#NOT draw them having tender morning sex?

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

#joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction

[borathae]

"You wake up in Jungkook's bed after a passionate night together."

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, domestic Fluff, hinted Smut

Warnings: casual nudity, Kookie shows off his muscles, he is a giggly cutie who just wants to be praised, they talk about last night's sex, she kisses his abs, he is so in love with her :(

Wordcount: 2k

a/n: i wanna give him the world. he is my babyboy :( also, i don't gotta mention by which live this was inspired. y'all KNOW fjadjfa. enjoy besties, i fucking love him 🤍

Something is tickling your face. Gently. Nicely. Warm. It feels warm. Fingers. You can make out the paths they draw. Over your forehead, tracing your brows, down your temples, along your cheeks and up your nose until the faintest touch feels up your closed eyelids. 

You know where you are. Jungkook’s wing. You stayed with him after the two of you went on a lovely movie date in town, followed by karaoke in his living room till late into the night. 

You had sex too. It was good sex. Amazing sex even. He made you see not only stars, but the entire galaxy. And in return you made him arch his back and whimper your name. It was amazing. It really, really was.

You still feel the afterglow of it. It became stronger again now that you are awake and actively take him in.

His soft scent lingers on the sheets and the warmth of his touch feels heavenly. You can’t stop your lips from curling into a sleepy smile. Quite frankly, you didn’t even try to stop them. Perhaps you even encouraged them to do so. 

“Mhm good morning. That feels amazing”, you mumble. 

“Good morning, my honey”, he answers you and cups your cheek to run his thumb along the tender skin under your eye. Once. Twice. 

Then you open your eyes to look at him. 

His face scrunches up into a giddy smile instantly. It starts off with his eyes before the rest of his face follows. You love the way he smiles. It is so precious and adorable that he always starts off with his eyes before anything else shows his happiness. It fits him so well. 

You retort his smile, feeling it grow when he scoots closer to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I’ve been awake for a little and I tried not to touch you, but you’re so pretty when you sleep”, he says, making your heart flutter. 

He scoots back again and touches your ear to massage it softly. 

“You didn’t wake me”, you assure him, tingling at the touch. 

“That’s good to hear. I hope you don’t mind that I looked at you”, he says and giggles, “I’m sorry, I just think that you’re so pretty.”

“I don’t mind”, you say and reach out to caress his naked chest, “you’re so cute, my honey.”

“Thank you, yeah”, he says and giggles. He is so cute when he is so happy. You hope that he never stops giggling. He shimmies back just enough that you can look at him comfortably. He gathers a bundle of his blanket and uses it to rest his chin on it. Like this, you have perfect view of his sculpted arms and tattoos. He didn’t bother to put on clothes last night and neither did you. He kept snuggling up to you throughout the night and whenever you noticed it, you felt yourself tingle. His skin felt like paradise against yours. It really did.

His eyes gaze at you with sparkles in them. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks. 

“Really well. Your bed’s so comfy.”

“Yeah? That’s good to hear”, he says and giggles once again. 

“And you?”

“I slept well too, yeah. I dreamed of you.”

“You did?” 

“Mh-hm. I dreamed of last night. It’s because I can’t stop thinking about it”, he giggles again, giving you the prettiest eye smile ever, “I think we had a really amazing date. I loved it a lot.”

“I loved it too”, you answer him and touch his arm to squeeze it lovingly, “you’re so cute.”

“Heh”, he lets out and blushes, “and I think that the sex was amazing”, he sounds shy all of a sudden, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile and agree with a nod of your head, “I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“Do your knees still hurt?” he makes sure. You finished him off by riding him and you went at it with such passion that your knees ached afterwards.

“No, they don’t. I told you, they were just tired.”

“You did it so hard”, he says and giggles with his nose scrunching up. He snuggles the blanket, even going so far as to rub his cheek against it, “I couldn’t stop moaning.”

“I couldn’t tell at all”, you joke and snicker.

He snickers as well, nodding his head, “I know, I was so loud. I can’t help it because you’re so, so good.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m the same when you touch me.”

“Yeah, I know”, he says, glancing down at your body just once, “you sounded really sexy. I think.”

“Thank you, baby. You sounded really sexy too.”

“Yeah, I liked it”, he says, “I’ve been able to make love to you without danger for such a long time already, but I still feel so excited by it. So it always feels epic and, and”, he stops himself, glancing at you shyly, “I hope I’m not annoying you with this already.”

“Kookie, come on”, you say sternly and nudge his chest, “don’t you dare say that. I feel as excited as you do, sweets. You deserve to feel this way.”

“Thank you. It means a lot that you share those feelings with me.”

“Of course, baby. I mean it.”

He smiles and reaches out to touch your face. Your cheek, your brow and temple until he ends it with a soft brush over your lips. And as he makes sure that your face is actually as beautiful as he thinks it is, his sparkly eyes race over your features without wanting to stop. They finally land on your lips and the way they look so pretty in the morning lights.

“I uhm”, he begins and lets out a shy giggle, meeting your gaze. You retort the chuckle, caressing the inside of his wrist.

“Mhm?”

“I think you’re beautiful”, he says, making your heart flutter.

“Thank you so much”, you whisper giddily, “you’re beautiful too.”

“Thank you”, he says and sits up just a little, “hey ___? I was thinking”, he begins.

“What were you thinking?” you ask him, expecting the most profound revelation ever.

“My arms look really strong today. What do you think?” he says, showing off by flexing his arm. His muscles tense and bulge, capturing your attention. 

You stifle a snicker. You did not expect for the conversation to go this way. He is such a wonderful person.

“Look at this”, he points at the most sculpted parts, “can you see the lines there and, and how big it looks there?”

“I can”, you tell him, melting in fondness. He is so adorable when he shows off because you know for a fact that he believes that this is the most impressive thing he could do. Not being loving and gentle, neither being the best listener and sweetest person ever. No, in his eyes showing off his muscles is the most impressive thing about him. Which, don’t misunderstand, is very impressive, but it is still very adorable as well because of how randomly he decided to do it. 

“Can you see how strong I am?” he asks, flexing even harder. 

“I can”, you reach out and touch his arm. It is rockhard, “wow, Kookie your muscles are so hard.”

“Right? It’s because I’m so strong”, he says.

“Mhm, of course you are. You’re such a strong man, this is so impressive”, you praise him, squeezing his arm gently, “wow, so strong.”

“Yeah, right?” he agrees and then sticks his head under the blanket for a second. You watch him with fondness bubbling in your tummy, “and check this out”, he says, reappearing again and tugging the blanket down his torso just enough that the first hint of his pubes gets revealed. He is resting on his back, propped up on his elbow and with his abs flexed. He runs his fingers down the lines of them, “look.”

You roll to your tummy and prop yourself up on your elbows. Like this, you could easily rest your chin on his stomach if you wanted to.

“Wow Kookie, your abs looks so strong”, you gasp.

“Right? It’s because I used them so much last night”, he says, making your chest flutter. He wasn’t lying. He did use them a lot as he was making you see galaxies.

“Mhm of course you did”, you say, “can I touch?”

“Of course.”

You reach out and trace his muscles with your fingertips. Jungkook watches you with his breathing just a little quickened. Goosebumps cover his skin wherever you touch. You finish your explorations by shimmying closer and draping your arm over his lap just so you can lower your lips to his stomach and kiss it.

Jungkook gasps when that happens, shivering like crazy. You nuzzle your nose into his faint happy trail and inhale his scent. He smells like warm nights, good sex and clean skin. It’s addictive, really, and for just a short moment you play with the desire to lick him until he shivers.

You lift your head, meeting his droopy gaze.

“My strong man”, you say, flashing him a loving grin.

Jungkook breaks into a fit of happy giggles, picking you up in his strong arms to hug you against his chest. 

“Thank you ___, I’m your strong man”, he says, wiggling you from side to side. 

“Yes you are”, you tell him, snaking your arm around his waist, “I feel very safe in your arms.”

“Wow really?” he gasps and giggles, “wow, thank you. This means so much to me.”

He lies down with you in his arms, which results in your finding your new resting spot sprawled halfway on top of him and with your face buried in the crook of his neck. You grunt at the impact, before a fond chuckle shakes your shoulders.

“Careful”, you tell him.

“I’m sorry”, he slips his arms from you, “did I hurt you?”

“No, you just surprised me. That’s all”, you say, climbing on top of him and sitting down on his lap. Just below his dick and with your hands feeling up his pecs. Like this, the blanket covers you until your hips while the rest of your body was exposed to the cool air. Goosebumps cover your skin instantly, but Jungkook touches don’t allow your body to feel cold. He runs his hands all over your body, leaving out the most intimate spots for respect reasons and massaging the parts which he thinks are so incredibly soft.

“My strong man, mhm?” you say.

He nods his head vigorously, pressing out a shaky, “yeah.” He is just so excited to be with you and to be your strong man! He is your man! That’s awesome!

You run your hands to his shoulders before placing them in the pillow beside his head. Like this, you can look down at his pretty face while Jungkook feels up your back and the beginning of your buttocks.

“Should we check out this café we passed last night?”

You drove by a café on your way to the cinema yesterday. Back then, it had already closed for the day, but it promised fresh breakfast everyday in the café window. You talked about going there one day and trying out the menu.

“I love this idea”, he says, “I’m really hungry already”, he tells you and adds a quick, “not that kind of hungry though, don’t worry.”

You laugh, “I wasn’t thinking that”, you assure him, pecking his lips. 

Jungkook hums and hooks his arms behind your head. With one expert movement, he has your positions flipped, kissing your lips as happy purrs rumble in his chest.

“Kookie, wait”, you giggle, fighting him off with minimal effort, “the breakfast.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me then”, he mumbles, chasing your kiss.

“It was a peck, you’re the one deepening it”, you complain with a racing heart.

“Mhm no”, he answers you, making you laugh.

“Come on, baby”, you snicker, turning your head so he is kissing your cheek instead.

“Hmpf fine”, he huffs out air, rubbing his nose against you slowly, “first shower, then breakfast, then I’ll buy you flowers and then I’ll show you what kissing me all naked gets you.”

“Sounds like a deal”, you say, feeling oh so giddy that you could burst.

#jungkook romance #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #vampire!jungkook #bts romance #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bts x reader #bts x you #vampire!bts #bangtan romance #bangtan fanfic #bangtan scenario #bangtan oneshot #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #fanfic: sanguis duology

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - unhealthy relationships, non/con, mentions of overstimulation, dehumanization, semi-public sex, and abuse.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

If Arlecchino had it her way, you think you’d be more of a doll than a person.

Not that it would make much of a difference when it comes to how she treats you. To her, all the world might as well be pieces of a chessboard; playthings to pose and position as she deems fit. Knights are sent into righteous battles, pawns are burnt to ash on first line of fire, and you’re made to watch it all from your place on a glass-enclosed pedestal, where the cruelties of the world are visible, but at a distance. That’s a flaw in her little world that Arlecchino hasn’t realized, yet – your eyes, unlike those of the delicate figurines she favors, are not only painted on.

You suppose you should count yourself lucky, when compared to the rest of her unfortunate collection. Most of her pieces are chipped and scarred, sharpened into fine, deadly points only to be discarded when they begin to dull. You, on the other hand, have proved yourself worthy of her maintenance. Your wardrobe is curated to her particular tastes, every style of bow and pattern of lace hand-selected to suit her preferred aesthetics, and she spends each morning running comb after comb through your hair, brushing rouge onto your cheeks, taking leisurely minutes to decide if she’d rather see you in blue or pink or lilac – always light colors, always gentle. You think, sometimes, that you must look like a groomed dog next to her, pastel and ridiculous next to her monotone elegance. Often, you try not to think about how little of a difference it would make if she added a leash and collar to your daily ensemble.

She rarely lets you leave her sight. Of course, obligation does draw her away from you from time to time (a rarity she laments as often as you pray for), but whenever possible, she has you sitting pretty by her side or, better yet, perched in her lap, straddling her waist and sobbing quietly into her chest as her clever fingers bring you to the brink of climax for the nth time in the past hour. The company she keeps rarely makes a difference when it comes to how or when she touches you – although, you do try not to remember how many of her colleagues have seen you with teary eyes and open legs. A doll’s owner rarely questions the way they choose to handle their toy, and so, she’s content not to think about how she handles you. Her only acknowledgement of your suffering is a quick kiss to the cheek as she coaxes you onto your own feet, a muttered comment about the new stain on the dark fabric of her pants. It’s a miracle that you can bear the humiliation of it, but your endurance is a convenience, not a necessity. There’s no reality in which your limitations alone would be enough to stop her.

Arlecchino does, at least, make the occasional effort to pretend she thinks of you as a partner, rather than a plaything. She’s made it clear that, in her ideal world, you’d happily accept the total loss of your autonomy and thank her for each and every second you spend under the torment of her obsession, but she settles for the occasional, trembling smile when she presents you with a gift or confection you lingered on while passing by an especially charming shop, the tender intimacy of your head resting on her shoulder when yet another meeting proves to be more long-lasting than your attention span. On her best days, she’ll even respond to your timid requests to please not leave another bruise on your neck, another fang shaped indentation on your collarbone with a breath of a laugh and a hushed explanation of why she has to, rather than just an outright, wordless dismissal. You wouldn’t quite say she listens to you, but it’s as close as she comes.

Dolls, after all, are incapable of requesting to be played with in a certain way, or asking their owners to treat them more gently, or speaking up about anything at all.

A doll, Arlecchino’s ideal doll, can only watch with a smile as it’s broken apart.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshinx reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin #genshin #yandere arlecchino #arlecchino x reader

[spikesbicth]

Eyes Wide Shut

Astarion x F!Tav!Reader

Summary: Astarion helps you relieve some stress with a blindfold.

approx 1.9k words, crossposted on ao3

CW: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, smut, oral sex, PiV, blindfold, blood, biting.

A/N: someone stop me. I literally cannot stop writing. anyways. enjoy. <3

The beginnings of sunrise peak through the window as you struggle to remove your armour after a difficult night. Suddenly switching priorities, you rush to the window to draw the curtains in the room, blocking out the sunbeams beginning to cast light across the room. You breathe a sigh of relief, tinged with resentment and exasperation. It had been months of searching for answers, following dead leads, doing anything. Searching for something to allow Astarion back in the sun. You loved him so dearly, but gods, was it wearing on you.

You swallow hard in the darkness of the room, then return to trying to undo the straps of your armour. Stress had tightened your shoulders, and you struggled to reach around yourself. Groaning and giving up, you pace the room, lighting the candles. You feel better with the warm light from the tiny flames, wondering why this light was so different from that of the sun’s.

The door to the room opens and closes behind you, Astarion entering from the hall of the inn you had taken residence at for the last few days. You turn to greet him, your mood lifting almost instantly. Astarion’s angular face and ears were god-like in the flickering candlelight. A pit forms in your stomach as you try to remember the last time you saw him in the clear light of day. You sigh, awash with grief.

“Is something wrong?” Astarion asks, a sliver of fear in his voice. His eyes wide and concerned as he looks at you standing alone in the dimness of your room.

“I- no… well…” You trail off. You don’t want to cast more guilt upon him. You knew he struggled too, he saw how worn down you were becoming. You look awkwardly around the room, avoiding his gaze. “I’m stressed. I’m afraid…” trying to continue, but fear that you will fall into a mess of emotions and tears.

Astarion steps towards you, wrapping his arms around you. There wasn’t anything to be said, anything that could be said, nothing that could solve each other's troubles this early morning. You melt into him, relishing his tender touch.

“Let me take care of you.” He whispers in your ear, planting a kiss on your cheek. You nod, squeezing him closer.

You feel his fingers undoing the buckles on your armour while his arms continue to hold you close. He slides it off of you, and you breathe in deeply, now unrestrained and only in your underclothes. He rubs his cool hands over your back, pausing to place pressure on the tense spots he found. You relax into him, pressing your face into his shoulder and breathing in his sweet-citrusy scent. He guides you to the bed, and sits you down. Standing before you, he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I have an idea…” He speaks softly, brushing your face with the back of his hand. The candlelight flickered in his crimson eyes, and his nose cast angular shadows across his face. You nod again, and he pulls a piece of cloth from his pocket, and offers it to you. “For your eyes, my love… cover them and forget it all, feel only me.” He purrs. You didn’t need convincing.

You take the cloth, a soft, silky fabric sample Astarion had no doubt swiped from a shop for this purpose. You wonder how long he had been holding on to it. Tying the fabric around your head and slipping it over your eyes, you give yourself to the darkness. There is no doubt Astarion has something planned for you tonight.

You feel his hands grasping the edge of your top, then pulling it up and off of you, and you assist him by raising your arms over your head. You hear the garment make a soft thud as it hits the floor, followed by the sounds of Astarion removing his own shirt. A cool palm meets your chest and it presses you to lay down on your back. The softness of the bedding is quickly contrasted by Astarion’s bare chest on top of you, and he kisses your lips tenderly. You kiss him back, tracing his lower lip with your tongue and he parts his mouth. You glide your tongue across his teeth, feeling sharp tips of his fangs.

Kissing you passionately now, he rests his weight on your pelvis with his legs on either side of you and brings a hand to one of your breasts. You gasp delicately as his chilled fingers pinch and twist your nipple. They harden reactively, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

Astarion breaks your kiss and begins to kiss down your neck and chest, stopping at your sternum to tongue over your nipples. Your eyes flutter against the fabric of your blindfold, and you allow yourself to sink deeper into the moment. You feel him kissing and nibbling your breasts, his fangs leaving small scratches as they drag across you. You feel a wetness growing between your legs, and a flutter of excitement in your stomach. As he passes his tongue over you, he leaves a trail of wetness that tingles your skin and causes your clit to begin to throb. He moves off of you, and the brief moment of confusion for where he had gone is broken when you feel his hands at the waistline of your trousers.

“Lift your hips for me, my love.” He asks, his voice low. You arch your back to lift your hips off the bed, and he pulls your bottoms off of you, and removes your shoes. You lay naked and blindfolded,your knees bend and legs hanging over the edge of the bed. You listen to Astarion removing the remainder of his own clothes, and you softly bite your lip as you wait.

Returning to you, he runs his hands up your thighs, to your waist. You hear the floorboards bend and creak as he lowers to his knees. He begins kissing your lower thighs, and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed so your hips are almost sliding off. He guides your legs apart, and you knowingly move to place them over his shoulders. He adjusts them into place, and you imagine the look on his face as you clumsily feel around with your hands for his head. You shiver in anticipation, and draw a breath in as you wait for his next move.

His tongue meets your folds with little warning, and a soft moan escapes you. He licks you slowly, tasting your arousal. You feel his tongue and lips kissing you slowly, his saliva and your wetness mixing and dripping down to the bed sheets. He suckles his lips around your clit, and you arch your back as you moan louder than before. Your hands finally reach his head, and you ball a fist of his silver locks in your hand. He continues to suck on your clit, pulling it in and out of his lips with a slow and persistent rhythm. You feel a burning at his lips, his touch a searing pleasure. You won’t last long like this. You feel him bring a finger to your folds, teasing your entrance and you take a sharp breath in.

To your surprise he suddenly withdraws, culling the fire that was growing within you. You hear him stand up again, and he places his hands on your hips. He turns you over, handling you with little effort. Laying on your stomach, he taps your ass lightly, playfully.

“Up, on your knees now my dear.” He asks, a smile in his voice. You push yourself up onto all fours, your hands sinking into the bedding and feeling your breasts swaying freely beneath you. You feel Astsrion’s hands on your waist yet again, and you feel his erect cock brushing against the back of your thighs. Traces of his precum tingle your skin. “Gods, you are so beautiful.” You hear him whisper under his breath. He squeezes your waist, then removes a hand to stroke his length and guide it towards your entrance.

He places the tip of his cock inside of you, and you feel your walls expanding to let him inside. You breathe deeply, taking in the feeling of him slowly pushing inside of you; intensified by your lack of vision. He fucks you slowly at first, pushing and pulling himself inside of you. Slowly increasing his force and speed, you fall to your elbows, arching your back and shifting the position of his cock inside of you. He moans deeply, fucking you hard. You burn with desire, he folds himself over you, pressing his chest into your back. You shift your weight to free one of your arms, and reach up to your clit. Still desperately sensitive from Astarion’s lips, just a graze of your fingers causes you to clench around Astarion inside of you, and he moans loudly in response.

You touch yourself in small circles, stoking the fire within you once again. You moan into the bed, melting under Astarion while he fucked you. Feeling him inside if you, feeling yourself stretching and retracting, listening to the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. The tide rose, you were reaching your peak. Your clit throbs under your fingers and your breath quickens.

“Astar- Astarion… I-I’m going to…” You moan, your blindfold beginning to slip off your face as you press into the bed.

He presses into you further, kissing the side of your neck and continues to fuck you. You feel yourself reaching orgasm, tumbling over the edge. You clench rhythmically on Astarion’s cock, moaning loudly into the bed. He moans with you, silencing himself by kissing your neck once again.

Suddenly your neck burns as Astarion plunges his fangs into you as he reaches his own orgasm, his thrusts becoming increasingly disorganized. Blood spills down your neck and chin, dripping onto the bed sheets below you. You feel Astarion sucking your neck while he moans, and his cock twitching inside of you as he fills you with his cum. You collapse under him, and him onto you. Leaking his cum between your legs and blood from your neck, you squirm beneath him. Still blindfolded, you turn over onto your back, and begin kissing aimlessly, searching for his lips. You feel him moving his arms, and suddenly your blindfold is tugged off. His soft, loving gaze greets yours.

“Feeling any better, darling?” he smiles, then kisses you tenderly. You taste your blood on his lips, and smile into them as you kiss him back.

“I certainly am.” You reply with a small laugh. He rolls off of you and lays by your side, then pulls you in with his arms. The coolness of his body is a sweet relief to you after the heat of your orgasm. You tangle with him and close your eyes.

No matter your struggles, you know that at the very least you would always have him - even if just by candlelight.

#astarion #mine #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x reader #someone stop me #is this even good anymore #how do i make a masterpost #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #smut #ao3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut #spawn astarion

[gritsgigabits]

Slashers NSFW headcanons~

In celebration of 69 followers, I want to throw some sexy headcanons at y’all!

TW: NSFW (duh) and derogatory language

Jason Voorhees

Growing up with Pamela, Jason learnt early on that sex was a nasty and filthy thing that could never lead to anything good. When you first brought up the issue of taking the relationship further, it was difficult to get Jason to even talk about the subject with you.

You had to explain it to him that sex wasn’t only for horny teenagers or for one night stands – it could also be one of the most tender and beautiful ways of showing someone how much you loved them.

It took a lot of patience and many one-sided conversations on your part to get Jason adjusted to the idea of having sex. He was worried you would pressure him or become agitated because of his reluctance to sleep with you.

Having sex with Jason was awkward at first, as it tends to be for first timers. Jason is a big boy, both in height and… you know, so he wants to be extra careful when you two get intimate. He would never want to hurt you, unintentionally or otherwise.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba hasn’t received that much sex education. Everything he knows he has learnt from Drayton, and all that Drayton ahs taught him is that sex is troublesome and if you want to stay out of trouble, you shouldn’t do it.

Bubba doesn’t consider sex to be a bad thing at all! However, he is very awkward and can’t seduce anyone to save his life. He is relieved that now that he has you, he won’t ever have to seduce anyone.

Bubba has this idea that he wants to be the most tender lover you could ever have, but it often backfires on him tremendously. He usually initiates sexual activities in a romantic way, and everything is sweet and sensual – until he is inside you.

From the first thrust onwards, he loses his senses and is concentrated on nothing but chasing pleasure. What begins as gentle sex soon turns into him madly thrusting into you at a pace that is both maddeningly satisfying and brutally irregular. It continues like that until he comes.

Despite Bubba’s tendency to get lost in the moment, he won’t leave you hanging if you don’t get the chance to come. After he’s finished, Bubba is always ready to lend you a helping hand or a skilled mouth if you need it.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is quite well-endowed, and he isn’t always as gentle as he should be. You might have to procure a bottle of lube to keep in the drawer of your bedside table because foreplay isn’t Thomas’ strong suit.

Although he can be too rough and impatient at times, Thomas doesn’t have sadistic tendencies when it comes to sex. He has a massive dick that will tear you apart of you’re not ready for it, but Thomas doesn’t want to hurt you.

In fact, Thomas’ preferences when it comes to sex are quite vanilla. He isn’t opposed to trying new things if you’re into some kinky shit, though.

The point is to keep as quiet as possible when you two are intimate, because you two live in one house with the rest of his family. It is would be awkward to hear Luda May scold you two at the breakfast table the next morning about how much noise you two were making.

Whenever you have privacy, Thomas likes to take you rough and draw out as much noise from you as possible. Hearing you scream (with pleasure) is a sure-fire way to get him close and over the edge.

Brahms Heelshire

The entertainment options in the Heelshire mansion are extremely restricted: unless you somehow convince Brahms to let you set up internet connection, you only have the record player, a TV that’s far from state-of-the-art, and each other.

Brahms is absolutely of the opinion that sex is the best pastime there is. He has the sex drive of a seventeen-year-old, and that combined with his demanding attitude results in him demanding you to spread your legs for him every day.

Brahms is a huge bottom in everyday life and wants you to be in charge of things outside of the bedroom. In sexual situations, though, he refuses to be the submissive party. It’s him on top, whether you like it or not.

Brahms is into BDSM-esque things: he likes to have you restrained by tying you up or physically holding you down. In the latter case, he gets off on proving to you that even if you tried to run away from him, he would catch you and wouldn’t allow you to go.

In the bedroom where he’s boss, Brahms has his own set of rules that he expects you to obey. If you don’t do as he says, you’ll be punished. It’s for you to decide whether you want to play by his rules or risk getting spanked until your arse is fiery red.

Michael Myers

As a rule, Michael doesn’t have a major sex drive. He likes to fuck, and if you’re feeling up to it, he won’t reject your passes at him. Michael might be well past his teens but he can still get it up with no problem.

For Michael, sex often lacks the emotional aspect. It’s simply a way for him to de-stress and release tension, and he often treats you as nothing more than his own personal fuck-toy.

Michael didn’t think there was anything more to sex than the point of shooting his load until he met you who demanded more from him. You constantly nagged him to think of sex as something meaningful, which seemed like a pain in the ass for him.

Michael is very adaptable to new situations, however, and decided to give it a chance to think of sex as something important in a relationship.

He would still rather take you hard and fast than put effort into seducing you, but he has found that he gets better results if he takes you into account more.

Happy wife, happy life, they say.

Billy Loomis

Considering his maniacal tendencies, sex with Billy can be borderline boring at times. He doesn’t really fantasise about anything and doesn’t have any specific kinks that he’d like to try out. He likes ‘normal sex’, as he calls it.

Sex with him can be romantic and sweet, and if you’re up for that pure vanilla action, then you two are going to hit it off and get each other off just fine.

If you’re more the adventurous type, you can convince him to get out of his comfort zone. You might find that Billy isn’t quite as against spicing things up in the bedroom as he assured you he was.

The element of surprise and good timing are your best friends when it comes to getting Billy to try something new. Present him with a butt plug in the middle of a make-out session, pull a puppy-eyed expression while telling him how much you want him to use it (or use it on you), and he won’t have the time to process the request enough to refuse out of principle.

Don’t worry though – Billy will loudly protest if you ever bring up something he honestly doesn’t want to do, even if you make the request while he’s thrusting into you and can’t think clearly otherwise.

#jason voorhees x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #michael myers x reader #billy loomis x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfiction

[marinas-drafts]

Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

#repost from main #honeymoon #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis #lana del rey #pricilla presley #priscilla presley #priscilla movie #priscilla 2023 #elvis and priscilla #elvis and me #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis music #mine

[honeyedmiller]

Joel Miller Masterlist

* indicates smut. 18+, minors do not interact.

one shots:

Tailgate*

-> your best friend drags you to a tailgate party, and you end up being introduced to one very attractive miller brother.

A Forever Thing

-> you and joel have been trying for a baby since the night you two married, but haven’t had any luck—until you do.

Help Me Forget*

-> joel and tommy stumble upon an unexpected body in the snow on their patrol, and they bring the person back to jackson with them.

Pout*

-> joel’s noticed you’ve been working a little too hard, and he misses you. he decides to use his all-consuming charm to coax you to relax… in more ways than one.

Forbidden Fruit*

-> you return back home from college after graduating with your master’s degree, and joel miller is surprised to see how much you’ve really grown up.

Shotgun*

-> you and joel smoke together for the first time.

Ride, Cowgirl*

-> you tell joel one of your fantasies that’d been on the back burner, but he encourages you to bring it to life.

Love Me Tender

-> after a terrible mental week, joel checks in on you and makes sure you’re taken care of.

Something in the Orange

-> you and joel enjoy a peaceful autumn morning together.

Ring*

-> tommy teases joel about you and him having marriage problems when he notices you aren’t wearing your wedding ring.

Mask*

-> joel throws his annual halloween party, and you’re both determined to settle your aching need for each other.

Mystery

-> tommy drags joel to a club which he detests to, until he sets his sights on you.

Checkmate – blurb*

-> screwing your dad’s best friend shouldn’t feel this good.

Checkmate – one shot*

-> you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

Nobody Does It Like You Do*

-> good girls always get rewarded.

Birthday Girl*

-> joel gives you a sweet surprise on your birthday.

Traditions*

-> you and joel make holiday traditions in your new home.

Sweet Thing*

-> the most unlikely pair in jackson just can’t get enough of each other.

A Merry Little Christmas

-> christmas morning at the miller household is always chaotic in the sweetest way possible.

Dawn’s First Light*

-> joel tells you he loves you for the first time.

Hiraeth*

-> the most invigorating and intoxicating drug you’ve had in your life is completely forbidden—and then there’s weed.

Real Love, Baby

-> joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

An Ode to Forever*

-> after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

or

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

The Hills*

-> drugs. sex. fame. joel miller. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

Sweet*

-> it’s a lazy sunday, and joel prefers to have his coffee in bed with a side of you.

Clouded*

-> saturdays are meant for errands and chores. joel convinces you otherwise just for once.

drabbles:

Angel*

Sir*

[untitled]*

series:

Fate, After All*

-> your mom thinks it’s a bright idea to keep setting you up on blind date after blind date. none of them work in your favor—until one unintentionally does.

Law of Attraction*

-> you and your criminal law professor have an undeniable attraction toward each other. it’s only natural that you both explore that attraction—but navigating a dynamic like that is never as simple as it seems.

A Burning Desire (ongoing)*

-> you were fine with being single, basking in the freedom and independence of it all—until a handsome firefighter walks into your life and completely flips your world around.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller imagines #joel miller series #joel miller smut #joel miller masterlist #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou au #the last of us x reader

[nee-biter]

Pink | Virgin!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

✨THIS IS PART TWO ✨ Tags: MINORS DNI!! SMUT!! comfort sex, p in v, oral sex, this smut is kinda fluffy tbh 😳, references to sexual abuse that happened in previous chapter, alcohol, cursing part one can be read HERE

By the time he arrived at your building, the time on his watch read ‘11:38 PM.’ Miguel set you down as you led him to your one bedroom unit. The smell of paint wafted through the living room; Miguel thought that the walls were newly painted, until he saw a large canvas resting by a wall. When you turned on the lights to reveal your unit, his eyes were on the canvas that covered the wall. You had been painting a scenery. A few home-bound boats on their way to a bustling dock. A walking lady with a parasol was the center of the painting, awaiting the boats. The manner in which you’ve painted it made it seem like it was a romantic celebration.

“This is beautiful,” He said, admiring your work. “You should’ve been a fine arts student, (Y/N).” Miguel looked over to you; you were already trying to kick off your shoes.

“Too bad we’re already seniors. Enough of that, let’s go to my room.” You could speak full, coherent sentences, which Miguel celebrated. 

Your hand grasped his, pulling him to your room. 

The light from the living room illuminated your bedroom. Miguel could see some of the objects littered around—a purple jewelry box mounted on your desk, a light blue comforter splayed across the floor possibly left in a hurry this morning, a succulent in a white pot near your windowsill, and a picture of you and your family on your drawer. Miguel knew you, but he didn’t know the full you. Secrets about you were all around your bedroom, but he was about to learn the most intimate one of all—your body. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, beckoning him to occupy the space next to yours. Your fingers removed his glasses, placing them softly on your drawer before sighing. “So,” you said.

“So,” Miguel echoed. He looked deep into your eyes with purpose, to see if you had any doubts about this and to see if you were still drunk. It didn’t seem like you were intoxicated in anything else but the air between the two of you. Miguel could smell the alcohol on your breath, but even more piercing was the tempting scent of your pheromones. It drove him crazy, but he wanted you to lead. Whatever you desire, he wanted.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” You asked, leaning closer and eyeing his lips.

‘Of course, anything for you,’ he thought. Miguel closed the gap between the two of you. His lips felt rough, but he himself was tender with you. You placed his hand on your thigh and your hand traveled to his face, cupping his rugged jaw. You moaned into the kiss; your need for him couldn’t be satiated even as he pressed his body close to yours. His chest pressed against yours and you could feel how solid he was. You were so curious to see his body, but he kept focusing on your soft lips.

All of your previous partners would jump at the opportunity to squeeze your breasts or to shove their hand in your panties, but Miguel was taking his time. Or, he could be super shy. You laughed in between kisses since nothing was happening beyond making out. “What are you doing?” You broke the kiss to ask. His hand neither traveled farther up your thigh or unto your breasts.

“Kissing you. Do you- Do you not like kissing?” He asked, a mix of his saliva and yours slathered on his lower lip. 

“I do, Miguel, but I need you.” You nodded at him, trusting that he knew what you were implying. Your heart was all over the place and Miguel’s doubtful gaze made it even worse. “Do you… not want to have sex?”

“I do,” He confirmed quickly. “But, I have something to confess.” 

“What is it?”

Miguel took your hand in his, drawing little circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “I haven’t done it.” He watched as your eyes widened. “With anyone. At all.”

“At all, as in you haven’t…?” You stuttered, as he shook his head. “You haven’t gotten down..? Or received? Or…?” You were shocked with every shake of his head. Then, you started giggling. The situation was cute. All this time, you thought Miguel was secretly a player. Someone who was a nerd outside, but a total woman-killer in bed. But now, you were suddenly put in a position where you would have to take care of him. The idea gets you excited. “Why are you a virgin? Oh wait, that’s a bad question…”

“Long story. Strict parents, busy schedules, never the right girl, you know it.” Miguel turned his face away from you. 

You paused. “Well, am I the right girl?”

“You’re more than that.”

You scoffed. “Of course you’ll say that. Aren’t I an easy target?” Tonight, you were at your most vulnerable. Not two hours ago, you were violated by a man you thought you could trust. Now, you’re suddenly swept away again. It’s just like you to not know what to do with your heart. “I’m basically throwing myself at you. The first girl you’ll ever fuck.”

Miguel’s response came to him too fast. “Hopefully, the last one, too.” And he meant it.

“What?” You laughed, not believing how he could say that with such determination. “Isn’t that going too fast?”

Miguel put his hands on either side of your face, letting you gaze in his eyes as he assured you. “If you throw yourself at me, I’ll catch you each time.” He kissed you again. “Plus, you’re the one who wants to get a move on.”

You smiled at the way he teased you, yet was sincere with you. You felt like you could trust him the most, but that just might be the leftover alcohol in your system. He ran his fingers through your hair as your tongues brush against each other. 

Miguel squeezed your thighs with his one hand, while the other one hovered above your breast. “May I?” He asked and you nodded, in need. He obliged, connecting his warm palm on your tit; His kiss became more passionate, after noticing you had no bra on. This whole time. He squeezed your tit some more, as he gently pushed you down on the bed. He broke the kiss. “Can I—Um, can I taste you?”

“My pussy?” You teased, liking the way your words made his ears red.

“Yes.”

You swung your legs over to the bed. His hands grasped your knees, as you laid down. 

Miguel admired the way your hot pink dress hugged your curves; the hem of your dress was hiked up to the top of your thighs and he could faintly see a wet spot on your white panties. As if seeing your underwear wasn’t enough to spur him on. You spread your legs completely open; The back of your calf brushes his clothed cock as you did this. If his cock was hard a while ago, now it’s threatening to ruin his pants. 

“Take my panties off, baby,” You spoke, seductive and demanding. 

Miguel’s eyes stayed on your pussy, as he hooked his fingers on your underwear, pulling them off slowly. “Fuck,” was all he could say when he fully uncovered your glistening pussy. Two of his fingers crept up to your folds and spread it apart.

“Like it? You wanna taste me?” 

Adjusting his position, Miguel leaned closer to where you needed him the most. He licked a tentative stripe up your folds, hearing you gasp at the contact. 

“More baby, more. Don’t be shy.” Your hand grasped your tit as Miguel continued to give experimental licks, watching which ones make your face contort into pleasure, which ones make you squeeze your tit, and which ones make your legs twitch. At one point, Miguel would circle your clit with his tongue, earning cute moans from you. Then, he tried pushing two fingers in your entrance while he sucked earnestly on the underside of your clit, and that made you hook your leg behind his neck. 

“You’re so delicious, princesa.” His cock was leaking for sure. Miguel watched as you would moan and your eyebrows would knit as his fingers curled to brush your sensitive spot. His movements were slow, until you begged him to hurry up. His free hand was clasped underneath your ass as he brought your pussy closer to him, allowing him to taste you even further—he interchanged his motions. His fingers now rubbed your clit as fast as possible, as his tongue drove itself deep in you, repeatedly fucking your hole.

“Miguel, fuck! Fuck!” Your legs were high up, as you felt your stomach tighten. Your eyes were on Miguel tongue-fucking you and then the next, they were closed as you felt your orgasm crash into you. His tongue made you ride it out, giving you sloppy in-and-out motions before he set you back down on the mattress.

Miguel couldn’t detach himself from your pussy. Even as you came down from your high, Miguel was giving tiny kisses on your clit, watching it flush pink. You had to pry him away from you, already overstimulated. Miguel had a smirk on his face, pussy drunk. “I would like to say for the record that that’s my first time doing that.”

“Really?” You were breathless. Never had any man eaten you out like that. You were so used to guys who would stay down there for like a minute or two, before requesting for head. “N-Not bad.” You looked at Miguel, who couldn’t stop admiring you. 

“You’re beautiful when you cum.” He couldn’t stop replaying the memory of you reaching your climax. “I’d love to see it again.” Leaning into your face, he gave you soft kisses on your cheek. 

As he leaned closer to you, that’s when you noticed the bulge on his pants. You became aware he was still fully clothed. Determined to change that, you sat up and felt your insides flutter a bit as you did. You pulled the hem of his shirt up, exposing his naked torso. “Huh, nice abs.” You couldn’t help but run your fingers on his body. He had a six pack, toned arms, and a happy trail. These and the fact that he’s a fast learner made him the complete package. 

You moved on to his pants and his briefs, stripping them off and setting free his cock in haste. “Mmm,” You moaned as you came face to face with his tan cock. His tip was pink and had precum slathered at the slit. One angry vein ran along the underside of his tip. You wrapped your hand at his base and realized you would not be able to fit his length if you wrapped both hands around him. Greedy, you stroked his balls too and he shuddered at the touch. 

“Like it? You want to taste me this time?” He teased, repeating what you said just a few moments ago. 

Smirking, you conceded and spat on his tip. Your hands stroked his cock faster, then gave wet kisses around his tip. Miguel moaned with every spit that dripped from your lips and when you slid his cock in your mouth, he could barely keep himself quiet. You tried your hardest to resist, but you put your hands on his chest and pushed him down on the mattress. “I want you inside me please.”

“Need me already?” Miguel felt his cock twitching as you crawled on top of him. He sat up momentarily to tug your dress off of your form—an action you followed through with. The two of you were now nude. Miguel looked at your breasts, already wanting to paint them with his own cum. 

“Yes, Miguel. Now, stop teasing.” Not caring that he didn’t have a pillow under his head, you pinned him down—you wanted to get fucked by him now. You aligned your entrance with his tip, before sliding down.

"Oh, fuck!!" Miguel screamed, as his cock was welcomed into your velvet walls. You mewled as your pussy accommodated his length. You were fucking tight; it’s because his cock was the biggest you’ve ever tried to fit in you. It was strange; he was the virgin here, but you felt as if this was your first time again. Oh, he was gonna ruin you, no other man can have you now.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)” He cried out when his whole length was buried deep in you. A hand dug through your thigh; you swore you could feel a hint of claws. Feeling you on top of him and squeezed impossibly around him is the best; he’s glad—thankful—that you’re his first.  “Move when you’re ready, Y/N.”

You took his hands in yours and leaned back, granting him access to see your whole nude form. Riding him slowly, up and down, you moaned every time his tip made contact with the sensitive spots that he had just fingered minutes ago. Miguel let go of one of your hands, just to squeeze your tit again. He loved your breasts, you can tell. “Miguel, baby,” You would moan, as you were rolling your hips to please his cock. You were getting faster, using his grunts as motivation. 

Miguel placed his hands on your waist as he started thrusting upwards, his own pace was rough and erratic. His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you towards him, letting your bodies smush together. Your breasts on his chest. Your stomach getting tickled by his happy trail. He was in control now, as he pounded you and left you limp in his arms. Miguel grabbed your hair and pushed it back; he wanted to see your face as you cum again. 

But as your pussy was getting fucked by Miguel’s cock and as you started moaning his name, you froze. You suddenly remembered the video Harry took of you and how your moans in the video were similar to how you were moaning now. You stopped your actions altogether. Miguel noticed your pause and stopped himself. 

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” Miguel panicked, then slid out of you and sat you down beside him. It was no fun if you weren’t enjoying it. “Hey, look at me, did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s okay.” Your hands tried finding your blanket, covering yourself. “I just… accidentally thought of what happened with Harry again.” It’s hard to trust someone again after that situation.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel said. He thought back to what happened, too, and he hoped that Harry’s jaw was broken from Miguel’s punch a while ago. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No! I- I need you here.”

Miguel nodded. He covered his bare cock with a pillow first. “Do you want to do something else first?” He looked at your features; Your stare was blank, completely fixated on one spot on the wall. Realizing that he should distract you from the anxieties you were having, he started thinking about his favorite memories with you. He chose one that could make you laugh. “You remember that one time our professor slipped on the floor?”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, ‘cuz someone didn’t clean up the soap on the lab floor.” 

“And he had to be carried bridal-style to the clinic?” Miguel nudged you, remembering how you and Miguel volunteered to take the poor professor to the clinic. 

“And we couldn’t stop laughing when we dropped him off.” The memory of that day filled your head. That was the day you started having feelings for Miguel, who you didn’t know could smile so brightly. He was always doing his best to make you smile, even if he was more reserved than you are. Even now, he could make you laugh. “I’m so sorry for bringing you here, Miguel.” 

“You should never apologize, (Y/N).” Miguel caressed your cheek; all of his adoration for you could be felt in his fingertips. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. He should be sorry, not you. All you’ve ever done is love your hardest. You deserve someone who’ll do his best to love you back.”

“You mean you?” You laughed, leaning into his. touch.  

Miguel brushed the hair out of your face. He looked at you earnestly, his eyes a deep, brown red. “I know I would love you better than anyone can, if you gave me the chance.” 

You were seduced by the idea of him loving you. “What does that mean?”

“It means, (Y/N), I want to go on a real date with you.”

You closed the distance between the two of you again; his lips locked on yours as if he was parched for more. 

“Let me make love to you. I promise I’ll be better than him.” Miguel laid you down on your back, adorning your skin with the softest kisses. “Don’t think of anything or anyone else. I’ll be your comfort for tonight, princesa” He moved on top of you, his eyes scanned your face if you had any doubts. But you didn’t. You were willing to try again, because it’s Miguel and his care for you is evident in every touch, every gaze, and every kiss. 

“Please fuck me,” you said and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in. 

Miguel pushes his cock inside of you slowly, as your moans scattered around the room. His length curled into your walls, nudging the bundle of sensitive nerves. A tender snap of his hips and you felt like you were on fire. He sped up gradually; your head limped into the pillow, but he grabbed your chin with his hand, “Look at me, (Y/N).” His voice soft as he pounded you. “Cum for me.” 

His quick movements. The thickness of his tip. His hot breath on your mouth. The sound of skin slapping skin. How vulnerable you were, being filled like this. How hot he was. How his hand was on your cheek. Him whispering praises in your ear. The biting of his lip, as his eyebrows knitted in concentration, trying not to cum inside you right then and there—all of it sent you over the edge. 

Your walls tightened as your second orgasm arrived. With a cry, you sunk your nails into his shoulders. Though your eyes were snapped shut, you felt Miguel drinking in your expressions as you came. His thrusts became erratic—an effect from your lewd display. Finally, he pounded you a deeper time, before pulling out with a grunt, shooting ropes of his warm seed on your tits.

“Fuck!” Miguel cried out as the last ounces of his cum shot to your mouth. He couldn’t believe how perfect you look, marked by him. He spent a few seconds admiring you and you spent a few seconds catching your breath, before he eventually said, “Would you like me to wipe it off?”

You replied by licking your lips and tasting his seed. “You just want to rub my tits again~”

Miguel chuckled, “Maybe. But I still want to clean you up.”

You offered him a box of tissues that were conveniently under your bed. He wiped his cum off, as you enjoyed being taken care of by him. Your previous orgasms still made your vision a little hazy; you wondered how he was.

Despite being the inexperienced one, Miguel was still determined to do aftercare. He massaged your thighs and wiped your sweat off, too. “Was I any good?” He put on his glasses. 

You laughed, “I came, didn’t I? Twice~” You grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the mattress. “No other guy could do that.” 

He leaned into your embrace, facing you and caressing your hair. “Really? Actually, wait, I don’t want to hear about your past boyfriends.” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t care about them. All I want is you.” You played with his hair, too, as you both basked in the afterglow of your recent hook-up. Your warm bodies interlaced with one another. “About that date~” He perked up. “Miguel O’Hara, would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?” 

Miguel kissed your nose, liking the cute face you made as you nuzzled him back. “Where would you like it?”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #NORMALIZE CONSENT IN FICTION #eme #miguel x reader #virgin!miguel #spiderman 2099 #atsv #spiderman: across the spiderverse

[orcasoul]

Oh Mama! A continuation of Oh Baby

Summery: As the birth draws closer you reflect on all the ways Pedro has been there for you throughout your pregnancy.

Warnings: Swearing, verbal abuse (not by our sweet man), protective Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

Italics indicate in ward thinking and flashbacks.

This is a continuation of Oh Baby which was meant to be a one shot but after a request for a part 2 I've decided to write this and a part 3 which will be called Oh Daddy, which will focus on Pedro being the amazing dad and partner we all know he would be :)

Miserable! that's how you feel. Miserable, bloated, heavy. No matter how much you shift or turn, finding a good sleeping position is next to impossible. It also doesn't help that you're in the middle of a sweltering heatwave. The aircon is on but it might as well be non existent with the hot flashes that keep plaguing your body.

You look to your left and feel a little twinge of jealousy as you watch Pedro sleep soundly in the dim lamp light. Why the fuck should he get to sleep while I can't! You know it's just the hormones making you feel irritable and bitter but right now you want nothing more than to shake him awake and tell him to stay awake with you.

But no matter how irritable your last month of pregnancy is making you there's no way you be that spiteful. As you watch Pedro sleep, his plush lips slightly parted, letting slow, rhythmic breathes escape, you begin to reminisce all the ways he's been there for you, supporting you and caring for you since you'd told him you're pregnant.

Neither one of you had planned for this baby, but life doesn't always go according to our own plans. It has it's own agenda and all you can do is follow the path it lays before you and do your very best. After your initial fear of telling Pedro about the baby- and that awful resulting anxiety induced nightmare - you both seemed to easily slip into your natural roles. You; the nurturing and tender mother and Pedro; the protective and comforting father and partner.

For someone who once said he's never gonna be a dad, he sure seemed happy and content these past 7 months and that happiness has bubbled over into excitement now that the birth will be any day. Pedro stirs in his sleep a little, causing a couple of stray curls to fall onto his forehead. You gently brush them back up off his face, taking care not to wake him.

You guess he could actually do with the rest after weeks of being at your every beck and call, sometimes even going out at stupid 'o' clock to buy whatever your insatiable cravings demanded. You shift for the thousandth time, onto your side and put a pillow between your knees to provide some - but not much - relief. You continue to watch him sleep, feeling his breath fan your face, his shoulders slowly rising and falling and you feel the baby kick you again.

The little Bun - as you both lovingly refer to it since you've both agreed to not find out the sex and be surprised - has been quite active today. Tears fill your eyes and suddenly you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, as you place your hand tenderly on your bump and stare at the face of the man you love. This is what it's all about, you perceive, growing a beautiful new life with the perfect man. And boy, has he been just that for the past several months.

Your mind starts to wander back to all the moments where Pedro has gone above and beyond for you both....

The third month of your pregnancy is when your morning sickness really ramped up. Until that point you had only felt slightly nauseous but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. The first time you threw up actually startled Pedro. The poor guy almost had a heart attack when you leapt up from bed, accidentally dragging the quilt and him across the bed. You would have felt bad about waking him if you weren't too busy spewing your guts up into the toilet.

"What the fuck?!" is what you heard from the bedroom as you heaved and retched. "Baby?... You Okay?" Pedro asked quietly from behind you in the doorway to the on suite. "Yeah I'm-" blargh!- "I'm... good," you finally reply in a shaky voice as you wipe your mouth with one hand while the other holds your hair back. And so it went on for months. Pedro was always beside you (when he wasn't away filming or doing interviews) rubbing soothing strokes along your back, whispering comforting words and waiting with a glass of water in hand.

The more frequent the episodes became, the more he started to worry about you. You hated seeing him so worried as much as he hated seeing you be sick, so one time you'd decided to make light of the situation. After chucking up for what felt like the millionth time you called Pedro to the bathroom. He came rushing to you but before he could say a word you cried "Hold my hairrrrr!!" in your best whiny Dieter voice. Pedro burst out laughing as he clearly hadn't been expecting that of all things.

"That's a good one," he chuckled as he did indeed hold your hair. "How long have you been waiting to do that?" You look up at him and giggle but it's cut short by another bought of retching, which of course Pedro helped you through with words of encouragement. "Just be glad I don't have to shit, too," you mumble into the toilet bowl causing another burst of laughter to erupt from him.

You smile quietly to yourself at the memory while smoothing over the arc of your bump. You can't believe that a woman can naturally grow so big and not burst, which takes you back to the time you'd gotten upset over your sudden weight gain....

After coming home from a much needed shopping trip for maternity clothes and larger everyday clothes you slump onto the settee to rest your aching feet while Pedro puts the kettle on. You miss coffee but it's better for the baby if you stick to tea for a while. It was just as good and definitely helped to relax you. Once the drinks were finished Pedro took the cups to the kitchen and started to prepare for dinner. "I'm gonna go put the clothes away," you called to him in the kitchen, to which he replied, "Don't be too long. Food will be ready soon."

Staring into your wardrobe, a lump forms in your throat and tears burn behind your eyes as you take in the sight of some of your favourite and much smaller clothes. The more items you remove, to be replaced with the new and larger (two sizes larger to be precise) clothes, the more you feel the dam about to burst. Fighting it is no good, what with the hormones and all, and in a matter of seconds you're a blubbering mess on the bedroom floor.

"Y/N...," Pedro calls up the stairs, "Food's ready." You quickly choke back your sobs as best you can and try not to sound like someone who's just been in the middle of a complete breakdown. "O-kay," you faltered unintentionally. Great, maybe he didn't notice. Oh, but he did notice. His hasty footsteps were a dead giveaway of that fact. Pedro appeared in the bedroom moments later, his brows pinched and deep chestnut eyes full of compassion. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?" he asked dolefully as he slowly lowered himself to the floor next to you, both of you surrounded by your old clothes.

You look up at him through red, puffy eyes. "I'm so f... fat!," you bawled while gripping one of your favourite tops. "I feel like a whale!" Pedro lets out an endearing huff. "What?... It's true!" Bwahhaha!... "Shhh..." Pedro coos into your ear as he takes you in his strong arms. "That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said. You're not fat and you certainly don't look like a whale," he asserted as he holds your flushed and tear streaked face in his hands and looks directly into your eyes. "You're growing a brand new life in there," he says as he places a hand on your belly. "Of course your body will change and it's a good change."

"I just... can't see how you co...could be attracted to me right now," you wept while looking down. "What?!" Pedro asked incredulously. "Do you have any idea what it does to me seeing you carry and care for my baby?" Pedro wipes your tears away and you look up to meet his eyes once more. "You've never been more beautiful than you are right now, darling. Don't you forget that, okay?" Through calmer breathes you whisper "Okay."

Just as you got semi comfortable you realise you're now quite thirsty. With an annoyed eye roll and a huff, you roll onto your back and push yourself up to reach over for the glass of water on your nightstand. Maybe you moved a little too fast because as you put the glass down you suddenly feel a little light headed. It passed in literally a few seconds. This is nothing compared to the dizzy spells you had to endure a few months ago....

You woke with a start when your phone rang. It might as well have been a bloody foghorn with how it pierced the peace and quiet of the living room. It's Pedro. You haven't seen each other for a few weeks due to his filming commitments but you talk everyday. Swiping the answer button you groggily mumble, "Hello." Hey sweetheart," Pedro began cheerfully, "Thought I'd call you on your lunch break... You okay? You sound funny." "Yeah..." you answer sluggishly, "I'm fine." You know he'll never buy it. "What's wrong?" Pedro asks in an assertive but gentle tone. "Nothing...," you try to placate him.

"...They just sent me home from work because I was having dizzy spells." "Did you call the doctor?" Pedro interjects quickly, his voice laced with concern. You can almost feel his anxiety through the phone. "Not yet. I just needed to lay down for a bit. I'm actually feeling a bit better." Okay, that may have been a white lie but the last thing you want is to cause Pedro any unnecessary worry. But of course he's worried. "Why didn't you call me straight away?" Pedro pressed perturbedly. "I just didn't want to worry you," You answer with a hint of guilt.

"I'm coming home-" "Ped, you can't. You have an interview today-" "They'll understand," he insisted, firmly. "I'm on the next flight home." You know when he speaks in such a final tone that his mind is made up. "Okay," you relent, feeling like a burden, but you know he'd worry like hell if he didn't come back to you right now. Turns out you had low iron levels and low blood pressure. Pedro made you stay off work and re-scheduled his interview with Vanity Fair. He never left your side for the next couple of weeks while you recovered.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead but sleep still eludes you. Silently pushing up on your elbows, you peer over Pedro's shoulder at the alarm clock. 2:38 am. You lay back down on your side and your shuffling must have disturbed Pedro because now his arm has found it's way across your side, hand splayed on your back slowly pulling you into his broad body, tucking your head under his chin. He sighs in his sleep and his breathing evens out again as he settles back into slumber. Being wrapped up in the arms of the man you love is absolute heaven for you.

You lay a hand against his chest feeling the calm and slow movements of his thorax. With his arm draped over you it's impossible to not feel safe and protected. It feels like nothing in the world can ever hurt you and your child. Pedro's action's assured you of that when an overly enthusiastic fan verbally abused you one evening....

"The black Audi A6, please." Pedro handed the ticket to the valet as you both stepped out of the restaurant. After two weeks apart this date night is just what you both needed. The morning sickness had finally stopped by your seventh month and you'd been looking forward to this night all week. The clingy, thigh length, black maternity dress you'd bought especially for tonight hugged your bump and the curve of your hips perfectly. You actually felt attractive for the first time in months.

While waiting for the car you slip your hand into Pedro's and place a soft kiss on his shoulder. "Thank you for tonight. It's been perfect," you smiled warmly. Pedro let go of your hand to place his own at your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. "You deserve it, baby," he whispered as his lips brush your hairline. "And by the way," he adds while looking up and down your body, "You look incredible!" Even after all this time together he's still able to make you blush like a teenager. Before you can reply an excited squeal ruptures the still night air. "On my god! Pedro Pascal!" A young woman cries, unable to contain her elation.

She rushes over to you both with two more companions who are equally excited to meet Hollywood's hottest celebrity. The two girls and man couldn't have been older than their mid twenties. "Hi," Pedro smiled and tightened his grip on your waist. He's always been protective of you and now that you're having his baby that protective side has increased exponentially. "Can we have a photo, please!" The other girl asked with a huge grin. "Of course you can," Pedro chirped but didn't release his hold on you. You gently squeeze his hand while peeling it off your hip, a silent 'it's okay' and you excuse yourself to stand several feet away.

You're used to fans approaching, and you love to see how much Pedro's supporters adore him, and that his mere presence whips people up into a frenzy. You smile proudly in adoration, stroking your baby bump as you watch how much of a natural he is with his fans. "Thank you!" "We're huge fans!" "You're amazing!" "We love you!" The words are spilling out of their mouths at the same time, all talking over one another. "Aw, thank you so much, guys. That means a lot," Pedro replies, his beaming smile stretching from one cheek to the other.

While the women are still fussing, the man looks your way and then down to your rounded stomach. "Aww, baby Pascal," he burst vehemently. Suddenly he rushed at you, hands outstretched and a determined look on his face, "Can I feel?" The intensity from this stranger sent you into automatic defence mode for your baby. You step back, instinctively covering your belly just as he's about to grab you, permission or not! "Don't touch me!" you cautioned him, nervously. Pedro's head snapped from the women to your direction at the sound of your alarmed voice.

"Gee's Okay!" the man snapped at you irately. "I only wanted to feel. No need to be such a bitch about it!" He spat the word bitch out like he had a bad taste in his mouth causing your eyes to widen. "The fuck did you just say to her?!!" Pedro exploded as he stood between you and this entitled piece of shit. "Whoa... easy man-" the man stuttered in defence but Pedro cut him off. "You have no right to touch anyone against their will, especially a pregnant woman. And who the fuck do you think you are calling her a bitch because she said no?!" The man stared dumfounded. Pedro leaned in to the man's personal space, seething, "You'd better walk away while you still can!"

You've never seen Pedro this angry, literally shaking with rage, chest to chest with the guy, who looks like he's about to piss himself. His friends pull him away, scolding him in hushed tones and offering apologies to you both. "Baby?..." you soothed while stroking up and down Pedro's arm. He turns to you, chest heaving and still shaking but the moment he locks eyes with you his gaze softens, frown lines un-creasing and muscles relaxing. He wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head, languidly. "You're okay, darling. I won't ever let anything happen to you two." And he means that. You can feel the conviction of his declaration as if it were a physical manifestation.

You hadn't even realised you had fallen asleep until you were being jostled awake by a deep, concerned voice. "Y/N... Y/N, wake up." "Hmmm?" you groaned sleepily as you came to, feeling like you could smother Pedro with his pillow for waking you now! "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" annoyance and exhaustion seeped through your words. "Baby, I literally just dropped off!" "The bed's wet!" Pedro quickly replied. "What the?..." It was more of a realisation than a question as you looked down to see your shorts and the mattress completely soaked. "My water's have broken!" you gasp, looking wide eyed into Pedro's equally wide eyes. It's time....

Oh Daddy A Conclusion

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #pedropascal #pedrito #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

[spacecowboyhotch]

Breakfast

gif by @paper-n-ashes

summary: marc interrupts you when you’re trying to make breakfast, and steven finishes up.

pairing: fem!reader x marc spector, fem!reader x steven grant

content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pwp, fluff, kissing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex (fem receiving) cum eating

an: i just felt like writing something spicy for the moonknight boys <3.

word count: 1.6k

moonknight masterlist | requests are open

One of your favorite things to do is get up early and sit on the window sill, watching the streets of London while Marc or Steven sleeps. There's something about the glow of the summer sun peeking out from behind the clouds. You don’t sit for long, wanting to make sure they get the rest. Before the sun can flood the space with its golden light you close the window and draw the curtains, heading into the kitchen.

You preheat the oven to keep his food warm in case he sleeps late, and get coffee brewing—decaf only as they already have enough trouble getting enough rest. It’s been an adjustment for you, but you’d do anything for Marc and Steven. With the soft hum of the coffee machine going, you start getting together the ingredients for french toast and hashbrowns.

You’re moving slowly so as not to wake them up though your room is down the hall. Completely immersed in cutting bread and making the mixture for the french toast you don’t hear when Marc opens your bedroom door and pads down the hallway to you.

His hands are on you as soon as you're in arms' reach. A grunt of pleasure comes out of him as he runs his hands over the curves of your breasts before resting them on your hips.

“Morning,” You lean your head back onto his shoulder as he kisses his way down your neck.

“Mornin’,” He whispers between kisses. “French toast, huh?”

“Mhmm,” You hum lazily, dropping the whisk and planting your hands on the counter so that you can press further into him. You know exactly where this is going and there’s no point in resisting. It’s not like you want to anyway.

“Steven’s gonna be jealous.”

“I make it for him whenever, you both know that,” He continues to kiss your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point before he bites gently. “Marc,” You sigh, pressing your ass into his erection.

“Quiet, let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Yes,” You agree easily, breakfast forgotten as his hands make their way up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing.

“You wanted me to come out here and fuck you didn’t you? Is that why you’re dressed in just this?”

“Yes,” You breathe as one of his hands slips into your panties, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wet folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. So easy.”

“Mhmm,”

“Let’s see how easy it is for me to…” He stops talking as his fingers plunge into you. “Only this wet for me and Steven, right?”

“Yes, all yours. All his,” You nod your head feverishly, drunk on the smoothness of his tone and the strength of his touch. Marc always touches you with such weight compared to Steven. He leaves bruises from holding your thighs apart or applying pressure to your throat. His touch is life-affirming, keeping you in a bubble where you only focus on him. Right now he’s all that matters.

“Ours.”

“God, please, Marc? I need you,” You whine as you reach your hand back to run it through his curls.

His hand leaves your breast, turning your head so that you have to look at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he gazes at you, “I need you, too.”

The admission squeezes your heart but it’s short-lived as he wraps his hand around your throat, and rids you of your panties. He kisses you hungrily as he uses one of his feet to spread your legs further apart, bending you slightly so your spread open for him perfectly. He continues to lick into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip as he lines himself up with your entrance, snapping his hips forward so that he’s sheathed completely inside you.

“Baby,” He mumbles against your lips, his dark eyes blown full of lust.

“I know, it's so good, you're so good,” You murmur, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking on it.

Your move almost sends him into a frenzy, the innate need to race to his climax flowing through his veins, but he has to get you there first, “You too.”

He starts slow, focusing on pulling himself out to just the tip before slamming into you. You push all of the ingredients to the side so that you can bend over completely, your nipples rubbing against the cold counter through the shirt every time he’s deep inside of you. His grip on your hips is deliciously tight— it almost hurts, and you know that Steven will grill him for the bruises that'll form in the coming days.

Eventually, he starts to pick up his pace but he doesn't sacrifice the depth, fucking you hard and fast and deep. You're incredibly wet and warm, your pussy practically sucking him in, your trembling under his heavy touch. The kitchen is filled with nothing but the wet squelch of his cock entering you over and over and mingled heavy breathing. You start to rock back against him, effectively pushing the tip of him into your cervix. It's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and you bite down on your arm, hiking your leg back and around his waist so that he can somehow get even deeper.

You wonder what it looks like, him fucking you this harshly, his nails digging into your skin so hard that he might break skin. You know that his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth agape and turned as he concentrates on how warm and tight your pussy is around his cock. His eyes probably are zeroed in where you connect, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

You on the other hand are flush against the cool counter, doing the only thing you can: taking what he's giving you. The pleasure is building in you steadily, as you greedily push your hips back against his.

The softest, filthiest, words of praise leave his lips, “You feel so fucking good, you’re perfect. My perfect little slut, made just for me. I can have you however and whenever I want, can’t I?”

“However and whenever,” You repeat, and he lips turn in a devilish smile.

“You’re everything to me.”

His words take you by surprise, tugging at your heartstrings once more. You open your mouth to say something back but then he bends forward so that his chest is flush with your back, and you clench around him a new threshold of pleasure met from this angle, “Fuck, Marc.”

“You can take it,” He declares, it isn't a question; all you can do is whine beneath him, your words of agreement stuck in your throat as you move closer to your orgasm. “Say it.”

“I can take it,” You murmur, trying your best to keep pushing back against him though there's no space between you.

“Yeah, you can baby,” He praises, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“Will you cum inside me? Please?”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please baby,” If you had the mind to care you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

“Fill you up so much and we can watch it drip out of you,” His voice is low, gravelly in your ear.

The image of him and Steven looking at your pussy while it's messy and full sends a shiver down your spine. “Mhmm,” You whimper, turning your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me first baby, and I’ll fill up this sweet little pussy of yours.”

He continues to pound into you like his life depends on it and before you know it you’re coming undone, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As soon as he hears the telltale gasp leave your throat he snakes his hand between you and the counter, rubbing harsh circles into your clit to intensify and prolong your release. If he wasn’t keeping you pinned between him and the counter you would collapse to the ground, your body turned to jelly from the sheer amount of pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

He doesn’t stop as you clench around him, driving himself as deep as he can get. It's all he can think about, reaching the furthest part of you, so he can breed you thoroughly. Standing upright again he brings you with him, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other one getting you steady as he fucks you brutally. He thrusts into you with a deep, guttural groan before stilling, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to the brim. His hips pull back before he snaps them forward again, wanting to fuck his cum as deep inside of you as possible.

Abruptly he pulls out of you, and drops to his knees, his hands splaying you open to watch his cum seep out of you. With no warning his mouth is on you, sucking at your clit and lapping at your center to collect his own cum. His groans are constant and filled with a hunger that quickly brings you to your second orgasm. This one is quick and just as powerful as the first, your pussy fluttering around nothing, and he continues to eat you until the moans stop ripping from your throat.

Turning you around, he scoops you up bridal style before carrying you over to the couch. His hands rub up and down your arms as he peppers kisses over your face, waiting for you to recover from your second release.

You’re effectively useless, your breathing still heavy. You feel like you’re spinning, up in the clouds, the only thing grounding you is his warm touch. When you finally feel like you’ve returned to earth, you clear your throat and look up at the man before you with heavy lids, “Steven, I know it’s you.”

A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you, “How’d you know it was me, dove?”

“You have that kink, not Marc…at least not yet.”

Steven just laughs before dipping his head to steal more kisses from you. You kiss him back happily for several moments, the kisses wet and slow before you realize that you were doing something before you were interrupted by them.

“Wait, Stevie, I was cooking breakfast,” You pull away, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it dear, you just lay here and I’ll finish it up.”

“But it’s your favorite, I should make it.”

“I think you’ve done enough for us today, yeah?” His hand raises to caress your face affectionately before cupping your cheek.

You nod softly, a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, always. Marc too,” He says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Steven’s love confessions always lift you out of the misty, but welcome fog that is Marc and the way he carries himself. If Marc is intense, brooding, and drawing you in, then Steven is light and airy— he’s bright and clear. They’re the perfect pair, a balance that you’re extremely grateful for.

In your tiredness from the intense sex, you feel your eyes grow a bit teary, your voice thick with emotion, “I love you too, both of you.”

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist, let me know!

moonknight taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch

#marc spector x fem!reader #fem!reader x marc spector #marc spector x female reader #reader x marc spector #fem!reader x steven grant #reader x steven grant #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moonknight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fluff #marc spector smut #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfiction #moonknight fanfiction #moonknight smut #not sfw #arson writes marvel

[iron-strangers]

of breakfast and sweet lullabies

Summary: Din Djarin is not an early bird. But there's one way to convince him to be one.

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, Morning Sex, Kitchen Sex, Unprotected p-in-v, Creampie. I mean they are married and she's pregnant already

CW: Pregnancy, No use of Y/N, NSFW MINORS DNI

Length: 1.5k

A/N: This fic is a part of an ongoing series, posted on AO3.

Read this on AO3 : of breakfast and sweet lullabies

Prequel to Aliit

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

As the soft light of dawn filters through the curtains, Din stirs awake from his slumber, the warmth of his bed reluctant to release him. Stretching languidly, he blinks away the remnants of sleep with dismay, frowning when his stretched arm doesn't find the warm body of his riduur. His senses gradually awakened to the familiar sounds of home. A gentle melody wafts through the air, drawing Din from the comfort of his bed. Curiosity wins, he rises from the bed and follows the melodic trail, where his feet lead him toward the heart of his home.

There, standing by the stove, is his beloved riduur.

Your silhouette is illuminated by the soft glow of the morning light. With a gentle sway, you hum a lullaby, your voice a soothing serenade that wraps around Din like an embrace. One hand effortlessly flips eggs with practiced ease while your left hand is raised, manipulating the force, levitating plates and glasses from the cabinets. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed caf and breakfast fills the air, mingling with the sweet notes of your song, Din is still watching in awe as you move with grace and tenderness around the kitchen.

“Kandosii sa kyr'am ast, troan teroch jetiise a'den,” you sing softly, caressing your growing bump, singing an old Mandalorian war chant to your baby instead of core-world lullabies. Unable to resist, Din quietly approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting hiazs chin on your shoulder. You lean back to his bare chest, clearly expecting the embrace, soaking in his warmth. Can't sneak up on a jetii , Din thinks, scratching your shoulder with his stubbles.

“Duraan vi at ara'nov, vode an, kar’ta tor,” Din joins in, both of you singing the last two lines of the chant. You look back at him, your face breaking into a radiant smile before burying your nose into his curls, pressing a sweet kiss to his temple. 

“Morning, mesh’la,” Din smiles, kissing your shoulder, tightening his hug and pulling your body closer to his. “Hey there, ad’ika," Din coos, his voice filled with adoration as he greets his baby. "Are you having a dance party in there? Keeping your momma awake, huh?"

You chuckle, absently tracing circles on Din’s hand. "You know," you tease, "every time you talk to the baby, they kick like crazy. I swear, it's like they’re trying to tell you to pipe down."

Din grins, his gaze softening as he looks at his wife. "But how can I resist talking to our ad'ika?" he replies, his voice laced with affection. 

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart swells with love at Din’s words. "I know, I know," you huff, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Din can’t resist the urge to put his hands over your belly once more, whispering sweet nothings to his verd’ika. And true to form, the baby responds with a flurry of kicks and movements, eliciting a groan of mock annoyance from you.

"Oh, see what you have done?" you complain but your tone is teasing as you nudge Din with your elbow. "Now they're all riled up."

Din grins unabashedly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can't help it," he laughs, "I just love them so much already."

Grinning, you lean your head on his shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Din's jaws. Your bodies sway together from side to side as you finish up making breakfast, setting everything on the dining table with the force. Din smiles against your temple when he feels another kick on his hand. His hands sneak underneath your robes, smirking against your neck when he feels skin and nothing else underneath. He roams your body, massaging your aching breast and trailing his hand down, stopping on your belly, caressing the stretched skin as he nips his marks on your neck. 

You feel him grinding against your thighs and you gasp, feeling the heat of arousal pooling in your center. Whimpering, you grind against his thickening length. You reach back, running your hand over the outline of his cock through the fabric, slipping your hand down the waistband of his pants, teasing and squeezing him with your fingers, smearing his precum all over the tip. Din groans, catching your hand and slips it out, ignoring your disappointed whine to pull his pants down. His cock slaps against his belly, hard and already wet from his precum. He takes your robes off your back, throwing the thin silk down the floor and he bends you towards the counter, still ever so careful with your growing bump.

“Mesh’la,” Din praises, parting your folds with two big fingers. He scoops some of your slick around and spreads his fingers all over your clit. You let out a low protest as his fingers leave you, stroking himself slowly with your arousal before nestling the red, flared tip of his cock between your folds, gathering up the creamy mess.

“Gonna let me fuck you like this, sweet girl?” He grunts low in your ear, giving your clit a well-deserved attention with his swollen, leaking head gliding through you.

“Yes, please- Oh, Din!”

He watches you desperately moan for him, whining needily as he buries all of himself into you in one deep thrust, pushing himself in easily with the slick that’s been pooling from all his teasing. Your cheek squished against the cold tile of your kitchen counter, looking back to meet Din’s eyes as he holds your hips in place and fucks into you. 

“You do, yeah, mesh’la? Always so desperate to take my dick." Din murmurs his praises, hissing when he feels your pussy fluttering around him, struggling to take his girth. He swears when he hears the sloppy squelching sounds of him pounding into your tight heat. He keeps on hitting the spot inside of you that makes you see stars, over and over again. “That’s a good girl, my perfect little riduur. Let me hear you, cyar’ika.”

“Fuck- Din, fuck my pussy so good, daddy-”

Manda. Din knows you know what that word did to him-

Din drapes himself across your back, pressing you down to the counter. He sneaks one hand down, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit, completely fucking the ability to form any thoughts out from your brain. He’s basking himself with your filthy moans and screams that come from the sharp, long snap of his hips, going as deep as your pussy will allow him. Din feels the sweet clench of your pussy around the base of his cock, familiar with all the signs that his riduur is going to cum hard.

“Want me to fill you up, rid'ika? Want to feel it dripping out of you?” Din asks in a low, rough grunt and you respond with a flurry of desperate nods.

“Yes, fill me up, please, cyare, want your cum inside me!”

“I know, momma, just let it all out. Take what you need, sweet girl. I’ve got you, cum on my cock.”

You seize in his hold as he continues to roll his hips against yours, feeling boneless from the pleasure that hums through every nerve. You cum with an arch of your back followed by a cry of Din’s name and he groans at the flutter of your walls around him, gripping him so tight in your warmth. He can barely get out a handful of thrusts before he's spilling deep inside of you.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Din groans in your ear, murmuring sweet praises and sucking his bite marks all over your neck and your shoulder, holding your shivering body up by your hips. “Too rough?”

You shake your head from the counter, too comfortable to even lift it from the cool tile. “So fucking good,” you hum pleasantly, holding your hand up and a towel flies across the room to your waiting palm. Din slowly eases himself out of you and you moan, feeling his load drip out of you. Din groans, scooping his leaking spend from your thighs with his finger and plugging it all back into your fucked out cunt. He plants a deep lingering kiss on your lips and he takes the towel from your hand, wetting it and wiping the shared mess between you two, careful when you start to hiss from over-stimulation.

“Hey, love? Can you help your gooey puddle of a wife up to the chair?” You ask, flashing him your best attempt at puppy eyes. Din smirks, pulling his pants back up before helping you back into your discarded robe, lifting you to the breakfast stool.

“Take a breather, cyar’ika, I’ll go get Grogu,” Din kisses the top of your head and flicks your nose before he goes to wake the child up, smiling to himself when he watches your nose wrinkle. You playfully shoo him as you tie your robes up, huffing about having to disinfect the kitchen after breakfast. 

If every morning started out like this, Din will never complains again for the rest of his life.

-

Song used in this fic: Ka’rta tor by Jesse Harlin

Ka'rta Tor (Heart of Justice)

Mando'a

Kandosii sa kyr'am ast,

Troan teroch jetiise a'den,

Duraan vi at ara'nov.

Vode an, ka'rta tor.

Translation

As ruthless as Death itself,

The pitiless face of The Jedi's wrath,

Let us look down on all who are before us.

Brothers all, one heart of justice.

#expanding clan mudhorn #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[dawn-moths]

“Show Me You Love Me With the Shape of Your Bite”

Noe Archiviste x Female Reader

word count: 4300+

(celebrating two years of this blog, i’m back with a lil one shot for noe because the first fic i ever posted was for him. // A human’s strength is nothing compared to a vampire’s— a fact that’s always concerned Noe when it comes to being with you in such an intimate way. But, unlike how most of your own kind would warn you of, you’ve never had a reason to doubt or fear his intentions with you. Besides, as if letting him bite you on a normal basis wasn’t proof enough, even in the worst case scenario, you’ve already made it clear to Noe that you don’t necessarily mind a little pain if he’s the one causing it.)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, vampires, biting/marking, blood/readers blood is drunk, reader is a bit of a masochist while Noe is apprehensive about hurting her too much, rough sex at times, size difference, dickriding, aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Ribbons of broken, silver moonlight streamed in through the gaps of the curtains, the shadows of dusk dancing across the floors, starbursts of amber and coral shimmering on the polished hardwood from the crackling fire burning low and sultry in its stoney hearth.

In the night, Paris came alive, the city lights sparkling like a sea of stars across the horizon, the constant murmur and buzz of the after-dark crowds humming through the air in a stream of noise and energy, muffled and distant from where you now lay, yet you could still imagine the intensity of it all after growing so used to being a part of the pack yourself.

Ever since meeting Noe, you’d traded rising in the early morning and twilight wind-downs for long, late nights and views of the dawn breaking on the horizon, the first muted shades of lilac and gold signaling your time to rest rather than the plum and navy of night blanketing itself across the sky like most others of your kind followed the consistent rhythm of.

You should’ve guessed after the first few times he’d suggested you meet by moonlight rather than daylight that he was afflicted with the forbidden curse— that he was a vampire— but even back then you wouldn’t have cared.

Because Noe Archiviste was as captivating and handsome as he was charming and sweet, he was gentle and kind and compassionate and everything you’d grown up being told those of his kind were not. Because, to everyone else, vampires were monsters. They were cold and cruel, ruthless and ravenous, and among the worst of them were the wolves in sheep’s clothing, using pretty words and entrancing appearances to lure in their prey before sinking their teeth in deep.

Your Noe was the sun after a summer’s rain, warm and inviting. He was a home to return to after a long day, safe and familiar. He was the first face you looked for in a crowd, his name ready to fall from your lips as those two, lilting phantom syllables rested on your tongue.

Some days, you still found yourself reluctant to call what you two shared love, only for the fact that you’d both been keeping it a secret from everyone outside yourselves. But with all the feelings you held for him on a consistent basis in mind, how could what you felt for him be anything else?

You two were far more bonded than any human couple was. Noe knew the taste of your blood after all, had committed the flavor to memory, could distinguish it by a single drop alone. And you knew the imprint of his teeth just as well, craved the way his sharp incisors found a home in your supple flesh night after night, addicted to the ivory’s sharp and satisfying sting.

“Harder—” you breathed, gently writhing under Noe’s hold on you, though with no real means of escaping him. “Harder, Noe, please—!” You gasped as his bite sunk in a fraction deeper, drawing more rivulets of ruby red from the tender spot on your shoulder, sending a quick shudder down your spine, the sensation creeping vertebrae by vertebrae until it welled into the sticky, fluttering warmth of arousal pooling in your lower belly.

As his tongue lapped at the welling beads of red, slow and gentle to savor the taste of you, you let out a broken moan, body arching to follow the heat of his mouth. Noe was always so afraid to go too far, to lose control and end up hurting you, no matter how many times you assured him you wouldn’t ask for the pain if you didn’t want it. But he also couldn’t help but give in to your requests, even if sometimes it made his stomach twist with guilt.

The moment you started making those succulent, saccharine mewling sounds of pleasure though, it was as if all of his ice-dipped remorse melted away. He could drink down your whines and moans just as easily as he could your blood, meeting your mouth for a languid, tongue-entwined kiss, letting you taste your own blood as you parted your lips to let him in.

You’d asked him before what blood tasted like to vampires, said all you could make out from the coppery flavor was the wince-inducing bitterness that had you resisting the urge to screw up your features and spit it from your mouth. So it was hard to believe him when he described it as sweet— sometimes even sickly so— with a hint of pleasant salt and the lingering undertones of something that could only be compared to addiction.

But your part of this exchange didn’t require you to enjoy the taste. For you, it was the feeling— the completely embodied sensation— of what having your blood drunk by him felt like that urged you to keep seeking out his teeth.

It was heavenly. Pure ecstasy. It made you forget why humans had spent so many centuries fearing vampires, if only for the fact that, if it weren’t for you and Noe’s special bond, he probably could’ve drained you dry and left you for dead like the legends of old warned about.

There were still plenty of vampires lurking the streets and hiding in the shadows whose hunger had gone insatiable, morphing them into greedy, voracious monsters who couldn’t see any innocent life past all that gushing red. But your Noe was different. He’d held onto his morality longer than most of his kind would ever have the will to consider, let alone succeed at, and you guessed you could consider yourself pretty lucky that you’d run into him on that first fateful night rather than someone else more sinister and selfish.

“You ok…?” Noe asked in between shallow, panting breaths, his hands splayed on either side of your head as he gazed down at you, lips stained red and shining with your shared saliva, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch the fading crimson that remained. The next thing you felt was his palm, warm, now that his energy had been replenished from your blood, cradling your cheek. You lay underneath him, back sinking into the mattress and eyes closed as his shadow blanketed over your bare form, allowing yourself to drift off into the serenity that often followed Noe’s feedings.

You felt safe. Held. Comforted by his presence and by the fact that, during this act, you were two becoming one in a way few would ever know or understand.

Letting him drink from you often came after sex. It allowed a euphoric extension on the galaxy of pleasure that Noe’s body could coax from yours. It also ensured that he didn’t have too much strength to unleash upon your fragile human form, his pace slow and sensual as he buried himself deeper and deeper into you. But sometimes, like tonight, when he indulged in a feeding beforehand, well…

You knew you were going to be in for one hell of a ride.

“Maybe I took too much this time…” Noe muttered to himself in a low, worried tone as you felt the bed shift around you, your eyes fluttering open to watch as he changed position, carefully lifting your limp figure up to drape and rest against his chest before leaning back against the barrier of pillows that lined the headboard. He was carding his long fingers through your lightly tousled hair, mumbling sporadic thoughts under his breath under the false pretense that you’d drifted off to sleep. You thought you heard him say something about stopping there for the night, not wanting to push you past your limits.

That was enough to jolt you back to consciousness, just enough to stir in his grasp and breathe out a weak and airy, “Noe…” on account of still recovering from your recent blood loss. You lifted your head slightly to meet his eyes, which had now been leeched of their glowing, crimson color and turned back to calming lavender on account of his appetite being satisfied. You gave him a feeble, tired smile and said, “It’s ok… I’m ok. I can keep going…”

The vampire considered you for a moment. He knew you had a habit of pushing yourself, but before he could think on it too long, you were taking his face in your hands and luring him back to you with one of those adorable, delicate little giggles. “Noe, come on…” you reassured him with a smile, devotion sparkling in your eyes, “You know I trust you more than anyone else. Plus, even if you do hurt me a little bit…” You paused, feeling your cheeks heat before admitting what you were about to next, despite having done it several times to him already. “Even if you do hurt me, I don’t mind. I… like the pain, remember?”

Beckoning him closer to you now, letting him lay his head against your chest and cradling your arms around him like he was the delicate one, like he was the one worth worrying about and protecting, you carded your little fingers through his snowy locks of hair and softly spoke to him, telling him again that you trusted him, how you loved him, and as the words left your mouth you knew them to be true, no hesitation in the confession you’d been so afraid to acknowledge prior.

Noe could’ve sunk so far into the comfort you gave him he would’ve drowned in it, finding he was never as soft and sentimental with anyone else as when he was with you. He never allowed himself to let his guard down to such a level, for a moment forgetting that, outside of this room, you two were widely considered to be enemies— hunter and prey, a monster and a girl.

He sometimes used to wonder if he’d ever find someone he could love who would also love him in return, before meeting you. And what was a luckier, more divine thing than to have your own angel to hold? To have someone who thought and cared about you as much as you thought and cared about them?

“Alright…” Noe mumbled, his cheek pressed to your chest, listening to your beating heart, counting out each gentle drum of the steady rhythm. As he lifted his head to meet your tired, half-lidded gaze, he said, “But I need you to promise me one thing…” Rising further to sit up, the two of you across from one another, bodies bare and on display for each other to see, to have, to hold, Noe’s words dripped with earnesty as he said, “If things start to go too far, I need you to tell me.”

“Noe, I—”

But he cut you off, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but I also know you haven’t always been completely honest with me about it.” You resisted the urge to swallow down the lump of guilt that had curled up in your throat, unable to deny his concerned accusation. Softly stroking his thumb along your jaw, so feathery light you could barely feel it, he set his lilac gaze on your neck where his bite had already begun to bruise and scab over, now a deep shade of wine. He said, “It’s been a while since I— since we’ve done this after a feeding…”

He didn’t need to explain any further. You knew exactly what he was so worried about now— the fact that, last time he drank beforehand and not after, it had resulted in you with tears streaming down your face and several more bites and bruises to paint your skin while he’d been blinded by the carnality of it all. You’d barely been able to walk the next day, feeling like something inside of you had been broken beyond repair, and even though you’d tried to assure him you would be ok, deep down there had been some fear sparked in you.

The pain he’d caused you that night had surpassed the fine line of the sugar-coated, thorny pleasure that you craved and ended up as injury instead.

Noe had said he’d never allow himself to partake in your blood before sex again, though, after months of trying to convince him not every time had to be like that first one and that, while you couldn’t necessarily erase the memory, you could help fix it by replacing it with something better, you’d gotten him to come around.

“I promise,” you told him, reaching forward to take his hand. He laced his fingers with yours, careful even in that act, as if each new touch he bestowed upon you from now until morning held the risk of breaking his own vow. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll tell you.”

You felt relief when his lips twitched into a soft, dreamy grin, the expression there and then gone in an instant, becoming entranced with the way your little hand fit together with his, palms pressed together and creating more shared warmth, Noe able to feel your pulse through your skin and noting the way it was picking up speed a little as he placed his other hand on your knee and gave a gentle squeeze.

It was you who leaned in to kiss him then, catching him off guard for a moment until he followed your cue and allowed himself to melt back into you, the hand on your knee sliding up to rest on your bare thigh, kneading the plush flesh there, slow and savoring, as you combed your fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth, your core already coiling again in tiny, tight little pulses as his fingers grew closer to brushing up against where you were already slick and waiting.

A tender, broken moan spilled from your mouth as his first finger slipped inside, testing your tightness and comfort before adding in a second and curling at his knuckles, causing you to arch your back and slide further down to lay flat for him, spreading your legs wider as he slowly scissored his digits inside of you, biting back his own moan when he felt your hole clenching around what was inside harder the more he stretched you.

He caught his bottom lip on one of his fangs, vehemently reminding himself to stay in control, don’t go too far, don’t hurt her as his own arousal pulsed thick and eager through his veins, that familiar sharp pang of adrenaline already beginning to surge.

He was starting to remember now— how hard it had been to stop once he’d started— and the thought made his stomach churn for a whole other reason. But you were right. This time didn’t have to be like the last. It wouldn’t be. He’d make sure of it.

Once he’d prepped you enough to take him, Noe began to line himself up with your entrance, feeling his own cock twitch in his hand as he caught sight of the glistening beads that drooled from your cunt, asking you if you were ok before nudging in the tip, pausing when you momentarily winced, only continuing when you nodded at him to signal it was alright for him to keep going.

And, god, you loved how you could feel every single vein and ridge of him as he carved out a home inside of you, the velvety flesh of his cock massaging every part of your insides like it had been designed to do so, both your bodies devoted and destined to learn each other in this way long before you’d even met. The sweet sting of him splitting you in two made your tummy tighten and flutter, your pussy squeezing around the length of him just enough to give a teasing taste of what he already expected was to come.

His breathing was soon beginning to pick up speed, Noe hoping to hide just how much you were affecting him already as he forced out even, shuddering huffs, hunching over you while he tried not to let himself go completely, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

It made him remember something else he’d almost forgotten about that last time— just how much better you felt when he was inside you after he’d been replenished by your blood, all his senses alive, every nerve alight with the heightened vitality that he gained from a recent feeding. It’s what made this all so dangerous in the first place.

“It’s ok…” you assured him, your own chest moving with the shallow, panting breaths of anticipation as you remedied your prior words with, “I’m ok. I trust you…”

Noe wanted to believe he could trust himself too. And as he felt the animalistic urgency within him simmer a little, he figured it was alright to start moving.

As much as it killed him to go so slow, he forced himself to hold out, gradually rolling his hips to meet yours, your voices moaning in tandem, creating a lilting melody of pleasure with each inch he drove deeper into you and every constricting squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

“Harder—” you were telling him again, the request cracking with a breathy whine as you felt him brush against your cervix, sharp jolts sparking through your abdomen followed by the slow, syrupy drip of pleasure that ran thick through your blood. You felt Noe hesitate for a moment, but when you twisted your fingers through his silky white hair and gave a tug, he snapped his hips forward hard enough to shove you a few inches up the bed. A small yelp emitted from you, clipped with a satisfied mewl, and you loosened your fist in his hair, tenderly stroking the back of his neck, playing with the wispy tufts at the base of his skull as you whispered out, “That’s it… Just like that…”

Noe had to pin your wrists down then, find some way to keep you anchored as he prepared to pound into you harder, though not yet with the rigorous speed you both knew he was capable of. And when you asked him to bite you again, well…

That time, Noe just couldn’t tell you no.

Sinking his teeth into your unmarked shoulder and feeling the skin break, more of your warm, sticky blood flooding into his mouth, Noe drank down gulp after gulp in rapid succession. This made him forget to mind his strength for a moment, and as you fell more slack under his hold, lulled by the euphoria of having your blood drunk by him for the second time that night, he nearly lost you.

He came back to his senses just in time, his saliva filled mouth pulling away from the new bite with a glittering strand of diluted reddish-pink bowing and snapping back onto the crook between your neck and shoulder.

He was partially horrified with himself, and for a moment wondered if he’d finally gone too far, past the point of no return, but was able to exhale a sigh of relief when you fluttered open your tired, bleary eyes and your shallow breathing registered to his sensitive hearing.

“I don’t think I can do this…” the vampire admitted under his breath, sounding disappointed in himself as he pulled out of you and used the pad of his thumb to swipe up a drop of red that was slowly dripping down towards your collar bones, shamelessly licking it away before casting you a quick, guilty glance. “I’m going to hurt you again. I know I am. I—”

Trying to prop yourself up onto your elbows in a way that was less than graceful, to say the least, you blinked the blood loss from your vision until Noe came back into focus. After a few minutes the swaying sensation of lightheadedness abated and you were able to roll yourself over, laying on your stomach as you stared at him sitting on the edge of the bed and looking stressed and conflicted.

You might’ve been able to call it a night, if not for the fact that you were still burning up inside with the need to release all this pent up arousal, so you decided to try approaching things from a different angle.

“Hey…” You lightly ran your fingertips along his spine, watching his back muscles flex as he turned partially to glance over his shoulder at you. “Lay down.”

Noe was already beginning to apologize, though for what exactly, you weren’t sure— as far as you were concerned, he’d done nothing wrong other than stop before letting you come— but you pressed a finger to his lips before he could finish his spoken atonement. 

You had him right where you wanted him— right where you needed him now. “Stop talking,” you said, climbing atop him once he was laying flat on his back, straddling him as you took his face in both your palms, his hands quickly reaching for your hips to help steady you when you began to sway slightly, still not fully recovered from the blood loss.

You were staring at him, desperately searching all that alluring lavender for any sign that he understood, and he was staring back at you as if he were being touched by god, completely enraptured by the gentle light in your eyes alone. “Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the moment of revelation drifting away. “You always do such a good job at taking care of me…” Taking his still hard cock in your hand, a small smirk curving on your lips when you felt him slightly tense beneath you, his stomach flinching, you lined it up with your entrance once more. “It’s my turn now.”

Noe let out a stuttering breath of ecstasy as you sunk down on him, both of you needing less time to catch your breath now but no less urgent in your need for each other. And as you began to grind your hips down on him, your clit rubbing hard against his pelvic bone every time you rolled forward and making your eyes tip to the back of your head, Noe kept a firm grip on your hips, helping to pull you down further onto his cock every time you lifted off again.

The glowing illumination of the midnight moon drenched your silhouette as you rode him, Noe admiring the way the light shone on your dewy skin, pretty tits bouncing as you began to pick up speed, your head thrown back, neck exposed and mouth hanging open with silent ecstasy as you approached closer and closer to the edge.

Noe was close too, beginning to buck his hips up into you to match your rhythm towards the end, still so strong even when he wasn’t trying that hard, making your toes curl as you twisted the bed sheets tight in your fists, hunching over him as your trembling legs felt like they were about to give out, thighs burning from the exertion and sweat gathering in the crooks of your folded knees, a new, high-pitched moan tumbling from your throat with each thrust.

And, god, when you both came at the same time, you swore you saw spots of heaven blinking in your vision, falling forward to drape yourself over him completely, squeezing every last drop from him as his cock spurt thick ropes of cum inside of you, enough to ooze out of your abused little hole and drip in thick, creamy dollops back onto him where you two remained connected until Noe mustered up enough strength to take your limp form in his arms and carefully sit up just enough to pull out of you, keeping you cradled against his warm chest until you actually did doze off.

Gently setting you aside, pulling a sheet across your naked body to shield you from the chill while he went to fetch a damp, warm washcloth to clean you up with, Noe was haunted by the fact that, for as many times as you two had been together before, it had never been quite as good as that.

Haunted, only for the fact that it had still been a dangerous risk to take. Yet still, a risk he had a feeling he’d be unable to talk you out of taking again.

He noted the various bruises speckled about your body as he cleaned you, dark blotches in the shape of his fingertips where they’d dug into your hips, more scattered across your thighs, your wrists, around the bites on both sides of your shoulders and along your neck where he’d branded you with hickies he hadn’t even remembered deciding to mark you with.

After leaving to fix himself up and returning again, Noe checked your pulse, two fingers pressed softly to the side of your neck, just to make sure his worst fear hadn’t come to pass. He flinched minutely when your little hand reached up to cup his, a sated smile spread across your lips, eyes still closed as you muttered out, “See… told you I’d be ok…”

Noe’s grin was a little more incredulous than anything, but as he gently stroked the side of your head, smoothing back some strands of tousled hair from your sweet face he adored gazing upon so much, he was just glad that you were alright this time around.

Curling up beside you, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead, Noe told you he loved you through a tired, dreamy sigh. Only then did you open your eyes, pupils dilated to swallow the color of your irises in the dark, and whispered back to him, like a promise, like a prayer, “I love you too…” After that, all you could remember was the darkness of encroaching unconsciousness and the familiar, comforting heat of his body entangled with yours, asleep and safe in each other’s arms at the end of another unforgettable night.

***

(Hello and thank you so much for reading! I really can’t believe it’s already been two years since I made this blog and started writing/posting fanfiction. Time really flies huh?

Anway, I’d like to take this time to give a big thank you to everyone who follows me, reads my work, and takes the time to leave likes or nice comments. It really makes my day :)

I look forward to being able to share the fics I have in the works going forward with you all. Hope you have a wonderful day and remember to be kind to yourself <3)

#noe archiviste #noe archiviste x reader #noe archiviste x you #noe archiviste x y/n #the case study of vanitas x y/n #the case study of vanitas fanfiction #the case study of vanitas x reader #the case study of vanitas #the case study of vanitas x you #vanitas no carte fanfiction #vanitas no carte x you #vanitas no carte x y/n #vanitas no carte x reader #vanitas no carte #noe archiviste smut #the case study of vanitas smut #noe archiviste fanfic #noe archiviste fanfiction

[lindszeppelin]

Passionate as Sin

Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

[Mature. 18+] Word Count: 1676

One bed. Two lovers. A roll in the sheets for mutually assured pleasure.

Warnings: SMUT (love making and rough sex), SWEARING.

A/N: Hi im back lol. I guess this is a drabble? idk but it's short and sweet. So enjoy!

A morning fog rolled in over the Hollywood Hills. The Egyptian cotton sheets rustled against the naked bodies of you and Austin as you both swayed in unison. He moved his hips in such a way that sent a shiver down your spine - fluid, deep, and tender for his girl. You arched your back off the bed, your breasts pressing against his chest as his heavenly cock plunges in and out of you masterfully. He knows all of your little buttons to push with such mastery to have you coming undone in minutes. But he was drawing out both of your releases this morning, making it last for as long as he possibly could.

As he's looming on top of you, his innocent blue eyes turn sinfully peridot green the longer he stares into yours - a telltale sign of his arousal. Your cheeks are flushed and heated, and your lashes flutter softly like angels wings with each long stroke he delivers to your aching wet pussy. His is the most divinely made cock you've ever had the privilege of feeling in your life. On this day you notice he feels a little bigger than usual, stretching your walls even more to accommodate his girth. Perhaps in the days you both spent apart, his busy work schedule ripping you young lovers away from each other, the need for him to have you was overbearing. And you craved him all the same.

Austin knits his brows and shudders as your walls clench around him. "Babygirl, you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock." He moaned against your parted mouth.

Your fingers weave through his long golden tendrils, clinging to them for purchase. "You feel so wonderful making love to me like this, Austin." You sighed breathlessly.

Austin trails his lips across your cheek, placing loving kisses across your blushing skin. "Take every inch of me baby, it's all for you" He groaned into your ear. His groggy morning voice, heavy on the baritone, reverberates throughout your entire body like a jolt of lighting, making every hair on your body stand to attention. You throw your head back further against the pillow and moan out.

"I'm so desperate for you. I need your cum to fill me to the brim." You moan wistfully.

Austin throws his head back and groans loudly at your sinful plea. He loves nothing more than hearing his girl beg for it. "I'm craving you. I'm yearning for you. I'm dying without you. I'll give you what you want soon enough. You'll have my cum, beautiful girl. But for now, just feel my cock plunging deep in your red velvet pussy."

You tremble beneath him. Your thighs squeeze around his svelte waist just a little bit harder, drawing him closer to you. "Oh my god, Austin. You're so hot when you talk to me like that." You whimper helplessly.

"Yeah babygirl, you fucking like that?" He rasped into the shell of your ear. His cock throbs inside of you, unabashedly debauched and drunk on your quivering cunt.

"Yes! I love when your inner lion comes out." You squeal as the tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot in that certain way that makes you squirm deliciously.

Austin growled, his lips curl devilishly at this little naughty game. "You want the lion out of his cage, baby?" He asked as he picks up the pace.

You gasp faintly, eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Please, Austin. Give him to me."

Austin pins your hands above your head as he snarls lowly. "You want him then you fucking got him. I'm gonna pound into this pussy so good your head will spin 'round 360." Austin put his petal to the metal and delivers on his promise, he's unrelenting as he thrusts his cock inside of you. You nearly choke back a moan, his impressive length ramming into your sensitive g-spot over and over again like he knows you love. "Take it, take all of me." He commands hoarsely, the pleasure insurmountable.

The sound of your lovemaking now turned brutal fucking is pornographic and sticky. Your slick pours out of you in droves, making a mess of the bed and coating Austin's thick cock so good he slips in and out of you with ease. His large hands hold your thighs firmly in his grasp. He's sure that his delicate little peach underneath him will bruise after this round, but he doesn't care. He's egged on to plunge into you harder by the way your walls wrap around his length with a fury. His fluffy hair is no longer, as his waves stick to the slope of his forehead with glistening sweat that rolls down the curvature of his defined muscles. His abs flex as he heaves ragged breaths, and you swear you're being fucked by a Greek God.

You let out a visceral growl. "Oh yes! I take whatever my man gives me like his good girl should. Isn't that right, daddy?"

Austin furrows his brow and releases a primal groan deep from within. He lets go of one of your thighs and places his hand right next to your head on the wall. You can see in your peripheral the veins bulging in his biceps, standing to attention under his California tanned skin. That sight alone makes your clit pulse.

With half lidded eyes and pre-cum pouring from his cock like a water fountain that drips from your cervix, he lets out another sultry moan directly into your ear that rattles around into your brain. "That's right babygirl. That's goddamn right. I wanna hear you scream. Scream into my ear until I go deaf. Let everybody know who you belong to."

You do as he asks right on cue and scream so loud you're sure to wake the whole slumbering neighborhood. You let your nails dig into Austin's shoulders as you leave a mark of red scratches down his back that makes him bellow hotly. But you don't stop there, your deft fingers glide over the delicious swell of Austin's ass and grab as much as your hands will allow. Exactly how he likes it. "Austin!" You moan desperately.

He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the adrenaline and primal need to thrust himself so deep inside your pussy has him addicted to your body. He balls the hand left on the wall into a fist, and slams it back hard enough that the paint starts to crack like a sheet of ice ready to give way and swallow him whole. "Y/N." He groaned out loudly.

"Oh god, Austin, just like that! I'm so close." You moan, writhing underneath him. His hips roll expertly like a wave licking the sandy shores so damn good into your womanly ocean of slick. He would let your juices drown him happily if it were possible.

"Cream around this cock, my darling angel" Austin growled, thick and huskily. The need to cum right then and there makes his heavy balls ache with need, but he holds off until you get yours first.

And by God do you ever cum hard and fast around Austin's swollen member. You moan his name over and over again like it's the only word you know. Like you're praying on your knees to the high heavens, begging for salvation. And salvation was delivered upon you in the shape and form of Austin Butler, thrusting into your soft heat with pinpoint accuracy that leaves you on the verge of tears.

The blonde beauty snarls as he feels your euphoric release envelope him on all sides, leaving him with no other option but to give in to his heavenly release. "Oh yeah, oh yeah that's fucking it. I'm about to dump my load inside this pretty pussy." Austin moans as he grits his teeth.

"Do it, my darling man. Bind your body with mine." You coo, locking eyes with his baby blues all glazed over with a hazy lustful expression. Austin is shaking, and you bite your lip at the thought of finally being able to feel him cum inside you. This is how all lovers should start their morning. The anticipation kills you both. He's on the precipice.

His hand drags down the wall and he wraps his strong arms around your waist, lifting you up in one fowl swoop with ease as he kneels on the bed. Your eyes bug out in shock at the turn of events, but you let your head fall backwards in ecstasy as he dicks you down with a fervor. You wrap your arms around his neck as he impales you up and down onto his dangerously hard cock. He's got you under his control. And who are you to deny him the pleasure of fucking his woman like a wild animal in heat?

"Fucking hell, you know exactly what to say to me to make me cum." Austin spits through gritted teeth. He flashes his pearly whites to you as he hisses, so close to spilling everything he's worth into the sopping wet cunt that belongs to him.

With a few final brutal plunges down onto his length, Austin throws his head back and roars with sweet relief as your pussy swallows up every single drop of his hot, white seed spurting out of him, marking you as his once more. You both close your eyes and pant, savoring the euphoria that washes over your sweat drenched bodies.

As you slowly open your eyes, your fingers thread through his silky strands and you being him back down to Earth. You can still feel him empty his entire being inside your pussy. He'd riding the aftermath of his orgasm straight to the pearly gates.

"Oh yes, Austin baby. Give it all to me. I'm yours for life. Do you hear me?" You mewl, lips ghosting over his. It feels like his soul just ripped out of his body and into the stratosphere. He doesn't know what the hell day it is. But with each little soft kiss you pepper along his rouged cheeks and angular jawline, he comes back to life.

Soon enough Austin hums delightedly. His inner lion has been satisfied for now, and he puts him back in his cage until he ravages you again for dinner. What lies beneath you now is your soft and ooey-gooey babyboy that leans his head further into your plush lips. He manages the strength to open his dazzling sapphire eyes, looking deep into your soul.

The corners of his sweet mouth curl up delicately. One of his hands finds residence on the back of your neck. "My special angel babygirl. My sun, my moon, and my stars. I don't wanna live another day without you. We're bound together, body and soul for the rest of eternity. You got that?"

You chuckle softly as you blush. You push back some of the fallen strands of his golden angel hair off his face. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

***

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[wordsinhaled]

okay, well, apparently, dreamling + kink negotiation + gentle dom hob is about to take up rent-free residence in my mind and i don’t know how i’m going to survive that

like... dream, who hasn’t had a whole lot of sex but has seen enough dreams and subconscious wishes to sort of understand kink as a vehicle for Processing Things, coming to the conclusion that what he needs is to show up at hob’s door in the waking at three in the morning with a pair of handcuffs and wordlessly hand them to him, like that’s just something you do every day

poor hob, who’s been dream’s lover for all of a month, and is only half awake, is like, whoa, i’m going to make us some tea and we’re going to talk about this—much to dream’s chagrin, because of course, his kingly self hadn’t factored in having to explain, and even this carries with it a vulnerability that is an Exercise for him

so they’re sitting there in hob’s little warmly lit kitchen and dream is reluctantly drinking the very strong tea hob has made him and bristling at the prospect of having to talk about Why He Is Asking For This

hob is like, “my first question... why me?”

“you are my lover.” dream pauses. “you have my trust.” he says it like it’s so completely simple, and hob has to take a minute to deal with the rush of tenderness he feels for him then, because dream of the endless, who was locked up for more than a century, is sitting in his kitchen looking at him like that and placing his trust in hob, of all people, for this

“second question. do you understand what you’re asking for?” hob looks at the handcuffs lying on the table between them and thinks about dream, naked in burgess’ cage for over a hundred years, and wonders if he can even do this, can give this to dream

dream lifts his chin imperiously. “of course.”

“good. tell me what it is exactly.”

dream stares at him, expression cloudy, and hob stares back. a few minutes pass like that in silence. dream’s eyes drift to the metallic gleam of the handcuffs, too, and he swallows—a tiny, very human motion

hob takes pity on dream. picks up the handcuffs with a clink and rests them in his own lap, where dream can’t see them; the chill of their metal seeps through the fabric of hob’s pajama pants

“if we’re going to do this together,” he tells dream, gentle but firm, “anything at all like this, i’m going to need you to use your words for me.”

dream spends a few more minutes looking mutinous, like he’s on the precipice of getting up and leaving entirely. but hob is intimately familiar with this look, by now, and has learned that these days, dream’s internal battle with himself tends more often than not, to end in him staying, so hob settles in to wait it out

finally: “i ask,” dream says, very deliberately, as though each word costs him, “to submit to you.”

hob has to focus very hard for a moment on keeping his reaction to that in check, because he is, after all, only human. “...go on.”

morpheus glares at hob, as if to say, what more do you want? after another eternity, he speaks. “it is my wish to be—” he cuts his gaze away from hob down at his cooling tea, wraps his fingers around the handle of the mug so tightly that his pale knuckles go even more white. “—restrained.”

hob eyes him, the tension in his shoulders, in his hands. “well,” he says evenly, “we’re not starting with these,” and he gives the handcuffs a little rattle; watches dream flinch at the sound and knows he’s made the right decision for both of them

dream doesn’t say anything like why not? but he draws himself up in his chair, and his eyes flash dark and starry, and his mouth purses, and hob knows that inside, dream is roiling

“now, don’t get all in a huff,” hob says, leaning in and resting his forearms on the table. he holds dream’s black gaze. “you aren’t ready for them, and that’s just the truth.”

etc etc etc

#the sandman #dreamling #NOW I’M going to bed asdhfkfkg #gentle dom hob

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[1.32]

― pairing : Minho x fem! reader ― content warnings : wolf AU, reader is a witch, soulmates, this is pure filth honestly, implied choking kink, mirror sex, overstimulaton, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 2.723

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

Strong hands gripped your naked hips, short nails drawing small crescent moon shapes as they sank into your tender skin, as you were riding the boy sprawled on the grass under you. The front leather laces of his shirt were untied, so that the shirt was half-open and allowed you to scratch long red lines along his toned and tan chest. He bent his knees, placing his feet on the floor, and he begun thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway and causing you to jolt forward, using his torso as a support while your nails sank into his skin as well.

«Miss?» a sweet, concerned voice made you snap out of your thoughts. «Are you okay?» You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself with a deep sigh, before looking back at the old lady in front of you with a gentle smile.

«Yes, I’m sorry.» you offered, as you put the small ampoules and the herbs you just purchased into your basket. «I can’t remember if I locked the front door of my house.» you lied.

The lady’s eyes widened, her lips erupting into a knowing smile. «Oh, it happens to me too, an awfully lot of times!» You excused yourself, politely saying goodbye before leaving, and rushed out of the shop. Few steps later, you hid yourself in the partial shadows of a hidden hallway, and you leaned your back against the wall, the hand that was not holding your basket flying on top of your heart just to feel it hammering against your fingers.

Since you can remember, you have always had the gift of foresight, your visions always showing up unexpectedly. The most random visions would come up in your mind at the most unexpected times; sometimes you’d see that in three weeks, you would crave eating soup, sometimes you’d see your neighbour showing up at your door just to ask you out again – you were thankful for that so you could pretend not to be home. But recently, however, your visions were all about a boy. Most of the times, you’d see the two of you having desperate sex, and what confused you the most, was that after the visions wore off, it was as if you could still feel his touch and the warmth of his skin lingering on your skin. The worst part, however, was that you would never see his face. You only had a glimpse of bright golden eyes staring back at you in a luscious manner one day, the sight alone making your thighs tremble, but nothing else.

«What kind of person even has golden eyes, beside witches.» you muttered to yourself, quickly heading towards your house and trying to ignore the hand shaped warm feeling you felt on your waist.

The closest glimpse at his face came few days later, as you were still sleeping. Plump lips sucked on your lower lip, before biting at the soft skin rather roughly, pulling on it, so that you were following his movements as he drew his head back with a choked whimper. The distinct feeling of a warm, big hand around your throat made you turn in bed, unconsciously raising your hands above your head, resting them on the soft pillows. As the boy shoved his tongue between your parted lips, your eyes shot open. You abruptly sat up, blankets pooling around your waist as you stared at your surroundings with flushed cheeks. «Get a hold of yourself, you silly witch,» you mumbled to yourself, trying to calm down. «you will not touch yourself over a vision.»

Morning slowly turned into afternoon, and afternoon eventually turned into evening. The day went by rather smoothly without any other vision, even if your mind occasionally remembered some details about the previous ones and you had to shake your head eagerly in order to get rid of your intrusive thoughts.

Therefore, there you were, kneeled in front of your wooden coffee table with your crystal ball neatly placed in front of you. You used it anytime you needed clarifications about your visions, and sadly, anytime you tried to ask clarifications about the boy you’ve been seeing, nothing ever showed up.

Even if you were not expecting anything, you tried regardless, and this time, a faint image of sweet brown eyes turning into golden while suddenly assuming a little more feral shape, met your surprised gaze. As soon as the image appeared, it disappeared.

«Why do you always have to be so dramatic?» you mumbled, referring to your own mysterious visions as if they could actually hear you, as you through your head back on the couch behind your back, a dejected sigh escaping your lips.

«I’m sure I’ve said enough times I’m not interested in going out with you.» you answered back with a monotonous tone, your long skirt dancing around your legs as you were busy striding away from your insisting and obnoxious neighbour. It took you all of your willpower not to give up to the temptation of turning around and turn him into a small fly, but you realized he would still be annoying you. You quickly turned left, walking in the small and deserted hallway, and the only thing preventing you from falling back on your butt were two strong arms immediately locking around your waist, your skin suddenly feeling warm.

«You okay?» the boy quietly mumbled, only for you to hear. You nodded, a strange sensation of familiarity pervading your senses; as you were about to look at your mysterious saviour, your neighbour’s obnoxious voice interrupted what could have been a perfect and romantic first meeting.

«One date,» he said, «I promise you’ll ask for more.» Everything about him made your body itch with the instinct to punch him in his stupid face. You were about to turn around and actually give in to the temptation, when the boy acted before you, his arms shifting and now resting more casually – yet somehow still protectively, around your waist.

«Is he bothering you, love?» the boy’s harsh and protective tone made your head snap to look at him, and you almost fainted. Another wave of familiarity pervaded your senses as you slowly took in the boy’s handsome features.

“It’s him,” you thought, recognizing the boy that was holding you from your visions. You had all the confirmations you needed as his eyes shortly met yours, the sweet brown eyes’ your crystal ball showed you few days earlier staring back into your soul.

«You didn’t tell me you had someone.» the obnoxious neighbour spat with a venomous tone, once again.

«Did you even ask?» you spat back, slowly turning around in the black haired boy’s arms; whose now had his chin resting on your shoulder as the both of your stared at your neighbour walk away while muttering incomprehensible sentences.

As soon as your neighbour turned right and therefore back in the crowded street and consequently out of sight, the boy’s hands quickly leaded you into a deeper and hidden part of the hallway, hastily backing you up against the brick wall, anticipation and excitement growing in your chest as his sudden rough ministrations. His leg was between yours, and your hands immediately reached around his neck.

«I’m Minho,» he whispered, offering his name, desire transpiring in his tone as his lips repeatedly brushed over yours as he spoke; his lips crashed on yours, and you arched your back in a whimper because finally you could experience first-hand the touch you’ve been craving for weeks. You both felt as if your surroundings disappeared, and you were not about to grope on each other while hiding in the shadows of a public street. You and Minho kissed as if you have been doing it for your whole life, Minho’s lips leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck as his left hand travelled on your leg, lifting up your skirt as his hand reached higher.

«I’ve been looking for you everywhere,» he whispered with strained whimper against your lips, as his hand tightly gripped the soft flesh of your thigh. You realized one of the visions you had was about to happen, when Minho loosely wrapped his hand around your throat, before harshly biting at your lower lip, he slightly drew his head back so that you’d inevitably follow his movements with a choked whimper, as your hands snaked in his soft black hair. «I was about to go crazy if I had another vision.» Minho added, his eyes flashing a bright golden colour, before shoving his tongue between your parted and waiting lips. You kissed as if your lives depended on it, taking out weeks of pent up frustration on each other because finally, you were meeting your mate in real life. The kiss grew gentler as time passed; you went from desperately pulling on each other clothes in the hopeless attempt to feel closer, to gentle kisses while caressing each other cheeks between suddenly shy giggles.

With a final peck, you and Minho stopped your desperate kissing session, looking at each other with lustful eyes and gentle, wide smiles. Both your clothes and your hair was a mess, and you both decided to go to your house following some back hallways, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours.

«If I have to get burned at the stake,» you explained, «I want it to be because I’m a witch, not because I had sex in public places.» Minho’s arm confidently draped around your shoulders as you kept walking.

«We both know you’re gonna love it.» he seductively whispered against your ear, and your cheeks flushed red. He was right, one of the first visions you had was about Minho fucking you against a wall and from what you saw, id definitely didn’t look like you were inside a house.

You introduced yourself as well along the way, and before you realized it, you were both sitting on your couch. Minho told you that he was happy to finally meet his mate. He explained he was a wolf, and that he and his pack recently moved near your village. Strangely enough, all his pack’s mates were witches, so he somehow expected you to be one as well; this was the main reason why he was not surprised about strange visions starting the day after they claimed the forest their territory. Once he told his pack about it, they all encouraged him to look for you.

«I was losing hope since I couldn’t find you.» Minho’s gentle voice explained, «But then we had the most cliché meeting, ever.» he added, with a soft chuckle. You nodded at his words, feeling guilty since you never looked for him; your visions would have come true eventually, you simply settled for waiting.

«That must have been quite intense.» you giggled, «I’ve had the gift of foresight since I was a kid, but I imagine that seeing random things out of the blue must have been strange.»

Minho’s eyes widened at your words, before nodding eagerly. «The first time I had one was while I was having a dream,» he explained, «I thought of it as a… Suggestive dream.» Minho’s gentle fingers reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. «The next time it happened while I was in my wolf form, I had to shift back because I was about to walk my way in your village not minding of the consequences of a wolf randomly showing up and looking for his mate.» you found yourself nodding once again, your hand reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

«We’ll probably share an awful amount of visions, from now on.» you smiled, furrowing your brows as you felt guilty for intruding his thoughts with your gift. Minho offered you the gentlest smile you have ever seen, and your heart soared. You let him pull you against his body, manoeuvring you so that you were sitting sideways on his lap.

«Honestly,» Minho kissed your shoulder, his arms securely holding your waist «All it matters for me is to be together.»

You smiled at him, murmuring a soft «It’s the same for me.» and you spent the night awake, talking about your lives before meeting each other.

Another vision you had in the past weeks, came true few days later. Minho was pounding into you from behind while pulling your back flush against his tan chest by holding your neck, his length sliding in and out of you with extreme ease due to how wet you were. Minho’s left hand fondled with your breasts as his teeth were busy biting your earlobe and leaving wet traces of kisses and bites along your neck.

Even if the feeling of Minho’s touch lingered on your skin anytime your visions wore off, always leaving you flustered, you had to admit that the faint lingering feeling did not felt even close enough to how intense having sex with Minho actually was. His hands were all over you, fondling and teasing your body while his length moved in a rough pace, drawing pleased moans from your lips as your head was thrown back on his shoulder. Minho’s hand reached up from your throat to cup your jaw, harshly moving your head to the side, both of you making eye contact with each other through the full size mirror near to your bed.

«Keep going, love.» he smirked, slowing down his pace to deep and slower thrusts. «I want you to look at yourself getting fucked.» you caught a glimpse of your completely fucked out expression – cheeks flushed red, your lips parted in constant whimpers and moans and your eyes glossy due to all the pleasure you were feeling, and you almost felt embarrassed. The feeling did not last long, as Minho’s grip went back on your throat as his length rammed into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

«I can feel you squeezing me, fuck, love.» Minho’s strained moan reached your ears as you made eye contact with his now bright golden eyes through the mirror. «I’m gonna come if you keep pulsing around me like that.» you teasingly smiled at him, raising a brow in silent challenge as your right hand squeezed his ass, sinking your nails in the firm skin, and your left hand reached out on top of the one he held around your throat. Minho kept kissing your neck, his hands still rubbing at your nipple, and your orgasm hit without a warning as he kept brushing that sweet spot inside you. You felt yourself leaking over his length, wetness trickling down your legs as you moaned around him, begging him not to stop. Minho happily obliged, continuing to fuck you while harshly biting on your skin, chasing his release. You shut your eyes, struggling to catch your breath as the post orgasm sensation wore off and waves of overstimulation made your body spasm on its own. Minho eventually pushed your body down, your head now pressed against the mattress and your hands desperately gripping at the blankets as the annoying sensation of being overstimulated subdued to pleasure once again. Minho’s fingers reached out to intertwine with yours in a tight grip, and you felt a new wave of wetness spreading between your folds as you saw his almost white knuckles in addition to hearing his blissed moans. Minho’s forehead rested between your shoulder blades as he buried itself completely inside you, coming with a loud moan. The feeling was enough to trigger your second orgasm, and you came with quick, consecutive whimpers of his name.

«Do you think all the vision we saw are going to happen?» Minho quietly asked you, as the two of you were now cuddling naked under you blanked draped over your waists, after you both cleaned up.

«They always come true,» You nodded, sighing at the sensation of his fingertips continuously and gently caressing your back. «It’s just a matter of time.»

Minho hummed, kissing your hair. «I can’t wait for you to ride me in the woods, then.»

«I can’t believe my mate is a pervert.» you giggled, feeling Minho chuckling as well while he held you closer to his body with a content sigh. «But honestly, me too.» you admitted, murmuring on his chest before pecking just above his heart.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[blue-sadie]

The Focused

William Tell x FWB Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 7 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up in a room with another version of your husbands but he's so much like them

Warning: mention of mirror sex

Yn/3rd person pov

The light streaming through the gaps of the curtain shown onto my face waking me from my peaceful slumber I groaned turning over only to come into contact with another warm body.

I stirred fully when I felt hands on my thigh bringing me closer to it "don't leave just yet" the man grumbled his voice still raspy and laced with sleep "ok" I whispered my eyes opening coming face to face with another doppelganger, he looked very much like marc but with patches gray hair.

"I can feel you staring" he murmured his eyes fluttering open to stare into mine, my breath caught in my throat as he started drawing patterns on my thighs "what time is it" he yawned turning his head to look at the clock that was on the bed side table his finger tips never leaving my skin.

"Shit I have to get to the casino soon" he grumbled slowly getting out the bed "the casino" I questioned leaning up onto my elbows he glanced at me with a look I can only describe as 'you should already know this' "I'm gonna be back late but I'd think it be nice to have my lucky charm here waiting for me" he winked grabbing his clothes that were scattered around the room and fumbled putting them on.

I bit my lip one thing I can say about all the doppelgangers of him have his nice ass "you know it's rude to stare" I looked up at him to find him looking at me through the mirror "sorry" I squeaked falling back to laying down, I stretched out my limbs and arched my back groaning out as I heard a few cracks.

"I'll see you later lucky charm" he murmured before walking out the door I sat up sighing yawning the last of my tiredness away, I removed the blankets my body shivering as it was exposed to the cold morning I sat up moving my legs to hang off the edge breathing for a few minutes and my hands hold my neck as I moved my head to each side.

"Looks like they had a fun night" I murmured to myself looking around the very messed up room, I rose to my feet and almost stumbled over my legs feeling sore I looked down my eyes widening as I see my well doppelganger's dried up juices all down my thighs "what the actual fuck" I cringed and slowly limped forward holding anything that could support me as I went.

I looked at the mirror where he stood and moved a bit closer my eye brows frowning as I see hand prints on the mirror "mirror sex" I murmured amused I giggled slightly and shook my head slightly remembering when me and jake did it so marc and steven could watch "fuck" I sighed happily remembering all the dirty things that the other boys told jake to tell me.

I let out a long sigh before limping my way to the connecting bathroom turning on the shower as I slowly gathered the few clothes I could find which was probably one of his shirts a pair of panties and a sports bra I hummed placing the stuff and a towl on the counter i saw a small piece of paper that look like a small note or a torn piece of a letter 'dear William' that was the only thing that was on it maybe thats his name.

I shrugged and placed it down before stepping into the shower relaxing as the hot water hit my skin, I took some time under the water cleaning myself and just enjoying the warm water but I knew I couldn't be in here for too long.

I turned off the water and leaned out the shower grabbing my towl to dry myself off humming slightly as I dressed myself my legs still feeling a bit tender but way better then what it was, I made my way back to the bed retaking my spot in the bed under the covers relaxing into the mattress sleep soon consumed me and I don't know how long I slept for.

"I will never get tired of this sight" I stirred slightly as I heard his distant voice a small moan left my lips as I felt pressure against my clit "f-fuck" I whined opening up my eyes to stare down at him, he was settled between my legs one of his hands gripping my thigh while the other one was tracing his finger tips up and down my core.

"William" I moaned pushing my hips up again lazily "that's it lucky charm" he smirked sticking two of his fingers inside me making my muscles clench he slowly thrusted his fingers in and out in slow agonizing strokes he smiled as my body shook as he thrusted his fingers in and out his breath fanning over my pussy.

"Please" I begged my eyes filled with hunger and lust "that's all you needed to do" he said and pulled out his hands ran up and down my thighs his eyes still staring into mine, my eyes flickered to his hands that left my skin moving up his things to the hem of his jeans slowly moving to unbuckle his belt.

I watched as his hands slowly pushed down his jeans and boxers intil they were pooled at his knees my eyes fluttered as I watched him grab ahold of his cock dragging his finger tips along the girth of his cock his own body shaking as he did so.

"Fuck yn" he breathed slowly adjusting himself intil his cock was by my entrance, he rubbed the head of his cock against my clit making me whine and moving against him "stop teasing" I whined squirming slightly as he chuckled "why don't you beg me like you did last night" he growled, "please william please" I panted making him smirk down at me.

"Since you asked so nicely" he whispered slowly pushing in, my reaction made him chuckle "still not used to me" he asked making me slap his shoulder lightly, he chuckled before starting to pull out and push in "oh fuck" I moaned wrapping my legs around his waist as he thrusted inside of me.

He panted and groaned as he leaned down so our mouths were only inches apart so our breathes mixed together "so fucking gorgeous" he groaned kissing my lips roughly, the kiss was rough and sloppy our moans, "fuck" I muttered feeling myself getting closer to the edge of my climax.

"Fuck I can feel you tighten around me" he grunted his thrusts fastening as his cock started to pulse inside me, my hands hands moving to wrapping around his neck tightening around it as I cam my body jolting as the pleasure shoot through my body "oh fuck" he cursed throwing his head back as he cam inside me he panted collapsing onto of me his hands grabbing my hips and shifted us into a comfortable position with his cock still inside me, I nuzzled into his chest my eyes fluttering as sleep soon consumed me.

"Just by fucking you I get all the luck I need and you get the pleasure you deserve, sleep tight my lucky charm sweet dreams"

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