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frannyzooey · 5 months

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Short Days, Long Nights: 16

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: Mature (some explicit mentions, tense situations, mentions of child starvation)

A/N: this chapter wouldn’t exist without @the-scandalorian and @bageldaddy , period. Literally walking me through it line by line, I could say a lot of really gushy things about them but I’ll refrain…just know, you two, that I could kiss you directly on the mouth. And will, when we meet someday. ❤️

—

A blanket hung to keep her in the shade, the sound of June’s babbling lifts into the air to join the soft give of roots snapping beneath the soil as you pull carrots from the garden. The distant splintering of dried out boards giving way occasionally cracks through the background, Joel grabbing another piece of rotted wood at the base of the shed and tearing it clean off, tossing it over with the rest he’s collected.

Brushing a drip of sweat away from your temple with your dirt-dried hand, you make a face at the gritty path you’ve left behind.

“You wanna go for a swim?” you coo over at June, her cheeks plumping into a corresponding wet grin when you smile at her.

Her bottom teeth coming in, drool pools around the carrot she’s gumming and slides down over her chubby grip, the edge of it glistening in her mouth.

You make faces at her, her dark eyes fixed on your face in bright delight until her attention catches something behind you, and you turn when she starts to crawl towards it.

“How are my girls doing?”

His shirt ringed with sweat and molded to his body, Joel blocks out the sun when you look up at him. His hand rakes through his dark curls, pushing the wet strands away from his forehead as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the pulse in his throat thrumming fast under his flushed skin. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he lifts it to swipe it over his face and your eyes flash down, where even his torso looks wet: the dark hair that collects in a swirl around his belly button to lead down matted and damp.

He watches with amusement as June crawls over to his boot with unsteady movements, her face set with determination.

“Hey, baby girl.” His tiredness transforms into something softer when he greets her, his eyes crinkling deeply around the edges. A dimple catching under his beard, he bends to scoop her up from the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I got enough over there to do somethin’ with. Definitely enough to board up that broken window in her room this afternoon.”

The glass broke while you were cleaning it: old age and the elements and a warped frame all contributing, and with the mosquitos being thick at night, she’d been sleeping in your room for the time being.

“I can fix that shelf in the pantry with one of ‘em,” he continues, “and if anything else, save the rest for burnin’ in the winter.”

A rotted shelf in the pantry breaking in half, the chair in the living room finally losing a leg, an area of the deck now off limits: exposed to the elements and after withstanding years of neglect, the cabin was having trouble standing up to the constant wear of its new inhabitants. Joel had been fixing things as they happened, but with a limited supply of resources, the plan to stay infinitely that you both made months ago was starting to fray.

The garden was going better than you could have expected, but the rest…the rest worried you. Running out of material to cut up and make do with, June’s clothing situation was beyond scarce. With the repetitive washing that everything had to stand up against, it was always fast to fall apart. Lucky that it was summer and so hot that she didn’t really need much, you had started to piece together things for the winter but there was only so much thread you could pull out of things, only so much you could fix and repurpose.

Joel felt the pinch too, in his own way. Voicing his frustration, he’d tell you how he would repair things if only he had the right materials, recounting to you the actual issue and the thought process behind fixing it. Even reminiscing about the hardware store days of past, he’d mentioned more than once the one right by his house that he liked to visit, the one with free popcorn for Sarah while he browsed.

With every item that broke and with every growth milestone that June reached, you could feel the encroaching pressure to make a choice: leave this place for the dangerous unknown, or stay and attempt to survive the dangers of isolation.

Either was a gamble, and so undecided, you kept fixing what you could, with what you had.

You eye the shed, your eyebrow lifting as you study the now sizable hole in the side.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how we don’t really need the shed for anything, so if we need more wood, we can just chop the whole thing down. Right?”

You stand and he nods, using his forearm to swipe at more sweat that’s gathered along his hairline. Streaks of dirt and dust are smeared along the bare skin, and when June reaches out to grab at his face, he catches her hand and gives it a kiss.

You admire them for a moment: the taut muscle in his forearm underneath her bottom, the collection of gray hairs gathered at the edge of his jaw that she grabs at, his wayward curls that match her own. They smile at each other, her face diving into his chest just above the collar of his shirt, and he laughs, gently tickling her back.

When he catches you watching him, you think you’d see a faint blush creep over his cheeks if they weren’t flushed from the heat already.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, turning to lead them down to the water.

You’re still smiling as he lays her out on the bank to get her undressed, watching his thick fingers brush against her cheeks just to chuckle at the way she chases them with an open mouth. Standing up with a soft groan, he strips down to his underwear.

Bare chested and tanned in front of you, his body is formidable without his clothing. Marred with the scars of survival and so familiar to you by now, he appears even bigger in comparison when he lifts June up. His large hand completely covers her dimpled bottom as they prepare to wade in, and his back facing you, your eyes run appreciatively down the broad slope.

Feeling your gaze, he smirks, and a glimmer of the confident, teasing Joel that’s been coaxed out of hiding peeks from beneath the surface. “See somethin’ you like?”

“There is something about when you hold her,” you admit. “You look so…big and strong.”

Rising on your tiptoes, you tuck your face into his neck to hide from the slight embarrassment you feel. Finding his sweat salt skin with your mouth, you give him a kiss and he hums in appreciation, the vibration of it felt against your lips when you give him another one.

“You really like it, huh.” More a smug statement than a question, his expression matches his tone when you pull back to look at him.

“I do,” you murmur, nosing along the edge of his jaw. “It makes me wanna have all your babies.”

Drunk on the heat of the afternoon sun and on your affection for him, you smile lazily up at him and he grins right back, winding his arm around your waist to keep you close.

“S’that right,” he murmurs, low and gravely. His voice slips through you and your pulse picks up, his humid breath ghosting across your lips. “All of ‘em, huh?”

You nod, and with hooded eyes, he grins.

“Don’t jinx us now, honey. Can’t be sayin’ that kinda stuff.”

His dark eyes make a slow, heated circuit down to your collarbones and back up, and arousal hooks behind your belly button fast and sharp.

Dragging his gaze from you, he turns his attention to June. “Besides, I think this squirrely girl is all we can handle right now, anyway.”

His shoulders swathed in sunlight, Joel wades in as you strip to join them. The water is crisp and cool against your skin when you slip in, and you submerge yourself for a moment before resurfacing closer to them.

Joel holds June around her back as he lets her float on the surface, water from her kicking legs flying up to cover his bare chest.

“You gonna be a swimmer? You gonna be a fish, baby?”

It’s easy to forget that the outside world exists when there is nothing but bird song and cicadas and the rippling water around you. No infection, no death, no fight for survival. Just Joel carefully scooping water to pour over June’s head, his soothing voice telling her to hold her breath as he ducks them under the surface, his practiced movements carefully transferring her into a one armed hold when you swim closer.

Tilting your chin up, you offer your wet mouth to him for a kiss.

His body is firm and warm against yours, your hand reaching to cup the curve of his jaw to deepen the press of your mouths together and the kiss pulls you in just like the current that wraps and molds your body close to his. Slipping your arms around his neck, you savor his taste until June lets out a soft cry.

Her wet fist rubbing at her eye, you reach to take her in for her afternoon nap. Emerging from the water, you feel the awakened heat in his gaze trained on your body all the way up to the cabin.

June is fast asleep in your room when he lays you out on the bed in the room next door, squeezing your bodies together on the twin-sized narrowness. His broad shoulders flex and shift under your knees, his river damp curls sliding through your hold as he licks you open, and when you arch into the wet heat of his mouth with a silent cry, he swallows everything you give him with a rumbled groan.

His skin is dry and smooth against yours when he fits his solid body between your legs, reaching down to guide himself into a place reserved just for him with slick, filling stretch and he murmurs his secret wants directly into your skin, a push inside you for each one.

“Wish you could have all my babies. Make you the prettiest momma.”

He breathes against the valley of your breasts, into the hollow under your ear, and against your mouth, just before he captures it with a kiss. His words dripping with reverence, you keen underneath him, arching your back to force him deeper.

“I wish I could too,” you softly moan. “I want it.”

Blatant hunger slips into his movements, harsh, filling punches of his hips bringing you up and over the edge, and your mouths stay together in a humid press until you feel him come, his need spilling thick along the inside of your thigh.

Afterwards, his sated body relaxes on top of yours.

Your fingers collect his curls in a rhythmic, soothing motion, following the timing of your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. His breath puffs across your skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the afternoon lulling you to sleep.

Twitching lightly in his sleep, his hold on you tightens and the corner of your mouth lifts. His weighted body covering yours like a shield, a gentle breeze stirs the stagnant air around you, and a tendril of a thought slips through your sleepy mind.

Heaven.

–

Your fingers dance along the produce in the pantry, your lips moving silently as you keep count in your head. More food than you could have ever dreamed of when you first broached the plan, the produce now crowds out the canned goods, and shifting in your crouch, you let the sun into the small space, narrowing your eyes in focus.

The back door to the cabin bangs open, startling you, and June launches into a responding cry seconds later, just as Joel rounds the doorway. Before you can stand, he hooks his hand around your elbow, tugging you up.

“Go to the bedroom. Now.”

“What –”

“Someone’s comin’. I heard 'em’ in the woods. A couple of ‘em at least.”

Stomach bottoming out in immediate panic, you scramble up and head to your bedroom, scooping up June along the way. Bouncing her lightly in your arms to quell her cries, a cold sweat breaks out along your back, and crossing the hallway, you head for the predetermined snug spot in the corner next to the dresser, grabbing your gun from the top drawer.

“You stay until I tell you it’s safe, okay? Don’t move from this spot. You got your gun? It loaded?”

The serious, frantic edge to his words has you answering him immediately, your back pressing against the wall as you slide down into place. Giving you both one last look to ensure you’re where you need to be, he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, and you have to fight the lurch your body involuntarily makes in an effort to follow him.

You’ve practiced for this exact scenario multiple times, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. During practice, there is no cold terror at what could happen. During practice, it was easy to go through every movement with calm motions.

Now, you try to inhale deep, steady breaths in an attempt to slow down the pounding of your heart, knowing June will sense your unease.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Your voice comes out low and smooth, your shaking hand betraying your nerves as it rubs circles over her back.

Straining to hear over her hiccuping whimpers, you try to listen outside the bedroom.

Nothing, for what seems like ages, and then:

“STOP.”

Flinching when Joel’s voice breaks through, you shut your eyes tight, reflexively tightening your hold on June’s small body.

–

“Put your hands up.”

A lone woman emerging from the tree line halts mid step, reluctantly pulling her hand away from the pistol at her hip.

Weathered and weary looking, she looks almost frail in her slight build and Joel scans her for any more visible weapons. His own gun gripped tight with the butt of it against his shoulder, he slowly advances, his finger resting alongside the trigger.

“What do you want?”

“I was just passing by and I saw your cabin,” she calls out. “Thought I might see if anyone was home.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see this place from the road.”

A beat of weighted silence fills the grassy space between them, and the woman changes her story.

“Fine. We –”

“We? How many?”

Her eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. Avoiding the question, she continues. “We saw your garden. Thought maybe we would help ourselves. Especially now, since it’s just you out here.” Direct and laced with the barest taunt, her tone implies the easy confidence of someone who has the upperhand.

Reluctantly shifting his gaze from her, he scans the trees, searching. A branch cracks somewhere within the woods, something shifting in the distance, and when he steps in the direction of it, she brings his attention back to her.

“It looked like you have enough to share.”

“We don’t.”

An instinctual reaction tied to his days as a raider, Joel’s mind digs deep for the old lines he used to say. Lie about your numbers. Lie.

“Don’t think about tryin’ anything’ either,” he asserts. “Heard you the second you walked onto this land. We got eyes on you from all sides.”

She lets her head fall to the side, frowning in skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel’s heart pounds in his chest, his face outwardly calm as his finger shifts to rest over the trigger.

“You got enough ammo to kill us all?” She tests the waters, taking another small step forward, but when Joel trains the barrel of his gun on her and presses forward, she stops.

“Listen.” Her face steels, hardening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You can let us take what we need and we’ll leave after that, or we can kill you and then take what we need. Your choice.”

His jaw ticks, anger rising in his chest. “You’re not takin’ a goddamn thing. Get the fuck out of here before –”

A faint cry pierces the air, and he freezes, the woman doing the same. Joel’s body goes rigid at the sound of June’s cry, the woman’s eyes widening, and she peers over his shoulder at the cabin.

June’s cries stutter for a moment before picking up in volume, and he pictures the exact face he knows she’s making. He knows that cry: an upset one that won’t settle any time soon. His heart lurches, an instinctual pull flooding through him to leave and soothe her.

He pulls up straight instead, adjusting his aim square at the woman’s face.

Her hands quickly raise higher, this time facing outwards in supplication. “Look, I didn’t know.” Gesturing towards the woods, her tone softens. “We have kids too. The food is for them.”

Before Joel can move, a horse emerges from between the trees. And then another, then another. Trying to keep them all in his sight, the group collects in the area in front of him; June’s cries growing louder in their pitch from inside the cabin.

“Please,” one of the riders says. A woman, with a small child seated in front of her in the saddle. “If you have anything –”

“I already said we don’t.”

The coldness in his statement dies as his eyes focus on the kid’s face. While the rest of the group has their eyes on Joel, the child isn’t paying attention to him and his gun. Their eyes are solely fixed around the back of the cabin and have been since they emerged from the woods. On the garden, just beyond.

“Please,” the rider begs one more time, quieter this time. “Please. We’ll take anything.”

Joel’s eyes linger on the kid’s slight frame, on the sunken rings underneath their eyes. Their face looks haunted, as if resigned to their hunger, and scolding himself for even wavering this long, he’s still thinking when the group's collective gaze shifts to something behind him.

A door opening, then closing.

Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he sighs deeply, frustration evident in his disappointed tone.

“Go back inside.”

–

June quieted and left in the cabin, he burns next to you when you come to join him.

“I heard everything through the window,” you explain. “I figured if you haven’t shot by now, it would be safe to come out.”

A tension thrumming between your bodies in the air, you ignore the heat of his scolding stare.

“Kids, Joel.” The word is spoken to him like a plea, and his jaw ticks before you take a look at the group for yourself.

The first people you’ve seen in over a year.

Worse for the wear with the sallow features of the starved, they look less…intimidating than you expected them to be. None of them have that shifty, hardened edge that you’d come to recognize in the QZ, nor the menacing, cruel stare of the people you’d met on the road before. They don’t look like how you imagine the other intruder looked either, the one you still see in your nightmares sometimes.

Instead, they just look…tired. Hungry. The children seem dirty, but cared for. The mothers protect them in their slouched hold, the men remaining frozen under Joel’s command to stay still, his gun trained on the woman closest to him.

You picture the garden you heard them ask for: the basket of carrots still sitting in the sun, the squash vines spilling over the fence. You know they could kill you right here on the spot - but they don’t. They could have come in with guns drawn because you know they have them, but Instead they wait, trying to protect their kids.

“I’m not gonna say it again, honey,” Joel seethes, measured and low. “Go back inside.”

“We’ll trade you.”

A voice comes from a woman, clearly the leader of the group with the way they all keep glancing her way in silent deference, waiting. For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, she appears calm, her expression a practiced blank slate. Her age hard to determine due to the dust covering her skin, her voice is clear and measured, like she’s used to negotiating.

“You don’t look like you have anythin’ to trade,” Joel replies coolly.

Thinking of your dwindling supplies outside of food, you rest your hand on his arm. “What’ve you got?”

“What do you need?” she replies.

Joel’s head tilts in warning, his feet shifting to further solidify his stance. “Answer her question.”

Her eyes run down the length of you, taking in your measure for a moment. “Got some liquor if you want it.” She gestures towards a saddle bag with a tilt of her chin, but Joel is already shaking his head.

“Already got some.”

She quirks her eyebrow up. “Fine. Some medicine?”

“What kind?” you ask.

“Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Tylenol. Might help with –”

“Already got some of that too,” he cuts her off.

Sighing, the woman appears to think. Glancing at a man to the left of her, they have a silent conversation for a moment before she looks over at the garden. Staring at it for a moment, she brings her eyes back to you.

“What about a horse?”

Joel’s jaw tightens in distrust. “Like you’re just gonna give us a horse. How much food do you think you’re gonna get from us?”

She shrugs, ignoring his anger to focus directly on you. “It’s yours, if you give us enough food for all of us. Not just the kids. Respectfully, it looks like you have plenty. Certainly enough for two people and a baby.”

The assumption in her tone and the challenge in mentioning your true numbers makes Joel bristle, but the woman doesn’t back down. If anything, she straightens taller, rising to his unspoken challenge.

Tough and firm, she waits.

Leaning towards him, you lower your voice so only he can hear it. “I can give them some of the –”

He cuts you off with an immediate glare. “We need that food. You know it.”

“Yea, but we don’t need all of it. We have some to spare.”

He stares at you in stern, silent disagreement, and you continue. “I was just in the pantry. We can’t eat it all, Joel. I know what’s in there. Trust me. Those kids need to eat. They can have those carrots that I just picked, and –”

His eyes flit quickly back and forth between the group and your face, not wanting to keep his attention from them for too long.

“It’s a horse, Joel. A horse.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a war within them. You know he knows the value of what they are offering. Eventually, he relents.

“We ain’t givin’ up our fresh stuff. If we have anything – anything - it’s gonna be the old stuff.”

Thinking of the sallow child in the saddle, you silently challenge him, but he stays resolute in his expression.

“Fine,” you back down. “The old stuff.”

“Some of the old stuff. Not all of it.”

In agreement, you face the group again.

“Don’t move,” Joel instructs. Flicking his head in the direction of the cabin, he motions to you. “She can get you some things, and then you need to be on your way.”

“What about the horse?” the woman asks. “One of us has to move if you want it. Where should we tie it up?”

He thinks for a moment, keeping his gun trained on her. Picking a spot a ways away from the cabin, he jerks his chin towards it.

“Leave ‘em over there.”

–

Two faded floral pillowcases in your grip filled with what you could spare, you approach the group with careful and cautious steps, Joel taking a couple of slow strides to the left to keep you in his sights.

“Are you okay?” the woman murmurs quietly when you reach her, glancing at Joel.

Looking at her up close, there is a softness to her that you couldn’t see from far away. Her skin is weathered but still youthful, her long brown hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and you recognize concern held in her gaze.

You frown, not understanding.

“That man there,” she tilts her chin at Joel. “He seems like a hard one. Is he keeping you here?”

Right when you’re about to defend him, June cries again, making her displeasure at being left alone again known.

Leveling you with a look, the woman repeats herself, this time more direct. “I mean it. Are you okay? Do you need us to help you?”

The implication is all over her face: a hard, threatening man all alone in the woods with a young woman. Holding her captive, forcing himself on her. A grim reality you’d seen plenty of times before, you understand her concern. Still, your response is a cool one, protective in your own right. “I’m fine. He’s just protecting us, like you’re doing with your own people.”

She studies your face for the truth. “He hasn’t hurt you or the baby, has he?”

“Of course not.” You understand her questioning, you do. Softening the edge to your response, you add, “He’s - he’s mine. We’re together. That’s our daughter crying.”

Her body language seems to relax along with her frown and she nods. Taking the sacks from you, she turns to pack them into the saddle bag of the horse next to her.

“Must have been scary, giving birth out here all alone.”

You huff, a small smile at the edge of your lips to disguise the way the memory makes you swallow hard. “Yea, it wasn’t ideal. We were lucky.”

“I helped her do the same a couple months ago.” The woman tilts her chin at another woman in the back of the group, and for the first time, you notice a small bundle wrapped tight to her chest. Hidden, protected from the elements. “You heal okay?”

“It was…rough, but I’m good now.”

Seeming satisfied in her questioning, she digs around in the pouch for a moment. Fishing out a jar, she hands it to you.

“I’m not sure how old your daughter is, but…here. Just in case you need it.”

A bottle of infant Tylenol being pressed into your hand, you look up to ask if she’s sure, but she cuts you off.

“Listen. We’re headed West. Towards Ja –”

“Jackson?” you interrupt, and her eyebrows raise. Joel’s impatience radiating from his position behind you, you ignore it. “Someone came by a couple of months ago and tried to take what we had. Joel took care of it. We found the map in his pocket.”

She smirks. “So he’s real protective of you then.”

“Is it real? Jackson?”

Unsure if you should be prolonging this conversation or even informing them you know the way they’re going, you can’t help the question spilling from your mouth. Curiosity pulled at you for months after you found that map, the destination now even more intriguing after seeing children in the saddle.

“Far as we know,” she replies, stuffing the bags away. “We heard from someone that it's safe. Safer than a QZ, though that doesn’t say much. They’re trying to keep it quiet, so they aren’t overrun with people, but…” her eyes flick towards the cabin. “It’s supposed to be off the grid. A place for families.”

Joel grits out your name behind you, and keeping the children in the forefront of your mind, you rush to say goodbye, giving her a warning.

“You can’t stay in the area or he will shoot you. I promise you, he will.” Clear and direct with your words, you think you see something of understanding laced with respect cross her features. Before you can stop yourself, you add in haste, “There is another cabin about two miles from here though. We’ve been in it, and it’s clean and safe for you all to stay the night. You can eat, get some rest.”

Her shrewd gaze takes you in for a moment, and you squeeze the medicine held in your grip, praying you won’t come to regret what you just said.

The edge of her mouth lifts in a small smile, and you let out a breath just as Joel says your name again, this time in a stern clip.

“Tess,” she says. Acknowledging the way Joel just told her your name, she offers her own. “My name is Tess. And thank you.”

The two of you coming to a silent understanding, you take a step back as she swings up onto the horse next to her, joining a rider already in the saddle. Motioning to the group with her hand, they all start to move.

“Thanks,” she says to Joel as she passes, but he stays silent.

Leveling her with a frown, he keeps his gun trained on her until they disappear into the trees.

–

Backing into the cabin to ensure it stays clear, Joel only lowers his weapon after the door is closed. You follow him cautiously into the bedroom, waiting for him to erupt.

You can tell he wants to, a tight bundle of anger set between his shoulder blades. His body is stiff as he picks June up to make sure she’s okay, and all the while, he keeps his back to you, as if trying to stay calm in her presence.

Her safety confirmed, he hands her to you before stalking back out to head straight for the traps and even after checking those, he stays on the front porch with his rifle, waiting.

Busying yourself with calming June down and eventually feeding her dinner, his anger with you weighs heavily in the space. Peeking every so often at his stern profile through the window, you put June to bed for the night, avoiding him as long as possible.

Afraid of the disappointment you’ll see on his face, you linger by June’s cradle long after she falls asleep, questioning your decisions over and over again in your mind.

In the end, you keep coming back to her milk cheeked profile as she sleeps.

The clothes you piece together for her. The lack of medicine should she get sick. The even worse situation she’d be in if either of you did. The people that came by today, the conflict that was avoided because they were reasonable.

You were right to give those children food. You know you were. If that had been June in the saddle, you would have done anything to get her food — including making a promise not to come back, especially knowing another child was depending on that source for their survival.

It required belief in people instead of immediate distrust, and though you couldn’t explain how you knew, you just knew they could be trusted.

Leaving her to join him on the porch, you’re expecting a calmer discussion with the hours that have passed, but he is still angry. Angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time.

Part nervous, part sorry, and part wanting to defend yourself, you tuck your arms around your torso and step outside to where his profile greets you.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let them go, Joel. I couldn’t not give them anything. They were starving.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the woods in front of him.

“Please come inside. They aren’t coming back.”

He faces you, his voice cutting. “And how do you know that, huh?”

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. “I told them about the other cabins. I told them they could stay the night there and get some rest if they needed – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes flash in the darkness, his expression twisted with frustration. “We don’ want them to stay close. They need to move on, so we know they aren’t comin’ back for what we have.”

“They aren’t.”

“You think just because they said so, they won’t? You can’t just trust what people tell you. I know it’s been awhile, but I thought you woulda remembered that.”

Hurt cuts through you at his dismissive tone. This version of Joel is one you haven’t seen in a long time, a shadow of the man he was before he met you and it hurts, to be back where you were. To have him look at you the way he is. Blinking back tears, regret starts to seep into your mind, but you fight against it.

You know he’s just protecting his own, and you are one of those people. His.

“The woman said they are headed to Jackson.”

At the mention of the town, he looks back at you.

“Did you see the kids with them? One of the riders had a baby, around the same size as June. That woman – Tess? She helped deliver it.”

Chastened, he looks down at the ground at your mention of that time.

“They wouldn’t start trouble with that many kids around. I know it.”

“They gotta feed them kids, don’t they?” He delivers his statement bluntly, looking up to hold eye contact with you. Weariness rings his eyes, his tone no less scolding for it. “You know just as much as I do that you would do anything for June. Anything. Including lyin’ to someone just to turn around and steal what they have.”

The truth in his words hangs heavy in the air between the two of you, and you press on.

“I gave them ample food. They have no reason to come back. I even put some meat in there –”

At this, he stands, outraged. His jaw ticks as he glares at you for a long moment, eventually letting out a huff of disbelief.

“Hell, why not some ammo too?”

Shaking his head, he glances away.

Disappointment pours off his body, his back to you and a tear slips down over your cheek. All the words you practiced saying to him die on your tongue, every good point turning to ash under the heat of his anger. You understand his worry because it’s also your own worry, but…the way the woman looked at you, the way those women held their children, the hope held in the woman’s eyes as she talked about Jackson?

They weren’t coming back. You knew they weren’t.

You’d thought he’d at least be happy about the horse, but the thought of another mouth to feed keeps your own closed.

Sitting back down, he flexes his hold on his rifle, resting it across his lap. His eyes won’t meet yours.

“I’m gonna stay up and keep watch. Just in case they do decide to come back. You should just…go to bed.”

All of the fight sucked out of you, you nod at his dismissal and turn, going back inside.

–

His disappointment in you eats at him.

Flares bright as he sits up all night, waiting for their shadowy figures to reappear. Simmers as he hears you soothe June back to sleep after feeding her. Lingers with a fade in his chest as the sun lightens the horizon, inky black turning into pinkish dawn.

He knows you saw those children and gave without hesitation, thinking of June. He knows that. But he’s also thinking of June. Always. Equal parts impressed and frustrated by the hope that still exists inside you even after you’ve seen what the outside world is still capable of, he doesn’t know how you can still trust. You still give; you’re still kind.

He appreciates those qualities in you, but to give away your rations and to take a gamble on them not coming back is more than letting your hope win. It’s dangerous, and he wishes you could see that.

He knows now that this will happen again. Clearly a route marked on that map, it’ll be used in the coming months by other people. The fact that they could see your garden was bad enough, but the fact that it was a group of people was even worse.

He can defend you against one man, but a group? There are limits to his skills; he knows more than anyone.

You can’t stay here anymore.

He fights against the knowledge, the memory of Sarah now woven in with the surroundings. So much more than a place for the three of you to stay hidden from the world, he sees it as a place where the four of you thrived: the ghost of Sarah visiting him freely here, as a welcomed presence. Finally not something he pushed to the darkest, safest corners of his mind as a means to keep her memory away from what the world turned into.

Even in death, he protected her.

He knows she’ll follow him wherever he goes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of wanting to be the father he’s got the chance to be with June as he is here — not as who he’d have to be, if you left.

His palm running along the smooth barrel of the gun, he stares into the dark woods and keeps watch, his weary eyes ringed with the need for sleep.

Jackson.

Responsible for your safety and well being, does he take the gamble and bring you there? Does he find another spot hidden deeper in the woods, hoping that one won’t be discovered? One requires faith in the words of other people, the other requires faith only in his own skills. After everything he’s seen and done, he knows which way he wants to lean…but still, he thinks.

Acknowledging the strength in numbers that you’ve been missing this whole time, a group encountering this place was a liability, but to be part of a group - that was a strength. Resources to help if June should get sick, other people around to take care of her if either of you should. Clothes, shoes, a shelter that isn’t slowing falling apart.

Those were just the basics of human necessity, but other things worm their way into his mind. The things not needed to live, but needed to thrive. Socialization, a community. An image of Sarah on the soccer field projects against the dark field in front of him; all grin and bright eyes at sleepovers, running around the park he used to bring her to when she wanted to play with her friends.

Any QZ that he’s been in was never the suburb full of children that he raised Sarah in, but at least there were other kids. Other people. A means to provide more than what you could, here. And with Jackson being a place being off the grid…there was a possibility it was better than a QZ. The world-worn cynic in him knew it was a long shot, but still.

He pictures your shadowed face in the darkness, as you argued with him. The earnestness in your eyes, the words you used to try to make him understand your reasoning behind trusting them. He was too mad then to listen, but now…he understands why.

Not only your belief in those people, but your belief in general. Understands that you’ve always needed to believe in something, in order for any of this to work.

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

He said that to you in bed one night, speaking of you and June, and he thinks about how you’ve always believed it in the same thing your own way: your something to fight for was a future still possible.

One that you’ve shown him to be true.

Rising stiff limbed from his position on the porch, it’s almost light when he wanders back into the silent cabin.

He tries to be quiet in the kitchen as he digs through the drawer for the map, and finding it, places it on the counter.

Making his way to the bedroom, he crawls into the space behind your curved spine and tucks himself around it, holding you close.

In your sleep, you reach for him and grasping your hand in his, he fits the bridge of his nose into the soft nape of your neck and closes his eyes.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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soullessdianthus · 8 months

Note

Pervy!Rudy pls? I don’t see much for him but godddddd I need it

A/N: JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST, you can't imagine how loud I screamed and kicked my feet, when I saw this request! I like Rudy so much, he deserves more attention! For sure will write for him more! Some headcanons and a little story at the end!

Warnings: perverted mind, but Rudy is a possessive softie, nsfw (masturbation, scent kink, touching under the table, some dirty convos in Spanish?, inappropriate dry humping to warm reader)

✧°. Rudy is very aware of his perversion. He knows he shouldn’t imagine doing anything deviant with you or it shouldn’t make his manhood painfully hard. He was way beyond that age of sudden boner because of a girl.

✧°. But since you had been transferred by your superior to be stationed with Los Vaqueros, Rodolfo couldn’t keep his eyes or thoughts off of you. Somehow every interaction with you became exciting, intoxicating even, making his heartbeat go faster.

✧°. Especially in the evenings that were lonely, when everything slowly quietens down, soldiers going back to their dorms after a long day. Perv!Rudy would lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling or trying to focus on a book, but the uncontrollable desire forces him to recall your last interaction with him, when one of his palms sneak under the hem of sweatpants onto his throbbing dick. Rodolfo just needed to get rid of that tension and fantasies of you were the only solution! :(

✧°. He could picture your face really well, the sound of your voice and laughter. Also those whimpers or heavy breathing while on a mission that caused you to be so exhausted.

✧°. Perv!Rudy would like to make you tired in a different way though. He would show you how beautiful you are and how good care he would take of something that was completely his.

✧°. Your person had become a sort of one, big fantasy of his, since your presence brought him comfort on a daily basis. You were so kind and sweet to him – sitting with him and Alejandro in the canteen, politely listening to their stories or tacky jokes.

✧°. At some point Rodolfo offered to teach you Spanish. Of course you knew some, but weren’t fluent and it might come handy while being in Mexico with them. Obviously he suggested such a deal to spend more time with you.

✧°. And not long after, you two were walking everywhere together. If not interrupted by Alejandro, of course.

✧°. “Quiero agarrar tu culo, chiquita. [sp.: I want to grab your ass, little girl]”

✧°. “You want to… my… sorry, what? I don’t know those words, Rudy.”

✧°. “Don’t worry. You will.”

✧°. He tried to be sneaky about his dirty remarks, but Rodolfo missed the point in time, when you began understanding conversations in Spanish. He noticed only when he said something similar again and your cheeks flushed bright pink. But it was just a silly joke, right?

✧°. Perv!Rudy was hypnotized with your smell – he couldn’t determine if it was a detergent you washed your clothes with or a body wash that cleansed your soft, smooth skin from the dirt. If he only got a chance to stand close to you, he would discreetly inhale the scent of your hair.

✧°. Perhaps, when he was standing right behind you, correcting your posture as you aimed forward at the shooting range, his head leaning over your shoulder to devour the sweet scent of yours.

✧°. And it got him thinking, what would your pussy smell like? What would your juices taste like on his tongue? Divine for sure. <3

✧°. Perv!Rudy would be strong on “marking his territory”. If you ever mentioned that you were cold near him, he would give you his hoodie without hesitation or doubt. The sight of you in the oversized clothing — a belonging of his, drenched with his scent and sweat would make Perv!Rudy go feral.

✧°. Due to his hospitality and kindness it didn’t take long before you fully trusted the sergeant major. You didn’t mind his touches, even when he kept his hand over your shoulder or back almost all the time. His touch was warm and gentle. Always.

✧°. You weren’t uncomfortable even when he began to playfully squeeze the plush of your thigh under the canteen’s table like it was his stress ball.

✧°. Because Rodolfo is a thigh man, you cannot convince me otherwise. If you ever happen to wear thigh socks around him, he would pass out from euphoria.

✧°. One time, he saw a basket filled with your clean clothes and a certain pair of panties caught his attention. You left the laundry room for a moment as one of your friends pulled you out for some gossip. Perv!Rudy hesitated for a while before he snapped those panties from the clothes pile and tucked them into his pants’ pocket.

✧°. Later that evening he would inspect the cotton material, pouring between his fingers, before wrapping it around his pulsating and leaking shaft. Rodolfo would pump hips into his own fist, thinking what you would look like, sitting here beside him and helping Rudy with his aching erection. :(

✧°. He needed your help so badly – your innocent looking eyes glued to his face, waiting for further instructions on how to satisfy Sergeant Parra by stroking his thick, meaty shaft.

✧°. Lately, while a mission went very, very wrong – you found yourself and Rudy being taken down the river by its stream. You managed to pull yourself and Rodolfo out of the agitated waters.

✧°. Your clothes were soaked, tightly fitting to your feminine figure and the loud gasps you took for air – it was the first thing Rudy registered after you pulled him out of the river. He felt your hand pressed against his chest as you coughed out some water.

✧°. Perv!Rudy was more than grateful and he couldn’t wait until there was a possibility to show how much he appreciated it. Sergeant found an abandoned cabin in the nearby woods – it was your camp for the night, as the dusk had fallen.

And, oh no! Your walkie talkies were destroyed by the water! You had to wait until the rescue team would find you!

You were walking back and forth between one wall and another, trying to warm up. Every piece of clothing you and Rudy had on was drenched, the chilly air of the night only worsened the feeling of cold.

A strong shiver shook your body and arms entangled around your torso, while his gaze was stuck on your trembling form. He was getting worried.

━ We should take those clothes off and let them dry. ━ Rodolfo was older than you and therefore more experienced in crises like this. You knew he was right, but somehow hesitated for a moment, before removing your tactical vest.

━ Yeah, but wouldn’t it be… um, weird?

You expressed your worries, you didn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable! Just as you placed the gun holster and vest on the old, dusty table, next to his gear and weapon, the sergeant stepped closer.

━ ¿Por qué? ━ Rudy asked, before pulling your long sleeved shirt through your head as you obediently raised your hands in the air. It took every inch of his willpower not to roam over your exposed chest with his palm. ━ If we go in the hypothermia, we’ll be dead in the morning. Nothing weird here, chiquita.

He was right, the nights in Mexico during winter were cold and you just got out of the river. You had no extra clothes and starting a fire was off the table.

Both of you continued stripping until all you had left was your underwear. Out of curiosity you took a look at his almost bare form, only his boxers covering some flesh. Rodolfo gathered some old blankets he found in the abandoned cabin and placed them on the floor.

Meanwhile you felt helpless – there was nothing more to do to warm yourself up. Your only option here was a walking radiator in front of you, your comrade Sergeant Parra. You stalked his movements as he moved through the room, placing blankets down. And before you knew, he was reaching his hand in your direction.

━ Ven aquí [sp.: Come here]. ━ Rudy slid himself under the big blanket, before inviting you to join.

You didn’t hesitate for long, before laying down next to Rodolfo. You turned your back to him and grabbed the edge of the blanket, trying to keep the warm within its space.

A little gasp escaped your mouth, when Rudy wrapped his bulky arm around your waist and pulled you into his muscular chest. His stomach was tightly clinging to the small of your back, his head almost leaning over your shoulder. The short hairs all over his thighs tickled your own limbs.

━ You’re shaking. ━ He noticed with a worry audible in his voice. With your body pressed to his, he could feel each spasm of a muscle that indicated your early stage of hypothermia.

━ I-It’s okay, I will w-warm up in a mi-minute.

You were the textbook example of a woman with low blood pressure and freezing cold hands. You were almost always cold, but in a situation like this it only meant troubles – you couldn’t warm up properly.

━ Shit, we got to do something about his, no? Don’t want you to freeze here, chica.

Rudy’s arm that was entangled around your waist, reached down to the hem of his boxers. He took out his cock and began stroking it just like he liked it. Like he always did when thinking of you.

━ R-Rudy, what are you…

━ Shhh ━ Rodolfo silenced you, his cheek resting a little higher than your temple ━ trust me on this one.

When the sergeant finally was hard and aroused enough, he placed his cock between your soft thighs, so high up it clung tightly to your clothed pussy. You shifted slightly, but Rudy placed his hand on your hip, keeping you in one place.

He began slowly rolling his hips, sliding between your clenched thighs. His erect cock was almost pushing between your folds to rest between them.

━ R-Rudy, mhm. ━ You whimpered as the warmth of arousal slowly began spreading through your cold body.

━ It feels better, yes? ━ Rodolfo asked, proud of himself and thanking the God for creating such circumstances where he could finally make you his girl. You only nodded weakly. ━ I need you to tell me, how does it feel now?

━ I-It feels g-good.

Rudy released your hip as it didn’t seem you would wriggle away now. He sneaked a hand through your hip and pubic bone to slightly pull the material of your panties to the side. Only then he could continue rubbing against your bare core, sliding easily due to your arousal.

The tip of his cock was repeatedly teasing your swollen clit with the firm thrust of his hips. You let Rodolfo gently rock your body in a suitable rhythm.

━ That’s right, just relax, bonita. Let me warm you up.

Only when Rudy praised you, you managed to relax, feeling each limb more heavy and slack. His arm entangled around your waist again, the man’s palm making its way under the bra you were wearing. He wanted to play with your pretty breasts, that were tempting him for so long.

You began to mewl and moan, when suddenly approaching your sweet climax. Your hand reached backwards to grab Rodolfo’s short hair, his heavy panting audible in your ear.

With each thrust he kept slapping his front against your plump bum. Once he even released your breast to slap your jiggling ass and admire the red mark in the shape of his hand.

━ Rodo-oh-lfo! I’m gonna… ━ you squeezed your eyes shut, before any tears could escape them. Your little whimpers became almost pathetic ━ please.

━ Good girl, come on, come on. You can do this.

With a few more thrust against your sensitive nub with his throbbing cock, you felt the strong wave of ecstasy washing over you, causing the back of your head to dig into Rodolfo’s shoulder.

Soon after you, he followed and reached sweet orgasm too – his length spasming and spurting cum onto your cunny and thighs.

When you both began to calm down after sharing a sexual high, he turned you around to make you face him. Rudy couldn’t stop admiring your flustered face, lips slightly swollen and red. He traced their outline with his thumb, before peppering your cute face with kisses.

Rodolfo kept your body flush to his, so no body warmth would waste as he kept praising you for being a good girl for him. He would watch over you while the side of your face sank into his chest muscles and you drifted off to sleep.

Now, when you were properly heated, he didn’t have to worry about you getting yourself into hypothermia.

#request #reader insert #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #rodolfo cod #rodolfo mw2 #rodolfo rudy parra #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo x reader #perv!rudy #perv!rodolfo parra

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rainforest-daisies · 7 months

Text

Day 3|shower sex

Character: Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader

TW: shower sex, manhandling, Daryl finally taking a shower

A/n: “omnomnom” -me eating this one up rn

Kinktober masterlist

Daryl's hands had been all over you since he got home. He had insisted you stay home and not accompany him on his ‘hunting trip’ that would ‘only take a day or so’, yet, it had been three.

He was covered in dirt and sweat, leaves stuck in the back of his hair from sleeping in a tree, with a desperate need for a shower being dismissed to hold you in his arms once more.

His fingers pulled at your sundress, praying to whoever was above that you weren’t wearing anything under it. Yet, before he could decipher if the prayer was heard, your hands pushed his torso away. “Get these clothes off,” before you could finish your sentence, he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Get these clothes off, so I can wash them. You’ve been wearing them for three days straight.” You finished, spinning around and making your way to the bathroom to start a shower for him. “Lavender or strawberry?”

He let out a quiet grunt of confusion, “what soap scent do you want? You’re taking a shower before we do anything.” He was silent for a moment, until he quietly mumbled out “Lavender.”

—————————————————-

You sat on the couch, with an old book almost falling apart in your hands, fully immersed in the storyline, almost so immersed that you almost didn’t hear Daryl call for you from the bathroom. he had asked for you to hand him the shampoo, apparently, he couldn’t reach it on the counter from the shower. You grabbed it and reached to hand it to him, but his hand didn’t grasp onto the shampoo like you expected, it wrapped around your wrist and pulled you into the shower with him.

“Daryl! My dress! It-” Before you could finish, he interrupted you again, but this time with a kiss. His hand met the back of your thigh, swiftly lifting it up to wrap around his waist, whilst pushing you against the cold tile of the shower. He could feel your bare core pressed to his v-line, a quiet groan leaving his lips as he felt you shift against him, grinding yourself down on his lower abdomen. ” I was hopin’ you wouldn’t be wearing anything under this little thing.” He said, gesturing to your now-soaked dress.

Your hands push the dripping hair in your face back, finally seeing Daryl clearly, before moving them to run against Daryl’s clean shoulders.

His hands pulled the straps down your arms, revealing your tits. His big, calloused hand groped one of them, deepening the kiss as his cock throbbed. You could feel him pressed against your bare skin, dress dripping cold water down your standing leg making you shiver.

His thumb began to rub against your clit as he began to slide his cock inside of your already aroused cunt, quietly whimpering as his lips trail to your neck and bites the tender skin. He wasted no time fucking into you, his cock gently hitting your cervix, causing butterflies to erupt in your belly.

“I missed this pussy while I was gone. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout’ it.” He was out of breath, each thrust of his hips getting rougher, he physically couldn't slow down, he was too entranced by your hips bucking against his, groaning as he got close to an orgasm. Your moans grew louder as you were on the cusp of your own orgasm, uncontrollably clenching around him, when he suddenly gripped your waist so tightly that there would probably be bruises tomorrow.

He used you, so close to his orgasm that if you clenched him one more time, he would release.

And so, you did.

Your orgasm followed shortly after his, holding him as closely as you could. Even after he pulled out, he still held onto you, heavy breaths huffed on your shoulder.

“Could ya’ pass me the shampoo now?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion smut #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl x you #x reader #smut #the walking dead

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sundeathh · 2 months

Text

Trimmed

ONE-SHOT | MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!Reader • Words: 1,6 K

Summary: A haircut tale

Tags: slice-of-life, cute, fluffy, romantic stuff

CW: none worth mentioning. SFW

The apartment was cloaked in the cozy ambiance of evening, the soft glow of lamps casting warm pockets of light in the living room. As the door creaked open, announcing Aizawa's return, the air seemed to shift with expectancy.

It wasn't the kind of anticipation that made a person’s heart leap. Instead it felt more like the sort of expectation that came from people waiting for their loved ones to get home at regular basis for weeks on end, filled with both excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside.

Even after years of marriage, you still had butterflies for him whenever he entered the room you were in.

"I'm back," Aizawa's gravelly, deep voice resonated through the space, carrying the weight of a taxing day. He unburdened himself of his shoes and bag, the fatigue etched on his features. The journey down the building's hallway felt like a gradual shedding of the day's strain.

"Hey, Sho, welcome back!" You called from the kitchen, your voice a gentle melody amid the quiet that once reigned in the place. "Long day?" You asked, your eyes landing on his tense figure.

He nodded, pausing at the kitchen's doorway before offering a small smile. "Yeah, you could say that."

The smell of cooking food wafted towards him as his gaze swept over the room. The counter was covered in various ingredients, some in the middle of the cooking process and others just sitting there in piles, ready to be added to the mix when needed.

"Did everything go well today?" You asked, turning around from the stove to greet him properly with a kiss on the cheek. He returned it affectionately, leaning against your body for comfort and security, but only for the briefest moments before pulling back to take a look at you.

"Yep," he responded, the same way he always did every time. He was never one for long talks or unnecessary details about his day, preferring instead to focus his attention on how you were doing instead.

"How are you feeling today? Anything interesting happened while I was gone?" He questioned, reluctantly pulling away from your welcoming embrace to remove his binding cloth from around his neck.

"I'm feeling alright." You answered truthfully before proceeding with a small shrug. "And not really. The highest point of my day was going grocery shopping. It was a tiring work though, so I didn't do much after that."

"Ah, right," the hero nodded knowingly, his cloth now hanging around one of his arms. "Next time you go grocery shopping, remember that I have to be there too." Aizawa reached out his free arm and gently pulled you into another tight hug.

Your arms wrapped around his torso in return, your face pressed against his chest. "And put even more tasks on your overly busy day? No way." Your tone was playful, but there was an undertone of concern that Aizawa picked up on instantly.

"If anything, I should be the one getting all the chores done on this end, since you're not here as much as I am. I don't want you working yourself too hard," you protested.

His head rested on top of yours, his hair tickling your skin lightly. "Still, I'd rather it be me than you," he said firmly. "Besides, it makes me feel bad knowing I'm making it so hard on you due to my workload."

You sighed fondly. "You know I wouldn't mind helping out if I could." You stated, hoping to make it clear to him that you didn't mind. But there was nothing else you could say to change his mind, so you simply agreed with him with a small pout.

You carefully untangled yourself from his tight but gentle grip, searching for his eyes. "C'mon, sexy, go wash off the sweat and dirt that's clinging to your face. Dinner is gonna be ready soon," you told him with a soft voice.

He let out a tiny chuckle before walking towards the bathroom, a fond, small smile adorning his lips. You smiled at the warm feeling in your chest, and then went back to your cooking, the sound of running water following shortly thereafter.

As he retreated to the bathroom, a cascade of garments left in his wake, and the warmth of the shower soothed his sore muscles as he rinsed away the dust that had accumulated during his arduous workday.

Shower felt even better than normal after a tiring and long day, and his shoulders loosened as he stepped under the steaming showerhead.

He had his eyes closed and his mouth partially open as he used it to breathe while the water poured over his head, rinsing the shampoo away from his scalp. It was an intimate and vulnerable moment. It was also calming.

After cleaning himself up, he stepped out to dry his body and get dressed in his sleepwear – a pair of loose pants and a simple t-shirt.

Upon checking to make sure everything was alright with his appearance, Aizawa stared at his reflection in the slightly fogged-up mirror. His gaze lingered on the unruly curtain of long bangs that veiled his eyes, now being an unintended consequence of neglect amid the demands of his work.

The weariness etched in his features was momentarily eclipsed by a bemused frown. Aizawa ran his fingers through the disheveled and damp strands, a silent acknowledgment of the overdue task at hand.

He brushed his hair, aware of how his bangs were almost reaching his chin. Putting the hairbrush down, he tried his best to comb them again with his fingers, trying to make his hair less wild and disorderly.

After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed exasperatedly, giving up his attempts. What good would a couple of extra combing do him anyway? It was getting too long. It was bound to become an issue sooner or later.

In defeat, Aizawa emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulders, his usually unkempt hair dripping slightly. He stood in the doorway again, gazing at you with a hint of weariness.

"Is dinner almost ready?" He inquired, his eyes flicking towards the culinary ballet that persisted while he was in the shower.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Almost. Just finishing up. Why? Hungry?"

He scratched the back of his head, a familiar gesture of contemplation. "Not just that," he admitted, his gaze turning to the bathroom's door for a moment. "I think it's time I did something about this." His hand gestured towards the curtain of his disheveled bangs.

Your eyes followed the unspoken cue, understanding what he meant. Setting down the spatula, you approached him, your fingers lightly grazing the strands that shielded his eyes.

"Want me to do something about it?" You asked, your tone teasing yet sincere. Aizawa's eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, and he muttered. "If you don't mind."

You tiptoed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek, and smiled. "Don't be shy," you murmured. With a gentle gesture, you guided him to a chair at the kitchen table, the aroma of the cooking dinner enveloping both of you.

As he sat down, you walked over to the bathroom, searching for a comb and for the box that held secure your sharp hair scissors.

"Ready for a change?" You teased, after coming back to the kitchen and getting closer to where he sat, standing in front of him. Your fingers ran softly through his damp hair.

Aizawa huffed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just don't cut it too short, please. I like it longer."

The corners of your mouth quirked slightly, and you nodded in response, combing his hair in a bun before tying a elastic around it, securing the bun as a temporary fix to prevent his locks from getting in the dangerous way of the scissors.

As you moved on to combing his fringe next, you noticed Aizawa closing his eyes, the tension in his frame gradually decreasing. The sight warmed your heart, and the peaceful atmosphere settled around you as you focused on combing his hair, gently moving the comb through his bangs, careful not to damage it.

You gently lifted his chin to get a better look, and after a minute or two of gentle combing, your hand finally stopped its motion to reach for the scissors you had placed on the table. "Don't move now, okay?" You whispered gently, the words accompanied by a gentle touch to his head.

"Mhm," Aizawa hummed softly in agreement. He kept his eyes closed and continued motionless, the tactile sensation of hair falling gently through your hand heightened the intimacy of the moment.

He finally allowed himself to relax under your touch. The occasional snip of the shears resonated like a quiet melody, punctuating the soothing ambiance.

"You're surprisingly good at this," Aizawa remarked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You chuckled. "I've had some practice. Plus, it's a small way to take care of you."

He hummed once again, his hands resting loosely on top of his lap, now completely relaxed.

You carefully trimmed away the last remaining locks of hair, brushing his hair until only half the mess remained.

After taking a small step back from your handy work, you admired it. "Done. I didn't cut it too much. It'll still keep its fluffy quality, don't worry."

Aizawa opened his eyes and gazed up to meet yours, and his eyes softened, his expression becoming more serene by the second.

Taking the scissors from your hand and placing them back on the table, he grabbed your other hand into his, pulling it towards his lips in a gentle hold. He placed a kiss on the back of your hand. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

You shook your head, smiling in amusement. "No need to thank me, love. We both know I'd help you with whatever you needed even without you saying anything. You deserve to be taken care of every once in awhile." You squeezed his hand slightly as he leaned forward, pressing another chaste kiss onto your knuckles, his stubble tickling the soft skin of your fingers.

After pulling away from touching your hands, he stood up, a gentle smile on his face. "Let's finish up with dinner," he said, ready to assist you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

#my hero academia aizawa #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #bnha aizawa #bnha fanfiction #mha aizawa #mr aizawa #aizawa shōta #aizawa shouta #aizawa sensei #aizawa fluff #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bhna x reader #bhna

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backwzzds · 9 months

Text

ೃ⁀➷ touch me feel me, renji abarai (nsfw)

renji helps you relax after a long day at the nursing home.

for @roronoaswifey 🫶🏾🫶🏾

you huff out a deep breath as you finally open the door to your apartment. with a close of your eyes, you begin to feel yourself swaying back and forth in near collapse, but almost jump when you feel a familiar large set of hands support you.

“renjiii, don’t touch me, i have old people piss & shit over me,” you whined, shrugging your husband off of you. “i’m sweating, i stink, i feel disgusting.

renji frowned before embracing you again. “i missed you.”

you turn your head and peck his lips before leaving your dirty shoes by the front door and begin walking barefoot to your bathroom. “i know baby, but i need to shower first. that 16 hour double really fucked my back up.”

renji nearly winces at the sound of your back cracking for comfortability. but still, he ignored your previous protests and continues to place small kisses at the nape of your neck as you undressed out your scrubs. he’d lick you in dirt if you’d let him. some sweat didn’t bother him.

“i’ll run you a bath. then lemme give you a massage afterward, mama.” his voice is so convincing. all you wanted to do was collapse and fall asleep, but it would be a cold day in hell before you sat on any piece of your furniture in your contaminated work clothes. renji picks up your scrubs and places them in your work hamper set to wash in the morning.

finally, you give in with a bare nod as renji makes his way over to the tall white tub. running piping hot water just the way he knew you liked, you’re in the bath in two minutes. you sink to your bottom and tiredly rest your cheek against the base of your knee. renji notices how you’re so exhausted, you forgot to put your braids up so they wouldn’t get wet. grabbing pieces of your hair, he ties it up in a makeshift bun atop your head, to which you thank him with a mutter.

“bad day mama?” he asks as he began soaping your back with your washcloth. you let out a deep breath for the millionth time. you were just so happy to be home with him now. from the quietness of your response, he already knows your answer. “what happened baby?”

“so much shit. this shift was more traumatizing than the last. some old bitchy aide reported me to the nurse for a small mistake of leaving a trash bag in a room and i just kept making a bunch of mistakes today. i’m already an outcast because of how new i am to this shit, so this just makes it all much more embarrassing,” you admit it. “i don’t really wanna talk too much on it, ‘fore i get pissed off. that okay?”

renji looks at you as you turn to him with sad eyes. he gives you an adoring smile as he kisses your ear. “you just worked 16 hours. wouldn’t be expecting no different shit from you,” he teased with a small laugh from you. “just remember, everyone starts from somewhere. at the end of the day, you have a bigger goal to reach after school and most of that shit just stems from jealousy. a lot of older people don’t like seeing younger ones win or get bread. it’s fucking crazy.”

you giggle at his words, slowly feeling the stress leave your body. leaning against renji’s arm on the side of the tub, you run your pruny fingers across the terrain of his multiple tattoos. with soft eyes, you turn your head to face him once more.

“still wanna give me that massage?”

and that was how you ended up with your back to the mattress, getting between your legs ate out like no tomorrow. you always knew renji ate pussy. it was one of the reasons you got and stayed with him. but to say he was average at doing so—would be one of the biggest lies ever told.

“oh,” your voice is barely audible as your each up to stare down at the scene before you. a full head of red hair is busy obstructing your view as you can only see the side of renji’s face while he eats you out. “right there.”

you don’t have it in you to scream, you don’t have it in you to do too much. all you could do was cry and whine. your entire body is moisturized and glistening with cocnout oil with exception to your pretty pussy that’s being devoured by your husband.

“renji,” you let out, mind too confuzzled from the intense pleasure from your lower half to form any proper words. “t-that feels s-so—fuck daddy,” you bite your lip so hard, you swear you feel blood drawing from the pricked skin.

“feels good baby?” renji’s deep voice sends vibrations between your thighs as you nearly suffocate him from squeezing so tight around his head. he couldn’t blame you, you were a head squeezer as much as he was a head pusher.

“so good, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you cried, watching the euphoric scene unfold beneath you. renji licked long stripes up the base of his cunt before spreading your fat lips open to get a better view of your soaked clit already beginning to coat itself in white. to make matters better worse, renji slipped in a long and slender middle finger into your entrance, slowly pumping in and iut of you.

you begin to feel his digits curl in and out of you as he continues working around your creamy clit. it’s inevitable for your hands to immediately fly to his maroon red hair, wavy strands damp from helping you out in the bath.

your knees are folded so far back behind your head, the dangling jewelry of your belly piercing is digging deep into your skin as you threaten to collapse your legs along renji’s own back. “can’t—can’t hold it,” you’re breathing heavily, unsure on whether or not you can contain your orgasm.

renji hums at the sweet spot between your legs and continues at his slow pace. he was gonna take his time with you tonight. he knew how hard you worked, and only wanted nothing but the best treatment he could give you for the night. the pleasure wasn’t his, but instead yours.

within seconds, the devious redhead is kissing your clit, still working wonders on you. 11:59 by elijah blake is now playing lowly through your shared room as you grip the bedsheets beside you. renji uses his free hand to slowly slide up your body, making sure to touch every aspect of your curvaceous terrain.

without the use of his eyes, his hands immediately find home to one of your breasts, and he grabs the fat flesh in his hand, squeezing it contently. he removes his touch from you to spread your lips open once more, deciding to turn the heat up just a bit.

“renji!” you’re gasping when you feel his tongue poke your open hole. that was enough to send you creaming all over his face, milky white arousal coating his long tongue diving in and out of you. “please please, right there, i’m cumming, i’m cumm—“ your boyfriend ignores your exasperated cries as your legs tremble around him.

an hour later, he’s still going and by now you’re on your fourth orgasm. renji never joked around when he said he ate pussy for his pleasure. and not just any pussy—your pussy. the man could eat you out for hours on end then fall asleep like a baby without ever expecting anything back from you in return. he proved himself right every time he got between your plush thighs and ate you out like your pussy was his last meal on death row.

renji comes up from between your legs for the first time in a while. “c’mon ma, you can cum one more time for me. make a mess on my face baby, you deserve it.” a taunting smirk is rested upon his face as he admires the reaction he managed to have on you.

your entire body felt like it was going through shock. how could him eating your pussy soft and slow make you feel like a thousand volts of electricity where running through your bloodstream? you can’t even remember the trouble you went through earlier that day at work by the time you’re finally squirting along his face, completely done and overstimulated.

your mouth is held wide open in an o position as your breath gets caught in your throat. you can’t find the breath to speak as you continue releasing yourself all over renji, who, in turn is basking in your arousal like a child at a waterpark. tears flow from your dolly eyes as you finally feel all energy suck out of you like a vacuum.

by now, renji is doing his last rounds and licking you up completely clean. he always managed to get you so fucked out whether it was with his dick or with his fingers and tongue alone. by the time you’re pretty much wiped up clean, your man presses kisses along the brown terrain of your body. your braids are long gone out your bonnet by now, and you’re sure that your sheets were next in line to wash.

renji’s voice is sensual and low as he comes back up to you and looks down in your eyes with love and lust clouding his pupils. running his large hand down your breasts and giving it a comforting rub, he asks you, “you finally forgot about all that shit that got you worked up at your job earlier?”

the nod on your head isn’t enough to hide your smile as you throw your leg over him and finally knock out for the night.

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#renji abarai x black reader #renji x black reader #renji x black girl #renji abarai #renji abarai x reader #renji x reader #renji smut #renji abarai smut #bleach x black reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader #bleach headcanons #bleach renji

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leyava · 3 months

Text

Sweeter Than Sugar .

Modern!Mizu x Fem!Reader

a little fic of you and mizu giving each other the love and affection you’re both deserving of. <3

( mizu is reader’s fiancé in this fic, forgive me this is my first ever published writing lol )

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

You were baking, out of boredom. You’d been waiting for your fiancé to come from downstairs to see your progress in your pastry chef skills. Mizu went upstairs to take a shower and wash the dirt off of her, she had been working at her and her dad’s motorcycle shop all day. As soon as she stepped into the house she smelt of oil and a long day’s worth of sweat from fixing people’s bikes. It didn’t matter to you though, you still gave her a peck on the lips before she made her way to the shower.

“Smells good down here.” Mizu made her way into the kitchen with a white towel draped over her shoulder, her damp hair pulled into a bun. She wore a sports bra, and grey sweats. “I hope so. Might cover up the smell you tracked in.” You remark, joking with her as you poke a toothpick into the soft and fluffy cake you’d just pulled out of the oven.

Your remark amused her, she chuckled as she made her way behind you after setting her towel down on a chair, wrapping her slender, yet muscular arms around your frame, resting her head on the top of yours. “I hope it’s not too bad now.” She exhaled.

You removed the tooth pick from the middle of the baked good, setting it on a nearby paper towel. Mizu hummed contently as she started to sway your hips, you closed your eyes.

“It’s not.” Your response was delayed.

“Hm?” She opened her eyes, shifting her head slightly.

“Oh, I was replying to you, it’s not bad now at all.” You replied. She moved her head back to it’e original position, cheek resting on the top of your head. “Ah. Your response was a tad late, dove.” She reminded you. You rolled your eyes playfully, smiling at the reminder. “Yeah, yeah. You distracted me from responding, though.” You moved your head to look up at her, she picked hers up to look down at you. “I can’t help it.” She kissed you, it wasn’t long but it wasn’t short either. It was enough to make your heart flutter.

But let’s be honest, everything Mizu does makes your heart flutter.

Mizu pulled away from the kiss, blue eyes staring down at yours. “Did you eat the batter?” She raised an eyebrow. “Only what was left in the bowl. Why?”

“I could taste it.” She ran her hand up to your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip before turning your full body around, pressing her lips softly against yours yet again. You pulled away, your hands around her neck, hers now resting on your waist. “You’re really desperate for sweets, huh?” You questioned her, swaying your hips as you admired her perfect face.

Her sharp jawline, her perfect lips, and strangely, how her eyebrows moved with every expression she made. “You, dove. I’m desperate for you. Your lips have always tasted sweet. Sweeter than sugar, at that.” Mizu pulled your body closer to hers, swaying along with you as the shine of the sunset peeked through your curtains into the kitchen.

“Do you think I could help you decorate the cake?” She tilted her head. You grinned brightly. “Absolutely.” You responded, attempting to get out of her grasp to get the frosting and different cake decorations set up for the both of you, when her grasp on your waist tightened and pulled you in again, smashing her lips against yours, yet again. The act of affection lasted for a little while longer than the last before you pulled away, your lips instantly missing the warmth of hers, Mizu feeling the exact same. “I’d love to continue this lovely, but we’ve got a cake to decorate.” She chuckled and nodded at you. “Sorry.” She apologized, lips curling into a perfect smile, that smile you love seeing so much.

“I love you, Mizu.” You placed your hand on her cheek, which blushed at your words and your touch. She paused, leaning into your hand. “I love you too, Y/N.”

“Okay, seriously, we should start decorating before I forget.” You pull away from her. Mizu groans and rolls her eyes. “I suppose.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night laughing and giggling at each other, Mizu had swiped a bit of frosting on your face to be playful. Of course you did the same back, and it turned into a full blown frosting war with the remaining icing.

After you two had cleaned up your mess, taken a shower, (Mizu’s second one today,) the two of you lay comfortably in each other’s arms, wrapped in a cozy, large and warm blanket. You both would talk about how much fun you had, she’d graze her fingers on your back, leading you to fall asleep. As you start to flutter your eyes closed, she presses her lips against your temple.

“I love you, dove. More than you could ever know.” Then, the both of you drift off to sleep for the night, content with the safety and warmth of being in one another’s arms.

————————

A/N: this was ass and rushed im so sorry. i rlly do hope u enjoyed 😭🤍

#bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #wlw #lesbians #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu x you #bes fanfic #i love her #she deserves the world #kisses

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morallyinept · 5 months

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Sleazy Santa - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Have you been naughty or nice? Sleazy Santa Dieter will find out... Come sit on his knee, baby, and tell Santa what you really want for Christmas. If you've been good, he might just give it to you. T'is the season to be sleazy...

Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter Bravo x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.) Reader is referred to as 'Cookie' on occasion. You'll see why when you read... and has hair long enough to pull.

Word Count: 5.3k of Christmas sleaze

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/drug use/anal play/lots of smutty dirty talk/verbal degradation - Dieter calls you a whore & slut and you love it/(im)proper use of a candy cane/Dieter being absolutely lewd and trashy whilst being a mall Santa. Reader is up for this and wants it all. Dieter is not an actor in this story. Just a dirtbag.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: (I intended to get this out on the 1st Dec, but this week has completely run away from me, so better late than never! 🫠) I just know Dieter would be the trashiest Santa. So here he is. Ho(e). Ho(e). Ho(e). 🎅🫦

☝🏻This is not a direct follow on from Back Alley Bang, but is the same Sleazy!Dieter.

Read Back Alley Bang!

I wrote this a little while back in prep for my Christmas stories to release throughout December. Since then, the lovely @cerridwen007 dropped a Frankie fic called Candy Cane, which you should totally read because it's bloody amazing! And hot! 🔥 Seeing as both our stories mention some lewdness with Candy Canes, I want to shout about hers, because it's epic. And so is she. 🥰🖤

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

🎄MASTERLIST🎄

Enjoy! 🖤

“Come sit on Santa’s knee, baby.” He smirks at you under the grizzle of greying, scruffy facial hair, sprawled across his jawline like a patch of overgrown weeds in a neglected alley.

Each bristle of his moustache seems like a picket in a fence, guarding the secrets of his expressions, a formidable barrier to anyone attempting to decipher the stoic visage he wears, despite the adept grin crook shanking it's way out from underneath it at you now.

You joust a sharp glance at him, sitting back lazily on the throne, manspreading and reaching down to adjust the swell of his cock inside his red velour pants, brazenly.

In a worn-out wife beater, that's seen one too many spin wash cycles, tinged grey with sweat around the hem and underarms, braces dangle loosely over Santa’s broad shoulders, contributing to a somewhat dis-reputational vibe.

Boots, covered in dirt and scuffs, complete the unkempt look, and a lingering rolled cigarette, possibly a joint by the herbal stench emanating from it and how tightly it’s tobacco stuffing is packed into the thin papers, add a touch of nonchalance to the unconventional ensemble.

The once jolly twinkle in his tired and bloodshot eyes he had for the children and parents queuing up all day to meet him excitedly, now carries a mischievous, darkening glint polluting the soft browns into a deep onyx as he regards you.

You can feel the heat, running moist and sticky across your body in all those fleshy crevices, as his eyes traverse all the curves and shapes of you gluttonously and leaving you stained.

It feels as if he devours you with his gaze, eyes chomping through your bones; each hungry look a bite into the forbidden fruit of your supple skin, leaving you with a sense of exposure that’s both invasive and titillating.

You feel it pulse on the end of your clit and bite back a wayward groan as you squeeze your thighs together.

You pull off your elf's hat, ruffling your hair out of your tight pony that’s been threatening to scalp you all day, and smirk at him suggestively.

He leers back, through full lips chapped pink, under that greasy moustache hidden behind a fake silvery beard all day. A sly grin twists those pert smackers up as he looks you up and down in your cute fuzzy elf ensemble, complete with annoying bells that jingle when you walk.

A crude name tag is pinned to your lapel, flecked with glitter that says Cookie. And you can't help but wonder at how he'll make you crumble.

The Grotto’s decor transports visitors to a whimsical realm where the spirit of Christmas thrives in a rammed-down-your-throat abundance. Faux snow covered branches, adorned with twinkling lights that frame the entrance, complete with fibreglass reindeer with beady eyes, creates an archway that beckons families into the enchanting space within the hustle and bustle of the shopping mall.

Inside the main cabin, the walls are adorned with festive murals depicting scenes of Santa's workshop; his cheerful elves, and his sleigh chock full of presents for all the good boys and girls.

Glittering ornaments in hues of red, green and gold hang from the ceiling, casting a warm and festive glow as they twirl and sway. Garlands of pine branches intertwine with fairy lights, adorned and wrapped around every available surface, filling the air with the invigorating scent of Christmas pine to the point you want to choke.

Eager youngsters, with their big awe-struck eyes, gravitate around your knees all day and hearing Let It Snow play on repeat is starting to grate on your last nerve by lunch time.

A two bit job in a shopping mall Grotto for the season to help pay the rent on your shitty apartment, isn’t exactly the high point of your mundane life, but being assigned as Santa’s personal elf in the Grotto this year seems to have an unexpected appeal.

Especially when under the hat and beard Santa is a fucking grimy feast for the eyes, in all of his sordid, dirty appeal.

“Oh, he’s kinda hot.” You whisper to the other elves, Sugarplum and Cinnamon, when you overhear them talking about him. “In a scummy sorta way.”

You watch as he chortles and pushes crudely taped gifts with lopsided bows into tiny, waiting hands.

“I saw him out of the suit having a smoke round back. He looks like he spends all day injecting.” Cinnamon the elf remarks, wrinkling her nose.

Sugarplum snorts distastefully in agreement as she pushes another child through to meet the magic man himself. And you can’t help but grin.

Who is this guy?

He stands out like a sore thumb in the mall full of Christmas card perfect families, with two point four bratty children, not the type to be cast in the role of Santa. He looks like he shouldn’t be anywhere near the vicinity of children at all.

He’s an obvious stain on the holly-jolly, a blot; a malignant smear with his dark appearance and equally dark aura that radiates and flashes in neon green above his head like a Sims character, that he’s a bad, rotten egg.

And yet, there’s something about him that piques you and your pussy’s interest as you can’t look away.

You wonder where they hired him, possibly off the street by the way he looks; hair a fluffy mess as he runs a giant paw through it when he takes off the Santa hat for a reprieve. Slick with sweat around the neck and ears after being swamped in the furry suit all day.

But amidst the cheerful chatter and the jingling of bells, you and Santa start to engage in risqué repartee through exchanging heated glances, hidden within the joyful chaos that swarms around you both.

He watches as you bend to greet the children, deliberately pointing your ass, clad in tight, striped hosiery, in his line of sight, and throwing him a steely glance over your shoulder as you smile innocently around your glittery lipstick.

You suck on candy canes to rile him up as he waits for the next toddler to enter the Grotto, and tease him with how far you can get it down your throat.

You can see the effect it has on him all day as he has to adjust to himself constantly and refuse that any more kids sit on his lap, opting to just talk to them on their level instead.

Your eyes often fall onto that heavy bulge between his legs as you lick up the red striped cane suggestively.

You, the teasing little elf, pretend to inspect a list of wishes, shooting Santa a sultry look. "I must say, Santa, you're on everyone's 'Nice' list, but I can't help but wonder what it would take to get you on the 'Naughty' list for a change…"

And he takes that as a direct challenge.

After the Grotto is closed to the public for the day, you see him head into it and follow, lured like he’s dropping gingerbread crumbs for you to snort up.

Lights are out in the Winter Wonderland area; a few amblers doing their late night Christmas shopping still linger around the mall, but no-one would obviously know you're heading in as your toes jingle with your quick steps in the shadows.

And it’s where you find him now, sitting back in Santa’s grand throne, legs akimbo and waiting for you as he tokes; running his thick mitts around the chintzy scruff of his real beard.

His eyes crinkle with mirth as you shut the Grotto door behind you. You reach into the basket of candy canes and he watches as you unwrap one, sucking on the stripey end of it as you step up towards him, when he pats his thick thigh again at you.

Perching on him, dwelling inside the mist of hazy smoke that lingers above your heads and makes you feel lighter as you breathe it down into your lungs, you flutter your eyelashes as you take him in.

Thick arms, speckled with tattoos of triads that look coloured in with a Sharpie, speak of a past etched with both labour and skirmishes. His hands, large and calloused, possess a certain coarseness, evidence of a wayward journey through life's grittier back alleys with short, chewed on nails. With shoulders that may slump a touch, he carries an weight of shady roughness on them; his belly and thighs telling stories of indulgence, and perhaps a few late night brawls.

Thick fingers are stacked with silver rings that are covered with Santa’s cotton gloves throughout the day. His hawkish nose adds a touch of defiance, completing the image of a man with a scuffed exterior, rough around the edges, yet somewhat intriguing in his lived-in authenticity. An unpolished diamond in some scummy rough.

But who needs a diamond, when a zirconia is just as good, right?

In the twinkly lights, the grazed hair on his face appears not as distinguished silver, but rather a mishmash of unkempt greys woven in, like shadows playing on a weathered canvas or someone forgetting to water their garden in patches.

His cocoa bean eyes, though sharp, carry a glimmer of adept slyness, a snake waiting to strike and latch it's fangs to your calf, as if they've witnessed more than their fair share of venomous dealings.

The pierced ear, with its slightly tarnished hoop you're longing to suck into your mouth, feels less like a statement and more like a relic of some practised rebellion; a declaration of nonconformity, a middle finger raised to polished appearances.

And it's here where your eyes settle, on his fingers as he brings the joint up to his lips to inhale again, and you marvel at their thickness, their startling turgidity, clenching internally.

He inhales on the end of the blunt, smoke billowing around his face in misty, gossamer trails that beckon you further into him, and his eyes, dark and beguiling with blown pupils, are still on yours.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” There’s a coarse texture to his speech, a visceral quality that mirrors the scuffed exterior of a life lived on the fringes.

He’s watching your lips around the candy cane as though hypnotised by the talent of it. You pull it out of your mouth, sticky - the red bleeding into the white - and smile sweetly.

“I’m always a good girl,” you remark with a minty grin.

Santa shakes his head. “I hear differently. I hear you’re a very naughty girl.”

You mock pout as he leans forward and sucks the end of the candy cane you’re holding into his own mouth. He smacks his lips around one another after tasting it and hums out. “Filthy,” he adds.

“Dirty.” You confirm with a singular nod.

“I like ‘em dirty.” He agrees, looking up at you, chin jutted out in a provocative challenge.

You stroke under it, scritching your nails in the softly coarse hairs there.

He flicks your name tag and smirks. “Cute.”

“What’s your name?” You ask curiously.

“Dieter,” he exhales again, and you can taste the smoke settling on your tongue. “But you can call me Santa, baby.”

You nod willingly.

“Santa wants to touch you, Cookie. You gonna let him?” He queries.

You nod again, smiling.

“Say it, baby. Say you want Santa to touch you.”

“Touch me, Santa.” You simmer. Your body tenses waiting for his hands - those giant, fucking hands - to get acquainted with you.

He finishes the joint, before squeezing the end to extinguish it, and plops it on the floor. “You gonna let Santa fuck you too?”

“Yeah," you nod again like you can't stop. "I want Santa to fuck me with his big, hard cock.” You reach down and give it a squeeze over the velour Santa pants, and he hisses. “Mmm, so big.” You say, sucking on the cane again, hooking your finger around the curved end of it.

“Fuck, baby. You want it bad don’t you? Slutty little elf…” He states.

Dieter runs his hand up your thigh, your stomach and stops at your breast giving it a good squeeze over your outfit; a grunt of approval rippling low in the back trench of his throat and he massages and gropes.

Clawing his fingers of his other hand over your thigh and grabbing at the pliable skin of your ass cheek, he squeezes a generous handful of it, pulling and smirking at you.

“Lemme get a look at these tits, fuck.” Dieter says, immediately running his tongue over them as you pull off your elf top. He yanks down your bralette, tearing at the flimsy material making you gasp around the candy cane.

Mouthing and licking around your nipples, flicking them with his hot, wet tongue, you moan and trail your fingers through his greased up hair. And Santa can’t help himself but to motorboat them, making you giggle as you squirm in his lap.

“Fuck, look at these,” He says groping them in his giant hands. He brings them together moaning and groaning as he licks and sucks them some more. Running his scruffy jaw over them, greedily like all his Christmases have come at once. He bites down on one and you hiss, feeling it fizz between your legs.

“How ‘bout a little kiss for Santa, hmm?” He croons at you, craning his face into yours. "Mmm, my lil' sugar cookie..."

You lean in, slipping your cool, sweetly sticky tongue inside his mouth as he kisses you. He strokes over your breasts, squeezing more and groaning as you suck on his tongue.

He tastes of weed, and something else strong and tart laced around his teeth. But you devour him, feeling that long tongue search around your mouth tasting you, and filling you with his muffled grunts.

“You know, Santa can fill your stocking with whatever you want, right?” Dieter smirks at you as he runs his fingers up down the striped nylons.

You grin, as you pop the candy cane back in your mouth.

With both hands, he tears open your pantyhose from your apex, and smirks at the damp patch there between your legs. You can feel it, all wet and sticky between your thighs.

You’ve made a mess of yourself all day watching and lusting after him, and now he can see it and knows exactly what he does to you. Knows how you've been craving that filthy dirtbag - who looks like he rolled out of the gutter - they hired to play dress up for the kids.

God, you wanna ride him so fucking hard.

“You been this wet for me all day?”

You nod. “Drenched.” You tease.

“Fuck…” he husks approvingly.

“You make me so wet, Santa.” You say, still innocently sucking on that darned candy cane.

His fingers swipe over the front of your panties, feeling it and pushing the damply soiled material against the folds of your swollen pussy lips.

He groans as he feels that warm slick seep through onto his fingertips. He brings them up to his nose and sniffs before putting them in his mouth and sucks them, looking at you the whole time as you flare.

Then, he runs them all over your seam again, pressing in and applying pressure to the protruding, swollen bump of your clit. Those grubby, filthy hands pawing greedily all over you, just as you wanted.

“Mmm,” you whine as he strokes and circles over your clit that’s buzzing and pulling tight. A tinge of an ache that makes your thighs tense in the most delicious of ways as he strokes over it, lewdly.

“Santa’s little slut, aren’t you?”

You nod, smirking.

He takes the candy cane from you, and slots it in his own mouth, sucking on it as he inspects between your legs like a letch. You hear it clack against his teeth as it rolls from side to side across his mouth.

Sucking on it, the stripy tip turned fully white now, he runs it in your folds, and you gasp at the coolness of the mint.

He dips it in, sliding the candy cane into your hole and pulls it out, sucking it back into his mouth, tasting you around the peppermint treat.

"Mmm, you taste so good." He praises.

He does it again, fucking you slowly with the candy cane and watching as you bite your lip as he slides it in as deep as it’ll go, before holding the sticky treat out for you to taste.

You eye him as you suck it clean of your slick, your tongue lapping down the length of it, and he groans.

“So fucking nasty,” he says with a glint in his eye.

You crunch on the end of it, breaking off a chunk into your mouth as you chew and he discards the rest onto the floor, breaking into pieces that scatter upon impact.

“Let me get another look at that pussy.” He wrenches your panties aside again, and spits on his fingers, rubbing them over your dripping cunt.

“That feel good?” He slides up and down your folds, teasing your clit with slimy circles of your slick and tapping it.

“Yeah. I want those dirty fingers in me.” You whine.

“All the way in?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get those panties off. Santa wants you spread open on his lap, baby.”

You lift your ass up as he tugs them down and you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket with a cockamamie smirk. You can only imagine all the sordid things he'll do with them later.

“Oh my God…” You gasp as he slides in two thick fingers, thumb running over your clit.

“You like being a dirty little slut for Santa, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod.

“Look at you, spread wide with my fingers in your cunt.” He looks down at the wet patch on his pants where you cream for him.

“I love it.” You nod. "I love being your slut, Santa."

“Yeah you do. Kiss me again, baby. Gimme that tongue.”

He sucks on your tongue before he pushes in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. He pumps them in and out of you, garnering a tempo that leaves flames licking down your spine as you writhe against them.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he whispers, pulling on your bottom lip and sucking it.

“Mmm, yeah… that feels so good.” You mewl.

You can hear your slick squelching around his fingers and leaving them shiny as he pulls them out. You watch as he separates them, leaving strings to break before he sucks them in his mouth.

“Santa’s got a gift for you in his sack, baby.” He reaches down into a bag, just as dirty and grimy as he is, and pulls out a battery powered wand with a bulbous head.

You’re stunned as you giggle, and he raises his eyebrows.

“You carry that around with you all the time?” You say, bewildered.

A filthy grin lances across his face, the type that could impregnate women. And looking at him, he probably has. A harem of single mothers waiting on alimony cheques that’ll never come.

He clicks the wand on and pushes it to your cunt.

“Oh fuck!” You drool as you feel it pulsing deliciously against your clit immediately. He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, whining at the taste of your skin.

The vibrations, like soft, tingly ripples, spread from the device and explore every facet of your nerve endings. Tiny electrical pinpricks; a bubbling conduit of glittery bursts that intensify the more pressure he applies against you.

"That feel good?" You hear him graze at you.

“Mmm, I feel like I could come right now.” You sigh, gripping onto his broad, tan shoulder and enjoying being so close falling off the ledge already.

“This little toy gonna make you come, baby? Make you come for Santa?” You watch as he tongues your nipple, flicking it back and forth fast.

“Yeah. I’m almost there.” You shudder. "Mmm, fuck." You grab a hold of his hand, pushing the wand tighter against you. You can feel it pulsing in the centre, a deep winding sensation behind your abdomen; bunching and tightening.

He clicks it up a notch, the vibrating head faster and louder against your clit.

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes, yes!” Nails digging into the back of his hand as you grind against the wand head.

“Yeah. Come for me, baby. I wanna see Cookie come for Santa like a good slut.”

“Feels so nice like that… fuck!” You say your eyes rolling back, jaw tight and teeth clenching as you shudder and burst. Eyebrows furrowing and biting down on your lip as you come around the wand’s head. “So good, Santa… fuck, so, so good,” you pant.

His eyes flash with wild encouragement, yet they contain a sense of addictive danger as he kisses across your breasts that taste salty with sweat and glittery fragments that stick to you as you shake.

“Such a good little elf, coming for Santa aren’t you, baby?”

He glances at you as he suckles and kisses your nipple, and pulls your face towards his for a swamping kiss that tastes acidic and makes you dizzy with it all.

You reach down and squeeze his cock as he tosses the wand onto his bag. Stroking him over the red velour pants. He has an oily smirk; slick and fast, matching the tempo of how quickly he gets his cock out for you. Thick, veiny and pink, with a nice fat head, oozing just for you.

“Is this all for me, Santa?” You marvel at the lack of boxers or briefs under the pants.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got such a big cock. Mmm, that’s gonna feel so good in my tight pussy.”

“Gonna stretch you out, baby.” He takes your hand and wraps it around him, pumping.

“Fill me up.”

“Yeah, Gonna fill this slutty pussy up till you're dripping me down your thighs.”

Your eyes are drawn to the ominous swell of his cock in your hand, astounding in its size and girth with a puff of grizzly dark hairs at the base of it. You’re trying to understand the science of how the fuck he’ll fit inside of you.

“I feel so fucking good, Cookie. So hard.” He whispers with a beguiling whip around his gritty cadence.

“Mmm,” you say, mesmerised by jerking him off. Watching as he drips for you and smearing it around his head with your thumb.

“You wanna feel it? Feel it in your pussy, baby?”

Biting your lip you nod and grin. “Yeah.”

In a flash, he sits you on the throne, your legs hanging over the arm rests and spread wide for him.

"Fuck, look at you," he sighs at how spread and soaked you are for him.

Dieter jerks his cock as he runs his tongue up and down your slit, sucking on your clit hungrily. He swirls his tongue round and round, speedily as it flicks across your clit and makes your thighs twitch.

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He groans.

“Like candy canes.” You giggle.

“Yeah. So sweet.”

You yank his head forward, clutching at the roots of his greying curls. His nose snuffles against the top of your mound as you feel him penetrate your hole with his tongue.

“Fuck!” You drone as he fucks you with it.

He licks down and then runs back up again, this time gliding his nose in your folds too. Slick gathers on the end of it, shiny as it passes over your clit.

“God, I wanna fuck this tight, little pussy.” He growls, wiping your juice from his nose and licking it away from his palm.

Dieter pulls off the pants fully, then stands, crouching with legs spread; thick thighs supporting him as he lines himself up with your slit.

You can see the swell of his belly where the wife beater rides up and you reach forward to stroke it, feeling the galaxy of soft hairs that lead in a trail down to his cock.

You wince as he pushes in, fisting onto the hem of the vest.

“What, huh? Too big? You can take this big cock. Come on, baby.” He looks down to see he’s halfway in; your cunt sucking him in as he traverses the fleshy, wet walls crushing around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, God!” You groan, reaching for him as he pushes in all the way, deep into the hilt of you and there he stays for a moment, unmoving, just feeling you pulse and contract around him.

He wiggles his hips and watches you breathlessly gasp.

“Fuck me,” you plead.

He pulls out and then slides deep again, over and over until he works up a tempo that has you panting; clawing at his arms and soaking around him.

You sit up on the edge of the throne, legs wrapped around his lower calves as he slows into a more laboured pace. Sliding his cock in as deep as he can get it into you. He nips at your neck, running his tongue over the skin and sucking it between his teeth, marking you with purple welts.

It’s a deep, somewhat brutal fucking, as he flexes his hips and pounds into you with determination. Taking your breath away as the jolts of your body stop you sucking more oxygen in.

You hold onto the arm rests to steady yourself as he fucks into you. His own breath getting lodged in the back of his throat.

You look up at him, jaw slack and eyes glazed over in ecstasy as his thighs slap relentlessly against your ass cheeks. His face his taught, veins bulging around his neck and eyes focused on you. Lined forehead coated with a sheen of sweat and you want to taste on your tongue.

“You like this don’t you, getting fucked by Santa?” He queries with a dark smirk.

“Aah fuck! Yeah, give it to me!” You wail.

You can feel the weight of his balls pendulum against your ass as he thrusts relentlessly.

"Santa fucking his little whore." He puffs.

"Fuck yeah!" You cry.

“Get up baby,” he instructs, wincing as he stands upright and clutching his lower back.

He sits on the throne and pulls you onto him, but facing away. You hoist yourself up, feet flat on the seat either side of his thighs and lower yourself, squatting onto his cock standing tall and thick beneath you.

“Oh, that’s it. Sit on Santa’s fucking lap, baby!” He gushes, pulling you all the way down until your cunt is flush with the base of him.

“Oh shit, Dieter!” You cry as you feel him plunge deeper than he's already been. It forces the breath out of your lungs as you sharply inhale. "Shit, shit!"

"Call me Santa, baby." He teases.

His hands hold onto your waist; thick fingers curling around towards your belly button as you move up and down, using the arm rests to push yourself upwards.

“Fuck, you’re so deep.” You groan as you work faster with the aid of him pushing your hips.

“Yeah, fuck my cock, baby.” He grunts from behind you.

You reach forward and stroke his swollen balls, groping and squeezing gently as he groans in delight. You run your hand across the both of you; feeling him plunge into your pussy, moving up to your clit as he fills you.

“Yeah, yeah, baby. Oh fuck yeah!” He’s groaning behind you, hissing and puffing. The throne creaks and rocks under you both.

The burning in your thighs stops you momentarily, and you step down off the throne and ride him harder, leaning forward on his thighs.

He’s watching, hands on your ass cheeks, splaying you apart so he can see his cock delve deeper into your pussy, shiny and drenched with your slick.

He sucks his thumb and notches it against your tight, puckered hole. You squeal in delight as he breaks through and hooks it into your ass.

“So fucking dirty baby.” He praises as you tighten around his cock. “Wish we had that candy cane now so I can put it in your ass.”

“Oh my God…” You sigh deliciously at the seedy thought.

“You gonna come? Come with my thumb in your ass like the dirty slut you are?”

“Mmm, yeah!” You coo.

“Fuck yeah!” He hollers as you start to shudder and ripple around him.

Your voice wanes, becoming nothing but a husked whisper scraping against the back crevices of your throat. But the most fascinating thing of all to him, is the way your body shakes uncontrollably on the end of his cock as he strokes the inside of your ass.

The dreamy, heady feeling crawls over you like smoke in the dimly lit corridors of the back of the mall, choking you up. The colours of Christmas in the Grotto take on a seedy glamour, as if you're witnessing the world through the tinted lens of a noir film.

It's a sensory whirlwind, where every touch, taste, and sound carries a palpable sharpened edge, laced with a hint of danger that adds to the thrill of the fuck between you both.

His cock bottoms out in you constantly, filling you full of him and you can’t get enough. Panting and whining for more.

The knotting and binding cinches tighter and you start to fall, not into a soft cloud; it's a smokescreen of desire and kinky vice. It's the kind of state where the boundary between illusion and reality blurs, and you find yourself entangled in the gritty allure of forbidden pleasures.

Fucking Santa in a children's Grotto, and you giggle at the absurd, yet vividly decadent rapture, as your orgasm takes you and turns you out.

“Yeah come all over my cock,” Dieter cajoles as you whine and screech, riding yourself through it until you buck and shake, unable to keep yourself up right on legs that feel like mush.

Dieter bends you over the throne this time, kneeling on the plush seat as you cling to the back of it whilst he stands behind you, pummelling into you and seeking his own finish.

“You like taking Santa’s big cock like this?” His voice pelts the back of your neck; hair bunched and knotted around his fist.

“Yeah!” You cry out, literally clawing at the gold paint finishing. You’ll find it under your nails later. “Harder.” You whine.

“Oh, you want it so hard, you greedy cock slut.” Wheezing like he’ll need an oxygen machine for the rest of his life, Dieter speeds up.

Obscene slapping of sweaty skin-on-skin fills the Grotto. If security were to trundle on by, there’s no mistaking you'd both be caught and the thought makes you flare.

“Spank me, Santa!” You urge over your shoulder.

“You want me to spank you?”

“I’ve been a very bad elf…” You pout coyly.

“So fucking bad, baby.” He slaps across your ass, the sting making you moan out as it traverses your body.

“Mmm, yeah! More!”

“More?” He does it again, harder and it leaves a mark where you can feel the burn.

Another slap has you screaming as you push back on his cock, meeting his every thrust.

The sweat sheen on your back shines at him and he leans over you running his tongue up your spine to taste it. The action pushes him deeper and you both cry out in unison.

He works his hips, shunting back and forth in small, quick bursts as he fucks that tight, pretty hole and makes you mewl and gasp.

A savage rhapsody of his unrelenting stamina that pummels you continually; all you can do is take it, whining and groaning and seeing the phosphenes glitter around your vision as he builds you up again.

It’s soaking between your legs, immensely sticky and you can feel it dripping between your thighs. You reach under yourself and stroke your clit that feels like it might explode with the simplest nudge.

It feels so good, too good, and you’re coming again, legs shaking and your back feeling like it might break in half, as he twists and pistons into you with all that he’s got.

“Where’d you want Santa to finish, baby?” He grunts desperately.

“In my mouth.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Watch me swallow it all down, Santa.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He pulls out and jerks his cock a few times before coating your waiting tongue with warm, thick spurts of him.

“Take Santa’s load,” he groans. “Yeah, lick the tip clean, suck it. Oh yeah, that’s it… fuck. Clean me up with that slutty mouth, baby.”

He reaches down, smearing his thumb over your lips that are sticky with his pearly come. Cock in hand still, he strokes the side of your face as you look up at him and run your tongue over his length.

“Next time, you can fill my ass.” You wink.

“Fuck,” Dieter chuckles. He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect crescent, like the moon in its waxing phase. You decide instantly that it's kinda beautiful.

Standing, your hands on his chest - the wife beater drenched with sweat - you kiss him, slipping your salty tongue into his mouth and he whines, groping your ass and crushing his softening cock between you both.

You feel him pick you up, wincing around his teeth a little, as he strains, hands splayed under your ass cheeks as he plonks you down on the counter where all the treats are kept, namely the basket of candy canes.

You groan contently into the seedy warmth of his mouth once more as he latches onto your lips, tongue exploring the wet crevices of your mouth. You cup the back of his head, yielding to the undercurrent of surrender, willingly.

Dieter takes one of the candy canes, unwraps it and slides it into your mouth. You feel his fingers stroking through your wet swollen folds, gathering it and swirling it around the rim of your ass as he puts one of your ankles on his shoulder.

It's a feeling that goes beyond the physical, a warmth that stirs the echoes of desires you might not want to admit, but have willingly embraced nonetheless.

You want more of him, want more of this grimy bastard filling you up, and judging by how grunts, licking around your teeth and gums hungrily, Santa’s not done yet with you either.

“Get it nice and wet, baby. That’s it.” He encourages you as you slurp and suck around the candy cane.

He takes it from you, and you bite down on your lip as you feel it pushing against your rim.

“Santa’s gonna make it disappear, baby.” Dieter, the Sleazy Santa chuckles at you, with a sly, twisted grin as you crush his rancid lips to yours once more.

Thanks so much for reading more of Sleazy!Dieter. I hope you enjoyed him! Stay tuned for more of him in the future.🖤

MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #christmas fic #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #jett's writing #dieter bravo fic

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blueicequeen19 · 1 year

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Alright I’m in a feral for JJ mood and also in a total domination type of mood.

How about JJ gets back from being stranded, comes home to you sleeping, and wakes you up with his face buried in your pussy 🙈

Maybe some overstimulation because he missed seeing you cum so much he’s determined to make you do it over and over again

Snack Time

Warnings: Somno, oral, rough unprotected sex, over stimulation

All I wanted after a shit fucking day was my girl. I wanted to hold her and fuck her and hold her some more. She’d said she wanted to stay up until I got home but as soon as I pulled into the driveway and saw all the lights off, I knew she was already in bed. Who could blame her? Midnight was too late. It wouldn’t stop me though. I was hard as a rock as I quickly showered off the dirt and grime from the day, my dick already weeping precum just at the thought of her withering beneath me.

I’m barely dried off when I slip under the blanket at the foot of the bed and gently crawl up her body. Her heat washed over me as I trailed my lips and tongue up her thighs until my nose brushed her panties. I press my nose against her slit, tonguing her over her panties. I could smell her arousal as I tug her panties to the side and lap up his clit. She stirs, murmuring softly in her sleep as her legs start to tense up.

I can’t help but grow greedier as I feast on her pussy. I wanted her to wake up. I wanted her sounds and I wanted her to scream my fucking name. I quickly slide two fingers inside her glistening pussy, curling upwards as I suck her clit into my mouth. I hear a muffled breathy moan then the blanket is thrown back as she attempts to sit up.

“What the fuck, J? Is it snack time?” She pants, tugging hard on my hair as I keep sucking her sensitive bud and work my fingers harder. I keep my eyes on hers as she trembles, her bottom lip quivering until her pussy gushes like a flood and she curses loudly.

“That’s one.” I move up her body, slamming my mouth down over hers while she convulses beneath me. My cock nudges against her entrance like a magnet, begging to be buried inside her tight heat.

“Baby.” She pants, threading her fingers through my hair as she spreads her legs wide.

“I had a bad day.” I whisper, guiding my cock inside her and causing us both to moan loudly as she sucks me in deep. I can feel her walls fluttering around me, gripping my dick hard. Her head tips back as she surrenders to me, letting me use her pussy to erase a shitty day. The sloppy wet sounds of our fucking echos in the room mixed with our heavy breathing and groans. I slip her legs over my shoulders, hammering into her harder as she cums again and again. Until we’re both sweating and breathless. My thighs burn but I’m not even close to stopping.

I growl when she plants her hands against my chest, pushing against me as her pussy gets too sensitive.

“JJ, please, I can’t.” She cries, tightening like a steel band on my cock.

“I’m not done.” I thrust harder, faster as her cries turn to sobs. “I’m not done.”

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #obx2 #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #rudy pankow

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justagirlwholikesadam · 4 months

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Farmer! Sandor Clegane Headcanon

don't own these pics

Summary: Just a few headcanon of Sandor Clegane as a farmer.

A/N: Thinking about this man as a farmer has me down on my knees. Comment and like below, maybe I can do next farmer Sandor meeting reader. Enjoy-L || Border Credit: @cafekitsune

Warning: SFW, sad childhood, Sandor being himself, dog dad,

Farmer!Sandor always knew he wanted to be a farmer from a young age. He liked working with his hands and moving around. He never wanted a desk job, he couldn't imagine his 6 '6 self sitting on a small computer chair for nine hours a day, five days a week. He had low patience dealing with idiot people, so retail was out of the question, any job that required dealing with people was a no. So far the only thing talking back to him were the animals on the farm and he was content with that.

Farmer!Sandor isn't much of a people person but he will sometimes invite Tormund, a worker from the market he goes to for groceries once in a while over to watch the game or just for a beer. Sandor only does it because Tormund doesn't shut up about coming over. After two six-packs, Tormund isn't so bad to be around and he doesn’t ask him about his scars.

Farmer!Sandor gets up right before the rooster crow at dawn. He likes to watch the sunrise while drinking black coffee. He nibbles on some toast or some corn muffins. On Sunday, he makes a big breakfast meal since it's the only day he rest. Eggs, bacon sometimes with ham and grits.

Farmer!Sandor wears a white beater shirt and his dark coarse chest hair peeks out. It shows off his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, it was all thanks to the hard manual labor he does. He ties his long hair with a black hair band, he keeps a spare around his wrist. He wears old blue jeans that hang low on his hips. Sometimes he wears a flannel shirt, when it gets too hot, he takes it off and wraps it around his hips. He wears these heavy size 12 boots with rubber outsoles on them.

Farmer!Sandor sweats alot after a long day of work. He uses the flannel to wipe the sweat off his forehead, neck and tone arms. He showers immediately after walking into the house. He leaves the boots outside and goes into the shower to clean the dirt and sweat off of his body. He makes sure he cleans himself, rubbing the body wash thoroughly through his chest hair and his long hair.

Farmer!Sandor walks out of the shower and looks at himself in the mirror. His burn scars are a bit red from being out in the sun all day. He reminds himself for tomorrow to wear his hat. He grabs face cream from the medicine cabinet to help with the redness. Some days Sandor can't stand the sight of him, that's why he liked being alone in his farmhouse. He dislikes the stares and pointing he got when going into town.

Farmer!Sandor still has issues about his face, it has gotten much better after going to the doctors. He has even done surgery for his hair to grow a bit, he usually combs his hair over to cover the slightly bald spot. He applies oils on his beard regularly and it helped his beard grow a bit back. His right brow has grown a bit as well, but the burn scars on his cheek and ear are still very visible.

Farmer!Sandor dresses comfy to get started on dinner. He walks into the kitchen and turns on the radio or sometimes the tv. He's listening to the news while cutting some veggies he has grown from his garden in the backyard. He usually grills his steak in the backyard when he's not tired. Opening a beer, he sits down and eats in silence. Sometimes he eats in front of the tv and watches whatever is playing. He's not picky on what to watch on tv.

Farmer!Sandor was on the field the next day on the tractor when he heard barking. He turns it off and looks over his shoulders to see it was a dog a few feet away from him. There isn't usually strays around, he makes sure of it since he has some chickens and pigs. He walks towards the dog, its shaggy fur is white and gray. Its ears are floppy and its tongue is hanging out as it pants.

“You alright, pup?” He asked, not really expecting it to answer but to his surprise. It barks at him, making him smile.

He carefully stretches his hand out when he notices it wasn't going to bite. He pats its head and even scratches behind its ears. Asking if it wants to eat, the dog’s tail starts wagging like crazy. Sandor decides he’ll have lunch early that day. He smiles once more when he notices it’s following him all the way to the house. He sits outside on the porch swing as he eats his sandwich and drinks a cold glass of ice tea. He watches the dog eat the leftover steak from dinner last night.

Farmer!Sandor decides to keep the dog after it kept following him everywhere for the past week. When he finds out it’s a girl, he decides to name it after his little sister, Ellie. The dog didn’t seem to mind, it followed him whenever he said it. He liked having company, it was less lonely when he wasn’t working. He lets Ellie sleep on the foot of his bed.

Farmer!Sandor doesn't smoke that much, he really only does it when he has a rough day. He’s sitting on the porch swing with a beer in one hand and the cigarette in the other. Since he’s alone, he does alot of thinking as he watches the sunset. He thinks about his life before he started to farm. He has been thinking about his little sister lately since the dog came around. His little sister was his best friend when he was younger. He had told her about his dream of having a farm. He smiles to himself as he remembers her telling him that he had to have horses for her to ride. He promised her that he would when he was a kid he had even promised her that he would have two horses so they could ride together.

Farmer!Sandor didn't have a good childhood, his parents were never around and his older brother was a bully. His older brother was the one to burn him when he was a kid. While holding his face on the hot coals, his little sister tried to help him. She hit the older brother on the back with her tiny fist. Furious that she was hitting him, he had smacked her. He hit her so hard that she fell back and slammed her head on the coffee table. Ellie lost a lot of blood on the way to the hospital and did not survive. His older brother was 18 at the time and was sentenced to prison. Parents couldn't handle it and left Sandor, who was placed in foster care.

Farmer!Sandor gets brought back to reality when he feels Ellie rubbing her head against his knee. He threw the cigarette out and placed the beer on the small table near him. He pats the seat next to him and makes sure that the swing doesn't move as Ellie jumps up next to him. He leans back as she rests her head on his lap. Sandor pats her head softly as he looks over across the field and stares at the half built stable he was building, he was going to get those horses and complete his promise to his sister.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #rory mccann #sandor clegane fanfic #games of thrones #sandor the hound clegane #ua sandor clegane #modern au sandor clegane #rorymccann

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gripefroot · 2 months

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Fire Night

For once, his timing is impeccable.

Not that you’d ever turned him away, of course, or even said anything temptingly snarky when he showed up while you were digging out mud from a creek bank and covered in leeches, or once, before dawn when you’d been passed out cold and therefore screamed like a banshee when he tapped on your bedroom window.

But this. You could get used to this.

Kiln nights can be a challenge, taking days to properly prepare and execute. Chopping wood for fuel, repairing the stone oven a quarter-mile from your cottage where it was safe to keep the blazes going for days on end to fire your pottery. Carrying the glazed pieces from the cottage to the kiln. Building the fire. Keeping it going through a night and a day and a night on very, very little sleep; because rest doesn’t compare to getting paid.

Repairing the stone oven remains your job. But Law has spent all afternoon with a wheelbarrow bringing loads of wood to dump near the oven. He’d doffed his shirt almost immediately, already tanning in the sweltering summer sun. Kiln nights are miserable if the weather is too cold; but summer makes sitting close to the oven all night tending the fire miserable, too.

Every crack sealed, you sit up from the grass and rub mud from your hands.

Not exactly the hands of a lover, but he’d never minded.

“Is this enough?” Law asks. His sixteenth load of wood. Not that you’d been counting. Or watched his backside when he’d walked away for more each time. Sweat glistens on his face as he wipes his brow with his forearm, eyes bright as he looks you up and down. As if laying belly-down on the grass and elbow-deep in mud is exactly what he admires most in a woman.

“Yes,” you admit.

“Finally.”

“But,” you say. His shoulders deflate by a centimeter. “I need to bring down the items to go in the oven,” you tell him, amusement bubbling up. It seems obvious to you.

“How many?” Law wanders over to crouch beside you, his nearness making your heart jump a little. Without a word he licks his thumb and drags it across your cheekbone. The mud must have splattered you at some point.

“All of them.”

“All?”

“All,” you tell him ruefully. “It’s less work to do it in one big batch.”

Law’s expression is nothing short of incredulous. “All,” he repeats. You give into the temptation to laugh, nearly blocking out his next grumble: “You have five shelves in your house. All of them?”

“You can keep asking, but I’m not going to change my mind,” you tease. “Why did you think I was so happy to see you this morning that I jumped on you?”

He purses his lips, making a show of rubbing his backside where he’d landed after said jump. “Slave labor,” Law says.

“It’s not slavery if you’re willing,” you say.

“Keep that logic to yourself.” He tugs on a clump of your hair. “Fine. I’ll get all of your pots and things. But I’m cheating.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to cheat.”

Law stands, brushing dirt and feathery bits from trees off of his jeans. “How could I have cheated when you keep sneaking looks at me like I’m a three-tier cake you’re going to eat tonight?” he asks, brows raised.

“I was subtle!” you protest. The air goes funny and shimmery, echoing his laugh as he disappears from the glade in the blink of an eye. A thump draws your attention: one of your galoshes for mud-digging appears right where he’d been standing. “He’s taking that back, too,” you say, to no one in particular, and stand to wash your hands in the creek.

Embers rush into the dusky sky to promptly fade, spinning back down to the earth. They’re snuffed beneath your feet, or your knees, or Law’s feet, or his knees. The oven barely fits all the pots, nestled together as close as is reasonably safe, before you’d sealed it with a final brick and more mud to keep the heat inside. Law works the bellows, blue and white flames spurting out of the top to chase the embers.

“Hot enough?” he asks. His face is red, glistening in the glow from the oven.

Carefully you pick your way to the oven as close as you can bear, leaning over to peer inside the chimney. “It’s glowing,” you say. “It’s enough for now, but we’ll have to bring it back up in thirty minutes or so.”

Law blew out a breath, sitting on his haunches. He’d worked hard all day alongside you, and it shows. It shows in his tired eyes. It shows in his strained smile. But any smile from him is a treasure.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeats. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Rest, probably,” you tell him.

“I want to know if I’ve earned anything from you.” His eyes hone in on yours.

“Don’t tell me, Law,” you say, walking around the oven in his direction, “that you only broke your back on my behalf today for something as small as a kiss.”

“I’m hoping for more than a kiss.” As soon as you reach him, his arm snakes out to wind around your thigh, holding you close. His face by your knee is a beautiful sight, orange in the reflection of the fire with deep shadows from the lengthening night around. His hand strokes up your thigh, you run your fingers through his thick, damp hair.

“I have an idea,” you say softly. “Let’s take a quick dip in the river and then come back.”

Law’s brow arches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s set up my bedroll far enough away from the oven that we aren’t sweating.”

He breaks out into a grin. “We’ll sweat.”

“Yes, but not from heat, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” His fingers find the waistband of your pants. “I do catch your drift.”

No one from town ever comes this far up the river at night. They don’t need to. So you strip off your shirt and pants by the bank, wading in stark-naked. The cool water hits your skin with a hiss, goosebumps pebbling across your body. Once up to your hips, you turn, trailing your fingers through the water to splash your front.

“Aren’t you coming?” you call back. Law is mid-doff at the riverbank, jeans partway down his knees. He’s staring. With a laugh you crook a finger to get him to hurry up. It jolts him into action, tugging his jeans the rest of the way off. Then the air shimmers, and a second later his body is pressed up against yours in the middle of the river.

“I’m coming, all right.” The words are muttered in your ear before his teeth sink into your shoulder. It only makes you shiver more, torn between the chilly water and Law’s heated body. The only problem is your front is cold and your back is hot. So you spin, trading sensations. His hands land on your hips, his half-smile visible in the night.

“Well,” you say, lifting your arms out of the water. Droplets fall back, plunk-plunk-plunking into the stream while you wrap your arms around his neck. “While I’m here…”

Little washing is accomplished. It cools you off, and rinses some sweat from his body and yours, but other than that? It’s forgotten in a tender, long-anticipated kiss that makes you hot all over again. He must be more impatient at the delay than he’d acted, because his long fingers waste no time digging into your rear end beneath the water, a low groan sounding in his throat.

That groan makes your skin skitter in anticipation, heat blooming deep inside. He’s slick from the water, and warm and solid. When his tongue is at the seam of your lips, you let him in with a gasp, tasting pine and man. Traipsing around the woods all day has made him delicious. More delicious than usual. The sensual way he kisses reminds you of his tongue elsewhere; stroking deep and slow while his hands coast up your spine.

“Law,” you choke out when his mouth goes to your throat to bite down hard enough to make you shiver. “Oh, Law. We can’t do this in a river.”

“Why not?” The question is a rumble in his chest, vibrating against yours. One hand on your rear, his other comes up to cup a breast, squeezing with your nipple pinned between his thumb and index finger.

Why not? Why not what? What had you asked? It had seemed so important then…but now, putty in his hands, you can’t remember what it is or why you’d cared.

Down his chest, tracing the muscles. Your hand finds his erection, slipping beneath it to seize the sack. He grunts, thrusting forward as you laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He likes it. Especially now. Law pulls away, his eyelids lowered but not far enough for you not to see the sparkling stars reflected in the dark depths.

“Someone’s greedy,” he says.

“You started it,” you tease back.

His lips tighten in a line. But he’s not grumpy about it. Not really. Especially when your fingers curl around the base of his cock, giving a tug that makes him sway.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “Alright. You win.”

Law bends over, hoisting you up and out of the river until you’re pistoned on his shoulder, the bone digging into your belly. Your shriek of surprise echoes down the river. Hopefully no one comes running.

One sloshing step after another to the bank. Then out, clothes forgotten as he strides to the oven. Drips of water patter onto the ground. His free hand strokes up the back of your thigh, then gives your rear a whack that makes you squirm.

“Not nice,” you huff. He’s too tall for you to reach his backside to retaliate. Not nice, and not fair.

Despite his manhandling, Law sets you down gently, holding you up until he’s sure that your legs are bearing your weight. Then, grinning, he finds your bedroll in a pack of supplies that you’d brought that morning. The night air is not kind to wet skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering. And then you inch closer to the oven, radiating heat even from ten feet away.

He shakes out the bedroll, laying it down. He’s never been a shy man. Not with his body, at least. But the sight of him standing fully nude and fully erect in the orange glow of the oven…your cheeks warm. His teeth gleam in the darkness.

“I’ll warm you up,” he says, offering a hand.

Too chilly to play coy, you bound across the space between you and him to encase yourself in his open arms. A clumsy kiss lasts all of two seconds before he bends at the knee, cradling you to carry you down, down, down.

It’s practice or skill or instinctual; your legs cradling him as he nudges his hips into meet yours. The clumsy kiss lengthens, lips parting to drink each other in, with his hands everywhere. On your jaw, on your breasts, on your hips. Then, finally, with a jolt that drags a moan from your throat, his fingers dip between your legs.

His breath is hot on your ear, your fingernails digging into his back for all you’re worth. “I missed this,” he sighed, catching your earlobe in his teeth.

“Me - too.” The words are a gasp. His fingers slide sleekly against your sex; flaring up desire that already burns. “Law,” you breathe, hands moving up to plunge into his messy hair. “Oh, Law.”

“Like I said. Greedy.” His chuckle is low and dangerous. “But I am too. Makes me crazy, y’know? Knowing you want me so bad. Knowing you’re here when I’m at sea and all I have to do is change my course, and in a matter of days I can be right here, inside you, where I need to be…”

Dizzy, you scarcely notice when his fingers pull away to be replaced by his cock. He’s slow to enter, rocking against you with his lips fastened to your neck. Each tiny thrust drives a groan out of him, and a gasp out of you. Tucking your knees higher, you reach down to hold onto him; to drag him in further -

But he growls, grabbing your wrist in his. “No,” Law said roughly. Half inside of you, he pulls away, glaring down at you. “I’ll be moving at my own pace.”

If his stubbornness didn’t guarantee your pleasure, you’d fight back. Nip back at him the way he nips at your fingers as if in reminder. He threads his fingers through yours, pressing your hand into the ground. Then he starts to move again, inch by inch; slow enough that your core twitches for more. You want to be full, he can fill you, but why does Law have to be such a tease?

“That’s better,” he purrs, as if reading your emotion in your face. He smirks ear to ear, eyes never moving from yours as he pushes into you.

“I like to touch you,” you say.

“So do I.”

“I wish you’d let me.”

“Maybe I’ll let you later.” Pain in the rear as he was, Law tilts his body off of yours to wriggle his arm out, and yours, to properly pin down your opposite hand above your head, too. If his fingers weren’t so blasted long he might not get away with it, but he manages to hold you with one hand. The other, he trails down your cheek, your neck, and to your breast, which he cups.

“I like to touch you,” he breathes. His nose brushes against yours, a tender display that makes your heart squeeze. “Thanks for letting me.”

You stick your tongue out. He laughs.

“That’s how I know you like being right where you are,” Law says. “You resort to being petty. You know I’m gonna make it worth your while, right?”

Yes. You do.

“There we go.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I can see it in your eyes, you know. The way you ache.” He draws his hips back, thrusting deeper inside. Your back arches against him, but his grip on your hands never lessens. Instead he bends over to match your angle, tongue against your lips.

How he manages to have so much self-control boggles your mind. He’d wanted this all day just as much as you, yet he holds himself back. How? How?

“Law.” It’s little more than a whimper. “Please.”

“I know. I’ve got you.” This time the words are strained. Was he breaking at last? By the jerk in his hips that finally, finally seats him fully inside of you, you think he might.

Law doesn’t tease anymore. He doesn’t coax, he doesn’t seduce. No. His mouth is hot on yours, every pant of breath filling your mouth as you kiss him, kiss him, use every ounce of your strength that’s available to welcome him inside. The ground is uneven against your back; the oven crackles, wind rushes through the tree branches above…

And the deep heat uncoils between your legs, building with each skillful thrust until he feels larger and thicker than ever. The only noise you can make is a long, drawn out “O - o - o - oh” that he must recognize, because he doesn’t slow, doesn’t change. Heartbeats later the pleasure rakes through your body in a single, cresting wave; starting and ending where he’s joined with you.

“Good girl.” The words crack from his mouth, his tone deep. “I knew you could do it.”

A few more, slowing thrusts send shooting stars through your veins, gasping for air while your heart batters in your chest. Then, finally, he stops, buried deep inside while his hands loosen on your wrists.

“There.” Law grins. “Not so bad to let me do my thing?”

“Well!” Your cheeks are hot, and his are red. “I’ve never been a man but I’m not convinced that takes too much skill. Just humping, really.”

He stares. Humor tickles, making your lips twitch.

“Just humping?” he repeats.

“Now, if you’d licked me first,” you shrug, pretending angelic innocence as his expression darkens. “Or done more with your hands…”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible! I’m simply stating that you can exhibit your skill in so many other ways.”

It works. Law’s jaw clenches, a growl between his bared teeth. He throws himself back onto his haunches, leaving you bare and a little cold, until he grabs your ankle to pull you towards him.

“Just humping,” he mutters. The last thing you see are his narrowed eyes, the challenge sizzling in them. In a single moment, he flips you onto your belly, the scratchiness of the bedroll far too pleasurable on your nipples than should be allowed. You plant your palms on the ground to hoist yourself up, but his hand pushes down on your spine. “Just humping,” he says again.

“Just humping,” you say. Smugly you glance over your shoulder, just in time to see him rise to his knees. He pulls your hips up with him, tracing around the flesh of your buttocks with a growing smile. He meets your eyes in a brief, stunning moment.

“You menace,” Law says. “You wanted this.”

“A lady never tells.” Stretching out like a cat, you push yourself against him with a pretend yawn. His intake of breath is audible, the strangled noise like music to your ears.

He can be in control all he wants, but it doesn’t change his weaknesses. And you happen to be acquainted with his weaknesses. Intimately.

Law starts slow again, but picks up faster, holding onto you for the ride while the bedroll scrapes against your skin. With nothing to hold onto, you make fists instead, letting the pleasure drive everything else from your mind. All that matters is him and you and you and him, and how perfect he feels and how wonderful you feel and how much better everything is when he’s here…

It could have been an hour later, or three, dozing off naked and side-by-side beneath the sky while the embers burst like fireworks against the inky blackness. He lays on his back, you curled against him, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your back. Sleep swarms, but you brush it away.

It’s Fire Night, after all.

“Our clothes are still at the river,” you mumble blearily.

“Oops.” He doesn’t sound even a little repentant.

“I don’t want to add more wood to the fire nude. What if I get burned?”

Law sighs, then with a groan pushes himself to an elbow. Facing the glow of the oven, his features blur handsomely with a smile just for you. You smile back, tracing the line of facial hair down his chin. Fondly he pats your rear.

“I’ll get the clothes,” he says. “But then you have to add the wood.”

If he feels like he won, then that’s fine with you. Because this false competition only makes it easier to make excuses, easier to be sweet, and easier to pretend like it isn’t love.

#trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #law fanfiction #law x you #trafalgar d water law #Trafalgar law x reader

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balkanradfem · 1 month

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So I am gonna write about a tmi, icky gross problem regarding armpit hair, so if you don't feel like reading about that, it's time to scoot, skip this post, scroll on, skedaddle.

I know you're all still reading because you want to know about gross icky disgusting problems, and this is your own fault. So let me tell you a story!

I've had a life where paying attention to my physical health was the least of my issues, and if a problem was ignorable, you can be sure I ignored it. This proved to be a poor method of staying healthy, and now I am in fact, not doing so well. But that's not the point, the point is, I'm now paying much more attention to my body, and able to notice if something is up!

So one of the things I've ignored, was the condition of my armpit hair, which I shaved for only a very brief period of my life, and was happy to continue growing it out. I've noticed after a while, that there is some white coating on some of my armpit hair, and I thought, you know, I need to wash that stuff out! I need to scrub that area more, obviously it's still dirty somehow. However I would discover that no matter with what I scrub or wash, the white dots and coating on the hair would remain there. So it was not dirt, I was forced to conclude.

I looked it up, and the internet informed me, it is in fact, a bacterial infection. Shocked and baffled, I read some articles that recommended going to the doctor, getting antibiotics, shaving it off, using products to stop sweating, washing constantly not to get it again. It was utter defeat, after being so happy about my armpit hair being normal and all grown, to have to shave it again because of a stupid goddamn infection. They said the infection hits women and m*n the same, but women experience it less because they most commonly shave it off. Like firstly I don't believe you that most women do that, secondly you didn't mention the skin infections women can get from shaving.

But anyway, I had to shave it off in humiliation, and then I grew it back again, and I was more careful this time! To wash more carefully, to not allow myself to be sweaty, to dry off my armpits before putting clothes on, but after a while, it slipped my mind. I get anxiety sweating, I work a physical job, and I am a gardener. I get sweaty! And I like being sweaty and it doesn't feel bad and I would like, to not get an infection. But six months later the infection came back and now I'm brooding about it. I don't wanna shave it off again! I miss not knowing it was a legitimate problem, and I mean it's not like it's actively causing problems, just makes the smell of my armpit slightly stronger but I am okay with my own smell so the only thing that does bother me is knowing there is some bacteria in there having a field day while I'm enjoying my gross sticky life of being a physical worker.

So I am writing this to find out: is this a problem other women growing armpit hair have faced? Have you all known what it is? Did anyone find a solution that isn't a topical antibiotic and living a life where you don't ever get sweaty? If it turns out I'm the number one icky woman out there, so be it, I can be the leader. But I've never heard anyone talk about this, and I don't want to go to a doctor and hear 'why don't you just shave it off like all normal women' because I have the right to my armpit hair dammit, and I want it to be for my own enjoyment and comfort and the bacteria need to find some other job.

If this is a common problem then people have found a way to deal with it centuries ago, and I bet any witch back in time would know exactly what to do, but sadly I can't go and ask one, or read about their findings, because we know why. Please help me crowdsurf this information.

#female body hair #armpit hair #armpit hair infection #tmi post #womens health #womens body hair

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hubbahubbabluelock · 1 year

Text

Kisses <3

part one

ft. Chigiri, Raichi, and Kunigami, and a reminder that I'm a new blog looking for more requests <3

Hyoma Chigiri + shoulder/back kisses

Chigiri loves you and comes to you with everything eventually, but sometimes he can't help falling back into old habits. He'll pull away, distance himself, prepare to minimize himself and his needs... Anything to keep your own smile intact. He reminds you of a cat in a way, finding somewhere to burrow and hide instead of crying out.

The dissatisfaction and self-loathing coming off of him one day after practice shocks you. He's quick to dart past you, eyes downcast and without a word when you ask how it went today. All you hear is the slamming of the bathroom door before you're even done speaking. Well, looks like you'll have to go to the kitty yourself then.

He still doesn't say anything when you enter, but when you ask if he'd like company he nudges the glass door open right away. When you step in you can see the leftover dirt and whatnot swirling down the drain, and Hyoma just resting his forehead against the wall. You gently pull him back towards you into a hug, wrapping both your arms around him to push your face into your back. When he reaches up to squeeze your hands, you press a sweet kiss right in the middle between his shoulder blades.

"I'm here when you're ready, honey."

You press another, longer one into his skin and he shudders, melting into you. One of his hands reaches back to comb through your hair, pressing your face against him.

"Will you wash my hair? Please?" It's so quiet, so defeated, but that's okay- it's a start. You kiss his back a few more times under the warm water before reaching for his shampoo.

Jingo Raichi + overwhelming kisses

His mouth is on yours, hot and wanting and greedy, and you can still hear the others laughing and chatting in the locker room showers. When you whine and push back, he just growls at you and yanks you back by the hair. You're so pretty like this, he thinks, all flushed and needy for him against the lockers. He loves the way you look at him all needy and begging. You act so worried about his teammates, but you still have one leg wrapped around his hips to keep him close...

"Jingoooo," you whimper. "Someone is gonna he-"

He dives in, lips and teeth and tongue working across your delicate neck while he cups your ass to pull you closer to him.

"Don't care, just means they'll know you're mine." When he's finished marking his territory, he backs off again to look at you. One shaky hand clamped over your own mouth to keep your moans quiet, teary eyed from the stimulation, hips rocking against his to get whatever friction he would offer...

Fuck, you are delicious.

He leans forward, lapping a long stripe up your neck to catch the sweat there before licking open your mouth to pull some more noises out of you. He loves it when you give up and moan into his mouth, falling into him and just letting him take you. You're breathless and desperate and all you can see, taste, feel is him... It's the only thing he wants after winning a match like that.

Rensuke Kunigami + tummy kisses

If there's one thing you absolutely treasure with Kunigami, it's the days you get to wake up with him. Thanks to the constant touring and harsh exercise regiment, most mornings you woke up alone and sometimes he came back home. Mornings like this, however, where Kunigami gives in and stays in bed with you... They're a rarity you wouldn't give up for anything in the world.

You're shocked though when you manage to wake up a few minutes before him, getting to just gaze at him from atop his chest. His strong features look so soft in this light and it makes you coo softly, traces light patterns across his pecs. You think about how sweet he was last night, how sweet he always is with you, and you can't keep your hands to yourself. You gently pepper his neck and chest with quick little kisses before trailing down to his tummy. Relaxed as he is, you can still see the outline of his abs and it makes your mouth water.

You can see the little movements and twitches he's making, but you solider on. You gently kiss each muscle, running your lips whisper light across each divot and dip in his skin, loving how he clenches and unclenches in his sleep.

"Wha're doing?" It's so sleepy and cute when he finally wakes up, adoration for you shining in his gaze even this early. One hand finds your cheek, pulling you up to see your face. You resist, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss to the muscle you were on, before looking up to smile at him.

"Just a little hero worship honey, lie back and relax." He blushes and once again you find yourself cooing back to him. There was no way either of you were getting up now until you kissed every inch of him.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #chigiri hyoma #kunigami rensuke #kunigami rensuke x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #x reader #raichi jingo #raichi jino x reader #requests open #fluff

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pedgito · 1 year

Note

Hiiiii, can i ask for one of Ezra with smut plsssss? i really loved the pre-outbreak!joel miller <3 thankssss

pairing | ezra (prospect) x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, dubcon (it's a sex pollen fic, so just to be safe) but it's fairly consensual aside from that, but read at your own risk! this is set pre-movie time, so the plot is pretty loose, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex [6.5k]

author’s note | smut starts about 3k words in if you just want the naughty bits! i wanted to try something new for the recent milestone i hit as a treat but if this flops don't look at me, i've never written this trope before forgive me

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

The sky is a sickening yellow that burns in the daylight here, hand crowding over your face to block out the glaring sun as it beats down, sweating through the thick padding of the suit that acts as your lifeline. You hate these trips, the ones that are purely for scouting and not for the attempt at digging and coming away with at least something of value to keep for yourself. It seems pointless and reckless, always poised for an attack by rival prospectors threatening to lay claim to an area you haven’t learned much about.

Luckily, this moon was untouched. Nothing like the ravenous Green you were used to. It’s both a relief and a danger. There was something off about this place, the air, the ground, the foliage that surrounded, and the lack of active life. Not an animal, parasite, nor any other species, human or something similar to be found. It’s barren and eerie but full of energy, the plants surrounding breathing in the air as if they are the living beings of this place.

You’ve only ever heard about these places in stories; the moons that no one dared to visit in fear that they might never leave, that the ground would swallow them whole and feast on their bodies. No one that landed ever left, always mysteriously disappearing off the face of the universe.

Yet somehow, you still ended up here. Alone, completely alone.

“What a sight this is,” A voice speaks from a distant, head whipping around all sides to find the source, the bulbous helmet obstructing your view, “do my eyes deceive me?”

You left your gun on this ship–first mistake. But, you had the small knife tucked away in your pocket handy and ready for use if needed, fingers lingering around the pouch until your eyes laid claim to the person the voice belonged to. Helmetless, too.

“You stay–you stay back,” You warn, voice shaken, “why are you–how are you breathing this air?”

Almost for show, he takes a deep breath.

“Amazing, is it not?” He asks, shifting some of the tall foliage out of the way as he walked closer, following the make-shift trail along the dirt that threaded through the tall plants, encasing you in a small fortress. “I only found out a couple days ago. It is–quite amazing, you agree?”

“Why are you here?” You avoid his weird approach at an introduction, examining his features to assure he was human–it seemed that way, a small scar settled under his left eye that brought you more questions alongside the small patch of white hair hovering above his forehead. His accent was even stranger, from some far off area you’ve never heard of, the dialect all it’s own.

“I could be asking you the same thing, little bird.” He tilts his head curiously, tapping on the thick glass of your helmet as he approaches closer, “This is…high end. Interesting. What is someone like you doing out here, all alone?”

“My job. I'm here to prospect and harvest.”

It's what everyone’s job was now–digging for gems and valuables to make a profit, making a living, keep themselves alive. Wash, rinse, repeat. You did well, always came back with a plentiful bounty. But, something told you this time was different.

“So, you're a floater. Where do you reside?” He asks curiously. "If you even have a home."

“Doesn’t matter.” You ignore him, “Are you going to kill me?”

You can see the gun attached to his hip and loaded, just a small flinch and he could have you dead in a millisecond.

“Now, come on–give me some of the benefit.” He pleads, but takes a second too long to continue, his face quickly morphing into amusement, “Unfortunately, you’re right, birdie. I’m required to shoot on sight, protect the product, and wait for the arrival of my crew. Now, why am I telling you this?”

“You want me to leave.”

His smile grows wider, his body tilting into the movement as he dips into his next step, snapping his fingers in a ‘aha!’ fashion, proving that you were correct.

“Smart, I appreciate that,” He compliments, his face quickly washed of emotion when he sees you unmoving, the small knife now poised between your fingertips, lowered close to your waist, “heaven waits girl, flee or die.”

“You don’t scare me,” You assure him, flipping the knife in a defensive stance as he invades your space further, watching you, examining. Like a meal, “what are you protecting here?”

“Hmm, brave…” He ripostes, “What do you think?”

It feels like he’s fishing–for information or clues and it dawns on you, the small amount of hesitation he has for not killing you outright, almost like he’s afraid.

“I think you have no idea what this place holds,” You challenge him, “how did you find out this air was breathable exactly? Did you trip? Were you attacked? Or were you just that stupid enough to take your gear off on a hunch?”

The silence is long and telling, his demeanor changing on a dime again, eyebrows furrowing slightly in annoyance and…anger?

“Oh shit,” You huff out a laugh, “were you–you were abandoned weren’t you? Betrayed by your own men? Your filters junked and took your fuckin’ chances like a dunce, but man, people like you are hard to kill, aren’t they?”

“You don’t know what you’re walkin’ into,” He warns, “you wanna take them chances alone?”

Truth is, he didn't either. He hadn't stepped a few yards away form his camp until now, too terrified by what lingered come nightfall, the planet feeling like it might split under your feet.

You’ve met men like him before, scared little boys hiding behind their big man persona to fill their own egos, but when it came down to it, he was just as terrified in this world as you.

But, at least you could admit it.

“I came here alone,” You point out, “What do you think?”

He knows the answer but doesn’t respond and eventually, he retreats.

“Look, girl–there’s somethin’ out there and it’s...big, loud–whatever it is, it’s alive and if you’re not terrified to go near it, you’re insane. I hear it at night, it’s worse than anything you can imagine, even the stories your parents told you as a child. Something is hidin' here, waiting.”

You always knew that the real monsters were the people, like you, because they had motive and intent, which made them far more dangerous.

You grab onto the connectors of your suit suddenly, decompressing your helmet on a whim. The air is crisp and clean despite what you’re expecting–it doesn’t burn or constrict, rather it expands, breathing a new feeling into your lungs.

“Fear is a good thing,” You tell him, nicking his hand with the knife unexpectedly when he moves to close, a quick prick that catches him off guard as he pulls away, nursing his thumb between his lips as he sucks, “keeps us human, right?”

Because whatever fear you had felt earlier toward the man had quickly dissipated and shifted onto him, his eyes a little darker as he watched you pocket the knife, letting your guard down when you realize just how helplessly harmless he was despite how he flared himself off in the beginning.

“I’m not leaving here empty handed,” You take in the full frame of him, tall and lean but less intimidating now, “are you?”

It was a mistake, something you will soon realize. Most of the moon is covered in a deep foliage to thick to search through, but after what feels like a few hours of walking, some tense small talk where you find out that the man who so easily threatened your life was named Ezra.

In a show of good faith, you tell him your own.

He’ll be dead by the end of this either way, either by your hands or the blade of your knife after you use him to get what you need—he wouldn’t see it coming, not a chance.

And he’s older too, lingering somewhere near his early early 40s from the way he talks. He’s weathered and callous around the edges and he’s seen things, you can assess that much.

He asks your age but it’s quickly snuffed out by a, “Doesn’t matter,” still, it’s obvious you’re younger and a little more naive in your brevity and willingness to risk your life on a whim.

You stumble upon the cave after the sun has set, the sky a hazy purple that creates a soft glow over your skin and you lead into the cave with little trepidation, amazed by the sight before you.

“God, these are beautiful,” You spoke candidly, examine the tight cracks in the rock that were lined with an interconnecting of vines, an ecosystem growing inside this dark, dwelling cave and acting as a beacon of light as it thrummed alive, glowing bright before dimming gradually in a continuous manner, “you were scared of this?”

“Something lives here, comes out at night when the sky is black and makes the ground shake,” Ezra warns, careful to linger back toward the entrance, “we don’t have much time.”

“My—these are bioluminescent, right?” The flower glowing in your hand as you touch it, dragging a delicate finger along the spine of the stem, “I’ve only read about them, some of these carry healing properties. I should take a few, could make good profit from them.”

Your greediness tells you to harvest, keep some for yourself, but Ezra is on you in a flash, grabbing your wrist as the flower puffs to life, startling you as it expands.

“Get back!” He shouts, “Those aren’t—“

But, it’s too late. A puff of glowing powder filtrates the air and into your face, sucking in an involuntary breath as it nearly suffocates you, pushing you back onto your ass.

Ezra scrambles, wiping your face with a delicate touch despite his worried expression before he’s gripping your wrist and yanking you back toward the entrance.

“What the hell—what was that?” You ask raggedly, wiping your face of whatever substance had spewed itself at you.

“Only ones I’ve heard of are poison,” Ezra admits, “Paralyzing agents, slow killers, nothin’ good.”

You follow him blindly, a hand tugging on your suit as he drags you along, hearing the faint shake of the mulch underneath your feet and you both tense, a shared look of worry.

“Little bird,” Ezra tugs you hard, hoping his urgency is conveyed in his eyes as he locks onto you, “we’re not makin’ it back to your pod I’m afraid.”

The shaking grows stronger, paired with a low rumble that has you both stumbling to the ground, body jolting at the touch of his fingertips against your neck where he catches you, hands planted into his chest as you plant yourself above him.

“I know I’m not one to trust,” Ezra admits, “But, I’ve got a tent a few meters east, it might keep us safe ‘til daylight.”

You quickly shove his hand away, the touch burning your skin in an unpleasant way, a weird feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Might?” You seethe, eyes growing comically wide at his unsureness.

“I told you comin’ this way was a bad idea, you chose not to listen,” Ezra ignores the distaste for his touch as you wretch his hand away, “it’s up to you—run back to your pod and hope you make it or we can saddle in at my camp.”

You’re logical enough to know there’s only one choice.

Self-preservation.

You let him guide you upright before immediately separating yourself, following his quick footsteps as he led you back toward his sanctuary.

The difference in you, Ezra notices, is night and day.

Your eyes are scanning around frantically as he reaches for the cover of the entrance, mindful of his touch as he guides you inside, realizing the severity of the things you had encountered in the cave.

He’s never seen it for himself, assuming most of it was a myth. Some of it is collected and concentrated into a small drug that’s used in the places that are higher-up, living more luxurious, the people overflowing with wealth that have nothing better to do than get high and fuck—it’s that simple, a sex drug.

But from the source, natural—there’s no telling the strength. Even him, though not in the direct pathway and mostly by touches transferred between you two, has him feeling a little perturbed, his skin feeling itchy underneath the suit, like he wants to crawl out of his body.

The silence that settles inside the tent when you’re both seated, far apart and in the two separate bunks stationed on either side, the one full of his belongings shoved to the side as you sit, pulling at the collar of your suit desperately. It feels like you’re suffocating, drowning inside the suit while your skin breaks out in a sheen of sweat, eyes squeezed shut as you force out a shaky breath.

Ezra watched it all happen, pulling lazily at the fingers of his gloves before unzipping his own suit, kicking it to the side and leaving him in his normal undergarments; a fitted black sweater paired with some black slacks.

You glance over briefly, confused by his calmness, confused by your sudden affinity to be out of this suit and near him, needing the feeling of something other than this thing pressed against your skin. He looks eerily normal like this, dressed in his day to day clothes.

“I think I might know what’s ailing you, birdie.” Ezra admits, forearms resting on his knees where he’s bent them, feet planted on the ground in front of him, “can I ask how you’re feeling?”

“Fine,” You grumble, the poor lie slipping past your lips, “Just—need out of this suit.”

He nods, extending a hand that you quickly defer away, eyes growing wide, “No, don’t fucking touch me.”

“I won’t touch your skin,” Ezra assures you, “That’s what’s got you worried, right? Feels like you’re on fire?”

His description is perfect, somehow managing to convey what you’re feeling, desperately alone inside your mind with thoughts that shouldn’t be.

He shifts to move, walking with his knees until he’s by your side, hands held up in surrender until he’s close enough to you, undoing the bindings in your suit to let you free, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy klunk as you kick them away.

“What—what was it?” You know he knows. Or that he at least had some kind of notion, his eyes scanning you carefully. Despite the sudden coolness to your skin from the thin tank that you’re wearing, it feels like a heat is bubbling underneath the surface.

“I’ve only ever heard of these things elsewhere,” Ezra explains slowly, bouncing around the truth, “it’s a, uh—enhancement of sorts, a drug to most.”

“Ezra.” You grimace, pushing him toward the point. It’s the first time you use his name, acknowledge him, and it feels weird. He’s not used to hearing it, either.

“Sex pollen.” He drives it home, no more beating around the bush. “It’s why you feel like jumpin’ out of your skin, why you couldn’t stand my touch.”

“Fuck off,” You scoff out tiredly, a bitter laugh lingering in the back of your throat, “that stuff isn’t real.”

Ezra’s eyes narrow, pointedly on you as he examines your response to him coming near, extending his fingers out carefully, “Give me your wrist.”

You back away unknowingly, hiding your hand away and ignoring the insistent beating of your heart in your chest, the sound of your pulse in your ears, the slow churning in your gut now impossible to ignore.

“Don’t touch me,” You warn, “Is this how you approach strangers? Tell ‘em they’re high on a sex drug and hope they’ll believe you?”

He says your name softly, hand dropping to his side, seeming a little irritated himself, though less so than you.

“I’m tellin’ you because whether you want to be or not, you’re stuck in this tent with me until sunrise.”

You scurry toward the corner of the bed, chest heaving through deep breaths, brow furrowing as you stare him down.

“Keep to your side,” You tell him, “I don’t want you coming near me.”

Ezra backs away without argument—he may be something of a scoundrel, a murderer, but he never had any intention of hurting you. Not before, not now. He was good at playing it up, but he knew you saw through it.

“You’ve got about an hour,” Ezra tells you, “maybe less now, but eventually that fever is gonna affect your brain, just like any other sickness and you’ll be worse off than when you came here.”

“Are you some kind of doctor or something?”

“You learn a thing or two in this line of work,” He pulls haphazardly at the suspenders held snug around his shoulders, letting them fall loose to his hips, “I’ve never encountered it like this until now.”

“And you—you don’t feel…off?” You ask carefully, a sudden urge to squeeze your thighs together and soothe the growing ache between your legs.

“I didn’t inhale it like you, didn’t get as deep of a dose,” The contact with you initially was just enough to keep him on edge, the itch under his skin growing slowly, he felt it too—the need, “you sure you’re alright?”

It’s the first moment of vulnerability you have with him as you glance up through downturned eyes, hands gripping the thick, coarse material of your pants.

“It hurts,” You admit quietly, “like a—like an ache, almost. Are you sure it’s safe here?”

Ezra nods, “Believe it or not, I’m not interested in the business of killing you.”

Not anymore.

“Forgive me for not thinkin’ that’s true, considering you threatened my life the moment I stepped foot on this moon.”

Ezra shrugs, fiddling with his sleeve silently.

“You’re full of empty threats, aren’t you?” You patronize him, turning your back to him now, settling down on the bed in hopes to calm whatever feeling was spreading throughout your body. “Come near me and I’ll shove that knife into your chest, got it?”

“Sure,” He responds distantly, “sweet dreams, birdie.”

And he himself tries to settle in, allow himself a moment of rest, but just as he’s lingering on the edges of sleep he hears you rouse, letting out a small whimper of pain as you pull at your slacks in earnest, “God, it fucking hurts.”

Ezra rolls to his side, head propped up lazily in his hand as he speaks, “M’gonna be blunt with you—only thing that’s gonna help is sexual release.”

“Stop talking,” You groan, the sound of his voice a few feet away and at a much lower register, thick with exhaustion, “it’s not like I can just take care of it with you here.”

For Ezra, it’s more of an annoyance, the tingling underneath his skin, the filthy thoughts running through his mind despite himself—he’s not that type of person, never would be, but that sight of you, the curve of your body even in this light, it’s enough to keep the flame alive.

He can see you’re struggling, fighting away whatever you were feeling and denying it despite the horrible pain you were in.

“Let me step out,” It’s not a solution to the problem, “I can give you the room.”

And really, you weren’t sure it would even help. There was a need for contact, even as you wrestle with the button of your slacks and press your hands flat against your stomach in an effort to ease the ache, it’s not as satisfying.

It makes you feel rabid, wiping the thin layer of sweat from your cheeks as you take a chance to look at Ezra when you turn on your back—he seems relaxed, aside from the insistent fidgeting of his fingers against one another, clenching and unclenching his fist every so often.

“Be honest with me,” You plead, “you’ve seen this before?”

“Only heard things,” He admits, eyes dragging toward the flickering light placed between you on the central beam supporting the tent—he’s talking to you, but he seems distant, far away, “it’s meant as an aid for—you know—“

You feel the impending but coming.

“But, like this—I don’t know much.” Ezra breathes out a deep breath, adjusting the slowly growing tightness against the front of his pants. “Even a small dose like that can be hell.”

You sigh shakily, fingers drifting until they’re only a few centimeters under your waistband, noticing his subtle attempt to adjust himself.

“Are you—do you feel it?” You ask softly, hanging by a thread. “I didn’t think you inhaled it like me.”

Ezra clears his throat, trying to respect your boundaries by not openly grinding up into his own hand—he was a bad man some days, but he wasn’t a savage.

“Just being near you,” He assumes, “it absorbs into your skin or something like that and by touchin’ you I got a smaller dose. You’re hurting somethin’ bad, aren’t you?”

You nod jerkily, earlier disgruntled emotions toward the man forgotten. He’s proven to not be as big of a threat as he posed and he’s almost friendly now, keeping his distance and trying not to scare you. It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself, but you hated how easily your thoughts betrayed you. You wanted someone near, didn’t matter who—you both just had the misfortune of being stuck together in a situation like this, dancing around the obvious.

“Maybe—“ You sigh softly, eyes roving his body for a moment, “if we just take care of it ourselves, just close our eyes and no one’s gotta leave?”

“I don’t think—“

You’re impatient, fed up, fingers dip until they meet your core, drenched in the sweet slick of yourself and painful to the touch, a moan blossoming in your chest involuntarily.

“Little bird, I am not so sure that—“

“Shut up,” You sigh heavily, rubbing insistently at your clit for relief, constricted by the stiff waistband of your pants as you flex your fingers to fit inside you, “just do it, get it over with so we can get some sleep and leave this place come—come morning.”

He knows you don’t mean what you’re implying; the off-chance you might take him with you after being abandoned, he’s not that lucky, he never was.

You gasp when your fingers breach your center, pressing beyond your tight opening and Ezra can feel the noises rattling him to his core.

“If I wanted to be treated like a lady I wouldn’t be doing this—in front of you, right now.” Ezra actually laughs at that, a small chuckle the rumbles from his chest. “Don’t worry, I won’t look.”

It’s the coyness in your voice that does him in, his hips rutting up into his palm slowly before he’s breaking that seal, assuming a similar position and hastily shoving his hands down his trousers, grinding down on his teeth to muffle the sound that escapes him when he feels the first touch, feeling everything more intensely now that he had given in.

“Better?” You ask curiously, voice still tight and ragged, the ache that was once dull was throbbing at your core and up your spin, growing the more your fingers dragging along your slit and over the small bundle of nerves.

It wasn’t enough. Didn’t feel like enough. Part of you knew that one simple orgasm by your hand wouldn’t solve this, but you remained naive, breath quickening as you shoved your pants down further, hastily, kicking them off the rest of the way.

Ezra hums a lousy response from your right, the soft shift of fabric against fabric, his movements quickening as he finds a rhythm, hand tightening around his shaft at the awkward angle he was forcing himself into with his cock still stuffed inside his pants.

Honesty would be good, right? Right now?

You let out an exasperated growl as you scramble upright, head hanging back between your shoulders.

“This isn’t fucking working,” You admit, “It doesn’t even feel good it just hurts.”

And the emphasis on the word is prevalent as you chance a look over at Ezra, his hand stilled underneath his clothes but his eyes wide, a little comical as he takes in the sight of you now, bottom half bare and visible under this light, the smallest sliver of your stomach peeking through your top that had ridden up.

So much for keeping eyes closed.

“I—“ Ezra stops himself, face scrunching up with a dilemma, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m not,” It felt like your body was working on autopilot, shifting your body to face him, “I need—god, I need more. Do you think, maybe—“

“Yeah,” Ezra answers immediately, already matching your thought as you scramble the short distance toward him, his palm pressing gently against your chest, “holy—birdie, your heart is racing.”

You nod absently, shifting his hand down abruptly to cover you cunt, a needy whine escaping your throat at the touch.

“I don’t have time to— talk this through,” It’s disjointed, voice airy as you speak to him, “help me, please?”

He’s never been more unprepared and unequipped for a situation in his life, falling privy to your motions as you grind against the heel of his palm, feeling his fingers explore cautiously.

“Whatever you need,” He agrees, nodding insistently as he winds his free hand around your waist, guiding you over his lap in a movement that has one of his fingers pushing past your entrance, fist clenching into his shirt tight, “tell me—tell me.”

He sounds wrecked, beside himself, feeling guilty for the circumstance and regretting having taken the risk to talk to you, letting his ego get the best of him. He would’ve never been in this situation, never have met you.

And somehow, you still feel empty, eyes brimming with tears at the discomfort, the neediness you feel across your entire body, the desire to be taken over and consumed by him—there’s a brief moment where you lock eyes with him, almost like a transfer of energy as he feels your pain.

The contact somehow managed to make things worse for him, or more equal on your level as his opposite hand grips tight on your hip, fingers working dutifully to keep you full as his head hangs, working with the little friction he received from his cock being trapped underneath the tight fabric as he followed your movements, pushing in when you pulled away, a messy dance of limbs as you clawed at each other.

“More,” You cry softly, “give me more.”

“Little bird,” He says as a warn, though his voice is nothing but comfort, “you don’t have a clue what you’re asking of me.”

You nod frantically, “I do, I do.”

His eyes pull to your lips, mouth hung slightly open as you gasp, feeling like you’ve been running for miles without doing any of the actual work, a type of primal desperation you’ve never felt before.

“We don’t have to—“ You squeeze your eyes shut, voice strained, “maybe if we just—“

Ezra understands without you asking, shifting his pants down hastily with you over him, briefs follow with before he’s just as bare from the waist down, kicking his clothes away mindlessly as you settle down against him without warning, the suffocating heat of your core drawing his attention back to you.

“You’re burnin’ up,” He notices, hands settling gently against your waist as he feels the hesitant tilt of your hips on the first drag, a deep sigh combining between you both, “does that—does that help?”

“Shh, shh,” You hush him kindly, hoping that focusing on the sensation and rather his voice—which was driving you equally as mad by how wrecked he sounded—would help, but it soon dawns on you that there’s only one way to satiate the ache, pushing at his chest until he understands, a slow fumble back onto his elbows as you grind against him more insistently, the excessive wetness of your core soaking him at the base, his grip against your hips tightening with every passing second as a groan creeps from his throat, paired with your own shaky sigh, “I can’t—can’t focus.”

Ezra feels partly to blame, too lost in his own head to realize the severity of the stage you’re in—most coherent thinking nearly gone and replaced with nothing but this, him, an eagerness to dull the painful ache in your body and by association, his own.

The lewd thoughts intensify with every pass of your center along his shaft, the head of his cock rubbing against your clit in an almost satisfying way, but there’s an emptiness that’s keeping you stuck, dangling over the edge.

You need him inside of you—want, as does he. He’s been picturing it since he saw your fingers dip past your core, since the strength of the pollen invaded his body and filled his mind with involuntary thoughts.

“Ezra,” You sound broken, tears having slipped down your cheek through the haze, “I need you.”

Ezra nods understandingly, his hand creeping up to cradle the side of your neck, your head lolling lazily into the touch, “I told you, little bird. Just tell me. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you inside,” You admit on a pathetic whimper, fingers slowly clawing up his clothed chest, fisting in the fabric as you move more insistently, “Ezra, please?”

In any other situation he would think this through, considering the consequences and ask you for reassurance, but he finds himself nodding before he can catch himself, guiding your hips up gently with his hand before you’re taking control and guiding the head of his cock to your center, seething him completely and to the hilt in one full motion, punching a strangled groan from his chest.

Ezra falls back fully with the force of your grip, huffing roughly with every eager bounce of your hips, watching as your eyes roll back slightly, feeling a slow sense of relief with how easily he fits inside of you.

If it weren’t for the thick layer of his sweater you would’ve broken skin by how hard your grip was on him, his own grasp teetering on painful but dulled by how badly you needed to cum, or feel any type of release for that matter.

There’s a soft repeated mumble of “please, please, please,” falling from your lips that doesn’t stop, not entirely sure what you’re asking for but Ezra soothes a comforting hand up your waist and over your shoulder as he watches you, slowly losing yourself to the sensation of being filled so fully.

“I’m right here,” He assures you, a faint echo in the back of your mind, “fuck—I’m right here.”

He soon feels suffocated by the thickness of his sweater, your body heat overwhelming him inside and out as he silently guides you up and quickly rids himself of the last bit of material he had left on his body, hastily helping you with your own when he sees your hand struggling to pull at the damp fabric.

But once he gets his eyes on you, taking in the rawness of you, all desperation and mindless need as your breasts bounce softly with your movements, squeezed tight between your arms from where they’re planted against his chest and all Ezra can think is touch.

He wants to touch you—and like you’re thinking on the same wavelength, bodies interconnected and driven by one thing, lust—so, you ask. Or more accurately, beg,

“Stop thinking,” You tell him, “touch me, it’s okay.”

Ezra feels pained by your response, your own voice riddled with the tears that kept falling, though the obvious lack of sadness behind them. He nods, lifting a hand to knead the soft flesh between his fingertips, your muscles clenching around him involuntarily and pulling a moan out of you that he mimics with the same fervor.

“Sweet jesus,” He speaks candidly, “you feel—“ Ezra doesn’t even have the words, landing on something that flashes through his mind quickly, “perfect, fuckin’ perfect.”

And Ezra can feel the intensity build as your hips falter, the brazen sound of skin slapping against skin slowing to a slow grind as you squeeze your brow line together, panting slightly.

“I got you,” He reminds you softly, slumping into him tiredly as he lifts his frame, flipping you over swiftly but carefully, settling your legs around his hips with a gentle touch, barricading you in with the taut muscle of his forearms, his hips moving slowly inside you still, “just focus, you gotta let go, birdie—only way you’ll get any relief.”

You nod instinctively, vision increasingly hazy as you pull him in closer, his mouth connecting with your shoulder in a wet press of his lips—not quite a kiss, but not subtle enough to be a touch and without even asking, he’s fixing a hand over your cunt alongside his cock from where he’s working you to a near point of something similar to an out of body experience, like you might finally lose your mind.

His touches are tender but pointed, his own moans increasingly debauched as he rubs your clit in messy circles, the wet squelch of you and him as you move together driving you closer to the edge, the intense tingling along your spine growing to the point of near unbearable, body shaking under his touch as he slips his other hand behind your neck, lifting your chin up as you gasp, clenching down hard as you came, body taking on a mind of its own.

The feeling is so intense you feel like passing out, spotting in your vision as you drift away for a moment, whimpering softly against his touch as the intense feelings you’ve been having dull for a moment, the torture of your body betraying yourself gone for now but still lingering dangerously close in the shadows.

“Fuck, fuck—” You hear his voice muffled over the ringing in your ears, staring blankly at the ceiling of the tent while your heart rate calms, your name falling from his lips like a warning as he feels that pull, low in his groin, shifting away hastily to work a quick, feverish hand over his shaft and spilling over your stomach in warm pulses, face slack with pleasure, eyes closed and drifting into a familiar feeling of exhaustion.

“I think–I think it’s over,” You mumble softly, fingertips dragging gently against his thighs, a contrast to the earlier hard grip you had on him as he drove you toward your orgasm, “Are you okay?”

Ezra shakes his head in disbelief, leaning back on his legs.

“For the moment,” He thinks briefly before nodding, noticing the worry in your face, corners of your mouth downturned in frustration, “—are you?”

And you would be, but even now as the exhaustion creeped in, that gnawing sensation was still lingering, leaving you wondering if this would last forever until you ended up dying some miserable death on this moon.

Ezra moves around slowly, reaching for one of the bags stowed away on the spare bed you were using prior and finding some sloppily cut cloth, he notices your weariness, “Just something to…” He gestures toward the mess of him on your stomach still, something you hadn’t really noticed until he pointed it out, his gentle assurance a comfort to you, “was usin’ them to keep clean when workin’ on my pod but…no pod, no reason to keep hoarding them.”

He leans back between your legs, cleaning you up without a word, silent as he drags the soft cotton over your stomach with a tenderness that shouldn’t make you feel that way. You barely know him and you’ll blame it on the ridiculous sex pollen filtering through your bloodstream, but he looks more docile now, like you might scare him if you move the wrong way.

He’s just as terrified as you.

“Ezra,” You call out softly, grabbing his attention, “can I be honest with you?”

“I would appreciate it, yeah,” He responds with a faint smile, “seein’ as the situation we’re in.”

“I don’t,” You blow out a tired huff through your lips, hands pushing away the wet, sticky hair from your face, “—it’s still there. Is that–normal?”

“Uh,” Ezra pauses, thinking, “I mean, I’ve heard a few hours, sometimes even a day. But, it should fade now, since you were able to—”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words with your eyes staring him down so intensely.

You wouldn’t be able to sleep like this, the impending exhaustion come sunrise would make it nearly impossible to get home, thinking back to how easily you could’ve turned around and left and never put yourself in this situation. Choices, decisions, nothing good ever came from haste thinking.

“If–if it doesn’t?” You ask softly, suddenly feeling scared of the unknown.

“It will,” He responds calmly, nodding, “but how long…there’s no tellin’.”

An eerie silence settles between you two, aside the gentle hum coming from outside of the tent, a distant worry now–most places you were taught to be scared of the people you might come across, but here, inside this tent, you couldn’t feel more safe.

“Forgive me for being so forward but–it’s safe here, at least for a day or two. I’ve got the food, the water. We can wait things out until morning, little bird.”

You huff a soft laugh through your nose, moving your legs around him gently to one side as he adjust himself, draping the blanket shoved near the end of the bed over his lap and carefully covering your own.

“What would you have done if you never saw me?” You ask curiously, “Your people abandoned you, only a few days of supplies, do I want to know why you were stranded here?”

Ezra shakes his head simply, that answer being enough for you to gloss over the topic.

“So, is this the part where you ask to come with me?” Ezra’s shoulders shake in a silent laugh, hanging his head as he looks away, “What a fuckin’ day this has been.”

“You don’t have to drag me along,” He tells you, “doesn’t feel right askin’. But, since we’re stuck here for a bit, least until this shit wears off–”

He feels the sensation burrowing in the base of his spine too, the release of endorphins allowing you both a moment of calm before it ramped up again, undoubtedly. And there’s a sudden urge from you to touch him, stopping his palm over your stomach as his fingertips feel the material of the blanket.

“I can be convinced,” You tell him, eyes softening under his gaze, “It’s all I do for a living, bartering, trading–you’ve proven pretty useful, anyways.”

Ezra smiles at your indication, thumb rubbing along the back of your hand and reminding you that this wasn’t near over yet, his touch leaving a dull burn in its wake.

“Keep the pain away and I’ll give you a free ride,” You promise him, “no tricks, I swear.”

“Another one?” Ezra says jokingly, finding the smile that breaks out on your face a clear indication that it wasn’t too much of an overstep, adding a little light to the situation, “I’m honored.”

And even if it did takes hours for the pollen to leave your system, a few tiring orgasms later shared between you both in a very heated, messy exchange of bodies rubbing against each other or his head buried between your legs, there’s a clear indication to never come back here, leave this behind you, and try not to be hung up on the man you met on this moon as he parts ways with you not soon after you arrive back home. But, there’s a reassurance in his words as he leaves you, leaning against the open door of your pod as you restock for your next journey.

“Can’t keep myself in one place too long,” He says regretfully, “but I know where to find you.”

“Don’t get yourself killed out there.”

Ezra laughs at that, full-body and amused.

“Not a chance, little bird.”

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