#it's all good it got some emotions out and writing smut is just. always so satisfying
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Life After
Cjizzy smut with ftm Izzy is below the cut! Post S2 fix it; everyone is alive and horny and dealing with an increased sense of their own mortality! In particular, these two lol. Implied polycule and open relationships for Izzy with the rest of the crew as well. Gonna eventually get this on ao3, but for now, on here at least lol.
TW for mention of Izzy's near death experience re: the gunshot wound.
“I just don’t want to think for a little bit,” Izzy murmurs as he settles into Jack’s lap and onto his cock.
“We can do that,” Jack’s hands are warm on his bare back, running slowly, gently, up and down it. “You sit here with me, and we’ll take care of you.”
They’re on a spare cot in the rec room of the ship, where Frenchie ordered quarters be made up for Jack after they found him floating adrift on the waves.
Roach has addressed the wound in Jack’s torso, mostly healed, but a bit of additional babying and care won’t do it any harm from the looks of it.
He tries to be mindful of it as he rests against Jack, letting his head drop to Jack’s shoulder.
“You’re okay,” Jack says softly, soothingly, rocking slightly with the sway of the ship. “I got you. We’re just gonna have some fun, fuck, and not think about anything we don’t wanna.”
He nods into Jack, lifting his head enough to press kisses to his shoulder, his neck, collarbone. The sun wasn’t quite down when they found him, but it’s been cold enough that his skin is still icy to the touch.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to Ed,” Izzy starts, but Jack shushes him.
“Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Jack says. “I’m sure I’ll run into him again someday, one way or another. Can I roll us over?”
“I’m good with that.”
Despite his more-than-occasional frustrations with Jack, he’s never worried about his safety in Jack’s arms. Now is no different, as Jack holds him close and rolls them over, a hand behind his head helping to guide it onto the cot’s pillow.
“I missed you,” Jack’s head drops down to kiss at his neck, breath warm on his skin. “Been too long since we did anything like this.”
“Maybe I should have been following you around for years,” Izzy mutters. “We could have had more opportunities.”
“Don’t start,” Jack sing-songs softly. “I know your brain. I know how it goes, once you let it get going. It’s been trying to eat you alive with everything that’s happened, hasn’t it?”
He doesn’t need to tell Jack, he knows Jack already knows that’s the truth. He barely made it through the group retelling of everything that’s happened over the last few months without breaking into tears, and it was obvious to everyone the state he was in.
“Let it shut off for tonight,” Jack continues, pausing to kiss him more, each kiss increasingly frantic, like he can’t get enough. “You convinced them to bring me onboard and take care of me. Let me take care of you.”
That does it, and he can’t stop the tears.
“I got you,” Jack thrusts slowly, mindfully. “If you need me to adjust, or stop-”
“I’ll let you know,” Izzy can hear himself sniffling, and wishes he could make himself stop. “I’m good. You’ve never felt anything other than fucking perfect inside me anyway.”
“Now you’re just bein’ nice,'' Jack chuckles, moving to kiss at the side of his eyes, catching the tears as they fall. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
He lets himself melt into the next few kisses, feeling Jack finally start to warm up as they move together.
“Speaking of compliments,” Jack blushes as he thrusts harder. “How would you feel about going for a second round?”
“That close?”
“Oh god, don’t mention it,” Jack laughs softly. “I’m trying to not think about it, so I don’t. You know. But I wanted to warn you-”
“Come in me,” he whispers it into Jack’s ear, nipping gently at his earlobe.
There are a lot of sounds he would admit he finds satisfying, but hearing Jack moan and whimper while his cock pulses inside of him is one of the few that’s in the top five.
“Sorry,” Jack mutters. “Fuck.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Izzy rubs gently at the back of Jack’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. “I like it. And thank you for the compliment with that.”
“You’re welcome,” Jack laughs. “Can I stay inside you?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
They readjust again, flipping so Jack can lay on his back.
“Your leg okay?” Jack tentatively touches the spot where Izzy’s knee used to be.
His prosthetic is set carefully against the nearest wall, along with the pile of their clothes. “I’m okay. I’ll let you know when I need to move. Honestly, if anything, now I don’t have to worry about that knee giving out on me if I ride you. No guarantee on the other one though.”
Jack giggles, hands roaming over Izzy’s thighs. “We got matching torso wounds too now. Ain’t that special?”
“Ed and Stede have left their marks on us both,” Izzy mutters. He can’t pretend he wasn’t thinking a bit about Ed when Jack came in him, if only because Ed used to love fucking him and cockwarming until round two as much as Jack does. That, and the way Ed used to thank him for it, peppering his face with kisses, smiling in that uniquely relaxed way in the moment-
“Yeah,” Jack’s voice interrupts his thoughts, a hand reaching up to cup his face. “They left that and more on you, didn’t they?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“I’m just callin’ it like I see it,” Jack shrugs. “If they’d been smart, they would have kept you for themselves at that inn.”
“And have me do what, exactly? How would I have been of any use to them?”
He doesn’t mean it to come out so harsh, so forceful, but it’s been haunting him since they left the inn. At sea, he can do most of what he used to, albeit more slowly and with accommodation on the days everything hurts and refuses to stop. Those are the days he dreads the most, when the phantom pain in his leg distracts overwhelmingly and the spot where the bullet tried to go through his gut itches and twinges, making him worry he won’t be able to keep up with the rest of the crew.
There’s only been a couple days where he genuinely couldn’t, and stayed back from a raid. No one has held it against him, and Frenchie has told him he can take as many of those days as he needs. He appreciates it, but it somehow doesn’t make it any easier when he’s stuck there, left to hope that everyone will come back okay, that they won’t need his help-
“You keep disappearing into that brain of yours,” Jack interrupts his thoughts again. “Stay here with me.”
He sighs softly, and tries to focus on the moment. How he can feel Jack getting hard again inside of him, the occasional twitch. The warmth of being pressed so close together there, with Jack’s other hand gently teasing his cock and the lips of his cunt as they splay around Jack’s cock.
“Fuck me,” Jack murmurs, head dropping back onto the pillow on the cot.
“I’m working on it,” Izzy scoffs playfully. “I thought we were giving you some more time before the next round.”
“Yeah, no, we are,” Jack mumbles. “Just. You feel so fuckin’ good.”
“Not already-”
“You know very well I’m not there yet,” Jack interrupts. “But goddamn it might not take me long again. I know you might have meant for this to be a one night thing-”
He leans down and kisses Jack. “I’m up for it for as long as you want to hang around with us. And you might as well stay, you’re safer here than anywhere else right now. You have to behave yourself though.”
“I won’t kill anybody else’s birds.”
“No, you fucking won’t,” Izzy flexes himself around Jack’s cock, grinning when Jack whimpers. “Stede told me all about that fucking mess. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” Jack replies. “Got no excuse. I fucked up.”
“Well, Buttons is a bird himself now, so you’ll do well to make sure you don’t go after any gulls,” Izzy murmurs into his ear, in between kisses and nipping bites to his neck. “Or the crew will gut you alive.”
“And you’ll watch?”
“If you’d want me to.”
“Kinky, nasty, little fucker,” Jack laughs, pulling himself up to sit against the wall the cot is pushed against with a groan. “Ugh. Felt that right in the cannonball wound.”
“Then let me handle this round,” he shifts on Jack’s cock, letting himself move just enough to make Jack moan again. “I do mean it though. I asked Frenchie when we were pulling you up, if you could stay. As long as you keep your shit together and don’t kill anyone, you’re welcome here.”
“I’d like that,” Jack sighs, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Come here.”
Jack’s hands move from where they’d been resting loosely on his hips, and his arms wrap around him to pull him closer.
He waits for a nod and affirming grunt from Jack before he starts to fuck him in earnest, grinding on his cock.
“I never understood it,” Jack mumbles as they fuck. “How Ed wasn’t fuckin’. Doing everything he could to keep you happy, keep you right by him-”
“He knew I wouldn’t leave,” Izzy murmurs against Jack’s lips before kissing him. “And I didn’t. Not even at the end. Not even when I felt goddamn close to it-”
“You were that close to going? To dyin-”
“I don’t know if a person is supposed to see anything in particular when they nearly die,” Izzy continues, switching to a gentle bounce on Jack’s cock, leaning harder on his full leg to move like he wants. “But I didn’t see jack shit except the light fading. It was close.”
Jack’s hands move back to his hips, helping him bounce. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
He almost stops moving, out of shock. “I thought you weren’t that sentimental.”
But Jack’s head drops against his shoulder, and he switches back to grinding as Jack holds him close and tight, so tight it almost hurts.
Jack’s shoulders hitch, and he moves his hands to rub the back of Jack’s neck. “Hey, I’m here. I’m okay. Slower, still learning how to move like I want to with all of this, but-”
“I don’t think you’ve lost any of your skill with moving,” Jack sniffles, raising his head, tears still falling. “Not like this, at least.”
“Goddamn it,” Izzy sighs, feeling tears at the edges of his eyes. “I just fucking stopped crying.”
“Fuck it, cry while you fuck me,” Jack sobs it as much as he says it. “Maybe we both need it.”
He can’t deny that, even if he doesn’t like it. There’s something fucked up but freeing, fucking Jack as hard as he can, ignoring the ache of his hips, while he lets himself go and weeps into Jack’s shoulder.
“I know you got everybody on here lookin’ after you, whether you’re fucking them or not,” Jack says after a few moments. “But while I’m here, however much longer I manage to survive…I got you too, okay? I want to look after you.”
“If you wanted me to stop crying, you’re going to be disappointed,” Izzy gasps in between something that’s not quite a moan, but not quite a sob. “I love you; you absolute twat.”
“I love you too,” Jack sighs happily. “I don’t normally like saying all that sentimental shit, but it feels so good right now. You can take the piss out of me later for this, but…can you say it again?”
“I love you,” Izzy repeats, breathing into Jack’s mouth before another kiss. “I love you, despite everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done to each other-”
“You’ve only ever shouted at me, and usually for good reason,” Jack interjects softly, his hips thrusting up to meet Izzy’s movement. “I know you’re feeling good or you would have stopped this by now, but-”
“I’m close,” Izzy murmurs. Jack, bless him, has always been a bit bad at noticing when he’s close. He’s gotten better over the years, but he can’t fault him for being distracted enough to struggle with it tonight. “Either keep doing that, or-”
“Tell me how you want it,” Jack’s arms are warm around him, hips thrusting up harder now. “Quicklike, if you could, though.”
“Either like this, or flip us over again,” he’s actively holding off now, wanting to come as close to when Jack does as possible. “I’d say prone, but-”
“You do love it like that, don’t you?” Jack chuckles.
“I do, but I want to see you when I come,” Izzy continues. He can hear himself panting, and the rest of the crew can probably hear them if they’re in any of the nearby rooms. He doesn’t care; he can apologise for it later. “And if you’re not biting my neck when you come, or kissing me, or something-”
“I know how you like it,” Jack smirks as he moves them, helping Izzy get onto his back without his cock slipping out too much. “If you’re feeling up to it, later we could try it out prone bone. Make sure it still feels as good as it used to.”
“I think we’d better make sure.”
Jack laughs, thrusting hard. “Are you-”
“If you stop, I’ll stab you directly in your fucking cannonball wound.”
Jack laughs again, shoulders shaking, tears still falling. “I fucking love you.”
“Then come in me again.”
He lets himself go just as he feels Jack’s cock start to pulse, drifting on a wave of pleasure that leaves him moaning loud enough that the rest of the crew will definitely hear.
Jack swallows up his moan in another kiss, panting into his mouth. “I know I just said it, but-”
“Keep telling me,” Izzy interrupts. He’s tired of trying to figure out if what he feels is the same as what other people would call ‘love.’ All he knows is he likes Jack, likes being this close to him, and only wants more of it. Maybe that’s love to him, even if it isn’t love to anyone else. It was enough love for him and Ed, for the longest time. “Tell me, please-”
“I love you,” Jack murmurs into another kiss. “I do. The way things are going, we all might be dead in a week. I’m gonna say it and make up for the years I couldn’t, wouldn’t. I love you.”
They lay there, in a sweaty heap, gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths as they come down together.
“I made you a fucking mess,” Jack sighs after another moment. “Can I eat it out of you?”
He cackles. He can’t help it. “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”
Jack moves to settle between his legs, and he lets his eyes shut.
“There you go,” Jack murmurs as he kisses Izzy’s thighs. “We spent most of this time talking, didn’t turn your brain off at all. Now though-”
“Not a single thought,” Izzy interrupts with a contented sigh. It’s been awhile since he’s had anyone do this particular bit, and he’s tempted to ask Frenchie, Roach, and the other crew members he’s been spending nights with if they’d be into it at all. “I promise. Just gonna lay here. Catch my breath-”
“And let me make you come again while I eat you out,” Jack smiles, his head lifted for a brief moment, nose prodding at Izzy’s cock. “Good boy.”
That shuts the rest of his thoughts off, and he can only focus on threading his hands through Jack’s hair, and the feeling of Jack’s lips and tongue on the folds of his cunt.
#text post#cjizzy#the title is eh but i couldn't find any lyrics I liked enough so i just winged that lol#making myself title it now so I don't get caught up on that when i put this up on ao3 fdjakljdasf#it's nearly 430 in the morning and i gotta get my tshot done but pls enjoy this thing where i project a bit onto both of them lmao#it's all good it got some emotions out and writing smut is just. always so satisfying#just feels good to have a completed and published piece too tbh
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Hi love, hope you're doing good. I was thinking if you could write a headcannon or reactions kinda thing, skz reaction to their s/o crying during-after sex because they feel overwhelmed, loved and safe. Not because of pleasure but purely because of love, because of how much they love them. Maybe Chan and Jisung would themselves burst into tears knowing that their s/o loves them just so much. Please? Btw I'm ✨Anon if that's okay?
Stray Kids react to you crying (out of love) during sex
smut, fluff
warnings: fem!reader, crying, panicked members, mentions of safeword (Minho), cum mentioned, jisung's is funny, mentions of dying (not literal)
Chan
Channie panics the first time you cry during sex and it's not been caused by him eating you out until you cum three times.
When he's sees you have tears pooling in your eyes and spilling over, when all he's done is kiss you tenderly and make love to you softly, he's panicked.
"Baby, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He's pulled out of you, is kneeling over your body, his eyes scouring every inch of you looking for a physical sign of pain. You just cry harder.
"Channie Channie, come back. Need you, Channie, please Channie-" he's confused but lowers himself to you and you wrap your legs around him, bucking your hips blindly to try ans catch his cock. He holds you still by the hip.
"Baby, why are you crying?"
"Jus' love you Channie feel so loved so good need more love you channie-"
His face flushes red, and his own eyes tear up when he realises that you're crying out of the.. love you feel?
"You're crying because you feel loved?" His voice is choked by his own emotion, and you nod your head, some more tears falling.
"Makingnme feel so loved Channie."
Chan kisses you again, and slides his cock back inside you, groaning at the way you hum happily against his mouth.
Minho
Minho is rough with you in bed. That's why he had you choose a safeword and makes sure you know that you must use it if you're uncomfortable with anything.
That's why he's so alarmed when he sees you crying when he comes back from the bathroom after a session (he tied you up and worshiped every inch of your skin, making you cum multiple times and filling you with two loads of his cum).
"Baby!" His voice is shrill and he drops everything in favour of rushing over to you, panic on his face. "What happened? Baby what do you need?"
"Hold me!" You appear distraught and he yanks you into his arms.
"Baby, talk to me," he's being gentle, but he really needs an answer.
"I love you!" You cried out and he froze in confusion, his eyebrow raising as he forced you to look him in the eye.
"You're crying.. because you love me?"
"And you love me!" You're making no sense to him. "You make me feel so loved."
He keeps his wide eyes on you as you stand and more towards the bathroom, the marks he's left on you barely visible in the low light, and his cum dripping down your thighs.
"You coming?"
Changbin
Binnie, oh Binnie. He damn near loses his mind when he sees you crying before he even really gets started with you.
He's got you on your back, legs spread and your eyes blindfolded when your chest heaves with a sob.
Oh, he's got the bilndfold off and you sitting in his lap before you can blink.
"Bunny, you ok?" He's pushing your hair back, wiping your tears away and caressing you back softly, looking at you with wide eyes, and a concerned expression on his face.
"I'm amazing Binnie." He's so confused.
"What?"
"I just-" You take in a deep breath and then it all comes rushing out. "I just trust you so much and you always make me feels so good and not even only in the bedroom, although you are a fucking god at fucking me and I just love you so much that I got overwhelmed by the love for you in my chest."
He blinks at you. Then his face crumbles and suddenly he's sobbing.
"Binnie!" Now you're concerned.
"You cried because of how much you love me and now I'm crying because of how much I love you and fuck we're a mess." He tries to laugh, but it comes out choked.
You stay like that for a while, you in his lap, holding each other closely until all the tears are dry.
"So.. I fuck you like a god, huh?"
Hyunjin
Hyunjin doesn't realise you're crying out of anything other than pleasure until he's filled you up with his cum and you just won't stop crying.
"Muse, I'm so sorry." His heart is in his ass.
"I love you so much Jinnie. Feel so good. Fuck Jinnie, I can feel your cum dripping out of me, don't let it Jinnie, please-" You're babbling away and Hyunjin can't focus on anything, not even the cum dripping from your pussy - which normally you have to forbid him from touching again.
"Muse-"
"Jinnie please, please, more, need more, give me more." You're begging, but he's not sure what you want.
"What do you need baby?"
"Cum-" His brain must be making things up.
"You want to cum again?" He refuses to move until you say so.
"No, Jinnie, want your cum, love you so much, want your cum-"
And really, how can he refuse when you ask him so nicely?
Jisung
Jisung does NOT know what to do.
You're crying, covered in his cum, sitting in the bath and he's at a loss.
The sound of his phone calling out to someone catches your attention and then he speaks.
"Chan hyung! She's crying-"
"HAN JISUNG!" Chan can hear your screech on the other end of the phone. "HANG UP!"
"BUT YOU'RE CRYING!"
"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND YOU JUST FUCKED ME SO GOOD I CAN'T WALK!"
Chan hangs up.
"WHAT?!"
"You fucked me so good, and for some god-forsaken reason, I love you, pabo!" That really doesn't clear anything up for him, but he clambers into the bath with you and holds you close.
"You're ok?" He sounds scared.
"I'm ok." You confirm. "Just.. really love you. And was overwhelmed by it for a moment."
"I love you."
Felix
Firm believer that Felix cries when he's overwhelmed with the pleasure.
Felix has you on top of him, your tits bouncing as you ride his cock, and he just can't help himself.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. I love you so much." He doesn't expect you to cry, but he knows from the way you lean down to clutch him to your chest and the way your pussy squeezes around him tighter, that you're about to cum.
"Love you Lixie, love you love you-"
"Love you baby, love you-"
You cum together, tears on your faces from the pleasure and the overwhelming love you feel, and he doesn't remove his cock from you after you've both cum, just lets it plug up your hole as he holds you close.
"I'm meant to be the one crying, baby." He whispers and you move to kiss him, his still hard cock shifting in your pussy and cum dripping down his cock and pooling on his balls.
You rock your hips as you kiss him, moaning when his tip hits that spot deep in your pussy.
"We can both cry, Lixie."
Seungmin
Seungmin freezes the second he sees tears on your face, despite being so so close to filling you with his cum.
"Pup?"
"Don't stop, please-" you beg him, but he stays still, dragging a whine from your lips. "Minnie-"
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm not-" You stop when you feel the wetness on your cheeks and flush red. "I-"
You buck your hips into his, searching for pleasure and managing to keep his orgasm approaching.
"Pup, why are you crying?"
"I just feel so safe in your arms and-"
Seungmin doesn't let you finish your sentence, just pushes his cock into your pussy as far as he can, his cum flowing out of his tip and filling you up, leaking out around the base of his cock. He groans and shudders, his face falling to your neck.
"I'm sorry-" He's cut off by you clenching around his cock, head falling back as you cum on his cock.
"Fuck pup-" he grunts at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him and moves his hips to help you ride out your high.
He lets his weight rest on you for a moment before he pulls back to look at you.
"I love you pup." He kisses you gently. "I'm glad you feel safe with me."
Jeongin
You've never cried during sex before.
He's fingering you, his tongue circling your clit and puffy lips sucking when you let out a cry that's just not a sound he's used to from you.
He looks up and finds you with tears on your face.
Instant soft dick.
"Y/N, what's wrong?" He's next to you before he can get his question out.
"Innie, if you don't fuck me like you love me right now, I'll die."
"Uh- What?"
"Make love to me, Jeongin." That he can do.
"But, you're crying!"
"It's just- fuck I love you."
Jeongin is so confused, but you've got your hand on his hardening again dick, and he's finding it hard to concentrate.
"You're crying because you love me, and you want me to fuck you like I love you?"
"Yes."
"But I do love you!"
"I know!"
"Do I not tell you enough?!" He's spiralling, thinking of all the times he's thought about telling you those words, and chickened out or missed his opportunity, or forgotten because he's busy.
"Jeongin, I know you love me. I want you to make love to me."
He moves to hover over you and kisses you slowly, his hands running over your sides, thigh pressing into your still dripping pussy.
"I love you, I love you, I love you-" It's all he can say, all he can think, as he thrusts his cock in your pussy and fills you with him cum.
#stray kids x reader#stray kids smut#bang chan x reader#bang chan smut#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#lee know smut#lee minho smut#seo changbin x reader#seo changbin smut#hwang hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin smut#han jisung x reader#han jisung smut#lee felix x reader#lee yongbok x reader#lee felix smut#lee yongbok smut#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin smut#yang jeongin x reader#yang jeongin smut#skz x reader#skx smut
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Besties get Banged
Angel Dust x FemReader Smut
➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version
You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.
Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val
minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)
When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.
Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.
“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.
Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.
You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.
“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.
It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.
He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.
Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.
“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.
“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”
“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”
Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.
Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.
“Angel!” Val seethed.
Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.
“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.
Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.
Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.
The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.
“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.
Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”
You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”
“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.
“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”
“Donny.” He corrected.
Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”
Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.
You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.
Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.
“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.
Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.
“You close?”
He nodded.
“Want me to count you down?”
A more frantic nod.
“Five”
You leaned in to kiss at his neck.
“Four”
A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.
“Three”
A kiss to his cheek.
“Two”
You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.
“One”
Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.
You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.
The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.
Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.
You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.
“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”
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#angel dust#angel dust smut#angel dust x female reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel angel
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hiii i’m not sure if you particularly like writing hybrid!reader but can i pls request something with leon where he tries to feel out his bunny/dog hybrid gf’s kinks by seeing how her tail moves in response to them. like something she really likes she’ll wag her tail real fast and he finds it adorable
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!puppy-hybrid!reader
summary: leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, humping his boot, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, scent kink, dacryphilia, and size kink
word count: 2.6k
a/n: no because i love this idea so much. it's been in my head since i got it. i hope i did it justice because i think it's so cute. thank you for sending it and i hope you enjoy <3
Leon’s eyes rested upon his favorite sight in the whole world. His precious puppy girl kneeling at his feet. If he had to guess, he’d say it was your favorite place to be too. All signs pointed to that conclusion. Your eyes were wide and locked onto his face. Your body vibrated and squirmed with the urge to jump into his lap. And of course, the way your tail wagged back and forth.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
The fluffy appendage moves in a lazy rhythm right now. You were excited Leon was home and wanted to play, but you weren’t thrilled enough for it to turn to a blur. He chuckles and reaches a hand forward to rub your head. That gets it to speed up a little bit.
“You have a good day, pup?” he asks.
You scoot the slightest bit closer while nodding. You tilt your head to the side, squishing the flesh of your cheek against his knee.
“Yeah? What’d you do today?” he says.
“Took a nap. Watched the tv,” you answer, “You look tired, daddy.”
He smiles at your observation and scratches at the base of one of your ears. Those ears, which were perked up at the moment, were so sensitive to everything. The wind knocking something over outside, his car pulling up on the driveway, and of course, small changes in his inflection.
Though he sometimes wondered if that’s all it was. He sees the way your tail picks up a notch when his lips curl upwards with that smile. He wondered, if not hoped, that it was something more than just your heightened physical capabilities. If maybe, there was something within you, something deeper, some instinctive emotional connection that bound you to him. That was probably wishful thinking. Someone who understood him implicitly. Still that was how he felt sometimes, and it was always lingering in the back of his mind when he watched your cute little ass wiggle back and forth with the movement of your tail.
“A little. Had a long day at work,” he tells you, continuing the conversation.
“Oh. Was it boring?” you inquire.
“You could say that,” he says.
“I get bored sometimes when you’re not here too,” you say.
The short, curt way you speak drives him up the wall. His hand on top of your head trails down to your cheek and gives it a little pinch before his thumb lands on your lips. Your tongue darts out to give the pad a small lick.
“Cute,” he murmurs as his fingers descend to your jawline and then your throat, “Why were you so bored, puppy? You have the whole house to yourself. You have enough toys to fill a room.”
“But I was missing my favorite toy,” you say, nuzzling against his leg.
“Oh, your favorite toy, huh?” he says.
His fingers tease the edge of the smooth material that was wrapped around your neck. In place of a collar, you wore a pink satin ribbon. It bunched around to the front of your neck where it was tied in a pretty bow. Leon’s own handiwork. He never saw a reason to collar you. You were the most loyal little thing on the face of this Earth. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably just take up residence on the mat at the front door. He’d rather you look like the spoiled princess that you were and dress you in the pink ribbon to match the other pink items you wore, your camisole and panties.
You nod at the question he asked, the ends of your bow swaying with your motion.
“Yeah? Well, tell daddy. What’s your favorite toy?” he prompts you.
Your hand snakes up to the front of his jeans and paws at the area where you would soon feel the outline of his hardening dick.
“That’s your favorite?” he asks, feigning ignorance, “Wow. If I'd known that, I wouldn’t have bought you all those stuffies. Coulda saved me a ton of money. Just let you sit on my cock most of the time, and you’d be satisfied.”
You shrug, not caring to roll that proposition around in your head for actual consideration. Sure you loved your toys, but they didn’t come close to one tucked away inside daddy’s jeans.
He grins not only because you’re so fucking cute, but also because he can see your tail starting to go faster. As much as he wants to pull you onto his lap and breed you till you’re a mess of drool and tears, he wants more tonight. You were nothing if not eager, and while he loved that, it meant that it didn’t take much effort from you to get him to cum in minutes. You’d just get so tight, you never suppressed any of your moans or whines, your face always scrunched up into needy expressions of euphoria…
Anyways. He just wanted to tease it out tonight.
“You have been a good girl today. I think you deserve some time with your favorite toy,” he says, watching the specific twitch when he said the two words of praise, “You wanna play with it right now?”
You nod almost as quickly as your tail wags. A sonorous laugh echoes from him. His eyes hold that glint that lets you know there’s more.
“What’s your favorite way to play with it, baby? You like bouncing on it?” he asks, his voice gaining an amused lilt.
You don’t respond with words. He knows your nodding, but his focus is on your backside where he’s getting the only response he needs.
Swish.
“Maybe you like taking it face down, whining into the pillow?” he continues.
Swish Swish.
“Or maybe you like being on your back, legs over daddy’s shoulders?”
Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish.
“I think that’s the winner,” he chuckles, “Why is that your favorite, pup?”
“It gets deeper,” you say. He watches as you try to be subtle about scooching closer. He wasn’t going to stop you though.
“Oh I see,” he says, nodding his head in mock realization, “You want it as deep as possible, right? And to do that, I have to pin you down, keep you underneath me where I can just fill that pussy up over and over. You like being helpless, princess?”
As his tone becomes more husky, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Your hips fight the urge to squirm, but your tail can’t stop flinging itself back and forth. A tingling flame had been lit inside your belly, one you desperately wanted him to put out.
“Yeah. You love when I’m in charge. You love when all you have to do is take it like a good girl, and you can just let that little brain melt away,” he taunts. With each swish of your tail, it’s like he can hear a game show buzzer ringing in his points.
You wrap your arms around his leg that was nearest to you and pathetically whimper out “daddy.”
“What is it, puppy?” he coos.
You look up at him and give him the definition of puppy eyes. “I want it. No more teasing,” you whine. Despite your demanding words, you stay put. You were a good girl after all, and good girls wait for permission.
“What? You want it?” he mocks, “What’s the rush, baby? You don’t like daddy’s voice anymore? You sure were liking it last night when you were all sleepy. Just whining and clinging onto me, begging me not to pull out.”
The movements of your tail start to become blurry as you remember the previous night. He’d fucked you so good and talked you through it the whole time. The main difference between now and then was that then you had his cock stuffed inside you while he spoke.
“I do like it,” you defend with a pout, “But I just want it, daddy. Please. Wanna be full of you.”
“Full,” he repeats, “Does daddy stretch you out? Make you feel like there’s no room for anything else?”
You nod again, but you can’t take it anymore. You scoot forward more so your knees rest on either side of his boot. His knee kisses the space beneath your chin while the rest of his leg is flush up against your tummy, going straight between your breasts. He knows what you’re about to do, but he’s fine with it. Tilting the tip of his boot upwards, he gives you silent permission to start rocking your hips.
That was all you needed to close the gap between the top of his shoe and your clothed cunt. Lowering yourself slightly, your puffy clit brushes the leather. You let out a tiny mewl. Your face was already starting to scrunch up into a cute little look from such a simple touch.
“That feel good, sweetheart?” he teases.
“Yeah, daddy. Thank you,” you whimper.
Your hips move back and forth as if on a pendulum. The rhythm is consistent like the pacing of your tail. Back and forth, back and forth.
“I think you soaked through your panties, pretty baby. You gonna get daddy’s shoe all nice and shiny? Make it smell like you?” he says with a smug grin.
“Uh huh,” you mumble.
But when Leon mentions scenting his boot, your tail starts going crazy. Absolutely buck wild. He wouldn’t be shocked if you sprained something from how hard it was moving. God, he was getting hard. A solid tent had formed in the center of his lap from watching you. So precious, so adorable. Those pants and whines of pure lust. The way your fingers were digging into the leg you held onto like you needed it to survive. The nonstop rutting of your hips matching up with the wag of your tail.
“Woah woah. Think my girl might be a little possessive,” he says as he watches you. He keeps his tone light. He wanted this to play out before he let himself have any. To stave off his desires, he palms himself over the rough denim.
Your eyes catch that, and it’s almost comical how you nearly drool. “I just want everyone to know you’re mine. You're my daddy. They can’t have you,” you say, nestling your face against his legs.
Your own pleasure builds in the pit of your belly. You’d found the perfect amount of pressure on his boot. You just had to keep grinding your aching cunt into the leather.
“Poor baby. No one’s gonna take me from you,” he croons and strokes your head. His hand moves so much slower than any of your body parts and the contrast intensifies the pleasure further.
“Good,” you say.
“Mhm. Trust me, you keep my hands full as is,” he jokes.
He watches as you keep whining and humping his boot. Your hips move like you’re on the clock. He can feel drool starting to drip on his jeans and dampen the fabric. If only he could see your eyes. He knows they’re getting glossy, hazy with the bliss coming from between your legs. Lucky for him, a particular jolt of ecstasy pulls your head back and ends with your face looking up at him.
“You’re getting to daddy’s favorite part, honey. Keep going, Keep being a good girl,” he says. Again, your tail jerks when it registers the magic words. You snap your hips with renewed fervor, chasing the elusive high. His fingers press down harder against his cock as he sees the gleam of saliva coating your chin and lips.
“When do we get to my favorite part?” you babble. Your voice was starting to give as the warmth of carnal pleasure encroaches on your mind.
“And what is your favorite part?” he asks, knowing what your answer would be.
“The part when I actually get your cock,” you whimper.
He shakes his head. “Look at you. Trying to be smart while you’re going dumb,” he teases, “Quit complaining. You’re still getting to feel good, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” you whine instantly.
“Oh really? It looks pretty similar to me,” he says.
You make a small sound that’s halfway between a whine and a growl. Even with your frustration though, your hips don’t stop.
“I’m just teasing you, pup,” he says, stroking your jaw with his free hand, “I guess it is different. I don’t see you crying like you do when I’m buried inside. I don’t get to see those pretty eyelashes all wet from tears.”
Your eyes roll back at the mention of being so fucked out you cry. It was one of your favorites, and Leon knew it. Being reduced to a crumpled mess of sobs against the heat of his chest got you like almost nothing else.
The reactions etched across your facial features are cute, but he can’t tear his focus away from your ass moving against its will through the force of your tail.
“But that’s not the big difference, is it?” he continues, “No. The real reason you want my cock is cause you want daddy to breed you, huh?”
As soon as it leaves his mouth, it’s like his mental buzzer is letting him know he’s won the grand prize. Everything about you goes haywire. You lock around his leg while your hips rut like you’re in heat. Your tail whips around so fast he thinks it could create a breeze.
“Uh huh, daddy- ah! Mm… just wanna be bred. Need it,” you ramble.
He feels his cock twitching in his pants. He’s sure when he actually does get it in you, he’s not gonna last too long. It’s straining against the zipper as is, and he can’t stop rubbing it. He’s almost as bad as you on the boot.
“I know you do. Silly little puppy. That’s always what you need,” he coos, “Just need to be pumped full of cum. My sweet girl.”
Your tongue is half lolled out of your mouth by this point. You’re past going dumb. Your head is swimming around in absolute thoughtlessness. Not a care in the world besides getting yourself to cum all over daddy’s boot.
He nearly groans out loud from the sight of it. He can feel the warmth of your pussy all over his shoe, the plush of your thighs clamped near the sides.
“You’re doing perfect, baby,” he mutters, “You’re gonna get your treat, I promise. Just let daddy watch you cum, and I’ll make sure you get your fill.”
You want to whimper “ok, daddy,” but your mind is too far gone for words. All that comes out is a strangled amalgamation of sounds accompanied by your head wobbling up and down. And the whole time swish swish swish.
Your swollen little clit had more than enough stimulation to get you to burst. Pants turn to gasps and fluid movements sharpen. You mumble against his leg, your lips squishing all over his pants and wetting them even more with your spit.
“That’s my good girl,” he purrs, which is enough to get another loud moan out of you. He chuckles and continues watching with his half-lidded, lustful eyes.
As the movement of your hips slow, your tail’s swings weaken. He still strokes your head as you catch your breath. Your chest puffs in and out while you feel your skin cooling down. It was hard not to get sleepy after you came, but before you have to worry about falling asleep at his feet, Leon scoops you up and holds you on his lap.
Rubbing your back, he presses some kisses to your forehead and temple. “There’s my girl. How’re you feeling, baby?”
“Good, daddy,” you mutter against his shirt.
“Yeah? You think you’re up for daddy breeding you for real now?” he whispers.
And suddenly, you’re not so sleepy. You sit up straight in time with your ears perking up. You nod and give him a lazy smile. He can’t see it, but he can feel that tail already starting to wag again.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut#resident evil imagines#resident evil x you
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Confess the longing you are dreaming of
summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N)
warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;)
author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨
words: ~8000
song inspo: Hozier — Better love
>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.
He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.
“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.
His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:
“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”
The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:
“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.
His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.
But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.
“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”
“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.
The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.
He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.
He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.
“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”
“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”
“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”
He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.
As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.
>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.
He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.
“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.
The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”
“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.
Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”
He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.
>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.
Aemond is not excited in the slightest.
He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.
The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.
Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.
“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”
“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”
A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.
“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”
“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”
“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”
This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —
her laughter enters first.
It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.
She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.
She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.
He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”
“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.
“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.
She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”
“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.
“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.
She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”
“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”
“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”
“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.
Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.
She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.
Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”
“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.
“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.
She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.
“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.
She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”
“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.
“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.
“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.
She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.
“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.
Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”
“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.
“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.
“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”
“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.
Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”
“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”
“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.
It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).
She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”
But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.
>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.
The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.
Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.
“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.
“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”
Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.
“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.
His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.
Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.
>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.
And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.
“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.
“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”
“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”
There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.
“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”
Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.
Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”
His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.
“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.
He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.
“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”
She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.
It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.
“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.
“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.
He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.
He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.
“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.
And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.
“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.
He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.
He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.
He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.
>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.
More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.
He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.
He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.
But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.
>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.
What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.
Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.
He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.
He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.
He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.
He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.
“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”
“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.
“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.
When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.
For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.
He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —
out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.
“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”
“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”
Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.
“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.
Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).
He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —
Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.
But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —
he wakes up painfully aroused.
He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.
And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.
He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.
>>> It doesn’t.
Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.
Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.
Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.
Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.
It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.
>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.
Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.
Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.
Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).
He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.
“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”
“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.
“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”
“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”
And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.
“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.
She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”
“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)
“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)
“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.
And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.
She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.
“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.
“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”
Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”
He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”
He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.
“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.
Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”
“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.
“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.
“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”
“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.
“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.
The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.
“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.
He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.
Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.
“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.
He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”
Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.
“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.
“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.
She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”
He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.
“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”
Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —
she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.
And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.
She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.
“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”
“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”
“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”
He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.
“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”
“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”
She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.
“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”
Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.
“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.
“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.
With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”
She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.
“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”
Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”
She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.
Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.
“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.
She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.
Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.
“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.
He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:
“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.
He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.
Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”
That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.
It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —
but she pulls back.
She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.
She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.
The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.
Desire, it seems, has come to stay.
But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.
✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works!
✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me
✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;)
✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration
✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥)
✧ my masterlist
thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)
English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
#aemond targaryen#I was supposed to post this LAST friday but chickened out for whatever reason idk pls give me a chill pill (((#my stuff#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x reader#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#aemond one eye x you#aemond one eye x y/n
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Hi, I was wondering if I could get a Joel x reader pre - outbreak maybe they get in a fight and are giving each other the silent treatment .. I know it’s stupid sorry
Cold Brownies
pairing - pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x female!reader
word count - 6.9k (I got a bit carried away😅)
warnings - a bit of jealousy, fighting, mention of an age gap if you squint, and just a quick mention of smut but nothing explicit, but still very domestic and cute and fluffy ˙ᵕ˙
a/n: aaaaaah, my very first piece about Joel Miller hihi 🤗🫣 and your request was anything BUT stupid!!!! thank you so much for the request! 🤍🤍 I hope you enjoy it ˙ᵕ˙ I loved writing this soooo much, I'm such a sucker for domestic pre-outbreak!Joel😭
series masterlist
2003
“All I’m asking is that you could maybe tone it down a bit, alright?"
You were making your way to the front of the house, Sarah ahead of the two of you with the keys in her hands, ready to open the door, while you were hot on Joel's tracks.
“What- you want me to be rude to them?” He stopped to turn around and glare at you with confusion written across his face. In his right hand, he carried his daughter's bag from the football match you had just come home from, along with the football in his left hold.
“Jesus Christ, Joel!" You threw your hands up in the air in desperation, hoping to bring some sense into his head after noticing this discussion was not going where you had wanted it to go. "No, not rude! I just don’t need to see you all flirty and cute around the single mothers there!”
“They’re not single, Y/N!”
“That makes it even worse!”
With a huff, he turned back around to continue his way into the house. He threw the bag into the corner of the hallway before walking straight ahead past the living room to enter the kitchen. You followed him, closing the front door behind you with a sigh, shaking your head along with it.
It had been evident to you that he wouldn't react to your complaint amazingly, but it was still something you had wanted to bring up after noticing the hungry looks of the women standing by the field. It hadn't been the first time today, and you knew it wouldn't be the last time. And you were tired of just being the side-chick of Joel Miller that would come along on Sundays to cheer on your daughter's football team during their match. Because that's what you felt like. His side-chick. Not his wife. At least not in the eyes of the other mothers.
The two of you were usually known for having little to no fights. You had always been good at communicating, but this time it just seemed to hit you a little deeper and a lot harder.
Once you had caught up with him, your eyes found Tommy sitting at the dining table, munching on what was left of your lunch. Sarah had stopped to stand by one of the chairs right next to him to start a conversation, but they were quickly interrupted by Joel and you.
While you stood in the dining room, your arms crossed, staring at his moving form, he poured himself a cup of probably already cold coffee. “Do you seriously have such little faith in me whenever you see me talking to another woman?” He squinted at you.
Your hands found their way to your hair, brushing it out of your face hastily as you tried to clear your head. “No, God… please, it’s not you that I don’t trust-“
“But those women?! Why?! They just want to talk!” At this point, Tommy and Sarah shared a quick glance, immediately recognizing they shouldn't be in the room with you anymore. They quickly stood up and rushed out, leaving you two in the heated argument that filled the room with anger and tension, as well as frustration and pleads.
You could feel your throat starting to close up, but you swallowed it down, hoping it would buy you some time before you would have to let loose of your emotions. “Because I used to be one of those women that ‘just wants to talk to you’!" You mocked his comment, "And look at where I am now!”
“You gotta be kidding me. You can’t have that little trust in others. OR in me.” Why he wasn't hearing you was still a mystery to you. He used to be so good at communicating.
“It's not that!" You argued, "I just know exactly what these women think of when they come up to you a-and don’t even acknowledge me standing next to you." The emotions started showing earlier than you would've liked to. You had to sniffle, catching Joel's attention as his head shot towards you. He sighed.
“They realise you’re right there, they talk to you just as much.” The man had lowered his voice, hoping a softer tone would make the situation easier. But it wasn't the volume of the discussion that was the problem.
You scuffed, “Yeah, to ask me how you’re doing and if you’ve gotten even more handsome over the last week.”
In any other situation, Joel would've smirked at your statement. Hell, you probably would've delivered it with a proud smirk, knowing exactly that yes, he would in fact get more good-looking with each week passing. You had been trying to convince him of his looks ever since you could remember, for a good four years that you had been together, but there was still a wall in front of him that wouldn't accept any compliment that easily. And that made you all that madder because it seemed like receiving complimenting words from the mothers back at the football field affected him more than yours ever did.
Joel clearly had enough of the scene you were playing out,
"This is getting ridiculous." He raised his hands in defence. “It’s alright, we can talk about this later," walking past you once again to walk into the living room, not finding his daughter nor his brother there, making him wonder where they had gone to.
“No, we can’t.” You fought back, following him with your eyes, only taking a few steps into the other room.
After throwing himself onto the cushioned sofa, he put the mug on the coffee table in front of him. With his hands now free, he was able to lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees he rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Y/N, I really can’t do this right now-“
“You don’t wanna talk about it?" You scoffed, "Fine. Then- Then let’s just not. You’re right. Let’s just pretend this never happened, and I’m overreacting because everything’s fucking fine.” Not wasting another second, you moved your body to the stairs leading to the upper floor.
“Darlin'-“
But you stopped him by shouting down.
“Everything’s fine!”
-
Everything was in fact not fine. And every single person in the Miller household could tell.
The night before, you were able to avoid your partner most of the time. When Sarah had asked if you'd come to the dining table for dinner, you used work as an excuse to stay in the office corner your husband had built in the garage, sitting at the desk, deep in some documents that you could not concentrate on. Not even for a second.
Before Joel had made his way up to bed, you had already taken a shower and cuddled yourself up into the bed, hiding most of your body under the covers. You weren't asleep when he joined you. But you pretended to be. And it worked. For the entire night, the two of you didn't touch each other, not even with your feet by accident - maybe in your sleep, but how would you have been able to tell.
But still in the morning, while both of you were rushing through the kitchen, getting breakfast, coffee and orange juice ready, while also tugging on your clothing and fixing your hair, moving around the room frantically, you didn't share a word with each other. Not a single one.
Sarah and Tommy eyed you suspiciously from their spots at the dining table. The uncle was slurping on his coffee while the girl had a piece of bacon in her mouth.
"Damn..." the man whispered, receiving a nod from his niece right next to him. "How long has this been going on for?" The silence was something highly unusual for this household. Joel and you were known to be a quite melodic couple. Filling early mornings with chatter and laughter while you tried to brighten up the older man's face, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of that time of the day. But there you were. Silently moving around each other.
Sarah picked up some eggs with her fork, "Since yesterday. I don't think they've talked through their argument yet," before stuffing her mouth with it.
"You don't say," the man sent her a side-eye, going back to the hot liquid in his mug. "What do you call?" He leaned back.
The girl shrugged, "He did something wrong."
"Well, obviously," Tommy rolled his eyes, "but what?"
"I think it was something about him not realising he's being flirted with and just going along with it because he wants to be nice."
He scoffed, "Idiot..."
"Blind idiot," his niece corrected him, only to get told off by her father.
"Hey," he pointed at her, "Watch your mouth." He didn't have the energy to comment on the other words he had heard coming from them.
Before she was able to say something smart back at him, he continued, "Hurry up eating, I'll be outside in the car." And left the room through the backdoor leading to the garage without another word.
The moment he closed the door, you let out a deep sigh you had held in the entire time the two of you shared a kitchen.
"He'll come back to his senses," the voice of your step-daughter made you walk over to the table, taking a seat in front of your two family members.
The cup of tea in your hands warmed your palm. "I don't know..." you mumbled before bringing the mug up to your lips.
"He's just acting stubborn as fuck," Tommy shook his head.
Sarah gasped, "Don't curse, there are children here." Receiving a subtle chuckle from you.
For a second, you shared a quick moment of silence before you put the mug down, "But am I over-reacting?" You asked them, "Like... am I looking too much into this?" But the shake of their head assured you, making you lean back into the chair with a huff.
"You think I enjoy watching these women gawking over him? It's disgusting. You should be the only one allowed to do that," Sarah explained, tickling a smile out of you.
"Shouldn't you be disgusted by me doing that?"
But she just shrugged, "It's kinda cute," before looking you dead in the eyes, "But don't tell him that."
You chuckled, "I won't. It's not like we're talking to each other these days anyways."
"Look," Tommy had had enough, "Like Sarah said, once Joel gets that stick out of his ass-"
"I never said that."
"Whatever," he jokingly brushed her off, "Once that happens. He'll start apologising. Joel's always been a little oblivious about that stuff. You don’t remember how it was with you?"
"But how?" You wondered, "They're literally undressing him with their eyes!"
"EW, gross!" The young girl exclaimed, making you send her an apologetic smile,
"Sorry..."
"We were taught to be nice and respectful to all kinds of women, Y/N. I don't know what else to tell you," Tommy got up at the sound of his brother's car honking, tapping Sarah on the arm to copy his actions. You watched her disappear back upstairs to grab her backpack while you stood back up to start cleaning the mess that had been left behind from making breakfast.
When you were about to walk past Tommy, his soft grasp on her lower arm stopped you. You looked up to meet his eyes.
"Don't you dare even think that Joel would ever leave you for one of those chicks," he told you quietly, but sternly, "He knows you're way out of his league." His first statement made you smile fondly while the second one made you chuckle and slap his chest.
"Tommy!"
"I'm being serious, Y/N," his hand brushed over the back of your head. He took a few steps back, a smirk still plastered on his lips, "But hey, you know, I still have quite a good amount of friends that would DIE to get to know you."
"Stop it!" You looked around for a cloth to throw at him, doing so once you found a wet one right by the sink. He jumped back, letting it hit the floor, continuing his laughing as he walked towards the back door. "Just saying," he raised his hands, "My brother's an old fuck, you might want to relocate."
You could only shake your head in disbelief, "You're unbelievable, you know that?" Earning yourself a mischievous grin from the younger Miller brother.
You had known Tommy for longer than you had known Joel. You met him at a night out, hitting on one of your friends after you realised that that dude used to be the same guy that had given your parents multiple headaches with that friend group of his in their old restaurant. You remembered them tumbling in some late evenings when you helped out after school, or even just wanted to do your homework in a corner. They pretended to not be drunk, when they definitely were, as best as they could. As much as it annoyed you and your family back then, they did bring a lot of other young people in and within only a few months, you had more visitors than ever. The memory made both of you laugh out loud in the bar and your friendship developed from then on. He even tried setting you up with multiple of his so-called other friends 'that would DIE to get to know you'. But he had failed. HARD. Every single time. His friends were… just not it...
That‘s because you had met his brother, and well... everything fell into place afterwards, leading to you now standing in the kitchen.
"What did you do now?" Sarah wondered, finding the piece of fabric on the floor, glancing at her uncle with her arms crossed.
You shook your head, "Nothing, don't worry about it. He's just trying to be funny."
She rolled her eyes overdramatically, "Ugh... again?" Getting a soft tap on the head from the man in question.
You sent them off with a smile and a goodbye wave, wishing both a good day as they left you alone in the house. All by yourself, along with your thoughts and worries and a good amount of chores to get done.
-
After Sarah had come back from school, you offered her a serving of the lunch you had prepared on your day off, giving yourself one as well. You sat together by the dining table, chatting about your day while listening to her ranting about her school and her teachers - her English teacher in particular. There was just something she didn't like about that guy.
Before you knew it, the evening had arrived as you got done hoovering the living room, letting yourself fall back into the couch with a heavy breath tumbling from your lips.
The argument from the day before had been haunting you the entire day, draining you of every last bit of energy you had left. You went over everything you had said and all the things you'd want to tell Joel once you were back on speaking terms. And yeah... about that too. How long could the two of you go without talking to each other? You never went longer than a day, so you already broke that record. In all honesty, you didn't want to drag it out for much longer. You hated it. As much as you were still annoyed at your husband and the oblivion he was in, the love and care you felt for him were much stronger than that.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the young girl coming down the stairs slowly. You only looked up at the sound of the stairs creaking underneath her feet.
"Mom?" She softly called out for you, staying behind the wall while searching for your eyes in the softly dimmed room. It had already gotten dark outside and the only light in the room came from the small lamp on the side table to your right.
"Hm?"
Sarah looked down at her feet, her fingers drawing circles on the wallpaper, "I-ehm... so..." you patiently waited for her to continue, "You know how we have bake sales every now and then at school?"
You scrunched your eyebrows at the random question, "Of course... why?"
Then a sheepish smile made its way to her face, "Weeelll..."
"Well?"
"I may or may not have a bake sale tomorrow morning and need something for it," she quickly spilt out, only daring to look up at the end of her statement.
Your hands immediately came up to hide your face, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, "Sarah... please tell me you're kidding."
"No...," she hugged herself shyly, "Sorry..." Coming a few steps closer, she stopped next to you, joining you on the sofa, the sly grin still on her face.
You sighed, looking at her, "You know, you're gonna be the death of me, right?" But she just showed you her teeth with a wide smile.
"Well..." you collected your thoughts, "Your dad has the car... and if I go to the store now, it'll be closed when I arrive. So... let's see if Tommy can go get some stuff because we have absolutely nothing in this house." You leaned over to reach for your phone that was laying on top of the coffee table.
"No!" The girl beat you and got a hold of your phone first, holding it tightly to her chest.
You looked at her in confusion, "What?"
"Eh... I- Why uncle Tommy? Dad should be on his way back from work now. It'll be way more practical if he buys it."
With a sigh and a nod, you gave in, "Well then, go on. Call him." But she shook her head. Her hand reached out to hand you back the device.
"Why not?" You wondered, slightly worried about the way she was acting.
"...I don't want him to be mad at me." You wanted to say something, but she continued, "If you call him, he won't get mad."
"Sarah..." another sigh of yours rang through your ears as you blinked at her. But she defeated you. With those goddamn puppy eyes, she inherited from her father, that neither you nor Joel could say no to - you more than him usually, but you were in a vulnerable place, so giving in came easily.
"Pleeaase, mom." The small word still brought a smile to your face - she knew exactly how to get you. You may not have been there her entire life, but for a good important chunk of it, and she appreciated that very much. It was on your wedding day when she asked you if she could call you 'mom' from now on. And it made you cry right at that exact moment.
You snatched the phone out of her hands and shook your head with a soft smile on your lips. She knew just how cute she was. After all, she was a very smart little girl.
You got up from the sofa and made your way over to the kitchen, already clicking on the number you had gotten so familiar with. Only two rings later, the deep voice of your partner erupted,
"Hey, everything okay?" You almost smiled at the concern in his voice. He knew you rarely ever called but prefered to send quick texts.
You scratched the back of your neck, "Hi, yeah... ehm... where are you?"
"Just got into the truck, why?"
"So... Sarah just remembered that she has a bake sale tomorrow," you explained, already hearing the deep sigh, along with a cruse word, coming from him, "But I can't make it to the store in-"
"What do you wanna bake, darlin'? What do you need?" You didn't ignore the way your body reacted to the nickname. You couldn't just let it pass like that. Even after all the years of being with him, his sweet tongue still made you feel like a little college girl. The heat rose up to your cheeks, painting them beautifully red as you ushered around the kitchen.
"Eh... wait a second," you opened the refrigerator, "We have eggs, we... don't have butter, so butter. We should have some flour and sugar. But we'd definitely need chocolate or-"
"What about a brownie mix?"
You perked up, "You really want to send your daughter to a baking sale with brownies from a pre-made mix?"
"Why not," he probably shrugged, "I can guarantee you, sweetheart, no one cares," the engine of the car roared in the background.
Unknowingly, your eyes drifted over the counter to the corner where a picture of the three of you was placed. Taken by Tommy, it showed you and Joel hugging the sweet girl in the middle while her face was covered in cake frosting. It was your, back then, boyfriend's idea to make her laugh, and boy, did he accomplish that. The echoes of her high-pitched giggles still roamed your brain as you were brought back to the day of her birthday party when she had turned 11 years old. Already then, the older Miller brother knew he was going to ask you to marry him one day. Never ever had either one of you been that happy when with another person.
That's when the memory of his proposal speech came back to you. Joel was a big romantic. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. But his plans of the original proposal were thrown out the window when a massive storm surprised the entire city, forcing you to stay inside the comfort of your own home.
Since Sarah was over at Tommy's place after the older man had begged him to do so, you had the house to yourself and you better bet, you made the best out of it. After multiple rounds in each other's embrace, exchanging passion and lust for each other, you found yourself in your bed, on his lap, still not tired of kissing the hell out of him. You were surprised when he stopped you for a second with,
"I have something to ask you," whispering it against your mouth before he leaned back to stretch his arm to get whatever he was looking for out of the drawer of his nightstand. You eyed him suspiciously, your fingers still intertwined behind his neck. You could feel your heart genuinely stop for a second or two when your gaze got stuck on the small red velvet box.
"Joel..." The topic of marriage had come up before, of course. But only because he wanted to make sure that the two of you were on the same page, and after doing that, he just had to find the right time to find a ring and actually propose.
He lifted a hand to stop you, "Just wait. Just for a minute," interlocking your eyes with his as he breathed out, "I had this whole thing planned," he shook his head, "I wanted it to be much more romantic than this. But God... I-I can't wait anymore."
Once his actual speech started, you couldn't help the tears in your eyes to well up. You had heard him say 'I love you' so many times before, but that love confession of his was something you had never ever received before. You felt safe with him. Loved, like no one else. How could you have said no? You knew he was the one for you. The one whose arms you wanted to fall asleep in for the rest of your life, only to wake up in a completely different position due to his restless sleeping habit. You wanted to forever hear Sarah remind him of his terrible eating habits, joining forces with her by making him drink more orange juice. You didn't even think you could live without Tommy barging into the house at the most inconvenient times, disturbing any romantic moment you'd get with your partner. That was the future you so desperately prayed for. And now you were finally going to get it.
You snapped back into the present.
"Have we really become those parents?" A soft chuckle dared to escape your lips, but Joel stole it.
"It had to happen someday."
-
Forty minutes later, the front door opened, making you look up to the left, only to direct your eyes back on the TV as soon his met yours.
"Hey," he talked quietly, finding Sarah asleep in your lap as he passed you.
"Hi," you greeted him back, the tension suddenly thick in the room. You followed him into the kitchen, careful about putting your daughter's head down gently.
You stopped by the fridge, leaning on it, your gaze travelling along with his moving figure while he put away the groceries he had just bought. Even though you were still not in the mood of talking to him, the words from yesterday still lingering with you, you decided to swallow at least a little bit of your pride.
"Thank you," you cleared your throat softly, "for... getting the stuff." He turned his entire body to look at you, eyes slightly wider than usual, sending you a somewhat subtle surprised facial expression.
"‘Course," he nodded.
"Well then... I'll..." Jesus, when did talking become so hard, "I'll let Sarah know we can start."
Just as you were about to walk back into the living room, the voice of your husband took you back, "No, let her sleep."
You moved towards him, "But she needs them for tomorrow, we-"
"I'll do it. I'll make the brownies," he sighed, finishing putting everything away, and leaving the few ingredients he'd need on the counter.
"Joel, no... that's her responsibility," you ignored his body coming towards you as you tried not to raise your voice, keeping it low since the girl was still asleep.
He placed his hands on your shoulders, only to turn you with a gentle touch, making you face the living room, attention immediately on the little girl. A few seconds of silence passed.
"Look at her," the man whispered into your ear, too close for the current tension that was still between you, "You really want to wake her up?"
You shrugged out of his grasp, "Don't make me the bad guy now," brushing past him into the kitchen.
Joel huffed out a deep breath, slightly shaking his head, "I'll get her upstairs." He didn't wait for a response from you, knowing he wouldn't get one anyway and walked over to pick his daughter up into his arms, carrying her upstairs into her bedroom.
In the meantime, you decided to get to work, reading the instructions on the brownie-mix packaging. You preheated the oven and made sure the eggs weren't too cold before looking for the fitting bowl, which wasn't where it was supposed to be. A sigh fell from your lips. Joel had a habit of putting stuff into new places and not where you had insisted they should be.
"In the cupboard next to the dishwasher," his deep voice suddenly spoke up from behind you, "I forgot where you usually put it."
With a quiet, almost silent 'thanks' you went to grab it before putting it next to the rest of the stuff. Joel was next to you within the blink of an eye, taking the bowl from your grasp.
"I can-"
"Let me," he softly argued back, bringing the eggs closer to him before starting by opening up the brownie mix and pouring the powder into the bowl.
"Joel-" you wanted to talk back, but his hand on top of yours on the counter stopped you,
"I wanna help," he gazed down at you, while you had to look up to meet his eye. It only lasted for a second, before you moved again, on the look for the next thing you'd need: a brownie baking dish. Thankfully, it was where you remembered you had put it.
The two of you worked separately from each other. You, just as much as Joel, were still very aware of the weight on both of your shoulders. The argument was still undiscussed and it was weighing you down. Both of you. The only interaction you shared was putting the baking tin in front of him to pour the batter in.
After you shoved it into the oven, with a quiet "careful" from your partner as he opened the oven door for you, there was no longer any sound that accompanied the silence between you two. Now it was just true stillness. No clinker, no whisk hitting the bowl, or anything else.
Neither one of you wanted to be in this position as you stood opposite of each other, each leaning back on the counter. You wanted to scream to break the tension. Thankfully, Joel took the lead.
"Darlin'," still that soft tone lacing his voice, "I'm-"
"No, Joel-"
"Please," he looked up at you, hoping to meet your eyes, only for you to find the same ones that had begged for you to call him your husband. The same puppy-eyed look. "May I?" He was so gentle, just how you knew him. You nodded, followed by crossing your arms in front of your stomach.
"I'm sorry." He spoke honestly, standing up straighter, "I'm sorry for what I said and... I'm sorry for being a blind idiot."
Your eyes fell down to your feet, running your toes along the wood as a smile crept its way onto your face at the mention of Sarah's choice of words.
"You're not an idiot," the sudden sound of your voice reaching his ear made him take a deep breath. You looked back up at him. "Maybe blind, but not an idiot."
But he shook his head, "No, I am." He started playing with his hands, "But can you blame me?" The scrunch of your eyebrows in confusion made him continue, "For four years, my eyes have only been on you. All I care about is you. And Sarah, of course," he added quickly, making you grin. He smiled at the sight, daring to take a step closer to you, noticing you warming up at his words, "I could not give less of a fuck about those other women. You're the only one that has been occupying my mind. I promise you that." They were small steps, but soon enough, he stopped right in front of you, keeping one foot between you two, and meeting your glassy eyes with his soft ones. "I haven't had to flirt with anyone in forever. How am I supposed to notice it then, when someone else is doing it to me? Especially, when it's not my wife. I don't care. I might continue being nice because that's just the human thing to do, but God... I..." he took a deep breath, taking that last step to be all that much closer to you. He trapped you in between his arms, resting his palms against the counter on either side of you. His left hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently moving against your skin. "I only have eyes for the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And I, the lucky bastard that I am, got to marry her." He caught the tear falling from your eye, leaning forward to kiss the wet stain before it could roll down your cheek. But his action just brought more tears into your eyes as your brain ran through the words you had just heard. You couldn't hold back a sniffle.
"Don't make me cry," you tried to free yourself from his grasp, bringing your hands to your face, trying to hide your weeping face from your husband, but he was having none of that, immediately getting a hold of your hands and pulling them down.
"I'm sorry, Gorgeous," Joel replaced your hands with his, wiping away every falling tear while gazing lovingly at you, catching your eyes never leaving his face.
You sniffled again, "I'm sorry, Joel." Both of his hands held onto your face. "I... I trust you with my life, I really do," you tried to speak through your tears, making the corners of his lips curl up, "B-But those women... at the match-"
"It's okay," he leaned forward once again, peppering your cheeks with gentle kisses over and over again, while a small smile appeared on your face at the feeling of his close touch again. "I get it," he kept on holding onto your face, making sure you kept your eyes on him, "I don't trust other men either. I know you're way too good for me. I'm a blind idiot that doesn't deserve you."
You started giggling as you hit his chest, "Stop, no," sniffling one last time when the tears had stopped falling from your eyes.
"No, I am. I realise that now," he assured you, shaking his head, "Jesus... I had to listen to Sarah calling me that like... a dozen times. And that was just on the way to school. Plus I got a big fat scolding from Tommy. He threatened to hook you up with his friends." Joel followed you with laughter after you erupted in giggles from his story, your forehead falling to his chest while your arms came up around his lower torso as his wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you to him as tightly as he possibly could, breathing in the beautiful scent of your hair.
You decided to enjoy a few moments of comfortable silence, staying engulfed in each other's arms before you leaned back a bit to lift your head, making him look down at you. The same smile on his face as it was present on yours.
"No one could ever replace you," you assured him. In the next moment, not giving your husband any time to react, you stood up on your tippy toes and puckered your lips, indicating for him to lean down, which he did without even thinking for a second. It was a natural reaction.
You only gifted him a quick peck before pulling back again.
"I love you, Joel." Followed by another quick kiss.
"I love you so much more, darlin'," he spoke against your lips, his finger tracing down the side of your face.
You squinted your eyes at him, "Mmmm... I don't think that's possible." Your comment made his eyebrows shoot up, "Oh?" He teased you, "You want me to show you that it is in fact possible?"
The not-so-subtle blush was evident on your cheeks as you pressed your lips together, "You know I'd never say no to getting dicked down."
Joel wanted to grin, SO BADLY. But he kept up his act, just staring down at you in confusion. "Getting dicked down? The hell you talkin' about, woman?" Unknowingly, the two of you started gently swaying side to side as he looked around the room, "I was thinkin' 'bout making you a nice dinner, a bit of cuddlin' maybe-"
You pinched his side, getting his attention back to you. He glanced at you with a wicked smile decorating his face. He leaned down closer to you, stopping just as your lips were about to touch, "But I can work with your idea as well.“
-
You were first down in the kitchen the following morning. Dressed and styled for work, with a pleased look never leaving your face. You felt good again. The invisible weight had clearly been lifted off you as you swiftly moved through the kitchen. The smell of pancakes filled the room when the cute familiar voice of your daughter made you turn around.
"Mornin'."
You smiled as she walked up to you, hugging your side, hiding her still sleepy face in your shoulder, "Good morning, sweetie," you patted her unruly, yet beautiful curly hair.
She went to grab her beloved orange juice from the fridge before settling down at the dining table just like every other morning. Finally, a normal morning again. A comfortable small talk erupted between the two of you as you asked her about the school day she had ahead of herself.
In the middle of it, you brought a plate of pancakes to her, placing it right under her nose, along with a fork and the maple syrup she enjoyed so much. As soon as your back was turned towards her, eyes on the other pancakes sizzling in the pan, the third and final person in the house came down the stairs. You would be able to recognize those heavy footsteps from a mile away.
Joel greeted his daughter first, kissing the top of her head, "Mornin', baby girl." Before he joined you next to the stove, his arm immediately wrapping around you, to turn you towards him, "And a good mornin' to you too, gorgeous," smashing his lips onto yours. Your hand found its way to his cheek while his stopped at your ass.
"Children are present!" Making you lean back with a chuckle, slapping his hand to move from his position.
He turned around to jokingly glare at the girl, "Look away!" To which she just rolled her eyes.
Joel brought you back into his arms, giving you a few more kisses before getting interrupted another time, making him groan and you giggle.
"Oooooooh, well don't you two look adorable!" The younger Miller brother exclaimed, entering the house with a wide smile plastered on his face. He took his signature seat next to Sarah, stelling a piece of pancake from her, "Mom and dad getting along again?"
She nodded, "Looks like it."
Your husband wanted to get one more kiss from you, but a plate being shoved into his chest stopped him. He looked down before gazing into your eyes again, "Chocolate chip?"
"Blueberry." Your answer made him look at you with scrunched eyebrows. "Vitamin C," you grinned, giving his cheek one last peck before ushering him out of the kitchen.
You watched the three sitting at the table, smiling at the little family in front of you when you remembered something.
"Oh!" You moved back into the kitchen, snatching the Tupperware box from the counter, and bringing it into the dining room with you. "Here, sweetie, don't forget these."
"Ah, thanks, mom," she smiled at you, taking the box and placing it right next to her.
Tommy eyed the box, "What's that?"
"Brownies," you simply answered, taking a seat on the only other free chair, "We baked them for her last night."
"What are you celebrating?" His question was directed at his niece but you answered him.
"Nothing, her school's having a bake sale." Joel nudged your arm, his fork right in front of you, waiting for you to open your mouth, so he could feed you a piece of his pancakes. You knew better than to say no, remembering all the times you had tried to do that and he'd basically won and made you take the food in one way or another.
The younger brother glanced at you in question, "No, she doesn't?"
"Yes, she does, she forgot and told me yesterday."
But he just shook his head again, taking a quick look at his niece, "No, you don't. I know whenever those bake sales are." As soon as he saw the looks on your and Joel's faces, he quickly continued, "All the pretty teachers are outside during them, and I... you know... just happen to be there coincidentally. Buying them all that stuff from those kids."
You closed your eyes in disbelief, shaking your head, "Jesus..."
The older brother shrugged, "Can't say I'm surprised about that."
Tommy moved his attention towards Sarah again, "So what the heck were you talking about?"
All eyes were on the little girl, giggling in her seat as she leaned back in the chair, the curls on her head bouncing along with her laughs. "Yeah... so ehm... maybe that was a bit of a lie," sending you a sheepish smile.
"What?!" You exclaimed, switching between looking at her and your partner to your right.
She immediately raised her hands, "But you two are talking again!"
"What does that have to do-"
"OOOOOH," Tommy shot up from his seat, engulfing his niece in a tight hug, "You smart little girl, oh I love you," kissing the top of your head multiple times. All while Joel and you sat there, at least sharing the confusion between each other.
Your husband put his fork down, "Are we morons? What am I not getting here?"
His brother grinned at him, walking past him to slap the back of his head, "Your amazing daughter tricked the two of you into talking to each other again," he sang and stopped to stand in between the two of you, throwing his arms around you, pulling you in close, "She got all that smartness from me."
"Sarah!" You couldn't believe your ears. That little 13-year-old girl... you knew she was smart... but damn... Where did she learn how to read people that well?
She smiled, standing up to bring her plate into the kitchen, "It worked though!"
Tommy released you to follow her, finally looking for his mug to get his morning cup of coffee.
The two of you stayed seated, still in disbelief at what you had just found out. You got tricked. Tricked you into putting your guard down and giving into the sweet mouth of your husband. She knows both of you too well.
"That's your kid," you pointed at the girl by the dishwasher while looking at Joel, who grinned at you, his hand now on your thigh.
His other hand wrapped around your finger, pushing it down and pulling you into him. "That's our kid. Our very smart kid," he smiled against your lips, making you do so as well before the soft touch of his mouth against yours sent a tingle through your body once again. You could never get tired of that, that was for sure.
There was the future you had always dreamed of.
joel taglist: @corvusmorte
pedro taglist: @leslieelainetrask
#Joel miller x reader#Joel miller#imagine#imagines#one shot#Pedro pascal#x reader#the last of us#pre-outbreak!Joel x reader#domestic#fluff#pre-outbreak#joel x wife!reader#x wife!reader
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Luci x Fem!Reader (smut)
WARNINGS FOR BELOW CUT !!! : praise kink, cunnilingus (oral f recieving basically), daddy kink, DIRTY TALK OH ABSOLUTELY, some downright filthy smitty smut, luci being gentle but getting a bit pussydrunk, overstim!!!!, whiny luci if u squint im a sucker for a whiny man
A/N : this is my first attempt at writing smut so pls be gentle about it :,) im just writing out my thoughts in a little oneshot cos duh
he is so 🥹🥹🥹 oh to have him look at me that way 🫶
for my amazing mootie @heart-of-the-morningstar <3
MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!
Lucifer Morningstar who has a literal oral fixation on you, walking in after helping Charlie at the hotel to you in your cute little nightgown, leaving so little to the imagination; how the black silk hugs each and every little curve of your body, cupping and defining each detail of your upper half, but most importantly:
your hips. or most specifially, the way the fabric fell in between your plump thighs, to where Lucifer had all but dreamed to have such a delectable dessert. What really had to tie in the deal was the way that your usually innocent smile was replaced with that of lustful intentions, a treat for him to devour and deduce to a babbling mess that he could have all to himself :<
Lucifer Morningstar who's prideful ego soaked in your helpless, high-pitched whines as he had coerced you onto the bed, whispering all of his thoughts into your ear as he took off the nightgown, "what I'd give to bury my face in between your legs for hours, feel them shake around my head," letting out an almost silent whine himself at the sheer thought of it, "I'd take such good care, so gentle with such a delicate little angel...."
He'd carry on describing each and every detail, confidently as he fondled wirh each body part until he paused at the area you'd been whimpering for him to touch, to eat as if it was his last meal on death row. He'd lay you down ever so gently, slowly moving down to admire the way your slick shimmered in the dim moonlight, before sliding a finger down your slit. The moan you let out was downright sinful as he made eye contact with you, licking his finger dry,
"Delicious, as always, pretty little angel. I want you tocome undone beneath me, what'd ya say? gonna let daddy take care of you?"
Lucifer Morningstar who had became addicted to the taste of your juices, lapping away with skill as his forked tongue darted inside you again. After so many releases, Lucifer just couldn't get enough of your heavenly songs of pleasure, and you couldn't get enough of how emotionally bound you felt as he did such filthy acts. His finger toyed with your clit, laughing slightly as your legs shook and walls clenched,
"Oh sweet girl, that feels good don't it? That's it.. felt that reaction there!! Pretty baby's come all undone on daddy's tongue, hasn't she? I've got ya, almost there angel, that's my good girl.." As you let out a helpless babble, followed by a vocal moan as your legs spasmed and wrapped around his head. When your legs relaxed snd gave way, you weren't given enough time to relish in the feeling of fluffy, airy pleasure when his fingers took the place of his tongue, pressing against that spot that made you see stars.
Lucifer Morningstar who ignored your pleas as his fingers continued to pull out sinful songs form your lungs, kissing lovebites onto your inner thigh "Luci.. 'ts- 'ts too much.. please.." You whimpered shakily, tears spilling as he looks up.
When your blurred eyes meet his, there's a glimmer visible; a caring and meek glimmer, but also a lustful one. One that you just had to make a mental note of. How could he look so gorgeous when bringing you to these lengths of emotions?
After a meer 15 seconds of eye contact, he firmly hit that sensitive spot, eyes squeezing shut. He slowly whines, voice coated in arousal as he admires his work,
"One more baby.. please, make Daddy proud, show me I've done a good job."
#lucifer morningstar smut#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifersducky#lucifer smut#hazbin hotel
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drug dealer! soft! rafe being a love sick puppy
🎀 author's note: buzzcut rafe is my favorite rafe omg 😫 yk that one song "i'm a gangster's wife to an anybody killer" i had that lyrics on my head all day and it got me inspired lol and as much as i love dark/horror themes i love soooo much soft and sweet! rafe. yeah a canon of him being a drug dealer but he still is my little princess
(not mine gif)
also besties send me requests! i'm in the mood to write today
warnings: fluff, sexual mentions in the end but no actual smut
drug dealer! rafe instantly became infatued with you, the second he first saw you. he just knew he had to have you (please i can't help but imagine him staring like that one crazy stare he does in s2 when he's with barry and hears kiara in the drain lol)
drug dealer! rafe absolutely fucking worships you. like i MEAN it. he's selling his thing and worried about his busy and can't stop thinking about you, constantly texting you under the table. he has sooooo many pictures of you, not just on his phone but in his wallet as well, it's almost compulsive: he wants needs to stare at it all the time, and everyone always mocks him for this. he doesn't care about how crazy or corny they think he is or shit, thats his girl, the love of his life, his future wife and mother of his children. he would go to hell for you.
drug dealer! rafe who spoils the shit out you, if you said you wanted a big house like this or that, in color x or y, he would buy it entirely for you, the exact way you wanted. needless to say, he would buy anything you saw in a store that had your eyes shining, no matter what it is, if it would make you happy he wouldn't think twice. also, he is obsessed with the cute things you like 🥺 like imagine him buying a sylvanian family for you, or those sanrio plushies.
drug dealer! rafe who has you on his lap at any single party him and barry goes to, he doesn't let go of you for nothing. one say overprotective other say clingy, whatever it is, he always wants you on his arms. need to go to bathroom? he is waiting on the door. need a drink? he tells barry to got get it for you both (LMAO). you're tired or sleepy? he carries you around like a bride.
drug! dealer rafe taking you home and can't stop smiling staring at you sleeping, admiring your beauty and feeling his heart race from how much he loves you, how happy it feels to have you. he puts a song you like on the radio even tho it wasn't his taste or you weren't awake to hear it. you'd wake up and he'd be caressing your hair, the minute he he saw your eyes opening he said "shh, go back to sleep princess, it's late" and you were too sleepy to answer anything. he caressed your forehead, cheeks, nose, ears. he loved to put his fingers on your dots too, you had some small ones you didn't even noticed you have, but he did.
drug dealer! rafe already has a ring on his pocket just waiting for the perfect moment to ask you to marry him. you're the only person who ever gets to see this side of him, so he would probably get emotional while doing it.
drug dealer! rafe who have a MASSIVE breeding kink, but mostly because he really dreamed of having a family with you. not just because it felt good to cum inside you and it was hot, but because he really felt something he couldn't describe at the thought of you also wanting him to be the dad of your children, to have a family with him. it made his heart euphoric, it got him acting dumb. it meant you also wanted to spend your life with him, that was his biggest turned on.
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andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader
masterlist
3.3k words
request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!
warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.
So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.
You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.
Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.
When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.
“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.
“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"
His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."
It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.
“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."
There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.
When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.
“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.
“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.
“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."
“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.
Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.
Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."
“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.
You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.
He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.
You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.
The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.
He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.
“Can you help me clean myself off?"
"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.
"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.
"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.
“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”
"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.
Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."
"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.
His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."
"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.
“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.
“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”
He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."
It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”
He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.
"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."
“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"
“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.
“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.
Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."
“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.
You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.
“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋
taglist: @wowzabowza69
#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair#finnick odair x y/n#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair angst#finnick odair x reader fluff#finnick odair x you#finnick odair x reader angst#finnick odair x reader smut#finnick odair smut#finnick odair fanfic#finnick x reader#finnick odair imagine#finnick x you
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mad at me - jack hughes
pairing: jack hughes x afab reader
word count: 3.5k
tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, smut, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, praise, spitting & choking (nothing crazy, i promise!), use of pet names (my girl, sweetheart, baby, princess, sweetheart), slight degradation (if you squint?)
summary: jack's latest game has tensions running high and feelings left unresolved. lucky for him, you know just the solution.
notes: so...this is happening 😭 this is very much inspired by the devils latest game against the kings where jack got pretty heated 😵💫 who doesn't love a bit of angry! jack? 🫣 but yes, as i've mentioned before, i don't usually write smut, so this may not be the best so any tips or comments you guys have to share would be much appreciated! 💗this has been partially edited, so if you see any errors along the way, they'll be fixed soon! as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy! much love! <333
It takes a lot for Jack to get mad.
A sequence of events that all come to a boil, a mountain of incidents that snowball into an avalanche of his wrath. He’s so sweet, like sunny Sunday mornings that smell of fluffy pancakes and honey syrup - so, even now, so far into your relationship, you’re aware that moments like these occur. Of course, emotions wear thin like tired socks and you’re no stranger to your own and Jack’s that have seen all shades of the rainbow, but perhaps there’s something in the air, some electricity that changes the wiring of your brain because tonight is so different from the rest. Dissimilar from when you leave Jack be when his big emotions demand their place, unlike how you wrap each other in blankets of comfort when tensions have eased and everything is whole again. Because, again, this is not about you. It’s about Jack and how, as the universe has written it to be, gravity pulls straight towards him.
Things have been good - he’s come back from injury, back to his kingdom on the ice and the Devils have won back to back games - truly unheard of during their current season, beating their last opponent in regulation for the first time since 2009. It’s a big deal - the smile on Jack’s face says so, the satisfaction of his tone indicating so when he’s come back from his away games. So, you want this happiness to continue, because you love him and the happiness he illuminates but at the end of the day, his job is hockey. A coin toss of wins and losses that you’re trying to wrap your head around because you’re biassed and see all the commitment that him and his teammates put in everyday. As a result of this, Thursday happens; a dice roll of events that spiral into chaos.
You’re back home in Jersey, comfortably situated on the couch in the warmth of an ending winter that shows peaks of an upcoming spring. You’ve got popcorn in your lap because you’ve rediscovered how much you love the savoury snack, happily munching away as Jack’s game starts and the adrenaline kicks in. The first period is eventful with many saves that have you clawing at the couch, but then the second period starts and all hell breaks loose. Tensions run high and as level-headed as Jack is, he is not immune to agitation - subjected to a nasty hit into the boards, the opposing player purposely banging his elbow into Jack’s head. You’re about to start yelling at your TV screen like some drunken sailor because Jack’s been injured this season and doesn’t need more time away from what he loves, but Jack decides to get his lick back and you’re automatically silenced. Your jaw drags the length of the floor as you watch him crosscheck the hell out the guy, proceeding to rough the player up before referees interfere. Jack and the guy are arguing back and forth as they’re escorted into their teams’ penalty boxes and you’re just left bewildered, a mess of emotions with wide eyes as your stomach turns.
You watch astounded as Jack flushes in his temporary plastic home, eyes wide at he hurtles comments that leave the opposing player with a sour taste in his mouth. Jack’s shaking his head when he’s gotten what he needs off his chest, wiping away his sweat as his anger grinds to a simmer. Your eyes are glued to the TV, perched on the edge of your seat as your heart beats hard in your bruising chest. The power play continues on but you’re lost in a trance, awaiting Jack’s emergence from the penalty box that can’t come soon enough. Once he’s out, he’s sprinting for the puck and manages to get a breakaway that assures New Jersey a goal, but the loser in the penalty box with him is hot on his heels and Jack misses. He’s fuming once again, ranting to the referee that pays him no mind. Jack skates off, smashing his stick against the glass before he’s back on the bench and completely snaps it in half, a string of profanities leaving his lips.
You sit there in awe, your grinding teeth sinking into the flesh of your fingers as your brain becomes an all-consuming pile of filth. Your precious boy, who loves his three hour long naps and looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, the hopeless romantic who pulls out all the stops for you simply because you deserve it and who holds you as if you’re fine china - he’s almost unrecognisable now, wearing his emotions like the number of his jersey as his expression pinches and his azure eyes narrow. A rush of emotions you both experience that make a home in the chaos of your minds that long leave the remnants of their havoc.
The clatter of Jack’s hockey bag echoes from the doorway, bringing you out of the syrupy daze you’ve been submerged in far too long. You leap off the couch as your body carries you towards the front door, electricity rippling down the ridges of your spine as your skin tingles with the unknown. You keep your emotions at bay for the time being, unsure of what state Jack may be in as you creep around the corner and catch an eyeful of his demeanour - blinding annoyance. An exasperated sigh pushes from his chest as he slips off his trusted beanie, the ruffle of his wet curls bouncing as his fingers card through his hair. You gulp.
“Ro?” you test the waters - short and sweet just to gauge his reaction, anticipation hanging in the air.
“Hey.” he bites, not bothering with looking your way as he shimmies his coat off with more force than necessary.
You gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling helpless. “I saw the game…”
“The one I almost got fucking injured in?” he chirps, looking at you now with a pointed stare that burns with all the fire in his heart. No longer azure, his eyes singe with an almost midnight hue. “What a shitshow.”
“That was a dangerous hit, that guy’s got whatever’s coming to him,” you’re quick to reply, taking small steps towards Jack who hangs up his coat. “But that doesn’t change the fact that people pay to watch you play.”
Jack stills in his movements, figure unmoving momentarily before his eyes throw you a lasting glance, the beginnings of a smirk working amongst his roseate features. “So, you heard?”
You blush under the heat of his undivided attention, gaze averted as you fumble with the hem of the hockey jersey on you. “Not necessarily.”
“Then what did you hear, baby?” he queries immediately, shifting so that his body now faces yours, an arm resting against the coat hanger as he sizes you up, unabashed and assertive.
Your stomach flips, the race of your heart undeniable. “You’ve got a mouth on you, so it’s easy to read lips.”
You’re chirping, working under his skin in a way that maintains some form of respect but has all the intentions of riling him up, which manifests into the beast you wish to see. A cocked eyebrow and a ticked jaw, flashes of disbelief flickering on his face. Once more, your emotions bear the weight of an anchor as excitement conjures up the swirl in your stomach, your masquerade crumbling at the seams as your nostrils flare, biting back a shit-eating grin.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he questions with a hint of humour, because he knows you like the back of his hand. You give him no response, preoccupied with suppressing the misplaced giggle that threatens to leave your lips. “I can’t believe this.”
The seams fully come undone, a snicker or two bypassing your lips as you retreat from the situation, ending up with your back against the door leading to the basement with Jack hot on your heels. Mirth bathes you in delight and you let it, a plethora of chuckles falling into your hand as you avert your gaze whilst Jack forgets any concept of personal space. Perhaps you’re deserving of whatever damnation comes your way, a punishment you’ve fully brought upon yourself, but when your senses fill with the waft of Jack’s earthy musk cologne and the remnants of his apple shampoo, accompanied by the warmth of his body that leans towards yours, you can’t bring yourself to feel a shred of regret.
His arm, enveloped by his raven black dress shirt, raises as he cages you in, vulnerable and at his mercy. “What else did I say, since you can read lips and all?”
This is a circus of words, meaning riddled in optical illusions that would have someone think none the wiser. Except this is yours and Jack’s circus, an act tailored for two that entertains your minds that run wild. A wildness you feed off as you meet him with the same decisiveness.
“This number,” you start, pointing towards the digits printed on your sleeve belonging to him. “86 is what people go to see - sorry, pay to see.”
You’re not really sorry, the smirk on your face says otherwise. “I think I said a lot more than that, sweetheart.”
“Besides all the huffing and puffing,” his tongue pokes at his cheek, a playful smirk betraying his flaring emotions. “You asked if he was there to play or to hurt people - fair point to make.”
“And all the others weren’t?” Jack’s moved closer, his thigh situating itself between the gap of your legs.
You bite your tongue at the friction. “You know the answer to that.”
“Maybe,” his caging arm leaves the door, the web of his hand sat against your chin as he holds your face, maintaining the same fiery gaze that unravels you altogether. “But, it’d be better coming from you.”
“Jack,” he’s flexed his thigh, your hand reaching for the button on his dress shirt as you wane in defeat. “Please.”
“I don’t follow.”
Your bawled fist meets his stacked chest. “Don’t play dumb.”
Jack chuckles, holding all power in the palm of his hand. “I’m just confused as to why my pants are wet.”
To prove his point, he draws his thigh away because he’s a selfish bastard and shows you the damp spot you’ve left after his thigh made its way between your legs. The shame that washes over you is unbearable.
Jack’s cold hands find themselves underneath the material of his jersey, one hand dancing along the outline of your underwear with a finger hanging over the top of the seam. “Oh, what to do with you.”
He’s such a tease, his ego large and in charge as you’ve long forgotten any sense of game at hand as your eyes pool with only an anguish he can extinguish. “Fuck me, please.”
“Why?” his tone light and airy, his finger hooked around the seam of your underwear as the material leaves your skin
You shiver at the breeze, eyes closed as your weak fist manages to grapple onto some material of his shirt. “Because, I need you and I think that goes both ways.”
The band of your underwear snaps against your stomach as Jack retrieves his hand, head cocked to the side as he considers the weight of your words with a locked jaw. Your teeth are sinking into the plumpness of your bottom lip, nothing but pleading in your eyes as you gaze up at him with all you can muster.
His hand lays against your cheek, thumb automatically caressing the skin - a touch that you not only lean into, but shiver towards. “Get upstairs.”
This is a fairly new playing field for you two - a game of cat and mouse that brings out an unfamiliar side to you, so foreign in nature that you second guess your desires and where your lust leads you. Jack doesn’t allow for any hesitation though, hand in hand with you as he comes into himself too. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips that lift, a soft smile surfacing amongst his features before you’re headed upstairs in a flash, scurrying towards your bedroom with a trail of your clothes left in your wake.
Jack doesn’t take long to meet you upstairs, his pinstripe blazer removed as he unfastens his tie around his neck. He spares you a lingering glance as you lay sheepishly on the bed perched on your elbows, legs ajar as your folds glisten in the soft bedroom light. Jack quickly rids himself of his clothing, slipping his boxers off to reveal his hard on. A comfortable length with all the girth to fulfil you, tip flushed pink as it brims with precum. It takes everything in you not to sink to your knees and fill your mouth with his cock.
As he approaches the bed, he motions for you to turn around and you do so with no questions asked, back arched as you wait in anticipation as you feel the bed dip with his presence. Jack comes up behind you, body so incredibly close yet somehow so far away as his hands make contact with your burning skin, giving the flesh on your back a brief massage. A surprised hum vibrates in your chest as Jack drags a single finger along the dip of your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake before he adjusts himself behind you, to which you push your ass back against his hard on.
“Stop teasing.” you sound more desperate than intended, cheek squished into your cool silk pillow.
“Can’t admire my girl before I fuck her?” The nonchalance of his tone draws a mewl out of you, your hips jutting as they search for any more contact. “Besides,”
Hands resting against the mould of your hips, one shifts as you feel his cold index finger draw in between your folds, fingertips swirling around your clit. You moan brokenly, body curling into itself. “You’re just here to take it, aren’t you, princess?”
You’re nodding before your brain can even compute his words, humming along to accentuate your point as his fingertips continue to swirl along the shape of your clit. It’s too much and not enough - a tug of war of sorts that makes your hips rock into Jack, an action that at one point, has his tip catching against your wet entrance. A hiss from behind you sounds as you grapple onto the pillow beside you.
Jack’s hand leaves you high and dry, but alias, his patiences dissipates into the night sky as he glides into you in one smooth motion, robbing you of your breath and sanity as your mouth gapes open and eyes roll. Sinking into the mattress, your spread legs accommodate for the snap of Jack’s hips as he starts to fuck you from behind, your back curving as you gladly take everything he’s offering. Face mangled into your hoard of pillows, your fingers cling to the duvet for some kind of security, at the mercy of Jack who pleases you in all the way he knows how.
“How hard do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, maybe genuinely because his strength seems somehow restricted, but you’re keening high in your throat at how filthy his words fall from his rosy lips so easily.
“Harder,” you plead, losing yourself in the pleasure as your one hand shuffles to rub against your neglected clit. “Harder, please.”
And, he obliges, bullying his cock into you as you gasp at the impact. A smack lands against your ass, the supple surface sizzling as your hips retract, Jack’s ironclad grip holding you from escaping any further as his fingers make indents into your skin like notches in a bedpost.
“Hang on,” his pace slows, breath laboured as you feel him pull out of you reluctantly. “Turn around. I need to see you.”
You squirm against the sheets, easily complying with Jack’s wishes that suit you, your body turning as your sweaty-layered back sticks to the duvet. In the dimmed light of your bedroom, you catch a glimpse of Jack, whose wet curls fall in all the right places and how every outline of his well-built body drives you wild. You catch the shallow rises of his chest and the flush against his cheeks and as he tucks stray strands of hairs behind his ears, his hands find purchase at your thighs and draw you closer. It’s when he looks into your eyes, shameless in the pleasure written all over his face as he pushes into you again that you think you could never get tired of this view.
Your walls mould to the shape of his cock, sucking him in entirely as you both moan at the feeling. To add fuel to the fire, Jack decides to unfold your legs and hoist them over his shoulders, the new angle burying him even deeper and bringing you closer to the edge. A huff of amusement sounds from Jack as he peers down at your parted lips, wasting no time in fucking you into the mattress as the bed creaks underneath the pressure. His earlier annoyance rears its head in his movements, unsettled irritation laced in the impact of his thrusts, your cunt leaking all around him as he pounds into you relentlessly. So close in proximity, Jack takes the opportunity to caress your cheek, a sweet gesture as your breath hitches, all before his hand slowly drifts down towards your neck. An affirmative nod from you is he needs to tighten his grip, your brewing orgasm intensifying tenfold as he maintains all the eye contact to make you shudder.
He’s balls deep in you, each hard thrust punctuated by the smack of the wooden headboard against the bedroom wall. You feel him all around you like some wicked embrace: in your stomach, your lungs and around your throat, the snug clasp his calloused hand holds against your pressure points lolling your mouth open, gasping at the sheer intensity stewing within you.
Jack takes the opportunity, wet curls stuck to his forehead, leaning closer as he spits directly into your mouth, as he does onto the ice throughout his games. Something twists violently in you, back arching off the bed as your lips fall close to moan from the deepest parts within you, the taste of Jack on your tongue.
“Taking me like such a good girl,” he praises, your reflection plentiful in his eyes. “If I’d known you liked this, would have done it a long time ago.”
Everything begins to blur at the edges like an old photograph, bliss engulfing you in its heavenly fire as your skin shimmers with sweat and your nails scrape at Jack’s shoulder - a futile attempt to regain control that had been long lost, your bodies movement forgotten as you squirm and shiver all over.
Oxygen courses back into your deprived lungs as Jack releases his grip, burning hand against your cheek as his thumb brushes your cheekbone, catching your fluttering eyelashes. “I got you, baby. Got you, princess.”
“Never been fucked,” a whimper escapes when Jack notches that spongy spot that buries your nails into his skin, “like this. Feels-fuck, good.”
He laughs lightly, pace stuttering yet hitting all the right places. “Love giving my pretty girl what she wants,”
You clench around him, embedding your nails into the flesh of his back as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, gaze scattered. “And my pretty girl wants to come, don’t you?”
He poses the rhetorical question with a mean pinch at your clit before pushing a heavy hand down on your lower stomach, the pressure accelerating you towards your fast-approaching orgasm. The sounds pour out of you like a waterfall, eyebrows furrowed as you plead with begging eyes. “Kiss me?”
“Whatever you want, baby.” he breathes, almost whiny as his hand circles around your nape, your figure floating as your lips collide in a messy embrace, rhythm unmatched as your yearning seeps through your teeth.
Jack captures all your moans in his mouth, the new angle of his thrusts adding to the sloppiness of your wet kiss. The smack of his stuttering hips knocks against your clit in a way that has you seeing beyond, swallowed whole by his galaxy of stars as he gives you one last jerky thrust, teeth nipping at your bottom lip to undo you. Frayed at the seams, you come undone, unravelling in a mess that perfectly matches Jack as he quickly comes after you, coating your walls as your cunt spasms all around him as he rides out his high.
Once Jack’s shallow thrusts grind to a halt, he slowly pulls out a heavy sigh, locking eyes with you as he runs a finger down your sensitive cunt just to get a shiver out of you. Your eyebrows knit, a flare of annoyance mixed in with fatigue written across your face that draws a humoured snicker from your boyfriend. He collapses down next to you, a kiss pressed against your cheek before you both aimlessly stare up at the ceiling.
Amusement tugs at the corners of your lips. “You should get angry more often.”
“I was just about to say the same thing.” agrees Jack, laughter making its home between you two as nothing but sweetness lingers in the air.
“Come on,” he urges, his hand nudging yours, body prying itself off your bed as he goes to stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
#jh86#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes one shot#jack hughes fic#jack hughes smut#jack hughes imagine#nhl smut#jack hughes#nhl fanfiction#nhl imagine#residenthughes
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PERVERTED I c.grimes
☆ WORD COUNT - 3.3K
CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER
☆ SUMMARY - you and carl had been best friends for as long as he can remember but lately he's feeling new emotions towards you, ones he doesn't think are too good for a girl like you. as if the world had been listening to his sins, they let him stumble upon your panties, left idly in your laundry basket.
☆ WARNINGS - smut, pervert!carl, innocence kink, corruption kink, masterbation, dom!carl, sub!reader, dirty talk, wet (day)dream, kinda manipulative carl, upskirting, aged up characters, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷
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you still remembered the day you sat in your dad's farmhouse, surrounded by your family when you heard blood curdling screams from a man out front. you were young then, maybe just after turning eleven when you escaped out the front door, seeing a man carrying what appeared to be his son in his arms, covered in blood.
that was the day you met your soon to be, best friend.
over the years, you and carl grew close. some would say you were best friends, that was what you'd say too. you grew up with all older sisters so you didn't really have anyone your age growing up. not until you met carl and you knew you could trust him with anything. he always told you so. told you that you need no one if not him.
eventually you landed yourself in alexandria. with everything that had happened back at the farmhouse, then at the prison, then the death of your dear sister beth, maggie decided it would be best if you went to live with her and glenn. so that was exactly what you did.
alexandria was unlike anywhere you'd ever been your entire life.
it was blissfull, peaceful.
carl loved alexandria too. it had everything he could possibly need. his own room, his own comics, posters... you. he'd been sitting idly on his bed, flipping through a comic book and not so much as taking notice to the absolute mess in his room. he usually got like this on weekends, letting the room go absolutely horrid with a mess. he knew by any minute now you'd come stalking through the door, brows furrowing at the untidiness of his room.
knock !
ah, there you were.
carl tried to fight back his smile as he tossed the comic book to the side. "come in!" he yelled, flipping himself onto his back as he'd been laying on his stomach.
with no surprise, you stalked through the door. your lips were pressed into a smile as wide as anything, pretty white dress sat across your figure. it made carl remember just how innocent you were to the world around you. you had no idea of what thoughts ran through men's minds when they saw you. he had an overwhelming fear to protect you from it. but if he did, he wasn't too sure if he could protect you from him, too. "hi!" you practically beamed as you came in through the bedroom door.
"hey." situating himself up on the bed. "how was work?"
you worked in the kindergarten near your house. you'd always liked kids, having a certain bond with them that no one could quite explain. you liked taking care of them, you liked playing with them. judith was one of the many you took care of. of course, you were only eighteen so you didn't take care of them full time, you worked with another one of the staff members. "good!" seating yourself on the bed. "i got off early so i helped carol with her pie."
carl couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. his little baker. "that's good, baby."
baby.
to some, that would seem absurd to call your best friend. it would seem like the time of thing that you'd call your girlfriend or your boyfriend. that was what your new friend ron had told you when he'd heard it himself. that night you asked carl if it was odd, if the names he was calling you truly were weird. nobody else called you those names but you supposed you'd never questioned it for how long he'd been doing it. he'd shrugged his shoulders, telling you not to listen to ron and that it was, in fact, normal but if ron or anyone else had called you such names that you should tell carl immediately.
you'd only nodded your head, brain sort of scrambled.
"are you still okay for tomorrow?" you questioned, eyes scanning his face.
every saturday was the same. he'd come over to yours or you'd come over to his. tomorrow was scheduled to be your house, carl was supposed to come over and you'd have your saturday sleep over, filled with movies, junk food, really anything a teenager could get their hands on in an apocalypse. "'course." he practically scoffed out.
it was a tradition, one that could never be broken. "okay." you grinned, eyes flickering across the room before your smile slowly faltered. "carl, your room's a mess!"
carl only groaned in response, picking back up the comic and landing it on his face. he began arguing, telling you to leave it but you were already beginning to clean around the room, shocked by the state it had been in.
knowing he couldn't convince you to stop, he peeled the comic book off his eyes to take a look at you. and that was when he saw it. you bent down to pick up something that had been tossed idly on the floor. he watched as your skirt rode up, giving him a view of pretty pink fabric, covering what he so desperately needed to see.
instantly, his eyes widened slightly.
he'd thought about you like this before. it was only natural for a boy who grew up with you by his side for what felt like his entire life. he had you looking up at him with those doe eyes all the time not to mention the way you paraded around in dresses and skirts as if no one could see.
he slipped the comic book down onto his crotch, covering his obvious hard on. perhaps he was the problem. perhaps the problem was the way his eyes stared at the place he should have been looking away from.
but his feelings had been so... strong lately. it was like something had snapped inside of him and he couldn't stop thinking about it. about you.
more importantly, the sounds you'd make as he slammed his dick inside of you, or how wet you'd get over the simplest of things.
after all, he was your best friend, he'd seen you in many ways. he'd noticed it before, when he was touching you a little too much and suddenly you couldn't get comfortable, the smallest of whimpers leaving your lips as you cuddled into him, thinking the feeling would go away.
he knew exactly what he'd been doing.
his day dreams were cut off by rick entering the room, without knocking. that was how he always knew when it was you at his door, the only one in the world who knew how to knock.
you'd gone home some time earlier, leaving him with his impending thoughts. he'd tried not to think about it, about you, truly. but the way he'd seen your pretty panties lining your clothed pussy earlier had practically sent him over the edge.
"hey." rick walked inside the room, glancing around. "your room looks clean." clothes folded away, nothing thrown on the floor, no cups or dishes sat on the desks. "so i take it y/n was here."
"yeah." carl sat up against the headboard of his bed. "did you need something?" because rick didn't just make his way to his room for no good reason. i mean, he was a busy man.
he scratched his beard. "yeah, was gonna ask because a couple of us are going on a supply run tomorrow and i was wondering if you wanted to come." tomorrow. saturday. you and carl's night.
he contemplated.
the way his mind had been moving lately, perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea to have a sleepover with you just yet. he needed some time to himself, to cool off. he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if you cuddled up against him the way you usually did, your legs hooked around one of his, sighing softly when you had no idea what he was doing to you.
maybe it would be better off if he called tomorrow night off. it was only one saturday, right? "yeah, yeah sure lemme just run over to y/n's and let her know."
rick was somewhat curious when it came to you and carl. you always looked so happy next to him, big eyes lighting up while he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. he'd also seen you two going through the trenches, even when carl was covered in mud and blood, some walkers, some human, some even his own, he'd still pull you aside, grasping your arm and holding you to the side, making sure nothing got to you, not even one of the group members. he wondered sometimes, just what was going on between you two. sometimes, he thought you guys were dating in secret, behind his back which he wouldn't be all too angry about. but there was a longing look in his son's eyes, one that told him he didn't have her to himself, not yet.
"oh, well if you have plans―"
carl was quick to cut the man off, picking up the jacket you'd folded and left on his chair. "no, no it's fine." slipping his arms in the holes. "she won't mind."
he wondered if you would.
surely, you were bound to be upset. you loved the saturday sleepovers. he'd imagine that you'd give him those doe eyes, showing just how upset you were but you'd shrug it off with a little smile, telling him to be careful. you always wanted so desperately to please him. he could see this, he adored you for it.
across alexandria, carl knocked against your front door. he waited momentarily before doing the same thing again. when he received no response, he made it his business to slide the unlocked door opened. he called out for glenn and maggie across the hallway, receiving, yet again, no response.
then his feet made it towards the stairs. he found himself walking around until finally, he stood in front of your open bedroom door. "sweetheart?" he called out, this time much softer.
from the door at the end of the hallway, he heard the response. "one minute!" the yell was from you, behind the door. "'m in the shower!" you had this weird thing about you where you showered multiple times a day, scrubbing your skin raw. sometimes you thought you'd never scrub off the mud that covered you from when you lived on the roads. carl noted that when he'd see your arms slightly red after the shower, not from the hot water. but he never mentioned it.
"okay!" he yelled back, now suddenly aware of the running water. "I'll be in your room!"
he heard a muffled 'okay' from behind the door before entering your room.
the walls were baby pink, everything else being a mixture of white and pale colours. what could you say, you were a sucker for pastels.
the room was like it had always been. he'd been in there a thousand times before, whether it was for a sleepover, for a mere five minutes to pop in when he was on his break or reading a comic book to you while sat perched on your bed, or holding you while you cried.
the point was, carl knew you through everything in your entire life. this room was practically his too. the same way his own was practically yours.
one thing was for sure, there was enough of each other's clothes in the other's room for it to be considered one another's.
speaking of clothes, his eyes snapped over to the basket of clothes that sat idly on your bed, waiting to be thrown in the wash. he assumed that's what you were going to do when you were out of the shower.
his eyes caught a glimpse of one of the shirts he owned. he knew you took it. rolling his eyes, he picked it out of the basket, stepping backwards as a couple pieces of clothes left.
"fucking idiot." he mumbled before picking the pieces up, placing them back inside the dirty basket. then his eyes caught that familiar pink cotton material.
he swore he held his breath.
the panties you'd worn earlier, clad across the part he so desperately wished to see. he couldn't help the way his hand reached down before standing up. every other piece of clothing, he'd tucked back into the basket. but this particular piece of clothing, he held it for a moment.
was it so wrong? to think of your innocent best friend in such a way? had you ever... thought about him like that?
questions swarmed his mind before you entered the room.
he spun around, tucking the garment into his back pocket. he used both his hands to lift the flannel back over his jeans, making sure the garment couldn't be spotted at all, even if someone had looked from behind.
"you okay?" you questioned, now dressed in a pale yellow shorts and a large sweater. it was getting dark outside, he noticed. probably your pijamas.
he watched as your hair dripped onto the floor beneath you. "yeah, yeah, i... needed to talk to maggie about something." he didn't know why he was lying. he really did need to tell you something but his mind was in scrambles, thinking of the piece of fabric in his back pocket, he couldn't possibly respond right.
"oh." you faltered slightly. "well, she's not here but―"
you frowned at how quickly he cut you off. "that's fine, i'll just tell her tomorrow." he crossed your bedroom, passing you to walk out the door.
you followed in confusion, wondering why he'd been so eager to run away. "well, i'll tell her you came by." wondering what was up with him at all. carl never acted like this.
suddenly, the boy swung around. "no, no don't tell her." waving you off. your brows were knit together in utter confusion. "i don't think i wanna talk about it with her anymore so... night!" practically racing out the front door and slamming it in his leave.
you stood stumped at your front door, confusion evident in just your eyes. "night carl..." mumbling before turning around, wondering what all of that had been about.
the sun had set when carl finally took the garment out again.
he knew it was wrong, he had to know. at least subconsciously, anyway because he waited until everyone else in the house had fallen asleep until he took them out. at this point, he'd been dressed down to just his boxers. it was late, time for the sleep he knew he wouldn't get. not when that image of you, bent over, was burned into his mind.
the mere thought had his hand inching downward while his other held the pretty panties in his hands. he stopped himself.
this is wrong. he thought. so fucking wrong.
but he felt so tempted.
the panties sat in his hands were the same ones you'd wore today, the same ones he'd seen you bent over in. he couldn't stop thinking about it, whether his hand continued down or not.
what you didn't know, couldn't hurt you.
surely, you'd never find out about something like this. he was safe, for now. his hand inched down, tracing just beneath his boxers before pulling out his length. he felt himself groan at the mere touch. he'd been hard since you left, it hurt. and he knew if you were here, you'd do anything to make sure he wasn't in pain.
even if he meant the blasted thing he was about to do.
his hand wrapped around his dick, he breathed out before pumping it once, then again, then again. "fuck." he breathed out, his head falling back and his mouth falling open.
he'd touched himself a thousand times before, for as long as he could remember, his mind always traced back to you. it was impossible to escape your grace. but there was something about holding your panties in his hands that made him feel even better.
as wrong as it may have been, he couldn't stop himself now.
if he was going to do it, he was going to go all in.
aimlessly, he used his other hand to prop your panties against his cock. they fell so loosely around his length causing him to groan. with his right hand, he held onto the panties before pumping his cock over and over again. he groaned, loudly enough before practically shoving his face in the pillows beneath his head.
"fuck, fuck, fuck..." his hands were big, long slender fingers wrapping around him. he could imagine you trying to take it. he'd imagine he'd have to coax you, gently running them up and down your thighs before pushing them inside. you'd be so wet, gushing over his fingers.
then he imagined you taking his dick, an impossible task.
he could imagine your pretty virgin hole, so tight. he couldn't even imagine you taking your own fingers let alone his dick. your walls would be so tight around him, clenching as he pulled every last moan out of you. you'd whine and writhe against him, it all becoming too much too quick.
and he wouldn't care. "take it, take it." carl mumbled into the air of his bedroom, eyes shut and imagining you while his hand never stopped its constant attack on his own dick. his hand sped up, so quick that he could barely breathe. "hah, good girl." his voice breaking, slightly higher pitched. "my good girl, mhm, good girl." breaths falling from his lips like chanting prayers.
it was wrong, to think of you like this. he knew that but he was too damn perverted.
he'd imagined what he could have done this morning, you bent down and picking something off the floor. he could have grasped your hips, holding them in place and peeking the skirt of the dress above your hips, getting the view he really wanted.
he'd imagined peeling the fabric of your panties away, getting a view at what he needed the most. the same fabric that was sat around his cock.
he couldn't stop the noises that left his lips, trying so hard to stay quiet but the way your panties felt against him was enough to have his hips rolling even if they hadn't wanted to. it was like you were there in front of him. he could ram into you as he pleased, holding your hips close as you sat on top of him. but he'd do all the work, of course, anything to coax those little whines out of you.
the many times he'd pulled at your hair for a reaction or rubbed your thighs gently, every murmur of a whimper that would leave your lips. he imagined it a thousand times louder now.
he couldn't help himself, flipping over so he was sat propped up on his knees but his hips thrusting forward into the little material.
the head of his dick hit against the mattress with every thrust, your panties wrapped up in his fingers and his cock.
he felt a sudden familiar feeling build up in his stomach. "fuck, baby, feel s'good." practically pussy drunk by now, despite the fact he hadn't even touched your pussy yet. "shit, jus' like that, c'mon, sweetheart."
"please, carl!" he could hear your whiny voice now. "touch me, please, please."
your voice, albeit in his head, was enough to send him over the edge.
he came with his eyes closed and mouth open, a moan falling from his lips. not just any moan, your name. he felt creamy liquid gush out of his dick, landing all over the pink panties that lay in his hands.
he thrust his dick over and over until he ran dry. then, he collapsed with a pant. his lungs were burning, they were raw and his head fell against the linen pillows. he barely so much as glanced down to your stained panties that wrapped around his fingers.
one thing was for sure, he needed to get to this damn saturday sleepover. fuck the run.
main masterlist/carl's masterlist
#carl#grimes#carl grimes#carl x reader#carl grimes x reader#carl x you#carl grimes x you#carl x y/n#carl grimes x y/n#carl imagine#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes drabble#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes smut#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes angst#carl drabble#carl oneshot#carl smut#carl fluff#carl angst#the walking dead#twd#twd x reader#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd imagine#twd fluff#twd angst#twd oneshot
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hi i love your writing SO MUCH and idk if i requested this already but… do you think we can get a brothers best friend ellie?? readers brother DOES NOT want them together but they end up fucking when he’s asleep/not home. or reader goes to ellies house and eats her out while shes on call with reader’s brother?? either one is fine i would just love to see you write it
i think you requested that but i made it likee the brother didnt care so heres a second one🤭ill post the first one too tho!!
BBF!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER
mdni please<3
warnings: 18+!! smut, almost getting caught
writers note: im sorry its so short whateva💔
You couldn't decide whether you like it or not.
Well, of course you did. Ellie never failed to make you feel good, her strap hitting all the right places while her hands caressed your thighs. She was rough, but not too rough. Degrading, but also praising. Basically, she was all you could ever ask for and more. What was there to hate?
But at some point, there was this little voice in your head telling you you're pathetic. Pathetic for liking this, agreeing to this and... just admiring her overall.
Because, jesus, 'she's my brother's friend. Best friend. What am I going to tell him?'
You, as the little sister, always let him insult you. Your opinion didn't matter, you gave up on trying to be important long time ago. You didn't hate him, he wasn't that bad. It was just sibling love language. He just couldn't be nice. If he knew about you and Ellie...
You were good at hiding it, though. When you first met her, you didn't believe she's really friends with your brother. Not to be mean, but you didn't thought he'll get along with someone who seems so... perfect.
'She probably has a shitty personality.'
That's how you explained their friendship. And you were terribly wrong.
After she visited your house once, she kept coming almost every day. At this point, you got used to that.
Oh, well, not exactly... There was some awkward situations, like when you exited the bathroom in only a towel wrapped around your bare skin and you saw her leaning against the handrail in the hallway. She only ruffled your hair and laughed at your embarrassment, seeing you blush and holding onto the fabric like your life depended on it. Maybe it did, actually?
It wasn't long after that before you began to wonder -'She can't be friends with my brother... can she?'- You started to notice more things - her kindness towards you, a tender touch here and there, and the way she looked at you made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So what if she was his best friend? Would he really mind?
But what if he did? What if he found out?
Suddenly that little voice in your head was screaming louder than ever, and that feeling of shame and guilt crept up on you again.
But no matter how much of the guilt you felt, and despite the small voice in your head telling you you're pathetic, it felt right. You felt accepted. Accepted by someone who was perfect in every way. The thought of telling your brother filled you with dread, but it seemed so far away. You could figure out that little problem later, right? Just for now, you could feel a rush of emotions - mostly guilt, but also a rush of lust that made you want more.
More and more.
And she gave you more.
A quiet -'fuck'- escaped her lips as she saw your cunt throbbing against her strap. Her hands continued firmly holding you down as you didn't even bother to stay quiet. You felt so good... and so ashamed... You wanted it to stop but at the same time, you knew you'd beg for more if she would even simply slow down.
It was really your own fault.
This was the first time in ages you were left home alone, so you immediately invited Ellie over. First time you won't have to bury your face in the pillows. First time she won't have to shush you. First time you could actually do everything.
You were fighting your own thoughts, not knowing which one are the bad ones. You had no idea if you're doing the right thing. And you most definitely weren't but you were too fucked up to realize that.
Ellie chuckled, hearing your not-muffled this time sounds. "Were you always this loud? Jesus, how did we manage to keep this a secret for so long?"
The truth is, she wasn't silent herself. Fine, she wasn't a whining mess, unlike you, but still - the little 'fuck's and praises escaping her mouth weren't too quiet.
You continued squirming and whimpering about how big she is and how much it hurts, hoping it'll magically change, though you didn't really wanted it to. Or maybe you did? You weren't sure. Your mind continued the fight wether it's good or pathetic, none of the sides prevailing.
She clicked her tongue in disappointment, but her smirk told you how proud she really is. "I know, I know, so stop moving so fucking much." She said.
Her raspy, tired voice was enough to make you squirm again. You weren't used to hear it in these circumstances before, since it's obviously the first time she could speak loudly and clearly, without worrying about your brother.
"I said something, doll." Her grip on your hips hardened, almost aggressively pinning you to bed.
You heard the ring hanging near the door, meaning someone opened them. Just by footsteps you could tell it was your brother.
"Should I stop?" She asked with mock-concern and interest. You realized your answer won't change anything - maybe just the intensity of her moves, so you didn't waste your energy answering. That was a sign of your obedience and helplessness Ellie waited for. "Good girl."
She rolled you on your stomach and tangled her fingers in your hair, pressing your head into the pillow. She shoved it down with every thrust - every hit of your climax - to stop you from moaning. And of course it didn't work completely, but they faded enough to be inaudible outside the room.
She was intentionally going faster and faster. She loved playing with you, feeling the thrill of it, even though you didn't find it so amusing. You digged your nails into the tattoo on her forearm, hoping to slow her down.
"Ya know what will happen if he hears?" She didn't seem to care that your fingers were literally drawing blood from her body. "You'll handle it. Unless you want him to find out?" She whispered.
You immediately shook your head, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut.
Then, your moment of focus broke as you heard knocking, on the door to your room this time.
"I'm back!" Your brother announced.
You asked him to tell you whenever he goes out or cames back, mostly so you knew if Ellie's free, since he only goes out with her. Today was the first time he went outside on his own and the poor guy had no idea she found a reason to visit your house anyway, just like he had no idea she did so even when he was home, in his room, right above yours.
The lack of response surprised him, so he knocked once more before shouting confused -'You there?'
Ellie looked down at you, daring you to answer, mouthing silent 'go on' in the most taunting voice she could.
"Yes! That's good!" Your voice was shaky and you knew he will notice.
He wasn't really caring, just curious, so he had to know everything. His first sentence sounded cute, like he really cared, but you figured out he's making fun of you as soon as you heard the other questions. "Are you crying? What, you weren't invited to some lame party? Or a boy you know for a week broke up with you?"
And what were you supposed to say? -'No, your best friend is fucking me for... probably more than an hour now, and her dick is probably bigger than yours, so I can't control my tears'
"Yeah, something lik- Oh, fuck off!" You screamed back, succeeding to pretend you're really hurt because of one of the pathetic things he accused you for.
He laughed. "Mhm- Whatever!"
The footsteps climbed up stairs and got silent. Ellie bit her bottom lip, holding back a chuckle.
"Does he really think of you so low?" Her hips slowed down again, but became more precise. "You did good, don't worry. It'll be over soon."
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie x reader#ellie x y/n#ellie tlou#reqs open#wlw smut#ellie the last of us#bbf!ellie#bbf!ellie williams#bbf!ellie x reader#bbf!ellie williams x reader#brother's best friend#thank you nonnie#i love you nonnie#send anons
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okayokay so i was hoping you could write something for leon x chubby!reader? i swear there is not enough of that genre out there- i was thinking the reader could be feeling insecure about their weight and leon comes home to them upset on the couch :(( after some comforting and fluffy stuff he CARRIES reader to the bedroom. (as a chubby girl i fold for anyone who can carry me lol) any leon would work for this hes so precious i just wanna keep him safe and sound in my pocket ☹️🫶 anyways i tried to keep this broad enough for you to use your imagination,, i love you writing!! <3
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!chubby!reader
summary: you're feeling down about yourself and leon just can't have that
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), face sitting, features reader's weight insecurities and people being critical of her weight
word count: 3.6k
a/n: thanks for the request! i hope it was what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
You didn’t expect today to be a good day, but now, in your position curled up and wallowing on the couch, you wish your intuition had been wrong. You lie on the plush cushions, face pressed against a pillow, limbs retracted and held close to your body. You weren’t crying, but it felt like every couple minutes your eyes began to sting with the threat of tears falling. You tried telling yourself to get a grip, to grow up and just move on. This shouldn’t still hurt you so much.
But, like always, beating yourself up didn’t do anything to improve your emotional state. You continue half-paying attention to the movie you put on. It was your comfort movie, one that you put on whenever you were down. Right now though, it wasn’t helping. Your partially unfocused eyes fixate on the screen and watch the lead actress move about. She looks good constantly, her outfits flatter her figure and flaunt her features. All you’re left thinking is why can’t I look like that?
The story playing out in front of you has a bitter taste this time and only serves to remind you of all the words you heard today. Whenever you were around your family for extended periods of time, the conversation moved in this direction. One moment you’d be laughing over a funny story or reminiscing about the past, and then the next, you were being recommended diets or invited to come to the gym in what was your relatives' version of subtlety. And no matter how many times it happened, it still hurt like it was the first.
Sometimes, Leon could spare you from it. When he came around, all the attention would be on him, a newcomer who they didn’t know so much about. But on days like today, when you had to endure their company on your own, it was bound to happen.
Leon didn’t even know he was protecting you with his mere presence. You’d never told him about the passive aggressive remarks or the whispers across the room. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. You didn’t want to pile on by weeping to him, sounding like some shitty after school special. So instead, you resigned yourself to this, sinking into your self-pity until you were distracted enough to forget about it until next time.
Not much more of your movie plays before you hear the familiar sound of Leon’s keys outside the door. He comes in, offering you a small smile as he takes his jacket off and kicks his boots aside. You straighten up a little bit but not too much. Normally, you’d try to conceal all of this from him, but you were just too worn down today.
He’d been out dealing with some last minute things for work before he got a little time off for a couple weeks. He walks behind the couch to the kitchen, taking a moment to ruffle your hair as he goes by.
“How’s your day going? You had to go to that thing with your family right? Everything went well?” he asks from the kitchen.
“Yeah. It was fine,” you respond simply, “How’s yours? Get everything done?”
“Mhm,” he hums. You couldn’t see him, but he was watching you. He could tell something was up. He takes a few swigs of his drink before heading to the couch and sitting down with you. Glancing over at you a few times, he observes the way you’re watching the movie. The slight frown on your lips, your uninterested eyes.
“Hey, c’mere,” he says gently, “I missed you today.”
With a gentle tug of your wrist, he guides you across the couch. You slide over on the seats so you’re leaned against his side looking up at him. Like always, you put your head on his chest, his fingers find their way to your head and stroke it lovingly. His other hand makes his way to your side, tenderly squeezing your waist, and in-turn, gripping the plump flesh there. You loved the touch, but right now, it further amplifies your self-consciousness. You’re painfully aware of the shape of your body at this moment.
“You feeling ok?” he asks softly.
You simply nod in response, but it’s like he can see the gears turning in your head, cranking out one bad thought after the next.
“C’mon, tell me what’s wrong, pretty girl,” he coos, dragging his thumb over your cheek.
He called you that a fair amount, but in your current state, it just grated on your already frayed nerve endings. You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply.
Your answer doesn’t satisfy him though. He’s not convinced. Any other day you’d talk his ear off about how you couldn’t believe someone did this or how there was no way another said that. You’d be all over him too. It seemed like you could never get enough of kissing his face or nuzzling his neck. But today you were quiet. Quiet and stiff.
“I know it’s something, baby. You can tell me. There’s nothing in this world I’d judge you for,” he murmurs before kissing your forehead.
You really wanna tell him. It shouldn’t be hard. The rational part of your brain knew all he’d do was make you feel better. Give you some smooches, whisper compliments against your skin as his hands rub you all over. The other part of you though, the irrational, scared girl hidden inside, kept you anxious. She kept you believing that this was something you had to bear alone. Even the fact that you were insecure in the first place was embarrassing.
In a move that made you feel overwhelmingly pathetic, you just shake your head. You push your face against his chest and remain silent. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat helps a little to calm you, but you still can’t force the words out.
He only grows more concerned as you shy away. He thought you just didn’t feel good, maybe a little gloomy, maybe had a headache. But this was clearly something deeper. His arms tighten around you, rubbing your back.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks, “Talk to me. Breaks my heart seeing you sad.”
You can’t even stop the hot tears from sliding down your cheeks at this point. Sucking in a harsh breath, you cling to him. He sees you’re crying even though you’re quiet. He whispers a few more reassurances, trying to coax you into sharing what’s the matter.
“It’s just… do you… are you… are you attracted to me?” you choke out. Even the way you phrase it makes you wanna curl up and die.
He’s stunned. Honestly, that’s the last question he expected to hear between your soft gasps.
“What? Of course I am,” he says without a second thought.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to lie to me. I can take it,” you sob, keeping your face shielded against the muscles beneath his shirt.
“Yes I’m sure. Hey, hey,” he says. His tone drips with worry as he guides your face to look up at him, “Where’s this coming from, baby? Did I say something that made you think that?”
“N-no,” you cry, tears wetting his shirt by this point, “I- it’s just… I don’t…”
“Take a deep breath. It’s ok,” he whispers, “I just wanna know why you would be worried about that, babe?”
You follow his advice and get yourself calm enough that you can speak, but again, you can’t actually get the syllables out without losing it.
“Cause just look at me,” you weep and gesture at your figure.
“I am looking at you,” he says, still not understanding the issue.
“You’re telling me this is what you want?” you cry. You say it almost like an accusation. Like the word liar is on the tip of your tongue.
“Yes? I can’t help if you don’t tell me what the problem is, and I’m really not seeing a problem,” he says. He’s such a sweetheart. Doesn’t get defensive with you, doesn’t tell you to cool it. He’s understanding as ever, and it just makes you feel worse about your blow up.
“You really like me even though I’m chubby?” you finally blurt out.
His eyes soften when the words reach his ears.
“Oh, baby…” he coos and pulls you onto his lap. It makes you uncomfortable at first, being on top of him, but he doesn’t even react to your weight on his thighs. “I love your body, every single part of it. You never need to worry about that.”
After that, everything comes spilling out. Every derogatory comment, every side eye, every single condescending smile. You ramble on about all of it through your tears. He nods along and shakes his head in disapproval when you tell him about your cousin’s birthday party when someone asked if you really needed a slice of cake. Or Christmas when your aunt cornered you to sell you on these diet shots her doctor prescribed her and how she could get you some easily.
“I never want you worrying about that kind of shit,” he tells you once it seems like your rant has come to a conclusion.
You sniffle and nod, burrowing into him further.
“I mean it. Cause for one, you're more than that. You’re sweet, so fucking sweet. You’re smart, funny. You’re you, and that’s what I love. I love talking to you, can’t get enough of your voice,” he murmurs as he kisses your cheeks and temple, “I notice all that before I’d ever notice whatever bullshit they tell you to feel bad about.”
“I know,” you whimper. Before you can say anything else, he keeps going.
“And you asked me if I’m attracted to you? That’s an easy answer, babe,” he says. He lifts you a little, shifting you on his lap so you’re straddling him. His hands squeeze your hips and rub up and down your sides. “You don’t understand how attracted to you I am. I cum harder jerking off while I think of you than I ever did fucking anyone else.”
You gaze down at him. Heat rushes through you at that admission. Your crying has come to a halt now as you hang onto each word of his.
“I mean, really honey? What wouldn’t I like?” he purrs, “You seriously believe I wouldn’t love how soft you are? All the curves I feel press up against me when you give me a hug or you wanna cuddle?”
His hands run along your skin with more teasing now.
“Your tummy? Fucking love it. Love how you get all squirmy when I rub and kiss it how you like,” he breathes as he tugs you forward so your front is against his. He kisses your lips softly. “Love feeling those round cheeks covered in tears and drool when you start losing it for me. And your thighs? I can’t get enough of ‘em clamped around my head when I’m eating your pussy. Fucking things squeeze me till I think I’m dreaming.”
Well, didn’t you feel stupid now. As Leon continues preaching about your body like he’s referencing a divine being, his hands roam your body, sending shivers up your spine. His fingers knead the flesh of your ass before coasting around to your tits and taking handfuls of them.
“I can only say so much, dolly. Think you should just let me show you how much I love it,” he breathes against the shell of your ear.
“Ok,” you agree. So simple it draws a small chuckle from his throat.
Without the slightest hesitation, he stands up, taking you with him. He hoists you up and doesn’t even let the smallest grunt slip from between his lips. You let out a tiny squeak which turns his chuckle to a full laugh.
“Leon…” you start with uncertainty.
“Nope. None of that,” he shushes you.
He boosts you up, getting you comfortable in his arms. Your legs lock around his waist just as he starts to move. Padding away from the couch, he takes you to the bedroom. He’s not straining himself at all. He glides through the doorway with you cradled against his abdomen like this was the most natural thing in the world. In all honesty, you weren’t too much for him in the slightest. All the training he did for his government job had prepared him to carry more weight than you.
He sets you down on the bed, crawling on top of you. His lips meet yours as he leans down and connects the two of you in a series of wet kisses. His hands glide beneath the fabric of your shirt, feeling your skin and the warmth of your body. After making out for a while more, he pulls back. He kneels above you, breathing heavily as he peels off his shirt. His toned abs and chest come into view. You’re still taking in the sight of him as he starts undoing his pants. To match him, you slowly begin to remove your own attire.
Soon enough, the both of you are nude. You expect him to get back on top of you and drill you into the bed until you’re seeing stars. But instead, he flops down next to you on the mattress, looking at you with a lopsided smile.
“You want me on top?” you ask as you begin to move yourself into position.
“I do. But not how you’re thinking.”
You pause, trying to figure out what he meant. It clicks in your mind suddenly as you're looking at his smug expression. He wanted you to sit on his face. He’d asked you to once or twice before, but you usually got out of it by playing up your neediness and acting like you needed his cock that very moment or you would explode.
There was no excuse that would spare you from this now though. You look him in the eyes and shake your head. His only response is to playfully nod at you and give your hips a little tug, urging you up his chest.
“Leon…” you whisper nervously. You wanted to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
“Don’t give me that,” he teases. His tone transitions to a more genuine one as he says “Let me do this for you.”
You hesitate once more, but another light pull of your hips has you tentatively scooting forward on top of him. You brush by his chest and neck until you’re hovering above his head. He lets out a sigh just from feeling the heat of your thighs on either side of him. His elbows bend around your thighs, keeping you in position. He looks up at you and finds your nervous eyes to give you a comforting look.
“I’m gonna crush you,” you say as if to warn him.
“You better,” he responds.
And that’s all the talking he needs to do before pulling your hips down and mashing your cunt against his mouth. You gasp as you feel his tongue licking you up and down already. He groans when he tastes your slick. Diving in further, his mouth opens and closes as he pleasures you. He sucks on your clit and massages your entrance.
Your arm shoots out to hold onto the headboard for balance. Your hips involuntarily rock back and forth, smearing your arousal over his chin and lips. He keeps you in place for the most part, but he doesn’t restrain your movements. If anything, he devours you with increased fervor.
“That’s right, baby. Ride it,” he mumbles against your folds.
He tightens his grip a bit as he licks broad stripes over your pussy. His nose nudges your swollen bundle of nerves, ripping sharp whimpers from you. You roll your hips into the sensation. He nearly whines while feeling the fluid motion. He keeps lapping at you like it was the task he was born to perform.
Then you feel a thrum on your hip, his fingers tapping. You look down, at first worried he needed you to get off. But looking down, you find his hooded eyes gazing back at you and his index finger gesturing behind you.
You turn to look and see his cock, rock hard, flushed red, leaking a few drops of pre cum onto his abdomen.
“You see how attracted to you I am?” he asks.
You moan loud as he returns to eating you out like it’s his final action. Seeing him so worked up from merely pleasuring you drives you wild and has you gushing all over his chin. You whimper and grind down onto his mouth some more. Your head falls back, your chest heaving and bouncing as you accept the euphoric feeling below. You reach down and tug at his hair. He practically growls and continues to work you to the edge. He pays some special attention to your clit and fucks his tongue into you to finally get you there.
“Be a good girl and cum all over my face,” he commands between licks.
You release with a yelp. Your hips buck as your body spasms. Thighs tremble violently before tensing and pressing against his ears. He smirks against the velvety junction and keeps going through the high.
Once you start to come down, he releases you from his grip and gives you a firm smack on the ass. You slump over and crumple up next to him on the bed. His face is shimmering with your release. His fingers swipe across his chin, collecting your slick that had coated the skin there. He sticks the digits in his mouth and hums in satisfaction as he licks them clean.
“Could eat that pussy for hours, it tastes so fucking sweet,” he says as he starts moving towards you again.
Now, it’s actually time for him to crawl on top of you. He rocks his hips against you as he goes in for more kisses. His cock drags against the smooth skin of your thigh, the sticky tip sliding back and forth. His wet fingers hold your jaw and keep your lips puffed out for him to kiss.
While he kisses you more, he spreads your thighs and slots himself between your folds. He moves himself up and down through the wetness that had gathered.
“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, “My gorgeous love doll.”
Teasing himself and you by gliding his tip over you a few more times, he then moves it down against your hole and enters you fully. He moans, his breath hitching as he sinks into your warm, wet embrace.
“Good girl. Squeeze around me just like that. So fucking tight,” he grunts.
He takes a moment to just feel you. Feel your walls pulsing around him. Feel your heated, squishy form against his firm one. But then he starts to move. He slowly works his shaft back. A long drawn out “fuck” leaves his mouth before he whispers a crisp “good god” while pressing back in.
He begins to pump into you with an even pace. He strokes nice and deep, keeping his movements consistent for you. You flutter around him and squirm slightly as he prods at your most sensitive spots. He leans back to look down at the spot where the two of you connect.
He watches his cock slide in and out of you, disappearing into your cunt time and time again. He’s obsessed with how your slick coats his shaft, dripping down to the base. His thumb comes to swipe over your clit quickly and give you some extra sparks of euphoria. You whine and arch your back at the touch.
“I know you have the perfect pussy. Made all for me,” he breathes, grinning as you shiver from the pleasure he inflicts upon you, “So responsive and sensitive just for me.”
You whimper and nod. Your hands claw at his back, digging into the muscles across his shoulders. He keeps slamming into you. His eyes roll back as his release builds. He mutters more praises and collapses on top of you again. He grinds and rolls himself into you rhythmically while you start to cling to him. It becomes harder to keep still as pressure mounts inside you, begging to burst.
“Wanna see my beautiful girl cum for me,” he mumbles while pressing sloppy kisses to your neck.
You pant and nod again. It was impending. All you needed was a few more thrusts. He swivels his hips, angling himself and swiping across more spots that drive you wild. It’s just a few moments later when your body seizes again and you let go with a loud cry. He can’t hold it either as he starts to shoot ropes of cum in you. You’re both shuddering, faces tense with absolute pleasure. He’s softly whimpering in your ear while your nails make deeper crescents on his shoulder blades.
He continues bucking into you, fucking his cum deeper. It’s almost like he can’t stop. It just feels too good. He can’t pull himself away even though the high is over and he’s already started to tumble down. You’re so blissed out that you don’t even complain of overstimulation, just let him go the few extra moments till he’s satisfied.
Once he is sated, he doesn’t pull out. He just stops moving his hips. His arms tighten around you, and he nestles his face in the crook of your neck where he can take in your scent with every breath.
“See what you do to me, baby?” he pants, “Wouldn’t change a thing about you. My girl, think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil imagines#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy imagine#resident evil smut#smut
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A Helping Hand | George Russell⁶³
Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader
Summary: feeling frustrated, you go to George for some aid where he offers to help you blow off some steam
Warnings: smut
A/N: goodness, this is the most I've spent on proofreading, rewriting and editing than on any of my other fics, probably because I babied this idea for a long time 💀 and probably because I was sick for the past few days that I couldn't do anything else except thinking about George taking care of me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 🥰
You were frustrated. The irritation was welling up inside you, and there was no telling why. And nothing going your way wasn’t helping either. But what it is that you always do whenever you feel like this?
You go to George.
George and you were best friends for as long as you could remember. He played enormous role in your life, in a way that you would often refer to him as an older brother. No one else even came close to being as important to you as he was. He was always there to listen when you needed to rant about something, and the two of you were just as comfortable sitting in silence as you were engaging in deep conversations. Today was no different.
You walked over to George's apartment, knowing that he wouldn't mind your unannounced visit. You knocked on the door and waited a few moments before he answered, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to vent about. The door opened, revealing George’s smiling face.
“Hey there, buddy,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “What’s got you so worked up?” he questioned upon seeing your slumped shoulders and frowning face.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m feeling a lot and it’s not good.” you walked further into his apartment, running a hand through your hair.
George followed behind you. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head, "I don't even know what's bothering me. I'm just feeling so damn… restless." and leaned against his kitchen bar.
George nodded his head, eyes fixed on your face. He knew that look and the manner in which you spoke. George had experienced this before with you. You would continue to speak until the words dried up, and he knew it was in his best interest to listen attentively. And he wanted to do just that. To be a friend and not interrupt for once your thoughts were drifting by. He loved the feeling of neediness you gave him.
So you started to spill your troubles. From everything that happened to you since you woke up to this very moment in the afternoon. He listened patiently, nodding and frowning in all the right places. You continued to talk, your words flowing out in a jumbled mess as you tried to make sense of your emotions. George listened intently, offering words of encouragement when needed. As you spoke, he moved closer to you.
It wasn’t a subtle move, you very much noticed him getting up and walking up to you, caging you in between his arms he rested on the counter behind you. He bowed his head so that his eyes were in level with yours and leaned forward, the words dying on your lips as he did so. Your faces were now only inches away, the air around you charged.
“When was the last time you got laid?” he asked.
You were taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “W-What?”
He took a step back, giving you space to breathe. “You, my friend, are sexually frustrated.”
You hadn't been with anyone in a while, he was right, like he always was, but “And how do you know that?” there was annoyance in your voice as you crossed your arms.
He sat down in one of his kitchen chairs, leaning on the table behind and legs spread lightly. “How long have we been friends for?”
“Almost twenty years. Why?” you frowned, not really seeing the point of this conversation.
He gave a slight nod in agreement. “And in that long period of time you think I wouldn’t have learned your,” his gaze traveled up your body until it finally settled on your eyes, “body language?” his tongue clicked.
You swallowed hard, feeling the atmosphere between you two shift. There was definitely an undercurrent of something more, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to go there just yet.
“This-That has nothing to do with this.” you choked out.
“So you’re saying,” he moved his head from side to side. “If I offered you a solution you would say no?” his eyes found yours again and his gaze was piercing.
You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as George's eyes locked with yours. You had expected a hug or some words of comfort, not a proposition. You knew what he was insinuating, and part of you was tempted to take him up on his offer. But the other part of you was hesitant, unsure if you were ready to cross that line with him.
You had to admit, the idea was tempting. George was an attractive man, and you had always felt a certain level of chemistry between the two of you. But did you want to risk your friendship for a moment of physical release?
“I…”
Upon noticing your hesitation, George decided for you. “Come here.” he patted his thigh.
Bolts of electricity ran through your body at his words. There was no denying that the idea of him taking care of you in that way was incredibly arousing. And before you made up your mind, your legs carried you over to him.
He took your arm, leading you in front of him. “Turn aroud. Sit down.” he instructed softly.
“On y-”
“Yes, y/n, on my lap.”
If he wanted to, he could pull you by the arms and just place you there, but he waited for you to slowly sit down yourself, resting your hands on his knees, your back to him.
“Good girl. Now,” he leaned forward, hugging your waist. “If in any moment you feel uncomfortable or just want to stop for whatever reason, I want you to tell me. Alright?”
“Okay.” you nodded, his intense stare more than you could handle.
You were familiar with being this close to George; you'd even slept in the same bed side-by-side without any issue. You had held each other before, but his touch was always comforting and platonic. This time however, something more hung in the air - an energy that made your heart race with anticipation.
“Good.” he kissed your tense shoulder.
George's hands caressed your body with practiced ease, gently running down your sides, across your abdomen, up and down your jean clothed thighs in order to help you relax. Gradually, you leaned into him, your breaths deeper. His lips smoothed over your neck and you let out an unwilling moan.
“You’re doing good.” he reassured and you nodded, affirming that you heard him.
His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, diving under to caress your stomach. They were warm, but your back arched on a sudden skin on skin contact. He stopped for a moment until you relaxed again. Moving upwards, his fingers grazed the lace of your bra before he glided his palms to cup them.
You gasped and bit your lip, surprised by the new sensation of his hands so close to your growing chest, and leaned back on him even more, your nipples hardening. You loved the way George touched you, the way he made you feel. His hands ran up and down between you and your bra, squeezing your globes. His lips found your ear, nibbling on its lobe before he spoke.
“You have a beautiful body.” he whispered huskily.
A shudder ran up your spine at the pure lust in his voice. His right hand slipped under the cup of your bra, freeing your breast. You didn’t protest, you felt good. Instead, you arched your back more, pressing your chest more against his hand. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple and pinched and pulled on it, making you moan.
George lowered his head and licked your neck, kissing it softly and nipping it occasionally. His left hand joined in the fun and massaged your other breast, pinching its nipple just as his right hand was doing. You clamped your eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of his touch.
“Sensitive, aren’t you?” he chuckled.
You leaned back once again, despite your best efforts. Now his right hand made its descend down your stomach, making you wriggle in his lap, and reached the button of your jeans. Popping it open, that’s when you opened your eyes as well.
“George,” you gulped and put your hand over his. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” he pulled you closer, pressing his lips reassuringly to your neck. “Are you not?”
“I’m just worried what it means to us, our friendship. I don’t want to ruin it.” you finally voiced your concerns.
“You won’t ruin it, babygirl.” he smoothed over your hair. “Friends help each other out, don’t they? You can look at it like that.”
“Yes, but…” We shouldn’t be doing this… you thought to yourself.
“We can stop if you-”
“No!” you were maybe a bit too quick to cut him off. “Let’s continue. I… I like it.” you could feel the heat rush into your cheeks.
He kissed your neck, working his way up to your ear. “I’m glad. Cause so do I.” his hand went back to what it was doing.
He pulled down your zipper, but didn’t push your pants down, exposing just your panties. His hand went back to your breasts, kneading them, feeling their weight. Every now and again his hand would brush past your nipple, sending tingles down your body.
You’re breathing was growing heavier, his hands were good at what they were doing and you didn’t want it to stop. He could feel you squirming in his lap, his smirk evident even though your head was turned.
“Someone’s excited.” he teased.
“S-Shut up.” you bit your lip, embarrassed.
His fingers dipped under the elastic line of your panties, and you were glad that you decided to shave that morning. His fingers ran over your mound slowly, feeling every curve, every spot. He circled around your clit, teasing you, before he moved further down, dipping one finger in a bit before pulling it back out.
You moaned and he chuckled. “You like that?” you nodded, trying to contain your moans. “You want me to continue?” you nodded again, too aroused to speak.
His fingers dipped deeper inside your folds, feeling the warm, wet sensation. When his fingers reached the bottom, he started to rub your entrance, pressing just a bit, sending pleasurable sparks through your body.
“Mhm,” he moaned into your ear, “my babygirl likes that.”
“Yes.” you shook your head, agreeing.
“Tell me.” he demanded.
“Yes, I like it. I want it.”
His finger pushed a bit further inside, and you bit your lower lip, unable to keep quiet. “You want what?” he asked in a low voice.
“I want it.” you said in a higher pitched voice, trying to sound like a grown woman. “I want your fingers inside of me.” you blushed.
“You want more?”
“Yes. Please.” you ground onto his finger, your hips following his thumb’s rhythm.
He pulled his hand out of your pants and you audibly expressed your dismay at the lack of contact. He responded by placing his hands on your hips and forcing you up off the chair. Tugging your jeans down, you stepped out of them and he was quick to pull you onto his lap once again. With a nudge from his knee, your thighs opened into a desirable position. His arm was securely locked around your waist, making sure that you wouldn't move away or slip off his lap.
“Now,” he played with your panties, pushing them aside. “You said you wanted more?”
“Yes, George. Please, George.” you whined.
“Only cause you said please.” he smirked and you could feel his teeth graze your skin.
His finger entered you again, slowly, stretching you, moving only an inch or so before pulling out again. When he felt that you were ready for more, he rhythmically started to finger you, gauging your reaction. His finger pushed a bit further in, making you squirm. He pulled it back out, a bit of your juices clinging to it before he thrust it back in. You gasped, feeling the full sensation of his finger inside of you. He added another finger, and you moaned, squirming on his lap, feeling so full. Your breathing had turned into moaning, echoing through the empty apartment in which you were in.
"Shh, babygirl, it's alright. You're doing good.” George’s free hand tangled in your hair, pulling it back, your exposed neck bared to him. He nibbled on it, biting and sucking, loving your reactions.
“Just, please, more.” you begged him.
“I don't think you're ready for that yet.”
His fingers became more insistent inside you, pushing deeper and deeper. He rubbed your g-spot, making your moans turn into pants.
“No, no, no, no.” you panted. “Please, just a bit more.”
“Would my babygirl like to come already?”
“Yes, please, I’m so close.” you said, almost crying, needing to come.
“Let me hear you say it.”
“George, please. I want it. I need it. Please.” you begged.
“God, I didn’t think hearing you beg would be such a turn on.” he confessed, his voice a deep rumble.
“Please, I need it. I need to come. I love it when you touch me like that. Please!” you were almost screaming by the end.
He went back on rubbing you, his fingers moving faster and faster. Slipping his thumb a few times inside you while his fingers were busy doing you, the other hand clamped on your hip for support. His thumb pushed in deeper, your juices coated it and he rubbed your g-spot with it, making you squeal.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” you said over and over again, panting.
“Come for me.” he hissed and his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you gently.
You didn’t even need his encouragement, your whole body was aching for release. His fingers moved faster, rubbing your g-spot, his thumb pressing hard against it. You were soaked, his fingers gliding inside you. You moaned, louder than before, mumbling incoherently.
Your hips bucked on his lap and he held you in place, his fingers continuing their assault on your body. You were his toy, his play thing, and you enjoyed it more than you should have. You didn’t care anymore, you were drowning in pleasure, letting it consume you.
Lights burst behind your eyelids when you came, biting hard into your lip, muffling your screams. Your whole body relaxed from the pleasure, your arms giving out and you would have fallen if he had not held you. You leaned against him, recovering from your orgasm. Your head was laid on his chest and all you could hear was his breathing, slowing down.
When the orgasmic waves subsided, you became aware of your surroundings again and blushed.
“Th-thank you.” you stammered, chest still rising and falling visibly.
“You’re welcome.” he kissed your temple. “Feeling better now?”
“Yes.” you nodded.
“Glad I could help.” he said, his fingers playing with your hair, combing them through.
“You did, but George… This can’t happen again.” you finished, standing up to find your jeans. It was just an excuse to put some physical distance between you for you don’t think you could get the last part over your lips if you were still sitting on his lap.
“Oh,” was all he said. You couldn’t determine was he disappointed or the realization hit him.
“We are friends and I want it to stay that way. You are too important for me to lose over... such thing.” you zipped up your pants.
“I understand.” he said, his voice not betraying his true feelings.
You had expected it to be hard to say it, but it didn’t feel like a lie at all, it felt like the truth. It felt like the right thing to do.
“Thank you.”
He meekly nodded. “Do you want to stay over? We can watch tv or something…” he trailed off.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Okay.” he smiled and you smiled back.
You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets on his couch, laughing as you watched bad television shows and poking fun at the characters and plots. Between you two was no uneasiness; you were laughing together like earlier events hadn't happened. And that moment looked like a promise that, no matter what, nothing will ever change between you two.
Or so you thought...
Next part
#george russell x reader#george russell x you#george russell x y/n#george russell x oc#george russell imagine#george russell smut#george russell fanfic#george russell fluff#george russell oneshot#george russell#george russel x reader#george russel imagine#george russel#gr63#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x oc#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 smut#formula 1 fluff#formula one fanfiction#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n
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The One You Need | one
🎶 I spent most my life thinkin' love was out of reach,
so maybe just this once,
you could be the one I need,
if you let me be the one you need 🎶
Pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader
Rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni
Summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life.
Warnings/Tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], slow burn [ish], hyper-independent reader, a bit of a misandrist mindset [boys are problems], mentions of family drama/turmoil, passing mention of death [elderly neighbor], brief non-violent use of a pocket knife, mention of stabbing [as self-defense], furniture building, reader described as female, hair long enough to tie up, no other physical descriptions, eventual smut, protective!joel, soft!joel, no use of y/n.
Word Count: 4.6k
Series Masterlist | part two
a/n: this is my first time writing with this sort of format so pls be gentle. i’ve done my best to tag as thoroughly as possible, but if you think i’ve missed something, let me know. i have no outline for this. but i’ve got a whim and a direction and i’m going with it.
**please read the warnings/tags for every part as they will be updated**
✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿
You’d done it. Finally. No one ever thought you would, including you. And yet, here you were, lugging your sparse personal belongings out of the back of a U-Haul truck and in through the front door of your new home. And for once in your adult life, it wasn’t in some impersonal apartment building or complex. It was a house. In a town that was actually affordable, though it was further from home than you might’ve preferred. A town that was away from family, which had been the impetus, but also away from friends, which hadn’t been.
There was a perk to this being the first house you’d ever moved into. Being confined to seven hundred square feet had meant there was only so much room to fill. And it had all been cozy. But now there was a bit more space to work with. Not to say this house was large by any stretch of the imagination – it was on the smaller side of all the houses in the neighborhood – but you had rooms now. And as you loaded in different boxes and suitcases full of clothes and books, you realized how much of the space was going to be left empty. With the exception of a mattress, bed frame, dresser, a couple chairs, and bookcases, you left every other large piece of furniture behind. Couches, dining table, kitchen chairs, media console, TV… you planned on buying all of that in town. You only wanted to bring what you felt you could move yourself.
It was the season of life you were in. Young enough for people to say you had time before focusing on creating a family for yourself, but not young enough to avoid their awkward and worried glances when you told them you were only focused on your career. It was odd; never something that settled right. With each birthday, every time a candle was added, the world around you seemed less secure with your aloneness. As if you, a single female, were something of a threat to the rest of the world. Your solitude, an act of rebellion. God forbid you didn’t have a man to look after you. In your experience, boys didn’t do too good a job at much. Were they useful? Absolutely. You’d much rather delegate tasks to a boy than have to do them yourself. Mow the lawn, fix a creaky door, seal a drafty window, get you off… sure, there were any number of things a boy could do, but not only were they not necessary, you generally found you were better at any job than they were. That had been instilled in you long before you began dating.
How many times had it been proven that dad could not be held accountable for his entire emotional spectrum? And instead you, a mere child, were to be responsible for it. Though it wasn’t always bad – somewhere deep down you knew your parents had done the absolute best they knew how to do with the tools they had – but the emotion dad was never short on was anger. Thus, it was the emotion he was most comfortable expressing. And yes, you apparently were the catalyst for all of his loud expressions of anger and rage. Everything was always conditional. I’m sorry but you did this…
I love you but…
By the time dating had entered your life (which only happened post-college), let’s just say no therapist was surprised by the pattern of boys you chose to have in your life. All of them modeled the thing you were familiar with, which only served to imbed the quality you hated most about yourself. There was a tendency to accept any treatment a boy was willing to give you, without expressing needs or desires or even if there was a problem. Boundaries? Never heard of her. As far as boys were concerned, they seemed to have carte blanche over you. Your own resentment and anger would grow by the lack of your needs (which had never been verbally expressed) being met, until you’d had enough and cut them off. Every new relationship felt like a complete betrayal of yourself.
The highly independent and ‘don’t need a man’ personality quirk had strung a ribbon of apathy around your life. You liked to think of it that way. Like a Christmas bow around a present. Realizing you didn’t care about forming intimate relationships with men seemed a little less painful when given the image of a box neatly wrapped beneath a tree donning tinsel and colorful lights. It was at that point, while pondering your ribbon of apathy and clumsily shoving your mattress up the front porch steps, that a voice interrupted your progress.
“Lemme help ya’ with that, ma’am,”
The voice had arms. And those arms were simultaneously reaching for the same end of the mattress you already had hands on. Instinctively, you tugged your bed out of reach, “I got it.” But hands kept coming. They were insistent. Of course they were a man’s hands. A woman would’ve listened the first time. So with an extra strong tug and a tone that spat fire, you turned toward the owner of the hands and stood your ground, “I said, I got it!”
Dark brown eyes that almost looked black had the sun not been playing in their favor. They were soft. Gentle. Despite the fact that he’d just gotten yelled at. And those soft dark brown eyes… well they looked dumbfounded. Whether it was because of the volume of the statement or the fact that people generally didn’t turn down friendly help here in the South, he lifted his hands off the mattress and held them up innocently.
The force with which your action had been committed meant that the moment he released the bed, you went stumbling over, the entire thing thudding down on the porch. You shot him another icy glare as he slowly backed off the steps, though he remained in place and watched you crouch down to lift your mattress once again; the pad now harboring dirty stains.
“Can I help you with something in the truck?” He offered again. Unwanted persistence was a uniquely male quality.
“I don’t need your help, thanks. I got it,”
He watched for just a second longer at the image of you fumbling with the heavy mattress, barely able to keep it upright. Then he turned on his heels and went back from whence he came. Which you came to realize, when you looked over your shoulder to ensure he’d actually gone, was across the street and a few houses down. Fuck. Back in California, not too many people were neighborly but it wasn’t a point you were hoping to make. Especially not on the first day. There was a quaintness to the idea of a neighborhood full of people who liked and looked out for one another. You’d just hoped that would’ve come in the form of some old, opinionated woman sipping tea in a rocking chair on her front porch. The kind that maybe the kids were afraid of, but she was awesome. That’s when it came to mind that maybe that was the void in the neighborhood you were filling. You were to be the crotchety old woman, yelling at “those darn kids”. Fabulous.
Unfortunately (for no other reason than your own ego) you only got the mattress in through the threshold of the front door before it fell to the side and flopped back down to the floor. With a sigh and a thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad if it just lived there, you stepped over it and padded into the kitchen. Managed to place the boxes designated to the room in it, but had yet to unpack anything. You turned on the tap and tilted your head to the side, leaning in to take a sip of water directly from it. Only to find that upon turning off the tap and looking out the bay window by the sink, the man that had offered to help was visible from his yard. He wheeled out his trash and recycling bins to the curb. Resting his hands on his hips, he glanced around and took stock of the neighborhood. All seemed quiet and to his liking.
✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿
Joel liked routine. Habit-forming had become a sort of habit. It meant he knew what his days looked like. It meant he was prepared. And after having been handed a life where being ill-prepared meant something was going wrong, there was great comfort in knowing how things were going to go day by day. Though he wasn’t rigid. He could include new things in his routine. For instance…
One morning he woke up, made his usual pot of coffee before work, and stood out on his porch. It’d be one of his only moments to slow down and actually notice the day. That’s when he noticed something new in his routine. A “For Sale” sign went up on Mrs. Wilson’s front lawn. Everyone in the neighborhood had been expecting it because, well, Mrs. Wilson had passed away. In her sleep one night. Joel thought that must’ve been the nicest way to go. And every morning, he’d go out on his porch and ponder Mrs. Wilson before carrying on with the rest of his routine. As such, he saw when it sold and went into escrow. He saw Mrs. Wilson’s son move out all of his mother’s old furniture until the place was left empty. Everything was routine.
That is, until the U-Haul showed up this morning. It was a small one and he remembered thinking there was no way that little truck contained enough furniture to fill up that house. But he brushed it off, continued with his routine, and went off to work. Though he had to admit, he was wholly curious about the new neighbor he was about to inherit.
He left his jobsite early afternoon, his truck ambling back to his house when another neighbor waved him down to stop him.
“Hey, Mr. Cole,” Joel smiled at the elderly man. Mr. Cole had been the first one to greet Joel when he’d first moved into town. Mr. Cole knew everything going on in the neighborhood, courtesy of Mrs. Cole.
“You see that gal move into Mrs. Wilson’s house?”
Joel nodded, “saw that woman move in, yeah.”
“Mighty pretty,”
Joel chuckled, “surely not as pretty as Mrs. Cole,”
“I don’t know,”
Joel laughed a little harder. “I’ll see ya’ around. Stop snoopin’.”
He’d only just arrived back home and parked his truck in the driveway when he saw you struggling with the mattress. And his mama raised him better than that so he went to offer his help. There hadn’t been a fiber in his being that thought you’d snap back like you had. That’s why he tried a second time. And when the second snap was stronger than the first, he raised his hands and backed off.
Shit. Out-of-towners were getting meaner and meaner.
He meandered to his house and only looked back once, just in time to see the mattress fall to the floor just inside the front door. He smiled to himself and continued on with his routine as much as possible. Tomorrow was trash day which meant the bins needed to be brought out. Simple enough task, just the way he liked it. He liked it even more when he spotted a glimpse of you looking at him through your kitchen window.
✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿
You forwent unpacking anything that day. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing you pulled out would truly have a place to live until you got the furniture situation handled. And seeing as though your bed was still in the entryway, you figured there were bigger problems to handle. But just by looking at the hallway, and the thin doorways, you knew you were going to have a hell of a time bending and twisting the mattress to your will… and the architecture. Grocery shopping proved to be more time-sensitive, and once the fridge was as fully stocked as your bank account would allow, it already started to feel more like home. Which also meant, the way you’d snapped at your neighbor started to bother you more. You had to live in this person’s realm – whatever that looked like. He was your neighbor, and short of literally becoming the crotchety old woman that never left her home, there wasn’t a way for you to avoid him altogether. He seemed to have a lot of friends on the block. That’s also when you decided to suck up to your pride. To apologize to this man who really didn’t deserve an apology at all. Whatever it took to just live in peace.
The more you thought about it, the more it angered you. That was pretty par for the course. It would’ve been more odd if a man wasn’t pissing you off. It was still running through your mind as you plucked a six-pack from your fridge and crossed the street in the direction of his house. You thought about how you were going to have to plaster a phony smile on your face and make niceties to this person who you didn’t want to get to know. You just wanted to live. And you thought you’d have more time. As you ascended his porch steps, you made for the front door, zeroed in on it.
“Hey,”
The voice startled you, tripping over your own feet and stumbling, very nearly losing the six-pack of bottles to the wooden porch. You glanced over at him, and in the dim light his porch light gave off, watched him take an acoustic guitar out of his lap and set it beside his chair.
“Hi,” you mumbled and walked in his direction. “I’m your new neighbor,”
“I know. You yelled at me,”
You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t yell at you. I was just letting you know–”
“S’for me?”
You looked back down at him and noticed how he pointed at the six-pack of beer. “We got off on the wrong foot and I just want to live in peace and quiet so,” gesturing to the beer, “peace offering.” You handed the pack to him.
Joel cradled the cardboard sleeve in his lap and pulled out a bottle. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. I just came to drop them off,”
He flicked his eyes up and pulled out a second bottle. Then, setting the remaining bottles on the floor beside him, he twisted the first cap off. “S’not nice to yell at someone and then refuse their offer to share a drink,”
“I didn’t yell at you,”
“Sit down.”
And for whatever reason, you listened. In the past, had any man spoken to you like that, especially one you didn’t know from Adam, you’d’ve smacked him. But not this time. This time you sat in the chair perched next to his and awkwardly took the open beer from his hand when he passed it over to you.
The silence that ensued was tense and palpable. Neither willing to bend first. Joel kept his eyes focused on his beer bottle and you kept your focus on… him. Naturally suspicious and wary, you thought if you kept your gaze on him, you’d catch him before he did anything out of hand. But really all you noticed was the way his nose had a slight downward curve to it. And the way the graying hair at the back of his head curled along his neck. And the way his beard, also graying, came in in patches, but in the most endearing way. Wrinkles and worry lines had etched their way deep in his forehead. Crow’s feet found a home in the corners of his eyes. Both told you this was a man who had felt and lived a lot of life: the good and the bad. You thought you saw a small scar on his cheek just below his eye, but you couldn’t be sure. The man was middle-aged. His skin and hands gave the appearance he was a blue-collar, working man who’d spent his life in the beating sun.
“Get everything moved in?” He took a sip and eyed you, aware that you were nodding, but still the glance he gave you made you think he knew you were lying. Obviously you were.
“My bed is still by the front door,” you relented.
“Not where I’d recommend a bedroom be, but to each their own,”
“I can’t get it down the hallway by myself.” You tried to ignore that he seemed to light up at the admission. You? Needing his help? “It’s too narrow,”
“Want help?”
You looked at him almost incredulously. Had you treated California neighbors the way you treated them, you'd have been lucky if you didn’t find your car keyed the next day. But he was offering his help? Again?
“You’d help me after the way I yelled at you?”
He pursed his lips and shrugged. “You didn’t yell at me,” another smile flashed over his face and he looked over at you again.
You hated that it made you smile, too. Yet you waved him off. “That’s alright. I’ll figure out a way,”
Joel chuckled and shook his head, taking a pause before he downed another long sip of his beer.
“What?” You urged.
“S’nothin’,'' he shook his head again with another grin. “Know you probably could figure out a way, but… s’just that you don’t need to. Why won’t you let me help you?”
You sucked in a deep breath, “look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy…” you trailed off realizing you didn’t know his name more than referring to him to yourself as that nosy neighbor guy.
He seemed to pick up on it and pointed to himself, “Joel. Miller,”
“But I don’t need a guy to get on with life, y’know? I’m a self-sufficient woman. I don’t need to rely on anyone but myself.”
Joel finished off his beer and stood up from his chair, “acceptin’ help when it’s offered isn’t relying on anyone else. It just makes life easier.” He started down the steps and crossed over his lawn.
“Where’re you going?!”
“To move your bed!”
Leaping up from your chair, you ran after him, in quick pursuit as he neared your home. You knew it was a wreck inside. Trash and boxes everywhere. Not ready for any visitors, even ones you didn’t want there in the first place.
“Really! It’s alright.” When that didn’t stop him from advancing toward your house, you tried another path, “the bed frame’s not even put together!”
“Then I’ll put it together,” he said over his shoulder, nearly in your front yard now.
You managed to lunge forward and grab onto his jacket sleeve, effectively stopping his advance. At least for the time being. “I don’t usually let men I don’t know into my home,”
“What?”
“You know… in case they’re crazy and kill me.”
Joel furrowed his eyebrows, utterly perplexed. He tried to make heads or tails of you as a whole and was having a hell of a time trying to do so. But he shoved his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and produced from it, a pocket knife. He unfolded it, which gave you some pause, but then he quickly held it out for you to take. You did, and as soon as the small weapon left his hand, he turned and continued toward your porch.
“Hey! What am I supposed to do with this?!”
“Stab me,”
“What?!”
He ascended the porch steps and waited at your front door, where you soon joined him. “If I do something weird, and you think I’m gonna kill you in your own house, you can stab me. Full permission,”
You looked down at the knife, and then back up at Joel.
“Can you open your door?”
Gulping down nerves, “it’s unlocked.”
“Still,” Joel pressed a smile, “I’m not in the habit of letting myself into women’s homes. I’d prefer if you opened it and let me in.”
For the second time today, you found yourself doing something all because a man told you to do so and you wondered if the move was making you soft. Regardless, you reached past Joel, pressed down on the lever, and nudged the door open. It stopped short from opening all the way as it hit the edge of your mattress. Joel flicked his eyes at you, as if silently saying see, you need me.
He shimmied his way in, with you close behind, half-heartedly pointing the pocket knife in his direction. He bent over and picked the mattress up off the floor, seemingly with ease. Though you did hear his knees click when he crouched down, but due to his age, you thought better than to bring it to attention. Hell, even your knees creaked every now and again.
“I’ll go backwards and steer it. Think you can be the muscle?” He waited until you nodded and set the knife down, and gathered your hair in a messy bun on top of your head to keep it out of the way. Poised at the other end of the mattress, he lined it up for its plight down the hallway. “Alright, nice and easy,” he began to pull, feeling more frictionless movement as you began helping on the other end. It wasn’t too hard; more awkward than anything. But he guessed the mattress weighed as much as, if not more than, you, so by yourself it must’ve been like dragging dead weight around. “Easy, easy,” he murmured, tilting the mattress to the side to accommodate for the doorjamb, “that’s it. Take it slow,” he elongated the end of the word, completely focused on the side of the mattress as it brushed along the door. “We’re in,”
You helped him lean the mattress out of the way and against the wall. “Thanks for your help, Joel,” you backed up toward the door, hoping he’d follow you.
But he ignored you completely, and instead found the parts to your metal bed frame laying on the floor. He lowered himself to his knees and inspected it. “You got a Phillips head?”
“Joel…”
“S’gonna take me ten minutes. The longer you stall, the longer I’m gonna be here.”
He had a point. And a very good one at that. So you turned and all but ran down the hall, searching for the box you’d so astutely labeled as “tools”. A fear set in that the longer you were away, the more time Joel had to go through your belongings (albeit sparse). You didn’t want him getting too comfortable in your home, least of all in your bedroom. So you rushed, tore open the “tools” box, dug through it until you found the screwdriver, and then raced back down the hall as if you’d have time to catch him snooping. But as soon as you arrived back in your bedroom doorway, you didn’t find him snooping. You found him still on his knees, crawling around, laying the different parts out to make the square your bed would soon sit on.
Joel smiled when he noticed you returned, and held his hand up to take the screwdriver from you. Only when he grabbed it, his face turned to horror and he grimaced at the pink floral design on the handle. “What’s this?”
“A screwdriver,”
“It’s got flowers on it,” he protested.
“It’s cute!”
He chuckled and started putting the bed frame together. “Y’know they charged you thirty percent more because they slapped flowers on it and marketed it toward women,”
You sat on the floor beside him and watched him work. “Well if I have to be the man in my life, my tools are gonna be a little more feminine,”
Joel glanced at you momentarily. Just long enough to question your statement, but not long enough for you to really notice he’d stopped working at all. “What about the actual man in your life?”
“Don’t have one. Don’t need one. I’ve got my floral tool set to prove it,”
A hum was the only acknowledgement Joel gave to that. As if that answered all his questions.
“What?”
“You talk a lot about how you don’t need anyone. I’m gatherin’ you actually only mean you don’t need a man. Which is fine and all, but s’just that that seems kinda lonely.” He set the screwdriver down and held the next two pieces together. “You remind me of me ten years ago. Stubborn. Determined to be alone.” He moved on to the next piece, “thing is… if you don’t need anyone, it also kind of implies that you’re not needed by anyone. And what good is life if you can’t give yourself to someone in that way?”
Jaw-dropped, you gathered yourself, eyes widening. “Wow, your wife must love having you as a husband,”
He smiled and chuckled, “I don’t have a wife.”
“So what do you know about giving yourself to someone and being needed?”
Joel flashed his eyes to you. Gentle and filled with love, “I have a daughter. Sarah. She’s in college now. She’s quite literally the best thing that’s ever happened in my life,”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a father,”
“‘Cause I look so young?” He grinned and tightened one final screw. With the frame now positioned where it needed to be, he stood up and went back to your mattress. You scooted out of the way as he single-handedly maneuvered it onto the frame and adjusted it until it was just perfect. “Check it off the to-do list. Now you can get a good night’s sleep,”
You admired his work and it wasn’t lost on you that it only took him a third of the time it would’ve taken you. Before you’d even gotten through that realization, Joel had already passed you and had made his way back out to the hall, where he walked down it back toward your front door. You followed after him, remaining quiet as he picked up his pocket knife from where you’d left it and tucked it back into his pant pocket. His hand got to the doorknob and you still hadn’t spoken, so he was the one to bite the bullet.
“You know, I never got your name.”
Heat crept up your neck, trying to make a home in your cheeks, as you mentioned your name to him. He smiled and nodded but offered nothing more, so you figured it was still your turn. “Thanks for your help, Joel,”
“No problem,” he waved you off.
“Maybe if more guys were like you, I wouldn’t hate them so much,”
“Give it time. You’ll be back to yellin’ at me soon.” He opened the front door and took a step through it. “Give me a holler if you need something, you know where I live,”
“Will do,”
He started to close the door but then opened it again and poked his head through. “Make sure you lock the door this time,”
You pressed a smile and approached the door where he waited until your hand was on the knob. With one last quiet goodbye, he pulled the door shut and you followed it up by locking it. Then with little time to spare, you ran to the window in the living room to watch him walk away. He pressed his hands into his pockets and looked around. Then a smile stretched over his face and he kicked at the grass before he crossed the street and moseyed back to his house.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#the one you need#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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Résumé
Pairing: Eren x f!reader
Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Word Count: ~2.7k
cw: porn without plot, implications of cheating, office sex, boss x employee power dynamic, potentially corrupt business practices, sexually explicit content/smut – PIV sex (doggy, cowgirl), cunnilingus, fingering, sex without a condom, dirty talk, degrading language, lingerie
Summary: Today is your anniversary and unfortunately, your husband forgot. Luckily, there’s a potential new hire you’re interviewing who will surely appreciate the special lingerie you’re wearing. Author’s Notes: This is partially inspired by this incredible soundgasm I listened to (listener discretion is advised, put your headphones on before you listen!), but I changed up a few details. Reblogs and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Hearing directly from you is highly encouraging and keeps me motivated to keep writing! Thank you for reading! Divider created by @/saradika!
There’s a knock on your door. You sit at the desk in your office, glancing at the bottom left corner of the computer screen, checking the time: 12:05 PM. He’s late. The potential new hire you’re interviewing today was supposed to arrive by noon. If you weren’t already in a bad mood, you’d dismiss it.
Today is your wedding anniversary. Half the day has passed, and your husband still has not mentioned anything about it. At this rate, you’d bet money that he forgot. He’s messaging you like normal, no indication that he remembers this special occasion. You could be the bigger person and gently remind him. In his defense, he’s been stressed at his job, and sure, it’s easy for things to slip in his jumbled mind. But your wedding anniversary? How could he forget that?
A second knock comes. You refocus your attention to work, burying your marital dilemma in the back of your mind. “Come in,” you respond, patting flat any wrinkles on your blouse.
In comes a handsome man, brunette hair tied into a fashionably messy bun, outfitted in a dark suit and tie, a light pink dress shirt underneath. He flashes you a smile, still holding the handle, closing the door. “Sorry I’m late. No one was out there to assist me, so I got a little lost finding your office.”
You clear your throat, shuffling the stack of papers in front of you, momentarily taken aback by his striking appearance. “I sent everyone to lunch, so it’s just you and me in here.”
“I see.” The grin remains on his face as he reaches into his backpack, passing you a sheet of paper. “Here’s my résumé.” He takes a seat in the sofa chair facing you, setting his bag on the floor next to him.
You scan the document quickly, starting from the top, reading aloud the first couple of lines. Your mind keeps wandering to your husband, so you fail to retain any of the information shared on that piece of paper. At the end, you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Are you alright?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.
“I’m just…I’m a little distracted right now. My mind is all over the place and I didn’t prepare for this interview. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay. We all have stuff we’re dealing with. Do you want to talk about it?” He looks at you with concern in his eyes. More emotion than what your husband has given you all day. At least this guy sees you.
You lay his résumé to the side, setting your palms flat on the surface. “Well, I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to tell you this.”
He smirks. “Hey, I won’t say a word. Everything said in here is between you and me…boss.”
You raise a brow at him. “Promise to keep it a secret?” He nods, miming a key locking his mouth shut and tossing it over his shoulder.
“Well, my no-good husband forgot that today is our anniversary.”
His eyes widen, surprised. “Wow. Really?”
“Yup.”
Scoffing, he replies, “What an asshole. How could he forget that?”
“You tell me.” You relax into the seat, feeling more at ease with him listening to you with intrigue. “You want to know what the worst part is?”
“Tell me.”
“I’m wearing something special for him right now, and I won’t even be able to show it off.”
The bump in his throat bobs, swallowing hard. “Something special?”
“Mm-hm,” you hum, propping your elbow on the desk, knuckles tucked under your chin. “How awful, right?”
He sinks back into the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. You do your best not to glance at his crotch, prominently displayed in this position. “Very. That prick doesn’t deserve to see you in that.”
You gaze at each other, the sexual tension thick and heavy in the air. Before you get carried away, you snap out of it and retrieve his résumé, clearing your throat. “Anyways, you’re definitely qualified for the job, based on your skills and previous experience.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“Are there any other skills you have that you didn’t include here?”
He smirks. “I have quite a few, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to list them on a formal document.”
“Oh?” You eye him curiously. “Can you tell me one of them?”
He thinks for a couple of seconds, choosing his words carefully. “I’m really good at appreciating people.”
This catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting an answer like this. “Appreciating…? Can you elaborate?”
He strokes his chin, contemplating before explaining, “Well, for example, I know that I can truly appreciate that special something you’re wearing. More than your lousy husband can.” There’s a wicked smirk forming at his lips.
You give him a small laugh, amused by his response. “Oh yeah?”
He shifts in his seat, biting his lower lip, nodding. “If I was your husband, I’d fucking worship you.”
You squeeze your thighs together, pussy throbbing between your legs, aroused. Heat rushes into your cheeks, flustered by this sudden turn of events. This is bad. Very, very bad. You’re married and today is your anniversary, the last thing you should ever do is cheat on your husband with this random stranger. Especially one that you’re interviewing to hire. You’re better than this.
On the other hand, he hasn’t bothered to call you today to wish you a happy anniversary. Based on this, it doesn’t seem like he cares about the sanctity of marriage, so why should you? You have this man before you, actually willing to appreciate you. And, with the office empty, who would know if you stepped into the dark side just this once?
With your decision made, you stand up, stepping towards him, leaning against the front of your desk. He watches you attentively, waiting in anticipation for you to make the first move. You start to undo the top button of your blouse, asking, “Do you really think you can keep this a secret, Eren?”
The sound of his name on your sultry lips has his cock twitching beneath his slacks, aching to be touched. “I definitely can,” he answers, gulping down the spit collecting in his salivating mouth.
You slide your skirt down, slowly revealing your sheer thong, outlined in black lace, embroidered with a delicate floral pattern across the mesh fabric. His eyes are carnal at the sight, watching your little strip tease intently. Twirling to reveal the backside, you turn your head to see his reaction. He bites his fist, gaze focused on your bare ass, the string of lingerie nestled between your cheeks.
He curses under his breath, running his fingers through his hair, nervous and excited. “You’ve been wearing this all day?”
You unbutton the rest of your top, matching bra gradually coming into view. “All day long. It was supposed to be a surprise for my husband, but I guess it’ll be a special treat for you instead.”
“Lucky me.” He licks his lips when you shrug your top off, lingerie on full display now. His expression is hazy with lust, eyeing you up and down repeatedly, letting this image of you sink into his brain, cock strained inside his pants, desperate for release. He can’t take it anymore; he needs you.
“Sit there and spread your legs for me,” he demands, getting up from his chair to tower over you. Following his command, you hop on, ass pressed to the smooth laminate, thighs splayed for him. “I’m going to give you what you deserve.”
He bends down, grazing his lips on the embroidered flowers. Chuckling, he tips his chin up to peer at you. “You’re such a fucking slut, wearing this to the office. What would your employees say if they find out about this?”
You smirk at him, tugging his hair with your fist, shoving him closer to your pussy. “They won’t. This is our little secret, remember?”
His laughter vibrates against you as he sucks on your clit through your panties, the fabric thin enough to feel him on you. “Whatever you say, boss.” He laps at your bud until your underwear is wet with his drool, shiny with your cum. With his thumb, he teases your entrance, slipping past the thin string of your thong.
“Fuck, Eren,” you swear, throwing your head back.
“I love it when you say my name,” he muffles, fingers now gripping your panties to the side, eating you out sloppily. He pulls off to dribble his thick saliva on you, latching on again to smear it on your clit. His thumb is pressed to your entrance, prodding into your slippery cunt ever-so-slightly. You climax, his lips puckered tight on your puffy bud, suckling relentlessly until his thumb is coated in your cum.
“Look at this creamy pussy. All for me.” He runs his tongue along your sticky mess, collecting it in his mouth to swallow. You lower your legs, draping them over the edge of the table, weak and unsteady from the intense orgasm. He straightens up to kiss you, lips glossy with your cum. After a few more clumsy kisses, he peels off your lingerie, rolling it over your skin until it’s coiled in on itself down at your ankles, bunching it in his fist. “These are all ruined now. Your husband will never see these. It’s for me and only me.” He places it in his pocket, then sits on the sofa chair, patting his thighs, beckoning you to sit. Before you do, he quickly unbuckles his belt and unzips, letting his pants drop around his ankles as he whips his hard dick out.
You step towards him, straddling his lap, nodding, “Only for you.”
He cups your cheek, thumb gently brushing your skin. “Forget about him. Focus on me. It’s our day now, isn’t it?”
The low growl in his voice has you mesmerized. “Yes. Oh god, yes.” It’s all so wrong, but in this moment, you don’t care. All you can think about is being bounced on his cock, milking him until you’re stuffed full of his load. So much that it spills and stains the cushions, a constant reminder of the obscenities that are about to occur in this office.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he says, glancing at your arousal. “Bet your husband never ate you out like that. Has he ever fucked you in this office before?”
Desperate to feel more of him, you grind your hips, eagerly watching his pretty cock ooze with precum from the tip. “Never.” You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, revealing your breasts to him.
“Fuck, so I’m really the first to christen it. Already putting me to work, huh?” Fingers wrapped around his shaft, he taps the head of his cock on your clit, laughing when you whine from the contact. He rubs it across your swollen bud, his other hand fondling your tits, thumb caressing your peaked nipples.
“Oh fuck,” you groan, gripping his shoulders to lift yourself onto him. “I want it, Eren. Give it to me.”
“So eager, can’t even wait,” he grunts, lowering you onto him, cursing when your pussy squeezes his length. “Fuck.”
You ride him slowly, his hands grasping your waist, guiding you lazily while you do most of the work. He fits perfectly inside your wet cunt, gliding in smoothly with each bounce, hitting your sweet spot deeper and deeper. Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, drool leaking from the corners of your lips, fucked-out and in total bliss.
“My new boss is being such a slut for me. Is this what you expect when you hire me? For me to fuck you stupid every day until you’re leaking from all your holes? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He skims your lips with his thumb, wiping away your spit.
“Fuck, Eren! Yes, I want that!” you cry out, the chair creaking beneath you as you spring up and down.
“I bet your husband doesn’t know how much of a fucking whore you are. You nasty slut.” He pulls you closer to him, mouth hot on your ear. “He doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t deserve this gorgeous fucking pussy.” He holds you snug, thrusting his hips up in tandem with you. You come like this, cradled in his arms, coating his cock in your slick. You catch your breath, relaxing on top of him.
Nuzzling his nose on your cheek, he asks, “Are you okay?”
You smile, giggling softly. “Yeah.”
“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Soon, you’re bent over your desk, being pounded by him from behind. His and your moans echoing off the walls of your office, along with the wet slaps of his pelvis smacking your ass. “Fuck! Right there!”
“You’re so fucking bad, cheating on your husband with me. Letting me fuck this unfaithful pussy,” he growls, slamming his hips against you. “If he were me, I’d fuck you so good you wouldn’t even think about anyone else. Make it so that you’re addicted to this cock. Can’t go a single day without it balls deep inside you.”
He continues to spit filth at you, firing backshot after backshot until you orgasm again, this time with him, spilling every last drop of his load inside you. He slowly pulls out, moaning when he sees his warm cum gush from your slit. “God, that was amazing,” he says, grabbing the tissue box next to your computer, wiping the mess dripping down your legs.
You’re too exhausted to respond coherently, crumpled on the desk, listening to him pick up all the discarded clothing scattered on the carpet. When he’s done changing into his professional attire, he slides his hands around your waist, carefully hoisting you up into a standing position with him behind you. “You okay, sweetie?”
You crane your neck to kiss him, smiling. “Mm-hm.”
He offers to put on your clothes, first the bra, then the blouse, one sleeve at a time. Squatting down to help you step into your skirt, he slaps your ass playfully. You have no choice but to go commando, your ruined panties still in his pocket. The two of you look at each other, giggling at your glazed expressions from the aftermath of sex. You reach towards him, fixing his collar. He flips his wrist, checking the time on his watch. “I should probably head out now. It’ll take me a while to get to the other side of the building.”
“Yeah, and you know how Levi gets.” You wrap your arms around your husband’s shoulders, giving him a smooch on the cheek. “You’ll never hear the end of it if you’re late for the interview.”
“I’ll blame you then,” he smirks. “Besides, I’m a shoo-in.”
“Don’t be so cocky! Levi isn’t going to hire you just because you’re friends.”
“But you’d hire me, right?”
“Absolutely not. You’re a fucking menace.” And you mean this whole-heartedly. After all, this was his idea. Once he found out that he got a job interview at your company, under a separate department run by your mutual friend, he came up with this fantasy of you, his sexy boss wife, being fucked by him, the potential new hire, during the interview. And when it just so happened to be scheduled on the day of your wedding anniversary, he couldn’t help himself, adding the element of cheating into his twisted, dark role-play of his. You give yourself some credit, though: The lingerie really was a special surprise for him, which worked exactly the way you wanted it to.
He feigns a shocked expression. “I can’t believe my own wife wouldn’t hire me! How rude!” He pulls you into a hug, kissing you along your neck. “Maybe you need another good fuck to change your mind.”
You laugh, shoving him off. “Get out of here! Seriously, you’re going to be late.”
“Okay, okay. I’m leaving. I’ll call you when it’s done,” he says, kissing you on the forehead. “And don’t forget we have reservations at six tonight.”
“I remember. I love you! Good luck,” you tell him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
He gazes at you, smiling. “I love you, too. And happy anniversary.”
#eren smut#eren jaeger#eren x you#eren x y/n#eren x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x you#eren jaeger x female reader#eren x fem!reader#aot smut#attack on titan smut#eren jaeger imagines#eren yeager#eren aot#eren jeager x y/n#attack on titan#snk smut#snk eren
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