonna talk about it at all?"

His furrowed brow threatened to make you fold. But you were determined to stay strong, licking your lips and starting shakily, "I don't see the point. What happened was a one time thing and...I don't want it to happen again."

"You don't want it happening? Or it shouldn't happen?"

"Is there really that much of a difference?"

"There's a massive difference. Because one suggests that you want it to happen again."

"It shouldn't happen, Joel," you answered solidly.

"Then tell me you haven't thought about it once since the other night." Testing the waters, he planted a hand between your knees and slid further up the couch, closer to you. "Tell me that you haven't been desperate to come like that again," he ordered.

"Joel–"

"Ah," he tutted. "Just tell me and I'll be on my way."

You're angry and already aroused. Because he knows that you can't say it. He knows you can't lie to him like that and that fact makes you feel more vulnerable than ever.

"I think about you all the time," you admitted carefully. "So much that it scares me."

At that, Joel's stare softened and he smiled sentimentally. "Me too, darlin'. Me too." It ignited that familiar warmth in your core. The kind that craved being kindled and grown until it could consume you. 

"Is that what you were doing just now? Thinkin' of me?" he asked, eye flickering down to the crumpled front of your pajama shorts.

You could only nod.

"Did you get off?"

This time you shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. You expected him to laugh at the miserable little confession. Teasing and poking fun had always been part of his personality and – more importantly – part of the casual relationship you'd once shared with him.

He complicated it even further as he cooed with concern, "Oh, little darlin', why not?" It was obvious that shyness would no longer cut it. He wanted words; wanted all of the gory details of just how much damage he'd done with only a few minutes. 

So you indulged him. 

"Because it wasn't you. I can think about you...but that doesn't replace you actually being there."

Joel's cockiness returned as he replied, "You're damn right it doesn't. But we can fix that, right?"

Nodding again, you found yourself treading dangerous waters once more. But this time you didn't mind it all that much. It felt natural when Joel slotted his body between your legs. The warmth emanating from his broad chest immediately encased you; made you feel undeniably safe.

This time his kiss was slow, soaking up the time he knew he now had. The first time he touched you, it seemed like a favor. A reprieve from dozens of disappointments from those pesky college boys. This time, however, it was entirely decadent. It was a strange sort of care and days of tension being channeled into a full on make out session that clogged your senses like molasses.

Joel made his way down your jaw and as soon as his mouth touched down on your neck, he was sucking a mark that would no doubt be noticed by your parents before too long. That was worth the risk to have his hot breath fanning across your skin as he kissed the bruising skin better. 

He didn't have to say it, but you knew that he made the mark on purpose. And you couldn't even scold him for it. Deep down, you wanted to remember this for a while. You wanted to keep him like a secret. You wanted to look at it and know that he was the only one who could do this to you.

Joel's voice rasped beside your ear, "You know what I did after you left that night?"

"Hm?"

"You made me so hard that it wouldn't go away on its own. I had to take care of it all by myself."

"Aw, how sad," you murmured and held his face in your hands. "Poor you."

"Poor me is right. But all I had to do was think of that wet little pussy keeping me warm. Squeezin' me. That did the trick real quick. I don't think I've come that hard in a long while, darlin'. And it's been stuck in my mind ever since."

You had to admit that as much as his words spurred up those sparks and gave you a massive ego boost, it also scared the shit out of you.

"What if I can't live up to what you pictured?" you wondered.

"Honey," Joel began. "As long as you can spread those legs, let me in, and make those pretty sounds for me again, I promise you ain't disappointing anyone."

"I could think of multiple people who'd object to that..." you began to think to yourself. But before you could really finish it, Joel was taking your hand and dragging it south until you hit the denim covering his crotch. He rolled his hips a few times, allowing your palm to run up and down the full length of his cock. Fuck, he was hard. And big. Big enough that your brain scrambled, struggling to handle how intensely the want within you multiplied.

Joel chuckled as you put both hands to work, frantically undoing his jeans. "Jesus, sweetheart, you really don't know the meaning of the word patience, do you?"

"I do. I just know what I want," you replied. Sensing Joel's awe, you continued, "And what I want is for you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want to feel you for days. I want you to show me everything you've got. Show me you're better than those college boys."

That tapped into something primal in him. Because soon he's rushing to pull his cock out. If his fingers had been filling, you could only imagine how the length would feel once it filled you to the brim.

Joel pulled the flimsy and soaked fabric of both your shorts and panties aside. Running a finger between the folds, he finished every caress with a languid circle of your aching clit. After a few swipes, he drew his hand back and eyed the glistening digit before bringing it to your mouth.

"Have a taste, tell me what it's like."

Opening your mouth, you took his finger graciously and ran your tongue along the underside teasingly. Hollowing your cheeks, you began to suck, taking it back and forth like you would his cock. Before his breathing could get too heavy, you pulled your lips off with a wet little smack and admired how the skin of his finger had already begun to prune.

"So?" Joel's voice broke on the single word.

You contemplated on how to best describe your arousal before settling on giving him a taunting glare and declaring, "I don't know, maybe you should have a taste too." Before Joel could question the statement, you grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and tugged him down to your lips, kissing him deep and slow and dragging your tongue along the seam of his lips. When you detached from him with a soft moan, a thin trail of spit kept your mouths connected.

"You best believe I'm getting a taste of that pussy before summer's over," he sputtered out.

"Only if you fuck me first," you promised dangerously.

With that motivation, Joel was quick to take his cock in hand and give himself a few pumps that already sounded wet with his own pre-come. Carefully and experimentally, he slid the underside of his cock between your folds and you swore to god you could feel the blood rushing through his veins. It was all driving you insane.

"I'll try to go slow," he said tenderly. Then, with the fat head of his cock pressed against your entrance, you were overwhelmed with anticipation.

It was an expectation that was satiated more and more as each inch of him sunk into you. Your breath kept getting caught in your throat and it took everything in you not to cry at just how full you felt. You panted, attempting to catch your breath after being engulfed by him. 

You knew Joel was going through something similar when his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. For a moment it made you wonder when the last time he felt a cunt was. In all the time you'd known him, he'd never mentioned anyone, never brought anyone around, never even hinted at having any sort of romantic or sexual life. But you're doubted that he was untrained or inexperienced with the control he exercised, keeping his movements gentle and steadying his breath with each rise and fall of his belly. 

Even when you squeezed – just to see what would happen – Joel only winced and asked carefully, "You doin' alright, honey? Need me to stop?"

You were getting sick of this southern charm and gentlemanly manner. Both of you were way past the point of decency.

You meant to sound mean when you snapped, "For fucks's sake, Joel. I need you to fuck me. Now."

"Well, if you're gonna be such a brat about it..." he trailed off, returning your attitude.

He started to pull out, ever so slowly. Then, with his hands gripping your thighs tight, he slammed back in. The impact made you yelp in surprise.

"Is that how you want it, darlin'? You want me to fuck you hard?"

Head starting to fog, you nodded, added on a weak, "Please."

"Alright, since you asked so politely."

He does it again. And again. One after another, Joel delivers every thrust relentlessly. With each articulated stroke, he grunted and it prodded at something volatile inside you. Something that threatened to burst as he stretched and split you apart at the same time. You couldn't remember a time where you'd ever been touched that deep. And fuck, you were so terribly sensitive to it, your whimpers and gasps accompanying Joel's groans.

His movements were greedy, aiming to take as much as he possibly could and you were all too willing to give it to him; clenching eagerly around his cock and nails searching for purchase in the taut muscles of his back.

Like animals, you both scratched and clawed away at each other until there was nothing left but trembling, sweat slicked skin and the decade old couch threatening to give way beneath you both. Though there was a masterfulness in his motions, you could tell that was quickly fading as his thrusts weakened and he stuttered for breath.

Joel buried his head in the crook of your neck and hissed through gritted teeth, "I can't hold on for much longer, darlin'. You feel so fuckin'...fuck...so fuckin' good..."

"Give me your hand," you whined.

You took it, brought it between both your bodies, and held it over your clit. Joel quickly got the picture and divided his attention between your weeping hole and the sorely neglected nub above it. How he managed to uphold a modicum of gentleness with it, you had no clue. All you knew was that as soon as his fingertips began to brush those coveted circles over you, that was when the tears began to fall. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the white hot pleasure that was burning right through you, visualizing the inferno growing and growing until it had no choice but to explode.

But your eyelids snapped open at Joel's biting tone, "You better look me in the eyes when you come. I need to see it."

Not having it in you to argue or protest, you tried to follow his simple direction. No matter how much you wanted to shut your eyes and somehow try to brace yourself for your incoming orgasm, you had to do as he said. Partially because you wanted him to be proud of you again, but also because you couldn't miss his expression either.

You were glad you withstood the urge because right as you started to come undone, you felt Joel's cock pulse. Then there was the telltale rush of warmth inside you as his seed filled you up. His hand slowing on your clit, you watched as his mouth hung open, letting out a deliciously ravenous groan as you milked him dry. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and the curve of his nose before he wiped them away lazily and collapsed on top of you.

Being in his forties, you weren't surprised that a single fuck could wipe him out so thoroughly. And you gave a breathless chuckle when he confirmed his exhaustion with a low, "Jesus, you wear me out, girl."

"Good," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him and running a hand through his messy, damp hair.

You had no idea when your parents would be home. But you knew that Joel would have to be gone before then. Already you weren't looking forward to that parting. You couldn't bear the thought of his cock slipping out of you, leaving you empty again. And most of all you dreaded when you'd inevitably hear him say goodnight. Because you knew he would; he was polite like that, even after railing you into the family room couch.

For now he was yours. And there was nothing wrong with any of it, you told yourself.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut

[always-andromeda]

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐈 𝐀𝐦 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⭐︎ 1,119

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⭐︎ The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⭐︎ I can't even pretend that I came up with the title for this fic. Last semester I read an article by Leah Comeau analyzing Tirukkōvaiyār, an ancient Tamil poem. That line appeared in the poem and it immediately gave me Din vibes. Thank you college education for giving me ideas for my internet smut.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⭐︎ smut (minors, please do not interact), oral (female receiving), Din gets absolute drunk off of pussy lmao, Din using bits of Mando'a (sorry I am a sentimental whore) lots of intimacy and bits of angst here and there, nothing else I can think of!

The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours. And right away it comes off as an apology. An apology for the secrecy in which your relationship operates.

Working with him was already risky enough. If those who wanted the Mandalorian's head on a pike knew just how much he values you...Din doesn't even want to conceptualize how the danger would only multiply. All he wants is to anchor himself in your being.

He hovers over you, letting messy kisses land wherever he wants them to. Some hit your jaw,  your chin, your cheek. As soon as he catches the corner of your lips, he focuses in with smaller pecks until one finally lands right in the middle of your mouth. There it waits, parted slightly in anticipation. There's a second of silence as his nose bumps against yours and you know right away that it's not an accident. It's affection.

Din doesn't spare another moment before he dives back in. You can hardly keep up with his desperation. Given your deprivation of sight, you have no choice but to feel every landing of his lips on your skin.

Though it’s just light kisses, each one chips away at you with its ravenous energy. In a way, you can't blame him. When was the last time he'd been able to take that helmet off so he could feel the touch of another? When will the next time be? Because for all you both know, he could be killed before next time comes. You push that thought away. Instead, you tell yourself that he's far too intelligent, far too skilled, far too shrewd to let anything bad happen to him. And for a little while, that staves the worries away.

At least it's long enough to focus on his mouth, smothering your abdomen with open mouthed kisses. The smacking sound of them makes your breath catch in your throat as the vibrations get closer and closer to where you need him.

Always the noble giver, Din provides generously. He takes his time running his tongue through the nooks between your thighs and your cunt. Though his navigation between your legs is imperfect, it's still welcome. Whether it's the dark that causes this or his innate urge to savor this moment, you don't know.

Either way, you need it. But you don't have it in you to whine or whisper for him to give you more. Slowly, he tastes you. Lets the musk and sweat of your skin build on his taste buds until he becomes intoxicated from the potency. You let your soft gasps fade into the white noise of the enclosed room.

You don't think you'll ever get over this; trying to picture what his face might look like as he works. This time you feel the prickle of facial hair on your inner thighs, making you twitch. Then there's his nose. You have no clue what it looks like but you're fully convinced that it's perfect based entirely on the way that the bridge of it gently nudges at your clit.

Hand fanning over the expanse of your thigh, he squeezes. A low groan from his throat mixes with the wet sounds of his tongue attempting to drink up every bit of sickly sweet nectar he can.

Starved. Ravenous. And you still can't blame him.

He feels your walls clench and shiver around his tongue and chooses then to retreat. Teasingly, he kisses around your labia. He bides his time before he spreads you out once more, runs his tongue through the folds and finally latches onto the thrumming core that begs for his attention.

By the time your legs begin to shake and you gasp out, "I think I'm close," you swear you detect a hint of disappointment in his tone when he replies, "Already?"

Time must've flown by while he was having his fun because without even meaning to, he'd brought you to the edge and back more times than you could be bothered to keep track of. Part of him longs to do it all over again.

But he doesn't have nearly enough self control to even try to exercise it. You know exactly what he needs. He takes as much as he can get from you, knowing full well that at the end of it he'd need to disappear once more. As long as he held onto his faith, this would have to do. You'd be his breath of fresh air, keeping him going when the way becomes difficult for him to find a point in following.

Besides, you cry out so beautifully already. Your figure squirming, heels digging into his back, you feel almost like one of his bounties, begging for his mercy. But because it's you, he truly feels pity. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, he can barely make out your eyes as they squeeze shut. And he bets that if the light were on, he'd see glimmering trails of tears making their way down the sides of your face. That image motivates him enough to finish the job properly.

In an instant, the quiet and almost claustrophobic atmosphere of the Mandalorian's bunk crumbles away as you're sent into hyperspace. And then you simply float. In the infinite, unending darkness of the room, Din's presence envelopes you as he whispers one word against your skin, over and over again.

Cyar’ika.

It protects you; lets you feel the full weightlessness and peace of pleasure before letting you gently drift back into gravity's grasp. There isn’t just desperation, hunger, or simple affection in this act. There’s love. Trust. All things that you know how difficult it is for the Mandalorian to muster for someone outside the bounds of his creed.

You couldn't be more relieved when he surfaces to hold you in his arms. Amongst all of the chaos that comes with being with him, you wouldn't want it any other way. Not when you feel his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You laugh a little weakly when you comb your fingers through his hair and feel how damp it is.

Din hums halfheartedly, wordlessly wondering what was so humorous to you.

You don't bother answering, knowing that he'd probably be out before too long. You burn this feeling into your bones. And you hold each other the way that only two people in the middle of an uncertain galaxy can; with an almost impossible sort of faith. Entangled with you, Din feels just as safe and sure as the beskar he hides beneath.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2447

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ daydreaming about being with you is better than actually being with you because i missed all the red flags and now it's too late + "You're a monster." + "That's never stopped you before."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ this isn't an official return to writing Dano content! this is merely me getting in touch with my roots a little! because you can't give me unhinged prompts and then tell me not to get even a little bit inspired to write something for Edward lmao. p.s. yes I ever so slightly changed the dialogue prompt!! it just made more sense in the end!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), descriptions of sex, Edward being his normal homicidal self <3, reader is kind of an asshole lmao, vague allusions to violence, and that's all I can think of! please let me know if I need to add more!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Sometimes it astounded you just how far a set of sad eyes could fuel your romantic mind. You hesitated to admit that you were delusional, but the thought certainly lived in the back of your head. Anytime it traveled to the front you’d simply brush it back with the justification that everyone did this.

Everyone made up those little romances to lose themselves in. It gave you something to think about in the gaps between really living. In that narrow room of your head lived Edward Nashton. And god, was he really starting to take up even more real estate than you’d ever meant for him to.

He wasn’t even your nicest coworker. Far from it actually, considering how stand-offish he was. At first you looked right over him, preferring the company of coworkers that didn’t make you feel like you were being looked down upon. Because whether he intended it or not, he radiated some sort of superiority. Though he rarely spoke, you simply caught the idea that he didn’t want to be part of anything going on.

Edward never attended company lunches, never went out for drinks after work, and mostly kept to himself during his lunch breaks. He seemed almost intent on isolating himself as much as possible. It didn’t occur to you that maybe it was wrong to quickly assign such malice to his disinterest until he chimed in on a break room conversation you were having with a coworker.

She’d been expressing excitement over the prospect of Bella Reál running for mayor against Mayor Mitchell. She’d scoffed, “It’s about time that bastard gets pushed out of office. We finally have a chance for some real change here.”

For as quiet as he was, you were surprised that Edward’s voice sounded so firm when he raised his head and spoke, “Realchange? What are the odds of that? She’s just another politician. And politicians...they’re nothing more than cardboard cutouts for whatever demographic they want to pander to. They can’t save everyone.“

Your coworker rolled her eyes, saying something about how cynicism won’t do anyone any good before decidedly pushing him out of the conversation entirely. And that gave you the clearest picture you’d had of him yet. Maybe it was less that he didn’t want to be a part of things and more that he didn’t know how to be a part of things.

The more you viewed him through that lens, the more he made sense. And the more it made your heart break for him. It wasn't pity. God no. Out of everyone you knew, Edward was surely the smartest and most capable. But that didn't make it any easier watching him look at the rest of the world with that twitchy, distrustful eye.

Maybe if you were a different person you would've said something. You would at least sit with him. But truth told, he intimidated you.

So, not wanting to risk shouldering any of his disdain, you watched him. And you built up an idea. An idea you were quite fond of.

You noticed that he drank his coffee black. Figured that he took everything else that way too. That he cut straight through the sugar and cream and gulped down the bitterness, grounds and all. All reason, no nonsense. You decided it would probably be hard to be with him. But that wouldn't make it any less gratifying.

Already you could imagine Edward and his walls and how you'd attempt to break through them. Maybe there was some sort of tragic past behind his disassociation. Maybe there was something in him that reflected a little bit of yourself. Maybe you could help him; make him happier. Or maybe he was just a plain old asshole and you'd only make each other worse. Either way, it made him compelling to deconstruct.

Especially when comparing him to the other men in your office. Many of them were loud, boastful, and – perhaps due to some deep seated insecurity – always trying to prove something. Edward, on the other hand, seemed to wear that insecurity on his sleeve with his stuttering replies and lingering glances towards his superiors. You bet he was secretly possessive. Not exactly swift to a fight, but definitely quick to prove that his power was effortless; he didn't need showmanship the way those other men did. 

Something about that made him inherently cool to you. As much as he may have been a nobody, a loser, and a nerd...he was also everything. Everything and nothing all at once and you couldn't get enough of it.

If there was anyone in your office you guessed would ask you out, it certainly wasn't Edward. Edward, in your mind, didn't take those risks. And he certainly didn't care enough about you to see you as any different from the rest of his coworkers.

But somehow he managed to break your script the morning he confidently waltzed straight to your cubicle across the office and asked if you liked Italian food.

"Eh, I'm impartial," you replied sheepishly, not sure where the question was leading.

To your surprise, Edward gave a small nod, issuing his silent approval. "Good. Because there's a diner in town that I'd like to take you out to."

You had to blink quickly, wondering for a moment if you'd honest-to-god lost your mind and fallen too far into one of your daydreams.

"Huh?"

That's when Edward's own voice faltered slightly, "I-is that a yes? Or a no?" and finally it struck you that this was reality. 

"Yes!" you blurted your reply. "I'd love to go out with you."

Once you'd worked out the particulars of this assumed date, you could hardly hide your anticipation. You'd been nervous for dates before. But this was a new beast. You barely knew a thing about him and you hadn't so much as had a real conversation with him.

Why he'd asked you out in the first place, you had no idea. None of it made any sense but before you could question his intentions, you second guessed that gut feeling. Those rose tinted glasses fell over your gaze with ease at that point.

Maybe he was just as nervous as you were. Maybe this was his attempt at doing something bold. Maybe you were the asshole for assuming dubious intent. Maybe you just had to give him a chance. After all, he was giving you a chance. And suddenly you interest was piqued all over again.

On its own, the date was average. You hadn't expected a Michelin star meal, but as far as greasy diner food went, this one sat heavy in your stomach and Edward's untrained social skills didn't help.

He made conversation like he'd read a Wikihow article on it before picking you up. And while it was a lackluster feeling that spurred inside you when he was reciting those lines to you, it only made you want to deliberately break his script again. You knew he had it in him; you'd seen it before.

Ignoring every ounce of advice on social etiquette you'd ever learned, you asked him what he thought about the upcoming election. And that seemed to be just the ticket as he set his mug of black coffee down, a goofy grin scrawling out on his doughy face. Before you knew it, he launched into an uninterrupted tangent about the grim state of Gotham politics for the next few minutes.

It was simple enough nodding along and giving the occasional sympathetic hum. Even if you did feel the same about the broken system you lived in, it was a little disappointing realizing that he was like many of the men you'd dated. One that liked the sound of his own voice too much that you could barely get a word in edgewise.

But you think you liked the sound of his voice more when he said, "My apartment is nearby. Would you like to...come over?"

And you knew he liked yours when you agreed.

Edward was a virgin, just like you expected. You tried not to show too much pride over your skillful deduction at the vulnerable admission. But you couldn't help the small rise in your tone when you replied, "Oh, you haven't...?"

Edward shook his head before hiding his face in your neck and groaning. And if you hadn't felt how unmistakably hard he was against your thigh, you might've felt bad for him. As wrong as it felt, you were ecstatic.

You couldn't believe your luck, getting to be this man's first. As meaningless as the concept of virginity was to you in theory...in this scenario...it inspired some very sentimental feelings. Feelings that even if he wasn't exactly everything you'd built him up to be, you'd still always have this imprint on him.

Repeatedly you reassured that you didn't find that fact embarrassing while suppressing the fact that more than anything, you wanted him. You'd dreamed about him for long enough that this felt like teasing. And it wasn't fun.

He fucked almost exactly the way you thought he would. Desperate. Disconnected. Animalistic. Like he was searching for something. Whether that be pleasure or perhaps a good old fashioned connection with someone, you didn't know. All you knew was that it made you giggle to think of your coworkers' looks of surprise when they found out that the Edward Nashton had managed to bring a girl home on the first date.

Even though he didn't make you come with penetration, it was fairly easy showing him how to use his fingers. Initially his touch was rough. As soon as you squealed and squirmed, he'd stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you with that sad, sorry stare. And despite the fact that he'd been the one to hurt you, he still managed to make you feel sorry for him.

But that didn't matter. Once you got him going, his focus on maintaining that light, even pressure as he circled your clit was unbreakable. You could tell that he was deriving pleasure from this too. That he liked staring deep into your eyes as they clouded over with mounting pleasure before blowing wide once you tipped over the edge. He chased the keening sounds of your arousal with an intensity that made the whole thing seem far more urgent than it actually was. 

You were in so deep that you hadn't noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks until you'd finished and Edward had set off for his bathroom to wet a towel for cleanup. Once his bedroom door closed, you felt comfortable enough to really lay back and let out the breath you'd been holding. Being around him made your nerves short circuit and as much as you hated to admit it, it shrouded your judgment.

Knowing close to nothing about him, you found yourself picking through the flashes you'd gotten when stumbling into his apartment. Between kisses, you remember hearing squeaks. Maybe it was mice? Rats? Judging by the crumbling state of his room, you were uncertain over whether he owned them or they'd simply...made their home among his. You hoped it was the former. Your imagination forced you to believe that.

Finally you sat up, looking around his room. Edward's discarded button up work shirt laid forgotten on the floor. You picked it up and pulled it on to regain some of your modesty as you began dissecting once more.

Once you started to get a good look at your surroundings, you felt that pit in your stomach. Or maybe it was the greasy diner food sitting uncomfortably in your stomach. But that justification seemed less likely when you noticed the mirror on his dresser was smashed out, the broken glass still sitting on the wood surface. Any idea of it being accidental disappeared when you spotted the cork board beside the dresser. Pinned to it were photos and articles marked dramatically with red ink.

The words FILTHY PIGS written in big letters over a picture accompanying an article that detailed a GCPD drug den bust. The world LIAR scrawled over an old image of Thomas Wayne, most likely from his campaign days. Then there were the most worrying ones. Photos of people you vaguely recognized that weren't defaced with words. You saw Mayor Mitchell, Bella Reál, Gotham's attorney general, and a few others all with one thing in common. Right in the middle of their foreheads were targets, painted in red that dripped down their faces like blood.

This wasn't just some sort of bizarre art project. The closer you looked at the smaller annotations scribbled into the margins, the more you realized that this was some sort of morbid obsession of his. And for the first time, he scared you.

His stares and his silence meant nothing compared to the pure terror this inspired in you.

The bedroom door creaked as Edward pushed it open. His grip on the wet washcloth in his hand tightened as he caught what you were looking at.

"You see the truth now, don't you?" he asked meekly with a distant look.

"What?"

His voice dripped with emotion, "The brokenness. The-the-the corruption. The suffering. You understand that they need to pay, don't you?" He now stared expectantly, gesturing to his board of horrors.

You spoke carefully and slowly, "I'm...not sure I understand why Bella Reál is up there. All she wants to do is help–"

A different kind of darkness shadowed his expression now. It was one that you couldn't find any sort of romance in. But there was intent. All you knew was that none of the pieces you'd found could ever put together a pretty image. There was no reframing, no romanticizing, and no disregarding this. This intent was one of violence. One that seemed to spread as much pain and poison that was trapped inside of him.

Suddenly his eagerness to take you out felt less like a once in a lifetime chance and more like a death sentence. No amount of deduction would've led you to daydream something this depraved. If you'd poured the milk and sugar into your perception of him, these were bitter coffee grounds at the bottom of the mug. And you were doomed to swallow it up until the last drop.

Edward inched closer, his tone turning almost manic, “No one can save us. Not even the Batman. He can’t save us the way we need to be saved. But I can. I can do the thing that no one is bold enough to do."

“You’re a monster,” your voice quivered.

Edward chuckled. “As if that stopped you before.”

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #paul dano #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the batman #edward nashton #dano!riddler #the riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x y/n #edward nashton smut #dano!riddler smut #riddler smut

[always-andromeda]

-ˋˏ 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˎˊ-

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭・2,720

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲・There are many difficult memories Joel associates with his birthday. Ones that he's attempted to forget for about twenty years. You attempt to give him a birthday to remember.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞・(credit to @saradika for the adorable dividers, please check her resources out!!) happy birthday, Joel; you deserve everything and more, babygirl. ♡

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・post-outbreak universe, angst, comfort and fluff, pet names (darlin'), mentions of alcohol, lots of feelings lmao, those are all I can think of!

Eyes fluttering open, you drowsily felt the space on the bed beside you. The sheets had long since lost the warmth of the man that normally slept with you. You groaned. Of course Joel had to sign himself up for a patrol on his birthday of all days.

But you truly couldn't blame him. Though it had been a little over a year since he and Ellie had returned to settle in Jackson, he was still working his ass off like a new arrival; like he still had something to prove. As if Tommy hadn't vouched for his usefulness to the community dozens of times. As if Joel himself hadn't shown how he'd seemingly perfected the art of survival.

You'd learned why he was like this a year prior; when Joel had only been around for a few months. Back then he was merely a patrol partner who you'd found yourself catching the eye of from time to time. Back then he chuckled softly at your jokes and offered up little bits and pieces of his own history whenever the conversation called for it.

Then came the day that Tommy said it; the thing that made your heart break for his older brother.

"Damn...September 26th..." he'd sighed and whistled before taking a swig from his beer.

You sat on the stool next to him, swirling your own drink and throwing him a sideways glance. "Yeah, what's so special about today's date?"

Tommy looked down, then he explained, "It's Joel's birthday. How old is that bastard now?" a tight light smile formed on his lips as he seemed to reminisce. "Fifty-seven, I think?"

"Goddamn," you muttered. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've gotten something for him."

Tommy shook his head. An immediate sadness appeared across his features as he said, "Nah, he hasn't really made a big deal out of his birthday since...well...since ever, really. But he especially doesn't like talkin' about it these days."

"Why?"

Swallowing hard, Tommy answered, "A little over twenty years ago today was when the outbreak first started. And it was the day that Sarah passed."

Tommy had talked about Sarah a few times. He remembered his niece very fondly and with Maria's encouragement, made it a point to not let her memory be forgotten. After all, it was the memory of Sarah and anyone else lost to the virus that drove the community to continue on; to keep fighting for those who were still there.

But this time, her memory seemed to haunt him. Right now, Sarah wasn't a heartening symbol. She was a reminder of everything he'd lost – everything that Joel had lost – when the world fell apart. A reminder of just how hard both brothers tried to hold onto the scraps and how hard they fought to forge something new for themselves.

"Oh," you breathed out.

"Yeah," Tommy said. "He figured that it didn't seem right to him. To celebrate his life on the day that she lost hers. So..." he trailed off, searching for his words.

You stopped him with a pursed smile and a compassionate hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. I get it."

And you truly did. It made sense that Joel wanted to keep himself busy. Plenty of folks did that; couldn't dwell on the past as long as you kept moving. The simple answer, however, was that Joel didn't trust any of it.

Sure, Jackson was beautiful; truly a marvel of human spirit and ingenuity. But you always caught how unsettled Joel seemed, head kept low, eyes up at all times, checking to see if and when he needed to scoop Ellie up and jump ship. Decades of fighting for survival had turned him into a warrior. It had also turned him into a recluse; a closed-off, touch-starved old dog that bared its teeth when approached but still whined in relief when you scratched behind its ear. Every little bit of love you gave seemed to hurt as much as it helped.

Which is why you were determined to do something on this day. Something that would hopefully numb that pain a little more and get him more used to feeling the tenderness of real intimacy with someone.

It wasn’t easy. Once you had confirmed that Joel had indeed gone out, you got dressed and ran through your mental list of all the different vendors on main street that you needed to visit.

Though Jackson offered a range of luxuries, almost all of them came at a pretty decent price. A few hours in and you’d traded practically half of your things away to gather up the supplies to put together a present and a modest party. When Tommy caught you trading in one of your winter coats for a brand new pair of boots Joel's size and you told him of your plan, he almost looked nervous.

You second guessed yourself for a minute. Tommy had known Joel for much, much longer than you had. Maybe he knew better than you. But something inside assured you that this time around...you definitely knew better.

Quickly quelling the nerves dancing under your skin, you joked, "Don't worry, I'm not doing anything too fancy. I've got these boots, some new strings for that guitar of his, and after this, I'm gonna head down to the cafeteria and pick up some of those special dark roast coffee beans he likes. Just some little practical things. Don't wanna give the birthday boy a heart attack."

Tommy laughed, "He ain't had a birthday in over two decades, girlie; puttin' those alone in front of him might send him into cardiac arrest," he nodded towards the boots on the counter before you.

They were very nice. The kind of thing Joel always hesitated to get himself. During his year in town, you were pretty sure you'd only seen him replace his shoes once. And when he did, they were a well worn pair that had been tucked away deep in the town's clothing storages. Almost every day you got to see the ugly pair of boots stationed by your front door, rubber soles caked in dried mud and already starting to pull away from the rest of the shoe. 

You scoffed, "Then so be it, because he needs these. He needs this."

Perhaps it was a little selfish of you. But you wanted to spoil him. More than anything you wanted him to feel just how much you loved him. Neither you or him had said it, always too afraid to speak those feelings aloud. The world had become too dangerous for such open affection. But you could show it. You could show how much you loved him.

"Okay, if you say so," Tommy replied hopefully. "Good luck on your little mission."

You appreciated his encouragement and smiled to yourself as you stowed the boots away in your wagon with the rest of your birthday stash. Perhaps you could make this birthday one that Joel actually wanted to remember.

The sun went down slowly, showering your kitchen in golden warmth. As much as you normally loved seeing the sunset, this time it made you nervous as it gradually faded into the darkness of night.

With your eye flickering between the clock and the front door, you were getting nervous all over again. You'd anticipated Joel spending the day out, but you hadn't expected him to be gone for this long. How many jobs had he signed himself up for that day?

The longer you lingered on the question, the more you doubted yourself. What if this was too much? What if it offended him? After all, in all the time you'd known him, he'd been a stubborn man, stuck in his ways. And this had been his way for so long. Who were you to interrupt that?

The urge to scrap the whole idea and pretend you'd never made the effort in the first place was strong. It would be embarrassing to explain that you had nothing to show for your day if and when Joel came home and asked about it. But surely it would be less embarrassing than facing rejection from him. 

Before you could do anything impulsive, the door swung open, causing you to jump from your spot on the couch.

"Sorry I'm so late," Joel explained. "One of the horses kicked a fence in at the stable and Tony wanted to get it fixed before tomorrow so I stayed back to help."

Judging by his rumpled curls, tired eyes, and the stench of sweat and wood shavings that clung to him, you could tell he'd physically worn himself out that day. And you cringed internally knowing you were most likely about to wear him down emotionally as well.

"That's okay," you replied, trying to put on a chipper tone. "I'm sure Tony really appreciated your help."

"Damn right he did," Joel smirked before pulling his arm out from behind his back. In his hand was a bottle that you quickly recognized.

"Holy shit, where'd he get this?" you marveled, taking the bottle of wine from him and turning it in your hand as if it was a mirage. It was a Cabernet Sauvignon with a fancy cream colored label and gold text. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen something this fancy that was actually intact.

"That fucker's got a whole load of alcohol from before the outbreak. Said he'd give me this one if I promised not to tell Maria about his stash," Joel chuckled.

"Yeah, no kidding," you said before pausing and looking back up at him. "Wait, Tony gets the stable guys to help him out all the time. Is he giving them all secret complimentary bottles of alcohol?"

"Actually," Joel began hesitantly, turning away to take off his boots and shed his jacket. "He said this was a special favor. Told me to go home and have a drink with my lady."

Coming from Tony, the sentiment would've made you roll your eyes. But coming out of Joel's mouth with that smooth-like-molasses Texan accent, it had you melting. At the end of the day, there was always something so warming being known as his.

As much as you knew about Joel's past through his own admissions, it was moments like these that let you know he'd changed so much since those days. Now, he was a good man. A good man who the community could depend upon. And more importantly, man who you could trust with everything...maybe even sappy displays of affection.

With reinvigorated confidence, you took his hand in yours and led him into the kitchen. Before he could ask what you were up to, you said, "Well, if Tony is so insistent on us having a good night, let me make it a little better."

Joel still seemed a little confused, his deep brown puppy dog eyes framed by furrowed brows as he watched you open the fridge and reached in to grab something. 

In your hands was a simple cake set neatly in the middle of a glass platter. Under the layer of buttercream frosting were two layers of cake along with strawberry jam between them. The jam had been another trade you felt privileged to acquire. One of the women in town, Bonnie, made jams for every season. The strawberry jam you'd acquired was her last jar from the summer harvest. And you hoped and prayed with everything in you that you hadn't messed up the cake and frosting recipe you'd borrowed from her.

Setting those worries aside, you put on a small smile before setting the dish down on the kitchen counter before him. Joel stared down at it, a volatile expression on his face.

"I couldn't find any of those fancy little number candles, so we'll have to stick with the regular ones I have in my junk drawer. Though it would be funny if I just stuck fifty-eight candles on there," you rambled. "Not that fifty-eight candles would fit on there anyways. Or that you could even blow out fifty eight candles all at once–"

Joel cut through your halfhearted attempt to diffuse the tension and muttered, "How did you know?"

"Tommy told me–"

"Of course he did," Joel cut you off with a hint of exasperation.

"Wait, before you start planning on drilling him a new one, just hear me out. Because he told me about how hard this day is for you. And don't worry, I completely understand it. But...I–" you chose your words cautiously, "–care about you...a lot. And I wanted to celebrate you. I know you think that you don't deserve it. But I believe you do."

"Darlin'...this is..." Joel trailed off with a sigh.

You took a deep breath. It's now or never.

Finally, you said the magic words you'd held inside for far too long, "I love you, Joel."

He blinked hard a few times, processing this new information before it started to click. For the first time ever, you thought, you were seeing Joel Miller get nervous. You'd seen shades of uncertainty wash across his worn face, but never had you seen such boy-ish anxiety like this. With soft, glossy eyes and slightly quivering lip, he looked so different. He looked like a man unburdened by the world and his past; only weighed down by the crippling realization of just how much he was valued. You decided it was the most raw and beautiful side of him you'd seen so far.

You repeated firmly, "I love you so much. And I want to show you that love. Even if you've got nothing else in the world...you can have that. You get to have all of my love."

That made his head hang and his shoulders sag. You couldn't tell if this was a good thing or not. So you walked around the island and approached him gently.

"Are you okay, Joel?"

He lifted his head just enough for you to see that there were a few stray tears falling down his cheek. He wiped them away and sniffled before bringing himself to meet your gaze. With a wobbly smile playing on his lips, he whispered hoarsely, "I'm fine, darlin'. I'm just...I'm glad to have ya."

You wrapped your arms around him. And as he returned the gesture, he let himself bury his head in your neck. His tall, broad frame curled around you. The marble statue he seemed to be normally had crumbled away. Here he was all softness, all warmth, all yours.

With his lips beside your ear, you heard him murmur softly, "I love you too, darlin'."

Your chest swelled with joy so intensely that for a second you were sure that you were the one who would be having a heart attack. But even as tears threatened to spill from your own eyes, you forced yourself to take deep, even breaths to calm yourself down.

As the emotional fog of the moment cleared from your mind, you remembered the rest of your plan. With a start you pulled back from him and said excitedly, "I have some presents for you too!"

"Multiple presents," Joel laughed to himself. "Goddamn, woman, you've really thought of it all, haven't you?"

"Yep," you replied proudly. "I have."

"Well, run along and get 'em. I'll crack open this bottle and get out the glasses. Then I'll take a look at your presents."

"Deal!" you said before pressing a deep kiss on Joel's lips that was sure to make his head spin.

He watched you hurry upstairs with another quiet laugh. Turning to take another look at your handiwork, he thought back to the time before all this. A time when something like your modest cake would've been normal. But these days...to put time and effort into such displays was a rarity, a privilege. To him, however, it was doubly so, considering the fact that it was coming from you.

The warm glow filling his bones was unfamiliar. But this time he wasn't afraid of it. For once, he wanted to embrace it. It wasn't often that a guy like him got the love of a creature so special. And he intended to cherish it for as long as he possibly could.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fluff #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff

[always-andromeda]

Hi, I was wondering if you still take requests? If you don't that is perfectly okay with me, I don't mind! But if you can, would you be willing to write headcanons or something about Javier Peña (Narcos) with an s/o that doesn't really like pda or super affectionate stuff? Again, if you don't want to you don't have, I'm fine either way! (really trying hard not to sound like I'm peer pressuring you or being passive aggressive 😣) but, yeah, like if you ever have time.. thank you so much!

𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javier Peña x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 600

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Javier learns the different ways of seeing a romantic relationship, or, a drabble about Javier being with a significant other who isn't quite comfortable with his usual charms.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Oh, my sweet anon, you don't sound passive aggressive or anything of the sort whatsoever!! If anything, I apologize for taking so long to get to this. I've been trying to urge myself back into writing a little bit more and this was a nice little challenge to help me reach that goal. I've been obsessed with Gia Margaret's album, Romantic Piano, these days and I ended up listening to Ways of Seeing on repeat while prattling down these ideas, so naturally, I've named this piece after that song. This isn't my favorite thing I've ever written? But it's been a hot second since I've been regularly writing fanfic so forgive me lmao.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ slightly established relationship, Javier crosses a physical boundary, allusions to Javi and reader having a sexual relationship but nothing explicit is described (regardless, minors, please do not interact), overall fluff and healthy communication

He wasn’t used to this. Any of it, really. Having a lady friend was a new one and by far the most surprising turn of his life at that point. But a lady friend who shrugged off his little touches like he was a pesky insect was another thing. At first he figured it was a reputation thing. Having him slung around you in the halls wouldn’t attract the good kind of attention for either of you. He could handle the jabs and jokes; he always had.

It’s why he hadn’t thought too much about it the first time he caught you in front of the copier and placed a hand on your hip. “What’s that you’re working on, querida?” he’d asked in that low, gravelly tone of his that usually drove you wild.

He swore he felt you jump; momentarily startled before you straightened your shoulders and pushed them back. He couldn’t see your expression, but he already knew he wouldn’t find an ounce of reciprocation to his teasing there anyways when you answered firmly, “Messina asked for copies of this report. She’s got a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Javier’s hand slid around your front, fingers playing at the edges of your top. “You think that’d be enough time?” he mumbled.

You swirled around on your heel and glared at him with a raised eyebrow, “For what exactly?”

“I thought that we had something going…?”

“Just because we have something going it doesn’t just give you the freedom to accost me whenever you want.”

Javier took a step back and folded his arms, getting ready to rocket into defensiveness. 

Before he could get a word in, you continued, “I know that you’re comfortable with the flirting and the teasing…but I’m not. It’s fine when it’s just the two of us.” You struggled to get an accurate grasp of your words, “But outside of that…it’s just…uncomfortable? Do you get that?”

His stomach sank as he was reminded of the type of men he’d helped put away in the past. The kind who had no regard for anyone or anything aside from their own wants. He thought of those butterflies in his chest whenever he caught your eye from across a room. How they glittered with the allusion of a secret; that secret being something special that only you and him shared. Your eyes were now shadowed with a layer of caution. How quickly those butterflies of his had turned into an invasive species.

He slowly raised his hands, admitting defeat before divulging, “I apologize. I– I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You blinked a few times before turning back around and grabbing the stack of fresh papers from the printer. “I think we should set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries? What kind of boundaries?”

“Well…for now…let’s keep the public displays of affection at a minimum. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I hear you,” Javier nodded firmly.

As you started to tell him goodbye and head towards Messina’s office, one more thought popped into his mind. He reached forward to place a hand on you before stopping himself and clearing his throat instead. “Wait–”

“Yeah?”

The corner of his lip curled up into a smug smile. “Just to be clear…we’re still okay on the private displays of affection, right?”

You rolled your eyes and replied, “We’re alright in that department, Peña, don’t you worry.”

“Sounds good, keep me posted if anything changes,” he said with a quick wink before sauntering away, leaving you cradling the warm papers against your chest, knowing that you could tell him if anything did change.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #narcos #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fluff #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2925

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ okay, I haven't exactly finished a piece in a good while. so this one is sort of serving as a warm-up and if it's terrible (which I have a good feeling it is lmao), I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be gentle on me. I've loved this man for a while now and this is sort of experimental. tl;dr: I am a sensitive little baby right now so treat me as such.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), obviously a pretty massive gap in both age and power, depictions of blood and death, could be read as dub con at first (if you squint really hard) but firmly lands on the side of full con, a lot of religious mumbo jumbo (lmao let's ignore the fact that I know almost nothing about Catholicism <3), so much blasphemy, oral (female receiving), a twinge of sub!Paul, and that's all I can think of!! let me know if more is needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Behind closed eyelids, all you saw was darkness. And through that darkness came white hot agony. It was practically blinding as it shot up your spine before detonating in your brain. Those little fragments of pain speckled across the inside of your skull.

You wanted to scream, hurl, cry, something. Anything to physically release the intense pain assaulted your nerves. But you wouldn't be granted that mercy. No.

For now, your suffering was confined to this unending darkness. For now, you waited in the void of your own being for the tragedy to subside.

For weeks you anxiously waited for the return of Monsignor Pruitt from his mission trip. Though spending your afternoons looking after the dementia ridden clergyman wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, it was far better than slumming it with Beverly Keane. After all, you were 99% sure that whatever Bev heard managed to make its way all around the island.

Crockett Island was a melting pot of rumors. By now you'd heard the stories; the mythology of the island's residents had woven together to form a complex tapestry. And the longer you stayed, the more you realized how little you desired to be a part of it all.

But you didn't have a choice. Whether you liked it or not, Crockett's citizens had already spun your narrative.

Everyone knew how your mother had taken you away from the island at the ripe age of five years old; saving you the heartache of being raised by an alcoholic father. Part of you had always been grateful for it despite how tough it had been being raised by a single mother who hardly had anything to her name. Yet you couldn't help the guilt that poured into your lungs like cement whenever someone mentioned how much your father had suffered before he died.

Because that was the only way you would've gone back to the island that lived in the shadows of your memory: death. And upon meeting Monsignor Pruitt, it became clear that death would also be the only way you'd want to leave.

The relationship that had bloomed between you and him was a humble one. He'd offered to talk you through your grief which you'd promptly denied. Though you attended services, you weren't much for religion and you weren't about to embrace it fresh off of the death of a father who was practically a stranger. It felt disingenuous.

Finding God is reserved for real tragedies, right?

You'd asked the question like it was a joke.

Monsignor Pruitt had merely tilted his head before replying in that lilting, raspy voice of his: Depends on what you think qualifies as a tragedy.

With a quick eye roll, you'd written the answer off as one of those unbalanced moments of his. Over the course of a few months, you'd become well acquainted with them. Going to services and keeping him company was something to do. Something other than rifling through decades of your father's clutter and further entangling yourself with the community. Something other than being reminded of your own wasted potential.

Strangely, the monsignor felt less like an all seeing eye and more like...a friend. And now, faced with his "temporary" replacement, you were finally certain of what qualified as a tragedy to you.

From the moment Father Paul had addressed the church, you were unsettled. He may have been perfectly kind and personable enough, but his mannerisms edged on the uncanny valley. It was the way he spoke during sermons and how that tone rarely changed during one-on-one conversations. Though he couldn't have been older than thirty, he often held himself as if he'd been around the block more times than anyone could fathom. It was easy to chalk it up to his nature. Of course the man of God had an eerie way of making you feel like a puny mortal.

But Monsignor Pruitt had never made you feel like that. You couldn't brush the thought of the old man out of your mind.

Every time Father Paul attempted to placate your worries, it only pushed you deeper into the depths of distrust. Somehow you just knew he was lying.

And for all of Father Paul's wisdom and mystique, he wasn't a good liar. His tone would shift as he glossed over your concerns with a quick reassurance that Monsignor Pruitt was recovering just fine on the mainland. When you felt brave enough to press him for more, he'd wring his hands or squeeze them into fists. Almost as if he had to physically stop himself from reprimanding you. After all, who were you to question him?

When your eyes finally opened, your vision was overwhelmed by the light. Softly, slowly, the light haloed around the head of a figure that carefully came into view. As your sight sharpened, you quickly realized who stood over you. 

The man you held the most wariness for was kneeling over you. His long face wrought with concern, the alarm bells were already blaring in your muddled mind. But as much as you tried to force the air from your lungs to scream, you could only let out a pathetic, strangled squeak.

That was when he spoke. His voice shook with what sounded like uncertainty, "You mustn't overexert yourself. You're still coming back. But don't worry, you'll be yourself again soon. All in due time."

No matter how much you tried to speak, to move, neither of the actions came to you. All you could do is watch as Father Paul pulled your paralyzed body into his arms and cradled you. And as the potency of your helplessness settled in, you vaguely felt tears prick at your waterline. 

Normally, you would've rather died than allowing yourself to cry in front of someone, especially in front of the father. This time you couldn't control the few tears that slid freely down your cheeks, landing on the father's hand where he gripped your still aching shoulder.

He noticed them immediately and let you out of his grasp long enough to stare into your glossy eyes.

You couldn't quite decipher the intent behind the softness of his gaze. But somehow it was enough to allow the nausea that had slowly been rising in your chest to subside.

Father Paul raised a hand to cup your face. His thumb carefully stroked your cheek, sweeping away the wet trails left by your despair. And whether it was from your sensitivity or the intimacy of the act, you didn't know. But your skin shivered. 

As you gradually regained the feeling in your body, you realized that the first thing you felt after the pain was him. The inherent warmth of his embrace. And in some fucked up way, it was comforting. Feeling like prey, you blinked back the rest of your tears and allowed yourself to soak up as much of him as you could; anything to get rid of the dull pain that plagued your nerves.

You noticed there were tears brimming his own eyes as he smiled softly. "There, you mustn't cry. You've been so brave and in return you've been blessed."

It was then that you began to regain enough cognizance to question what was happening.

Flashes of memory played each time you blinked.

That damned question had been on the tip of your tongue again.

So you found him in the recreational center. There he’d been, on his knees, praying fervently.

Hopefully you're praying for the monsignor's return.

You regretted the words almost as soon as you'd said them. Because as soon as Paul turned, he gave you that dark look that rarely graced his features. This time he hadn't even tried to hide it with his usual discretion.

He merely stared right past you with his eyes wide and pleading. 

You hadn't had the chance to see the thing that attacked you fully. But you felt its teeth at your neck. You felt your own blood dripping from your neck in such a thick stream that the dizziness came almost as soon as you hit the ground. You felt the rough, pale skin of the creature as it smothered you, greedily devouring every ounce of your life.

Of course you were surprised to find yourself lying on the sheets of Paul's bed in his modest home, but that shock was the least of your worries. How were you still alive?

He told his tale as your body mended itself. You didn't know how much time passed. All you knew is that you were enraptured with the sticky sense of dread that was growing in your stomach as he spoke.

You were acutely aware of just how much it sounded like a sermon. How, whether he was aware of it or not, he was pulling out every stop in the preacher's handbook to try and convince you. And if he didn’t sound so convinced himself, you would swear this was deliberate manipulation. But nothing else could possibly explain his youthful appearance and all that he knew. He could recite your history right back to you despite the fact that you’d never once trusted him nearly enough to give it. Only the monsignor knew your deepest fears and your darkest secrets. But this wasn’t your monsignor.

Father Paul was some new beast; an amalgamation of the sweet old man you’d once known, the deceptive preacher who took his place, and some other supernatural force that you couldn’t quite name.

Though you’d only caught half a glimpse of the creature, you attempted to express your terror. That only spurred him on further as he contended that when an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds upon the birth of Jesus, it deliberately told them to not be afraid.

But none of that explained himself. None of it allowed you to comprehend how Monsignor Pruitt could've shed decades of life; how the old man could now stand there, blood drying on the bottom half of his face, and look at you as if you were something he could have.

You didn't have to ask. You knew by then that when the creature had had its fill of your blood, Father Paul had pulled the scraps of you away for himself. The thought hit you dangerously and made something deep inside you rumble. Like a natural disaster, this had unearthed a litany of complications that you never could’ve anticipated.

“We are at a crossroads," Father Paul said gently before letting his conviction surge again, “Now, you once said that finding God was reserved for those experiencing tragedy, correct?”

You nodded sagely. 

Father Paul grasped your trembling hands in his own, “Have you not experienced one of life’s greatest tragedies? The ending of it? You fell right over the edge of life and before the waters of death could claim you, He brought you back. Hebrought us together.”

You shook your head in defiance.

“This was meant to happen. This was part of His plan, for our faiths — our lives — to be renewed.”

With your throat still stiff and dry, you croaked angrily, “There was nothing wrong with my life! There was nothing that needed to supposedly be renewed!” 

He raised his voice suddenly, “Why did you come to this island?”

“Because my father died.”

“A father who was no better than a stranger to you,” he recalled your own words quickly. If the monsignor had been wise, Father Paul was as sharp as a knife, taking his jabs at you with complete accuracy. “You didn’t have to come here. You didn't have to make friends with a crazy old man. By the grace of God, you were led here. You were led here so you could be shown this truth; this gift. And you are denying this gift."

You had to admit that your draw to Crockett had been strange. At first you'd attested it to some childhood curiosity. But you'd deliberately put off taking care of your father's run down property, instead opting to spend time walking in the light of Pruitt. In truth, his companionship had been a breath of fresh air. 

Though the people of Crockett adored him, it was always tinged with pity. You'd never pitied him; only admired him for his wisdom and his resilience. 

Paul's expression softened as he held your face in his hands. "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you." That was when you saw the edges of his wisdom begin to lift and fall away like a second skin he'd crafted over his own vulnerability.

Underneath it...he was simply a man. A man who wanted to save you. 

“Let me give you more. Let me show you how you can trust me," he whispered.

The first kiss inspired an odd mix of emotions in your chest. There was the coppery tang of dried blood on your tongue, strong enough that it took everything in you not to flinch away from his hold on you. But you remembered his reference to the angel and the shepherds.

Do not be afraid.

So you continued, deepening the kiss with a turn of your head. And for all of the worldly experiences Paul had, you became acutely aware that this sort of connection was not among them.

Whether there'd been any true romantic feelings for the aging monsignor, you couldn't quite say. But your fondness of him had transferred to the man before you. Granted, the transfer wasn't smooth, but it was there nonetheless. Somehow it was stronger than ever as he took your hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed against your palm was slightly tacky with your own half dried blood still lingering.

You brushed a lock of his wavy, dark hair back so you could properly meet his gaze. With the shroud of time having fallen away from his features you could see just how handsome the man was. It was a hesitant sort of attractiveness; as if the banner of God had prevented him from seeing his full potential.

He'd fed on your life and made himself new. And the thought of your monsignor living on in that small way...all because of you? The electric twinges that sparked in your chest were almost too much to bear.

Without fear you devoured him in another kiss. Quickly the mood turned from reverent to ravenous as Paul attempted to keep up with your fervency.

He couldn't remember the last time sin had overpowered his sense of morality. Because he knew in the traditional sense, this was pure sin. No matter how wrong he believed it might have been to let his hands roam your figure, in his bones it was a temptation that finally felt correct. There was none of that hesitance or shame or fear that he'd felt before. The pendulum had shifted on morality and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Hardly a moment was spared as he tore into the long skirt and the underwear that had kept you modest for far too long. Perfect beauty like this had to be cherished.

So that is what he did. Planted firmly between your legs, he stared up at you with eyes that gently pleaded for permission; for salvation. With your own half lidded eyes, you nodded before spreading yourself open for him.

Like a flower, you bloomed beautifully and Paul groaned at the sight. He could practically feel the thrumming pulse before him as it waited to indulge him. His hot breath teased you and made sparks dance right beneath the surface of your skin. Still you stayed in place, patiently allowing him time to drink in the sight of your folds already puffing and glistening with slick.

Quietly, you heard him mumble something that you only caught the tail end of.

“–forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

It wasn't too long after that when his tongue found a home in that tight, warm crevice. Your hand knitted itself into his dark hair as you searched for something to ground yourself from the overpowering sensation. Something about this new condition of yours heightened every aspect of pleasure.

If you were in your right mind, it would make sense logically considering you'd felt the unbearable pain of your spine shattering and being put back together again. But this was overwhelming in the entirely opposite direction.

You experienced the pleasure on a cellular level as your climax rushed through your limbs. You seemed to feel the vibrancy of every emotion and atom that comprised your being. Nothing was spared from the glory of this blessing. Not your spasming cunt as it contracted around Paul's blessed tongue. Not your heart that was firmly on the track of restoration. And not your mind as it all at once fell apart in time with your quivering thighs. Blood pulsing, every single one of your pores felt more alive than ever as you finally embraced the higher power that had been waiting for you in the shadows all along.

At that moment, you believed it all. From the Angel to Father Paul's divine transformation to the euphoric paradise that enveloped your entire being...it was all real. And most of all, it was all yours. Thanks to the father's grace and generosity, you would create paradise with him. And that seemed possible. After all, with his head between your thighs, you’d both already created one.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #hauntedhoedown #midnight mass #father paul hill #monsignor pruitt #father paul x reader #father paul x you #father paul x y/n #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill x you #father paul hill x y/n

[always-andromeda]

Can you write an Adam Warlock x GN! Reader Smut fic? You can write it however you want...I'm just desperate for non fem smut fics of adam

– ⭒ 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 ⭒ –

𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ▹ 1,283

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ▹ Being friends with benefits messes with Adam's head far more than either of you are willing to let on.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ▹ I don't think I've ever done gn!reader smut? So I'm really hoping that I did this justice for you, anon!! This little concept popped into my head randomly because I can so easily see Adam falling into this kind of situation. Also, I am so sorry my writing has been so sporadic lately </3 I’ve been having various health struggles for the last month and haven’t been super cognizant lmao.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ▹ smut (minors, please do not interact), reader's appearance, pronouns, and genitals aren't specified, thigh riding, general heavy petting, little bits of friends with benefits angst, kind of implied dom!reader and sub!Adam (if you squint), nothing else I can think of!!

No matter how many times you and Adam end up like this, he still finds himself questioning what exactly is going on. Your lips move so fast and he's just trying to keep up; trying not to let on just how long he's been craving the taste. Which has basically been since the last time you kissed him about a week prior.

It'd been after the team's last mission went particularly well. Quickly – and without any of the other Guardians seeing – you'd placed a chaste kiss on his lips and commended him for his performance. It was so fast and your tone had been so matter-of-fact that Adam had second guessed it had even happened to begin with. It wouldn't be too surprising if he started fantasizing about you.

Unfortunately for him, that was just you and your mixed messages. One minute you were all business and the next you were like this: keeping him anchored in place with a hand on his cheek as you took his breath away.

He supposes he can’t blame you. It made sense, wanting to keep a relationship like this hidden from the others. Though he wasn’t particularly well versed on the sensibilities of those around him, he could imagine this not being a good look for either of you.

And though he may not care what the others thought of him, you seemed to care. And that was enough to mean something to him too.

"You gonna touch me?" you rasp hurriedly.

Yes. Every single time it was a resounding yes. Even if his mind was telling him that he was in too deep, he couldn't help but dig himself deeper. He hates himself for it, but secretly he hopes that at some point he'll find more than the physical contact you provide. Maybe someday he'll hit some underground bunker and that you'd be gracious enough to let him in.

So he nods vigorously, his verbal agreement reduced to a hum as he captures your lips with his once more.

He's still inexperienced and, God, he hopes that you can at least tell that he's trying to learn. For example, he's gotten better at letting you take control. The first few times his hubris had gotten the better of him, making the encounter feel more like a power struggle than a release of stress. Now, he lets you set the pace; lets you figure out right where you want to be.

And right now you want him pressed up against the wall of the ship. You want his leg between yours. And you want to feel his chest heaving as you grind down on him in the secluded and quiet darkness of the hangar.

As soon as Adam pulls back long enough to meet your eyes, he catches the glint of want in them. Then he watches how your gaze sweeps downward. Right to his strong thigh.

You're both grateful that Adam's such a quick learner because he catches the hint before you have a chance to get impatient. With his back against the wall, Adam half expects it to crumble behind him as the scene before him unfurls.

His hands on your lower back keep you steady against his rigid torso. You're so close that he has no choice but to look in your eyes once more. They're half lidded and dark, already almost fucked out despite the fact that you've only just begun to grind against his thigh.

Adam holds you closer, increasing the pressure that comes with each brush of your hips. And pride floods his chest cavity when you groan deeply.

You let out a staggered little laugh, "Fuck, you're so good at this, Adam."

"Only as good as you've taught me to be," he quips with a tinge of tenderness. After all, there's something special to being so tuned into your body like this. He wouldn't trade that mastery for anything. The sentiment comes through tenfold when he nuzzles his nose against yours.

Briefly, his forehead touches yours. You feel the slight chill of the smooth golden gem that's right between his prominent brow. And it becomes all too apparent to you once more who he is; what he is. The chances that this means anything more to him are very little. What could one touch-starved mortal mean to a golden, god-like being?

You merely roll your eyes and dip your head against his chest, hiding from both his soft expression and the impending wave of pleasure that both threaten to knock you off your feet.

Truth told, with your body all over his, all Adam feels is the warmth. There's your hot breath as you work yourself closer and closer towards the edge. Then there's the pulsing heat between your legs that makes him painfully hard. That combined with the cramped confines of the hangar has him picturing you both discard your stifling jumpsuits.

His wishful thinking is interrupted by a groan that gets caught in your throat. "Ah, fuck, I'm so close–" you pant.

Before you know it, one of his hands snakes around the nape of your neck, cradling your head as it lolls back. Then his lips are on the side of your throat, kissing and nipping at the flesh as it trembles from the vibrations from your hums of pleasure. You can't help but wonder if he's somehow trying to absorb your sounds. Either way, the action makes you acutely aware of his strength once more.

If you didn't know any better, you'd fully believe that every part of him was built for this.

But you do know better.

Adam pulls back to chuckle, "I can't wait until we get back home."

And there's where the guilt starts to set in. Like clockwork, it inevitably hits. Whenever he talks so eagerly, you can't help but feel that giant pit in your stomach.

You try to match his energy with a hesitant smile. "What, being down here isn't enough for you?"

"Of course not," Adam furrows his brow teasingly. "Maybe we could have a night to ourselves when we get back."

The cavernous pit grows. You can practically feel your soul shriveling away as you mutter, "Maybe we should lay low for a while. Don't want the others to get any ideas."

Don't want either of us getting ideas too, you want to say.

The way the light fades from his eyes makes you feel worse. But he agrees. He says a small, "You're probably right," and you wish more than anything that you were wrong.

You don't care if the others catch on. Something else about this intimacy bothered you. Because if there was anything that being with the Guardians had taught you, it was that no matter how important love was...things would always happen.

You thought back to Peter and how lost he was when the team had lost Gamora. As much as he'd hated to admit it, that love and loss had changed him so thoroughly that the idea of it happening to you was terrifying.

Adam may not have been the child of a genocidal warlord. But he was still the child of an unstoppable master race of superhuman beings. And no matter how normal things may feel, especially being with him like this, you could never kid yourself into believing it could ever actually be normal.

So you offer him a halfhearted apology. You push yourself off his chest and shakily regain your own balance before returning to the upper decks. Most importantly, you don't look back. And you hope that sends your message sufficiently. That he stops wanting this. Because you doubt you could stop wanting him on your own.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy volume 3 #adam warlock #adam warlock x gn!reader #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock smut #will poulter #will poulter x gn!reader #will poulter x reader #will poulter x you #will poulter x y/n

[always-andromeda]

i just wanna cuddle with edward nashton 🥺

– 𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh, me too, anon. in fact. this sent me on a little brainstorming session! you probably totally didn't expect a headcanons list from this but lmao I always have to go overboard so enjooooy. <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: vague mentions of Edward's trauma, tooth-rotting fluff, nothing else I can think of!

Physical affection is foreign to Edward. He craves it more than anything else; desires to be known so deeply that when you finally try to give him just that, it freezes him up almost entirely.

It starts innocently enough.

You're watching television with him, only partially paying attention to the game show. It's far more engaging to watch Edward watch the show anyways.

His expression quirks every so slightly with each question. Head tilted, you can tell that he's deep in contemplation. Completely fixated on the screen. Barely blinking.

And you're so lost that you lean into him. You keep telling yourself that it's unintentional as your head rests carefully on his shoulder. 

Edward almost doesn't notice you at first. It isn't until your arms curl around his soft midsection that he realizes how close you'd gotten.

He lets out a nearly inaudible, "Oh," as you snuggle into his side. Brain going blank, he stays still for a few seconds.

He's struck by the warmth of your body. How your hands caress him over the fabric of his shirt. He feels each one of your fingers gently pressing into his skin. In that way, you play with the ripped seams of his soul. Your softness has a way of untangling the frayed threads, leaving them open to being weaved into some new design.

There are a few things he does when he finally comes back to his body. He closes his eyes and hopes that the moment etches itself on the back of his eyelids. Then his lean arms offer their own form of kindness as he awkwardly pulls you closer, almost into his lap.

Like a decades old couch in your grandmother's living room, you sink into Edward's body and he groans softly as he lets part of your weight anchor him to the earth.

A chuckle from deep in your throat escapes you. "Mmm, you're comfortable."

You mean I'm not repulsive? Edward wants to ask. But he doesn't.

He tries not to let that worried little voice take form in his head, but his own voice still cracks when he says, "Thank you." To which you laugh one more time.

Edward can be so terribly nervous sometimes over the most normal things. Your amusement quickly turns once you remember that it's probably because of his past; probably because he hadn't really known this simple, sweet sort of solitude. But you flip that thought again and resolve, then I'll make this normal for him.

At nearly the same time, Edward determines that he likes this. He likes the way that even among all of the chaos and darkness, he can have this equilibrium. As he kisses the top of your head tenderly he remembers that this moment belongs to him and him alone.

#askmeda✨ #anon ask✨ #paul dano #danocel #danonation #the batman #edward nashton #dano!riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x y/n #edward nashton x you #edward nashton fluff #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler x y/n #dano!riddler fluff #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[always-andromeda]

𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐁𝐚����𝐲

𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,109

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Once you get involved with Javier Pena, he never goes away...

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: So this is one of my first official times writing for a Pedro character?? New era I guess!!!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (minors, do not interact), fingering, soft!dom Javier, but he's also a little bit of an asshole, the tiniest bit of angst if you squint, nothing else I can think of!

With his fingers circling your clit, Javier Peña is close to completely figuring you out. He doesn’t admit it to himself, but his imagination had wandered in this direction before. Too many times he found himself drifting off, wondering what it would feel like to be knuckle deep in your cunt. What kind of pornographic sounds he’d drag out of you with each pump. What kind of taste would be dripping from his fingers, lingering on his tongue when he kissed you so deep that you’d drown in him.

Those images were way more intoxicating than anything else he’d tried. Now there was something worse than any selfish Wall Street junkie or vindictive narco; a DEA agent craving a drug that he’d never even touched in the first place. At least until now. 

He has you on his couch, partially because you’d refused to let him show you to his bed. But you should’ve known that Javier didn’t need a bed to get you under him. All he needed was a spark. And your attitude when matched with his stubborn resolve happened to create just the right amount of friction.

“Tell me how you like it,” Javier rasped. “Use your words, cielito, I know you’ve got them. Or have I managed to steal that voice of yours?”

You wonder if he’s right because you don’t even have it in you to argue. For weeks you’d gone back and forth with him. You brought him coffee in the morning, sighed when he looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes, and thanked you with an earnestness that would’ve made you smile if you weren’t aware of his reputation.

Everyone knew that Javier was an asshole who…got around. Even in your short time in the office, you’d heard plenty of the whorehouse jokes about him to know that if you let him smooth talk you into anything, he’d become a headache you’d never get rid of.

You could already feel the migraine brewing when you remembered his tendency to stop you at the copier and talk your ear off until your supervisor was fuming at your lack of productivity.

“Look, Peña, I’m just here to do my job,” you explained.

Javier’s brow furrowed and he replied cockily, “No one said we couldn’t have some fun while we work…”

You sighed. Then thought for a moment on how to let him down in a way that would keep him down. “Usually if I have sex with someone…it’s not because I just want to have fun. It’s because I like them.”

“So you don’t like me?”

“To be honest, Peña, I don’t feel all that strongly about you one way or the other.”

“Then how does Friday night sound?” He shot back with little hesitance.

“For what?”

“For me to sway your opinion,” he promised with a tilted head and a smirk that made you want to groan.

What you didn’t anticipate Friday night sounding like was you trying to hold back sighs while Javi had you liking him more and more with every second. Turns out, his hands were a little more persuasive than his velvety tone. Something about it scared you. How it took so little effort for him to smooth himself under your skin. How all it took was his lips parting and his hand traveling south. The taste of ash on his tongue and the smell of leather and sweat invading your senses as he made your whole being sway deeper and deeper into him.

You thought he'd be rougher; that he'd given so much of himself to his work that he'd be all too willing to take. But he's not rough so much as he's experienced. You wonder where he'd gotten all the free time to get this good. Wonder how many women before you he's made completely crumble. And the more your mind wanders, the more Javi notices.

"Ah, ah, eyes on me," he commands gently. Javi's circles slow and you know that he wouldn't hesitate to stop entirely. His ruthlessness has your eyes wide, fixed on his. Ever so slightly, he smirks and you feel him speed up again.

Before you know it, those tight, quick circles wind you up all over again. The tension seems to build on top of itself. Over and over again until it's pooling at your core and rushing through your veins to the tips of your fingers and toes.

A whine comes out almost involuntarily from some deep part of your throat. It's a place where Javi leans down to place a kiss on. Almost like he's thanking your vocal cords for paying him with such sweet sounds.

You feel the rumble of his voice against your skin as he murmurs, "There you go. Let it all out for me."

You could almost hate him. How dare he give you those stupid puppy dog eyes all throughout dinner. How dare he coax you back to his apartment with just a few words. And how dare he get you this bad when he's only undone a handful of buttons between you both. 

Almost. 

The rest of your head is flooded with dopamine. It clouds your judgment. Silences the part of yourself that tells you to yank his hand from your pants for a few seconds longer. Just long enough for that tension to bubble over completely.

You hold his wrist right where it is as he draws your climax out, lets you ride the shimmering waves of pleasure until there's nothing left to feel. Just the heat of his breath on your throat as he places soft kisses on your flesh. You could get used to this.

"Ready to take these off?" Javier asks, hand cupping the mound of flesh that only wants more and more of him.

And there comes that worry all over again. "Actually, I should keep them on," you reply quickly. The edges of your vision are still fuzzy when you sit up, shifting away from Javier. You're swiftly buttoning your pants up, tucking your shirt in, and regaining the feeling of your toes in your shoes.

Javier's brows furrow in confusion. "What's the hurry? Why are you leaving?"

Standing on wobbly legs, you take a deep breath before the words leave your reddened, kiss-stained lips, "Because if I have sex with you, I'm going to fall in love with you." The sentence hangs in the air long after you fix your hair. The rejection rattles him so deep that he doesn't even say goodbye. Hell, neither do you. All that lingers are your words, your perfume, and his breath, heavy with the feeling of you.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #narcos #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n