#V: Like a man possessed [Season Two] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crowsandmurderbackup · 11 months

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Tags and Verses

NATHAN ROYAL SCOTT

Nathan ✖ (Aesthetics)

Nathan ✖ (Thoughts)

Nathan ✖ (Character Development)

Nathan ✖ (Crack)

Nathan ✖ (Headcanons)

Nathan ✖ (Photos)

Nathan ✖ (Verses)

BIOGRAPHY:

Nathan Scott was raised to never want anything, as the son of Dan and Deb Scott. But, life wasn't always perfect. He knew his father had a bastard so, and he hated the kid, because he existed. He knew they were only several months apart, and he just hated him. It wasn't like they traveled in the same circles though. Nathan was popular, head of the basketball team, propular girlfriend. But, that didn't mean he didn't make him miserable when he could.

It wasn't all easy though. His fa her was obsessed with his basketball career, since the time he could dribble a basketball. He wasn't stupid. He knew it was more about his dad, than it was about him. His family was pretty much crazy.

His life got even crazier when his 'brother' joined the basketball team and he made his life hell for it, only easing off, when he promised Haley James he'd ease off, if she tutored him. He'd made a bet he could get with her. But, he hadn't expected her to make such an impression on him. Everything kind of changed, after that.

His parents decided to divorce, and sick of them trying to put him in the middle, he emancipated himself. He and Lucas get along on off weeks, and he and Haley, well that was another story. It was normal to get married in high school, right? Everyone said he changed, and maybe they were right...until she left and went on the road. He reverted to before and even when she returned, he was hard on her, and Lucas both.

Eventually, he worked it out with them all, but things are never easy with his life, and he didn't always make the best choices. But one thing was good, for sure and that was holding his baby son for the first time, on his graduation day.

In college, he went all-American and nearly lost it all a few years later, when he went through a glass window, and hurt his back. But over time, he got it back, and with the support of his family, finally made the NBA. But sometimes, dreams changes and ability to hold his family becomes more important.

[PLOTTED AU THINGS ARE AVAILABLE. THIS IS JUST HIS GENERAL BIO]

VERSES:

I have never had a dad who wished I was a stain on a bed sheet

Nathan Scott, younger son of Dan Scott, or if you ask Dan or Nathan, only son of Dan Scott, is pretty much the star of the Tree Hill Ravens basketball team. He's popular, has an attitude, and has been known to bully people. The thing he hates most: the existence of his father's bastard son, Lucas. What Nathan didn't anticipate was his effort to get under Lucas skin after he joined the team, to change his whole life.

I already know my future

The last thing that Nathan would have imagined a year ago, is that he would be married, and that he and Lucas would be friends, and even brothers? But, he's trying to navigate it the best he can, and deal with basketball. But, the pressure from his dad hasn't gone away, despite being emancipated. Being married this young isn't as easy as it looks, and there's this asshole singer who is giving him a bad feeling, who seems to be 'helping' Haley.

Like a man possessed

Married or not, he still didn't always handle things the best, and well, neither did Haley. First, she went on tour, and he went completely off the deep end. But, it just got worse. He was self-destructing and fast. She reappeared the night before he left for High Flyers for the summer, and he didn't know how to handle it, so he didn't.

The roots are still there. It just takes time.

Senior year is starting. He is Captain of the Tree Hill Ravens. His game is looking better than ever. Everything should be going great, except it wasn't. He still was married, and...he didn't know if he wanted a divorce...wanted to be married...wanted to punch Lucas, or drive another race car into another wall. He'd tried reverting to the old Nathan Scott before, and it hadn't really worked. Now, he was trying to co-exist in the same town as Haley, who kept saying she wasn't going anywhere. But, he didn't know if he could trust her. He and Lucas were still at odds, despite the fact that deep down, he knew it wasn't Lucas' fault that she'd left. He was slowly letting her back in, but it would take time, among other things. This year would be one he would never forget though, one of loss, pain, and new life.

All-American

Getting into college wasn't easy for Nathan. The mess with point shaving, to try to pay back Dante, had made him unappealing to Duke, and so many other schools. If it wasn't for Whitey, he wouldn't be playing ball anywhere. He wound up playing for Whitey, with Lucas as Assistant Coach at Gilmore University, while he and Haley worked to balance school, life and raising their baby, James Lucas Scott. Eventually, Nathan transfers to University of Maryland, College Park, where he was a First-Team All American.

I am not good at being vulnerable.

During the next several years, Nathan continues to work towards the NBA, even getting a shoe deal. It is looking like he is going to be drafted to the Seattle Sonics, but it all changed when he got into a fight, that led to him getting thrown through a window, and losing feeling in his legs. He felt like everything had been taken from him, and he started drinking all the time, depressed. Over time and realizing he needs to be there for Haley and Jamie, he is able to stand up and try to work his way back, even working with a troubled teen on Lucas' basketball team. But, things never stay easy in his life and his comeback was difficult, as was his life at home, due to problems with the nanny, his father and many other things. He tries to face things as a family, but sometimes, things are hard.

I got called up.

After trying slamball and nearly injuring himself again, Nathan makes the D-Team Charleston Chiefs. He faces yet more adversity, as the player with the current #23 tells him that he's not just going to let him walk on the team. He butts heads with a couple of the players, but eventually, he finally gets his call up to the Charlotte Bobcats, finally making it to the NBA.

You have saved me so many times.

Life as an NBA player is not a bad life to have. Nathan Scott worked hard to get there, and it's nice playing in Charlotte, since he gets to be close to family, unless he's on the road. His agent has become like family and he really likes being a Bobcat, and likes watching Jamie grow. As he gets closer to a contract year, he's not hearing what he wants to hear and he's starting to get worried about it. It doesn't help that some woman is claiming to be pregnant with his child. His father manages to get her to admit she's lying, but even in the midst of everything, Haley's mom dies, and at the last moment, Clay gets him a contract to stay in Charlotte and overjoyed at Haley being pregnant, he doesn't initially tell her that the doctors think he doesn't have that much time left, with his back.

I will be leaving the game of basketball.

After Clay is shot, Nathan leaves camp and he tells Haley about his back. He wants to try to be an organ donor, even if he is not a match. He makes the hard decision to put basketball behind him. Once Clay recovers, he helps him with the new agency, and tries his hand at being a sports agent, and turns out to be a pretty good one. Life seems to be okay, even without basketball, well unless you count, getting kidnapped and nearly murdered. He was able to make peace with his dad, who died saving his life. But, he thinks it all might be okay. He's got a great family, and he doesn't hate this sports agent thing, but maybe, he'll take a vacation for a bit.

Someday is today.

Life continues in the Scott home, as Jamie and Lydia grow up. Nathan continues to work with Clay, and Nathan proves to be a good, loving father, and hasn't nearly gotten murdered recruiting athletes again. When his son passes his scoring record, he's proud of him.

FACECLAIMS:

James Lafferty

#Nathan ✖ (Aesthetics)#Nathan ✖ (Thoughts)#Nathan ✖ (Character Development)#Nathan ✖ (Crack)#Nathan ✖ (Headcanons)#Nathan ✖ (Photos)#Nathan ✖ (Verses)#V: I have never had a dad who wished I was just a stain on a bed sheet [Season One]#V: I already know my future [Season Two]#V: Like a man possessed [Season Two]#V: The roots are still there. It just takes time. [Season 3]#V: Everything is going to be okay [Season 4]#V: All American [Time Gap]#V: I am not good with being vulnerable [Season 5]#V: I got called up [Season 6]#V: You have saved me so many times [Season 7]#V: I will be leaving the game of basketball [Seasons 8-9]#V: Someday is today [Post-Show]#Always and Forever [Nathan and Haley]#I could love you forever [Haley]#✖ [Character: Nathan Scott]#✖ [Character: Bjorn Ironside]#✖ [Character: Harry Potter]

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crowsandmurder · 11 months

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TAGS & VERSES

NATHAN ROYAL SCOTT

Nathan ✖ (Aesthetics)

Nathan ✖ (Thoughts)

Nathan ✖ (Character Development)

Nathan ✖ (Crack)

Nathan ✖ (Headcanons)

Nathan ✖ (Photos)

Nathan ✖ (Starter Call)

Nathan ✖ (Verses)

BIOGRAPHY:

[PLOTTED AU THINGS ARE AVAILABLE. THIS IS JUST HIS GENERAL BIO]

VERSES:

I have never had a dad who wished I was a stain on a bed sheet

I already know my future

Like a man possessed

The roots are still there. It just takes time.

All-American

Getting into college wasn't easy for Nathan. The mess with point shaving, to try to pay back Dante, had made him unappealing to Duke, and so many other schools. If it wasn't for Whitey, he wouldn't be playing ball anywhere. He woundle up playing for Whitey, with Lucas as Assistant Coach at Gilmore University, while he and Haley worked to balance school, life and raising their baby, James Lucas Scott. Eventually, Nathan transfers to University of Maryland, College Park, where he was a First-Team All American.

I am not good at being vulnerable.

I got called up.

You have saved me so many times.

I will be leaving the game of basketball.

Someday is today.

FACECLAIMS:

James Lafferty

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proxima-writes · 19 days

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𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

PAIRING: JACKSON!JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY | Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | One glimpse of Pedro as Joel in the new season has turned me into a woman possessed. Thank you @undrthelights and @janaispunk for giving this a read for me 💕

ways to help palestine

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, porn without plot, mild angst, able bodied reader, no physical reader descriptions or age mentioned, jackson era, mentions of joel's weight (in the context of looking healthier in jackson), emotionally constipated joel, dirty talk, praise, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex - f receiving (while standing), unprotected p in v, limited aftercare. let me know if i’ve missed any!

A noise breaks through your dreams, a loud banging that startles you from sleep and leaves you blinking at the ceiling. Thoughts still fuzzy, you stumble down the stairs and through your kitchen to the back door that rattles in its frame with each pound of a fist against it. You glance at the neon red numbers of the stove clock and at this hour, there can only be one culprit.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you groan, opening the door. “It’s two in the morning, what is wrong with you?” He doesn’t answer, simply shoulders past you and into your house. “Oh, sure come on in, make yourself—“

Your sarcastic remark is abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against yours, mouth hot and hungry as he skips any semblance of pleasantry and dives straight into carnal desire. His teeth graze your lip, the sting soothed by his tongue before it tangles with yours. Your fingers curl into his jacket sleeves, hanging on for dear life as he backs you into a wall, the two of you hitting one with a dull thump that disturbs the picture frames.

He shoves a knee between your thighs and pins you to the plaster, every sense invaded by him as he continues to consume you. When his mouth leaves yours and begins to leave hot kisses like brands across your neck, you finally find your voice again.

“Joel, what—“

“Shut up,” he grunts. You’re taken aback by the command and you have half a mind to smack him across the head for it, but he’s got his teeth on your earlobe and he adds, “I just, I need this, okay? Please?”

The fight leaves you in one fell swoop because you’d do anything for Joel if he just asks nicely. You nod and he returns to his task of turning you into a puddle with a single minded determination. When you start to rock your hips against his denim clad thigh in a desperate bid for friction, you feel, rather than see, the grin on his face.

“Mm, just as needy for me, ain’t you?” He teases. You frown.

“Don’t push your luck, Miller,” you snap. He laughs, a deep rumble that reminds you of the thunderstorms in the spring. “I can still kick you out of my house.”

“You won’t.” Confident, cocky, a man who knows he has you in the palm of his ridiculously skilled hands. “If you’d been smart, you would have kicked me out the first time. Now I’m just like a stray dog, ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

The first time, when he showed up in Jackson with a chip on his shoulder and a frown on his face. His hair had been shorter, his frame a bit smaller, his eyes a lot more vacant. He walked you home one night from the Tipsy Bison and when he kissed you under the glow of your porch light, his mouth tasted like whiskey, not unlike it does tonight.

Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

While your thoughts drifted to the past, Joel has dropped to his knees and is curling his fingers into the elastic of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your thighs.

“In the kitchen? Really?” You huff. “There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“Too far,” he says, tossing your underwear aside.

Despite your complaints, there is something undeniably sexy about having Joel kneeling before you, impatient enough that he’ll take you right where you stand. He shuffles closer, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and lavishes your clit with broad swipes of his tongue.

Your head drops back as you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls out every trick in the book of your pleasure, alternating between fast circles and sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips. It’s not long before you’ve reached the precipice of your release, teetering on a razor thin edge before finally falling into oblivion with a gasp of his name. He groans against you as you come, waves of it rolling through you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he says as he pulls away. You look down at him with a half-lidded stare, his chin wet in the low light and his own gaze dark with lust. He stands, slowly, with a bit of a wince because of his bad knee that he tries to hide with a grin. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you away from the wall and into his arms where he kisses you, his lips and tongue drenched in your taste. He walks you back to your little kitchen table, kicking a chair out of the way so that he can turn you to face it, a palm between your shoulder blades urging you down until you’re bent over the wooden surface.

The clink of his belt buckle falling to the linoleum makes your muscles clench in anticipation. Joel’s palm smooths down your back, almost reverently, before reaching your ass and giving it a rough squeeze.

“You’re killin’ me, you know that?” He asks. You turn your head, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, I’m waiting for you to quit teasing.”

“That’s just it,” he says, sliding the head of his cock through your messy pussy before notching himself at your entrance. “You ain’t gotta do anythin’ except exist and you’ll drive me crazy.”

Any response you had dies a swift death as he presses inside of you, filling you in the most tortuous way. The ache of the stretch quickly fades as he bottoms out with a deep groan, his hands gripping your waist tight enough that you know you’ll feel the phantom sting of bruises in the morning. He sets a rough, demanding pace, the sound of skin against skin cacophonous in your little kitchen. You can’t hold back the noises of pleasure he wrings from you as he slams in deep with each thrust and pulls out so far that you’re practically empty before doing it over and over again.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, so tight,” he grunts. You arch your back the slightest bit, changing the angle so that each drive of his cock drags against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars and whimpering his name. “God, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it so pretty.”

“Joel,” you moan. “Please, please, please.”

“Beggin’ to come again?” He asks. “So greedy, ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Need to come, please, Joel!”

“I gotcha, baby.” His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers pinch your sensitive clit. “Come on, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

It’s an empty threat, but one that works. Your muscles go tight with your second orgasm, your cunt pulsing around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated as he chases his own high. He pulls out just seconds before making good on his word, painting your skin with warm release.

As you catch your breath, his warmth leaves your side. You vaguely register the sound of running water before a cold rag is wiping away the mess on your ass and cleaning up the slick between your thighs, the rough fabric over your sensitive flesh making you jump. Joel shushes you, another pass of his soothing palm down your back as he finishes wiping you clean.

You stand up straight on shaky legs and collapse in the chair that he’d kicked from the table to make room for your bodies. He’s already pulled his pants back up, the only evidence of your tryst in the sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair in disarray. His jaw grows tense as you watch him and he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the awkward aftermath.

“Thanks,” he says. “Needed that.”

“So you said,” you reply. “Did something happen?”

“Just some bullshit with Tommy.”

“Brother bullshit or town bullshit?”

“Bit of both.”

“Oh.”

He nods, glancing at the door. “I should get goin’.”

“Right.”

Joel doesn’t move for the door, though. No, he steps in close, taking your face in his warm hands and kissing you softly, gently, a wild juxtaposition to his earlier attentions. When he pulls away, you can’t help but reach up and smooth a thumb between his eyebrows, trying smooth the line of concern there.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whisper. You’ve said it before. You’ll say it again. You’ll keep saying it, until the ship that passes you in the night returns to your harbor.

“I do,” he replies, stepping back. You give him a tired smile.

Tonight isn’t that night.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed! You can find more of my writing below:

Joel Miller masterlist | All character masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #no use of y/n #jackson era joel #long hair joel

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moondirti · 10 months

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DOUBLE RAPTURE

MIGUEL O'HARA x F!READER x ALT! MIGUEL

「 Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other repeatedly. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge.

And tonight – stuck between two men who don’t look, but are, each other – nothing can tamp your flame. 」

summary: after apprehending an anomaly who turns out to be an alternate version of your husband, you indulge in your filthiest fantasy.

explicit (18+) | 6.3k words | part two warnings: pure smut, pwp, THREESOME, cunnilingus, squirting, throat-fucking, blowjobs, unprotected p-in-v, anal, double penetration, tummy/throat bulge, younger miguel is submissive, spitting, cum swallowing, hair pulling, mild degradation, possessiveness, tooth-rotting fluff, every kink under the moon tbh

In truth, it comes naturally.

Your Miguel – older, blunt around once serrated edges, wisps of grey streaking dark tresses – sits to the side. He fosters a tumbler in one grip, half-full with amber liquid. Scotch whiskey, neat; you’d poured the drink to give yourself something to do while waiting. It’ll help, you insisted. An outlet to sip on, or a loud-enough warning when set on the adjacent tea table.

Now, you see that it was more for your sake than his.

He’s entirely collected for someone watching another man’s hands run along his wife’s body. They pushed your shirt off a while ago, hurried to behold your covered form. You’re laying in your bra, breasts heaving while kisses trail down your stomach, nipping the sensitive skin there – and still, all you can focus on is him. Your Miguel, scrutinising the rush the man is in with disapproval glimmering on carmine eyes. If this whole thing hadn’t been his suggestion, you would’ve sworn the look was meant to kill.

Because he likes to take his time with you. It hasn’t always been that way. Ages ago, following your premiere date, you fucked for the first time in a motel he rented, both your apartments’ farther than he would’ve liked to drive. But, again, he’s older now. Seasoned. There’s a heavy ring decorating your finger that winks reassuringly at him, three carats for the three year anniversary he proposed on. It amplifies the truth each hour you wear it – he is yours, you are his, and you’ve all the time in the world to do with each other as you please.

Your third for the night is unfamiliar with the dynamic.

(Though of course, it makes sense for him to be.)

You have to remind yourself of the fluid lines that mark each component of this little fantasy. They waver and wobble, bleeding into one another sometimes like wet ink on parchment. It’s hard to decipher the words they spell out when trapped in thick, indulgent lust – your legs spread to allow the man room as he moves down your body. But it’s even harder to ignore the way your skin burns with the intensity of your husband’s careful contemplation. It singes, redefining those exact perimeters for you:

One, and the most important given your suggestion, is that this will never leave your room. It’s not distrust that keeps it rigid – rather, a shared concern for the integrity of the multiverse. Your Miguel is all too aware of the dire consequences it could face should the rule be broken. You are too. It only narrows down to the partner occupying your bed and his naivete to it all.

Two; to use the safewords established beforehand. You’re infamous for losing yourself to pleasure, the habit bordering on a dangerous degree. It’s why Miguel is watching, to ensure things start correctly. He’s piqued and ready to stop it should the man not understand your limits.

(However unlikely. Currently, you’re the one establishing them.)

The third – the one you have a particularly complicated time grasping – is that ‘the man’ in question is no stranger at all. In fact, it’s instinct to touch him in the same way you’re used to, your mind adequately fooled everytime you look at him. A full head of brown hair – albeit, cropped shorter than your voyeur’s, a fade in at his ears. Young skin, which you strain to notice is devoid of the crows’ feet you adore. Yes, he’s smoother, like time had taken sandpaper to your model and buffed out all his worn edges, but he’s still…

Miguel.

(Though he urged you to call him Mig, entirely oblivious to the subtle cringe that’d crossed your husbands expression. That nickname is one you hardly resort to. He’s revealed a hatred for it.

Another cue, then, that they are not one in the same).

So, it comes naturally because you’ve spent so long in this exact space. Dusk flooding your home in plum hues, the colour of a berry ripe with rot. Overhead lights off, golden lamps projecting sensual shadows on white sheets. Your face warm with alcohol and your panties pushed to the side by a hero named O’Hara, whose palms are large and dry but a burning furnace on gooseflesh.

The younger one, Mig, is not yet a hardened vigilante. He’s new to the game – DNA spliced with spider essence only seven months ago. In that time, he worked out his own method of inter-dimensional travel, tortured genius that he is. Hopped between worlds until, eventually, he blipped on your radar. You’d been sent to process the anomaly whose personhood you were unaware of, only to come face to face with a twenty-something version of your beloved.

There’s no room for bias in the delicate scale of the universe. He’d found himself locked with other transgressors of his pedigree. Miguel – yours – was vehemently opposed to the notion of him joining spider society, uncomfortably affluent in his past recklessness. He knows, better than everyone else; it’s a security risk, letting in a spider-man so inexperienced.

You think that it’s projection. That, and a recognition of the way his mirror couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you.

(A flattering notion for all you refused to believe it. You’re about ten years his senior – surely, he’d have better prospects on his Earth. But you asked, perhaps to hearten any overprotectiveness that could manifest itself as risk.

Something wrong, Mig?

He only looked at you behind the red laser field entrapping him, a small smile on his face. No. Nothing. You’re just different back home.)

That was before. Before he embodied the exact enthusiasm Miguel had been afraid of, spearing your cunt with his tongue, his scalp no doubt aching under your relentless hold. He hums his encouragement despite it, begging you to direct him the way you please. At least he acknowledges his cluelessness – you can almost hear from the other side of the bedroom, acumen pulsing amidst heady air. Most men wouldn’t, their egos great fragile beasts. To have gotten around before might embellish their history with competent, but no one’s ever truly an expert on someone new.

Mig doesn’t pretend otherwise. He’s keen to learn.

That is the difference that encouraged this whole tryst.

“Unfurl your tongue, Mig. You’re focusing too much on– Oh.” Your hips buck, shoving closer to the mouth that does just as you say. He laps your heated core with spittle-drenched dexterity, combing between puffy lips. “That’s it. F-fuck… Just. Just don’t stop.”

The praise does well for him. He looks up at you, reverent – pupils not red, but black with the shadows his long lashes cast. You brush back locks that fall upon his forehead, affording him a better view of the effects he’s wrought. A thin layer of sweat clings to your flesh, gleaming with the fading sun outside. In your peripheral – framed gorgeously by the wall-wide window – it dips below the horizon, nebulous. Blurry on orange clouds.

Pinned under observation and a feverish assault, you feel much the same. Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other with novel speed. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge.

And tonight – bouncing between two men who don’t look like, but are, each other – the feeding of the flame goes untamed.

You find that’s the cause for it. There’s nothing to cling onto for purchase, the one anchor in this equation seated on his leather armchair, ankle on knee, content in watching you soar to uncharted skies on the chin of another. Your head flops uselessly to the side, scanning him once more.

There’s a tricky look to him, suspended on two lines of equal measure. You can tell he wants to join, to take control of the exploit and direct it how he sees fit. Perhaps it’s regret. Yet the pronounced mass in his trousers speaks to the contrary. Miguel palms it, testing his endurance by keeping his touch above cloth, rounding back once his heel presses its end. The sight catalyses your delirium; the knowledge that he, your dedicated husband, is tender with rushed blood and idle about it. Waiting for an opportune moment.

When you reach out an arm in his direction, you hope he takes it as one. Mig sucks your weeping cunt in a symphony of lewd noises, as though he’s trying to push the grace he’s been granting. Slurp. Tracing the perimeter of your slit, revelling in the way it clicks at his ministrations. Squelch. Nose driving into your clit, so hard you suspect he’s trying to bury himself there.

It only calls to your lips, how dry they feel. You’re parched of the one thing he chose to forgo, marking it as off-limits based on some arbitrary ideal. You don’t assume you understand it, instead wiggling your fingers – come here – at your husband. He skips over the grabby hands, devouring your bitten pout and droopy lashes, weighing them in his head.

“Mi vida.” You plea, voice pitched high and winded. The glass’s bottom glints with the last swill of his drink. He knocks it back before rising – sweeping towards you, tantalisingly slow.

Mig shoves your knees higher, practically folding you in half. Your hamstrings stretch with the motions, sending molten spasms to your core – that which he continues to eat out. He’s now doubtlessly coated with your juices, but he doesn’t relent, tracing messy patterns on the sweet spot he managed to pinpoint without your help. You’re reduced to a sore bruise, egged on with every poke and prod. Pleasure swells with blood, clogging burst capillaries. Delicate. Inflamed; deliciously so. You give him a validating pat on the head while a free hand wraps around your Miguel, ironing his waist as he ducks down to your lips.

All three of you are on the bed now. You can’t begin to process the depravity of it all, the way things suddenly become hot and bursting and real. No – you’re much too enthralled by the rough kiss you’re pulled into. It’s dominating and tastes like smoked oak. Honey and faint vanilla where his tongue traces your fauces. The flavours batters you into something vapid, stupid, until the older man has to cup the back of your neck to keep you from sinking.

Intoxicated – you thought you’d be familiar with it by now, how wholly he consumes you, but there’s a power imbued in his approach that has you struggling to keep up. It’s all you can do to keep moving your mouth against his, gathering the material of his shirt to pinion yourself.

He’s got a stubble that colours his jaw in grey, the stalks of it grazing your nose and flaying you raw. It leaves you feeling sunburnt, dazed yet still pushing forward, like the balm for relief can be found at the back of his throat. That’s something else, you note, flicking your observation over to the face between your thighs. Mig keeps himself clean shaven, a youthful shine to his complexion, no peppered hair to obstruct it. Without it, you can clearly see the way his high cheekbones curve inward, hollowing out as they lead down to a pronounced chin. Charming, especially as it shoves between the globes of your ass to make room for his continued efforts.

You’re close, so close. A dam about to burst with centuries worth of water and–

“Need help, corazón?” Miguel whispers, nudging your nose so you can look back at him. Your response comes in the form of a stuffy whimper, nodding minutely. What exactly he means by help, you’re not sure, but his double seems to understand, breaking the smallest bit away to whine a protest.

“That’s offens–”

“Get back to licking her cunt before I change my mind about you being here.” Your husband orders, glowering when the reprimand seems to create the opposite of its intended effect. Mig grins wickedly, a cocky aura about him as he obeys. Just as he’s about to make contact again, his gaze catches yours. The subsequent wink he gives is a warning – loud and bleary and smug – preparing you for when he dives back in with a vengeance, plunging into your hole with that cursed muscle that runs like velvet.

The air pinches from your lungs, squealing on its way out. Your toes curl and your muscles tense and then Miguel directs your face back down with thick fingers, steering you by your cheeks. Your lips pucker, mouth unhinging at the silent command the action echoes. Tongue flattening, you prepare yourself for the little dance you’ve trekked a hundred times before – thankful, in some part, that he’s doing it to ground you.

When he spits – hawking, a dense glob concentrated with scotch – onto an expectant palette, you suppress the devilish narrowing of your eyes. It’s almost habit to reflect his countenance, looking down with fondness and pride at the control you exhibit. Because you don’t swallow, not immediately. You wait for him to kiss you again, to gather the slaver and push it behind your molars with reinforced passion. And he does. Of course he does – that and so much more as he places claim to the hole that is solely his for tonight. You hardly notice when his clutch leaves you, skimming down to unclasp your bra.

Not when your breasts jerk free, nipples pocking at the shift in temperature.

Not as he squeezes each, tugging at their peaks until they’re fully erect.

Or even while he tickles the line of your abdomen, following the same path his counterpart did, smoothing over aggressive bite marks.

It’s only when you break away for great, gluttonous breaths of air – your vision blurring with hypoxia – and Miguel reaches two digits to your fattened clit, do you finally run up to speed. It’s a little too late, though, because he presses down and escalates your delight to unprecedented heights. Enough to see stars – enough to scream the loudest you have in a long while, so that all your appeals are fully unintelligible but available for the world to hear.

“FUCK! Oh my– Fuck, s-shit, shit…” You cry, tears finally breaking the tension at your waterline and running in an unending sequence. “B-both of y-yo– Ah! So good. I’m–”

Mig moans, sending vibrations right to the tightening ball of pressure in your gut. He’s snowballed his efforts, drinking you in with a sincerity. Specifically targeted is the spongy wall of tissue on the upside of your mound, suffering his battery and singing for it. String-plucked and pedal-pressed symphonies, composing a viscosity within you that sloshes behind your orgasm. Yes, he adds to it, but the fingertips rubbing you with bullish ferocity are going to break what’s holding it all back. You feel– know it.

Using your hair to hold your head in place, Miguel utters a string of debauched nothings onto your lower lip, face pressed close to yours. They’re quiet enough that even you have trouble catching them, your ears ringing with rising alarm. But you sense the way his breath blows, what shapes it creates, how it twines – and that fills in every gap for you. The intimacy manages to speak to the truth, despite all the degrading dirty talk.

“You like that, you filthy fucking thing?” Groaning, your husband increases his speed, goading you faster. There are crushing hands on your hips, and another wound into your scalp, pulling it taut. “So insatiable that you need two men to help make you cum, huh? Do you think you can?”

“Yes, yes, yes please. Please,” The very implication that he might stop before you do inspires unruly desperation. Your hips, arms, head – they all thrash in unison. “I wanna– I want to cum, Miguel, for the love of everything! Please!”

He slaps your clit in warning. The blow sends you reeling into a hush, so much so that you stop moving immediately, secretly wishing he’d do it again. To divert your energy, you stare right into his pupils, which shine with burgeoning playfulness. “You will, dirty girl. You’ll wish you didn’t though.”

“W–”

“Oye, wide eyes.” He turns to Mig, who's been curiously watching the display, jaw still moving against you. He unhooks under the attention, blinking rapidly. “Mouth wide open. You’ll want to catch every drop.”

He returns to strokes you in circles – furious, fervent. It’s a screw to the cork, twisting forcefully to combat the tension it’s working to release. You squeal, screech, do just about anything except contract your body like you’re compelled to do. You leave yourself loose, watching as Mig registers what’s about to happen, following orders and transforming into a receptacle for it. His fangs peak from behind swollen lips.

All you’re able to think about, plastered to this pane of double rapture, is how they don’t seem to retract. Permanent, unlike your Miguel – a fixture in his gums.

And then the dam shatters. Implodes, actually – collapsing into itself until it’s a small particle floating out with the deluge. You can hear it, the rush of fluid squirting from you. Consistently, pouring into the puddle the younger man happily gathers. He beams with satisfaction and looks so much like your husband, who does the same, brushing tears off your wrecked face.

With a core still convulsing, caught in the reverberant throes of pleasure, you’re mentally spent. Drained for every dime you’re worth and still wholly aware of the promise he made, flipping it over in your head. Again, and again, until it loses impact and dissolves from the impending future. For all you try, though, he holds power over you – even in memory.

You’ll wish you didn’t.

Mig sits up, crouched on his haunches. Chest bare of everything – including the curls that span your husbands’ – and in just his boxers, you can’t help but focus on either one of two things. His maw, pulled in a downward smile and soaked with clear slick, a concoction of saliva and your fluid dripping from where his canines poke out. But you find that it fills you with unwieldy humiliation to behold, so you fall onto the next.

Which just so happens to be his erection, trapped and throbbing from behind navy cotton confines. The head of it peaks above his waistband, purple and dribbling with pre-spend. It’s created a wet spot that grows larger by the second, and your humility is replaced by guilt for the poor thing.

Miguel, cooing in faux sympathy, swoops to caress the shell of your ear with his sinful proposal.

“What do you say, cariño? Want us to fuck you silly?”

Your hole squeezes around nothing, empty, speaking with a will of its own. He hears it, because of course he does – he’s in tune with everything about you – and manoeuvres you onto your stomach. By mere muscle memory alone, you get on wobbly knees, presenting your rear to the ecstatic man behind you.

And, your husband… Well–

He squeezes between your face and the headboard, tree-trunk thighs stretching out on either side of you. There’s a huge wedge in his pants, not at full size yet but stiff regardless, suffocated by time and space. Your mouth waters, appetite returning far too rapidly for how distant it seemed mere seconds ago.

“Beautiful, hermosa.” Mig groans, spreading your ass to get a proper view of the way your pussy drips for him. A quick glance back provides you with a lovely picture. Him, positively captivated with your holes – both of them, it appears, based on the way his thumb grazes over your tighter clench. “Can’t wait to feel you on me.”

His cock is out, too, briefs shoved under the sack at the end of his length. You take it all in like it’s the first time – despite the many traits he shares with Miguel. Fat, darker than the rest of him that gleams bronze even at night. Though rooted on a crop of tangled hair, whereas his alternate self prefers it trimmed short. When he strokes himself, anticipative, you note the mushroomed head. Circumcised.

An impish idea suddenly crosses your mind. Succumbing to it, you arch your back, knocking your behind on him. The action traps the appendage between you and his pelvis, and to add insult to injury, you wiggle around until it slots between your cheeks. Mig’s face screws up, close-knit, his hands scrambling for purchase on your rolling hips.

Something slaps your cheek. Grinning, you turn back to Miguel, his dick now extricated from its prison. The heft of it sways, tapping your nose and fluttering eyelids, so damn heavy that you cringe when it approaches. Two veins pop up from the smooth skin stretched along him, branching down to his frenulum, the spot you choose to start.

Your tongue runs along it, lathering the plump seams on your journey to the top. His nerve endings are mainly reduced to his head – unlike Mig, who’s still moaning as you grind across his length – so you stay there, particularly concentrated on the edge and the valley it creates. Your temples warm with the gentle cradle of two large hands, piloting you on your trip around his cock.

He smells like home – an ambrosial mix of leather and sweat, the backseat of his car where he fucked you on valentines. It’d been raining, windows made misty by passing fog, city colours painted on the grey wash. You’d teased him all day with a lack of panties and suffered for it, practically choked on pleasure, nothing on but a new pendant necklace.

Right now, you’re stuck in a parallel state. You can’t breath under the leaden attention of both him and his mirror, doing your best to keep sucking and grinding regardless of your dwindling strength. It’s difficult, difficult to divide yourself and satisfy them both, but fuck do you want to. More than anything, you’d kill to see them come undone in your holes – simultaneously, in some unlikely reverie. Pumped full of cum and praise by double the man you love most. Your tummy lurches with nauseous desire, teeth separating as you take Miguel into your mouth.

Peering up at him, if only to experience the way he loses control. But creases fold between his brow, reading your expression just as well. Without rush or need for brawn, he pulls the responsibility from under you, assigning it to himself by propelling into your trap, all in one go. He grates along the texture of your palette, cleaving your tonsils, and finally settling deep in your throat, triggering a series of ugly gags. To quiet down, you grip your thumb in a fist, focusing not on your lack of air but on contracting your throat around his tip.

“Are you going to fuck her or continue to rut like a dog in heat?” Your husband bites at Mig, ever self-critical. The latter man sucks in a challenging huff, patting your waist as he withdraws to centre his cock between your folds. He wags it until it catches on the divet of your cunt, hot and surging with natural slick.

Then, just when you think you can’t bear it any longer, he pushes in.

“Ghmmngf!” You cry, forced forward onto Miguel’s breadth, coughing out the saliva and pre-spend that threaten to smother you. Nose smooshing to his groyne as the other bottoms out, sheathed fully within you. You swear you can feel him in your guts, silently praising whatever taught him how to make most of your narrow space.

Like they’ve practised telepathy their whole life, both men dip to feel themselves through your body. Mig presses a sturdy hand to your stomach, positioned right at your mound where he protrudes outwards, admiring the visible bulge he creates in you. Similarly, his older counterpart cradles your neck, pinching the sides that expand and retract with the pistoning of his hips. He fucks your gullet slow, fast, and back to slow again – amused with the pace he can discern in more ways than one.

If your eyes hadn’t been rolled to the back of your head, you’d be blinded instead by a pool of blissful tears. They bubble up uncontrollably, wetting the cheeks already glazed with almost every other bodily fluid. You’re ravished, cock dumb times two. Your cunt is stretched to its limits, sucking your paramour in with vacuum-like violence, the gravity of it equatable to the sun.

Or, no–

Not the sun.

Something a hundred times larger, nearing the end of its life. With every rock of your body, it runs out of hydrogen, draining the last dregs of fuel before eventually caving in on itself, transforming into an infinitely dense mass. It happens in your core, Mig’s bruising pace only exacerbating the strain, contracting smaller and smaller. Boundlessly so, enough to brush off as you snake a hand down to your clit, tapping the sensitive bud, testing its reactivity.

When you flick it, though, you’re drawn back into the dip of spacetime. It’s inescapable, the one fixed point in all this mess, imminent for all your ragdoll self tries to delay it. The room pounds with sex, the scent of it accompanying every particle, reducing air to balmy filth that acts as a catalyst in your undoing.

Impossible. You know it’s impossible to acquaint yourself with the sensation of being filled on both ends. Despite it, you try. You claw onto what little authority you have, pushing past your clit to graze your nails on a pair of swinging balls. They’re full and drooping, slapping your thighs as their owner humps your cunt.

“Keep doing that. Fuck, fuc– mierda, feels so good. Yersotight. Soft. Soft and… ah, small.” Mig babbles, bowing over your form to kiss the dip between your shoulder blades. Your teeth graze the cock ramming your craw, an unconscious tick that has your husband tugging your hair in admonishment. “Hermosa– s’okay if I? Gonna… gonna cum.”

“Mmnmgh–”

“Not so fast.” Miguel says, tugging you off him at once. It causes the both of you teetering over the edge, to groan, something overtaking all executive functions and compelling you to listen. The lull finds Mig slipping out, unable to hold himself back should he spend another moment filling your pussy.

You’re carried upward, manhandled off elbows and knees, to straddle your husband’s lap, facing a wide chest with pecs as comforting as pillows. When did he take off his shirt? Your vision swims, crossing, oscillating with the unexpected motion – until, well, it doesn’t, stopping as your forehead finds solace on the dip beneath Miguel’s clavicle. It’s a reassuring change, your brain rewiring into safety mode given the fact that, when you cum again – however overstimulating – you’ll be within the arms that have always expertly navigated it before.

And he’s warm, an ever-raging bonfire that licks your breasts and pebbled nipples, heat penetrating your bones to seep into your heart. Your marrow follows soon after, melting into a potion of desire and relief, especially when his far more familiar cock replaces the void left by Mig.

“Wide eyes.” The older one calls.

“Did–” Said man stutters, shuffling closer. “Hope I didn’t hurt you, pretty.”

“Hngh… ‘Course n-not, Miggy. We’ve safeee– words, rmmbr?” You grunt, reaching a hand behind you to hold onto his bigger one, squeezing it for added reassurance. “My ass, tho-eahh. Please.”

“You’re– You’re being for real. Seriously?” He asks, rising hope evident in his tone. “Have you ever done it before?”

“Of course she has.” Miguel interrupts, rolling his hips instead of bouncing your tired body on him. “First drawer on your right.”

You laugh when the mattress wobbles, sheets tangling beneath his hurried scramble. The bottle of lube is almost empty, bought spontaneously during your honeymoon to Cabo. Your then newly-wed wanted to indulge your fantasy of anal on the beach, tucked away on a private cove he’d found just for the occasion. It’s been a vice ever since, just like all things with him. You’re addicted to the man, flat-out, scratching to get your fix whenever possible. However possible.

And, of course – due to a devastating soft spot that makes it hard for him to begrudge you anything – you now have two.

Mig spurts a substantial amount onto his hand, rubbing it on his dick and the ring of muscle it faces. Two digits thrust into you, exploring your elasticity, scissoring to make room for a much larger insertion. The man seated balls deep in your cunt kneads your flesh; obsessed with the chub around your waist, thighs, your cheeks especially, pulling them apart to make this whole ordeal easier.

Not that you necessarily need it, being used to it by now – though you preen under the attentiveness regardless. Your ego is a drowsy cat, tucked under a patch of sunlight, purring as its heavily pet all over. Muscles lax, borderline liquid as you moan with the training your rear clench receives. More lube is added when the previous pour dries up, shoved into the spasming sphincter, accompanying every lewd ministration used to loosen it.

You gasp, loosening and wet. When fingers exchange for a dick that’s packed, solid as steel, Miguel captures you into another teeming kiss. It’s to occupy you through the temporary pain, you know, suckling your tongue into his mouth with a gentleness unbecoming of your current lechery. The pressure soon subsides, ebbing and waning to an easier to manage fullness.

Fuck. You’re plugged on both ends, twin lengths driving into you, stroking each other through the thin wall separating your rectum from your vagina. Initially, they keep the same pace, working in tandem to strike and pull out at similar times – but the task is demanding. It prevents them from fully forfeiting to euphoria. Their nature soon takes over, a novel motley of priorities wrenching you apart.

Miguel goes unrushed, sybaritic, fucking you in waves of doughy passion. He knocks against your g-spot, groaning at the way you flounder. The system unspools a little emotional well, tugging heartstrings until you bite his collar to quell your wails. He’s dedicated, a professional in the trade of you; his cielita – the term of endearment mumbled on your temple, lips pressed there in a perpetual kiss.

And Mig–

Bless him.

He’s unhinged, ravished by the feeling of your gummy walls flexing around him. Consistently refreshing the lube that makes it possible, petrified at the notion that this could perhaps stop, doing all he can to counter it. His method is rough, fast, pelvis smacking your plush behind – of which Miguel has long since let go of. There’s emotion in the way he behaves too; a wild, unspoken, behemoth thing, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. Not the anal, but you, specifically, panting in his embrace.

(‘You’re just different back home.’)

Your husband might’ve been too quick to judge. If what you suspect is true – which it likely is, an assumption based on an inextricable fondness you’d felt when you first saw the younger man, like you were made to love every version him, in every timeline – then his haste is not innocent clumsiness, but a more dangerous prospect. Desperation. Crestfallen, degenerate desperation. He hadn't the chance to feel any of you before tonight, for one melancholic reason or another.

“M’not… w-won’t last long, beautiful.” He whispers between pecks, peppering them across your nape.

“N-No, me neither.” Whimpering, you twist to scrutinise his tousled appearance. “Want you to cum in me. Fill me so I sp-spend days scooping you out. D-Don’t wanna fo… Need to remember this.”

“Fuck… you can’t talk like that and– and expect me not to embarrass m-myself.”

“Isn’t she something,” Miguel joins, smoothing the stray baby hairs away from your sticky forehead, callused fingers grazing deliciously across sweaty skin. It’s now that you choose to regard their voices, the subtle variations between the two. One deeper than the other – smoked with a prominent accent that jumps at the end of every syllable. “Filthy, dirty little girl. We could stay like this ‘till tomorrow and she’d have no problem. Would bounce on our cocks until she milks us dry.”

“Y’probably need it to keep you in shape– Hmnff!” Is how Mig strangles, cut off as you convulse around his thrusting length. The mass returns, settled in your cunt – a star verging on supernovae level catastrophe, about to implode while they participate in a literal dick measuring contest.

“Watch it, wide eyes.”

“Shuuu… shutup, shtp!” You keen, falling back on the chest of your paramour while Miguel fondles – slaps – your tits, mesmerised by the way they jiggle, your entire body jostled as their fat cocks jam you full.

“Is my girl going to cum?” One says. You can’t tell which, eyes squeezed shut, though you don’t think Mig would dare use that pronoun. My. Not in good conscience, not when he didn’t kiss you for fear that it’d be crossing a boundary.

“I swear I’ll burst if you squirt again.”

“Don’t expect too much from her in this state.” The trigger to it all, that aching bundle of nerves mashed against your husband’s pubes, starts buzzing with electric urgency. You brace yourself for the lightning, the shock. “Silly thing, can’t begin to form words let alone ideas. Look at me, corazón. What do we say?”

You don’t know. You can’t care. No flying fucks exist outside the devastating wreck that’s about to transform you, squalling loud and shrill from every organ that still retains its function. Heart fluttering like a baby bird’s wings. Lungs depressing into shrivelled cavities. Soreness gnaws on your cervix, abused by successive thrusts. Your bones feel like mush, macerated under mortar and pestle and dissolved in blood.

It’s coming, that celestial calamity.

Mig agrees, gasping. “I’m gonna–”

“Oye. What do we say?” Miguel exhorts, catching your glassy-eyed stare with his.

The former man barks your name, completely winded. Your asshole jerks on his cock, which twitches inside of you, ready to blow. Sopping with lube and pre-spend, spit and your own slick, you can’t control the syphoning noises your holes make, blubbering on the cocks that split you apart.

It’s then the words finally find you – manners that your husband insists on.

“Pleeaase.” You cry.

“Fuck!”

Thick spurts of fluid coat your insides, wrung from the man behind you. His cum is blistering, burning the thin layer between him and Miguel – who surprisingly, given the control he’s exhibited thus far, follows suit, pumping you full of his seed. Your womb and rectum, the puffy folds and rim that try to keep it all in – are all frosted with pearlescent spend. Heady and dripping, staining a depraved mess on every crevice between your legs. Gross globs of it caking you, your skin barely visible anymore.

The thought alone – of two men’s essence, beckoned and bled out by you, mixing something disgusting on your most intimate parts – is enough to kick you off the edge. Flailing off that cliff, plummeting into an outburst that lets nothing escape. Not smell, or taste, or light – spinning a black hole of groundbreaking proportions.

You orgasm, again and again – or maybe the whole thing is all just one prolonged, feral, exhausting endeavour. Cumming until your muscles physically give out, going paraplegic with the strain of constant contractions. You crumple, sandwiched between two sturdy chests, stuffed with cotton and sex and pure endorphins, flying with no sign of ever coming down.

A siren's song – sleep, calling to you from the depths of consciousness – almost pulls you under. That is, until your husband manoeuvres you onto your back again, spreading your legs in a near split to expose your sloppy holes to your paramour. His expression is doused with reverence. Supple, soft, the tiniest bit guilty at the sight of you, desecrated by their combined efforts.

“Well?” Miguel prods, fanning your leaking cunt and asshole out wider. “Are you waiting for her to absorb it all? Clean it up.”

And – for the last time that night – Mig does as he’s told, ducking to gather every last bit of proof with his tongue.

Much later, you watch him pull his shirt over his head, snuggled close to your husband. The sky has deepened to its darkest form – midnight, a gibbous moon cushioned amidst glimmering stars.

“Well, it’s been fun.” The man sighs, brushing imaginary lint off his abdomen. He winks at you before turning to leave, testing his luck now that it can’t backfire on him. “If you ever want to trade him in for a newer model, you know where to find me.”

Miguel just grumbles beneath you, displeasure rumbling the hollows of his hairy sternum. You, on the other hand, smile gently, giving the parting gift of your humour.

Only for something better to occur to you. When his grasp closes around your bedroom door knob, you call out – voice a faint, hoarse thing.

“Mig.” You say.

“Yeah?” He replies, blinking back at you.

“I think you should go for it.”

And all your mild musings are confirmed when he nods, sheepish, like a child caught with a fist in the cookie jar. It’s okay – you mouth, because you know. Whoever you are on his Earth, with whatever cosmic odds stacked against you, you’ll fall. If only because it’s Miguel. Mig. Your O’Hara – such truth woven into the fabric of every conceivable reality.

Your husband catches on quickly, patting your sleepy head. It’s the first time he talks to himself with a tone that isn’t condescending, laying a sentiment you recognise as meaning more to his younger counterpart than anything you could say. Perhaps because it’s kind, a bit of proper advice made mushy by an echoed devotion to you. Or, perhaps because he’s witnessed the evidence to it consistently, all night long. Wide eyes.

“It’ll be the best thing you’ll ever do for yourself.”

part two

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puck-luck · 2 months

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one bed trope by design | dawson mercer

warnings: fwb but unspokenly more, eldest daughter vibes in the first paragraph, teasing & annoying your partner, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, heavyyyy making out, dirty talk (it’s pretty sweet, actually), possessive!dawson, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming, whimpering man (slay), begging (only a little), mentions/allusions to consensual somnophilia, and a little bit of a fixation on spit (as i am wont to do) pairing: dawson mercer x reader summary: the one when dawson comes over to build a bedframe for your guest room, demands multiple rewards, and pouts when you try to make him test it out alone. he ends up getting everything he wanted, though. wc: 4636

You have a bone to pick with anyone who writes furniture-building instruction manuals. After all the years of “building things” (holding flashlights, standing aimlessly for support, fetching beers) with your dad, you would think that you’d be able to build a bedframe. You would think that you could read the directions, screw in some nails, glue some pegs into place, and your guest room would be all set. In another world, you’re flying through this process and the bed’s already done. Here, in this world, the real world, all you’ve done is sort all of your supplies and read the first page of directions and it’s been shit. The wording is unclear, the pictures don’t make any sense, the bags of supplies aren’t clearly labeled in conjunction with the guide in the manual, and you’re at your wits end.

So you call Daws.

Your best friend in the world, Dawson Mercer, has always been skilled with his hands. Never mind the double entendre, you’ve seen how deftly Daws can handle a stick and a puck, so he is surely able to handle a screwdriver and a drill.

In fact, continuing with the entendres, you know Dawson can handle a drill. On top of being your best friend in the world, you two had started hooking up in his second season at New Jersey, after you’d gotten a job in New York City and relocated. With just thirty minutes between you two and a lot of pent up feelings on both sides, it was only a matter of time until one of you broke and jumped the other. It ended up being him, but it was your fault.

It was a late night and you’d been up working on a proposal for your boss. It was well past midnight and you had work the following day, but you were in a groove and you couldn’t stop until the task was done. It had already been a tough day and you started to feel better when your work began to flow, but then you forgot a word and could not find it no matter what thesaurus you used or what questions you googled. You knew it was the perfect word for this proposal and it sounded so intelligent in your head, but you could not fucking remember it. It might’ve been the sleep deprivation of it all, but this sent you over the edge and before you knew it, you were calling Dawson and tearfully explaining your situation. He couldn’t understand you through the hysteria and was at your door as soon as possible, scooping you up and taking your computer away. You had explained everything again through your tears and he had held you in his arms, tucking your head away in his neck so you could hide from the world. When your breath evened out, Daws had registered the flutter of your eyelashes against his pulse and couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. It had been sweet and it was a long time coming. Things escalated that night about as far as you could go for the first time, with Dawson treating you like something that would break if he held you too tightly or looked at you too long. You both were shy but cared so much for each other that it just felt right.

You hadn’t defined it in the year since, but you know and Dawson knows that there is something special between you. You’re best friends and maybe, one day, you’d both be ready to commit to more.

For now, though, Dawson is the guy who’s going to sit in your guest bedroom and build your guest bed and maybe you’ll repay him if you felt like it.

Dawson comes over as soon as you call and walks into your apartment sopping wet. When he walks into your space, he shakes like a wet dog and you shriek. He gives you a toothy grin, your heart fluttering with fondness like it always does when you see the space between his teeth. “It’s raining out there,” he says unnecessarily, walking over to plant a quick kiss on your lips. “Where’s this bed you need your big, strong man to build, baby?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Big, strong man,” you mock. “Where’s that guy? I don’t see a big, strong man here.”

Daws pinches your hip for your comment, but it doesn’t really hurt.

“I’m turning my office into a guest bedroom,” you continue. You lean up and give Daws another little peck. “The bed is in there.” You reach around and give him a pat on the butt. “Go on, get in there.”

“You’re not going to help me?” Dawson calls over his shoulder, teasing you as he walks down the hall towards his daunting task.

“Darling, you’ll just get distracted by me,” you reply. “I’ll be in here if you need me.” You take a seat on your couch and pick up the book you’ve been reading. You drape a blanket over your legs and lean back against the arm of the sofa, finding your bookmark and opening the book to that page.

You can hear the rain growing heavier as you continue to read, as well as the sounds of Dawson putting the new bedframe together. He’s making quick work of it and takes a break at his self-proclaimed halfway point. He wanders into the living room and washes his hands in your kitchen sink before joining you on the couch. He sneaks under the blanket and lays between your legs, resting his head on your stomach. His hand reaches up, comes out from under the blanket, and rests on your chest. He palms your breast, just holding the weight of it in his hand. You place your bookmark and close your book, setting it down on the coffee table to your left. You lift the blanket and make eye contact with Dawson. You can’t help but think of your friend’s cat from university, who used to cuddle on your lap under the blanket just like this.

“Hi,” Dawson greets, smiling wide.

“Hi, sweet,” you reply and card your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Have you given up on that bed yet? It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, no,” Dawson hums, purring like your friend’s cat used to when you pet him. He pushes into your hand just the same. “Just taking a break with my favorite girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease. Your hand moves to pinch his cheek like a grandmother would. “You’re trying to get in good with me, huh?”

“You always assume I’ve got an ulterior motive,” Dawson complains. “Maybe I just want to hang out with you.”

You give him an unimpressed look with a tilt of your head.

Dawson snickers quietly, burying his head in your stomach. “No, you’re right.” He kisses your tummy, just next to your belly button. “I always have an ulterior motive.”

You spread your legs a little wider, allowing Dawson to fit his shoulders between your thighs comfortably. “What do you have in mind?”

“A snack,” Dawson replies in a cheeky voice, the smirk evident in his tone before he ghosts a fingertip under the hemline of your sleep shorts.

Because you’re a brat, you twist away from Daws. You move to get up from the couch. “Shall I make you something?” You ask.

Daws holds you down with his full weight, wrapping his arms around you until you’re effectively immobilized. You can’t see him anymore, having dropped the blanket when you moved to get up. “No,” he whines, drawing out the word and pulling you to him. He bites the side of your hip gently through your shorts. “Stay here, you’ve got what I need.”

“What you need,” you repeat, smiling to yourself. This is the side of Dawson that rarely anyone gets to see, even though he’s a happy-go-lucky guy most of the time. No one gets to see Dawson all whiny and eager to please, happy to get himself off by just getting his mouth on you. He’s sated like this, happy to stay between your legs for hours and make you come time after time, until you’re oversensitive and pushing him away. You’re happy to let him indulge most of the time, but that bed is still only halfway built. “Can you make it quick?” You ask. “Need you to finish building that bed for me.”

Dawson presses a kiss to your core, making you shiver. He hums in agreement. “Can we christen it after I’m done?”

You giggle and swat the back of his head under the blanket. “You wish.”

Dawson hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and drags them down, removing them delicately and placing them on the ground next to him. He kisses down your leg as he does it and it’s even more arousing than it normally is, given that you can’t see him under the blanket and can barely guess his next move. “I do wish,” he agrees before moving onto your panties. “Can I earn it?”

“You can sleep in there by yourself and let me know how it is, since all my guests will be on their lonesome,” you say. You inhale sharply when Dawson dives in and flicks your clit with his tongue. “I think that would be more effective.”

Dawson bites the side of your thigh sharply and makes you jump. “Don’t wanna sleep alone,” he complains. “You’re mean to me.” He licks over your folds again, shifting to use both hands to spread you open so he can begin to eat you out properly.

“Fuck, Daws,” you groan, throwing your head back. You take a breath before continuing. “If I’m so mean to you, why am I letting you eat your snack? I could tell you no at any moment and make you go back to the guest room and work some more before kicking you out of my apartment and sending you home.”

“You’re talking a lot for someone who’s supposed to be enjoying herself,” Dawson mutters. You can hear his pout, not needing to see it to know that he’s annoyed that he hasn’t rendered you speechless.

“Maybe you need to do better,” you breathe out, grinding down on the fingers that are slowly tracing your entrance, begging for them to enter you without actually saying it.

Dawson growls at that, taking it like a challenge and dipping his fingers into you and flicking his tongue against your clit quickly, giving everything he can to bring you to your peak.

You moan, reaching under the blanket to thread your fingers in Dawson’s hair. You tug at it and he moans, the vibrations making you shiver and bringing you just that much closer to your orgasm. “Dawsy,” you breathe out. “More.”

“Not much more to give, baby,” Dawson mumbles against your pussy, but pistons his fingers into you more quickly. “Giving you all I’ve got right now. Trying my best to make you feel good, sweet girl.”

“Feels so good,” you reassure him. “Need something else, need a little more.”

Dawson adds another finger, stretching you. He reaches up and pulling the blanket down so he’s not covered anymore. You can see your wetness dripping down his fingers and onto his wrist as he continues to move them inside you. You grip his hair as he brings his other thumb to your clit, rubbing in rapid circles. He spreads his fingers and leans in, doing his best to lick between them and get his tongue inside you. He looks up through his eyelashes at you when he does it and it’s that image, his wide eyes filled with so much admiration for you and determination to prove that he can make you feel so, so good, that makes you clench down and let your release wash over you.

Dawson continues to thrust his fingers into you through your climax, mouthing over your clit and suckling at it until you’re squirming and panting. You pull him up your body by his hair, needing his mouth on yours. You keen into his mouth as he speeds his fingers up again. “Daws,” you gasp.

“Baby,” he replies, then kisses you again. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you two make out, movements lazy. He continues to finger you through it, unwilling (maybe even unable) to pull out of your wet heat just yet. He’s laying on top of you at this point and the weight of him is wonderful, always comforting you like nothing else could.

You kiss for what feels like ages, just feeling each other. Dawson grinds his hips against your leg, pressing his hardness into you, but making no move to do anything about it. It’s lovely, this moment, and comfortable like you two had been in love for years and you could do this every day. In the least cliché way, you knew that Dawson was your soulmate, the person you were meant to find in any universe at any time. He wasn’t yours, but he was.

“Love you, Dawsy,” you tell him between kisses.

He hums in agreement.

“Can you go finish building my bed now?” You ask, your one-track mind itching to get Dawson back on task. You really wanted that bed to be finished today, just so you didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Dawson pulls away and glares down at you. “Here I am, making out with you with my fingers inside your pretty pussy, and you’re going to make me work?” He demands.

You giggle, leaning up to plant a wet kiss, a real smacker, on his cheek. “Yeah,” you say, shit eating grin on your face when you settle back onto the couch cushions. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, Dawson slides his fingers out of you and gets off the couch, licking his fingers clean and adjusting himself in his sweatpants. “So mean,” he reminds you with a cutting glance before he disappears back down the hallway and into the guest room.

You return to your book. “Holler when you’re done!” You yell to Dawson.

“I don’t know why I ever do anything for you,” Dawson replies, voice floating down the hall with ire.

You laugh out loud, loud enough for him to hear, and get comfortable with your book. You read for probably another hour before Dawson summons you to the guest room to inspect his handiwork.

When you round the doorway, Dawson’s eyes grow wide, noticing that you never put your panties or shorts back on. He’s standing next to the bed as you approach and he licks his lips. “You’re sure we can’t christen my handiwork?” He asks again.

“No,” you insist. “Merc, you already got what you needed.” You roll your eyes and flip the bird at your best friend, chastising him for being insufferable in his desire for you. “You’re such a horndog.”

Dawson shrugs. “Can you blame me? I’ve seen you how beautiful you are naked, I’ve heard how pretty you sound when I’m fucking you, and I’ve been loving you since forever. Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to ask. You’re lucky I ask because you know I could pick you up and take you, and you’d love it”

“Do you want me to call you a wah-mbulance?” You retort, folding your arms over your chest. You glare at him with an eyeful of reproach, but he’s right. He’s taken you like that before and it’s been incredible, something you’ll even ask him for on occasion.

“Want you to let me fuck you,” he replies in the same tone, mirroring your actions.

You two stare at each other before bursting out in laughter. You walk over and loop your arms around Dawson’s neck, pressing your body against his and giving him a chaste kiss. His hands rest on your hips, holding you tightly. He kisses you again.

“Go to bed, Merc,” you say when you finally pull away. You step back. “Let me know how the bed feels.”

Dawson bids you goodnight and turns around. You walk to the door. You leave the room and make it all the way to your bedroom before you hear a crash and rush back in.

Dawson is smiling, proud of himself as you take in the lopsided bed. One of the legs of the frame has been hastily removed and if you’re not mistaken, you can see it peeking out from where Dawson’s arms are crossed behind his back. “Oh no,” Dawson says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It broke. I guess I have to sleep with you.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief and you let out a laugh. “Dawson!” You exclaim, still giggling. “What’s the matter with you?”

Dawson shrugs. “Well, I can’t sleep on a broken bed,” he tells you. “That would be unsafe.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” You play along, a small smile still written across your face.

Dawson takes a step forward and bats his eyelashes at you. “I guess I have to sleep in yours.”

“You’re insatiable,” you tell him. You turn on your heel and leave the room, listening for the clatter of the leg of the bed before Dawson’s footsteps trail after you. Both sounds come, just as you expected, and Dawson’s hands find your hips again. He walks with you, pressed along your back, lips attached to the back of your neck.

“I want you,” he teases, his voice light and melodic in your ear. He reaches his hand up and traces your neck. “Don’t I get a reward for building furniture for you?”

“You already got a snack.”

“Ugh, but then you took it away from me after I made you come,” he complains. “And you’re teasing me, not putting your panties back on before checking my work. It’s a little slutty, baby. Is that what you wear for all the people that come to work in your house?”

Now in your bedroom, Dawson turns you around and walks you back until your knees hit the edge of your bed. You fall down onto the mattress and bring Dawson down with you. He reaches up your shirt and grabs a handful of your tit, gripping it in a way that directly contrasts how he was just holding it on the couch.

“No bra either,” he notes, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in. “You give all these workers quite a show.”

“You know I only dress like this for you, Dawson,” you reply.

“Wish you’d commit to the bit and just be naked all the time.” He kisses your shoulder, other hand sliding up your shirt to grasp your other breast. He kneads them both, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers.

“Wish you’d take an article of clothing off,” you retort.

“I’ll take it all off for you if you want me to, baby, just say the word,” Dawson promises. “Can I take your shirt off? Wanna get my mouth on these pretty tits.”

“Only if you take yours off too.”

Dawson doesn’t waste a second, pushing up to stand over you. He grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing his muscular body to you. His chain falls between his collarbones beautifully and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down his legs, leaving him just in his boxer-briefs. The dark gray briefs leave nothing to the imagination and you bite your lip, gazing at the wet patch on the front of the briefs, right at the tip of his dick.

You reach up and Dawson grabs your hands, pulling you into a sitting position. You raise your arms and he kneels between your legs, pushing your shirt up and bunching the fabric in his hands before he pulls it over your head and reveals your body to him.

Dawson kisses up your stomach, slowly rising from his knees. He lifts you up and gently places you down so your head is on the pillows at the top of your bed. He then leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, shoulder, collarbone, and sternum until he makes his way to your breast.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He grinds down on the bed, rolling your other nipple between his fingers again. You moan and once he’s determined that your breast has received enough attention from his mouth, he switches to the other one. It’s slow and sensual, with Dawson taking his time and savoring the moment and the sounds that he pulls from your lips.

“Dawson.” You find your voice, signaling to him that it’s time to move on.

“Mmm?” He continues to suckle on your chest, leaving a hickey on the side of your boob now.

“Fuck me,” you say. “Come up here and fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Dawson asks, pulling away from you to grin at you. “Need my cock, baby?”

You pretend to think. “Need is an exaggeration,” you tell him.

Dawson scoffs and leans down to kiss you, lining his cock up with your entrance. “No pussy gets this wet if ‘need is an exaggeration,’ sweet girl.”

You whine as he sinks into you and he lets out a breath that sounds like a groan, his head falling with the sensation. He presses his forehead against yours and bucks into you, holding back to take in the sensation of your heat around him. He always gets pussy drunk on you and goes too fast, loving the way you squeeze him and milk him for every drop. It’s only so long before he does it again and starts to really fuck into you, but he’s intoxicated now by the slow drag of your walls against his length.

“So warm, so wet,” Dawson groans. “All for me.”

“All yours,” you agree. You close your eyes and kiss Dawson, swallowing the moan that comes from his lips at your words.

His hips start to pick up speed. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

Dawson’s hips move with desperation. It’s the easiest way to bring him to his climax, you’ve learned over the past year. He’s possessive over you and although you’re not boyfriend-girlfriend, he knows that you belong to him. When you admit it, when he hears those words come from your mouth, it squeezes at his heart the same way you clench down on his cock when he hits that spot inside of you.

“Dawsy,” you breathe out, clutching at his shoulders. “Feels so good.”

With every thrust of his hips, he brings you closer to your second orgasm of the night. He thrusts forward and sucks at your neck, leaving wet kiss after wet kiss. His saliva cools on your neck as his wet, hot pants leave his lips. He grunts and kisses you deeply, his tongue filling your mouth as deliciously as his cock is filling your pussy. He pulls back and looks down, watching his cock disappear into your heat.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, pressing a hand against your stomach and feeling himself inside of you.

A wanton moan leaves your mouth, back arching from the pressure. Your mouth hangs open and Dawson leans up, biting your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Feeling good, honey?” He asks quietly. “Love hearing you.”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, and you let out a squeal when Dawson reaches up to give your nipple a sharp pinch. “God!” Your stomach turns, so close to climaxing. With every light touch of his fingers and the consistent kiss of his cock to the spot inside you that makes you see stars, you inch toward your peak.

“Just me,” he says, cheeky but like it’s an afterthought. He soothes the pinch with a kiss before leaning back up to kiss you. His hips stutter and Dawson groans. “Gonna come, baby,” he says. “Gonna come with me?”

“Always,” you whine, voice high in the back of your throat but sounding far away, like Dawson’s fucked your soul right out of your body.

“Come,” Dawson breathes out, hips stuttering as he moves them with abandoned fervor, chasing a high that’s just out of reach. “Come, baby, need to feel you. Need you to come on my cock before I do, please,” he begs. “Fuck!”

You can’t control the scream that bubbles in your throat as you let go, juices absolutely soaking Dawson’s cock inside you and the covers beneath you. It wasn’t often that he made you squirt, but tonight was one of those nights. Your release burst out of you like a dam and left you completely boneless on the bed.

It only took a few more thrusts for Dawson to whimper and shoot off inside of you. You’re like a vice around him, clenching down so hard that it’s almost difficult to thrust in and out of you. “Sweetheart,” Dawson whines, voice dripping with emotion. “So tight, fuck, love your pussy.”

He collapses onto you, his head on your chest, his hands on your waist, his weight pressing you into the bed the same way he trapped you onto the couch earlier in the night.

You trace the lines of his face with your thumb as your breath syncs with his and you both come down from your climaxes.

Dawson hasn’t pulled out yet, his cock still half-hard inside of you. He moves his hips slowly, fucking his cum into you at an excruciating pace.

You plant a kiss on Dawson’s head and hug him to your body. “We should probably get up, Daws.”

Dawson shakes his head. “Gonna fall asleep right here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dawson looks up at you with tired eyes. “Gonna keep my cock inside you all night, wake you up by making you come again.”

You let out a breath at that, clenching down on him subconsciously. You can’t help it. He’s so honest and he’s unabashed about how he wants you.

He smiles, almost devilish. “You like that idea, huh?”

“Gimme a kiss,” you request, puckering your lips and waiting for him to come to you.

He does easily, unashamed and eager. “Could kiss you all night long.”

“Don’t, I’m tired.”

“Just think,” Dawson murmurs against your lips. “We could’ve done all of this in your guest bedroom.”

“Well someone broke the bed.”

“I wouldn’t have had to break the bed if you had just slept there with me.”

You two bicker like a married couple before you remove Dawson’s cock yourself and swing your legs over the side of the bed. He trails after you when you head to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with your toothbrush as you use the toilet. It’s all very domestic and you argue with him about the toothbrush, too, because he has his own and knows exactly where it lives (next to yours in the holder). You steal the brush from his mouth and leave him to rinse his mouth of the minty substance. You turn your back to him to hide the satisfied smirk on your face when you pop the toothbrush in your mouth without rinsing it of his germs.

When you make your way back to bed after cleaning yourself up, Dawson lays behind you and plasters himself to your back. He slips his cock back into your heat again and sighs, settling into the comfort of your heat. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck and breathes evenly until he falls asleep. You fall asleep with him, and if Dawson makes good on his promise of fucking you awake, that’s nobody’s business but yours.

notes: don't ever put me in a room with dawson mercer because i will make it my mission to stockholm sydrome that boy. welcome to my longest fic yet and man, oh man, did i have fun writing this.

#puck-luck's fics #dawson mercer #dawson mercer x reader #dawson mercer smut #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #andy writes anything🍄

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towriteloveontheirarms · 3 months

Text

Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.

warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3

Dividers by me

The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.

Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.

“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.

“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.

"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.

In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.

"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.

But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.

"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.

"You're mine." He only growls in return.

It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.

Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.

"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.

With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you.

"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.

Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.

"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.

You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.

“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.

“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.

Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.

“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.

You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.

“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.

“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”

Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.

“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”

#halsin #halsin bg3 #druid halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin x reader #halsin bg3 x reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfic

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jacaerysgf · 1 month

Text

Undeniable Desire

c.w season two spoilers; characters (addam and nettles), mention of dragonseeds (nothing more), loss of virginity (jacaerys) non virgin reader, smut, fingering (fem), oral (fem), p in v, clothed sex ?, possessive jacaerys, not proofread

summary: You are dragonseed and have become good friends with the prince. You think nothing of it and not expecting your desires to lead to anything but when you speak of what you think of your future his truer colors show.

w.c: 1.8k

a.n: anybody else cant stop thinking about bridgerton LMAO, i need to rewatch soon, anyways i hope you all enjoy :3 promise im getting around to requests i just needed to push out this idea 🥰 LOVE YOU GUYS

You finally manage to shake off addam and his drunken rampage with a laugh telling him off. “come on you cant leave yet.” “I am going to bed you fool leave me be.” You knock him upside the head and he groans giving you the opportunity to walk away and turn back to the rest of them with a wave. Chimes of goodnights and sleep well are what your met with and you walk away, feeling eyes burning into you you turn back once more and see him staring at you with an unknown look on his face, taking a drink out of his chalice ignoring alyn next to him who was talking his ear off, not even sparing him a glance as he continues to stare at you.

You turn around attempting to ignore how your stomach burns and your face heats at the thought of him. Jacaerys Velaryon. You just like the rest of your ‘dragonseed’ friends have grown close to jacaerys during your time together. Yet you can’t help but feel their was something different about the way he looked at you and even other people can’t help but notice it either.

‘He is definitely wants to fuck you.’ ‘Nettles!’ The girl next to you laughs before chugging down her wine. ‘Do not say such things.’ Addam walks over and drops down to the spot next to you, ‘what are you two talking about?’ ‘The prince.’ ‘ah and how he wants to shag miss oblivious right here.’ ‘did you guys plan this?!’ You in your frustration rip the cup out of addams hands and chug it. ‘its not our fault he makes it so painfully obvious and you are so painfully oblivious to it.’ You shake your head and keep your gaze at the campfire in front of you. ‘It is not true.’ you don’t see the way the pair look at each other and instead start picking at the grass near you.

Even if it was true it wouldn’t matter, you certainly had no intention of sleeping with him. He was betrothed and he certainly did not seem like the type of man to lay around with any women he saw fit. He was the crowned prince for gods sake the heir to the queen and you were in the middle of a damn succession war feelings be damned and you were certain your friends were just playing jokes on you and he certainly just saw you as a friend.

You think nothing of it as you are getting ready to go to bed, just having put on your night gown after your bath, when the flap of your tent opens and you turn to it alarmed and let out a sigh of relief when you see him. “I am sorry i did not mean to disturb you.” “It is no issue my prince, Do you need something?”

You turn back to the mirror and fiddle around with your hair, eyeing the prince through the mirror. He just stares at you for a moment and takes a drink from his cup, you gulp and look away from him, pushing down your own desires attempting to stop your imagination from running wild. What if he just walked over to you and pushing you against the mirror, ripping off your dress and having his way with you, maybe he would drop to his knees and wrap his lips around your pearl, only letting go until you were withering and begging him to stop.

You shake your head and “Would it be selfish of me to admit i missed you? i feel as though we did not talk much today?” You smile lightly at his words and curse yourself for thinking such terrible things. Of course he simply just wished to see you, as he had been busy with his duties all day, only getting to see you all at the end of they day only for you to leave before getting to say a single word to him.

“You honor me my prince with your time.” He shakes his head with a laugh taking another sip, “i would give you anything in the world.” You flush and look down, fiddling with your dress too embarrassed to move from your place in front of the mirror. Hes just being dramatic you think, he does not mean what he says, especially since he seems to be drinking. “You are too kind my prince.” “Call me Jace i beg of you.” “Would you truly beg me?” “I would get on my knees at your feet and do whatever you asked.” Your knees shake as you press your thighs together, the heat between you legs almost unbearable, a part of you wants to shoo him away so you can put your hand between your legs and take care of yourself or find some poor soul in the camp to relieve yourself with. You don’t, you cannot simply ask him to leave for such selfish reasons, especially since you know deep deep down that if you sought out somebody else you would only be thinking about him.

He seems to realize you don’t plan on saying anything so he begins to speak. “You know they were all talking about something.” You give him an interested look in the mirror and he takes another sip, “About what they were planning on doing after this fight is over. Do you have any thoughts? About what you plan to do?” You look up in thought, “I haven't given it much thought if im being honest.” He hums but says nothing. “Maybe i go off to the reach, it sounds very lovely.” “You would not stay in the keep?” You laugh at his idea and shake your head, “Why would i stay there? What would you miss me?” He says nothing and you don't look at him, instead continue talking, lost in your own imagination. “I would probably travel around for a bit, then find some lord to marry he fuck some babies into me and then i live the rest of my life-” You gasp as your suddenly pushed against the mirror being completely trapped by him, you hadn’t even registered the cup being thrown to the ground.

“My prince?” He flips you around suddenly and your eye to eye with him. His hands grip your waist and pull you directly against him. “You will not leave.” “I don't understand-” “You are not going anywhere you will stay by my side.” He has an animalistic look about him, like he's about to eat you whole, completely bewildered by the idea of you leaving. “I have no place in the keep.” “Your place is by my side.” His words have such a finality and certainty about them as if he's giving you no reason to argue with him. “You are to be married, This is highly inappropriate.” Your words are pushed out like puffs of air as his hands have moved up to your chest, rubbing your nipples through the fabric, you can feel him hardening between your legs. “I shall take you as a my second wife, no one will argue i will be king.” “You are being absurd.” “Do you desire me?”

You pull him into a heated kiss. He quickly reciprocates, his hands moving from your waist to under your night gown and he lets out a delighted hum at the liquid on your thighs. ‘Are you bare?” “I was planning on sleeping.” He moans lightly before he pauses before actually touching, “Do you want this?” you nod feverishly, “Please touch me please.” wasting no more time he runs his fingers along your folds, “This is for me right? and no some stupid pompous lord in the reach.” “yes yes.” You answer him but he doesn't seem to be listening, mumbling to himself in anger. “I hate the lords in the reach, always with each other heads in their asses no way you will marry any of them, let them put a baby in you.” He sticks two fingers inside you, “I wouldn’t i wouldn’t only you.” The pit in your lower stomach grows as you watch in shock him drop to his knees in front of you, his body being lost to your gown as he begins to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers moving quicker to pump in and out of you.

You cannot speak so much of his name. Using one of your hands to cover your mouth to not draw attention to yourself, the other plays with one of your tits, sliding it under your dress. He does not let up, even has you orgasm once then twice, only releasing you after the third time and you fall back, leaning against the mirror with wobbly legs as he keeps a tight grip on you holding you up as he stands. You can see the shine of your own essence on his lips and jaw, you swear you can even see some of it dripping down his neck into his collarbone.

He simply stands there and watches you fiddle around with his pants to free him for a few moments as he licks his lips. “You do not know how often i have thought about this.” You look up at him and give him a smile, “You think of me?” “Every minute of everyday, my waking thoughts and my dreams are only filled with you.”

Before you know it he is pushing into you with a hiss and you chuckle with a delighted moan at his closed eyes and clenched teeth. “First time?” “I may not have been your first but i will be your last.” Giving himself a second to get used to your pulsing warm walls that seem to be sucking him in every second he begins to move. Hes a little sloppy, clearly unsure and if anything a little unconfident about what he’s supposed to do. You place your head on his neck, making sure your lips are right next to his ear and you begin to move your hips to meet his, moaning in his ear only for him to hear.

He gains confidence after a few moments and soon enough you have no longer and need to meet him as he begins to pound into you diligently. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic as the pit in your stomach grows once more. “please tell me your close.” You’re shocked he’s even managed to last this long but nod and he groans in delight. “Please peak please together.”

The mirror behind you is completely covered with a foggy mist just as your eyes are when you finally release. You pray as you catch your breath that you two were quiet enough because you would rather be dead than me made fun of by your friends for finally fucking the prince. But as you feel his seed running out your lips and down your thigh you decide maybe it was worth it.

perm jacaerys taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese

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lemon-boy-stan · 7 months

Note

Helloooo. Do we leave requests here? I don’t know. I’m just a potato.

anyway, what about Genshin tall men waking up in the middle of the night and thoughts come tumbling in? Could be safe, nsfw, comedy, whatever you like. (But please make Zhongli’s disgustingly sweet because I am so in love with him). Thank you for listening to my ramblings

if this is the wrong method… I’m sorry >.<

Hii!! This is the right way to request!! I'm sure you're not a potato 😭😭 anyway here's your request!! Also I hope you dont mind but I turned it into a full one-shot with zhongli!!! Ummmm yes he has two cocks in this teehee

HERBAL TEA - Rex Lapis x Reader

SUMMARY: Zhongli can't sleep as it's mating season. It's been centuries with him as your husband, but there are still many secrets he has kept hidden from you, many insecurities. GENRE: Fluff, SMUT. Kinda ooc. MINORS DNI. WARNINGS: monsterfucking, breeding, use of the word "pet", "mate", penetration, p in v, unprotected sex, some blood, messy cum, zhongli has a forked tongue, zhongli has two cocks. It's also mentioned that zhongli makes the reader immortal with his icor (that's the ooc stuff). Really filthy smut 😭😭. Also, reader is female!

It was late at night; early morning. You'd woken up suddenly, hearing a loud thud. You looked to the left side of the bed, reaching out for your husband.

Zhongli's side of the bed was cold, and empty. You turned on the bedside lamp, bare chest cold, you scavenged from r the nearest piece of clothing you could find, one of your husband's massive button-down shirts, drowning in it like a dress. You got up, the moonlight shining on your skin.

"Zhongli," you called softly for him. You hugged yourself, walking out of the master bedroom. Zhongli stood at the kitchen table, making a pot of herbal tea. You smiled softly, walking over. He was in his half-dragon form, arms black and shimmering golden. He was growing more comfortable like this, every century since you'd been immortal.

"Morax," you bowed, walking over. He put the teapot down, smiling softly, "my dear, what are you doing awake?" He took your hand and kissed it before twirling you so he could wrap you in his arms. Last night had been one of the best of your life. Zhongli was possessive, but evidently, dragons did not share their treasure, as you had learnt from flirting with a man in the court of Fontaine.

"Your side of the bed was cold," you complained, "I missed you." Zhongli was a light sleeper. As if reading your mind, he hugged you tight, kissing the side of your neck, the texture of his forked tongue making you arch your back in pleasure.

Morax chuckled, "I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to make tea. Then I was reading, but I got distracted... I finished my tea, and I'm making another one... Then I was thinking... My love," he whispered softly, "I need to mate soon." Was that shame in his voice? Why was he ashamed? He bowed his head, "I am getting restless. And now that you are ready, now that I've fed you my ichor for centuries, I must reveal all of myself to you. I can't control it."

Ah. So this at least, explained his sudden change in behaviour. Yes, many years ago, before getting married to him, before becoming immortal, Zhongli had asked, if you were able to withstand so many years of being alive. Yes, you'd told him, he was the man you loved, and you'd gladly be by his side forever.

But he still had so many secrets, he'd said, secrets he wasn't ready to share yet. He was a god, after all. He was a god, yes, but he was also the love of your life. You'd told him this, that eternity with him would be a paradise.

"In order to fulfil the mating process," he explained softly, "I must go through a series of changes. My human form, is quie different to my half-god form, which is why I always make love to you in my human disguise. When I am like this, my body is different. You will notice my tongue is forked. I apologise for hiding it from you for so long, my dear. In order to complete the process... I must... I'm afraid I must... Mate you with both... Both of my cocks."

You gasped, shocked. He looked at you, fear in his golden eyes, which were bright and on the verge of tears. "I am sorry for hiding it for so long," he choked, shame in his voice. "I tried to conceal it, but my body... It's why I was so different last night. Your scent, even after all these years... I needed to mate with you. I understand if you don't want to. I am not sure what will happen. I have never done this before, with a human. I-" you kissed him.

He groaned into the kiss, tightening his grip around your body. You looked up into his big, yellow eyes. "Rex Lapis," you spoke, making his ichor run through him, "you do not understand, do you?" And he cocked his head as you smiled, "I am yours. You asked me all those years ago. I was so in love with you. I am so in love with you. I want nothing more than this. I want nothing more than you, always and forever, to be your wife, to be your mate."

And Zhongli growled. He picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom, throwing you softly onto the bed. "Are you sure you want this?" You nodded, looking up at him, "yes, Rex Lapis, please." And all he did was laugh, "my love, you won't be able to take them."

Zhongli crawled on you, growling and snorting animalistically, the sound of his belt being unbuckled and clattering echoing in the room. "I am not stopping until this cunt is full of my offspring. Do you consent, pet?" You nodded meekly. He was so powerful, even after centuries of drinking his ichor you still felt beneath him.

"I need to hear it, my love. Do you consent?" He kissed your neck, licking his forked tongue up and down your body, making your toes curl. "I consent," you breathed lustfully, "I consent." He let out a hot breath of air, "good." And with that, Zhongli thrust both of his cocks inside of you, no warning and no preparation.

You screamed loudly, pain washing over you at the foreign feeling of his second cock. Had they grown larger? They felt bigger than usual. You sobbed loudly, gripping onto the headboard behind you. Zhongli was only spurred on by the tears. It hurt, but felt so good. This was why he had been training you, you realised, to take both his cock and a crystal toy at the same time. But nothing prepared you for this.

You could feel all of him. All of his rage, his jealousy, his obsession, his greed, his love, his sadness, his happiness, flowing through you, golden waves surrounding both of your bodies in the bed. You moaned loudly, feeling all of his emotions, all of his strength, his power. It was so much. "Feel what I feel," he snarled, "understand what it's like to be in your prescence."

Nothing but his name left your lips, "Zhongli, Zhongli, Zhongli," feeling far too good to think, to even notice the gold blood leaking from your cunt as Morax dragged both of his cocks along your walls. "Do you know how much I've had to restrain my true form?" He roared, ignoring your sobs, thrusting harder each time. "Do you know how fucking insatiable you are? Do you know how weak you make me? You? A mere human? The only human I've ever fed my ichor, the only human I've given my offspring, the only human I've ever loved before?" Do you know how obsessed I am with you?!"

You shook your head, "more, Rex Lapis, more!" Babbling the words through tears, smelling his thoughts and emotions, too overwhelmed with power. Too fucked by both of his cocks. He snorted, slamming them back inside you. You screamed, a painful orgasm crashing down on you. "Yes," he hissed, "yes. Cum all over me, pet. Yes... Cum all around my cocks, just like that. Yes, yes, yes..." Zhongli's groans filled the room, the gold waves growing bigger and bigger.

You were shaking of an orgasm, panting for breath. Zhongli roared loudly, and you could sense it coming, tears streaming down his face, the black and gold of his arms engulfing his entire body as he came, roaring wordlessly through the night, the entire house shaking, drowned in a gold light, smelling of sex. His cum dripped down your legs, there was just so much.

Rex Lapis was still for a while, and you were afraid he was injured. Then he smiled fondly at you, the black and gold evaporating from his body, his half-dragon form morphing back into his human form, although you noticed some things were still in tact. He pulled out and looked at you, uncertainty in his eyes.

"Was I okay?" He was still hovering above you, cleaning your legs and the sheets. You pulled him close to you, kissing him. The tears fell from his face and you realised he was scared. Terrified. You smiled at him softly, "you were beautiful, Rex Lapis, beautiful." And for the first time in his life, the god let out a soft giggle.

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you liked it!

#zhongli #rex lapis #morax #zhongli smut #rex lapis smut #morax smut #zhongli x reader #rex lapis x reader #zhongli x you #rex lapis x you #morax x you #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #zhongli imagine #rex lapis imagine #morax imagine

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thepascalofus · 10 months

Text

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides.

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing.

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet.

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week.

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night.

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults.

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator.

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off.

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items.

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.”

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull.

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.”

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on.

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market.

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets.

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green.

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag.

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it.

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears.

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless.

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder.

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts.

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred.

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

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hysteria-things · 3 months

Note

i need a part 4 of sinful desires 🙏🙏🙏🙏

SINFUL DESIRES (part four)

read part one here

read part two here

read part three here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s prom season with your new boyfriend nate. let’s just say, it’s definitely a night to remember.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, pinch of fluff, tied hands, marking, teasing, oral (female receiving), a little praising, making out, fingering, p in v, possessiveness, overstimulation

ASSUME YOU’RE ON THE PILL!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,547

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i’m so happy you guys are loving the new theme🥹

i stumbled upon this photo and nate got me spiraling like how is the (my) man low key ripped🤣

“y/n! nate’s here!” your mom yells from the bottom of the stairs.

you’ve been trying to keep the relationship on the down low with him, but it doesn’t help that he’s attached to your hip every time you guys are in school. it didn’t take long for people to notice.

usually, he’d text you if he’s coming over, but this is the first time he’s here unannounced.

you walk down the stairs and see your mom talking to him, but when they see you your mom smiles. “i’ll leave you two be.”

she exits, and that’s when you notice a white box in his hands. “i know you don’t like attention.” he starts. “like whenever your family and mine would go out for your birthday you’d throw a hissy fit when i told the waiter to sing to you.”

you roll your eyes playfully. “yeah, yeah. what’s this about?”

“so.” he sighs. “since we’re official and because i’m not that much of an asshole to ask you in front of the whole school, i got you cupcakes.”

he opens the box, revealing five nicely decorated cupcakes with extra treats around it. it’s your favorite flavor, and the writing is in your favorite color.

you grin widely.

PROM?

the sound of the zipper is heard while your mother beams behind you. “you look so beautiful.” she says and you turn around.

not to sound biased, but your dress is beautiful. it’s red and sparkly with a slit on the side of your leg. it’s off the shoulder and flows neatly down to your ankles. the top of it is separated by a mesh with red stems and leaves stitched on it.

you hear footsteps come up the stairs, and your dad enters the room. “nate’s downstairs waiting for you.” he says, smiling at the way you look.

you get deja vu when walking down the stairs. it feels like the day when he asked you to prom a few weeks ago.

nate moistens his lips, holding your hands in his to put the corsage on your wrist. he’s wearing a simple black tux with a red tie and handkerchief, along with red dress shoes.

“you’re so fucking hot.” he mumbles so only you can hear. “i can’t believe you’re mine.”

prom went on smoothly… except for the football player who tried to flirt with you in front of your boyfriend’s face.

you didn’t feed into it or anything, but you’re a people pleaser. so, you talked back politely to the guy trying to let him down easy. he didn’t get the memo.

your dress is bunched up on the floor along with nate’s shirt and pants. he still has his boxers on for now.

he tightens the tie he wore on your hands that are tied to the headboard of his bed. he didn’t give you shit for talking to the guy, but you know this is your punishment.

he leaves wet kisses down your neck until he finds your sweet spot. biting down, you moan softly at the sensation.

a purple bruise forms, and then he moves down to your exposed breasts. he leaves multiple marks there, squeezing hard at them causing you to gasp.

he kisses down your stomach, chest heaving in the process. you’re getting wetter by the second the closer he gets to your core.

his bottom lip grazes down your body as he spreads your legs wide. he grins smuggly at the way you’re dripping. instead of going where you want him most, he bites down on the inside of your thighs to yet again leave hickeys there.

you whine when you feel his breath on your sensitive folds. “tell me what you want.” he demands, staring at the way your pussy reacts to his voice.

you squirm under the restraints but whine again in response.

“words, pretty.”

“i need you so bad, nate.” you whimper. “please. please, i’ll be—” you stop talking when his tongue flattens on your slit, licking a strand up painfully slow.

his lifts your legs on his shoulders and licks painfully slow again. you wiggle, pulling your wrists away but they don’t move an inch. he tied it good.

he moves away and hovers over your face. this teasing is making your eyes water from the way your clit is swollen from being so turned on without doing anything about it.

he smirks. “i love how needy you are. i bet i can make you cum with just my words.”

uh oh.

you turn your head away, but he takes his finger under your chin and forces you to look at him. he nibbles your earlobe before whispering. “you’re such a pretty mess for me. going to have you walking around with hickeys so people know you’re mine. maybe you can show your new friend who you were talking to before.”

you squeeze your legs together for friction, but nate notices right away and forces them back open. “need me to fuck you real good, don’t you? have you begging for me, right? remember that night i came into your room and fucked you so hard you were limping at school the next day? or when i had you bent over that desk over there?” he points, and you follow his finger and whine.

“wearing my jersey with my name on it, taking my cock as if you were made for it. tied up nice just begging to be used. i’m gonna fuck you like i own you, baby.”

you exhale, pathetically fluttering the start of your release out of you. he rubs his fingers on your clit and you moan loud before he pushes two in, pumping them as slow as a snail. “tell me you’re mine, y/n.”

you let out a quiet sob, feeling helpless under his dominance. “i-i’m yours, nate.”

he kisses your lips passionately, continuing to move his fingers in and out… in and out. you moan into the kiss, the rest of your orgasm making a mess on his sheets.

he takes them out and licks his lips when you open your mouth and suck on his digits. “that’s my good girl.”

when taking his fingers out, he goes back to your core. you rut once his tongue makes contact like it did before, but this time he does something.

your moans come out in bits and pieces while he eats you out like a starved man, hitting just the right spot. “shush. you do know my family is sleeping, right?”

“please, nate.” you scratch at the fabric. “i need to touch you.”

“no,” he says blankly, somehow digging deeper than before.

this time, his tongue moves in weird directions, until you figure out that he’s spelling out something.

MINE.

you pinch your lips together tightly so you don’t moan too loudly from the pleasure, but it’s no use. “i’ll stop.” he threatens, pulling away. “be quiet. don’t make me tell you again.”

he pulls you in closer, your legs shaking and squeezing around his head when you feel your orgasm approach for the second time. you bite your lip hard, smearing your white on his mouth.

he sighs. “i knew you’d taste good.”

finally, he pulls down his boxers to reveal the raging boner that he’s been holding in way too long.

his hands roam your body, squeezing at your arms, then your tits, then your hips, and then your thighs.

each time he squeezed, he’d say ‘mine.’

aligning himself to your hole, you’re filled with adrenaline because this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all night. his lips make contact with yours — because he knows you’ll be loud — and starts pushing into you.

he thrusts deep, but not too fast, making sure to feel how your walls wrap perfectly around him. (even though he’s felt them multiple times before)

both of your lips are red when he pulls away so you guys can breathe, soft whimpers leaving your mouth.

his forehead leans on yours. “what’s my name, pretty?”

“n—” you start but get cut off when his tip gets closer to your g-spot the more he thrusts into you.

“nathan.” you whimper, tugging like the tie will magically pop off the headboard. “oh my god, nate.”

his hand covers your mouth. your moans and squeals are muffled when he starts moving faster. he’s close himself, and all he wants to do is fill what’s his. “fuck, i’m going to cum inside you. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, pleading into his hand. he grunts and tries to not have the bed bang against the wall before spilling into you, still thrusting to make sure he coats your pussy well.

your body twitches, feeling numb but so good at the same time as you cum around his dick.

nate wipes your tears, peppering kisses on your face while he unties your hands. they hurt little, but he soothes the pain by rubbing them. he pulls you close, the sound of his heartbeat calming your breathing. “remember when i hated you?” he asks, and you laugh.

“yeah; and i hated you.”

“want to know something?” he stares at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. “i think i’m falling in love with you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturniol0s

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nilsavatar · 7 months

Text

DAY 23 - BITING

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, SMUT, violence (Neteyam almost killed Spider’s sister), biting (tasting of blood, marking, possessing behavior), P in V, manhangling, oral (f receiving), fingering, praising, cursing, pet names (muntxa-muntxate, yawne, mate, yawntu, yawntutsyìp, baby, tawtute), feral Neteyam (he gets intoxicated by a plant), friends to lovers, edging, breeding kink ((as requested by the lovely @layla2-49 Hope you'll like it, darling), rough, overstimulation, fluff, ANGST. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: It is the panopyra flowering season, and Celeste is assigned to collect samples of the strange plant. On her way, she meets Neteyam who offers to accompany her albeit with some hesitation. Panopyra are known to create hallucinogenic effects on those who stand too close to them and to ignite the mating instinct. In the presence of a human, he can rest assured it will have no effect, right?

Word Count: 5,5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

If Spider could be summed up in a sentence, it would be said he was like a stray cat; always around. With his playful and at times intrusive manner, he'd adopted himself into the Omatikaya, winning over their hearts.

But Celeste?

As much as they were siblings — twins — the two were polar opposites in every way imaginable, like day and night. Spider was sunny, energetic, almost impossible to contain, and thrill-seeking. For him, being in contact with people was as vital as breathing. Celeste was a reserved and private person despite her curious nature. Interested in the village's happenings, but never overstepped her boundaries, only getting involved when required.

The sun and the moon.

When they were together, the guy's light was so blinding to eclipse her in his shadow. Perhaps that was the reason why today, on a rare occasion she went out alone into the forest to collect samples, Neteyam struggled to recognize her. His arrow's tip was well aimed at the back of her head, waiting for a misstep, a suspicious movement to justify piercing her skull. Maybe, if he hadn't been alone as well, if Lo'ak had been there with him as planned, he wouldn't have risked murdering the life of Spider's little sister. Unlike him, Lo’ak and Kiri were at home at the lab, in constant contact with the scientists and the girl. On the other hand, it wasn't easy for Neteyam to carve out time to unwind and have fun. Not when the weight of his clan's future leaned on his shoulders, and on his head hung the Damocles blade of the older brother. Presumably, the last he had really spent time with her were still children, before he began the grueling journey as the next olo'eyktan in line.

Let's thank the electronic whistle of the throat-comm she wore around her neck if he stopped his hand; on the other side, he recognized Norm's unmistakable calm timbre. “Be there soon. Just need to collect the last sample you asked for.” “Got it, but be safe. Stay close to the edge of the woods and don't turn off the tracker, OK? If you're lost or in danger, call Jake right away.” “I grew up in this forest. Chill out.” “You grew up right by this forest,” he corrected. Celeste rolled her eyes, both annoyed and unimpressed, tired of hearing the same recommendations over and over again. Yet, she avoided comment or complaint, aware it would only lengthen that torment. Just as she reassured the man and turned around, the words died in her throat, cut off by a high-pitched shriek that ripped through the air. “Cel! What's going on?!” Not over three feet away from her, a man, a young male Na'vi who must have been stalking her up to that moment, stood there, in all his glory, staring down at her. Indecipherable gaze and bow well in view. With slow, measured steps, he approached her, never breaking eye contact. Celeste was trembling more and more with every inch of distance the native consumed, her heart drumming frantically. It seemed about to explode in her chest. The blood resounded straight in her ears, deafening her; her saliva dried up, and a sudden chill took over her entire body. She was terrified, to say the least. Yet, in the lucidity of those brief seconds of horror, she noted one thing. A strand of beads woven into the young man's songocord. The same one the twins wore on their wrists. “N-neteyam?” At the uncertain sound of his name, in lips parted in an amused grimace. “You scared me half to death! Geez!” Better to avoid telling her he was about to kill her for real. “False alarm, Norm. It's just Neteyam.”

Just Neteyam. Although, in all likelihood, Celeste would have used the exact definition had any of his relatives stood before her, he didn't like the sound of it for one bit. He wasn't just Neteyam.

“Phew, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Yeah, tell me about it… “I feel way better now that you have someone with you. Hey, kid!” “Hi, Norm,” he pressed on the girl's communicator. Close, too close. The trail of his skin stunned her. Since when had Neteyam's smell become so... so good? Since when had he become like this? Tall, muscular, toned. His hair, much longer than she recalled, crossed far past the shoulder blades' line, grazing half his back. Where had that hint of round cheeks of yesteryear gone? His face was defined and masculine. Sharp cheekbones cut the contours of his visage down to his chin.

“The tawtsngal (panopyra - sky cup), then.” “No need to trouble yourself. I know the route. Besides—.” Celeste fell silent under his glare. Did she actually think he would leave her in the forest at the mercy of predators? He was already alarmed none of the AVTR Program was with her. “It's flower season,” he said like there was a darker meaning. “We're gathering some stem samples just for that, to examine the bioluminescent receptors. To figure out how their glow interacts with the environment. Fauna seems to get a little lovey-dovey around those things,” she giggled.

And not just them, he would've liked to retort, reluctant to get close to the plant at specifically that time of year.

“That's why I gotta come with you, no question asked. Panopyra blooming coincides with some species mating season. Animals go crazy and get extra aggressive around the plants. It's like they get in a trance. What was your plan if you came across an animal in heat? This could be lethal even for us Na'vi.” Now that he'd thrown that frightening possibility in her face, she felt foolish for not having thought of it sooner. She could be so naive, even though she knew the dangers that lurked in every limb of the lush greenery. All deadly to a tiny alien being like her. “Stay close to me,” he said in a peremptory tone as he cleared a passage through the dense network of shrubs. A sort of command that irritated her beyond belief. However, what bothered her even more was realizing she wasn't irritated at all. The unfamiliar note that tainted his voice, making it scratchy and an octave deeper, went straight to her abdomen; where she felt slight persistent flutters tickling her belly. Like many butterflies flapping their wings in a swirl. Another characteristic to add to the list of missed things during the years away, holed up within the human outpost's aseptic walls. When the boyish huskiness had yielded to the incumbent adult tonality. A full-bodied texture, soft and even a little dark, resonated in his throat in an enveloping musicality like a warm blanket. Yet one that knew how to mess with her head. She felt the pressing need to explain herself, to take the scientists' side. For yes, as much as the lab concentrated a handful of the brightest minds on Earth, in some regards, their genius made them fearfully ingenuous; they got an almost childlike confidence. As if the research spirit, to always go one step further than the acknowledged, silenced the inclination of self-preservation. Blind and unable to conceive of the existence of danger. Wasn't that also part of their charm, though? People who still looked at the world with the wonder of their inner child.

Celeste supposed she looked just like that in Neteyam's eyes: a baby.

“It was me who pushed for it.” “This is an avatar job,” he stoned sternly, “And why were you alone to begin with? How come you didn't ask one of us to come with you? Someone to keep you safe.” He gritted his teeth, “Ha! You're even fucking unarmed.” She had never seen him so heated, which made her hesitant to respond. “Hm... these plants are close to the lab, so I thought—.” “You thought? Going into the forest unescorted and defenseless. You call it thinking?” His look was fierce, burning, and untamable, it pinned her to her spot. “No, you haven't put any thought into it. The lab is located in the farthest corner of the clan's territory, right on the border with neighboring clans. Imagine if you stumbled upon a total stranger in my place. You're lucky I didn't hurt you, Celeste!” Anguished filled his voice.

She was lucky he didn't kill her.

Where was all that anger coming from? He hadn't felt this way when he'd crossed her shortly before, regardless of the way. Something had clicked the instant she'd told him he didn't need to go with her. That sentence did hit a nerve. Was she really so unwise as to ignore what lay behind tall trees and in thick bushes? Even Spider, despite being all too prone to let Lo'ak influence get the better of him, dared not challenge the forest. Or maybe it was a consequence of that unfounded sense of rejection that had made his heart sink? She didn't want him there.

Well, why should she? They barely knew each other by now. And for that, Neteyam would always blame himself; he had left her to her own devices. Though aware of her reluctant nature, and her need for constant prodding, he'd stopped trying to bring her out of her shell at some point. I'll see her tomorrow. We can watch a movie if she's not up for coming to the village.Tomorrow I'll take her to the clearing. Nah, we're skipping that, going to the waterfall. Yeah, I'm sure she gonna love it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. A tomorrow that never happened.

Time had passed anyway, and now he stood before a young woman with whom he had no common ground, nothing to hold to apart from the fond memory of a feeling that once bound them together. With whom his initial reaction was to scold her, his own detested paternalistic attitude surfacing. The forever babysitter.

Great job, Neteyam, really. Congrats, he gave himself a sarcastic tongue-lashing.

“I felt like going out.” The whisper possessed the disarming impact of a shout, hinting at an unspoken longing between the words. “Sorry,” he said, halting his steps, “I shouldn't have.” Against all logic, she mustered a smile for him, but it appeared more strained and pained than heartfelt. “Thanks.” Neteyam cast a quizzical look her way, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His mistreatment still stung, like a slap across the face. Why thanking him? “For caring about me.”

Although locals considered the panopyra to be at the extreme of a plant, it actually didn't approach any taxonomic concept of the same. Somewhere in between plants, animals, and fungi. Because of its sensory tissues and saprophytic lifestyle, scientists classified this species as a zoopantae. Its shape resembled a jellyfish and represented an evolutionary lineage close to a primitive form of nervous system. As an epiphyte, it grew attached to the branches of trees via tentacle-like outgrowths, with which it formed a symbiotic strategy. A curious feature was it grew upside down, transforming its body into a sort of cup, from which natives collected dew and mist to make a nutritious, nourishing drink, and the motive of its Na'vi name. But that wasn't its only use; the vine-like stems were strong and flexible, perfect for making nets, traps, and woven objects of any kind. Furthermore, the phosphorescent tips lured in unsuspecting prey with their faint electrical signals, yet they appeared to serve a purpose beyond that. The latter caught the attention of the research team. The sensory cells seemed to have an aphrodisiac effect during flowering when the spores fluttered in the air. Young Na'vi frequently wore them while searching for a mate.

Did that truly reflect the reality, though? Did panopyra alter hormones so strongly that it led to a state of mental instability? Or was it pure chance that animals displayed exceptionally unusual behaviour in the presence of the plant while facing heat? The plan was to gather samples, find the source of the bioluminescence, synthesize it, and conduct field trials. Celeste never imagined that arriving at the site during the bloom height accompanied by a Na'vi man would cause her to go straight to the experiments. Nor did she herself word become the lab rat.

The zooplantae structure grew near Utraya Mokri (Tree of Voices); a sacred place to the Omatikaya, to which they weren't normally allowed access. A rule they had never dared to evade, even as children, and the girl was quite impressed with Neteyam's idea. Other colonies were nearby, she suggested, but the young man argued that their location ventured too far into the dense forest. Eclipse was upon them; the sunset's warm orange light colored everything the dying sun could reach. Night was looming - the time of day when predators were at their busiest. Neteyam would never purposely endanger her if he could avert it. He was a pragmatic man, of innate wisdom for his age, always opting for the most favorable outcomes scenario. He would worry later about the consequences of violating the purity of this place (assuming anyone found out). As if coming there at that particular time of the year wasn't equally reckless, if not more so. However, Celeste was human. Nothing should have taken place, right? Just indigenous species were subjected to the hypnotic effect of panopyra, so on her, it wouldn't have resulted in any behavioral changes. And without a potential mate, reflexively Neteyam could consider himself safe.

Right? To his misfortune, he would find out the hard way.

If only scientists had consulted the clan, they would have their answer by now, but he had learned from an early age that confirmation from them was not enough. Humans had to have proof, tangible and repeated demonstration of a phenomenon through the scientific method. Opinion formulated on empirical basis was not reliable; they had to thumb their noses at it. And the two of them were going to rub all their noses in it!

Neteyam watched her at arm’s length as she took notes in her haphazard handwriting alongside pen sketches. Attentive eyes never left her slender figure except to check their surroundings, ears flicking at every little rustle or distant call. When he looked back at her for the umpteenth time, Celeste was squatting in front of a budding panopyra whose stems she was prodding with her pen. Despite the new model mask, her senses were not sharpened enough to fully feel the fragrance the plant was releasing with every slightest touch. Her weak eyesight could not see how the spore dust clung to her, unlike him. And that detail would have been easy to ignore, except that it accentuated the delicious scent of her skin even more.

It was powdery, sensual, and velvety, with the central notes of peach combined with citrus, centifolia, and jasmine. But the enchantment occurred in the mysterious background of her perfume; where the spices, cinnamon, amber, and subtle hint of underbrush blended with her epidermis. She felt stuffy, but the trail of the lab that lingered on her was also part of what the woman was all about.

Just a little more. Celeste had almost finished jamming the tip of the last stem into the slide. Just a little more and they would be gone. He could start breathing again. Even a small distance weakened the intensity of the plant's influence. He could have held on, except…

“Shit!” moaned the girl in a ragged sigh as she shook her left hand. Neteyam’s already flaring senses snapped and without registering the movement, he was on her. Her hand, whose wrist he was clutching, a palm away from his face. He inhaled so eagerly, Neteyam, that for a moment she feared the skin would peel off her fingers, which were sprinkled with viscous nectar. His nostrils flared and his mouth twisted into an ecstatic smile from which his canines sprouted, longer and sharper than they had ever seemed.

She dared not breathe a word, Celeste, as the Na’vi tugged her wrist higher and his nose took up her arm to the crook of her neck, where his hot breath gave her goosebumps.

“T-teyam,” the tone was hesitant, but the nickname sounded like an invitation. His eyelids, which had remained closed up to that point, snapped shut, revealing two impossibly gigantic eyes. Na’vi eyes had always made some impression on her. So big and round. They reminded those of lemurs. But now, wide apart at their largest, a little protruding and out of proportion, with the pupil reduced to a dot and so yellow as to glow, they had something sinister. The twin orbs stared at her with the sly insistence of a tarsier; they seemed to peer into her soul, and Celeste was astonished to feel fascination rather than revulsion or fear.

Then, all of a sudden, the pupils widened until they covered the iris almost entirely, and there the chills preyed on her whole body, and her heart beat wildly fast. “Muntxa (mate),” was the only word that eluded his dry lips; the cavernous, grave voice rose from his throat in the beginning of a roar. Celeste squeaked as he towered over her under his weight, the turf making a soft bed. Neteyam’s hands ran all over her body as he searched for access to her clothing. His tail rolled possessively over one of her thighs. He rubbed his chin against her trapeze with the stubbornness of a cat marking its territory. And that was what he was doing. He was releasing his wake so that other males would stay away from her.

She was his.

Normally, a Na’vi male would have been satisfied with that, but not Neteyam. Not when rivals included humans as well. And especially not in a hallucinogenic state. He would leave nothing to chance; in fact, he bit her, slowly but sufficiently for his tongue to be stained with the taste of her blood, and sucked greedily where a female of his species would have a particular gland. An extra scruple to warn even those fools enough to dare to ignore tsaheylu. The moan of pain that rose from Celeste’s lips was like music to his ears. “My tawtute’s so delicate. My fragile little mate.”

He repeated that phrase again, and again, and again. The word muntxate became a litany that stunned her. She felt soft in his muscular arms; Neteyam could have picked her up with a spoon. She barely felt the tickle of the wafer-thin white strands that snaked under her clothes and ran up her body to the nape.

The roots of the Tree of Voices.

Suddenly, her mind became incredibly alert. She could feel... everything. The strength of the tree’s mighty roots anchoring themselves in the ground, the sap flowing through the leaves in the same rhythm as the blood in her veins. The deep connection bordering on the supernatural that she felt with the surrounding nature was indescribable. And, more surprisingly, she could breathe Pandora’s air without feeling asphyxiated by its toxic texture. Yet she didn’t feel complete. Something was still missing. Something that might have seemed infinitesimal in the immense network that connected all things together, but for the reality reduced to her person was much more. Imposing. That was everything.

Neteyam.

Celeste opened her eyes, and everything seemed to stop. No longer the rustle of leaves or the buzz of twilight animals. The forest, the sky, the distinction between day and night, light and dark. All vanished. Only Neteyam existed. The warmth of his body, the steadiness in his gaze, the gentleness of his voice that rang in her ears, although he had not uttered a word.

They stared at each other for a long time. She confused, he enraptured. A wide smile crossed his face from side to side, and his eye sockets shone as if he were about to cry as he caressed her cheek and kissed her with a newfound gentleness. She had never seen him smile like that, which made her heartbeat quicken more than the kiss itself. His kisses were caressing, engaging. They guided her as if they were dancing, as if they were trying to teach her the steps of a fast, but also languid and sentimental waltz. Celeste recognized Neteyam’s true soul there, despite his aggression.

Ma’yawne, she heard him say, though without speaking. How could she when their lips were still clinging to each other in a cuddle that was getting hotter and hotter? The rhythm with which they mingled pressed in unison with the speed of his thoughts, of his sensations pouring into her as if they were her own.

He slid more on top of her, pinning her to the ground with a voracious kiss as he trudged to remove her shoes. His fingers quarreled with the laces, then went up her calf, her knee, her pelvis, until there was nothing left to separate them. He inhaled her pleasant fragrance and immediately felt different, more vigorous. The innate and almost animalistic recognition that this was his female, the member of his own species to which he was predestined. But how was that possible?

Sucking the breath from her lungs, his wet kisses lingered on her lips, letting the desire to burrow into her skin and be taken creep ever stronger. They were bathed in a cloud of spores that blurred his vision, but he didn’t need his sight to know where Celeste’s warm irises were. He could feel them searching for him in the haze, wandering over his face and crossing to his own.

This makes no sense, she thought. You are Na’vi; he laid a hand on her chest, Your heart is Na’vi. Their mouths didn’t come off for a second. I shouldn’t be feeling all this. Feeling you.

One of his hands slipped until he found his braid and lifted it in front of her. Celeste followed it in length until her gaze landed where the tips of his hair revealed the nerves of his tswin. A myriad of emotions followed on her face.

Bewilderment. Surprise. Awareness. And finally… Embarrassment.

His kuru was connected to the tubular outgrowth, anchoring to her nape. The ultimate intimacy. Ripples of light spread around them, two atokirina dancing together in the air.

Nawna Sa’nok accepted you as her daughter. His eyes were luminous, honest, infinitely deep. I am with you now, Cel. We are mated for life.

He laid his head down, and her arms enfolded him. They started exploring each other with sparkling eyes. Neteyam went to his knees and stared at her with trembling anticipation. Celeste just nodded, looking at him with eyes full of meaning. Their mouths found themselves again, with even more passion, overwhelming frustration, almost fury. She clung to his forearms as if it were worth her life; she wouldn’t let him go. Arching her back, she clung to him as she stroked the stripes on his back and shoulders, then intertwined her fingers in his hair when Neteyam moved his lips to cover every inch of skin to her intimacy.

And so he tasted her. Sensual and tender, his thumbs caressing her asscheeks as he slowly slid his tongue into her womanhood to get a better taste. His tongue and the way it pressed against her walls made her push her head against the moss and let him explore her further. A small tingle in her lower abdomen told her how much she wanted him, how much she needed his touch, craved it.

“So soft,” Neteyam murmured against her skin, kissing and squeezing the fat of her thigh. She relished in the way his mouth sucked at her skin, leaving marks that would last for days. He giggled and began to draw circles around her cunt, watching Celeste squirm beneath him. Her only thoughts were how desperately she wanted to ride his smug face. And his ability to know exactly what she was thinking was shaking. Tsaheylu, baby. He tilted his head to look at her flushed expression. Her breath caught as she expected him to fuck her with his tongue, already a whimpering mess, and he hadn’t even started yet. Ride my face. His demanding tone only added to her excitement and the speed of her heartbeat. Celeste moved back and forth on his tongue as he watched her with hooded eyes, moaning at her taste. She grabbed his hair with both hands and picked up the pace, disengaging herself and waiting for the rush to hit. The intense sensation in her stomach revealed its formidable power. “Oh fuck,” she whimpered, throwing her head back as she continued to pleasure herself on top of his big mouth. “T-teyam—. I’m about to cum!” An animalistic growl was all she got in return. His fingers plunged into her thighs, trying to steady himself as she lost her mind against him. “Oh-oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit. Cumming!” It drained her of all energy, leaving her limp in his arms. A whine of his name echoed through the air as he licked a long strip down her folds to her core, which, thanks to the bond, went straight to his cock. And so a surge of courage came over him as he inserted a digit into her sex, enjoying the little gasp she gave as he cupped it tightly in his hand. “Gonna let me breed your tight pussy, yawntu?” Another moan, this time coming from somewhere deep within. “Gonna carry my kids in that tiny belly of yours?” So that was the person he became in the darkness of his hut when he could be his true self with no filter. Her cheeks turned red. “T-that can’t happen, Tey. Different species can't get pregnant with each other.” “The Great Mother would make it possible. We’re meant to be.” He rubbed his still-clothed cock against her heat, massaging her clit. “Now, say it. Are you up for starting a family with me? Carry on my lineage? Say you want me to fill you up ’til your tummy swell with my heirs.” “I-I…” “You? C’mon, open that pretty mouth of yours and tell me.” He didn’t stop to rub on her, he was driving her mad. “Y-yes! Gimme your cum, gimme your babies, gimme everything, Teyam!” “At your command.” He tore off her thin clothes with one hand, shredding everything in one go, and threw her back onto the moss. Then he removed his tewng. His eyes never left her, growing darker by the second. The band of the hunting knife was plastered to his sculpted chest, so sturdy, drawn by hard work. Soon, every layer that separated them was gone.

For goodness’ sake, Celeste’s eyes seemed to fall out of their sockets. Neteyam was huge.

“It will never fit.” He let go of her legs to give her a hard, sloppy kiss, pulling her lower lip between his canines, a move that sent waves of glee throughout her whole body and the bond. “Everything will be fine. Just trust me, yawntutsyìp.” He used his fingers to gently pull her lips apart, catching a glimpse of her wet cunt. Celeste shuddered at his touch as he moved his thumb over her swollen clit. She sighed his name as his leaky tip probed against her ring. He moved it along her swollen clit, still feeling her swollen folds throbbing from her orgasm. He pushed in with a hiss and her mouth fell wide open from the stretch, his cock ready to tear her apart. “Wiya (damn), so fuckin’ tight,” he threw his head back, grip tightening around the back of her knees as he worked his way into her. He smirked as he watched his length disappear inside her clenching walls, his hips beginning to move. “There you go, scarfing it down.” The human girl bit down on her lip when his tip pushed against her G-spot.

Celeste raised herself up just enough on her elbows to watch the point where their bodies connected, to see his gigantic dick disappear and reappear, disappear and reappear, wondering how his fragile little body could accommodate it so well, amazed at the bulge inside her belly. Her lips could be bleeding from how hard she bit them, her eyebrows knitted together. Desperate whimpers were the only sounds she could manage as his thrusts became so heavy she was sure she could feel him in her very core. His eyes were on fire, locked with hers. Enchanting. Rough hands went to the back of her neck, interlocking his fingers behind it, holding it in place as he rutted inside her. “We’re really meant to be. Shaped for each other so perfectly,” her folds squeezed him in after each sentence. He spoke with mirth; he was enjoying the way she was falling apart for him.

She couldn’t tell what came over her, but when she reached to grab him by his shoulders and pull him with all her strength on top of her, she sank her nails as hard as she could into his cerulean flesh, and then bit. Hard. Neteyam wailed from the pain; her teeth sharper than he ever thought. But the pain, mixed with pleasure, sent him over the moon. He switched positions in a flash; Celeste was now on top of him as he held her in place. “Do it again. Bite me.” He took her by the nape of her delicate head against the column of his neck, turning just enough to expose himself to her. “Bite me. Right here,” he pointed, where below was the mating gland. Neteyam encouraged her by driving his hips upwards into her core, making her cry out; he just hit the spot that could make the human girl lose it.

She applied pressure to his neck, feeling it pulsate under her lips, and he started moving again, rushing his cock inside. “Don’t be afraid. Bite me with all you got.” Chomping down on the flesh with all her might, Neteyam’s jaw ticked in response, and the coppery taste of blood wet her tongue. “Y-yeah, yawne. Mark me like you own me.” His voice strained, shaky even, overwhelmed by just how much pleasure it was giving them both, with Neteyam thrusting as rough as he could. “Ma’ lor muntxate (my beautiful mate).” She put her entire weight into the bite that was chomping his trapeze, her mind flying out of her head as she felt him reaching his peak. Too much. His cock was opening her too rapidly, and Celeste couldn’t even sit straight anymore. "T-tey, I can't hang on for much longer." Pushing her onto the moss, and sliding right back into her gummy walls, he pinned both her wrists over her head, slamming himself inside her so deeply, it felt like he wanted to rip her apart. “Just a little bit, ma’tawtute. Almost there. Hold out for me.” His thrusts sped up to the point her whole frame bounced on the solid ground, whining and closing her eyes shut, orgasm approaching with full force. “Yes, yawne, just like that. You’re so good to me. Taking all of me so well.”

Those praises pushed her over the edge, and soon she realized she was screaming his name and squirting all around him, while he was still hammering his own into her cervix. His hips lost control as he painted her walls with his warm cum, bawling from the strength of his climax. He didn’t stop even when Celeste was sure he’d given her everything he had to give, filling her to the brim with his load and continuing to slowly rock his hips into her overstimulated cunt.

After a moment, he looked down, his expression turning sorrowful, realizing what the intoxication had caused him to do, now that its hallucinogenic effects were wearing off. “Cel, are you okay?” A tired nod was all she managed, still so out of it to concentrate on anything else but the sensation of his cum dripping down her tights. “I’m so, so sorry. What I did—.” She shushed him by laying a finger on his lips. “That was amazing. You are amazing. Whatever triggered this, it allowed me to look inside your heart and there was no will to force me to do anything.”

It was so bizarre how the same person who had just minutes before fucked her into oblivion was now staring at her with the most intense, loving eyes, his topaz eyes tugging at her heartstrings. “Nga yawne lu oer (I love you).” “Nga yawne lu oer nìteng (I love you too).”

The happiness that simple words brought to him was impossible to contain, as Neteyam laid on his side to cradle her in his arms. He whispered words of adoration and gentle praise in her ear, and it was this that caused Celeste to drift off into a much-needed sleep.

A whole new life awaiting.

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!!

[@neteyamssyulang sorry I didn't you right away, I was so eager to post that I forgot😅]

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proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

title: toyin’ with them older guys

pairing: bartender!joel miller/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

chapters: 1/1

read on ao3 | masterlist

summary:

Joel Miller is the grumpy bartender and owner of your favorite bar near campus, where you attend trivia every Tuesday night. Thinking there’s no way Joel could return your feelings, your friend suggests trying out Tinder.

But when you bring them to the bar for a date, they keep leaving mid date with no explanation.

Maybe there’s something Joel isn’t telling you after all.

author’s note: thank you to everyone who hyped me up to post this when i wasn’t sure how i felt about it. your comments mean the world 💕

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), alternate universe - no cordyceps outbreak, no use of y/n, unspecified age gap, alcohol references/consumption, possessive behavior, jealousy, mild violence (in the form of Joel kicking someone out of his bar), brief reference to Sarah’s mom and divorce, tinder dates, bribery, dirty talk, begging, pet names, praise kink, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), spanking. let me know if i’ve missed anything!

There’s a bar near the university that you love to go to for multiple reasons.

For one, they have great drinks. For two, their loaded tater tots are the best drunk food you’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming.

But the number one reason, above all else, is the grumpy bartender and owner, Joel Miller.

The first time you saw him, he was challenging a kid with a fake ID, his arms crossed over his broad chest, emphasizing the strain of his flannel over his biceps. When the kid tried to take a swing at him, he grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back before marching him out of the bar and kicking him to the curb.

Your friend had to remind you to breathe.

He hosts a trivia night at the bar on Tuesday nights, the perfect excuse to see the man weekly. You sit at the bar each time, scribbling your answers on the notepad as you sip on a vodka cranberry and sneak glances at the older man while he works.

One night, you were struggling to answer a question about where the Lord of the Rings trilogy was filmed when Joel leaned across the bar, bringing his lips close to your ear to say, “New Zealand.”

You’d gotten the point, thanks to him. And from that day forward, he’d linger near your corner of the bar, watching to see if you needed help with an answer. Eventually, you started showing up earlier and earlier for trivia night, just for the chance to talk to him.

You told him about your PhD program and the research you were conducting. You wanted to be a psychologist, but for now you’re just a perpetual student. You miss winter weather in Colorado, but appreciate not having to store a giant jacket anywhere in your small apartment. Your favorite season is fall, and your favorite holiday is Halloween.

He tells you about buying the bar a few years ago, after his divorce from Sarah’s mom and ensuing custody battle had been finalized, an investment he made with his brother Tommy. They’d fixed it up themselves and made it a popular local spot. His favorite movie is Indiana Jones and he prefers whiskey over any other drink.

It’s no surprise that along the way you’d fallen in love with the man.

Too bad he’d never feel the same.

————

Joel remembers the first night he saw you. Your rosy cheeks and tipsy smile as you leaned forward to say, “Vodka cranberry, please. With lime .”

“Lime, huh?” He remembers saying. You nodded your head vigorously.

“The lime is the best part,” you insisted. He chuckled.

“Not the vodka?”

“Gross, no.”

He tossed in three lime slices and you shimmied your shoulders with glee.

You come into the bar, alone, for trivia night on Tuesdays now. You’re a fountain of random facts, but every once in a while he’ll feed you an answer to help you out because he likes the smile that you give him in return.

He has no right to be looking at you the way that he finds himself doing every week. Eyes wandering to the way your jeans hug your ass or drifting to your cleavage when you rest your elbows against the bar.

But between the conversations and the trivia and the sweet smiles, he’d gone and fallen in love.

Which is why when you come to trivia night with a man who wraps an arm around your waist, Joel loses his goddamn mind and does the stupidest thing ever.

You get up to go to the bathroom and Joel leans across the bar to address the guy, keeping his eyes on the bathroom.

“I’ll give you $100 if you leave right now,” Joel says.

“What?”

“Hundred bucks if you walk out that door and don’t talk to that girl again,” he says again. He digs his wallet from his pants and pulls a bill out, setting it on the bar top.

Without further question, the man grabs the money and stuffs it in his pocket as he heads out the door. Joel feels a flash of guilt when you return from the bathroom and look around for your missing date.

“Said he had an emergency,” Joel lies. He’s surprised when you look relieved.

“He was kind of boring, anyways,” you shrug, dragging your notepad and pen closer to you. “He probably would have just dragged us down.”

Us, Joel thinks.

He could get used to that.

________

Your friend, Marie, had convinced you to try out Tinder. She was absolutely certain you were missing out on the love of your life by not swiping mindlessly through profiles that held no interest to you.

You weren’t about to confess your unrequited love for the local bartender to get her off your case, so that’s how you ended up on a date with Michael. He was a law student and liked kayaking and hiking.

You liked neither of those things, but he had curly brown hair and you had a type, so why not give it a shot?

You didn’t have it in you to be too upset when you returned from the bathroom only to find out from Joel that Michael had left. Joel slid you another vodka cranberry with lime and your night went as it always did.

When Marie asked you the next morning how the date went and you told her he bailed, she insisted on picking your next one. She chose Scott, a financial analyst at a local bank.

You’re starting to think Marie doesn’t know you very well.

Regardless, you show up at the bar for another trivia night date. Scott is tall and lean, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and he wore a suit to a bar. When you comment on it, he pulls a face and says he came straight from work.

“Not all of us are lucky enough to not have real jobs,” he says. You blink at him, surprised by the hostility.

That hostility continues when Joel approaches the two of you at the bar, lips turned down in a scowl, and Scott decides to order for you.

“She’ll take a vodka water with lemon and I’ll have Bulleit, neat.”

Joel raises his eyebrows at Scott, his eyes flicking to you briefly, before he sets a plastic cup on the bar top. He holds Michael’s gaze as he pours a shot of vodka into your cup, before using the soda gun to dispense cranberry juice. You have to bite back your smile.

“Vodka cranberry with lime,” he says, sliding you your drink. “And your whiskey will be right out.”

“That’s not what I ordered,” Scott replies.

“Yeah, but it’s what she would’ve.”

Scott sputters, face going an alarming shade of red with his indignation.

“I’ll be right back,” you mutter, taking your drink with you as you head to the bathroom.

________

“I’m not paying for that drink,” the blonde asshole says, knocking his knuckles against the bar for emphasis. Joel huffs a laugh.

“I don’t give a shit, kid. I want you out of my bar,” he says, planting both hands on the wood.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of my bar.”

“I’m on a date!”

“Not anymore.” Joel rounds the bar and gets up in the little weasel’s face. “Get. Out.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, like he realizes that maybe Joel isn’t playing around. He scrambles from his barstool, standing to his full height like he’s about to challenge Joel.

“You can’t kick me out, old man,” the blonde snaps.

Joel’s had enough. He fists a hand in the starched white shirt collar, driving him back towards the exit. The other patrons move out of the way, some whistling and cheering Joel on. He shoves the man out the door and looks at the doorman.

“He doesn’t come back inside,” he says. “And you? Don’t ever fuckin’ talk to her again.”

Joel returns to the bar as you’re walking up. For a moment, he worries that you may have seen him acting like a caveman getting rid of his competition, but you look around in confusion.

“Where’s Scott?” You ask.

“He forgot about somethin’ at work,” Joel says. Your brow furrows.

“Kinda weird that’s happened to me twice now,” you comment.

Joel just shrugs.

________

You don’t tell Joel about how you saw him throw Scott out of his bar that night.

You’d just left the bathroom when you saw Joel stomp out from behind the bar, his eyes dark and fixed on your date. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but based on the affronted way Scott was responding, it wasn’t anything good.

You crept closer to the scene, but stayed amongst the crowd. Joel marched Scott backwards with a fist tangled in his collar, shoving him out the door.

“And you? Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk to her again.”

Your mouth went dry at his words and your mind reeled at the implications. Was he doing this from a place of friendship? Or…could he maybe feel the same way you do?

Only one way to find out.

You call up Travis, a good friend from undergrad who still lived in town.

“Trav, I need your help,” you say when he answers the phone.

“Burying a body type of help or financial type of help?” He replies easily.

“Actually, more experimental.”

“I don’t swing that way.”

“No, listen to me, I have a hypothesis,” you insist, explaining the situation to him. How you’ve been on two dates at Joel’s bar but each time, the men have left without another word. And how after what you witnessed, you’re inclined to believe that it’s not a coincidence.

You ask Travis to come with you to the next trivia night. All he needs to do is pretend to be there on a date with you. A bit of hand holding, maybe an arm around the waist. Nothing more.

“But what if he tries to threaten my life?” Travis asks.

“Well…I mean…every experiment has risks,” you reply flippantly. He sputters indignantly down the line. “I’ll buy you your drinks and get you tater tots.”

He’s silent for a moment before responding, “Fine. Extra jalapeños and I’m not getting well liquor.”

“Thank you!”

________

You come into his bar with another man. His arm is draped over your shoulders as you approach the bar and Joel has to set the glass he’s drying down before it shatters in his hands.

“Joel! This is Travis,” you say, gesturing to your date. He forces a smile, reaching a hand across the bar to shake his hand.

“What can I get started for you?” Joel asks. The man, Travis, orders an old-fashioned with top shelf whiskey, while you request your regular.

“I’ll be right back,” you say as Joel is pouring the drinks. You weave through the crowd towards the bathrooms and Joel leans in to address Travis.

“I’ll pay you $100 to leave this date,” Joel says.

Travis smirks. “Make it $200.”

“Are you serious?”

“That depends, are you?”

Joel’s eyes flick towards the back of the bar and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out four fifties, dropping them on the bar.

Travis pockets the money before adding, “You know, there’s cheaper ways to get the girl.”

“Get out,” Joel grunts. The younger man laughs his way to the door, and you appear at the bar a moment later.

“Where’d Travis go?” You ask.

“Oh, he—“

“Can I get an order of the loaded tots?” Travis asks, cutting Joel off from making up an excuse for his absence and sitting back down on the stool beside you with a shit eating grin. “She owes me.”

“Owes you?” Joel asks through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, she lost a bet. I told her I could get the number of that guy over there in less than three minutes and she doubted my charm.”

“Travis and I went to undergrad together,” you explain. “We just wanted to hang out and catch up.”

Shit.

________

Travis decides to leave after two plates of loaded tots and one too many drinks. You help him call an Uber, but you stay behind as the bar starts to clear out.

It’s just Joel behind the bar, wiping down the wood and setting bottles back to their rightful spots as you sip from a cup of water. The kitchen has closed down and the music has been shut off, leaving the two of you in loaded silence.

“So…,” you say, twirling your straw in your near empty cup. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Joel’s shoulders go tense before he releases a deep sigh, turning to face you. The bar separates you, and it feels like miles of distance when all you want to do is get your hands on him now that your hypothesis has been proven.

Joel Miller likes you. And he’s been sabotaging your dates because of it. Perhaps you should be more upset, but all you can feel is an effervescent giddiness bubbling in your veins.

While he struggles to find the words, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You reach across the bar, hooking your fingers into the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him forward. You lean over to meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his.

You pull back and look into his eyes. The coffee colored brown of his irises seems darker, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

________

Joel’s got one hand on the wheel of the truck and the other resting on your thigh. He has to keep a hand on you because he’s worried that if he doesn’t anchor himself, he’ll wake up from this dream.

You kissed him. You reached across the bar and dragged his lips to yours in a way he’d only dreamed of doing a thousand times since you’d sauntered into his life.

He can’t help the small smile that tilts his lips up at the thought.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” You ask, your voice teasing. He glances at you.

“You do, darlin’,” he says. He relishes in the pink that blooms across your cheeks at the pet name.

Joel drives to his house, parking the truck in the driveway of his little bungalow. His bachelor pad, as Tommy calls it.

Maybe not for much longer.

He circles the truck to open the door for you, helping you down from the cab. He keeps his hand on your low back as he leads you up the porch steps and through the door.

You toe off your shoes in the entryway, letting them join the pair of sneakers Joel left by the door. You’re wearing a pair of socks with tiny cats printed on them, the sight so endearing to him he can’t hold back his laugh.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothin’, just…like the look of you here. In my house,” he says.

“Yeah?” You take a step closer to him, toe to toe as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging your body against his. The heat of you even through the layers of your clothes sends a shiver down his spine.

You press your hands to his chest, sliding them up and over his shoulders before linking them behind his neck.

“You gonna give me a real kiss?” You whisper back. Your lips are so tantalizingly close that they ghost across his as you speak.

He closes the distance, lips dancing with yours as he kisses you senseless. The feel of you against him, moving with him, sends sparks skittering across his skin. He’s unable to hold still, hands roaming from your back to your waist to your hips as your mouths part and your tongues tangle with increased desperation.

Joel slides his hands to the backs of your thighs, crouching slightly to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your core slides against his growing hardness and he groans at the sensation as you let out the neediest whimper.

He wants to hear more.

He walks you both through the empty house until he reaches his bedroom, tossing you on top of sheets still rumpled from last night’s sleep. You scramble to sit up on your knees, moving to the edge of the bed and curling your fingers into the waist of his jeans.

“Can I suck your cock, Joel?” You ask, voice all breathy as you stare up at him with your big doe eyes. “Please?”

Joel’s mouth has gone bone dry. “Yeah? You want my cock in that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, fingers working on the buckle of his belt. His hands work in tandem with yours to get his fly open, shoving the denim down his thighs until he can step out of them. His cock tents his boxers, a wet spot already apparent on the fabric and he watches as you reach a hand out to stroke him, a groan escaping him at the feel of your warm palm against him.

“Take your clothes off and get on your knees,” Joel commands. He lifts his own shirt over his head as you unbutton and remove your pants, shimmying the tight fabric down your legs. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed as he watches you lift your shirt up and off.

His eyes rove your body hungrily. Your perfect tits and gorgeous curves, the way you flush beneath his gaze.

“Come here, baby,” he says, crooking a finger. You come to stand between his legs and he reaches around your back, unhooking your bra with deft fingers.

“You’re rather skilled at that, Mr. Miller,” you tease.

“I’m old, not dead.” He slips the straps from your shoulders, tugging the last barrier between him and your tits away. “God, baby, these all for me?”

“Mhm,” you him as he wraps his hand around the weight of one breast, thumb teasing your pert nipple.

“Tell me somethin’,” Joel asks, “why’d you bring all those boys around when you knew you needed a man?”

You lick your lips. “Didn’t know if the only man I wanted would want me back.”

Your voice is small and vulnerable as you say it, and that just won’t do. “Don’t just want you, baby. Need you.”

Your face lights up in the brightest grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad,” he tells you, digging his fingers into your hips. “S’why I had to play dirty.”

Your smile turns downright salacious. You drop to your knees, running your hands up his thighs. “Show me how much you need me, Joel.”

________

Joel shoves his boxers down, exposing his cock to your hungry gaze. It’s gorgeously thick, the head a dark red from his arousal, a pearl of precum sitting in the slit. You lean forward and dart your tongue out to gather it.

“Don’t tease, sweetheart,” Joel says through gritted teeth. You keep your eyes fixed to his as you take him in hand, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head before taking him further into your mouth.

His hand is instantly in your hair. Not pressing, but his fingers tangle in the strands and tug deliciously against your scalp. He moans as you take him as far back into your throat as you can manage.

“Fuck, your mouth is better than I ever dreamed,” he says, voice rough.

“You’ve thought about this?” You ask when you draw back for breath, hand pumping his length in place of your mouth.

“‘Course, baby. These pretty lips wrapped around me, beggin’ for me to make them all swollen and used,” he says, standing and bringing a thumb to your lips and swiping it across their spit slick surface. “Open up.”

He uses his thumb to press against your bottom lip, opening your mouth as he takes his cock in hand and feeds it slowly between your lips. The smooth, hot length of him dragging across your tongue makes you moan.

“You like that, baby?” He growls, pumping his hips in shallow thrusts. “Like me usin’ your mouth how I want?”

You try to nod, your movement restricted by the grip of his hand that’s returned to your hair. There’s spit trailing down your chin and tears gathering in the corners of your eyes from the effort of keeping your mouth open for his thick length. You know you must look like a mess but with Joel staring down at you with his lust drunk expression, you feel on top of the world.

“I gotta fuck you, baby, will you let me, huh? Let me feel that pretty little cunt strangle my cock?”

You hum around his length and he withdraws, tugging you up by your hair and pulling you into the dirtiest kiss, all tongue and teeth and blatant desire as he turns your bodies, shoving you down onto the bed.

Joel slips an arm beneath your low back, using it to pull you up the bed as he crawls on to join you. He positions himself between your legs, tearing the soaked fabric of your panties down in a frenzy.

He slides his fingers through your wetness before bringing them to his lips, sucking them into his mouth with a groan.

“Christ, I’m gonna feast on you for hours, baby, but I wanna fuck you so bad,” he says.

“Then fuck me, Joel, please,” you beg, lifting your hips so that his cock slips through your center. “Come on, wanna feel you.”

He lines himself up, pressing into you with a delicious stretch, the slight sting of it making you whine. He shushes you, not stopping until his hips press against the back of your thighs.

“Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ my cock like you were made for it,” he says, leaning forward to kiss you, the shift in angle making him go impossibly deeper. “Tell me when I can move, sweetheart.”

You shift your hips restlessly beneath him. “Please move, Joel, wanna feel it.”

Joel pulls back before slamming forward, the force of it making you slide up the bed as all the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. His grin is sharp as he does it again and again to the tune of your desperate cries.

“Joel!” You cry, clawing at his back with each thrust. “Fuck, yes, yes!”

He withdraws abruptly, the loss of him as you clench around nothing making you whine pathetically. With a bruising grip on your hips, he twists your body until you’re on your belly, ass in the air and chest pressed to the mattress.

Joel slides back inside your tight heat, a palm slapping across one cheek then the other as he resumes his powerful thrusts.

“Fuck, darlin’, you’re so goddamn tight,” he growls. A hand presses to the back of your neck for leverage, changing the angle yet again. “Can you cum for me? Can you soak my fuckin’ cock, baby, I bet you can.”

You nod, the movement restricted, but you can’t form words. All you know is the feeling of Joel pounding into your body like he owns it.

The hand on your hips moves to the front of your body, fingers finding and pinching your clit. You sob against the mattress, the sheets wet beneath you from tears and drool.

“Come on, baby, fuckin’ cum for me,” he growls. “Won’t fill ya up until you do.”

That’s the visual that does it. The thought of Joel finishing with you, inside of you, dripping out of you too much for your lust addled brain. With a shout, the thin remnant of your control snaps and you pulse around him.

“Fuck yes, that’s it, sweetheart, good fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his hand leaving your neck as he sits up, his tempo fast and sloppy as he chases his release through yours. “You want me to cum in this tight little cunt, honey.”

“Yes, please,” you manage to slur, muffled by the sheets. With three more harsh thrusts, he does as promised, spilling inside of you with a shout.

He slows before withdrawing, your body collapsing against the mattress without him there to hold you up. He chuckles as he flops beside you, dragging you into the cradle of his body.

“You done playin’ games with those boys?” He asks, smiling smugly against your neck.

“Yeah, think I might be into older guys,” you tease. He pinches your hip, making you laugh.

“See if I ever help you during trivia again.”

________

Joel’s standing in front of you, arms crossed with a scowl on his face as you stare up at him with pleading eyes.

“Come on, baby, help me out,” you ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes.

“Last call for an answer to our final question! What is the only song credited to all five original members of the band Fleetwood Mac?”

Joel sighs, biting back his smile. “The Chain,” he tells you. You scribble the answer, running your paper up to the emcee. When you return to the bar, you lean across the polished surface and tug him towards you, planting a kiss to his lips.

He drags you back for another kiss. And another.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

Joel Miller tag list: @huffle-punk punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow

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smok3r7 · 5 months

Text

Christmas Getaway // One-shot

Joel Miller x Softball coach F!reader

Explicit, 18+

My series Masterlist & My Main Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: You met Joel by coincidence. You picked up a little side job to be a high school softball coach for fun, and Sarah was one of your top players. Sarah introduces you to Joel after the first game and both of you hit it off immediately. The three of you grow closer throughout the year and end up spending the holidays together on a getaway trip. Joel treats you to a nice night.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Age gap (28/40), NO outbreak AU, sexual tension, dry humping, oral (giving), fingering, possessive dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cream pie, squirting 2x, overstimulation, porn w/ plot, mutual pinning

—Hi babes🩷 I hope every one has a wonderful holiday season, I love you all! I’m thankful for you all who have given my writing a chance and I’m so thrilled to be putting out more for you guys! Hope you like this little personal piece I had😚

—

“GO ALL THE WAY SARAH!!” You scream as you frantically swing your arm in a circle telling her to not stop, second and third base are loaded and Sarah just hit a line-drive between second and third base which whizzed by shortstop AND the left-fielder. The two girls on base run home and Sarah is halfway to third when you hear a deep southern voice boom from your right, “GO BABY GO!!”

Too focused on Sarah to look at the mystery man, you notice an outfielder throwing the ball to the pitcher and Sarah just rounded third base. You’re sweating from the nerves and from the scorching Texas sun just beating down on you. The girls in the dugout behind you are incoherently screaming, the pitcher releases the ball to the catcher at home, however, Sarah is the fastest on the team! “SLIDE! SLIDE” you scream but there’s an echo to it, it’s the same smooth voice that makes you weak in the knees.

Sarah slides into home base and collides with the catcher, you wince as dirt and dust are all that’s visible to the naked eye. The cheers have turned into dead silence, the heavy breaths of players and family members is all that could be heard. All your team needs to win is this one run, Sarah’s run, otherwise it's a tie. Your heart is about to lunge out of your chest, you’re repeatedly muttering to yourself, “you got this girl! You so got it Sarah! You’re safe!”

The Umpire puts his hand up as he swats the cloud of dirt away from the air, you see Sarah’s body on the plate with the catcher on top of her but the ball isn’t in her hand, you smirk as you see the ball on the ground next to the catcher's head. The Ump swipes his hands and grunts, “SAFE”.

The crowd behind your players start to hoot and holler, your whole dugout roars and runs out to Sarah. But you’re the first one to her, as she stands up and throws her helmet to the ground next to her, “WE WON!” She shouts with almost a disbelief tone.

You pick her up in a hug and spin her once then set her back on her feet, “BECAUSE OF YOU SARAH!” She’s smiling ear to ear as she looks at you, by now the whole team is surrounding Sarah. The mixture of laughter, tears, and shrieks erupts from the team of teenagers. The first game of the season is off to a pretty good start, your body is warm on the inside as you see your players bounce with excitement.

“SARAH, SARAH, SARAH.” A chant echoes behind you, you turn and see the family of your girls entering the field with smiles and claps, but this one man in front sticks out to you. He’s wearing a fitting Texas Longhorn football T-shirt, that looks worn, with an orange & black flannel unbuttoned over it, a pair of dark blue jeans with what look to be work boots, but what catches your attention is his beautiful face. His short but curly chocolate and silver hair and his thick but kinda patchy beard, with his trademark brown eyes match together almost too perfectly.

“DAD! I DID IT!” Sarah breaks away from her teammates and sprints towards this man who you’ve been eyeing, and she practically knocks him to the ground as she jumps and wraps herself like a monkey around him like he’s a massive tree. “Yes you did baby girl! I’m so proud of you!” You hear him chuckle as he hugs her tightly, you don’t realize that you’re staring and smiling. Until Tiffany, one of your players, booty bumps your hip and whispers, “That’s Joel, Sarah’s dad. You two would be pretty cute together.” You laugh at her and tell her to knock it off, now turning and looking at your girls you yell, “Okay all my ladies, meet me in center-field!”

After praising the girls about how well they played today, you reminded them that the season will be tough and to not let today make them cocky, but to continue to learn and have fun with it! “RedHawks on three! ONE, TWO, THREE, REDHAWKS!” The huddle of the team yell in unison with their hands in the air! The girls all scatter to their belongings then to their families and as you’re walking back to the dugout to collect your things, you hear Sarah yell, “Hey coach! Wait up!” You turn around and see Sarah with Joel, Sarah wasting no time introducing you, “Coach this is my Dad, Dad this is my coach!”

“Nice to meet you…Sarah’s Dad” You reply with a chuckle, you reach your hand out to shake his, the large hand completely covering your small hand as he shakes and smiles, “It’s nice to meet you Sarah’s Coach!” And you two have hit it off since that moment in the middle of February, at your first game of the season.

—

It’s now mid December, the twenty-third to be exact, you and Joel have been officially dating since July. You still have your own apartment, which you rarely stay at now since Joel and Sarah begged that you stay with them, but you insist on having it available because you like having your own space once in a while, but you also want to have a backup just in case. Joel has brought up the idea of selling it but you refuse, only because this relationship is fresh and you don’t want to be stuck with nothing if it goes bad.

Especially with the holidays coming up, which always seemed to be the downfall for you. For example; Thanksgiving was boring like the last five years, until Joel and Sarah invited you over for their celebration with his family. You felt so loved, which you haven’t felt from your own family since they discovered you dropped out of college. They were not thrilled to hear that, you immediately became the disappointment of the family, even though your brother, who’s five years younger than you, had just had a baby out of wedlock. But somehow you still took the cake as the awful child, you didn’t care at this point, they were all pieces of shits anyway.

“What do you think darlin’?” Joel’s voice breaks your train of memories, you got so distracted you honestly don’t know what he and Sarah were just discussing. “Um, say that one more time, I'm sorry!” You reply as you take a sip of hot chocolate and set it on the table next to Joel, Sarah just made it for you all after Joel put dinner away. “We were talking about how we should go out to Tommy’s lake house for Christmas weekend, we’ll have to leave tomorrow, just so we can get away!” Sarah chirps from her seat on the other end of the couch from you and Joel, who are snuggled underneath a warm quilt blanket.

“Yes we so should! I’ll just have to stop by my place and grab some things!” You happily smile at Sarah, who is now jumping from her seat with joy. “YES! Finally another girl I can hang out with there!” The three of you laugh for a minute and she quickly says, “Wait…I’m gonna go pack!” She sprints upstairs before either of you can say anything. “That girl, she is something else.” Joel chuckles to himself as he takes a sip out of his navy coffee mug.

“Just like her father, always up to something.” You reply with a smirk as you lightly elbow his side, “Makes sense why you fit right in with us.” He whistles right back with no hesitation, that’s one thing you love about Joel, how he can come back with jokes and not be offended. You hum as you move in closer to his side, he lifts his free arm and puts it around your shoulder as you lean into him.

Looking around the living room, you feel fuzzy on the inside, almost like a little girl during Christmas. The decorated tree is filled with Sarah’s baby ornaments, Joel’s favorites, and now, with Joel and Sarah insisting, some of your own favorite ornaments. Your eyes then move to the fireplace and mantle, you were proud of yourself, Joel wasn’t much of a decorator, so you took the opportunity to spruce up his house more than just a tree and some lights.

You put a light blue cloth over the top of the white wooden mantle, a little over a dozen little trees in a couple clusters in each corner, and a string of white lights - this little touch made the fireplace and living room feel more festive, Joel and Sarah loved it.

“I think a getaway isn’t a bad idea,” Joel states, you two still looking at the tv which is playing a rerun of an SVU episode, “Tommy’s got a pretty cool spot about two hours out of town, he bought it for himself on his twenty-sixth birthday.” You’re looking up at him now, you love when he talks about his family, it makes you happy that he still talks with them.

“Well,” you start as you sit up and swing your leg over his hips so you’re now sitting on his lap and looking into his eyes, “If you insist,” even though you already decided to go in your head, you wanted to play with Joel a little bit, “I do have a hard time saying ‘no’ to you Miller.” You’re playing with the curls on the back of his neck as he wraps the blanket behind your waist and it’s so big that Joel has some draped by his legs.

His hands are resting on your thighs while his thumbs rub small circles on the inner part close to your purring pussy, causing drops of arousal to soak your panties, “Why would you want to say ‘no’ to a fun time?” Joel’s words flow out of his mouth like silk, you hate that he knows the effect he has on you, yet you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Your face heats up and you slowly roll your hips onto his cock, Joel chokes back a moan - honestly you had the same effect on him, which you loved. His eyes are locked on your covered cunt that is grinding on his restrained cock, you tug his face up by his hair and kiss him with teeth and tongue. “Dad do yo-“ Sarah walks around the corner and sees you two practically going at it, “Get a room you guys, jesussss.” She blinds her eyes with her hand and laughs as you scramble off Joel’s lap, almost falling onto the floor before Joel catches you.

“Weren't you packing?” Joel questions with a half serious, half joking tone to it as he pulls you back onto his lap, but now you’re laying on his chest. Sarah starts to rebuttal but Joel cuts her off and you can’t help but laugh at the situation, she just just caught her dad and he is slowly losing his patience. His hands are stroking your back which tells you, he wants you, bad.

“I was just gonna ask if we’ll be there just for the weekend or the week?” Sarah scoffs as stands there, “Just the weekend, the two of us still have jobs dear. Now go finish, we’ll watch a movie in a little bit.” Joel responds as he looks at her with a painful grin across his face, you can tell he is struggling to hold it together. “National Lampoon's??” Sarah chirps up, you look at her and go, “Duh!” She does a fist pump and a little ‘yessss’ as she runs away to her bedroom.

“Really? Lampoon’s?” Joel chuckles as he looks down into your eyes, “It’s only the best Christmas movie ever…besides the Grinch.” You remark as you put both hands flat on his chest and rest your chin on them and continue to talk about each movie. You honestly loved Lampoon’s and the Grinch, you grew up watching them and as you’ve gotten older, they’ve become a lot funnier.

Joel, still stroking your back, just looks at you as you rave about these two hilarious movies, you don’t notice but he’s in complete awe of you right now. In his mind he’s thinking about how you’re the one, the one for Sarah, and the one for him. You have him wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even notice it, Joel would do just about anything for you, he really does love you. He’s gonna make you his little wife someday, a mom to Sarah, and who knows, maybe a baby of your own with Joel.

“Hellooo?” You’re now waving your hands in front of his face, “Is Joel Miller in there?” You laugh at him staring into space, after you were done explaining your thoughts you had asked Joel what was his favorite, but all he did was stare at you when you asked. “Sorry darlin’, just got lost in thought. What did you ask?” He asks as he moves a piece of hair behind your ear, his warm touch on your face makes you melt. God you love this man so much, and he doesn’t even know the half of it.

You laugh as you ask him, “I asked what’s your favorite Christmas movie?” He throws his head back onto the couch and chuckles, “You’re gonna laugh, Sarah thinks it’s ridiculous.” You now wrap your arms around his torso and turn your head to listen to his heartbeat, “So what? I just went on and on about mine. I still wanna know yours.” You mumble as you take a whiff of him and you smile, he smells like a mix of hot chocolate, cinnamon, and sweat. You are actually addicted to the way he smells, you wish you could smell like him all the time, so everyone knows who you belong to.

“Well, I love the original Charlie Brown: Christmas. It was Sarah’s favorite when she was a toddler, it was on repeat all the time, so it’s just got a special place in my heart for my little girl, who’s not so little anymore.” Joel confesses with a hint of sadness towards the end of his sentence. Your smile fades a little bit at the bittersweet memory, but you still chime out, “I think that’s precious. We should watch it while we’re away, all three of us.”

Joel now has his muscular arms wrapped around your body and his lips on top of your head, he leaves a couple kisses then mumbles, “I would like that, more than you know.” You leave a couple kisses on his chest and you softly reply, “It’s a date then.” Joel hums in your hair and you two stay latched on to one another for what seems like eternity, both of you slowly putting each other to sleep by the rhythm of your breathing.

—

“Are we there yetttt?” Sarah drags out with a groan from the back seat of the truck, you roll your eyes and chuckle at her for, yet again, asking how much longer. The three of you are about ten minutes away from Tommy’s lake house, but Sarah has asked throughout the entire trip which ended up taking longer than two hours because of Christmas Eve traffic, but you can’t really be upset, she’s just really excited.

Joel, on the other hand, was getting very irritated each time she asked, only because he knows that Sarah has been here many times and knows how long it takes, even counting holiday traffic. You could obviously tell he was upset but Sarah had no idea just because she never sees her dad upset, what a blessing that is. “GPS says about ten minutes left until we’re there! You can wait just a little bit longer girl!” You turn around in the passenger seat and inform her before Joel lets out the irritation that now has turned to anger, out on Sarah, you understood his frustration but she doesn’t need to feel the wrath of it.

Sarah cheers and then puts her headphones back on and goes back to doing whatever she was doing on her phone, you chuckle under your breath and turn back around. “Thank you.” Joel mumbles as he puts his calloused, yet still soft, hand on your inner thigh closest to him, still looking out at the road in front of him. “Of course.” Is all you say as you stare out your window at the beautiful woods you’re driving through - you’re absolutely floored by the beauty of it all, you honestly didn’t know Texas had parts that looked like this. The last couple minutes of your drive are silent other than the radio playing random Christmas songs, you’re so excited to get away from the city for a weekend, the holidays even.

Joel makes a final right turn down a steep dirt track hill, which is bumpy to say the least, but it’s surrounded by the tall trees you’ve been enthralled with. Your stomach is in knots, you’re not sure why, probably just really excited for something out of your norm. “Well darlin’, welcome to the Miller family lake house.” Joel smoothly tells you as he makes a slight left turn and you finally see what these two have been raving about. “Holy shit.” Is all that comes out of your mouth, which drops at the sight of this magnificent home in front of you.

It’s almost like a fucking mansion, no it IS a mansion, it looks like it could be four homes in one. The beautiful dark gray paint and matching roof with cream colored shutters and gutters that match together perfectly are what initially draws you in, but what makes it, are the windows. The massive floor to ceiling glass throughout almost the whole home nearly brings tears to your eyes, It's so beautiful. You’re still breathless as Joel parks the truck and you step out the passenger seat, you strut down the couple steps in front of the house and walk down the dock that has a pontoon boat with two jet skis next to it.

You reach the edge of the dock and gaze out at the beautiful water that now starts at your feet and you catch how the sun setting casts a reflection that is just breathtaking. The sky is a mix of purples, pinks, and oranges that mix like a Bob Ross painting, it almost doesn’t seem real. A cool breeze blows by, making you wrap your lace black shawl tighter around yourself, not the best idea to wear shorts and a tank top.

Turning your head to the right, you notice there’s even a little section of beach that looks to be on Tommy’s side of the property. There’s a line of lake houses on either side of his, but this one was the only one that stuck out to you. You can't believe that Tommy bought this, or even that you’re allowed here.

Suddenly, a pair of hoodie covered arms wrap around your waist and a familiar scratch of a beard cradles in your neck, you lean back into the known touch and hum. “What do you think?” He asks between warm kisses to your soft spot, “It’s- I’m-,” still at a loss for words on how this is possible, you stutter, “This place is incredible.” Joel’s warm breaths on your neck from him chuckling sends a shiver down your spine, the tiniest things he does have such an impact on you. “I’m glad you’re able to be here, I love that Sarah and I can share this with you.”

You open your mouth to thank him for being so generous to you, but before you can, Sarah’s loud voice from the house behind you yells, “You two love birds gonna come help or what?!” You look up at Joel and you both start to die of laughter, Sarah always had this timing, every damn time. In your fit of laughter he ends up turning you around and deeply kisses you, causing your laughter to come to a halt. You kiss him back with intensity, so much so that your mind convinces you that you two are the only things floating in space right now. You truly love this man, you love everything he does to and for you - Joel is everything you’ve been looking for.

Joel pulls away from your lips with a pop, leaving you feeling dizzy and hungry for more. Staring into each other's eyes and foreheads resting on the others, Joel coos, “We should probably go help before she gets bitchy with us.” This makes you throw your head back and laugh, “Fucking teenagers.” Joel puts his arm over your shoulder and you two walk back towards the truck to unload the gifts and your luggage. “Fuckin teenagers is right my dear.” He repeats your words with a chuckle in his chest that echoes across the top of the water.

—

After the three of you emptied the truck of your belongings and you all picked which room to stay in, you had made dinner. Sarah put in a special request for your classic breakfast for dinner, cinnamon french toast with sausage and bacon, something so simple but delicious. You had the time of your life cooking, the kitchen was actually insane, the white marble countertop made your knees weak, the tall white cabinets that matched the drawers on the island made you drool. The sink and stove was a stunning stainless steel with gold trim, this place was literally your dream home.

Dinner had been made and put away, Joel cleaned up the kitchen while you and Sarah put simple lights on the tall tree that was in the spacious living room. It was around two AM by the time she was satisfied with how the tree looked with the lights and presents underneath, you three decided to plop down on the white leather couch and turn on “A Charlie Brown Christmas”.

After the movie finished, you notice Joel and Sarah smiling ear to ear. “Good idea on watching this dad, definitely a good one. But I’m gonna go out on the beach for a little bit before bed,” Sarah announces as she gets up from the couch, “Love you guys and Merry Christmas.” She kisses the top of your head then Joel’s, you can’t believe it. “Love you too.” Joel and you both repeat in a heartbeat as you turn your head to look at her, she’s smiling at you as she opens the slider and walks outside.

“Did you hear that?” Your ears perk up from the voice next to you, you smirk as you turn your attention back to Joel, getting nose-to-nose with him and you whisper, “She said it!” His large hands are running up and down your thighs that lay over his perpendicularly, still staring down one another and giggling, he swiftly picks you up bridal style and starts to head for your guys bedroom for the weekend.

—

Joel’s leaving kisses to your neck as he climbs the white oak staircase and rounds the corner, his beard scraping that sweet spot that makes you crave more as he passes the bathroom and reaches the dark brown wooden door. He smoothly turns to his side and pushes the door open, you’re greeted with the smell of cinnamon and a woodsy kind of scent which makes you feel right at home. “Now,” Joel starts as he sets you down on the firm mattress, pulls his black tshirt off, and stands between your legs, you’re now eye level with his cock - mouth salivating as you see how hard he is for you.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” Joel seductively asks as his right hand grips your chin and makes you look up at him. “Yes sir.” You purr as you set either hand on his thighs, just starving to get a taste of him in any way. He bends down, still gripping your chin, and plants a needy kiss on your lips, but before you can reciprocate, he pulls away and stands back up now letting go of you, “It’s all yours then darlin’.”

A smirk grows on your cheeks as your hands leave his thighs and onto his belt, you excitedly undo it, his jeans unzipping and falling to the ground not far behind. Only his dark green boxers hold his throbbing cock from your watering mouth, you glance back up to his face and Joel has this smirk where he looks like he’s gazing at an angel. Knowing that he’s looking at you like this, makes your pussy flutter and arousal drip into your panties. Still sitting on the bed and looking up at him, you slowly move your head closer to his cock and leave kitten kisses along the outline, causing him to jump and let a moan crawl out his throat.

“Quit playing games sweetheart.” He threatens under his breath, you leave one more kiss at the tip which is peaking above his waistband, causing a shot of pre-cum across his slit. Before he can say anything else, you slide his boxers down his thick thighs and watch as his cock bounces onto his tummy, his pre-cum leaving his happy trail wet. You spit into your palm and softly grab his leaking, red-flushed cock letting a big drop of spit fall from your mouth onto his tip and you start to stroke him. “Mhmm” Joel hums above you, you love when he’s vocal, gives you a boost of confidence in yourself.

After a few strokes, you put your hot mouth centimeters away from his pleading cock, you slowly bring your other hand underneath to lightly jostle his balls at the same time you slide him in your mouth. Causing whimpers to escape Joel’s mouth, your jaw having to unhinge so he can fill you completely, drool is spilling from the corners of your cock-filled mouth. “Oh yeah- that’s my pretty girl. Taking all my cock like the good girl she is.” Joel moans as he starts to rock his hips into your face, his cock now hitting the back of your throat which makes you gag on him, but that doesn’t stop you or Joel. Tears start to fill your eyes and roll onto your cheek, but from pure pleasure, you love when Joel fucks your face and uses you however he wants.

Both of your hands back on his thighs to steady yourself as he fucks your mouth and groans, “Love when you’re stuffed with my cock, makes you dumb in the head afterwards.” After a few more pumps he drags himself out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your plump lips to his throbbing tip as you pull away. You are in a complete daze, Joel was right, you are dumb in the head afterwards.

“Look at you, cock-drunk just off of that.” Joel taunts from above, you tilt your head up while leaning back on your hands and you bark back, “Is that right sir?” Before you finish your sentence, Joel is on top of you, ripping your tank top off of you and your bra right after, then his warm mouth is smothering your tits with bites and kisses. Your moans echo off the walls in your enclosed bedroom, both of your legs bent to allow Joel to slide your panties and shorts off.

Your hands search for any part of Joel so you can scratch or pull something, you want to leave reminders of tonight on his skin. “Look at you. My pretty girl is all wet for me already, does sucking me off turn you on that much?” Joel growls as he brings his fingers to your slit, he swipes two of his fingers starting from your asshole and ending at your clit. This gets you every time, your body does a slight shake from the sudden contact on your pussy. “Fuck!” You cry out as your back arches off the sheets under you, “Yeahhh…you love it.” Joel huffs as he brings his fingers back to your throbbing cunt, he circles your clit, then his middle and ring finger tease your pulsating hole.

“C’mon baby, I need you so bad.” You plead with him as you look in his eyes over your warm face and bring your hands to scratch his beard. Your hips are thrusting into his fingers to try to get him deeper, but Joel chuckles at you and goes, “That’s what you get for teasing me sweetheart.” You groan out of frustration at him and not being filled by Joel. You’re about to whine some more until your walls suddenly feel full as Joel’s fingers spread you open, his fingers hit deeper than your own ever could. “Yes. Yes.” You whisper over and over into his mouth as you hold his face to yours, Joel just smirking as you crumble into pieces in his hands.

As Joel continues to work his fingers in your tight cunt, you get this sudden urge to pee, you start to panic a bit, “Baby, stop - I think I’m gonna pee.” But Joel doesn’t let up, you're trying to claw away from him but his hold on you is too strong. “Joel - FUCK!” You sob when all of a sudden you arch your back and tilt your head back, you feel this gush release out of you and Joel is still working his fingers as clear liquid flies all over. You’re crying from the pleasure but also the pain from him circling your clit slowly, as he purrs, “That’s my girl, look at you. Making a mess on my fingers.”

Trying to catch your breath you laugh, “Holy fuck…I’ve never done that before..” Joel laughs with you as he rubs your skin from your thighs to your neck, “I’m gonna have to get you to do that more often.” Your ears are ringing as you hum in agreement, not being able to answer Joel with words. You lay there with your eyes closed trying to recoup yourself, as you hear him chuckle, “Woww, my girl is calling it quits already?”

One thing about yourself that Joel loves, is how cocky you get in bed, you always talk the biggest game yet, you’re usually the first one to tire out - you never quit though. Your eyes shoot open and you see his face inches away from yours, “I am not a quitter.” you confidently bark. “I didn’t think so.” Joel kisses you tenderly, you both moan into each other.

Still sensitive, you jolt as you feel Joel lineup his pulsating cock to your spent cunt, “A little jumpy huh?” Joel, drunk on your scent, says, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you darlin’.” Your fingers dig into his skin leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as he splits you open with his cock, you shout at the sudden intrusion in your sore pussy. “Oh sorry, did I say care?” Joel grunts as he finds a rhythm, which is a pounding kind of rhythm.

There’s so much you want to tell him but you physically can’t, all that leaves your throat are mixed whimpers and moans. “You like when I use you like a toy, don’t cha darlin’?” Joel bites as he grabs one of your peaked nipples and starts to pinch it, this causes you to yelp and that sensation creeps back into your body, your walls start to squeeze his cock. “Ooh, someone likes it, I feel your tight pussy suffocating me baby.” Joel growls and he brings his other hand between your bodies, stopping right above your aching clit. “Let me hear you say please, then you can let it all out sweet girl.” You hate when he does this, because he knows a part of you physically can’t speak, but you’ll be damned if he wins this time.

His cock then hits your cervix in a way that makes you holler, “please baby, please! Let me cum, pleaseee!” His fingers immediately fall to your clit and he rubs small yet effective circles, that’s all that it takes for your orgasm to rip out of you. Your voice breaks and your body goes stiff as liquid spills out of your cunt again,“That’s my gi-“ Joel chokes as he cums with you in your velvet walls. Joel’s body slumps on top of yours as you groan from his weight crushing you, “Get off meee.”

Joel laughs into your chest and rolls over on his side of the bed, as he catches his breath he jokes, “What? You don’t like being crushed?” You slap his chest and tell him to shut up, he chuckles as he gets up, puts his boxers back on and walks over to your side of the bed with his arms out. You just look at him, unable to speak from the two orgasms he pulled out of you, he shakes his head and coo’s, “C’mon darlin’, get you to the bathroom while I change the sheets.”

Grabbing Joel’s hands, you almost fall over as your feet hit the wood floor but Joel is right there to grab you. “Don’t even say it.” You sternly say to Joel, who is smiling like a kid with candy. He brings you to the bathroom connected to the bedroom, sits you on the toilet and walks back out to grab you a shirt to wear to bed. He walks back in with one of his shirts and slips it on you, he kisses your lips and walks back to the bed to change the sheets. You begin to pee, and you lean forward with your elbows digging into your thighs and your hands hold your intoxicated head up as your eyes close and a smile grows on your face as you sit there waiting for Joel to bring you back to bed.

Joel clearing his throat makes you open your eyes and you see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed with this loving look on his face. You show your teeth with a big smile, put your arms up, and playfully whine, “Hi babyyy!” He just shakes his head and laughs at how cute you are after sex, “Hi sweetheart, you ready for bed?” You hum in agreement and nod your head, ready to lay in his arms again. Joel walks over to you, helps you stand, and walks with you to the bed with fresh gray sheets.

You slide in and get right underneath the comforter as Joel slides in next to you, he then pulls you in between his legs as you lay on your stomach with your head on his chest and your arms wrapped around his torso. He starts to stroke your back with his soft fingertips, his heart beat calm and finding the rhythm with yours, “Merry Christmas beautiful. I love you entirely.” Joel whispers into your hair with a kiss, you smile and somehow muster out, “Merry Christmas Joel, I love you more.” You feel his chest flutter from your words to him, you smirk as the two of you fall into a deep sleep.

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #merry christmas #happy holidays #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller au #joel and reader #joel miller fic

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joelalorian · 30 days

Text

Tides of Desire - Epilogue

*mood board by the lovely @janaispunk. divider by the equally lovely @saradika-graphics

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI. Fluff, smut, unprotected p in v (they're in a committed relationship). Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). No use of y/n, though reader is of British descent and has the nickname Brit (occasionally used). Chapter names are nautical phrases.

a/n: This tale has come to its nautical end, docking in the harbor of happily ever after for these two. I was stuck for a long while on quite how to finish this off and I'm relieved to have finally done it. Hope you enjoy and thank you for coming along on this high seas adventure with me!

Masterlist

Three months after the season ended, you pulled into a half-moon driveway, in front of a beautifully landscaped two-story home on three acres of land in the outskirts of Austin with every possession you owned tightly packed into your ride. You and Joel spent a lot of time together after the season ended, making certain that what you shared was much more than just a boat-mance. It didn’t take long to confirm that neither of you had any doubts left – what you had was as real as it got.

The Millers and Ellie were at the door and running down the porch steps to greet you before the car even stopped moving. The four of you shared deliriously happy grins as you got out of the car after the long drive from Florida.

“You made it!” Sarah greeted, throwing her lanky arms around your neck for a long hug. Ellie quickly followed suit, throwing her arms around your waist. Joel met your gaze, his chocolate eyes full of love and warmth at the sight of his favorite people so happy to see each other.

Breaking free from the young women, you turned to embrace Joel. His broad frame wrapped around you in a bear hug, squeezing just enough without hurting you. The scruff along his jaw gently scratched against your neck and cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses.

“Mmm, I missed you,” he breathed in your ear, the little puffs of air tickling the sensitive skin.

“I was only gone a week,” you laughed in response.

“Don’t care. It was too long, and I missed you.” Stepping back, Joel brushed his pouty lips against yours in a chaste kiss as the girls groaned teasingly. “Come on, let’s unload this mess so you can finally settle in and relax. Welcome to your new home, baby.”

It took only an hour to have you officially moved in with Joel and Sarah. Living the nomad lifestyle for the past several years had its benefits when it came to moving – you sold most everything that wasn’t a necessity or held some kind of sentimental value – and you were settled right into their home and lives without too much fuss.

After putting your things away – Joel cleared out half the space of the large walk-in closet and made other space throughout the home for your belongings – you settled for grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge knowing you’d fall asleep if you sat down.

The beer went down smoothly, soothing the dryness of your throat as well as the achiness in your bones from driving for so long. Joel leant back against the kitchen island, chocolate eyes drinking you in from head to toe like a man dying of thirst. A flash of heat swept through you, settling in your cheeks and ears. It had only been a week since you’d seen him, but the ache for him pulsed as if it’d been months.

“We’re heading to San Antonio, Dad!” Sarah called, tripping down the stairs with a small tote. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs to find you and Joel staring at each other, she shared a knowing look with Ellie. “Yeah, we’re gonna give you two a few days to get through the honeymoon phase. Glad you’re hear, Brit! See ya!”

Grinning broadly, Ellie added, “Don’t burn down the house and use protection, kids!” The young women were out the door, giggling madly, before either of you could respond.

The moment the door closed behind them, Joel pounced.

His need for you so great, he didn’t bother leading you upstairs to your newly shared bedroom. Instead, he took you right there in the kitchen, your body pressed forward over the counter as he practically ripped your shorts and panties down your hips. His own quickly followed, tee shirt coming off as well so it wouldn’t get in the way. Hand pressed into your lower back, Joel leant back, spit into his other hand to lube himself up, and watched as his hardened length sunk into your depths with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, sweetheart. How does that feel?”

Hips thrusting against your backside, thick cock going so deep and hitting just the right spots at this angle, you mewled in response. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure even as the counter’s edge dug into your skin painfully with each hard stroke.

“Use your words, baby. I missed your voice just as much as I missed those sweet little sounds you make.”

You twisted your torso a little to look at Joel over your shoulder. Holy hell, did he make the sexiest sight. A sheen of sweat already built up along his forehead, curls falling forward to stick to the damp skin with each movement. His face a mix of concentration and overwhelming pleasure as he stared back at you.

“Feels so fucking good, Joel. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

It didn’t take long for Joel’s thrusts to become sloppy, his need after a week apart left him teetering on the edge in short order. His body and mind had become so acquainted with yours so quickly that time apart was nearly unbearable. Bending over you, he murmured filthy things in your ear, causing a line of gooseflesh to rise along your skin, each word like a bolt of pleasure straight to your clit.

Within minutes, you came with a drawn-out shout of his name, taking advantage of the empty house to be as loud as you wanted. Joel worked you through it until the aftershocks became too much for him and he spilled inside you, your name a falling in an overstimulated whimper from his lips.

The pair of you stayed perched over the counter for several minutes, allowing your breaths and heart rates to return to normal as Joel’s cock remained inside you. When he finally softened and slipped out of your wrecked pussy, he stepped back and helped you stand upright on shaky legs.

Body trembling from the heady mix of exhaustion and the lingering effects of a mind-blowing orgasm, you let Joel lead you upstairs, your shorts and panties left forgotten on the kitchen floor. He tucked you into the bed you now shared – your mind still stuck on the fact that you now lived together – and climbed in beside you, wrapping his arms around you so you could nap securely in his embrace.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months as you adapted to Joel’s off-season routine and developed your own rhythm in this new life you shared with him. Ellie and Sarah would come and go as they pleased, spending time with friends and taking online courses to complete their undergraduate degrees, leaving the two of you on your own with the occasional visit from Tommy.

Much of your time in those first few months were spent learning the ins and outs of captaincy with Joel’s guidance. His home office contained a plethora of resources for you to read and review and he would quiz you on different aspects of the job. You were well on your way to being ready for the captain’s exam by the time you enrolled in a training course, which you took while Joel worked a few contracting side jobs.

Before you both knew it, another yachting season arrived, and you were back on a boat with your favorite people. Navigating an established relationship with the captain was a completely different adventure as the two of you figured out how to keep it professional yet still have time together. Needless to say, you stayed in Joel’s quarters most nights despite technically having your own assigned bunk with Tess again.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you woke up happy everyday and faced your beautiful live with the gratitude it deserved. You were blessed to have the love of a wonderful man, a fascinating career, and the best friends a girl could ask for.

Life was good, really fucking good.

fin

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel x female reader #yacht captain!joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller story #pedrostories #joel x f!reader #tides of desire

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