#like .. when you make your voice go really low and it’s not one solid sound.. y’know what i mean ??
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight
TW: NSFW, dubcon if you squint
You are laying in bed, not sleeping, feeling sorry for yourself when your phone rings on your bedside table. You don’t recognize the number, so you answer with a cautious, “Hello?”
“Hi, pretty girl.”
You pause a long beat, and not because you don’t recognize the voice on the other end. “How the ever-loving fuck did you get this number?”
It’s Officer Tom Ludlow, of course. Just what you need, on this night from Hell.
“I’m a detective, remember?” You can just hear the self-satisfied smirk, and he’s lucky he’s not standing in front of you, because tonight you just might have slapped him.
You use your moderately adequate brain for some deductive reasoning of your own, and realize, “You took my number from Julian’s phone. After you assaulted him.”
On the other end he lets out a long whistle. “Baby, that’s such a strong word.”
“Do not call me baby.”
“Alright. Sweetheart.”
“God, you are such a fucking caveman.”
“Thank you.”
You sigh, too fucking tired for this shit. Your heart feels like a chewed up piece of gum, and your lady parts are pulsing angrily at you for ruining their evening earlier.
They like the sound of Tom’s deep voice in your ear, and that is so not good.
“You okay?”
The question actually takes you aback, because the smarmy shit-eating tone is gone, and he sounds…serious?
“I guess. Why?”
“That doesn’t sound okay.”
“Why do you think it’s any of your goddamned business?”
“I told you. If Dr. Bitch hurts you, it is my business.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” you grumble. In fact, he didn’t really do much of anything to you. Now that more time has passed, the more annoyed you are about that.
Fuck if Detective Ludlow doesn’t seem to hear that in your voice too. “Ohhhh. Sounds like the Good Doctor didn’t hit anything?”
“Oh my god. I hate you. Do you know that?”
He gives a low chuckle that absolutely goes straight to your deprived pussy, and you squirm a little in bed, so grateful he can’t see you.
“You wish you hated me.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Don’t hang up, pretty girl. Tell me what you’re wearing.” His voice dips low, and smooth as velvet.
Every hair on your body lifts in response to this, your nipples pebbling into painful points. Bastard.
“A parka.”
“Pshh. You sleep in a parka? Come on, baby.” How effective that soft, coaxing tone is at dissolving your inhibitions is alarming. You can almost see yourself, as though standing at the edge of a great abyss. If you jump…there will be no going back.
“Fine. I’ll use my own imagination. I think you’re wearing…a cute little lacy negligee that just floats on your luscious curves…”
Well, you guess you’re getting a picture of what he likes.
“Jesus Christ. I’m wearing a tank top, you pervert,” you grouse, trying to shatter his fantasy. Nevermind the fact that you are now soaking wet, again.
“Nice. No panties?”
“I am wearing panties.”
“You aren’t going to need ‘em. Do you know what I’d do to you, after dinner, my beautiful nurse?”
“Gee, I bet you’re going to fucking tell me.”
“Oh come on. We’re having fun.”
“You are having fun.”
“But you’re still listening.”
Well, he has you there, the smug sonofabitch.
“Maybe.”
He chuckles at the other end of the line, a low sound that makes you clench with need.
“You’ve got to answer a question for me first.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to dip into that sweet little pussy for me, and tell me how wet you are on the scale from one to ten.”
You should rip him a new one for this. Or just hang up. Why can’t you just hit the button and end this nonsense? But then…you’d be alone. Your real-time reaction is less dignified, but maybe more honest.
You laugh.
It starts as a giggle, then crescendos into an all out guffaw. “Tom…you are a nut.”
You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, and goddamn if you don’t actually start to feel better. “Oh come on baby, don’t hold out on me. I’ve got a solid ten inches in my hand for you here.”
This makes you laugh even harder. “Ten inches?!”
“Ok. Maybe nine and a half.”
You giggle, and you can’t stop. “I don’t know if I can handle all that, Officer Ludlow.”
You don’t know how his voice lowers even more, as he says, “Oh, I know you can take it. Don’t worry, I’ll ease it in nice and slow.”
Suddenly the bubbles of laughter in your gut go flat, replaced with an aching heat that sears your insides, your clit throbbing in response to his dirty mouth. It’s possible a kittenish little sound squeaks from the back of your throat.
You really don’t know where you get the courage to ask softly, “Yeah? Then what?”
“Then I would kiss all over those pretty, soft titties. I want those perfect nips in my mouth.”
You know you make a sound then, and he surely hears it. “Will you check them for me? Lick your fingers and give them a pinch.”
“You are ridiculous.” It comes out small, and breathy, and it doesn’t really sound like an insult at all. So what, if you do as he tells you? And so fucking what, if imaging it’s his hands on you makes you feverish with desire, a spear of longing throbbing in your cunt.
He doesn’t answer you right away, which means he’s busy with something else. Maybe Tom is just as pent up as you are from all this edging the two of you have been putting each other through.
“Are you.. are you really?” You ask, hating how your voice exposes the fact that you’re not only pinching your nipples, but borderline feeling yourself up at the sound of his hiking breath.
“Yeah, honey, I am.”
“Oh,” you say, because it’s the only thing you can think of. Your cunt is screaming below about how she wants to talk to Tom Ludlow because you’re doing a shit job at it.
“Ah, fuck. Are you doing what I told you?”
“No.”
“Good. Lick your fingers again, circle those pretty nipples for me. Close your eyes and imagine it’s my tongue. Fuck, I wanna suck on your tits so bad.”
He doesn’t have to know that you’re following orders. That you’re grinding on the bunched blanket between your legs while you imagine his big, rude hands playing with your tits instead of your own.
“You listening to me, beautiful girl?”
“Yeah. Don’t get a big head about it.”
“Good job. And too late.”
“I do hate you, you know. I’m serious.” It has no real venom; in fact, it sounds more like a term of endearment at this point.
He laughs. “C’mon, tell me how soaked she is.”
She’s flooded, is the answer. She’s dampening the pressed comforter, she’s throbbing and screaming and crying and pulsing to the tempo of his black coffee voice.
You’re not much for vocals when you get off. You have neighbors that already have to hear about your dreams, and the act itself seems like more business than pleasure sometimes. When you were younger, you shared a room with your two sisters, so you learned to be quiet and discreet about rubbing your pussy. That all flies out the window when you sink two fingers into your sopping cunt at Tom’s direction.
“10,” you hiss, straining to hit your gspot. Maybe you really do need to invest in one of those toys Sheila is always elbowing you about.
“Oh, poor baby.” Your walls flutter violently at his mocking tone.
“I thought you were going to tell me what you would do to me after dinner?” Maybe you’re desperate, or just stupid. It doesn’t really matter when all you want is to orgasm on Tom’s voice.
“Thought I was? Didn’t I tell you about how I’m gonna dip into that sweet wet pussy, and play with your little clit with my thumb while I fuck you with this big cock? How do you like it, honey? Slow and deep? Fast and hard?”
You make a strangled little sound–because your fingers are just not enough, and it hurts. It hurts that he’s not here with you, filling you up, holding you down with those calloused hands and that filthy, insatiable, mouth.
“What was that?”
His voice is strained, and you think you’re not the only one in pain here.
“Slow,” you answer. “At first.” Why exactly are you handing him this ammunition? How stupid, how dangerous, to offer up the keys to your undoing? You know he will only use this information against you.
“Mmm.” His breathing is labored, and the thought of him with his cock out, stroking himself to this dirty talk is almost too much to stand. Julian had you trussed and at his mercy right in front of him, but couldn’t keep it up. All Tom Ludlow needs is the sound of your voice. After the night you’ve had, that alone is nearly enough to make you cum.
“But then I like it deep,” you pant. “You think you got what it takes?”
“Baby, I’ve got everything you need.”
You are trying to be as quiet as you can, while you abuse your clit with your two middle fingers, practically holding your breath, getting high on the oxygen deprivation. You’re too quiet, you suppose.
“Don’t be shy, beautiful. Gotta let me hear it when you cum for me.”
“Or what?” you grouse. “Maybe I’m just…mixing pancake batter.”
His laughter is strained, and you just know he’s close. “Or you’ll regret it, sweet girl. When I finally get these hands on you? Mmm I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you cum without mercy.”
Again, you can’t help but compare the versions of punishment to the men in your life. Julian wants to hurt you. Tom just wants to make you cum.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah? You there, baby?”
You try to just breathe through your nose, to not give him the satisfaction–but you fail spectacularly.
“Y/n?” He calls, singing your name and making it sound so pretty and good and special.
“Y-yeah?”
“You coming with me? I’m waiting for you.”
You’re right there, dangling over that sweet, slippery precipice that you can usually ease yourself over carefully. Tom gives you a little shove, and you’re plummeting.
“That’s my girl.” He doesn’t sound much better off than you while you sob from the unexpected, haywire orgasm.
It takes a long minute for you to come back to earth, come back to breathless Tom who isn’t saying anything for once in his life.
That pleasant, floaty post coital bliss gets stained with shame when the clarity of who you just mutually masturbated with hits you.
He talks first, what a surprise. “Do you feel better?”
“No.” But then, “a little bit.”
“At least one of us does.” You hear him shuffling around on the other end, maybe opening a fridge. It makes you smile to think of him jerking off at his kitchen table.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Why in God’s name are you still entertaining this conversation? You both got what you wanted, and if you stay here too long listening to his voice you’re going to be right back where you started—ready for round two.
“I won’t feel better until you’re mine.” He sounds humorless, which worries you in itself even without the possessive words added. “C’mon, sweet nurse, aren’t you supposed to help me feel better?”
“I don’t belong to anyone, Tom. I never will.”
“Oh? Bullshit.”
“I’m hanging up.”
Almost as if he knows you’re full of it, or maybe he just doesn’t care about talking into an empty phone line, he continues. “You’re telling me you’ve never wanted a man to take care of you? Protect you, defend you, fuck anyone up who even thinks to raise a hand or word against you?”
Honestly? That’s all you’ve ever wanted, although you’ll take that admittance to your grave. After a lifetime of taking care of other people, having someone to do that for you in return sounds like a castle in the sky. But, the thing about castles in skies? They’re imaginary. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Let me guess, you’d do all that and more?” Maybe the venomous sarcasm is a little too mean.
He sighs as if you’re the one assaulting his date, stealing his number, and then calling to harass and annoy him. “Okay, tough girl. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No you won’t.”
“Mm. Night, beautiful.”
You wait for him to hang up. He doesn’t. You don’t, either. You feel his grin blossoming through the white noise of the line, listen to him rustle about, hear bottles clinking, water running, fabric swishing. Your eyes get heavy to the sounds of his nightly routine, lashes threatening to touch cheek.
His voice is void of its usual gruff when it permeates the pleasant, strange, foggy land between awake and unconscious. “Baby?”
“Mm, yeah?” You try to make your mouth move properly, but the words come jumbled and slurred, weighted with exhaustion.
“Sweet dreams.”
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guys ,,, I did ..,,. voice acting ..,..,.;.;.
#k rambles#GRGREAAHAHHHH#I WENT SO FOKKIN FERAL and it felt so good !!!#I was home alone one day for a LONG TIME and saw the opportunity to YELL into my mic without worries!#I mean it took a while to get used to as when I begin I always feel like there’s someone in the house even tho i quadruple checked#and i occasionally go to check and make sure that no one has walked through the door between breaks#even tho I know damn well there wasn’t a chance haha#I always start sweating ?? (but again it was hot asf and I couldn’t have my AC blowing during a VA sesh) but i swear it always happens#BUT I DID SOME CHARACTER IMPRESSIONS and a friend of mine said that I should try voicing this one character that went BATSHIT CRAZY#and I was like BET#my sister had come home by then but I did let her know I would be screaming upstairs#it’s progress !! i’m gaining more confidence in my voice and i’m so happy 💖✨#I still think my general voice reel I made that day is a lil cringe tho but that’s cause i’m still an amateur#I need to train myself to not have such a bumpy voice#like .. when you make your voice go really low and it’s not one solid sound.. y’know what i mean ??#I need to make my voice smoother because it’s like that .. all the time#almost all the time 🤔 MOSTLY when i’m paying rlly close attention to it I WILL take note of it#but anyways would u guys be interested to see ?? (I may just post it anyway - not rn tho)
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Happy Valentine's, all. <3
Eddie doesn't want to be making this call. Literally the last thing he wants to be doing is making this specific phone call, but he'll be damned if he lets his asshole of a roommate get away with this.
After a moment the ringing stops, and a voice says "Hello?"
"Uh, hi, is this Steve?"
"It is, who is this?"
"It's Eddie, Jake's roommate? I got your number from him." Well, from his phone when he'd left it unattended one day, but Steve doesn't need to know the details. "I really, really hate to be making this call, especially the day before Valentine's, but uh. Jake is cheating on you."
The line is silent for a moment before he hears a weak "What?"
Eddie's eyes squeeze shut at the heartbreak he can hear in that single word. He hates that he's doing this, but knows it needs to be done, for Steve's sake.
"I got home from work not too long ago, and heard him with some girl in his room. I took a video, if you want proof, but I just- I thought you deserved to know."
There's a bit of shuffling on Steve's end, along with a soft sniffle. "I, uh. I don't need the video. I believe you. I'm not all that surprised, if I'm honest."
He huffs a laugh, the sound so self-deprecating that it makes Eddie's stomach twist in empathy. "Guess that makes me three-for-three on my long-term partners cheating. I'm starting to wonder what the fuck is wrong with me."
That last part is softer, like Steve was speaking to himself, but Eddie hears it and frowns, because- because Steve is lovely. He can tell that Steve is beautiful inside and out, always kind with just enough sass to make him so fun to be around.
He's always makes sure to talk to Eddie every time he comes over, even if it's just a simple greeting or goodbye, and whenever he cooks at their apartment - because he's a great cook - he always makes enough for Eddie to have some as well.
It feels wrong to hear Steve talk like this, like there's something about him that needs to be fixed. Like his previous partners were right to abuse his love and trust, instead of treating them like the treasures Eddie knows they are.
Before Eddie can speak out to reassure him, the man continues. "Thank you for telling me Eddie. Spending Valentine's alone is gonna suck, but I guess that's better than spending it with someone who doesn't care about me."
"Spend it with me."
Eddie isn't sure where the request comes from, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, it's all he wants.
Steve gives a soft "Huh?" and Eddie repeats it, "Spend it with me. A boy as pretty as you shouldn't be cooped up inside on a day like Valentine's. Let me take you out, try to salvage it for you at least a little."
Steve goes quiet, and for a solid ten seconds, Eddie is sure that he's about to be rejected.
And then Steve says "Jake was supposed to pick me up at 6:30 tomorrow. I'll come by yours at six instead, so I can break up with him before we leave. Is that okay?"
A sigh of relief, and Eddie slumps into the wall behind him. "Sounds perfect, Stevie. Wear something nice, but casual, okay?"
"I can do that. I'll see you tomorrow, Eddie. And thanks again."
Jake comes across Eddie the next evening as he's packing the last of the food into a bag. He's spent the last hour or so getting it ready, making sure it's all perfect even though it's nothing too complicated.
A meat and cheese plate with some fancy crackers, a jar of the pickled asparagus he's recently become addicted to, a bowl of diced fruit and a box of fancy chocolates he'd splurged on.
He'd even dropped money on a bouquet of roses, and he already has a few comfy blankets and pillows packed into the back of the van. Everything perfect and ready to go. When Jake sees his preparations, he lets out a low whistle.
"Wow, Eddie. Trying to impress someone?"
Eddie shrugs, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "Yep. It's our first date, so I want it to be special. Didn't wanna go the usual, boring, fancy restaurant route."
He's sure that's what Jake had planned for himself and Steve, and it's confirmed by the way his nose wrinkles. "There's nothing wrong with spending money on your date, Eddie. If you have the money to spend, that is."
Jesus Christ, Eddie can't wait to move out of this fucking place, and away from this fucking asswipe.
"Anyway, I've gotta go pick up Steve soon, and I'm planning on bringing him back here tonight, so maybe see if you can crash with your date, yeah?"
"Sure thing-" Eddie replies, though he's interrupted by the sound of a knock ringing through the apartment. He grins wide, knowing exactly who it is. "That must be my date. Can you grab that while I finish up here?"
Jake rolls his eyes but complies, and Eddie freezes in place, not daring to make a sound so he can hear whatever interaction is about to happen.
The door opens, and he hears Jake's confused "Steve? What are you doing here? I'm supposed to be-"
"Yeah, we're not doing anything anymore. Ever again, actually."
God, Steve sounds so bitchy, and Eddie fucking loves it. He grabs the bag of food and the bouquet of roses from the counter, glad that he got dressed beforehand, and makes his way to the entry.
"What are you saying, Steve?"
"I'm saying that we're over, Jake. Maybe you can call the girl you fucked last night and take her to dinner instead."
Eddie turns the corner in time to see Jake's stunned expression, clearly not expecting Steve to throw that at him. He takes a moment to bask in the fire burning behind hazel eyes, until they slide to him and that fire vanishes, replaced with something sparkling and delighted.
"Hi, Eddie," Steve says, his demeanor changing like the flip of a switch, and Eddie beams. He steps closer and offers the bouquet of roses, along with a "Happy Valentine's, Stevie."
The money Eddie spent on the flowers was worth it to see the blush that floods Steve's face as he reaches out to take them.
"Oh, thank you. That's really sweet of you."
"What the fuck is happening right now?"
Eddie and Steve both turn to look at a very petulant and confused Jake, and Steve just smiles. "Well, you just got dumped, and my Valentine is about to take me on a date."
It takes a moment, but something must finally click, because Jake's face goes red with rage. Eddie just grabs Steve's arm, guiding him out of the apartment before the man can actually do something.
"So what's the plan?" Steve asks as he takes Eddie's hand, lacing their fingers together as Eddie leads him to his van.
"Well, uh. The next town over still has a drive in theater, and they're showing some old romance movies tonight. The drive to get there is pretty nice, and we'll actually have some time to talk, and then- I have some blankets and pillows in the back of the van, and I brought food so we can do a picnic during the movies. I mean, if- if that sounds good to you."
Steve's eyes are sparkling again as Eddie rambles, and he squeezes their hands in delight. "That sounds perfect, Eds."
By the time Eddie gets home late that night, he's learned two things:
The first is that Steve had already been debating on breaking up with Jake before this whole fiasco, but the thing stopping him was that he actually likes being around Eddie, and he thought wanting to hang out with his ex-boyfriend's roommate would be too weird.
The second thing Eddie's learned is that Steve's smile tastes like dark chocolate and sunshine, and kissing him might just be Eddie's new favorite hobby.
(Eddie does eventually show the video to Steve, just to reassure him that he didn't break them up so Eddie could date him instead. The only comment Steve makes is "She's definitely faking, his dick game isn't that good.")
#i didn't plan on writing over 1k for valentine's#but here we are#steddie#steddie fluff#steddie fic#steve x eddie#steddie au#steve harrington#eddie munson#joey writes
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old partners, new plans
— joel miller x fem!reader
—warnings: explicit content minors dni (oral m receiving, mxf) swearing, very minor dom!joel but it’s like not an established thing
—a/n: back at it!!! hope you guys enjoy! i love writing for joel sm. he so sexy <3
“That was not the deal.” You growl, squaring your shoulders.
“Deals change.” Is all the reply you get, Joel still leaning against the frame of your door. You can hardly see him there, the dark of night shrouding him in something akin to mystery— at least, he would be mysterious if you hadn’t already seen every inch of him.
“You know that’s not fair, Joel. I’ve waited ages for this opening, and I’m fucked without the pills to trade.” You take a step towards him and lower your voice, knowing people have been hung in the centre of town for even thinking about leaving, let alone having an entire plan like you did. Or had. “I need to get to them.”
“You don’t even know they’re out there.” You bite back a laugh, turning away from him. You hear the click of the door behind you, and Joel sounds louder as he finally steps into your house. “This is a bad idea— always has been. You got no proof, no solid plan… you’re fucked with or without the pills.”
“Oh, because you’re so sure Tommy’s still alive? That plan is so well thought out— huh?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not! My family is out there, and they’re waiting for me. I know they are. I’ve had this plan for months— months, Joel! You know what this means, and you choose now of all times to hold out on me?!” You shout now, head under his chin staring up at him.
“I’m not holdin’ out, there’s nothin’ I can do about it. My guy ain’t getting back for a week, and I can’t just pull strings I don’t have.” Your heart plummets. The look in his face seems genuine— broken, sad… but it doesn’t make you any less angry. “I can’t help you.”
“But you were fine taking my batteries and tools. And my route to the outside for the last six months. All that you were happy to take me up on, but now it’s time to pay and you’re suddenly empty? I don’t buy it, Joel.” You say his name harshly, with none of the need and honey-like sweetness you remember from those few months of bliss before you told him you were getting out. Before he iced you out completely. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. As what— some kind of pay back?”
“You know that’s not—“
“Why? Because I’m not sleeping with you anymore? That’s fucking low, even for you. And you are the one that stopped that, not me, so don’t blame your blue balls on me just cause you can’t deal with the inevitable.” You suck in a quick breath, wishing you could take the words back.
Oh, he’s fucking angry now. Before he was letting you rant, letting you yell at him because he knew he was in the wrong but something about your comment made him flip.
Neither of you had mentioned what happened. How that night, when you told him you were leaving, he just got up and left your bed, never coming back. Sure, you were blunt and maybe a little harsh when you told him you were going, but he didn’t even look at you for a week. Only when you went to him to ask for the last piece of your escape plan, he managed to look at you, but even then he was short and harsh like you had been. Like you’d done something to him personally— left him cold and alone in a giant bed, words you never got to say still stuck in your throat. How he never gave you a chance to finish, to explain, to ask him to come with you. Find both of your families.
It was the first time you’d really spoken at all since then— conversations that used to be never ending and comforting turning to surface level communication, only speaking when necessary. Sure, you were shouting at each other right now but at least you were talking. Anything was better than silence.
“Don’t you ever fucking say that to me. Don’t you dare tell me I had anything to do with you leavin’. You did this to yourself— to us.” He didn’t yell, but you sort of wish he had, because the low, growling tone of his voice was somehow ten times worse. “You were the one who wanted to leave. I never—“
“You don’t have to remind me.” You don’t let him finish the thought, instead cutting him off and diverting your eyes to the fists at his side, straining with fury. His knuckles were bruised, either from work or a side gig he didn’t tell you about. He never told you about anything anymore.
“I got no pills. I’ll dump ‘em in the old spot when they come in. Try not to get yourself killed ‘til then.” He turns to leave, and you feel your stomach flip. This will be the last time you see him if he comes through. The last time you spoke.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Hey— I didn’t meant that, alright? You really want to leave it like this?”
“You’re going. Probably gonna die out there. What’s the point in talking about it?” You want to yell, want to fight him on it but he wouldn’t even listen— “You’re signin’ your death sentence outside of these walls alone. Don’t blame me for not giving you the push.”
“Joel, just wait a second.” His hand stills as it moved to grab the door. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave you like this. I never wanted to leave you. If you just let me—“
“You made that bed weeks ago.” He stares ahead, never letting you finish and still not turning around to look at you. Your heart freezes at the thought of him walking out that door. You want to leave— but you never wanted to do it alone. Even after weeks of silence and rough edges, you’d take any time with him over… well, anything.
“Let me unmake it. Just… please don’t walk out on me, Joel.” You take a few tentative steps, gauging the progress you’ve made. His spine straightens when your fingers dance up his back, gentle and slow. You catch the bottom of his shirt and slip under, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm and the way he sighs— as if your touch relieves him. “I hated how I went about… things. I never meant to have it turn out like this. Us ignoring each other.”
“Well, that’s what happened.” His head turns ninety degrees, eyes looking over his shoulder as you walk your fingers higher. His shoulder blades, always full of tension, relax under your hand, and you trail your other hand up to find the other, watching his eyes flutter closed as you dig your palms into the muscle there.
“I know. It was unfair of me to spring it on you that night, and I shouldn’t of said the things I did. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything, but he sighs again as you continue to manipulate his muscle. You wish he’d take his shirt off so you could do it properly, but this would do for now. “But you never let me finish— that day.”
“I heard…fuck. I heard what I needed to hear.” His head drops down, chin to his chest as you step up on your toes and massage him in slow, steady circles. You hadn’t touched him in so long, you were nearly burning with just this intimacy alone, but you had to bide your time. Coax him in slowly, like a scared lone wolf— tempt him closer with paced, quiet movements until you could get your chance.
“Let me fix it. Fix this.” You say softly, your heart slamming against your chest.
“You’re still leaving. Can’t fix that.” His voice strains, and you run your hands lower to dig into the muscle of his back.
“Yeah.” He sighs again at your answer. “And you still hate me for it.”
“Yeah.” He copies you, and you try to ignore how much the simple word affects you.
“But we still have right now.”
“What’s the— shit, that’s good.” He shuffles back into your touch. “What the point?”
“Cause I can make you feel so much better than this. Don’t you remember?” You are nearly begging, but if memory serves you right, a few ‘pleases’ seem to make him do just about anything. “This is just my hands, but my mouth… my—“
“Yeah. Yeah, I fucking remember. Think about it every night.” You run your hands up again, but this time take his shirt with you and bring it up over his head. He moves, finally, grabbing the collar and shucking it off his shoulders, letting the fabric pool at his feet in front of the door.
“Let me make it up to you. Please, Joel.” He groans when you press harder, feeling how his muscles have gone nearly placid under your touch now. “Even if it’s just tonight. If you still hate me, you can leave and not look back, but I… I can’t stand this thing we have going on. The quiet. I can’t do it. Please.”
He turns around, towering over you as a mass of unkept, wild curls and a burning need in his eyes. It makes you smile, that look in his eye— because it’s been so long since he’s looked at you with anything other than hatred. Now, he needs you. Needs what only you can give him, and even if this could be the last night of it, you couldn’t help but think it would last forever with how heavy his gaze was.
“You wanna make it up to me?” He’s tilting his head in question, watching your hands move up and down his torso in teasing strokes.
“Please, Joel.” You see it splinter, his final plank of resolve shredding and dispersing on your floor under the weight of your words. Your voice nearly cracks with desperation— you need it as badly as he does.
“Get on your knees.” You blink at him, your fingers trailing down his toned chest before nodding and obeying his command readily. Joel was always a giver— always spending hours on you and you alone, and he fucking loved it— but tonight you had all but begged him to take. Lose a little bit of that control he clings so tightly to, watch the tension loose from his shoulders as he forgets about everything but you.
You trail your lips along his lower stomach as you sink to your knees, eyes never leaving his— ones that have practically turned onyx black as he watches your path, chest rising and falling rapidly. He moves his leg before you hit the ground, and it’s not until your bare knees settle into something a little softer than hard wood floor that you realise he’s kicked his shirt under you.
Even when he acted the part of hating you— he never stopped thinking of you.
Your fingers shake as they fumble with his belt, Joel making no move to help you as you struggle with the loops. When you finally break it free, Joel’s hand reaches down and threads your hair through his fingers. His thumb trails the highest point of your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter as you involuntarily nuzzle into his touch. It’s comforting and warm, and the intimacy of him knowing how you like to be touched even on your face has your cheeks burning. You think you catch him smile at you, and then your focus snaps back to the sight right at your eye-line when you pull his boxers and jeans down in one go.
“Missed your cock, Joel. Fuck.” You are nearly mesmerised at him in front of you, words spilling out as he stands in front of you completely naked while you remain fully clothed. He groans, head rolling back as you wrap your hand around his base.
“I bet you did. Can remember how loud you used to be— I fucking loved that.” Even if the compliment is purely physical, compared to how little you’ve gotten from him it boosts your ego through the roof. You can’t wait any longer, wrapping your lips around the tip of his straining cock. “That’s it, darlin’.”
You don’t tease him, but you do start slow. Despite how much you want to suffocate on him, have him fuck out any of that hate he’s still holding so he can’t think of anything but your mouth, you know he likes it to start slow. It’s like he’s denying himself, even here, that he doesn’t deserve the instant gratification. Like he wants to suffer through it first— a little bit of pain to accompany the overwhelming pleasure that follows.
“Fuck, you’re good. Just like that.” He praises, his hand sneaking back to the nape of your neck. Not pushing, but instead gathering your hair and using his fist as a make shift ponytail. “Missed your mouth.”
“Mm?” You make a muffled noise, hoping to God he keeps telling you how much he missed any part of you. Like he dragged through the last few weeks as poorly as you did. You were already fizzling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together with every swirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.
“Thought about you every day. Every— fuck. Nothin’ gets me off like you. Ha-ah, shit.” You take him to the back of your throat, gagging a little but loving every choked sound sound that stutters out of Joel’s mouth. “Had to fuck my fist thinkin’ about your pretty little face. Fuckin’ hated myself for it.”
You speed up, wanting nothing more than for him to yank you upwards and bend you over the counter, but you’ll take what you can get. The salty taste of him mixes on your tongue, and it’s always so messy giving him head, but he goes feral for it. He’s watching you now, the words punched out of his chest as you move your hand to match your mouth, and you know the tears in your eyes and strands of hair across your face just send him wild.
He says your name how you remember, with all the sweet and drawn out inflections his accent gives it. You take him deeper, indulging a low and dormant urge to please him clawing it’s way to the front of your brain. He groans again, the hand at the back of your head pressing just slightly— a sign he’s losing that last bit of self control.
“Fuck— stop, baby. Stop.” He splutters out, and you draw yourself back slowly. He keeps his hand in your hair, looking down at you possessively. His chest is moving rapidly, trying to catch his breath from where you had him so close. Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to why he didn’t let you do the one thing you really wanted to right now. Make him feel good.
“What’s wrong?” You say softly, and he hauls you upward, barely giving you time to find your footing before he surges forward and kisses you.
It nearly knocks you off your feet, the hunger behind it making you stumble a few steps to where you know the bed is. He wastes no time, tasting himself on your tongue and taking you with him down onto the mattress. He pulls your shirt off first, kissing his way down to where your hips are still covered by sweat pants.
It’s here he takes his time, watching you writhe with impatience as he slowly draws the fabric down. He kisses your hipbones as they are revealed, the gentle touches making your head spin. He was meant to hate you— meant to be fucking you hard and fast just one more time to get it out of his system, so that you felt like what you two had could end on some kind of high. You owed him that much.
But this? The way his hands were so soft and gentle— practically caressing along your sides and over your thighs. The care behind his movements, the way he looked at you… it wasn’t how you used to fuck. This wasn’t hard and dirty, not scratching an itch or quenching a thirst— this had something more behind it. You knew it, and by the way he smiled over you, he did too.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers against your skin, the rough hair on his cheeks tingling the softness of your inner thighs. He says it quietly, like you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you do, and your body floods with heat.
“Joel.” You whimper, your underwear dragging down your legs before he crawls back up your body. “Joel, I’m sorry.”
“I know, baby. Just focus on me, okay?” You feel him against you, the head of his cock dragging up and down causing your hips to twitch every time. “You always get so wet from doing that, don’t you?”
“Just from you. It’s just you, Joel.” You whimper, and his face crumbles in front of you. He bends to kiss you again, the air in your lungs sucked out leaving you breathless. He’s handling you with such care— like he still does. Care.
When he pushes into you, you both sigh, Joel dropping onto his forearms caging you under him. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck— teeth dragging along your collar bone with each slow thrust.
“You always feel so good. Can’t live without this, baby.” He’s almost whining, grinding into you with so much strength you hear the bed creak with each move. He’s reaching every nerve you have, crackling each one with a searing pleasure that’s only ever associated with him.
“N-neither. Please— please, Joel.” You beg for something, anything he’d give you, and his head moves to press his forehead to yours. His hips stutter, eyes half lidded but focused on you.
“Don’t leave. I’ll… god, so good. Don’t go.” He fucks you a little harder, like he’s trying to prove a point. Trying to convince you— but he doesn’t have to.
“Come with me.” You whisper, hands threading into his hair. You tug hard, making him groan.
“Baby.” He says lowly, voice grating and strained. Every thrust of his hips hurtles you closer to release, one of his hands snaking down your body to circle your clit. You can’t talk anymore, the only noises you can make are loud moans followed by choked out versions of his name. “Fuck— fuck, I can’t last. I can’t..”
You squeeze your eyes shut, pleasure rolling over you from your fingertips to your toes, the weight of Joel’s body keeping you firmly secured on the mattress. It’s like the heavy press of his warm skin multiplies the feeling, nails digging into the flesh of his back.
Your orgasm sneaks up on you, and it only takes a few more strokes of Joel’s cock and he’s cumming with you, both of you clinging to each other as you try to draw out the others high. Even when you’re supposed to be fighting, each of you are doing anything and everything for each other.
Joel still feels warm above you, keeping himself inside as long as he can stand before he pulls out slowly. You whimper from the loss, but he shuts you up with a deep, desperate kiss. It’s lazy and meaningful— teeth and tongues clashing from how hard he’s pressing on top of you.
Both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but neither can find the strength to pull your mouths away from each other. You know once you do, it was meant to be over— but it couldn’t be. There wasn’t going to be a version of this story where you missed out on the only good, real thing you’ve had in a long time just because you didn’t have the guts to repeat yourself. You pull back from his mouth as hard as it is, and he groans a little in frustration of having to chase you.
“Joel…” Your hands find their way up to his face, holding him so close that your noses bump together. “I meant it. Come with me.”
“Darlin’, I gotta… Tommy needs me to find him. I…” He looks you up and down again, eyes catching on the little hickeys he’s left over your chest and neck, and you think he might be considering the possibility of leaving everything behind and just following you despite it.
But you’d never ask him to. You had this thought out— and if he’d just listened to you the first time, he would already know.
“I know. We can find him. The pills— I’m trading it for a full tank of gas for a car I repaired. It’s just outside the safe zone.” He shifts up, thighs still straddling over your waist. “We can find him, find my family.”
“You fixed a… of course you did. Fixed a fucking car right under their nose.” He shakes his head, laughing before leaning down and smothering you in a suffocating kiss. He’s still smiling when he pulls away, tucking your body into his chest. “Jesus. You’re unbelievable.”
“I would of told you.” You say, not having the nerve to look up at him. “That night— I tried to tell you. We have people that need us, but I need you, too.”
“Mm.” He says, burying his face into your hair. You can feel the smile in the way he hums, his hands grabbing at your sides and holding you closer. “Need you, too.”
“What was that?” You try to turn and look up at him, a teasing smirk on your face but he doesn’t let you. “The Joel Miller— needs me?”
“Need your car.” He grumbles and you laugh harder, your legs tangling together in a comforting knot of limbs. “When do we leave?”
“When you get the pills.” He hums again.
“Tomorrow. I’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”
“Oh, you fucking asshole. You were getting them the whole time, weren’t you?” He still refuses to let you move, strong arms keeping your bodies together. He doesn’t say anything, just laughs and nods before his breathing starts to slow.
You wanted to turn and see his face when he said that— that he needed you. But as you feel him go limp behind you, you figure you’ll get enough time to stare at his face when you drive across the state to get Tommy, and whatever comes after that. You might not know what comes next, but whatever it is, you feel a hell of a lot better knowing it’ll be with him.
#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#tlou joel#joel miller x y/n#tlou#tlou joel miller
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Got Me Snoring pt.2
A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long... I've been doubting doing a part two simply because the first blew up like... crazy... and I'm afraid this one isn't going to measure up to the first. But THANK YOU to everyone for the love on part one... it's wild how much you all liked it. I appreciate all of you thirsty fuckers.
Summary: Ghost is set on giving you the same change of perception on reviving head after figuring out just how bad you are at taking care of yourself.
T/W: NS/FW 18+ ONLY, cunnilingus, size kink if you squint, spit?, lots of fem! fluids, a little male fluids..., cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and I'm still terrified this is gonna suck.
You woke up with a sore throat.
No doubt or haze in your mind about how it happened or why. And the only thing you could think was the word big…. big… big…
God, Ghost was so fucking huge. You nearly mistook the images in your mind for a dream. One so goddamn filthy you’d not be able to look him in the eyes. Only one of those big hands was sprawled over your belly. Fingers digging possessively into the little bit of pudge under them. Denting your skin and steadily reminding you of the rest of his body melted against the back of yours. You’d not moved an inch all night. Highly unusual on a normal day, but not with your Lieutenant sharing the bed.
Sharing a seat on the plane home wasn’t familiar either.
He felt inhumanly warm with his arm rubbing yours as the jet stream rocked the cabin of the plane. And the looks shared between the others as they watched the pair of you didn’t make your skin feel any cooler. Gaz staring at the spot where Ghost’s thigh rested against yours nearly made your pants singe. You couldn’t believe Ghost was just sitting there with his head leaning back against the wall. Maybe sleeping… he wasn’t really moving much. But you couldn’t tell. Nor possess enough confidence to look up or nudge him and find out.
Your sore throat ached a bit too. Raw, and making your voice scratchy, it’d been hard to give a solid ‘good morning’ without everyone asking if you’d come down with something. Your only thought was how Ghost came down something… and you had swallowed. A thought that felt good to hear in your own head… at least when Captain Price wasn’t looking at you with sharp, observant eyes.
Surprisingly, Ghost wasn’t the one who made you feel anxious. He’d been… different in leading up to the flight home. Having your bag packed before you’d noticed, getting you up before the others…. ‘Answer their questions later, little one.’ he’d whispered, masked mouth heating up your ear as he murmured so closely to it. Thoughtful… you’d decided. Realizing only after he’d solved the problem that waking up in bed with him would’ve caused a stir amongst the boys. He even made you tea… the way you like it; With some thick honey at the bottom. No doubt for your rasping voice.
No. Ghost was different.
No one had the gall to mention the Lieutenant strangely shadowing you though. Like you’d suddenly gained a massive black phantom tagging alone at your heels. On missions he would linger close by without anyone noticing, but that just felt… professional. Watching his wide shoulders slump towards yours while sitting on a shitty, makeshift, bench in a cargo plane? That was a whole different look. Even Price spent a good half hour chewing on an unlit cigar, trying to work out what you two had talked about the night before for Ghost to act like this. It was clear though. None of them suspected anything close to what actually happened.
Sitting next to him felt surreal. Especially when he’d been the one who silently insisted that you sit next to him. Having snatched you by your belt and tugged you onto the bench beside him instead of letting you find somewhere mushed between Gaz and Soap like normal. A low grunt of a sound and a firm nod pointed in your direction once he got a look at you sitting next to him much more shyly than normal.
You could smell his cologne, and memorize the tattoos peeking out close to his wrist. Feel his leg twitch to steady himself in his seat when the plane shook a bit. Even listen to the sound of his steady breathing. A whole new experience you’d not really thought about trying before. You nearly felt like you were learning Ghost all over again. Taking every small movement and reexamining it. Because… you couldn’t deny that he had readjusted his view of you.
A blowjob shouldn’t have felt that… intimate, you thought. Remembering the undeniably filthy things Ghost had said. It should’ve left you fulfilled… but not like you actually were. Some warm, expanding feeling, filling up your chest and making you want to hide your face and giggle. A grade school crush level of nervous energy you’d never felt towards a man before. Yet here you were, sitting there half-dumbstruck, watching your Lieutenant stretch his long legs and sigh softly as the landing gear rolled to a stop on the tarmac.
“Comin’?” He muttered, voice level. Maybe a bit impatient as those dark eyes settled on you.
Normal… you reminded yourself. He wasn’t talking you differently; No need to over analyze everything. Letting him lead was the smartest thing. The only way, really.
“Yeah,” Your voice makes you hesitate to say anything more. “Just got stuck staring…”
Ghost doesn’t show any real reaction. Just nods, and grabs his rucksack off the floor next to him. Wordlessly taking yours along in the same hand, walking off with -essentially- everything you had. Suddenly motivating you to not only move your ass off the plane, but follow his long strides to wherever it was he was possessed to go. And whether or not the others even noticed, you didn’t have the luxury of worrying about.
The Lieutenant had your weapons… and your only clean pair of pants.
You didn’t have to follow him far though. Only walking a few meters past your own quarters and down a hallway. Staring at the wide gap between his shoulder blades and the heavy sway that rocked the belt clipped around his hips.
He had your bag tossed next to his on a desktop inside his room without a single trace of the fact it wasn’t a habit. Sitting down heavily and reaching over stiffly to tug at the laces of his boots. Toeing them off with small squeaks of new leather and sitting them under the desk. Either purposefully staying silent to listen to your brain working, or totally unaware that you were stupidly standing there, watching your Lieutenant do a decidedly human thing with wide eyes.
“Come’ere…”
Ghost took off your boots just as simply as his own. Quiet, leaned over your foot propped up on his thigh and not even mentioning your hand resting on his shoulder to steady yourself. Feeling him tug the blouse out of your pant legs, and gently squeeze at your ankle to hold your foot steady.
You didn’t know how to feel about it.
Mortified… maybe. For the simple fact that you had worn the same socks for two days and his head was too close for comfort. Touching you. At least, touching you in a way that wasn’t meant for sex. It didn’t feel like you were doing enough. Weren’t providing him anything.
Guilty… yes? This wasn’t something normal in any situation. You hated a return. It’s what made you feel like you were causing a problem. Made laying low and staying quiet a habitual behavior. And Ghost being the one bent over and struggling to undo the tight knots in your laces? Nearly unacceptable. He didn’t need to… shouldn’t lower himself like that.
Ghost noticed it and you tried to beat him to the punch.
“You don’t have to-”
“Look like you’re gonna faint.”
That hand squeezing softly on your ankle tightens a little before releasing, gliding up your calf and patting you softly before guiding it off his leg. Those dark eyes look up and down your clothes, over your decidedly nervous expression, and back down to your boots before sitting them right next to his.
“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his hips. “You’re not a fan of receiving… are you?”
~
The next two days, you leaned quickly that what was his, suddenly had made room to account for you as well. Almost instantaneously you’d been accounted for in just about every single way you could think of. You washed laundry… you found it put away in one of his drawers. You ordered food to base… it was in his room, not yours. Tried to get into your old quarters… the key wouldn’t open it anymore.
How he’d managed it, you didn’t even want to know. But, Ghost effortlessly took into account every single thing necessary to move you into his life without even a single question. And managed to do it perfectly. You couldn’t question it either, since he’d accomplished the endless tasks to such a degree of attention that you weren’t sure a man could even reach.
“Um, have you seen my black jeans?” The question felt a bit odd, and so did standing in the doorframe of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.
“Top drawer. In the closet, next to my pants.”
You couldn’t quite adjust this easily. Not that it wasn’t what you wanted per se. You’d enjoyed Ghost’s company more than anyone else the past couple days. And while he’d been accommodating, it wasn’t like he was bowing to your feet. He came and go as he wanted and didn’t crowd you like he was clingy either. However he did make you feel uneasy with how little he made a fuss about doing something for you.
You never asked for him to do anything. Yet he managed to do everything you ‘hadn’t gotten around to’. And worst of all, when it was time to sleep, he wouldn’t lay down until you eventually caved in and crawled under the blankets first. Almost like he was letting you get settled exactly how you wanted before even thinking about moving closer. No sex. No outward attempt at it. Not even a subliminal hint that he wanted more of your mouth, or anything else for that matter.
It nearly broke you. Or, better spoken, broke your perception of how you expected him to act. Which, made sense considering Ghost wasn’t anything close to the men you’d been with previously. They were always pushy… and he didn’t even push you to your side of the bed when you unconsciously wormed your way to his side at night. Your exes treated sex like a favor needing to be owed. And Ghost wouldn’t begin to act like he’d ever thought about the possibility despite having fucked your throat like he owned it.
Your jeans were indeed in the drawer next to his. And he did ask you to grab a pair of his as you retrieved yours, adding on that you’d be leaving in fifteen minutes… unless you needed more time to get ready.
You finished up in less than ten.
A bar on a Saturday night was Soap’s idea. Drinks, a few cigars, and the whole task force was his way of ‘team bonding’ and no one had a good enough excuse to deny him. Especially when there was a new mission lingering in the next couple weeks, and Price already had the files on hand. You thought it was a bit cliché. Sitting in a musty bar, listening to Price talk over the music about terrain, entry points, possible back-up, and the preemptive teams he was putting together.
It seemed his mind had been working just as hard as yours over the past days. Only you were preoccupied with Ghost’s hand firmly kneading at your thigh under the table. His thumb working at a sore spot just up and to the right of your knee. Forefinger squeezing to alternate the pressure and resist from making the movements feel too harsh. Looking far too relaxed while scanning a document and flipping through the pages with his free hand.
You’d resisted for hours at this point. Forcing yourself to stay quiet and not say something about it. Reminding yourself he was just doing it because he wanted to. Not because he thought he’d get something out of it. He wasn’t holding out. Every time his skilled fingers found another sore spot that made you twitch, you needed to physically clamp your mouth shut or take a drink so you didn’t tell him to stop.
“Another round?” Gaz held up a few bills in his hand, looking around the table.
When everyone agreed, you lost the willpower to sit still. Straightening up and trying to scoot towards the edge of your seat.
“I’ll go up since you’re paying.” The rush in your voice was lost on everyone. Everyone but the man who suddenly locked down with a vice grip on your leg.
Ghost didn’t even flinch. Still looking at the file in his hand, but that cold grip on you didn’t hesitate. Gluing you to your seat and enhancing the sudden sensation of his fingertips dipping under the ripped material stretching over your thigh. You couldn’t understand it. Dumbly trying a second time to stand up, only for it to earn you a side-eyed glance and a slight pinch to your exposed skin.
“No.” he muttered, chin jutting out in the direction of the man, already heading towards the table after seeing Gaz pull out cash .“The waiter’s comin’.”
And right on cue, a younger guy walked up and began taking orders. Going around the table, and stopping at Ghost was a very familiar kind of apprehension on his face after seeing that black mask stretched over his face. If only he could see under the table at the way your thigh was shaking from the soft touches.
“Nothin’ for us,” Such a cool dismissal of the guy that you hardly even notice what he said. “Price, leavin’ out.” He added, moving his hand to palm the back of your neck easily. Giving the slightest tug to get you up out of your seat as well.
“Little one’s comin’ with me.”
Not a soul at the table questions it.
~
Against the wall yet again.
Not unlike the first time… Ghost has a pattern. You’re breathless, but much more unaware of how this situation is going to play out. He hadn’t said a word in the drive, and kept the tightest sightline out the windshield you couldn’t even see his irises from your profile view in the passenger seat. The second he could spot the door to his room? His big body bullied yours right where he wanted it. Keeping you pacified by a hand over your mouth and dark, plotting eyes glaring down.
“Why’d you do that?” His question further raised the questions in your head. It’s all you can do to shrug, as if you had much autonomy over the rest of your body at this point anyways.
“At the bar,” The clarification deepens his irritated tone. “Why’d you take orders like that, huh? Like some fuckin’ maid.”
“You all wanted drinks.”
Unfortunately it’s not the answer he wanted, and you’re hauled that much further up the wall. Only now, you’re suspended fully off the ground. Balanced on his forearm jammed between your thighs; feeling his palm flat against the wall. God, it felt fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t been able to do it, but he wasn’t even shaking. Dead calm and just watching you unintentionally grind down more on his arm the longer you’re forced to stay like that.
“I got my own.”
You nearly catch an attitude. Wanting to mention that it’s just ‘polite’. And for that matter, you’d not paired for a single drink all night. So, naturally it was only fair you go get them… You settle on saying something a bit more safe. Maybe more manageable even with how little your mouth wants to function.
“I didn’t pay.”
Ghost just snarls, head tilted and looming closer.
“I don’t fuckin’ care,” His hips flinch forwards, jamming against you to send the point home. And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that he’s hard. The long, thick line of his cock disappearing under the edge of his belt; tucked safely to have been able to escape the bar without anyone throwing looks his way.
“Stop doin’ shit just because.” He growls out a bit more directly. “Do it because you want it.”
His point skims over your understanding. “I do what I want!”
“Sure, sweetheart.” The dismissal is soft enough you know he’s not totally pissed.
“When’s the last time you made yourself feel good, huh?” He pauses, giving you a glimpse of his tongue licking his lips under that mask. “I think I remember you sayin’ you’ve faked it plenty of times… How many times is that? How many times you ignored that pussy cryin’ for attention?”
You get it. Oh, you finally understand… And damn it your face doesn’t burn hot with the realization that he’d caught on to just how bad you were about prioritizing yourself. Not even the dull, thudding pressure of your cunt sitting directly in his muscled forearm is enough to distract you from it. The mind game over, and Ghost holding yet another victory in his hand.
“I.. I don’t know,” You look away, unwilling to admit it. “A few times.”
“Bullshit,” He grunts, jerking his lower body against yours yet again. “You might not know that… but you do know how many men… don’t ya, sweetheart?”
Chest caving in defeat, you answer. “Five.”
Ghost’s chuckle is almost patronizing. A deep, rumbling one low in his chest that makes chills run up your back. Purposefully his wrist rotates a bit and your clit rolls over a thick muscle. You’re helpless to hide the pinched yelp it earns him, and it only makes him chuckle for longer. If you’d been in any other position, it would’ve been music to your ears. Now it just felt… punishing. Arousing beyond belief, yes, but still a bit of a sting to your pride.
“Five boys…” He muses aloud. “Not a fuckin’ one with enough sense to breathe without thinkin’.”
He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing over dark brown eyes. A debate in his head.
“Then i’ll teach you…” He nods once. Firm and resolved to the decision. His free hand coming up to trace your jawline with a reverent, almost scared touch. “Now that you’re mine… I’ll teach you how to be selfish.”
“S’not like I don’t know how.” It’s a wonder you’re able to sound that confident between the pressure to your cunt and the way he’s talking to you. Unflinching as always, he just smirks under that mask.
“Gonna show you how easy it is… to take pleasure. How to enjoy it.” Each word falls from his lips like thick honey. Whatever he’s planning so fucking rich in his kind that even his mouth slows and his accent thickens at the mere imagination of it. “You’re gonna learn to be good for me… and M’gonna start with that little pussy…”
One dangerous look down at where your thighs are trying to clench together freezes you.
“Not gonna let her be ignored anymore…”
~
Ghost’s tongue curls through your swollen, sensitive, lips; helping guide himself to your pulsing clit. Humming victoriously when your stomach flexes and your body jerks away from the steady pressure. Each lick is the same. Dragging up your slit and purposely spitting against your hole until you both can feel it dripping between your cheeks. Taking his time like this was almost painful. Feeling the twitch of his jaw against your inner thighs and hearing his thick swallows as he drank down your arousal.
It almost made you feel queasy, being the sole focus of this. Your hands unable to find somewhere to rest. Feet unwilling to settle on his back or off to the sides, like you knew you probably should be. Ghost was so intense that you shook. Muscles tremoring around his head and exciting him that much more. You were still stiff though, and it showed. Much to his excitement, it meant that he’d have that much more time between your legs. More opportunities to take you out of your head and throw you into a totally new one.
“It ain’t my mouth makin’ you shake, little one.” He murmurs, almost like he’s talking to your cunt instead. It’s hard to reply when those dark brown eyes lay locked on you from between your slicked thighs.
“I… I don’t know…”
Ghost just chuckles, kissing your inner thigh. Both hands slipping between your legs and using his thumbs to spread you open for him. Heavy eyes looking at your glistening hole covered in his saliva. Spitting on you yet again, and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh when your breath evaporates from the sheer sight of it.
“M’gonna make you feel everythin’ they couldn’t,” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he blows a soft, cool, breath over your hot skin. “You’ll memorize what my tongue feels like in your cunt… never gonna come empty again…”
You clench when those words come out more like a threat than a promise. Having heard that tone so many times sitting in on his interrogations. Always relating it to pure torture and the promise of wishing for death over being rested in Ghost’s hands. Only now it was startling just how badly you wanted to hear him speak like that again. Never having heard anyone sound so fucking serious about sex, or find yourself reacting so desperately. Your eyes scrunching shut and your head falling back against the bed, nearly pained with anticipation and a healthy dose of the most fearful arousal you’d mustered.
“Ghost - please, please… just, god take it easy on me.” Your voice is soft, pleading. Actually a bit timid of how far he planned on taking this. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him that much. But pleasure could be just as effective of torture, and Ghost was well-versed.
Another kiss presses to your thigh, “Nothin’ without your permission,” Those dark eyes gain crinkled lines at the corners though as he smiles. “But you’ll like it, little one. Every disgustin’ thing m’gonna do to make this pussy cream…”
His thumb glides over your outer lips, toying with you. Gentle to avoid sensitive spots and draw this out, but mean enough to remind you just how dedicated he was.
“Yeah, baby… you’re gonna look so good when I lick the fuckin’ come out of you.”
His mouth descends over you without another moment of hesitation. Still slow, but now it’s not just his tongue lapping at you. It’s his lips, rough with a couple days neglected of shaving. His teeth -which make you jump at first- pinching and nipping. But it’s all in the perfect pressure. Somehow fully aware of how sensitive you are right now and that the slightest move could be far too much. Reversing your twitches of apprehension into soft rolls of your hips against his face. Allowing you to guide him without a word. Learning how you want it whether or not you ever realized that it was guiding him better than a map.
You loved the slow, consistent pressure around your clit. Not rubbing right over it like he was sure you’d been subjected to before. No… you needed it softer. Sweeter. Just how a pretty girl like you deserved. Circles with a flattened tongue and his fingers working inside you. Even then, you got so fucking tight when he didn’t pull his fingers out all the way. Instead letting you milk them as the pads of his fingers curled against that textured, upper wall needing attention.
God, it was so easy. You had such beautifully clear reactions. What felt good, you’d nearly hold still for. As if you’d never felt it before and couldn’t withhold from the desperate curiosity. And when it didn’t, such polite grinds and roll of your hips would be almost too helpful in moving the bridge of his nose or his tongue to where you wanted it.
Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he ate pussy with such rapt attention. Enjoy it had always been easy. The taste, the sounds, feeling in control… any man in his right mind would relish in it. But you? You made his hard cock brushing up against the mattress fall to a true afterthought. He didn’t even care that there was enough precum drooling from his tip to soak through denim jeans.
Your first orgasm is a beautiful accident. Ghost’s body isn’t even what earns it. It’s his fucking mouth saying the nastiest things imaginable with a busy tongue stroking your clit. Rambling low and sluggishly, a thick lisp when his bottom lip tries to slide across your pussy on the right syllables.
Good job, tha’s it… s’good for me.
Keep fuckin’ drippin’ like that.
Stay right there -just like that- let me lick her clean baby…
You come quick and hard. Not even getting to relish in the feeling of release that wasn’t by your own hand before Ghost is working for another. It’s the most impatient habit he’s got and won’t deviate. Using the clench of your pussy around him to advantage by working you open all over again. Purposefully providing that “first touch” stretch throughout orgasms like a reset. Short term memory erasure of all his hard work just to massage at your shaking legs as gentle reassurance.
“Don’t — Don’t stop.” Your panting. Wanting to warn him as the second approaches a bit slower.
You’re still nervous to perform, but the edge is off. Having been given just enough reassurance that you can, in fact, come from someone else’s touch. But the slight tremor in your voice hints at the hesitation you have to come again.
Enough time elapsed to overthink what you sound like. How you appear from this angle and anything in between that has been a problem before now. Ghost doesn’t move an inch. The only thing he does is take a steady deep breath and move one arm to rest his forearm on the bed. Like he’s settling in.
Getting fucking comfortable.
And he stays just like that until you’re shoving yourself up the bed and away from his chasing mouth to try and take at least one complete breath. Your feet sliding in the sheets and the hair on the back of your neck getting cold once it’s not matted to the pillow. Previous experience anticipates that it’s the end. That Ghost isn’t going to follow. That he’ll take the credit for making you come twice, and enjoy a fluttering, wet cunt around his cock.
His face is next to yours and his swollen lips are kissing your temple over and over sweetly. One hand keeps his heavy weight off of you while the other gently reaches to your neck. Holding your head to ease the acute angle of it and shyly feel your pulse. You’re too dazed to see the look on his face. How relaxed he is, counting your heart beats and watching sweat slide across your temple and get caught in the baby hairs there. Observant, but utterly obsessed by this moment. Drinking in self-satisfaction and the much more addictive taste of seeing you fall apart under him.
“I got you. I’m here, breathe baby.” Keeping his chest close, he exaggerates his own. Pressing against you, grounding the feeling.
“It’s so much.” Admitting it makes you feel awful. Like you’re not enjoying it more than anything you’ve felt before. But you’re unable to explain just how raw your nerves feel. Terrified that if he touches your clit again it would bring real tears to your eyes.
Ghost moves closer, sharing body heat you didn’t know you even wanted. “I know, little one… you’re so sensitive. S’okay.” He answers, gently reaching down to pull both your thighs together and against him.
Curling you to his body and holding your legs to help ease the radiating pleasure signals thrumming in your pussy. His hand rubbing your outer thigh, squeezing at the stretched muscles in your hip. Dissipating the tightly-wound lower half of your body that is still expecting his fingers to touch you again. Split between wishing he would force another orgasm out of you and nearly passing out from overstimulation.
Ghost knows better though. You’d gone too long without someone else controlling your pleasure that it was going to be hard enough. And a second only compounded your body’s response. In the moment he felt possessed to prove a point. Really, the same one you had for him. But the moment you scurried back, that part of his brain turned off. Keeping you safe in this state was just as important as anything else. He didn’t want you faking anything again. That included when you felt like you couldn’t take more.
“We’re done, baby…” he kisses your cheek, tasting the sting of salt on his lips. “No more; jus’ easy touches… M’not gonna play anymore.”
It works wonders, simply taking the guesswork out of this. Allowing your legs to fully sag against him, trusting those fingers grazing up and down. Even your head letting go of the remaining tension holding you off the pillow. Ghost can’t help but smile. Kissing you yet again. And again. Helping himself to the sounds of your breaths evening out and the softness of your dewy skin on his mouth.
His hot body sticks to yours a bit, but it’s comfortable. Helps you feel secure, laying there balled up and trying to work through the multiple sensations still making it nearly impossible to open you eyes and look at him. Desiring to say a simple ‘thank you’ or at least, give him a smile just to show that you’re appreciative. Another one of those nasty little things you’re convinced is necessary right after the deed. Poised to give positive reinforcement at the first moment so the guy won’t run off.
“Th-thank you,” The way you say it almost sounds guilty to Ghost. Even the hand rubbing you doubles down, more firmly. Like he’s hoping to keep his own emotions in check by reminding himself of how skewed your perceptions are.
“S’not a ‘thank you’,” He replies, lips against your ear, feeling the easy, toothless, smile he’s got. “Told you the other day… I wanted it. Wanted you.”
Your eyes do open then. Hearing him refer back to the mission. Like he’s not the least bit affected by it in an embarrassed kind of way. Adding that much more reinforcement to the nearly unbelievable idea that he’s actually meant it and not just so he could get a bit closer to you. Surely he couldn’t, right?
“You mean that?”
Ghost’s eyes brighten, and he chuckles very deeply. Bumping his forehead against yours.
“You and your sweet pussy aren’t going anywhere.”
requests are thanks to: bvxygriimes bobochacha kmcmpmd simonsslvt verynastyspoon featherbrainedangel flower-olive riri-is-a-girlie bii-aan-ckaa mxshpitmom stormy-knight134 glocuseguardian3rd variety-fangirl and about eight anons that I can't tag unfortunately :(
you're all so lovely and I want to give you each a big smooch
reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3
my ask box is always open, but fair warning I'm slow haha
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod#cod mwii#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#velvetures writes#velvetures#anon <3#velvetures answers#anon answered#anon ask
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ichor & ambrosia (teaser) | jjk
When your father prayed to Hades to bring your dead brother back to life, Hades requested something in return: a bride for his son, Prince of the Underworld, Jungkook.
↳ pairing: son of hades!jungkook x human!(f)reader
↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | mythology | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers | angst | eventual smut | eventual fluff
↳ teaser wc/date: 1k | july 2023
↳ teaser warnings: idk, nothing really? except it's creepy? obviously mentions character death aka the plot of the fic, kinda sad, angsty, also reader throws up lol if that's gross to you
↳ notes: hi friends, pls enjoy this teaser as an apology in advance for not being able to work on chapter 1 this weekend since my family will be in town 🥺 also, pls ignore any errors~ i'm not done with chapter 1 so i'll eventually edit this at least one more time
↳ masterlist / taglist ✨
↳ what was jai listening to? the series playlist
All your life, you've feared Death.
As a child, Death was a tool used by adults to scare you into obedience. Do the right thing in this life, and Death will be kind to you in the next. Don't do anything dangerous or rash, lest you meet Death before it's your time. Death lurks around every corner, waiting. It bides its time and watches with empty eyes. If you can stay hidden, you'll survive.
You did your best to be a good person, to stay hidden and be obedient, but Death still came for you.
Tiny insects whirl around your ears, whispering warnings you can't understand as you trudge through the dark. Beneath your sneakers, dead leaves crunch into jagged pieces but make no sound. All you hear is the whirl of insects and the skitter of unseen animals rustling through the undergrowth.
The forest feels vast, though it's too dark to see much aside from what's in front of you. You aren't sure how long you've been walking. Hours, perhaps? Days? Your joints ache from the cold that seeps through your skin. You can barely feel your toes in your canvas sneakers. They were once white but now are caked with mud. The hem of your jeans is also muddy, and you know your cardigan and t-shirt aren't faring any better.
Twigs scratch at your arms and get caught in the threads of your cardigan as you push through bushes and low-hanging tree branches. It's unfamiliar terrain, and you wish you had something solid to hold onto to ground yourself.
Distracted by the sudden muffled sound of what you think is the wind whipping through the trees, the toe of your shoe gets caught on a tree root. Before your knees can collide with the debris of crumbled rocks and dead plants littering the forest floor, a bony hand squeezes your bicep and hauls you back onto your feet.
"Careful."
The voice sounds like it's been dragged through a gravel road, but the breath that follows it is more offensive to your senses. It smells stale, like dried dead vegetation and old coffee grounds.
You turn toward the voice despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to.
Stay hidden, your body tells you. Don't let it find you.
Death's grip on your bicep tightens. Its fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave imprints once It lets go. You don't need to look down to know those fingers are only bones.
The darkness may hide the forest from you, but Death guides you.
The Styx's shore is made of stone rather than sand or grass. You can feel the transition from the slight give of the soft forest floor to the hard, cold granite that leads to the river as Death urges you forward. The trees thin out here, allowing the moon to shine across the river. The water practically glows silver in the moonlight, like a thousand rippling diamonds gently lapping at the surrounding stone.
A boat is docked along the shore, illuminated by a single burning lantern hanging from a pole in the middle.
"Go."
Death pushes you toward the boat; It doesn't follow you. Looking back, you see the lantern’s flames flicker in the black holes that serve as eyes in Its skinless skull.
There is a man who stands at the helm of the boat. He's wrapped in a thick, black cloak. In his hands is a bundle of fabric similar to his cloak. He's human - or at least appears to be human. You haven't seen another human since Death ripped you from your mother's arms. You don't realize how desperately you crave human touch until you're trembling before the man in the boat.
"Please," you beg for nothing and everything as you fall to your knees.
Your jeans soak up the thin layer of water on the surface of the stone shore. The cold shocks your system, but you don't care. All you truly feel is the suffocating concoction of anger, fear, frustration, and longing that squeezes your heart and infiltrates your lungs.
The man glances around you, perhaps toward the darkness where Death has retreated. After a few moments, his gaze lands on you once again.
“Don’t cry,” he says softly. “I won’t hurt you.”
You want to believe him. His eyes are kind, soft brown, and narrowed in a way that makes his gaze look attentive but not heavy. His skin looks gold under the lantern’s light, as though he is a beacon within the forest's darkness and the black waters below him.
The man gestures for you to climb into the boat. You obey because Death stands at the forest's edge, and you have been taught to fear It.
“My name is Namjoon,” the man says as he unfurls the fabric. It’s another cloak, which he then hands to you.
When you drape the cloak over your shoulders, you’re hugged by soft, floral scents that remind you of your mother’s garden back home. You wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s still kneeling in the front yard of your home, dirt under her fingernails and clumps of grass grasped in her palms as she screams for you.
You hope she suffers loudly enough to make your father’s ears bleed.
You sit down on a bench as Namjoon prepares the boat. You know what will happen next; your father taught you about traveling across the river and the judgment that comes after. You’d never believed it until Death stole the breath from your soul and breathed it into your dead brother’s.
“I hope the cloak keeps you warm.” Namjoon takes a seat on the bench across from you. The boat knows where it’s going without him having to guide it. “I will make sure you have new clothes before you are to meet Prince Jungkook.”
Bile rises in your throat at the sound of his name. You twist around in your seat and let your head hang over the edge of the boat as you throw up into the Styx’s black waters. Namjoon makes a stressed yelp, but you pay him no mind.
You swear what you thought was the glitter of moonlight across the river is actually thousands of pupil-less eyes staring up at you.
series masterlist
all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3
do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work
#jungkook x reader#bts fanfic#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts angst#bts fluff#bts smut#jai writes#gimmethatagustd#i&a
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Request for reader finding some of Gale's erotica and, based off said literature, getting taken in a most ungentlemanly fashion? 👉👈
Oh nonny, I love this idea terribly! Conveniently this also fits for today's kinktober theme.
A Novel Idea
(18+, Explicit)
You hadn’t lived in Waterdeep long, but it didn’t take long to realize wandering about the Dock Ward at night wasn’t your best idea. Tonight ‘night’ seemed like an understatement, even the moon and stars had retreated behind heavy clouds. You relied solely on the lights streaming from various taverns and home windows to keep your path.
You weren’t far from home when the hairs on your neck stood on end. Someone was following you. Pulling up the hood on your cloak, you quickened your pace, not to an outright run but enough that it might make a difference. You thought it did. Thought it would.
You’d been wrong before.
It wasn’t so much a push as it was being barreled into and shoved down an alley. You dig your feet in trying to slow the momentum of your body but to no avail. The brick wall before you was as unforgiving as the force at your back as you’re pressed into it.
“Well, well, there aren’t many brave enough to be wandering around here in the dark,” a voice hums into your ear.
“Brave is just one of the many things I am,” you bite back trying to gain purchase on the wall before you, trying to push back.
The body that flattens against you is larger than your own. It pins you against the brick, you’re unable to get your arms underneath you. You still your struggles, no use in wasting your energy.
“I’ll leave you be if you’ll be so kind as to hand me your coin purse,” He’s not moving now, just pinning you to the wall with his body.
Gale is staring at you with a look of shock. The book (his book might you add) is held loosely in his hand.
“You, want this?” He asks again gesturing at you with the book now.
You nodded, lip worried between your teeth. You hadn’t meant to bring it up, at least not without a solid plan. But he’d teased you for how your cheeks had heated as you read a particularly scandalous part of that very same novel.
Gale’s eyes go distant, and you’re convinced he’ll tell you no, that this is beyond his willingness to indulge you in your fantasies. You wait him out, though, let him come to his conclusion on his own.
“I won't hurt you,” he says finally.
It’s not a no, so you take your chance. “Of course not, and neither does he… not really,” you remind him. The villain turned seducer in the story had only frightened his maiden, never truly hurt her.
“We’ll need some way for you to tell me you’re done,” Gale admits, still not meeting your gaze.
It’s your turn to be hesitant now. “Gale, if this isn’t something you want. Say it and I swear I’ll never bring it up again,” you promise grabbing for his hand.
He laces his fingers through yours and finally looks at you. “As strange as it is, I must admit I can see the appeal.” The words are spoken low, as if he’s revealing a secret to you.
He might as well be.
“If I give you my coin purse, or even mention coins that will be my cue that I want it to end.” You assure him.
“You promise?” he squeezes your hand before pressing a kiss to the back of it.
“Yes,” you grin.
“No,” you growl.
You begin trying to twist your body away from him once more but he simply leans into you. It’s taken almost no effort for him to subdue you. You swallow harshly against that realization.
The lips are back at your ear. “If not your coin then, my lady, I shall have to take something.”
“I have nothing else for you.” You’d meant to sound defiant, strong, but instead the works came out half-whispered.
He chuckles and then shifts so his weight is off of you, not gone though. He’s caging you in still with his arms and his body at your back. One of those arms moves now and skillfully undoes the broach holding your cloak closed.
You shiver as the material falls to your feet, the cool night air already pushing in through your clothes.
“I think you have plenty for me.” His lips are so close to your neck that you can feel them brush your skin as he speaks.
His hand returns, resting atop your collarbone. Not quite at your neck but there, like a warning. You swallow harshly once again.
“Perhaps that’s what you want,” he say mockingly, finally letting his lips drop to your neck with a kiss.
His hand trails lower on your chest until he’s cupping your breast through your shirt. The fabric seems impossibly thinner now than it had less than an hour ago.
“After all what lady goes walking alone at this hour except those looking for trouble,” he continues. His fingers are seeking out your nipple now with teasing brushes against it.
The kisses he’s pressing against your neck will certainly bruise by morning but you can’t help but to arch your neck more.
He pinches your nipple and you whimper. He chuckles against your neck.
His hand shifts, seeking your other breast. His thumb brushes up against your already hard nipple. He pinches it again without warning. This time when you moan you can’t help but roll your hips back into him. He’s hard against your ass.
“So that is what you were after,” he’s teasing again, both with his words and his fingers. “Willing to risk your life just to be touched.”
“No,” you argue, “I was just going home.”
“With no protection? No strong husband to keep you safe?” His hand abandons your breast to begin a decent downward.
His hips are grinding against you freely now and you can feel just how hard he is with each roll. You bite your lip to hold back another whimper. He chooses this moment to gather your skirt in his fist and press it between your legs. With another roll of his hips he sends you grinding against the fabric, sweet friction against your already throbbing clit.
“No,” it’s less of a word and more of a moan. You shake your head, hair undoubtedly smacking his face. “No husband, I can protect myself.”
“Perhaps you can,” he groans against your skin, “but this situation tells me otherwise.”
He’s still thrusting against you, forcing you to grind against his hand and the fabric balled inside of it. You’re up on your tiptoes now trying to change the angle, unabashedly seeking more friction.
“You can’t have it both ways, my lady. You can’t both be on an innocent evening stroll and able to protect yourself, given the position I have you in,” he reminds you of exactly what positon he’s talking about with another firm roll of his hips.
Before you can argue against his words he’s begun hiking the skirt of your dress up until he can slide his hand beneath it. His fingers, cooled by the night air, immediately seek out your cunt. You cry out as he slips them between your folds to press firmly against your clit, the cool air a shock to your nerves.
“There’s no denying this,” he teases, fingers rubbing against you. The wet sounds betraying whatever words you’d meant to say. “Admit it,” he growls lips pressed to your ear.
“Please,” you whimper, hips chasing after his touch.
You almost lose balance and crash forward into the wall but his other arm comes around your waist to catch you.
“Admit it,” he says again fingers now touching everywhere but where you want them.
“I want you,” you admit but it’s apparently not what he’s looking for because he still refuses to touch you. “Please,” you cry out, “I want you to fuck me.”
“That's not so hard, is it,” he presses a kiss to the side of your head.
His fingers leave you even though you’ve said what he wanted to hear. Before you can morn their loss the arm around your waist lifts you into the air a second before swinging you down towards the ground. You’re forced to brace your arms out in front of you as you make contact roughly with the alley floor.
“Ow,” You cry out despite not meaning to, there will be scrapes on your palms now.
Just as quickly as you’d been tossed to the floor you’re lifted up onto your knees again, back against his chest. Somehow he’d knelt with you.
“All you have to do is give me your coin,” he reminds you, “and I’ll leave. No harm done to you or your reputation.”
You shake your head vigorously, “I won’t give it to you.”
You barely feel his lips against the side of your head before he’s pushing you back down onto your hands.
He flips up your skirt, exposing you to the alley and the night air. You’re not sure which one makes you shiver more. He runs his hands down your ass to your thighs before spreading the lips of your cunt with his thumbs. You only realize you’re shaking when he presses one of those thumbs inside you.
You fight the urge to press back into it.
He slicks his thumb back out and runs it up and down until he bumps into your clit. You whimper and aren’t able to keep your body from chasing after his touch. His hands leave you then but you hear the sounds of his pants being undone.
“Such a pretty thing,” he says reverently and then you feel the warmth of his cock resting against your entrance, “waiting to be taken in an alley like a whore.”
“Please,” you whine trying to push back onto him.
He won't let you and instead leans away to keep you from touching him. You cry out in frustration, head dropping down.
Suddenly there’s a hand tangled through your hair, drawing your head back up. Its a firm tug but only painful if you resist. And you do, but only for a moment before allowing him to pull you so you’re forced to look ahead. Forcing you to look around at the barely visible alley around you.
Only then does it press into you. There’s no teasing now, no waiting, no soft touches. He thrusts into you until you’re pressed back against his hips. Your cunt flutters around him at the sudden intrusion. It's a stinging sensation, not pleasurable really, but you don’t mind because he’s finally inside of you.
He sits that way for a few heartbeats before drawing out only to thrust back in against. It’s a firm rhythm he finds, hand still woven in your hair to keep you from drifting away with each thrust. You can feel small stones biting into your knees, undoubtedly they’ll be bruised and bloody by the time he’s finished.
He begins grunting with each thrust and you realize he’s getting close.
Your hair is released without warning and you can barely stop it from falling forward.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, both hands grabbing your hips, “I want you to come on my cock in this alley.”
You find yourself only too eager to obey. Fingers finding a rhythm that matches the near brutal pace he’s now fucking into you. You’re so close you can’t breathe. The grip on your hips becomes almost painful.
“I need you to come,” he growls, fingertips digging into your flesh.
And you do with a cry. Hips slamming back to meet his so the only thing you can hear aside from your own cries is the sound of your skin slapping against one another. He grunts as he comes, pulling you back against him so you can’t move away as he spills inside of you.
You remain like that until your heartbeat has approached a more normal rhythm. As he slides out of you he pulls you back onto his lap. Hands smoothing out your skirts so you’re hidden once more from the night.
“My mad, beautiful, love,” Gale whispers pressing kisses against the side of your head.
You laugh as you lean into his kisses. After a moment you’re shifted onto the ground once more, but so much gentler this time you feel your heart near bursting.
With a groan that you absolutely don’t grin at, Gale stands and tucks himself back into his pants. But before you can even think of trying to join him he’s lifted you into his arms, one hand producing your long-forgotten cloak.
You drop the cloak into your lap before draping your arms around his neck. “My noble wizard,” you mumble against his lips before pressing a kiss to them.
He leads you further into the alley and to a door hidden deep in shadows. As he pushes it open, you realize this is the alley alongside your own home. The door swings open into your warmly lit kitchen, the smell of dinner from earlier still lingering heavily in the room.
You bury your face in Gale’s neck to hide the smile painted across your lips.
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale x reader#gale x tav#kinktober 2023#kinktober prompt roleplaying
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SAWEEET BABY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! THE DBF!JOEL WEILURHWLEIRHWEIRWE! That was incredible! Could we have oneshot of the lead up to them fucking in Joel's truck? 👀👀👀👀😍😍😍😍😍
hahahahahah wooh! i'm glad you asked - here is the ooey gooey middle of the Ride It oreo cookie, enjoy :)
Let's Take a Ride
No-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
joel miller masterlist
warnings | 18+ smutty language, dbf!Joel, age gap
.............................
“Aren’t you cold, honey?” Truthfully, she is, barefoot in the gravel of the highway shoulder, her heels tossed into the backseat a while ago, in nothing but the short dress she had gone out in. But Joel’s gaze is warming her up just fine.
“I’m ok, Joel. Thank you for coming to get me.” He sighs, stepping closer to inspect the flat on her back tire, letting out a low whistle as he kneels down to take a closer look.
“More than a flat tire. The whole rim is busted. Just how fast were you going?” She flushes hard under his pointed look. So maybe she had been speeding when she accidentally hit a curb. But mistakes happen, right?
“Um, I don’t know?” He huffs, getting up from his kneeling position with a groan and wiping his hands off on his jeans. He cocks his head at her, crossing his broad arms over his chest. She swallows hard at the flex of his biceps.
“You been drinking tonight, honey?” When all she offers him in response is an anxious smile, he clicks his tongue, shaking his head.
“I’m not drunk. I had a drink with some friends. It’s not like that’s a crime. I am of age, y’know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Her brow furrows at his sighed out words. What’s that supposed to mean?
“Are you telling me you got all dressed up like that just for some friends, honey?” That question shocks her silent, and he chuckles at her slack expression, stepping closer until she can feel the heat radiating off him. He lets a single finger skate along the neckline of her dress before hooking it under one of the straps, tugging her in until she’s pressing her palms against his solid chest to stop herself from stumbling.
“Tell me this, honey. Why’d you call me, of all people, to come help you?” She can smell lingering whiskey on his breath. He’s been around her dad’s house enough times for her to know he likes a nightcap, a little hit of warmth to end the day. That mixed with the scent of him - cedar and sweat, and smoke from the cigarette habit he swears he’s trying to break - is sending her mind into a haze, and she’s finding it hard to answer his question.
“Because, um– because you– um–” He chuckles again, cutting off her mumbling with a wicked crook of a grin on his face.
“It’s alright, honey. You can just say it, huh? I know what you want.” Is this really happening?
“You– you do?” He nods, bringing his other hand to tilt her chin up, keeping her gaze on his.
“You think I haven’t noticed? Can practically feel you burning a hole through my back with the way you look at me, honey. What a sweet little thing like you wants with an old man like me is beyond me.” The finger he kept hooked in the strap of her dress is running the arc of it, back and forth, back and forth, the graze of his skin against hers making her shiver.
“You’re not that old.” That makes him laugh, his eyes crinkling up and his smile broadening at her.
“Don’t think I’m too old for you?” Albeit hesitantly, she shakes her head no.
“Think you can handle me, honey? Bet I ride a little different than them college boys of yours.” Her stomach twists at the implication of his words, and she thinks she’d melt on the spot if he wasn’t still firmly holding her chin in place.
“I can handle it.” She tries to sound as confident as possible, but her voice still ends up coming out a bit meek, almost a whine. Joel just grins, dipping his head down to nose along her cheek, his lips finding the shell of her ear. The low drawl of his words goes straight through her, pooling heat in her core.
“We’ll see about that, honey. Why don’t you be a dear and open that car door for me. We’re gonna take a little ride together.”
#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller blurb#joel miller au
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I thought of this a couple days ago, and I CANNOT stop thinking about it. I saw people making fanfictions about a COD werewolf au.. and it got me thinking about Soap in particular.
Hear me out. Soap’s a werewolf, and the afab-gn! reader is his longtime best friend. Soap hasn’t had anyone to help him with his rut for YEARS, but eventually, his fellow soldier and best friend gets tired of seeing him so overwhelmed, and agrees to help him. Bonus points if they have secret feelings for each other.
Eventually, Soap’s got the reader pinned down, and he’s just taking all of his sexual frustration out on them. He means well- but he fails to notice the fact that they’re a whiny mess, struggling to take his knot and handle his roughness. After thoroughly ruining his darling reader, he feels bad, and makes up for it by cuddling them and giving them legendary aftercare <3
I 100% understand if you don’t want to do this btw, no pressure!
-Hybrid
*cracks knuckles* One Scottish werewolf, coming up! Enjoy!~
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You'd known Johnny since primary school, the two of you becoming rather fast friends. A shared interest over sports truly built the foundation of your solid bond. Finding out he was a werewolf didn't even put a damper on things; if anything, it made him all that more cool to you.
It was really you that followed him around like a puppy, even going as far as to follow him into the military. Everyone in your squad loved to poke fun at how much of a dog you acted compared to the literal werewolf, how much it had to be puppy love. You vehemently fought off the accusations; Johnny was your best friend! There was no way in hell you were interested in him romantically!
And that’s what you told yourself all up until this big bad wolf of a best friend of yours took a bullet for you. You gasped as he howled in pain, eyes immediately turning on the enemy as he lunged for them. You’d never been more worried and turned-on in your life.
So when Soap’s next rut came, your heart strings were tugging so hard you thought they might snap. He’d told you in detail what it felt like to not have a proper mate to go through those cycles was like, so when you found him in his bunk, halfway to full wolf form, sweating like he’d just run miles around the track, you couldn’t just stand idly by. You were going to help your friend whether he liked it or not.
“Johnny,” you called, voice quiet and calm. Bright baby blues that had turned a vibrant golden locked onto you. You knelt beside the bed onto the cold unforgiving cement and stroked his cheek softly.
Immediately the man leaned into your touch. “Your touch is like a cool drink Y/N,” he whined. Somewhere in his mind, you were sure he thought he sounded smooth, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Your thumb stroked over his stubbly cheeks with a fondness only reserved for him. “How to Know You’re Getting in too Deep With Your Bestie”, a memoir by Y/N.
“You’re suffering Soap,” you told him, gently helping him onto his back so you could straddle his hips. Eyes like the full moon never left you, tracking your every movement. You were only in a regulation shirt and your boyshorts. The feel of his hard length, knot and all didn’t go unnoticed as your pussy twitched eagerly. “Quit pushing me away and let me help.”
The next round of movements were a blur to you, but you knew for certain at least how you ended up face down into the mattress. You heard the shredding of fabric as your underwear was torn with the flick of a claw. You jump a bit when you feel the cold nuzzle of his nose against your slick cunt and you can tell how he revels at your moan when he warm tongue laps some of it up.
A low growl resounds in your ear next sending a shiver down your spine. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this leannan,” comes Soap’s rough voice right against the shell of your ear, earning him a whimper of excitement. You can feel where his cock lines up with your entrance and the slight burn as you’re stretched in one quick thrust. It rips a scream of pleasure from your throat that seems to only egg him on more.
Between the hot panting of the wolf in your ear and the exponentially thick cock ramming into you over and over, it was no surprise that you came first. Your wet hot walls contracted around your best friend’s member over and over, as if milking it. The werewolf above you growled in pleasure, head thrown back as he could finally mate.
So many years he had been on the brink of asking you to let him mate you, to breed you, even if just once. The sensation of actually being able to do it was better than he could have ever dreamed. And you yourself certainly weren’t complaining.
It had the both of you in a fog of pleasure, your minds obscured by the haze of sex. Even in the moments you were begging, pleading for him to stop, he never slowed, orgasm after orgasm wracking your body. You were in a state of lustful bliss, simply letting your best friend take out the years of pent up sexual tension on you.
The knot catching on your inner walls caught your attention. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you shouldn’t be able to make that fit. You tried to babble out pleas for Soap to slow, to stop, to give you a minute to breathe. But the pleasure was bubbling in the pit of your stomach again and you knew there was nothing you could do to stop it. You felt teeth nipping at your shoulder as the wolf finally slammed his knot inside you, howling loudly as he came.
Your own orgasm, how many this was by now you couldn’t recall, was ripped from you in the form of a scratchy voiced cry. You tried in vain to link your hand with that of your best friend, only to have him gingerly help you. That wet tongue was back again, this time lapping softly at your shoulder where he’s presumable nipped a bit too hard.
You were in and out of consciousness, as to be expected of someone who was just thoroughly fucked by a werewolf for the first time. So when you truly came to again, bundled up in the lap of your best friend, it was a little surprising. Your stirring caught Soap’s attention and bright golden eyes looked down to you fondly.
“Finally awake are you?” He asks with a soft chuckle. You reach up and ruffle the little mohawk that somehow manages to show up on his fur at the top of his head. You could faintly feel the hardness of his member poking against your thigh.
“Need a hand with that soldier?” you ask, voice raspy as if you’d been shouting at recruits all day. You’re handed a glass of water before you’re given an answer which you happily sip on. The cool liquid soothes the ache in your throat.
“Later leannan,” Soap tells you. “I’m sated for now.”
“You keep calling me that Johnny,” you say with a soft laugh, voice a little clearer now. You offer him a quiet thanks when he helps you sit up and sets a bowl of stew in your lap. You hadn’t realized before you’d seen the food, just how hungry you are, how much energy you’d exerted. “What does it mean?” Your best friend huffs his own little laugh as he watches you start to eat.
“Sweetheart.”
#bat writes#anon reqs#hybrid anon#cod x reader#cod smut#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish smut#johnny soap mactavish smut
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𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔!
ཐི♡ཋྀ featuring -> blade, gepard
ཐི♡ཋྀ contains -> mentions of depression/low mood, more blade bias teehee
ཐི♡ཋྀ gia's notes -> i kinda based these off of my own experiences with depression, so hopefully it's at least a little relatable. i tried not to romanticise it too much. also disclaimer i am fully aware that the stuff i talk about in here isn't a cure-all for depression, but i did focus on a less severe characterisation of it in this. hope that's ok anon
ཐི♡ཋྀ request -> anon: hi!!! really loved your roommate thing for har, literally makes me smile may i request blade or/and gerard with reader who got depression? even if you don’t like the idea it’s fine, hope you have great time <3
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ BLADE
-hm ok to be honest blade seems rather emotionally repressed
-so it may take a while for him to pick up on signs of you starting to get into a depressive episode
-he’s busy with being a stellaron hunter, and he isn’t exactly the most frequent texter, but he’ll still notice a change in your texting style as the time between your replies increases while the length of them keeps getting shorter
-maybe you were busy? even though it may sting a little to see his last message still unanswered as he’s holed up somewhere on another planet, he still can’t help but worry for you, though he may not outwardly admit it
-and that spurs him on to finish elio’s mission for him even quicker so he can get back home to you
-when he returns, he may be a bit confused due to your seeming apathy
-he had missed you, and he didn’t want to be the one to cave and say it out loud
-but at your mustered smile and hollow sounding greeting, that’s when things start to click and blade may realise what’s going on
-personally i feel like blade’s love language is acts of service/physical touch
-and man’s just come back from a mission
-he’s dirty, he’s hungry, and he’s tired
-so he decides to deal with those issues with you in that exact order
-cue him running a bath and then convincing you to get in with him on the ground of him “getting lonely” without anyone there, making you crack a little smile at his antics
-the warmth of the water and his solid chest against your back is a soothing sensation, and neither of you voice how tender his touches are as he lathers your hair, fingers carefully detangling any knots as he rests his weight against you
-it’s a peaceful affair, and you can feel yourself begin to warm, with the weight that you previously weren’t even aware of beginning to lift off of your chest as you filled the silence of the bathroom with some hushed conversation with blade
-he asks you how your day was, listening to your hesitant recollection with his chin is tucked over your shoulder, his arms encircling you as he listens to your voice and hums occasionally, basking in your presence
-when the water begins to run cold, blade’s offering you his clothes to change into, leading you by the hand to your shared bedroom, and it’s touching to see just how much care he puts into your wellbeing when it’s him who’s just come back from a dangerous mission
-up next is finding something to eat
-the uncharacteristically soft behaviour of blade is continued as he rummages around the fridge, cursing under his breath when he realises that he'll have to make a shopping list
-he still manages to find enough ingredients to make some sort of meal, and though he's not a cook by any means, it's definitely edible and the distant growl of your stomach suggests that maybe you were feeling hungry after all
-you're leaning against one of the counters, watching your boyfriend's back in quiet awe as he continues to cook, the simple black cotton of his shirt stretching across his broad shoulders practically inviting you to wrap your arms around him
-you've never been one to resist such an offer, and you find yourself shyly walking up to him, letting the side of your face rest against his spine
-blade almost immediately relaxes into your embrace, continuing his ministrations while you mumble a muffled "thank you" into the fabric covering his back
-you don't need to clarify what you're thankful for, and blade has always been one to speak more through his actuons than words
-he pauses for a second, turning to flick your forehead gently
-"don't get all soft on me now"
-you feel your eyes well up with appreciation for your boyfriend, squeezing him a little tighter to yourself as he turns back around, feeling his hand do the same to yours where it rests on his stomach
-"yeah, yeah. now let's eat, hmm?"
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GEPARD
-another emotionally repressed king 😍
-i feel like in terms of noticing that something's up with you he would be worse than blade
-mr landau is a bit of a workaholic, and he's guilty of using it as a coping mechanism when he can feel himself start to slip
-he will run off of denial and caffeine and just force himself to keep working, resulting in a general lack of awareness in spotting when he or others are struggling
-so really, the dots that he should connect with how you've been acting recently take a little longer than they should be
-he's mentioning to serval how you seem to be the polar opposite of him recently, acting a lot more withdrawn and apathetic in general
-and serval is just blinking at him and wondering how dense her younger brother can be
-reprimands him and tells him that this is a conversation he should be having with you, and not her
-and with a little guidance, gepard is sat in front of you and asking if anything's wrong and if so what he can do to help
-and initially, you're not really sure yourself
-you know that you don't feel the same as usual, but you tend to just go with the motions and wait it out
-and gepard furrows his brows when he hears this
-poor guy has no idea how to handle this without direction
-so he does some research and makes some notes on ways he can help you because he loves you
-and next thing you know his late working hours and overtime have turned into getting home before the sun goes down
-resulting in him having enough energy to do something with you and spend some quality time together, whether that be a date night in or just cooking a meal together
-and funnily enough, gepard notices not only a slight improvement in your overall mood, but in his as well
-with all those tips and tricks of maintaining a routine, he was glad to see your shared efforts come into fruition
-he almost felt his heart combust when you told him that being around him makes you feel better
-man is whipped he will walk the ends of the earth just to see you happy
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY: fade into you!
honkai star rail masterlist ૮ • ﻌ - ა
#🍙 ! food for thought#🫙 ! from the jar#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr angst#honkai star rail angst#hsr fluff#honkai star rail fluff#blade x reader#blade angst#blade fluff#hsr blade x reader#hsr blade fluff#hsr blade angst#gepard x reader#gepard landau x reader#hsr gepard x reader#gepard angst#gepard landau angst#hsr gepard angst#gepard fluff#gepard landau fluff#hsr gepard fluff
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There’s not much to see in between the minute slits of the burlap sack thrown over her head, but she still strains to see anything and everything that she possibly can. The men holding onto her arms dig their fingers into her arm, a bruising grip that is in part her fault as continually digs her feet into the ground and struggles with something fierce. Ghost is behind her, can feel it, even if he hasn’t said a single word. She on the other hand hasn’t stopped spitting fire every chance she gets, venomous threats and cold warnings.
It’s only until she’s shoved down onto a seat, arms tied behind her back with her legs bound too that the hood is harshly yanked off and she shuts her eyes at the bright light above her, much like driving on the road at night and being blinded by powerful LEDs. As her vision clears, she sees the captors who’d managed to get the jump on her and in turn, capture Ghost as well, and he’s in the same position as she is, but there’s definitely more rope around him than there is her. She snarls at them when they come close, baring her teeth in a way that says, “touch me and lose a finger.”
“What do you want from us?” she gripes, voice devoid of any emotion but annoyance.
“Answers,” the leader asks. “You know where the resistance is hiding out.”
The second one crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell us where their headquarters are.”
She spits down at their feet. “Suck my dick.” A moment, a pause before a backhand sends her careening to the side, chair tipping slightly and she growls, turning back to face him with blood dripping down her split lip; she licks it, the wound stings but it burns in a way she likes. “Your dad hit me harder than that last night,” she cracks back, and the man grabs at her chin, hauling her upright until they’re nose to nose.
“I will make you scream in ways you’ve never imagined.”
“That’s what I told your mom before I—”
His other hand reaches for her combat vest, and she thrashes as he undoes it and yanks it open; he’s centimeters from the thin tank top she wears and only then does Ghost make a single noise, the scraping of a chair, fingers clenching white on the arm rest as he snarls, “Touch her and I’ll fucking smear the goddamn walls with you.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking warning. One not to be ignored.
The man pauses, looks to the side, sees Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His breathing isn’t labored. It’s calm. Deadly calm. And the man, taking in the sunken nose of Ghost’s full-face mask, the raised skeletal plates, decides perhaps this isn’t a fight he really wants neither then nor later.
He lets her go and she sinks back into her chair, but Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the man even as he slinks behind his commander. The ropes at his wrists strain under Ghost’s flexing forearms and she hums low in her throat.
“Easy,” she murmurs. “Not here.”
This time Ghost eyes both of the enemy captors, and he answers, a barely-contained, seething rage in his chest and out of his throat, “I’ll fucking kill any bastard that touches what’s mine.” He snarls beneath the mask, and she feels it deep in her chest, the sound reverberating through her. “I’ll fucking rip your guts out through your back. Touch her again. I dare you.”
This time, even the commander shifts nervously on his feet, and he clears his throat in an exaggerated fashion to ease whatever fear is ebbing in his stomach as he turns to the second and says, “We’ll come back with more questions.”
“Don’t keep us waiting long,” she retorts, watching them leave and as the door shuts and locks, she reaches out, brushing her fingers against Ghost’s knuckle and all at once, he relaxes his grip. “Easy, Simon,” she calms, and he lets out a single deep breath.
“I don’t like people touching you.”
“You can’t kill everyone who does,” she jokes, and he looks over at her, his eyes glinting in the light, a solid ring of gold around a deep pit of a void; her throat dries up at the beastly hunger in them, but no fear is in her heart, in fact, quite the opposite.
“I’m the only one allowed to fucking touch you.” He looks down at the silver necklace on her chest. “You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”
She swallows thickly, the S dangling at the apex of her throat feeling like a branding, but it doesn’t hurt, she loves the burn, craves it, wants to drown in it—in him. “Yeah, Simon,” she breathes, heart pounding in her chest. “I’m all yours.”
#did i finish reading a chapter's story where the love interest was the dragon alpha? yes. yes i did. did it inspire this? yes...yes it did#simon riley x reader imagine#simon riley x reader imagines#simon riley x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley imagines#simon ghost riley x reader imagine#simon ghost riley x reader imagines#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley imagine#ghost x reader imagine#ghost x reader imagines#ghost x reader#ghost imagines#ghost imagine#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost#cod imagines#cod imagine#cod#mw2 imagines#mw2 imagine#mw2
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Hey Jealousy
Requested by: Anon
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Word Count: 684
Warnings: Jealous pouty James
The after party for the award show was well underway. James left to use the restroom, and I found myself talking to Duff from Guns 'N Roses. He’s a nice guy and we’ve bonded over the few times we met over cute dogs.
Duff was in the middle of gushing about his girlfriend who was unable to attend when I felt a pair of eyes on us. I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on James. It was hard to read his expression from here.
“It was really good chatting with you, Duff. I’ll see you around.” I smiled at him. He smiled back and gave me a quick hug. When I turned to find James again he was gone.
“What the hell, where’d he go?” I mumbled to myself as I began searching for him.
James and I met in the late 80’s, it was like something out of a fairy tail, we both fell hard and fast. All these years later and I’m still absolutely crazy about him, I don’t think there is anybody else out there for me.
I finally found him, he was sitting outside in a garden-like area.
“Is this spot taken?” I asked. He glanced up at me, his brow was furrowed. He went back to looking ahead of him and mumbled out.
“No.”
My heart sank, I sat next to him.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“You looked real cozy with Duff.” James said, his voice low. My brow furrowed in confusion.
“Are you jealous?” I asked. He didn’t say anything. “James, look at me.” I said. He slowly turned his head, his gaze meeting mine. “If you’d have come over, you would’ve heard Duff gushing about his girlfriend he’s getting ready to propose to.” I said with a soft grin. James looked down and wrung his hands together. I reached over grabbing one, interlocking our fingers. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, James. I’m just as crazy about you as the day we met. You should be more trusting of me, of us. I would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.” I told him in a soft yet stern voice so he knew I wasn’t just saying that to say it. “I love you.” I said and he looked back up into my eyes. He finally cracked a ghost of a smile.
“I know, and I love you too. I just worry sometimes, you’re far too good for me. I’m afraid you’ll realize that and find someone else.” He shared his thoughts with me. I placed a hand on his face.
“I won’t find anyone else because I’m not looking. You make me so happy, I feel so valued and loved. I’m not too good for you, we’re both good for each other. I wouldn’t put my time and energy into this relationship if I didn’t feel that way.” I said. James' eyes began to soften as I hoped the words I said were penetrating his heart.
“I’m sorry.” He said softly.
“Don’t be, love. Your feelings are valid, you’re allowed to feel them, just come to me when you do feel that way and I’ll be there to reassure you I’m not going anywhere.” I smiled. I cupped his face and dipped his head down so I could place a kiss on his forehead. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug as he buried his head in my shoulder. I held him tightly.
“I’ll do better to trust you more.” He murmured. I rubbed his back in response. We remained in our embrace a while before we pulled away.
“Do you want to go back in, or home?” I asked as I caressed his hand with my thumb.
“Home, I’m ready to just relax and snuggle with you.” James said. I giggled.
“Sounds like a plan.” I smiled. He smiled back at me and leaned in for a sweet kiss.
James is my rock, my solid foundation in life. I’ll spend the remainder of my years proving I can be the same for him.
Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)
-Isa
#metallica#metallica x reader#metallica imagines#metallica scenarios#metallica fluff#james hetfield#james hetfield x reader#james hetfield fluff
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LET'S GET IN THE BACK OF YOUR COP CAR, OFFICER.
Steve had found you working so many times, was so diligent about turning a blind eye and letting you walk away—but this time he had to make a report, unless you could convince him otherwise.
RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+)
PAIRING — steve murphy x sex-worker! gender-neutral reader
GENRE(S) — drabble, smut.
WORD COUNT — 2.7k
WARNINGS — mature content, pet-names used: honey & baby, a bit of dark! steve murphy, quick plot & ending.
SMUT WARNINGS — sexual content, multiple references to sex work, oral (reader receiving), quickie, unprotected intercourse, creampie, exhibitionism (semi-public spot)
RELEASE DATE — MARCH 22ND 2024
AUTHOR’S NOTE — this man is rotting my brain so you guys have to rot with me. need him carnally. also yes I've had the song the title is from stuck in my head with scenes of him on repeat. save me fictional steve murphy.
His cologne engulfed you first, telling you exactly who was behind you. His hand on your shoulder turned your skin from smooth to bumpy with chills just before he spoke. “Haven't I told you to get a better career?”
You were used to Steve Murphy’s smartass comments tossed aimlessly, especially in trying times like the situation he found you in. Leaving the bed of a man who paid—someone Murphy was out hunting down and just-so-happened to find you with—all while unsatisfied and disappointed in such a rich man who played up his sex-life like he ran the bunnies at the playboy mansion.
“He doubled his pay just to get me here.” You sighed, a tell that Steve knew well.
He knew what happened by the scent of the room he had walked into, thankfully putting a stop to the madness you got yourself in. It was always an older man who picks younger lovers to tame, but as Steve saw your underwear as you lifted them back up your legs—he saw they were dry.
“Such a shame, pretty thing like you comin’ all this way for nothin’.” Steve's eyes wavered, you knew what was bound to happen next. “Especially since I gotta take you in this time.”
Your tongue was between your teeth, attempting to not curse at the man for doing his job. It wouldn't be long before others showed up for this bust.
Peña leaned against the wall with his arms folded and eyes darting between you and the rich man he had just put cuffs on—the numbers in his head already adding up to what Murphy was planning to do. It was a man-in-power advantage, one that had Javier smirking to himself.
Steve's hand had left your shoulder moments ago, the skin still feeling the warmth of his touch. But the solid grip on your upper arm, one that tightened lightly as he pushed you forward to walk with him, that was what truly made your heart skip a beat.
“Let's go downstairs and get you out of the house before any cameras show up trying to catch a glimpse of this guy.” His voice was low as his head moved closer to yours, eyes on Peña while passing him with a nod in response to the ‘alone time’ plea. He knew the drill.
You moved at the same beat as him, legs attempting to take strides similar to his so he couldn't tell how nervous you were. For once, with Steve wearing his badge, you tasted what felt like unfairness of the system.
“Honey—” Voice soft and still as low as before, he spoke. “I really didn't want you doing this shit anymore.”
You heard it, the sound of a man disappointed. Steve had saved your ass nearly three times now, almost four if he hadn't let you slip out the window before anyone else saw you. You knew your time working the streets was coming to a close each time the DEA team was let loose on the customers in the area.
“I thought you said you were looking for more work last time?” His baby blue eyes caused your heart to skip when he turned his head to look into your gaze, his hand on your arm helping you dodge doorways and decor as you made it out the front door and towards his undercover car.
“I was. And I found it.” Your voice was even smaller than his, his grip stopping you right beside the large vehicle just before turning you to face him.
His scent was so loud: cologne, a drink or two from after lunch, the smell of ink from files and paperwork that he had been flipping through until they got a lead stained on his fingertips. It made your head swim. It always did.
The clink of his hand on the car window startled you from staring at him, wishing only to close your eyes and take in having him so close. And he was close—so close with his eyes on you and only you, that his voice made your body vibrate with every word. “You know I don't have any more ‘get out of jail free cards’ right? Your DNA is gonna be on that guy when we run him through the system. There's no getting out of this one.”
His body leaned into yours, almost pressing you into the black SUV like you were part of the paint. Steve's eyes were filled with a glaze that could only be a lack of sleep and a buzz from his earlier drinks, matching the scent of liquor on his breath as he breathed on you softly.
“M-Murphy…” You squeaked, wanting to fade into him and feel every muscle and scar along his skin. “Can't you do something? Anything?”
You saw the flash in his eyes. The way his tongue poked from his mouth to lick his lips. His eyes darting behind your head and to his own reflection in the tinted back window of the car.
It was only for a moment, the click of the door handle and the breeze of the back door opening—Steve’s eyes never leaving yours. “Get in the back.”
Your skin felt the leather as you shuffled into the car, the backseat big and welcoming compared to most vehicles you've been in the back of along with the rough slam of your door being shut. His cologne hit your nose once more, finding you through a waft of air once he made his way into the backseat with you and closed his door.
His jaw was locked, eyes steady adding things in his own mind, that of which you wish you could see or hear. Steve was hardly ever this quiet, always planning something aloud and letting you in—he didn't want to make you feel unsafe around him.
But this—this was different. You were a link in his finding, a witness in his case that could cause you to have to be taken to the station and questioned—and not just for being involved with a rich criminal like your client. Being known as a solicitor would ruin your reputation. It would open you up to a world of all the ruined cops constantly trying to take advantage of those they take in. And even worse, put your name in the eyes of the big men who actually run this city—men way over Steve Murphy’s head.
The sound of his breathing speeding up made your fingers shake, gripping at the clothes you wore to try and hold onto something. “Officer Murphy?”
His name rolling off your tongue made his head snap in your direction, blue irises darker in the dim streetlights far outside from the car you sat in.
The few times you had called him that, you were truly scared. Eyes jittering in your head, hands running cold from anxiety, chest heaving with every breath you took. It was hard for him to look away—almost impossible, and all he could do was scoot closer to you until you were between him and the door.
Little to no room to move around, his scent so deep in your nose that you could almost taste him—and his lips captured yours. Kiss soft, promising, and fulfilling of everything you didn't get in that room upstairs in one swift motion, you moaned into his harsh taste until you felt his tongue trying to lick at your own.
His hand moved from his thigh to your neck, fingers pressing into your warm skin and recreating the same chills he felt rise on your body earlier. You could feel the twinge of his smirk in the kiss, but you fell so deep into his touch that you could hardly focus on anything else.
The groan he released was loud when your hand moved onto his leg, feeling at his rough jeans that ran too right in his crotch at times like these. Something that had never seemed to cross your mind, ending up in such a position as this—Steve desperate to touch you, you desperate to get out of this mess—it almost had you crawling on top of him.
And right as the idea popped into your mind, your hand grazed his hard-on just in time to know how badly he wanted you. He hardly got a noise out, “Fuck.” being the only thing he said.
But it wasn't what was in his head. It wasn't the idea that had made his tongue lick his lips or his eyes catch a glimpse of the black car that would hide your heated bodies doing sinful acts.
His touch turned warmer as his hand on your neck slid down your front, feeling at all the parts of you he knew he'd get sounds out of. The most beloved sound, one he had dreamed of hearing, was that of the wetness he felt as his hand slipped into your underwear.
Your eyes rolling back at just a hint of friction had him pulling back from your mouth just to watch. The whites of your eyes were all he could see for a split second, and he had barely started.
Steve seeing you crawling your way out of that king size bed, picking up your dry underwear that showed zero signs of you being the least bit interested in the man you were just in between the sheets with—it made his bottom lip go in between his teeth at the thought.
Before you could blink, his large body was shuffling until his hands took you at your waist and pulled you sideways on the seats. Your lower half was right at his face, his breathing scattered as his eyes gleamed up at you in the soft orange haze of the streetlights all around the driveway of the house. His fingers left your wetness to latch at your underwear, pulling that and your pants down past your knees.
Your glistening body has his eyes glassy, drool nearly pooling from his lips as they quivered and tried to form a sentence. It wasn't forever ago when you noticed his ring had gone missing. It wasn't even a month ago that he had found you again, his grip on you tight as he walked you out—he held himself back like a gentleman all this time—but now he was a starved man.
“C-Can I?” His face was darkened, yours lit up in the light. All you could see was him chewing in his bottom lip in anticipation before you nodded.
And that was all he needed. The plunge into you was more satisfying than you had felt the pleasure of someone else's touch in forever, his tongue wet and lapping and licking like a dehydrated dog to its water bowl.
Your hand covered your mouth as a scream nearly ripped through you, unsure of how sound-proof the vehicle was. His eyes moving up at you to see your eyes rolling back again was enough to have him stirring an orgasm from you at any cost.
All the times he had peeled you away from a man who only wanted his own pleasure, ignoring the fact you looked like a wreck that hadn't actually orgasmed from anything they had done to you—just to end up in the back of his car with him in between your thighs.
His tongue moved against you in waves, his hand and fingers coming into play only minutes later to help push you to your breaking point. “Steve, for the love of God!” You whined into the quiet car, barely being able to call to him over his whimpers and moans as he collected your wetness and swallowed with vigor.
It wasn't until your body began to shake, and an orgasm threatened to roar that the blue and red lights flashed into the car. Steve's cheeks had run pink from his focus and the heat now causing you both to sweat in the confined space.
The man rose up, his hands on his belt trying to loosen the restraint quickly. He could hardly pull his cock out before he saw others moving into the house, his tip pressing at your entrance just in time for you to cling to him and beg. “Stop stalling, Murphy!”
You had nearly bit your tongue at your own words leaving your mouth—they were fuel to his fire. Every inch of him that sunk into you had your nails digging into his shirt on his back, almost causing them to cut through the cotton as you clung to him for dear life. “Oh shit. Oh, shit!”
Steve believed he thought of everything. Knew you were unsatisfied, knew if he got you alone that he could show you a good time. But what he didn't account for was how long it had been since you had been fucked right, your hold on him tight enough to already have his precum spilling into you until he could hear every sound you made when he filled you.
You were whining, no—whimpering, at how much he filled you. How easily he found your spot deep inside your walls, the curve of his cock making you see stars the moment he bottomed out in you.
By now, the car's windows were steamed up. If anyone was actually paying attention—looking hard enough into the SUV’s windows that were clearly a DEA regulated vehicle—they’d see Murphy's hand sliding down the back passenger seat’s window before finding a better hold on the leather seat inside.
You felt him raise his hips, felt the shake of the car each time he jerked them into a deep thrust, and most importantly of all—felt your gummy walls rush with more wetness and vibrate with your orgasm. Shivering, you took hold of his shirt until he was sure that Peña would get a good laugh out of the wrinkles it now holds.
But Steve was a stallion, racing for his own release like the car shaking and almost rattling at his rough thrusts was the last thing on his mind. Your eyes had shut in wonder for when the knock on the window would come, moaned at the feeling of his head falling into your neck to take a deep breath of your scent, and completely went limp feeling his seed gush into you.
“F-Fuck, honey.” His voice was so unstable, hair wet and stuck to his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. “Warn a man that you're as tight as leather pants on a sweaty rockstar before he puts his dick in you.” His words were comical, the smile he wore growing larger on his face as he sat back in the seats and tried to tighty himself up.
You cackled, sitting up and stretching your neck from the harsh position you had been in. Finally, your mind was clearing—but now the entire driveway was filled with cops, and you were still on the scene.
Once your eyes caught Steve's, his face showed more seriousness while he glanced around at the amount of people leering into his case. Someone had talked, gossiped, or corruption spun its web and leaked into Murphy’s current world.
And here you sat, having fucked the lead DEA detective of the case—guilty eyes finding his again.
“You'll still be found out when he gets put into the system…” He claimed, signing as he put an unlit cigarette between his lips. “But as long as I have a hold on it—” He had a way out of this all along. “—I can make it like you were never in the house. You met him somewhere else, maybe for a blowjob or a quickie—hmm?” He spoke with confidence, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting the cigarette.
He was going to make it go away, he just wanted to know what all the hype about you truly was. Needless to say, curiosity got the best of him.
“This is your last shift at this job, isn't it?” It wasn't a question, it was a demand—and his voice had turned cold. His breath fanned over your face, blue eyes watching your mouth fall open at his sudden change in demeanor. “Want me to make it all go away, baby?”
© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3
#boyd holbrook smut#steve murphy smut#steve murphy x reader#narcos fanfiction#narcos smut#boyd-a-thon
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⋆｡° ✮ minors dni 🔞
⋆｡° ✮ Kinktober masterlist
⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: Biting, rough sex, jealousy, possessive behavior, edging, begging, dom/sub
You’re on your knees, with your hands clawing the headboard of his bed, face buried into the pillow, ass up and gasping loudly as Quaritch fucks you. Anger and jealousy coiled tightly in him, pushing him to fuck you especially hard today.
"Oh, fuck, Miles, fuck, fuck, fuck—" Your voice cracks and you shudder as a particularly deep thrust hits just right, blinding you with a flash of painful pleasure.
Quaritch leans over and sets his teeth to the back of your neck– and then he bites. A whine trembles from your lips, and you’re certain he's leaving behind an imprint of his teeth.
"That’s one, for flirting with that damn science puke today", he says lowly. "So you know who you belong to." His cock slides in deep and slow, and then he bites you again, on your shoulder this time.
"And that’s two. For laughing in my face when I told you to knock it off. Goddamn brat", he growls. The next bite has no particular reason other than the purpose of being seen. Next is your throat, neck, shoulder, hips, thighs, breasts, arms, …
Thrust and bite, over and over and over, until you’re shaking, trembling, and could feel something build in your chest— a sob or a scream. It doesn't really matter as long as Miles keeps doing this, fucking you hard and fast and deep, biting you, claiming you as his.
You feel the pleasure-pain of every bite down to your core. You’re so wet, your clit is throbbing, and you want nothing more than to touch yourself, need to touch yourself, but you’re terrified of letting go of the headboard. It's the only thing anchoring you to your body as Quaritch fucks and bites, sharp-toothed and rhythmic.
"Please, please, fuck, Miles, please! I‘m sorry, I‘m— I won’t do it again! I‘m yours, only y-yours!"
Another bite, and your whole body tenses, arching under the recoms solid weight, a high-pitched, whiny sound being pulled from you as the pleasure pools incandescently, low in your belly, about to explode. You push back clumsily, needing him deeper, as deep as he can get, make him a part of you. Quaritch doesn’t respond, but he bites again, teeth harsher than ever.
It hurts, but it’s in the best way possible, and you can't hold back any more. You had to come, you were so desperate for it, so you let go of the headboard and—
"No." Miles‘ voice is gravelly in your ear as he grabs your hand, twines your fingers together and pins your hand behind your back. "Not yet, cupcake. Didn’t think I would let you come this easily, after that stunt you pulled today, huh? Seems like my little slut completely forgot who’s in charge here." And then he rocks into you so quick and strong that you slide up the bed a bit. Miles braces you with a hand on your hip, holds you steady as he continues to pound into you.
While you’re moaning, panting and gasping, breath hitching, Quaritch just continues to fuck and bite you steadily, keeping your hand trapped. At some point, he starts to whisper into your ear, filthy things about how hot you look with your neck bruised and bite-marked, how he loves fucking you so hard, how much he loves the way you taste, how much he loves to discipline his favorite brat...
Sobbing, you shudder and twist and beg, your words pleasure-blurred into one long moan of want, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease—"
Finally relenting, Quaritch releases your hand and reaches between your thighs, giving a teasing slap to your clit before he runs his fingers over it in fast, tight circles, and then you’re gone, flung into your orgasm, crying out and shaking, shuddering and twitching like you’ve been struck by lightning. Chanting, thank you, sir, thank you, thank you, before your supporting arm gives way and you collaps to the bed, a delicious drowsiness settling over you.
In the distance you hear Miles frantic panting and his low groans of good girl, such a good girl, took it so well, look how fuckin' pretty you are, all marked up as mine, as he comes, and you let yourself drift away, warm and loved and tingling.
#LunasKinktober2023#avatar miles quaritch#colonel miles quaritch#miles quaritch x reader#recom miles quaritch#miles quaritch x reader smut#colonel miles quaritch x female reader#miles quaritch#miles quaritch smut#quaritch x y/n#avatar quaritch#quaritch x reader#colonel quaritch#colonel quaritch x reader smut#atwow#avatar 2#avatar#avatar the way of water
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May we get some Dew fluff or comfort, he may just want snuggles, maybe he had a nightmare and wants comfort? -🌱
A little softness for Mountain Monday, perhaps?
(Dew is still here, don't worry!)
Another night. Another city. Another unfamiliar ceiling.
Mountain stares at it without really seeing it, flexing sore fingers and shifting on too-starched sheets. Listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the dull, creaking drone of pipes. Swiss has been in the shower for ages now, always one to abuse the bottomless hot water that hotel stays provide.
The tour has been brutal so far - the festival circuit always is - and the exhaustion runs bone deep. There are only three shows left before they pack up for home, and Mountain would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to the break. Life on the road isn't bad by any means, but it does wear on a ghoul after a while.
He misses the things they all miss - his own bed, coffee that isn't from a gas station, the relative peace of the abbey. Misses the scent of the rose gardens and the feel of grass beneath his feet. Misses the comfort of his element the way the ghouls always do when they're stuck in glamour for weeks or months at a time. That's half the reason Swiss is busy boiling himself alive, trying to satisfy the fire inside him that demands the heat. Rain is probably doing something similar, submerged to his nose in a tepid bath until he's wrinkly as a prune.
Mountain wishes his element was so easy to access. He hasn't so much as seen a tree in three days.
A soft sound drags Mountain from his wandering thoughts. At first he thinks it's Swiss, thinks it's the movement of shampoo bottles. It takes a minute to identify the sound as the gentle rap knuckles on something solid, a light knock, and he blinks at the ceiling. It repeats after a moment and Mountain pushes himself up with a groan, his aching back protesting the movement as he pads to the door on sluggish feet.
He sees steam pouring out from under the bathroom door as he passes it, catches a whiff of herbal soap. He can hear Swiss singing under the sound of the spray as he crosses the room. It makes him smile.
Mountain yawns as he unlocks the door, scratching at his chest. He doesn't know what time it is, but they were late getting to the hotel and it's been hours since then. It's late, is the point, and there's no one he's expecting.
Least of all Dewdrop, baggy eyed and swaying in place in a shirt that's far too large for him and a pair of ancient flannel pants.
"Droplet?" Dew gives him a tired blink, hugging his own chest.
"Hey Mount," he murmurs, voice thick. Strained. "Did I wake you?"
"Hmm? No, no," Mountain assures him, taking in the deep creases lining Dew's face. His own brow furrows. "You okay, Dew?" The little ghoul sighs, rubbing at his eyes.
"Tired," he huffs, as though that much isn't painfully obvious. "Really fuckin' tired."
"Yeah, I can tell," Mountain chuckles, and Dew chuffs out his own laugh. He's not upset, then. Just wiped out. "Same here." He yawns again and Dew gives him a sympathetic hum.
"Think we all are." Dew mirrors his yawn, contagious as the things are. Then, "Can I come in?" Mountain blinks down at him. He sounds...shy.
"Sure, of course," he mutters, stepping inside and gesturing for Dew to follow. "Swiss is in the shower, I have plenty of room."
Dew groans low in his chest, shuffling inside and perching himself at the edge of the bed Mountain had been occupying. He sits like a gargoyle, knees pulled to his chest so he can tuck them under that ridiculously oversized shirt. Mountain is certain that if he pressed his nose to the fabric, it would smell like Aether.
"What's going on?" Mountain locks up again and strides back to the bed, plopping himself right next to the little ghoul. Watching him pick at a cuticle. He rests a hand on Dew's little foot, brushing over soft skin with a callused thumb. "I can tell something's on your mind."
"'s it that obvious?" Dew rests his chin on his knees and exhales through his nose. He gives Mountain a half shrug. "It's nothin' big."
"Something small is still something," he replies, moving that soothing hand to Dew's back instead. Rubbing slow circles into soft cotton. He's close enough that it's easy for Dew to lean into him, pressing his small frame to Mountain's side.
They sit in silence after that, the quiet only broken by Swiss's raspy voice and the soft splash of water. Dew's so warm against him, even in his glamour. It seeps into Mountain's bones, forcing relaxation into tense muscle. If he could, he'd purr with it.
At length, Dew speaks.
"Think I'm just...lonely, I guess." The tone makes it sound like he's not convinced. Like it's not quite the right word for how he's feeling. Mountain understands it - loneliness is a weird thing to feel when you're constantly surrounded. "I know it sounds stupid, but -"
"No it doesn't," Mountain tells him, voice low. He wraps an arm around Dew's shoulders, tucking the little ghoul's head under his chin. "I get it. How can I help?"
Dew answers by burying his face in Mountain's neck and wrapping those skinny arms around his chest. It's an awkward angle at best, but neither of them seems to care. The closeness is what matters.
"You wanna stay here tonight, fireball?"
Dew nods against his shoulder, nuzzling closer.
"'s that okay? I got roomed with Cir and you know how she is."
Mountain certainly does. Cirrus is a creature of habit on the road, refusing to share her bed or break her evening routine of peppermint tea and a strict 9pm bedtime. If Dew needs contact, he wouldn't get it from her. Not tonight.
"Course," Mountain buries his nose in Dew's hair, inhaling the scent of cheap shampoo and a hint of woodsmoke. "Whatever you need."
Dew sighs, his shoulders relax, and Mountain scoops him up like he weighs nothing. Carries him the few feet around the bed to settle the little ghoul against the pile of pillows at its head. Dew scooches under the covers without prompting, curling up on his side and shooting a questioning glance over his shoulder. Mountain answers it with a smile, crawling in after him and molding himself to Dew's back as he tugs the covers over the pair of them. Dew gives him a pleased hum, pawing at his arm until Mountain wraps it around his waist, pressing his palm to the center of the little ghoul's chest. Dew laces their fingers together, and Mountain can't help his fond smile.
"'m glad you're here," Dew mumbles, already sounding half asleep. He snuggles further under the covers, pressing his face deeper into his pillow. Mountain gives his a squeeze and drops a quick kiss into his hair.
"Me too, droplet."
Dew's snoring in no time, and Mountain knows he won't be far behind. That little body is so very warm against him, so familiar. He can feel the strain threaded through his body melting away with each passing moment.
Distantly, he's aware of a door opening. Of a change in lighting and a soft laugh. Of a large hand ruffling his hair.
"Mind if I join?"
Mountain hums, nods, and soon after the mattress dips. In the low light of the room he watches Swiss climb into the other side of the bed. Watches him settle between the sheets and pick up Dew's limp arm, tugging it over his own waist. Watches him press a soft kiss to the little ghoul's forehead with a gentle smile. He reaches over to stroke Mountain's cheek with his knuckles, and Mountain presses a kiss to his palm.
It's the last thing he does before sleep takes hold, and as it does, Mountain almost feels like he's home again.
For now, it's close enough.
#miasma's work#the band ghost ficlets#mountain ghoul#dewdrop ghoul#swiss ghoul#mountain monday#this is about as fluffy as i can get lmao
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Steve looks up from his magazine, one of Keith’s many car subscriptions that he is gifted as leftovers, to find Dustin not not looking straight at him and fiddling with the same copy of Hello! Dolly he had picked up a solid ten minutes ago.
He is fairly certain he knows Dustin’s movie preferences. And they don’t include Barbara Streisand’s matchmaking through song and big hats.
Dustin turns away, revealing a backpack that now sports a gigantic Hellfire patch sewn onto the front pocket, courtesy of Robin and Eddie’s joint sewing endeavours.
“Henderson!” Steve calls, frowning.
Nothing. The kid might as well be twiddling his goddamn thumbs as he chances a glance over he shoulder, very obviously hearing him.
Steve snaps the magazine shut and rounds the counter to the musical section. But Dustin scampers away, setting a steady pace as he comically power walks down the split horror-comedy aisle in order to double back to the front of the store.
“Hey! What the hell, man?” Steve says, taking a few strides to get ahead of the kid so Dustin is blocked right between him and the front candy display, “What the hell is up with you?”
He probably sounds more accusatory than curious, judging by Dustin’s wide and panicked eyes. The boy shrugs and looks away.
Yeah, Dustin not talking and not blabbering away about anything, let alone whatever it is that’s up? Fucking weird.
Steve looks him over, examining his young friend’s movements as he shuffles on the spot and periodically scuffs his sneakers on the sun-faded green carpet.
“Um, uhhh...” Dustin hums after a long pause.
Still strangely incomprehensible for him – but it’s something, at least.
“What is it?” he asks, voice low as he searches for a shred of eye contact.
“Do you, I dunno... maybe...” Dustin trails off, gesturing in the air as a pair of nervous eyebrows disappear up under the Cubs cap Steve gifted him for Christmas 1984.
Not that Dustin cares about the Cubs – then or now.
Dustin slips his hands under his backpack straps and rocks on the spot as he continues prattling on.
“Do you wanna hang out on Sunday? I mean, if you don’t have a date or anything.”
The kid sticks out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes, not at all appearing as casual as he seems to want to be.
“Sure,” Steve shrugs, confused.
Jesus Christ, since when is this kid all nervous about hanging out?
“Steve,” Dustin sighs deeply, pinching his nose (good, back to his bratty, if a little exasperated, self), “Sunday is Father's Day.”
“Oh.”
He must have passed by the greeting card display at Melvad’s, over and over during every lunch break as he headed in for a can of soda and whatever non Family Video-sponsored candy Keith was craving.
It’s not like he had any reason to remember. His folks haven’t been home since the ‘earthquake’ and they almost never call. Hell, he has enough of a time conversing at any length when his mother does call, let alone asking her to put his father on the phone.
Not that he wants to talk to his non-college attending, barely-high school graduate son who works minimum wage retail and has no girlfriend, anyway.
Not that all of that matters much when Dustin is looking back at him with a rare sadness in his eyes.
“I mean, your dad isn’t home – obviously,” Dustin starts, though not quite as harsh as his usual barbs, “And Will spends the day with Hop now. Eddie and Wayne go fishing. And I would be going to visit my grandpa but he and Nanna went on a cruise. I think they went – ”
“Sure, buddy,” he blurts out, offering a pat on the shoulder to make up for inadvertently cutting the kid off. He pauses and frowns, “But what about your mom?”
Dustin shrugs, “She wants to have a girl’s day with Valerie.”
Ah, yes. Valerie Richardson, Claudia Henderson’s best friend and Hawkins’ biggest town gossip courtesy of her job as the receptionist at the doctor’s office. Steve can’t help but laugh – Valerie really knows her stuff.
“I’m assuming their girl’s day will involve a charcuterie board and wine?”
“Charcuterie,” Dustin mutters, beyond displeased at the thought of dips, fruit and water crackers – a far cry from his mother’s prized lasagne.
“Alright,” Steve announces, rubbing his hands together, “We’d better pick out some movies. I’m thinking we hit the arcade, then have a movie marathon over the cheesiest of pizzas...”
Dustin grins.
#i hope this came across more as a brotherly relationship and not steve as a parent figure#i'm tentatively writing some father-related stuff this week (it's father's day in aus this sunday)#my goal is to write a little something each day but my week is shaping up to be all over the place so i'll see how i go#steve harrington#dustin henderson#stranger things#stranger things 4#steve harrington headcanon#claudia henderson#lilys ficlets#st: father's day edition
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