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neesieiumz · 7 months

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catharsis || ──────── s. aizawa

day five — SOMNOPHILIA / VOICE KINK / DADDY KINK

『 synopsis 』 after a long patrol, your husband comes with an ache only you can sate, only to find you deep in sleep

『 warnings 』 — 18+. sm*t. minors do not interact. husband!aizawa. pro-hero!reader. p*orn with very little plot. that's why it's shorter than my normal fics. established relationship. she is a natural disasters hero. and he has his normal job. somnophilia. voice kink. daddy kink. he is very much in love with you. like borderline obsessed with you. and vice-versa as well. female reader. black-coded reader but anyone can read. he calls you a slut but you enjoy it. sweet aftercare. was this self indulgent? i plead the fifth, how bout that?

『 writers notes 』 honestly feel like i overdid with the daddy kink but here we are! hope you enjoy it and you won't get a new ktober fic until next week tuesday! check the masterlist!

『 word count 』 3.0k

previous fic in ktober | masterlist | next fic in ktober

The night had fallen upon your home before you had known it, the twinkling stars gazing down at you, the full moon’s brightness fully mocking your somnolence. You could no longer stay up for him, no matter how much you tried. You had waited for long before sleep was beginning to overtake your body, and you knew this was another night you’d go without being able to see your husband.

Your husband was Eraserhead to the world, but at home, he was Shouta to you. Your Shouta. The two of you were heroes, after all, that was how the two of you met. You knew the long nights that came with the job, especially with him being a teacher as well.

Dressed in a thin two-piece set, in a pale baby blue, you lay on your bed, covered in your warm sheets, with nothing but the sounds of your automated fan blowing cool air into your room, combatting the heated summer night outside. With school out, and your husband only getting a reduced check from his main source of income, he had no choice but to join up in nightly patrols, his main specialty when it comes to hero work.

The two of you found each other while working patrols late at night, you being a new transfer from a faraway city on the outskirts of Japan, where natural disasters were then likely to occur.

“Eraserhead, what kind of name is that?” Your smile was wide, contagious even.

The two of you stood in an alleyway, with him hanging upside down from it, his eyes obscured by the bulky yellow goggles he constantly wore.

“Trust me, I was definitely not the one to make it.” His voice was deep and grave, it slightly echoed through the alley.

“That means whoever made the name must have been pretty special huh?”

It was silent for a moment, and for a moment, you thought you hit a nerve, anxiety rising within you.

“Yeah, I guess you can say they were.”

You gleaned up at him, seeing some semblance of a smile on his face. This caused your own smile to widen slightly, standing up straight.

Your marriage was a private one, one with family and friends only, a short, quiet, and intimate event. The two of you only had a week off for your honeymoon, during the time of which students were out for school to not mess with his schedule. The two of you are extremely busy, with his job as a hero course teacher and of course your own as a rescue and natural disasters hero. The two of you barely had time for each other, easily taking what you could with each other. You knew what came with dating and eventually marrying another hero, especially with someone like your Shouta.

You lay across the bed, sighing as you relaxed into the comfort of the comforters, onto the softness of the mattress. Closing your eyes, hoping to bring a new day, hopefully with your husband’s arms comfortably snug around your waist.

— — — —

You heard a squeak first.

Your eyes barely cracked open, still heavy with sleep, as the squeaking sound got louder and longer for a moment and then stopped altogether. You didn’t move, your heart racing and beating drums within your chest as the sound of muffled footsteps got closer and closer to your bed. You could hear ruffling, like clothes were being moved before the familiar fresh scent of mahogany and lavender, your body relaxing as you did so. You opened your eyes a little bit further, being able to see the clock on your bedside table, seeing the number 2:34 glowing from the digital clock. This was a first, you never woke up when he came home from patrols, you always found yourself being wrapped up in his arms when you woke up in the morning. You tried to find the confines of sleep, hoping to easily slip into it, knowing you’ll wake up in your husband’s arms once more.

Creaakkk…

His footsteps got closer and closer, his scent slowly gaining intensity as something within went off, like chilling tingles crawling up your spine. You could feel his eyes staring holes into you, possibly scanning your entire form wrapped up in your blankets. A familiar tingling sensation began to erupt and spread through you. It had been months since the last time he touched you, the two of you being completely swamped with work. Suddenly, the bedframe creaked, as you felt the mattress underneath you slightly dip. He was so close to you, his knee grazing up against your back, the blanket being the only thing that kept the two of you lightly touching. Droplets of water, possibly from his shower that he took when you were still deep in sleep, dripped down onto you, feeling the cool, wet spots from your blanket. You kept yourself as still as possible, sleep still dancing in your eyes. And then, all of a sudden, he crouched down, the bed creaking along as he did.

It took all your self-control not to gasp as you felt his erection pressing up against you. Even with the blanket, you could still feel it. You held back the slight gasp out a slight moan as he pushed his hip in between your bottom. He let out a hefty groan, his head falling right beside your own, his lips right next to your ear as he did. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, feeling yourself beginning to drip down your thighs and stain your thin shorts. All of your self-control was slipping piece by piece, your body aching and wanting for him. Your breathing became shaky, you know he could hear it, and yet he continued his actions. You could feel his lips slowly press up kisses along your cheek and jawline. His nose nestled itself in between your ear and your hairline that peeked from the night-time scarf you wore, before taking a deep breath in, taking your freshly washed scent, your body wash, as well as your nighttime hair products.

“You smell so good,” his voice wasn't strained, as if he was holding back as well.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke again, the bed creaking again as he moved, his hands beginning to move down, thumbing along the hemline of your shorts.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much, snowflake,” he mumbled in your ear, his hand now officially slipping down into your shorts.

His fingers slipped in between your legs, two of his fingers easily spreading your lips apart, cool air hitting your clit, causing your body to tremble ever so slightly. Your mouth is slightly agape, drool slowly dripping out of your mouth onto your pillow. His fingers easily spilled into the mess in between your legs, pressing up against your clit. Carefully, he massaged circles into you, every movement slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to wake you. He probably didn’t wake you up. You had just gotten home from aiding a beach town devastated by a hurricane, pulling people out from rubble, and creating emergency service tents.

“I know you just got back, but I…” he trailed off on his words as his fingers slipped further down, sliding in between your labia.

“I can’t hold myself back, fuck.”

Your husband sounded so pretty, his voice straining every syllable as his hips ground more and more into you. By now, your shorts were a mess, and your underwear soaked with your juices. No longer able to hold yourself back, you softly pushed your hips back against his fingers, and hard-on. He most definitely felt your movements, letting out a massive groan as his dick twitched underneath his boxers.

“Naughty girl, such a slut even in your sleep…” his chuckle echoed against your bedroom walls, as his fingers dipped in even further, one of them pressing into your hole.

“Everytime I have to stay away from you, whether it be my job, or your own job, I can feel myself descending into madness–” his words suddenly cut off with a guttural groan, his hips suddenly giving off a sharp thrust.

“I am obsessed with you, you know that right?”

Tears dripped down your eyes, staining your pillows as his words enchanted you, sending great shocks of ecstasy through you. You could feel yourself trembling, only aching for him more and more. His own boxers were sticky with pre-cum, you could feel it oozing onto your satin shorts, slowly mixing in with your own soaked juices. His hand slowly pulled themselves away from your cunt, the sudden loss of pleasure causing your emotions to deflate before feeling that very same hand pulling at the hem of your shorts. You kept as still as possible as his large hands pulled your shorts down around your ankles, revealing your wet pussy.

“Agh, fuck,” is all he could say as he suddenly sat up for a moment.

You could hear shuffling in the background, most likely him taking off his boxers, hearing some kind of fabric being thrown in the air and landing on the floor. You felt his hands back on you, before feeling the tip of cock press up against your cunt, slipping and sliding in between your lips, gathering some of your juices. With a final swipe, before you knew it, you felt him press the tip at your pussy, your body trembling as he began to push it.

“Baby, baby fuck–”

He pushed himself deeper into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your cunt throbbing around him.

“Missed you, missed you so fucking much,”

You had never heard him ramble like that, his usually deep gravelly voice seeped in desperation. His hands gripped at the meat of your thigh, holding your place as he rutted his hips into you. Your lips parted, and the entire area underneath them was drenched with sweat. Your hands tightly squeeze the comforter. The heat was overtaking you, a violent intensity grappling at you. Your thoughts that once ran wild soon became filled with one thought, Shouta. Everything about him was different, the way his voice hit your ears, each syllable easily ripping a new reaction out of you. It was only a matter of time before you lost control before he knew you were awake, feeling everything he was doing to you.

“My wife, my pretty wife,” he groaned, his hands moving up and about.

“How could I fucking stay away from you?”

With his strength, he moved you about with ease. You no longer lay at your side, but instead, your knees dug into the mattress, your stomach lying against the bed. He pressed his hand against your back, your back arching up against him. He never pulled his cock out of you, staying snug inside you as he positioned you to where he wanted you to be.

As soon as you were in position, he held no mercy towards you. Pounding away at you, like a man with nothing else to live for at that moment but to ravage you. Tears welled in your eyes as absolute euphoric pleasure took over you, it came as quick as lighting. With the sudden overload on your senses, your control over your actions snapped.

A moan slipped out of your lips, the sound causing him to falter for just a moment. With the wet sound of skin against skin, he leaned down once more, moving his long hair out of his face, finally allowing him to see the tears streaming down your face, your eyes slightly opened, rolled to the back of your head, mouth agape with spit dripping down.

One of Shouta’s hands stayed at your hips while the other suddenly reached down, wrapping around underneath your chin, pulling your body upwards with ease. Your hands propped you up as he pulled your head back, your eyes locking. The position allowed you to see just how frenzied your husband looked. His thick fat cock plunging mg into you, each movement only escalating him more and more.

“How long have you been awake sweetheart? Huh, liked what I was doing to you? Hmm?”

You tried to speak, but the only thing that could slip out of your mouth was pleas if you could even call it that.

“Daddy, Daddy-fuck, it’s too–fuck!” You screeched, gripping at the pillow as your eyes squeezed shut, overcome by the sudden frenzied thrusts your husband was sending your way.

“Dirty little slut, letting me think you were asleep ? How long were you awake for?”

For a moment, you couldn’t answer him, only focused on the effervescent volcano building up within you. All of a sudden, his thrusts slowed down, causing you to whine as you looked back at his teary eyes.

“I asked you, how long have you been awake?”

“Since the moment—ahh– you walked in! Since the moment, you walked in, please don’t stop fucking me, Daddy!”

Shouta suddenly pulled all the way out, your cunt only squeezing around the tip of his fat cock, before slamming it back into you, almost hitting and bruising your cervix. Both you and his own moans and groans echoed into the air, mixing together in a beautiful melody. His hand left your chin, your body flopping forward for a couple seconds before suddenly feeling your arms being jerked back. Your moans became scream-like as he grabbed at both of your wrists, suddenly pulling your arms back.

“Fuck,” he cursed, hissing as he pummeled into you, “so fucking tight–huh, you like the way I fuck you, huh?”

You could barely get any words out, shaking your head vigorously, clenching around him. Every plunge into your cunt devoured you, your husband’s moans and groans had your body trembling. His growls reverberated within your ears, only causing your body to curl in pleasure.

“I said,” he suddenly cut into your thoughts, your body jerking up even further, “you like the way I fuck you, slut”

“Yes, daddy!”

Shouta’s chuckle was deep, and his thrusts only overwhelmed you even further. You relished in the way your skin took the pain, feeling the bloom and sting tingle all over you. If you could blush, you knew the bottom of your thighs would be blooming red. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, your eyes rolling out the back of your head. All of a sudden, Shouta dropped your arms, your body flopping, back arching into the bed as his hands gripped at the flesh at your hips and butt. His thrusts became erratic in nature, his already broken-down composure crumbling even further. You could hear his breathy words, soaking in the neediness laced within them.

“Missed you so fucking much, my wife– my fucking wife.”

“Look so fucking pretty, so fucking senstive f’ me.”

“Missed this pretty fucking pussy, hate how much I have to leave you–fuck!”

Shouta’s body lurched, towering over your own. You could feel his sweat dripping down from his body, falling like light rain into your almost bareback, your thin night-top crumpled up at your bosom. Your hands crumpled up the blankets and sheets underneath you, the feeling of your tongue slightly grazing against the fabric. Your words soon dulled out, the only thing on your tongue was your monas and coherent words putting together the title you called him in bed. You could feel your cunt tightening up around him, like a ticking time bomb going off within you.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy– fuck–” his body suddenly lunched, the bruising grip he had on your hip tightening.

Your body convulsed, shaking in his hold as your mind went blank white, tears streaking out of your eyes as your climax ripped out of you, your juices spilling and ripping all over him.

“Daddy!—” your final words cut, your voice echoing against the white walls of your room.

With a final grunt, you felt your husband slump over, feeling his dick twitching inside of you, painting your walls white. Soon, the only thing you could hear was the sounds of your heavy breathing, both your and Shouta’s as well. You let out a whimper as you felt him pull out his cock out of you, leaving you with withdrawal. Without him letting go of your hips, your legs fully slumped onto the wet bed. With hands still around you, shrieking as he swept you up from the bed. You held onto him as your husband slowly got off the bed, turning your head to see him slip into your bedroom’s bathroom, using one hand to turn the light on. He placed you on the toilet, before walking to your sink. You couldn't help the soft smile that slowly appeared on your face as you heard the faucet turn on.

He walked back over with a rag, slowly opening up your legs as you both felt and saw your cum mixed with his, dripping down your inner thigh. He moved the warm rag against your skin, letting out a short gasp as he grazed the rag against your sensitive cunt, cleaning up the main source of the mess. You heard your husband let out a breath of a chuckle, seeing a ghost of a smirk etched on his face. Your soft smile turned abashed as your hand reached up, smacking him slightly on his shoulder. Your brick house of a husband didn’t even flinch from your smack, continuing to clean you up. Soon you could feel nothing but the touch of water on your legs. Once finished, your husband slowly pulled your soaked shorts down the rest of the way, before tossing them into your laundry hamper. With nothing else, he carried you back to the bed.

The two of you slipped underneath the sheets, his arm easily wrapping your waist as he pulled you close. You had no use of the pillows, using your husband’s naked chest, humming at the warmth that radiated off of his body. Before you knew it, you had laid a soft kiss against the beefy shoulder of your husband, before snuggling back into him. You both heard and felt him move, smiling as you felt a soft pressure against the top of your head, feeling the sensation of lips. With that, you drifted off to sleep, slowly hearing your own husband’s snores echo into her.

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joelscurls · 7 months

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feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

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

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

✰ 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐏 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs.” - Simon gets bored during a very special medal ceremony. Chest Candy isn't exactly what he's after when there's something much sweeter between your legs.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. This is so self indulgent it’s ridiculous. Anti-Monarchy (sue me), cheeky Simon (my favourite kind), vague dirty talk, oral (f receiving) you see PART OF Simon’s face, vague allusion to p in v sex and cream pie. Inspired by this article I found.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

The Crimson red carpet stretches down the aisle to the medal platform, an uncomfortable reminder of the colour of the blood you had to spill to get here. A sea of uniformed SAS colleagues stands before you, making The King look distant from where he handed a medal to those worthy of the chest candy. The golden lighting is giving you a headache, and this ceremony feels as though it's taking forever. He's just a man-

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs."

Simon's gruff voice so close to your ear has you jumping out of your skin, wide eyes gazing up at him through your lashes as you try to steady yourself from the shock. Was... Was he dirty talking you in the middle of the ceremonial halls of Buckingham Palace?

"Simon-"

"Never been one for pomp an' pageantry," he speaks over you, keeping his voice low as to avoid a very pointed look from Captain Price. Despite leaning down ever so slightly for his whispers to be heard, his eyes stare straight ahead, moving lips concealed by the worn fabric of his ski mask.

"This isn't pomp, Simon. It's Buckingham Palace," you remind him pointedly, a little hiss of frustration bubbling in your throat. Ghost had the habit of choosing the worst times to pull this bullshit-

"Exactly my point, love."

Admittedly, when you saw The Times article a few months ago, you threw up in your mouth. 'SAS get medals in secret palace ceremony'. While each of you had taken a vow to protect (what was then) Queen and Country, years on the field had twisted the priorities of each of the members of Team 141. You could ask any of them why they serve, and it certainly wasn't for this family.

What you honestly hadn't expected, however, was the team's invitation. The invitation, written on a thick, grained card with an embossed royal seal, detailed the team's bravery in the Gulf of Mexico, redirecting the missile aimed towards inhabited land. Ghost had scoffed at the idea of going to Buckingham Palace, but Price had been adamant that all of 141 would be there.

"You know, he's not even served a day in his life," Simon subtly nods towards the medals resting at The King's breast,"' Least Harry saw action."

Keeping your eyes aimed towards the ceremonial stage, you swallow back a grimace at Simon's truthful observation. Sure, he wasn't wrong, but it took everything in you not to dare Ghost to say it to the monarch's face.

Because you're sure as shit that he would.

"Whatd'ya say?" Simon whispers, his voice dropping a tad lower and dripping with eroticism, "There's an open door at your six, Delta. Make it worth your while."

Before you even check over your shoulder to see if his observation is accurate, you're turning on your heel, whispering to the king's guard patrolling the open double doors that you need the toilet- that you are desperate.

One of those admissions is true.

✰

"What took you so lo-ng?!" You gasp out as Ghost's tongue curls around your sensitive clit.

"Recon, love," he muses, the rumble of his voice against your throbbing cunt making you throw your head back against the wall of the bathroom stall, "Couldn't just follow after you into the women's loos, could I?"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper, pushing your fingers into Simon's buzzcut hair and shoving his face deeper into your cunt. His words had shot straight to your clit when he entered the bathroom, eyelids heavy and voice as rough as glass on gravel.

"Eyes shut, panties down."

When his bare lips and nose pressed to your wet pussy lips, you could have cum right there, threats of a fierce orgasm roughly pushing up against the base of your spine. You wrap your thighs around his head now, wailing out his name as your eyes roll back.

"Shhh," he mumbles against your soaked cunt, but it's so hard to take note of his warnings when they're drowned out by even louder sloppy, messy sucks of your sensitive flesh. He's swallowing your juices down, groans ricocheting off the bathroom walls.

"Fuck, Princess," he's never used that name for you, and you know it's only because of the frankly ridiculous circumstances, but your cunt clenches around his tongue when he shoves it inside of you anyway, "Mhmm, so fuhgin' wet."

He's slurring his words as he plunges his tongue deeper, but he won't shut up. A chorus of "good girl" s and "like that" s and "c'mon" s have you pushing your hips up into his face and grasping at the smooth walls of the bathroom stall.

"Oh my God, Simon!" You sob weakly, tears welling in your eyes as he sinks his fingers into your throbbing cunt. He finds your G-spot instantly, far too acquainted with each curve and crevice of your body—too many reccy missions with his hands down your pants.

"Hah," he pulls back, breathless pants rumbling in his chest. The sound makes your back arch, chasing his lips again with your pelvis, "Gonna swear allegiance to me?"

His corny joke is almost lost on you; eyes rolling back into your skull as you grip at his short hair between your curled fingers. "L-Last I checked, yo-you were on your knees for m-me!"

It doesn't matter that you squeak out the last word of your ballsy sentence; it lands exactly as you intended it to. Simon stalls for a moment.

You don't mean to. You don't! But your eyes snap open at the sudden stalling of the blissful sensation. Simon's amber eyes gaze up at you from his position between your thighs. They frame his face, covering his ears. Your pubic bone smothers his lower visage, covering the bridge of his nose to his chin.

Squeaking, you squeeze your eyes shut. Blonde. Simon's blonde, and a white scar runs down his left eyebrow and eyelid.

"Naughty," you hear him smirk at your startled reaction, a breathy, exhaled chuckle fanning across your wet pussy lips, "Guess I'll have to fuck you so hard that you forget what you just saw."

When you return to the ceremonial hall, the guards on the door keep their eyes uncomfortably fixed on the crimson carpet. You wish you could say that your shaking legs are from nerves when you step onto the ceremonial stage to receive your medal from The King.

The smug gaze of the skull face in the crowd is a reminder of otherwise, his cum leaking into the fabric of your uniform as you bow for the monarch.

Authors Note: Congrats on your coronation, "King" Charles... Would be a shame if Diana made it rain on your big day. ;)

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mothhball · 2 months

Text

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

“Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #smut #.moth writes

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berry-potchy · 9 months

Text

Indulge Me

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only please) Word Count: 7,072 Summary: You're a Spiderwoman who has ended up pinned underneath Miguel O'Hara in his lab one too many times. You're not sure what you are to him or what to call your relationship. And that would've been fine until your neediness kicked in and made you catch feelings. Surely, Miguel taking you to his room for the first time means something right? In which your lack of understanding of Spanish and denial of the hints Miguel drops are keeping you from realizing you already have what you want. Tags/warnings: pwp, p in v sex, rough sex, praise + light degradation, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, face sitting/riding, breeding kink, soft dom!Miguel, needy reader, recording, mirror sex adjacent, implied chubby reader, undefined relationship but soft feelings sprinkled in there as a treat, no use of y/n so lots of Spanish nicknames to make up for it, reader does not understand Spanish, brief sexy use of spider webs A/N: this is quite literally just a self-indulgent fic with most of my favorite Miguel x reader flavors. Not beta read but I hope you still enjoy it! (Translations are the end!)

Also on AO3

Edit: turns out some parts got messed up while I was posting here on Tumblr D: it's fine on AO3 though which is weird because I copied from this post instead of my doc because this has the correct spacing. Everything should be fixed now.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Miguel has you standing in front of him between his parted legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. Even in this position, you were barely any much taller than him, only needing to tilt your head a bit to meet his red eyes. He looks at you from your face, down to the swell of your breast where his eyes are joined by a taloned finger on its journey downwards. You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the sharp talon cuts through your spandex suit, fully exposing your soft chest to the cold air of his quarters. He would argue that the stretchy translucent mesh with a spiderweb lace design on your chest area didn’t do shit to cover the fullness of your tits anyway so he didn't understand why you even bothered with it. It was for style obviously but riling up Miguel O’Hara was a great bonus. You let out a shaky breath as he continued further down until he stopped right below your navel.

“Que linda,” he says in that low sexy voice of his, very different from the usual grumpy tone he uses to chastise you. He snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you closer to him and his hands find your plush bottom, giving them a rough squeeze. You are getting so worked up by how much attention you are getting from your usually sulky boss. Your heaving chest is right in front of Miguel’s face and his lustful gaze almost feels like it is burning you. The heat spreads from your chest downwards until it pools in the pit of your stomach and between your legs.

“You ruined my suit,” you pout, not really that upset about it. You think it was hot honestly but you just want to tease him “Am I supposed to go on missions with my whole chest out now? Walk around the HQ flashing everyone?”

“Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. He continues to take in your figure, hands gently kneading soft flesh on your sides “I’m making you a new suit. Should be done very soon. It'll be the same design but it will offer far more protection than this flimsy thing.”

“Making me a suit just like yours? What so you can control it hm? Deactivate it whenever you want to fuck me?” You laugh, wiping the imaginary tear in your eye until you realize Miguel is silent and looks like he’s been caught red-handed. You lightly slap him on his arm, flustered. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Instead of answering you, he brings his head forward to close his lips on a clothed nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive erect bud. Your mouth opens as you let out a soft gasp at the sensation and you can feel the corner of Miguel’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. He teases your nipple alternating between flicking it with the tip of his tongue and giving it an audible suck. He pulls away for a split second only to give the same attention to your other nipple. You weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your tits. Your other hand is holding onto his shoulder for support as you urge him to keep going with your whimpers. His hands haven’t stopped exploring your body. His wide hands warm against your hips, ass, thighs, everywhere he can touch, squeezing your softness, committing every curve to memory.

“Migueeeel,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together to try to relieve the ache between your legs. You appreciate the attention to your nipples but your cunt was throbbing with need. You are so close to ripping the rest of your suit and panties off because the way the fabric is sticking to your wet pussy is becoming too uncomfortable.

“Miguel what, muñeca?” He pulls away, licking his lips. Those red eyes are now looking straight into yours and you feel yourself shiver. You try to look away but Miguel grabs your chin to keep you facing him. “Eyes on me. What do you want? Use your words.”

“Please,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment but Miguel just raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “Stop teasing please.”

“Ah I see okay,” he says, taking his hands off you before standing up and walking to his closet.

“W-wait what are you doing?” you almost trip on your feet, knees feeling weak, as you chase after him. You grab his arm, tugging at it to get his attention as you pathetically look up at him.

“You said stop teasing so I’m getting you a shirt so you can go back to your world and get some rest,” he says as he looks through the neatly folded shirts in his closet. He’s stalling, pretending he was trying to choose one but he’s messing with you. There is no way he would let you go home tonight without getting at least a couple of orgasms wrung out of you. You aren’t leaving until he made sure you were stuffed full and dripping with his cum. You aren’t leaving tonight. Period. He knew you were too far gone with lust to figure that out yourself.

“Miggy, that’s not what I meant please,” you sob, pressing your body against him. Just the thought of being left unsatisfied was painful. “Please, Miggy, I need your mouth. And your cock please”

He finally looks at you and pulls you closer to him by your waist. You run your hands along his still clothed chest, feeling his heart beating with yours. You look up at him with glassy eyes, begging him to finish what he started. He coos at how desperate you were for release.

“You want my mouth and my cock?” he hums, still teasing. He easily lifts you up with one arm supporting your ass to carry you back to his bed. He’s carried you multiple times before but it never ceases to amaze you how he does it so effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hips bucking trying to get some friction against your still unfortunately clothed cunt. “Where do you want them, muñeca? You have to be more specific. Which one do you want first?”

“On my pussy, please. I need your mouth on my pussy. Miggy, I wanna cum on your face” you sobbed against his neck “And then- and then I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up with your cock. Only you can fill me up so good, Miggy. I need it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers right next to your ear, making you shudder “Now, was that so hard to do? Was it hard to tell me what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you bite his shoulder and you feel satisfaction when you hear him break character and snort. He shakes his head, smiling fondly while he sets you down on the bed.

"Qué voy a hacer contigo?" he brings his lips to your temple to whisper more softly "Qué haría sin ti?"

Your heart skips a beat at the gentleness of his tone. You’re not sure what he said but the genuine affection is evident. Intimate moments like this with Miguel are slowly becoming more and more frequent and you decide that you don’t mind it. You even crave it now. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you lean further toward him.

He pulls away but the fond look on his face doesn’t waver. He slaps your thigh, making the soft fat jiggle just how he likes it, as he moves to get settled in his bed.

“Put those lovely hips and thighs to use and ride my face, conejita.” He lies down, anticipating, patting his chest to encourage you to sit down.

You didn't need to be told twice. You rip off the rest of your suit, your heated skin meeting the cold air of his room making your nipples pebble painfully. You quickly take off your panties and toss them aside with your ruined suit. You squeal as you scramble to get on top of him. You position yourself on top of his waiting mouth, straddling his face but just hovering over his face, hands on the headboard to keep yourself steady. The smell of your arousal is almost too much for Miguel to bear at this proximity. The urge to lock you in his room for the next few days and not let you out until you’re thoroughly fucked and bred is getting hard to ignore. His fangs extend as his animalistic urges surface, yearning to bite you and mark you as his.

“Are you trying to tease me now? How can you ride my face if you don’t sit?” Miguel’s tone is deeper than it was just a second ago. There’s a certain roughness to it, a growl in his voice that makes your hole clench around nothing. He grips your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, waiting for you to sit down or he’ll make you. He’s trying to be patient, turning his head a little to mouth at the fat of your inner thigh. He licks a stray trail of your slick up your thigh, stopping just a breath away from where you both want his mouth to be. You feel him sigh, savoring your taste like he just drank the finest nectar, a promise of what’s to come.

“But Miguel–” you yelp when he suddenly pulls you down by your thighs and you immediately feel his tongue lapping at your aching cunt, his nose bumping deliciously against your swollen clit. He wasn’t going to hear your excuses. The only things he wants to hear coming out of your pretty lips are your moans and whines for more. The way Miguel is sucking and devouring your wetness so eagerly makes your head spin and your grip on the headboard tighten to steady yourself for a moment. He teases your hole, licking around the small opening before plunging in as far as he can, feeling you clench around his tongue. He grows impatient at your lack of movement and starts rocking you back and forth on his face by himself. He flattens his tongue for you to grind your pretty folds onto.

“Miggy, feels so good,” you whine, bending over to look at him from under you. He’s so pretty like this, forehead scrunched up from how focused he is eating you out, and when you get a peak of his nose and his cheeks, they’re shiny from being soaked by a combination of your wetness and his own spit. You take one of your shaking hands off the headboard to brush the hair away from Miguel’s forehead only for him to guide your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair, urging you to use it as leverage to ride his face harder. And who are you to say no to that?

You move your hips to try to match the pace he set for you, your thighs burn but you pay it no mind. Not when you feel that familiar delicious knot forming in your core. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes screwed shut as you immerse in the pleasure, grinding your cunt harder on Miguel’s tongue, nose, chin, anywhere you can get some friction, getting desperate to reach your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum, Miggy. Gonn’ cum on your face” you whimper. You take your hand off the headboard and bring it to your tits, squeezing them, pinching at rubbing circles on your pebbled nipples. Miguel doesn’t stop lapping hungrily at your pussy, shaking his head from side to side as much as your grip on his hair allows. He groans as he watches in awe as you chase your own pleasure.

So close.

You’re so close you swear you can almost taste it.

Miguel could tell from how your hips stuttered and your pace growing frantic, rougher. He gives your clit another suck and that finally pushes you over the edge.

You feel the sweet release consume you like wildfire, your body tensing, back arching, toes curling. You can’t even hear yourself scream Miguel’s name, curling into yourself as he continues to suck on your oversensitive, pulsating clit. His hands held your shaking thighs steady, not letting you close them. It’s all too much.

“Miggyyy,” you sob pathetically, pawing at his head and his grip on you. You finally manage to pry an eye open only to see him watching you intently “Too much. I can’t-”

He doesn’t stop. He continues to lick stripes at your puffy folds and flick the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue albeit slower this time. He takes one of his hands away from your thigh and plunges two of his thick fingers knuckle deep inside your needy hole. He manages to find your sweet cushiony spot and puts enough pressure on it to make you see stars. That burning hot coil is back just mere seconds after your climax and if you could think at that moment, you’d think it’s unfair how he seems to know your body too well, knows just where to touch to make you unravel.

He adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you out for his cock, curling them inside you, and hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You know that it’s not enough, that it’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you. No matter how much prep you do it's going to be a tight fit and you can’t wait to be stretched to your limits once more. You stop fighting him, needing to chase after your orgasm, grinding your clit again on his tongue as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slutty hole.

Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm wash over you. You spill over his face, making a mess on his pillows and bedsheets. Your limbs go numb and this time you can’t even form words, just sobbing, babbling nonsense as your body shakes on top of Miguel. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn't for Miguel supporting your back with his free hand. You frantically tap his hand as you hiccup a pathetic “no more.”

Miguel relents and lets you catch your breath for a second. He kisses your puffy cunt one more time before moving you to lie on your back on the bed. He lifts your head to turn over the soiled pillow and fluff it up before getting you settled comfortably. You watch as he catches the dripping wetness from his chin with his equally soaked fingers and sticks them into his mouth, eyes rolling back and moaning at your sweet taste. You feel your cunt throb at the lewd action and you can’t help but let out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. It’s so unfair how much he affects you.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he coos at your flushed face with fat tears running down your cheeks as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between your parted legs. “too much for mi conejita to handle? I know you can take more. Your pussy is so slutty, isn’t she? So needy. I doubt two orgasms is enough.”

He cups your face with one hand, thumb wiping away a tear on your cheek, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, knowing how much you hate the feeling of it sticking to your skin. Your lower lip is jutting out in an adorable pout that he can’t help but kiss, catching your lip between his teeth. You scrunch up your nose and push his face away as you try to steady your breath.

You can see his naked chest rise and fall faster than usual, his mouth open to catch his own breath. You didn’t even notice when he disabled his suit but your eyes are thankful as you drink in the sight of his warm brown skin, stretching across the expanse of his unfairly defined body. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, taking extra care to give him the most perfect proportions. How lucky are you to see this masterpiece up close? It would be a sin to not enjoy the view.

Your eyes trail down from his strong broad shoulders to his massive tits, and even further down to see his cock standing up proudly against his navel, the head dripping beads of precum and smearing it against his abs. Pride blooms in your chest as you realize that he’s just as affected as you are.

Your throat suddenly feels so empty. You lick your lips as you tear your eyes off his cock to look up at his face only to find his hungry gaze meeting yours. His eyes glint with danger as he takes in the sight of you in your post-orgasm haze, seemingly plotting his next move.

You didn’t have to wait long because, of course, he can’t keep his hands away from you.

He moves closer, making you spread your legs further. His hands grab at the back of your thighs to push them towards your torso, your knees almost touching your chest. Your dripping cunt twitches as it’s exposed to the cold air. Your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

“Que rico. Podría acostumbrarme a esto,” he says, his voice deep and rough with lust as his hands rub up and down your thighs, squeezing, feeling you. He drinks up the sight of you, so bare and exposed, all for him to take. “I could watch you like this all day. Maybe take a video of you right now so I can watch your pretty cunt pulsing, crying for me, anytime I want. Or…”

He takes his cock in one hand, running his thumb on the swollen tip to spread the beads of precum around, pumping his shaft with a few languid strokes. You yelp when he slaps his thick, heavy cock against your puffy folds.

“I could tie you up like this and keep you here for my own pleasure.” He starts moving his hips at a torturously slow pace, sliding his length along your wet folds, getting it lubricated by your own slick. He brings his hands back to your thighs and pushes them even further until you’re practically folded in half. “Keep you here to breed. Fill you up with so much cum and you’ll stay like this so it will surely take, yeah?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Miggy” you hiss as the tip of his cock keeps bumping into your throbbing clit “What’s stopping you from doing so huh? You have your web and your little surveillance bots. Put them to good use.”

“Of course, you’d love that, my pretty little slut,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he lines up the tip of his cock with your hole. Your eyelids flutter as you hold your breath in anticipation, waiting for that delicious stretch of being filled by his massive cock.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” he commands and you obey, looking up at him from under your lashes “That’s it, good girl.”

He starts to slowly press his cock into your greedy hole. Inch by inch, he sinks in, knocking the air out of your lungs. Midway, maybe, you can’t tell, there’s just so much of him, you start to feel a little faint, your shoulders tense and your mouth stuck hanging open. You feel so full of him, almost like he’s going to split you apart.

“Breathe for me,” he coos as he slowly presses more of him into you, filling you up more than what should be possible. He drapes your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs as he uses his now free hands to cradle your face. You suck in a breath as he instructed and try to even out your breathing. “There you go. Keep breathing. Relax for me. Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. So good for me.”

You preen at his words, warmth flooding your chest and going straight down to your pussy. His hands stay on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pushes the last few inches in. You put your hands on top of his as you lean into his touch. He starts to grind his hips slowly, gently, getting you used to his size. The coarse dark curls at the base of his cock tickle your sensitive clit and the head of his cock softly probing at your cervix makes you roll your eyes back and whimper from the fullness.

“Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces, cariño,” he leans in to capture your lips into a deep kiss. Soft and gentle until both of you wanted more. One of his hands finds the back of your neck to tilt your head as he pleases as he tries to devour you. His tongue licks into your mouth and his fangs graze your lips with every movement. You hum against his lips as you feel him start to pull his hips back, letting his dick slide halfway out before snapping his hips forward to plunge himself back inside, his balls lewdly smacking against your ass. And he keeps doing it over, and over again making you moan oh so wantonly.

“Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips. The breathlessness and the hint of desperation for release in his voice make you shiver. His pace picks up, thrusts growing rougher with it. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you and skin slapping against skin echo around his room. The only other sounds you can hear are your combined sounds of pleasure, calling out each other’s names.

You pull on the hand that Miguel has on your cheek to lace your fingers together, his large hand easily dwarfing yours, his talons folded back to not hurt you. Your other hand slips between your bodies, travelling downwards to feel where you two are connected. There’s a deep rumble coming from Miguel’s chest and he presses your sweaty foreheads together, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Your tight heat is milking his cock so perfectly and at this rate, he’s not going to last long.

“Miggy,” you whine, keeping your eyes on his. His irises seem a little more brown as he looks at you so tenderly, making you feel like you are going to melt into a puddle of goo. He brings your joined hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles and you think you really just might turn into goo.

His thrusts get messier and more frantic You feel the familiar coil building up in your stomach. You lift your hand from between your legs to press firmly against the area below your navel and the sensation is electrifying. You can feel his cock pistoning in and out of you from where you are touching. You can feel him rearranging your insides, molding your pussy to accommodate him and only him, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía.” he moans into your ear, almost whiney and you know he’s near the edge. He starts peppering kisses on your neck, licking, sucking, grazing the sensitive skin with his fangs but not sinking them in yet. He takes the hand you aren’t holding to rest on your hand on your lower stomach. His thumb reaches further down to stroke your clit earning him a shaky whine from you.

“Cum for me again, hermosa,” he lifts his head to look at your flushed face. You’re sure you look like a mess but to him, you’re more beautiful than the brightest twinkling stars on a clear night sky. “Let me see your pretty face when you cum.”

And with that, you’re gone, pushed over the edge, screaming his name, squirting clear liquid up to his chest. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hold on his hand tightens, and your legs on his shoulders shake and flail from another intense orgasm. There’s ringing in your ears but you faintly hear him cooing at you, whispering sweet words you can’t quite understand.

Miguel is still fucking into you with messy, frantic thrusts and ragged breaths but it doesn’t take long for him to follow, not when your velvety walls are pulsing, contracting on his dick. He puts a large hand on the space beside your head for support, his claws tearing through the pillowcase, as he drives his hips into yours a few more times before spilling inside you with a deep growl. He paints your insides with his cum as he rides his high with a few more shallow thrusts. You clench around him trying to squeeze as much cum out of him with your tight hole and he whimpers your name.

Both of you pant in unison, trying to catch your breath after that life-altering orgasm together. You turn your head to the side to kiss the inside of Miguel's wrist next to your head. Miguel doesn’t want to move. Everything is too perfect at that moment. You’re perfect.

But he has more plans for you tonight.

He takes your legs off his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he adjusts the both of you so he can lay down comfortably on top of you, putting most of his weight on his elbows on the bed. His dick still plugged in your hole, keeping his seed inside and refusing to part with your tight heat.

“Miggy,” you softly call him, looking at his relaxed face resting on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“... pull out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only because I want to,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to pull out. He gets on his knees again so he can at least watch your sloppy hole fluttering as he slowly pulls out. A thick milky ring of your combined fluid sits at the base of his cock. His eyes darken as he sees your cunt trying to clench at air and his cum starts to drip out of you. He can’t have that. He collects the trail of cum with his fingers so he can stuff them back inside of you.

“Miggy, come back here,” you pull at his hand and when he doesn’t budge, you add “You can just cum inside me more later. I need cuddles.”

That gets him to leave your fucked out hole alone. For now. Miguel kisses your stomach up to the valley between your breasts to your neck and lingers on your lips. He goes back to his earlier position on top of you. You drape your arms around his neck as you hum in contentment against the kiss. He smiles and moves to mouth at your sensitive neck, planting soft kisses, licking and sucking as he moans and pants in your ear.

“Miggy, I’m sleepy now,” you turn to look at him. You know what he’s doing. You know that he’s trying to turn you on again. And it’s working.

“You can do one more, mami. One more for me,” he says. He’s almost pouting, almost begging “You said I can cum in you again.”

“I didn’t mean right away. I just came three times already” you whined wrapping your arms around his broad chest. you want to feel him close.

“Mmm, you can cum four times. Maybe more because you’re such a needy little whore,” he murmurs into your neck, not stopping his ministrations. “My cum slut who loves being bred. We’re not going to end the night without your tummy full of cum I promise you that, cariño.”

You roll your eyes at him but you don't push him away and instead start playing with the short curly hairs at the back of his neck, ignoring the way your pussy shivered at his perverted words. You find comfort in his warmth and weight on top of you. You inhale his familiar deep masculine scent and it almost lulls you to sleep until you feel something wet and hard poking at your thigh.

“How are you hard again?” you say in disbelief as you look down and sure enough, Miguel’s dick is erect and ready to go for another round.

“It’s been a while since we had sex and my hand could only do so much to make up for your absence, cariño,” he huffs as gets up on his knees to turn you over and slap your ass. The sound of his palm meeting the sticky wet skin of your ass is undeniably lewd. “And what about needing to get you pregnant does not make sense to you? Get on your hands and knees for me. That baby is not gonna make itself.”

You plant your knees on the mattress and present your ass to him but you don't bother to lift your upper body from the bed. You keep your face down against the softness of his pillows. You didn't want him to see the giddy smile on your face from hearing that he hasn't slept with anyone else. His cum starts dripping out of your hole, coating your clit with creamy white and Miguel almost cums again on the spot.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His large hands grab at your ass, kneading them. His thumbs spread your puffy lips apart so he can watch your cunt try to keep his cum inside. You groan as you force your arms to lift you up. “There’s my good girl.”

He smacks your ass which earned him a yelp from you. His lips curl up as he watches the flesh of your ass jiggle from the impact.

“Get on with it,” you whine, wiggling your ass to entice him to move faster. For someone who wanted to stop at the third round, you sure are impatient to be filled again.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckles as he guides his cock back inside your wet heat. “There you go, mami. Back where it belongs.”

You moan loudly as you feel him grinding his hips, driving his dick as deep as he can reach inside you. Your eyes flutter close, as you savor the stretch of your hole around his fat cock once more. You couldn’t agree more with his words.

You hear Miguel from behind you input a command on a device. It beeps obnoxiously like it’s mocking you. It’s the last thing you want to hear while he is balls deep inside you, his girthy cock stretching you deliciously and filling you up so good. You think to yourself what was so important that Miguel can't put his gizmo down and enjoy the feeling of your warm, tight pussy on his dick? Right after insisting you can go for one more round?

You are about to snap at him for being ungrateful until a hologram appears in front of you. It shows a live video feed of his very own bed and a clear view of your fully naked self on your hands and knees getting ur insides rearranged by your boss. Your hair is a mess and your makeup is all smudged from how he made you cry from all the begging and overstimulation earlier. And he looks so big compared to you, having to bend low to align his hips with yours. You didn't even notice the recording devices planted around the room until now from how your brain was so fogged by lust. There seem to be at least three around the room from different angles. Well, it turns out he wasn’t just bluffing when he said he could record you earlier.

You wonder if he always had those set up. You haven’t really been to his room before. The few “encounters” you had with Miguel happened in his laboratory on his silly little platform, both of you too consumed by lust to think about moving to a more private area. It’s rather unlikely that they’re for actual safety reasons when they all just record the same area. You entertain the idea that him taking you to his room tonight is not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, that he might have all of this set up for tonight for when he has you writhing in pleasure on his bed. How thoughtful, you think. It makes you clench around his dick.

"You really are a pervert," you quip to annoy him. Clearly, the urge to mess with him hasn’t been thoroughly fucked out of you yet. You didn't even get to laugh at your own childish remark when Miguel abruptly starts thrusting his hips without warning, harder this time, dragging out a surprised whimper from you. His tip is bullying your cervix, testing the line between pleasure and pain but you love it. Your eyes meet Miguel's intense red glare on the screen.

"You're still talking," he tuts, his head shaking like he's some kind of pet owner trying to reprimand a disobedient pet "Let me fix that, cariño.”

He brings his large calloused hands back on you – where they belong, you think to yourself, echoing Miguel’s words. His left hand is firm on the flesh of your waist, you are sure they are going to bruise once he’s done with you. His other hand fondles your breasts, the sharp talons on his fingertips lightly grazing your soft skin. You know that when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning you’d look like you barely got away from being mauled by a feral beast, evidence of how Miguel O'Hara had his way with you and how you enjoyed every single second of it.

You cry out his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s so deep inside you that you can almost feel him in your chest, his thrusts fucking the air out of your lungs.

“Miggy, Mi��. Mig– ah, ah Mi– haaaa –guel ahhh”

Your eyes roll back at the continuous assault on your sweet spot and your cervix with every deep thrust. High-pitched whines come out of your throat as your arms give out from under you, making you fall face-first on the soft mattress. It all feels so good but overwhelming. You think you’re going to pass out.

“Que rico, mami,” he pulls your hair so you can face the screens. “Look at yourself. Beautiful. Taking my cock so well. Don’t worry. I have this all recorded if you’re too cock drunk to watch yourself now, cariño.”

You can't say anything back. You try really hard to come up with something but the only word that comes out of your mouth is “please” over and over again becoming progressively needier each time. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, his chest flushed against your back, allowing him to rock you back against his forceful thrusts.

“Gonn’ make sure I put a baby in you tonight, cariño,” he growls in your ear. “I can’t wait to see your tummy swell in a few months. You’ll look divine, I won't be able to take my hands off you even more.”

His eyes are back to a glowing red as they meet yours that are glazed over by tears and lust. His hand tightens his hold on your hair making you tilt your head further, exposing more of your neck for him to suck bruises on. Your tits are bouncing freely at his aggressive pace. Coupled with the high-pitched moans coming out of your mouth, it’s all so pornographic. It makes you feel like liquid fire is running through your veins and pooling into your stomach.

“You’re gonna cum for me? Let go. Come on. cum for me, mami,”Miguel grunts in your ear, his hand on your hair letting go so he can greedily grab at your tits. “I wanna feel your cunt pulsing on my cock. Can you do that for me? Of course, you can. Going to milk me dry.”

And just like that, you throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as another wave of orgasm crashes down on you. Miguel follows closely, filling you up with more cum that drips down your thighs and on the bedsheets. Your body slumps back against his, too tired to keep yourself upright. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes, content with feeling Miguel’s warm body against yours.

“I got you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and moving you to lie down on the bed. You hum in contentment, letting him care for your tired body. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead before he pulls away. You miss his touch already.

A beeping sound lets you know that he turned off the monitors. You feel him taking the soiled bedsheets, getting up from the bed to get fresh ones. You have half the mind to reach out to him and tell him he can clean up later so you can cuddle now. Your mouth, however, doesn’t want to move so instead you groan as you blindly reach your hands out.

Miguel chuckles at your antics, walking back with fresh sheets and a damp towel to wipe off the sticky mess from your body. He sits next to you on the bed and brings the towel to your tear-stained cheeks, gently dabbing the area around your eyes to get rid of the messed up traces of mascara and eyeliner. You take your hand to rest on your chest trying to calm your wildly beating heart.

The comfortable silence, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. You hear the unmistakable voice of Lyla cut through the air.

“Heeeey, bossman! Heeeey, girlie!” she drawls and your eyes snap open as you snatch the sheet from Miguel’s hands to cover yourself.

“Ay, coño! I thought I said no alerts tonight,” Miguel looks pissed, rubbing his face in frustration before moving to turn off his watch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! Sorry to interrupt the big night, Miguel, but it’s an emergency. Trust me you’ll want to fix this now,” Lyla raises her hands in surrender before Miguel presses a button. She turns to you, looking apologetic and asking for help “Then you can go back to babymaking, right, dollface?”

“I–” you flush, choking on your own words. You begrudgingly turn to Miguel, your lower lip caught in between your teeth. You lower your eyes as an ugly feeling crawls up your chest.

“It sounds important. You should go,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up any louder. “I’d say I can be back up but I can hardly move so you’re on your own, big guy.”

Miguel sighs and gets up, telling Lyla to send him the information and that it better be worth his time.

You are already sexually satisfied and tired – that’s what four orgasms could do to you – but you are a little upset and sulky that Miguel has to be called in for work right now. Stupid anomaly or whatever it is. It’s probably important and a universe out there might be in grave danger. But you can't help feeling like shit about it though.

You like how soft Miguel gets when he cleans you up after sex. You like it when he picks up your tired form and whispers soft words to you in Spanish. Plus, you were looking forward to cuddles. What’s the use of having sex in his room on his bed if not to cuddle afterward and wake up next to each other the next day? And then, suddenly, in the early morning light, realize that you’ve been madly in love with each other all along. Okay, you are more than just a little upset.

Miguel notices you pouting and your eyes getting glassy with tears as you try to roll off the bed. He shoots his glowing red web at you, trapping you where you are before going back to readjusting his watch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, walking back to the bed as he makes sure his suit is all good and ready for the mission. He kneels on the bed to drag you to lie on your back.

“What are you doing? I'm going to take a shower,” you sniffle trying to avoid his eyes “I’ll take care of myself. you should go”

He hums as he takes both your wrists in one hand and forces them above your head to secure them together with his webs.

“Miggy?” you look at him and there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. He darts his tongue across his lower lip and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

He doesn’t respond. He only keeps looking at you like he’s going to devour you once more. He brings your legs up to the position he had in before, knees to your chest, cunt fully exposed to him. You blush and your heart starts pounding in your chest. He shoots out more of his web, making sure you’re comfortable and your legs are securely tied in that position.

“Good?” he whispers and you nod in response “Words, cariño.”

“Perfect,” you moan, your chest heaving with need. He smiles at you fondly, caressing your cheek with a curled finger, and plants chaste kisses on your temple, your nose, and the corner of your mouth until he reaches your lips. He hums in contentment as he savors the feel of your lips against his. Then, he pulls away reluctantly and puts on his mask. He sets his watch to the right coordinates opening up a portal to wherever the universe needs saving.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ll make sure that anomaly regrets ever being made for interrupting my plans for our night,” he grumbles and gives you one last kiss through his mask for good luck. “And then it’s going to be all about you for the rest of the night, hm? I promise.”

He walks into the portal backwards so he can look at you until it closes and takes him away. Your heart flutters in your chest, anticipating what’s to come as you feel the webs digging deliciously into your soft flesh.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Translations:

Que linda - how pretty

muñeca - doll

cariño - dear/darling

Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am I going to do with you?

Qué haría sin ti? - What am I going to do without you?

conejita - little rabbit

pobrecita - poor thing

que rico - “[you] look good” (literal: tastes good)

Podría acostumbrarme a esto - I could get used to this

Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces - You're so beautiful. You don't know what you do to me

Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor - You feel so good. You were made for me, my love

Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía. - My beautiful girl, my sweet girl. Mine. All mine.

mami - mommy (as an endearment for a partner)

coño - pussy

A/N: so many thanks to my friend who helped me with translating and giving me tips on some better Spanish terms to use 🙏

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #potchy-writes #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x female reader #chubby reader

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lightfeltmemories · 5 months

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episode one: phantom troupe and romance; headcanons from least toxic, to most toxic

characters include: chrollo, machi, pakunoda, shizuku, uvogin, shalnark, feitan, phinks, bonolenov, kortopi, hisoka, illumi, nobunaga, franklin. (not in order)

tw's: nsfw but nothing explicit, mentions of non-con, spoilers for the deaths of pakunoda, shalnark, kortopi and uvogin, toxic relationships, lovebombing, mentions of torture (not on reader), mentions of cheating, mentions of reader's death,

notes: a completely self indulgent post, you can probably tell who im biased towards by how long certain sections are.

because this contains mentions of nsfw, do not interact if you are under 18, you will be blocked if you do !! also, do not leave negative comments please, they will be deleted :)

pakunoda

out of everyone, guaranteed, she'll be the best partner out of everyone else, you might even end up shocked that she's apart of the troupe if it ever comes to you finding out.

she's a darling, spoils and cares for you like anyone else, a great listener and partakes in your interests in hobbies, its (almost) like a fairytale by how the relationship is, the troupe knows you but you don't know them! and she wants to keep it that way, of course still she's a murderer, so it would break her if you were to have found out about everything, she vowed to never let you know or even have you close to knowing about what she does, but you just can't help but wonder what she's doing when she's away for long periods of time.

until it comes to her death.

now, you eventually find out that she died from a close friend of hers, but he knows paku doesn't want you to know about the troupe, so, he's a bit vague, and a bit creepy.

nobunaga

personally out of everyone else, i feel like nobunaga would be other most normal when it comes to relationships, but then again, he's an enigma, he doesn't strike me as the type to be the best boyfriend literally ever or very very toxic, i feel like out of everyone else, if you're looking for someone to be in a semi normal relationship with, nobunaga is your best shot, but of course, he's a part of the phantom troupe, and any member apart of it isn't exactly the best partner by default.

he's still a murder and thief, like all members i believe that he would definitely steal things that remind him of you, he'd most definitely kill for you.

unlike someone like feitan or machi, he doesn't exactly have a problem with being vulnerable when you get to know him, he'll tell you about himself, and of course, because he's a criminal he can't exactly tell you what he does for a living, but can't bring himself to lie about it either, he's just hoping that one day, if you know, you won't leave or judge him for it, his childhood isn't exactly all sunshines and lolipops, y'know?

he'll love you from the ends of the earth, but he definitely won't let you walk all over him, quick to put your in your place and won't allow you to manipulate him, he won't lie to you (about trivial things, at least) so why should you? (who knows, maybe you're apart of a criminal organization and is pretty much a wanted criminal yourself :P)

bonolenov

similar to nobunaga i think if you want something that's somewhat normal, bonolenov is also a nice choice! (100% not putting him up so high because we don't really know that much about him it's totally because he would be a decent partner! honest!)

for one, you would definitely be introduced to usual romantic gestures and advances that come from his tribe, he'll tell you all about how things work with him, he'll do dances he learned when they were still here for you to show how much he adores you, and dresses you in garments that resemble such from his tribe, it's pretty cute, honestly!

now, what concerns him a bit is.. how you'll react without his bandages, he's not exactly sexy like chrollo but (to me, TO MEEEEEE) he's not the ugliest thing in the world! he just hopes that eventually if you see him in his true form, you don't scream and run away at the sight of him, its okay if you do! ..... kind of.

and if you don't, oh you'll mean so much to him!

kortopi

now, here's another one we don't know much about! but i'll try my best either way (i just want to contribute to the lack of attention him and bono get in these spaces.) he's another somewhat normal one, he also doesn't strike me as the type to be the absolute worst, but still is apart of a troupe of murderers and thieves.

similar to everyone else, he'll steal and kill for you (idk if this guy even has a body count but lets pretend he does.) and is a lot more open to being vulnerable than some other members.

now, nine times out of ten you'll be taller than him because this guy is even shorter than feitan, so, he'll definitely be wearing your t-shirts and hoodies, and he ain't complaining about it!

and eventually, he dies, now, honestly, something told you that kortopi seemed... like the odd one out when it came to the troupe, he doesn't seem like the type to be apart of... that! you better hope that hisoka doesn't care about you, or things are gonna turn ugly faster than you can blink.

uvogin

he's big (as hell), but he's sweeter (you know why they're in bold italics) than the others twice his size.

physically the strongest, you're rather lucky to have him has your partner, if someone won't stop messing with you, they're dead within a millisecond, or at least scared off since you know.. he isn't exactly built like the average guy and having someone that's eight foot fucking two walking up on you not really excited to see you is quite terrifying, depending on his mood they'll sometimes get away.... sometimes.

enough of that, how is it like when it's just the two of you? sitting on the couch or laying in bed watching movies together, his arm around you, it's basically a pillow! a hard ass pillow at that.

not the most vulnerable, he's not some weird incel who see's women as sex toys or anything, he's decently capable of being in a normal relationship, you won't see each other often sadly, but when you do, he'll pay 95% of his attention towards you, he'll even let you know straight up that he won't know when he'll get back, but he will! ... until he doesn't..

ah yes, his death at the hands of kurapika, how will you react? hell, how would kurapika react to your existence? something tells me that kurapika might kill you too, send you right off with him, or, in a rather strange twist of events, he might try to fuck you and take you to the other side, not in the way of barging into your house and straight up non con, nah, more like a get to know you then get in your pants type of way, uvo won't be there to protect you now would he? of course the latter is highly unlikely, but to be honest it's kind of fun to think about.

and now that you think of it... you don't even know what uvo was doing or where he was going, you choose how you want to react to how you found out about his troupe business.

shizuku

another woman! she's similar to another person right below her! she looks cute, but she's anything but!...... sort of.

she's not the best or worst partner, she's pretty normal, a bit distant but it's not something you can't manage, maybe she just needs some space and you're overwhelming her, but something that really gets to you is her forgetfulness.

at first, she'll forget things such as your birthday or your anniversary, but going further into the relationship, she becomes less and less forgetful (she might even remember things that you don't even remember.)

what exactly do you guys do together? well, she does try to partake in your interests, and does try to get things you like!

franklin

he's similar to uvo, he's big, he's actually nicer than he appears.

what makes him so low is.. well to be honest i don't know, i don't feel like he could be high up but not so low, so, this is the perfect spot for him.

for one he does have a bit of an anger problem, not as bad as phinks, but he doesn't mind a slight argument, good thing he wont assault you, and is quick to make up for the argument.

i don't know how to write him, so, please forgive me for how small this passage is. :(

shalnark

we're starting to get into uh... strange territory, he looks kind, and seems normal, but he's anything but that, he's not the most toxic but he also isn't the most caring and understanding either, similar to nobunaga he's kind of an enigma.

he's a love bomber and very good at manipulating, definitely takes advantage of his rather cute looks, he'll figure out what you're insecure about and compliment those things specifically, i do think he is capable of loving someone genuinely, but he sometimes does things without realizing that they aren't really normal, maybe he's getting his troupe personality mixed up with the one he has with you.

he does come off as sweet at first, brings you flowers and takes you on some rather expensive dates (an uncanny feeling creeps up on you about how the waiters act, but you don't pay much attention to it.) and sometimes he's more distant and a little bit aloof, you take this as him needing his space.

he's not abusive, but he isn't the absolute best partner, there's definitely better out there.

his death doesn't hit you as hard as the others but it was still devastating, you best hope hisoka doesn't come for you, and if he does, you hope he swiftly kills you, because you really don't want this murder clown to take an interest to you.

phinks

phinks is another one 'that's kind of odd to me, i don't want to judge a book by its cover and say "yeah he's a piece of shit!!" but again, he's a lot better in comparison to anyone below.

he's similar to shalnark in quite a few ways, one, he does things that kind of makes you think he's a bit of an odd ball, he's intimidating to look at and is the second strongest physically in the troupe, so you're lucky to have someone like him if you're looking for protection.

i don't see him as the type to take you out to fancy restaurants and bring you flowers, stuff like that is a bit too sappy for him, he shows other ways like giving you thinks you like or taking you to like carnivals or other fun events.

his main problem is his anger issues, he won't physically harm you especially if you don't use nen, but he's not above arguing with or yelling at you, he doesn't do it often, but he might call you an idiot or a bitch if you take him to that point.

the relationship is somewhat normal besides that.

chrollo

chrollo is weird, some say he's loving, caring, blah blah blah while some might say he's the exact opposite.

for one he is charming, he's a relatively good looking man, he's intelligent, and is looking for someone who's also intelligent.

i feel like chrollo definitely has a type, he likes people who are elegant, he wants someone that'll make him look good while he's in public, he doesn't care much for how people view the relationship outside of that, he also looks for someone with a personality he doesn't want someone who looks good yes, but is boring to be around, someone he can have a deep conversation with and talk about his interests with.

for one, you will not know about the troupe's existence, until he is 100% ready to tell you, which will definitely take a while, but he's confident that the troupe and himself will protect you from anyone who tries to avenge.

now, what makes him so low on this list? well, he's quite manipulative, a gaslighter, too, what do you mean you saw me with another woman? it's all for business, i'm just trying to steal her nen ability.

he does want to be a good partner, but this relationship is kind of a "too good to be true" type, something is happening behind closed doors and the thought is too persistent to ignore.

illumi

this guy is... strange, for one, his beady ass eyes make him look like a bug (affectionately), and section.. his very warped perception of what love even is.

i agree with the fandom that he has a breeding kink no doubt, his intention on dating is marriage, and you will bear his children, no ifs, ands or buts.

you'll meet his family but you'll never meet the troupe, he doesn't want you getting involved in fighting (he might have someone teach you some basic self protection) because he doesn't want you to die, that'll fuck with him... kind of, you're basically trapped in the mansion.

his overprotection is toxic on its own, you don't have that much freedom, you can't go shopping unless he's with you (or if he can't be there, one of his servants will accompany you), you're never truly alone unless he's away, and when he's here, things are no better, he's distant and cold, there's not much to talk about with him, sure, he loves you, but doesn't know how to express it much.

machi

one out of three toxic ass individuals, one of them consists of machi.

lets start off with the fact that she's cold hearted, as hell, if you cry in front of her she'll look at you like you're crazy, if she's really in that mood she'll tell you that you look stupid and you need to suck it up.

not good with physical touch or romance, who knows how the two of you managed to continue the relationship, she does leave flowers for you but won't tell you that they're from her, won't admit that she's the one who got them for you.

i feel like similar to a certain clown, she won't care much for you if you aren't either powerful or capable of protecting yourself in some way.

but all she's really doing is putting up barriers, she's actually caring in her own weird way, she'll still be there for you, patch up your wounds if you managed to get cut or stabbed and would probably mourn your death.

hisoka

were getting lower, and a certain sadist who loves torture is worse, but somehow, hisoka is slightly better than him in some way or another.

for one, hisoka probably won't be that interested in you if you aren't powerful, it would be worse if you were a regular civilian, he'll take that as an opportunity to take advantage of you sexually, physically, psychologically and mentally, and the relationship will be literal hell..

but, lets say you are pretty powerful, dare i say a troupe member yourself, he won't be as interested in fighting you as much as he would chrollo, but he would be interested in... other ways.

how you managed to get into a relationship with this freak is unclear, but you two one day just.. hooked up, and it all goes downhill from here.

he has no problem killing you if he gets tired of you, he already killed two and plans on killing the rest of the spiders, why not kill another? especially you? or, in an alternate scenario where he does manage to kill off all the spider, you're the only one who's left, this can go two ways, one, he can fuck you one last time then kill you, or, he takes you with him! if you managed to have a lasting impression on him, that is.

outside of sex, he just isn't a good partner, he's probably the only one on this list that's probably willing to cheat on you (don't you dare get back at him, both you and your lover will die) he's manipulative as hell, he doesn't necessarily care about how you feel and he'll provoke you just to get a reaction out of you.

feitan

and last but not least, feitan, oh boy, good luck to you for managing to have this man attracted to you. (im a feitan girlie, so this one might be a big longer than the rest)

for one, he'll hate your rotten guts for making him feel this way, for making him feel so weak, so emotional... he might even contemplate on killing you, but when that time comes he can't bring himself to do it.

i don't want to say yandere is his default since he doesn't really know how to properly love, because i do think he has some potential, but it does make sense for him, because there has to be something about you that makes you interested in him, maybe you're his polar opposite? maybe you're also a sadist?

he's not the most romantic partner, he doesn't want to come off as vulnerable, or sappy, so, what considers as a date to him? he's the type to probably take you to a cemetery at night as a form of a date.

he will not allow the troupe to know you or you to know them, for one he's going to be teased from hell and back for finally managing to pull someone and second while it appears that he doesn't care for you much, him protecting you from them is his way of showing you that he cares.

he can't find himself being vulnerable, he might teach you his language if you're up for it, and he might bring you some things he knows you like, but thats kind of it, also he won't force you to see him torture people.. unless you betray him in a way.

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storiesbysoup · 1 year

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Rough Fingers, Gentle Kisses.

lieutenant simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader. 4.6k word count warnings: NSFW CONTENT -- 18+ ONLY. [p in v sex, no condom, creampie, oral - female receiving, minor overstim, praising.], gun descriptions, extra: reader is not a soldier and this is extremely self-indulgent. I’m sorry. MASTERLIST

NSFW POST!

SYNOPSIS: Simon is out on a mission for over a month with radio-silence. You’ve never gone this long without hearing him. Is he okay? Did he finally encapsulate his codename?

To believe that Simon Riley, Lieutenant Ghost, was big and scary wasn’t an understatement. The man was well over six foot, had a thick build, and spoke with a voice so overwhelming and deep that it nearly shook wherever he spoke. Alongside this, he wore that fucking mask. The one that hid who he really was -- the one that kept Simon Riley and Ghost separate.

A piece of you questioned why he trusted you. It was bizarre, honestly. Ghost trusted no one -- he barely even trusted his own teammates. Yet, you were the one he trusted most. He cared for you more than you’d ever know.

While Ghost was known to his teammates, Simon was hidden for you. Certain nights were Simon nights. He would let you take off the mask at whatever pace you wanted, would let you be as gentle as you wanted with him. It didn’t matter. He was with you -- he was home.

Ghost truly never stayed for long. He wanted to stay, to let you sit in his arms as you simply breathed. Watching as your chest expanded and deflated, your head curled into his thick chest.

He could stay there forever.

This latest mission that Task Force 141 had been sent on was infuriating him by the second. Every single day, it seemed like the mission went on for longer and longer. It started as two weeks, then three, then a month. Ghost was on the verge of simply putting his foot down and refusing.

Price pressed his hands onto the table, smoothing out the map. “Al’ight,” His heavy British accent came through somewhat muffled due to the cigar that hung from his lips. “Ghost ‘nd Soap will push through ‘ere. Gaz ‘n I’ll go ‘ere. Get the info, get out. Simple?”

A silent yet unanimous ‘yes sir’ filled the room as the men glanced between each other. They were trying to get info on an unnamed target, at least unnamed to Ghost himself. He doubted Price knew, but it was unimportant.

The gun in his hands was heavy, a Remington ACR with an ACOG scope -- not too heavy or complex, but well-enough to be easily carried as he ran. It sat well against his chest, despite the extra items strapped to him. His eyes dashed down, double-checking the ammo he had stored.

His pistol, a basic M9, rested in a holster against his chest. The noise it made as it clashed against his ACR practically made him grit his teeth: too loud. Too much noise that could potentially get him caught. Brown eyes hidden behind the skull mask dashed to Soap.

The Scot was loud outside of work, but when they were on deployment, Ghost swore he was an entirely different man. It practically made a laugh erupt from him whenever he saw it.

All he wanted was to be done with this fucking mission and go home, be with you -- he nearly cried the other night because he wanted to hear your voice. It was uncharacteristic of him to crave anothers presence but here he was.

“Ghost, how copy?”

Price’s heavy voice came clear through the headphones on his head, quickly turning his mic on and responding. “Clear. Moving forward.” Ghost looked towards Soap, nodding quietly. That was why they worked so well together -- not a word needed to be said for them to have a full conversation.

He promised you that he’d introduce you to Soap one day. In his eyes, if the two of you got along, everything would start to turn up his way. A premature hope, but one that he stuck by.

Quickly and silent as possible, Ghost did what he did best: knifework. Making dead weight of two soldiers, he stepped towards the desk covered in paperwork. A gloved hand passed over the documents until he stopped on one.

Y/N L/N. PARTNER OF #####. LOCATION UNKNOWN.

His heart dropped to his stomach. Were they tracking you? Why were they tracking you? He bit at his bottom lip, curiosity plaguing his mind as his eyes darted across the pages.

A small piece of him hoped you were safe at home. Safe in the home he created. Ghost sighed, feeling Soap’s hand against his shoulder. Right, the mission.

He shook his head. “Nuthin’. Left already, ‘spose.” Soap’s brow furrowed as he grumbled under his breath, too quiet for Ghost to understand. The Brit’s eyes left his friend to look back towards the doorway. A hand was ghosting over his pistol, fingers flexing as anxiety began to prickle.

When Prices voice came through on his headset, he let out a breath. They were clear to leave. They were going home. Not just to base, but off deployment for at least a week.

Soap and Ghost clasped their hands together, a grin on the Scots face as he nodded. “We did it, L.T.” Ghost shook his head, grumbling. “Just a simple mission, Johnny. Don’t twist your panties.”

As Ghost finished his mission, you sat at home afraid. Simon was never radio silent with you, he tried to contact you as soon as he could as often as possible. It’d been two weeks. You were scared that he died.

No, Ghost didn’t die. You knew that well enough -- he’d ensured it to you. A hand crept itself up to your neck where a copy of his dog tags sat. He’d given them to you one night after your version of a welcome-home session.

Chest heaving, Simon rolled onto his back next to you. His dog tags sat against his slick chest, stuck due to the sweat that had accumulated. A silent ‘I love you’ was said as you both laid there, exhausted.

A few moments later, you rolled over and laid your head on his chest. It helped calm you, his heartbeat: it was slow and methodical. Not too fast, not too slow, just right.

Your hand had absentmindedly gone up to trace his tags, letting your fingers delicately tracing the wording on them. A smile crested your face, eyes swollen with exhaustion as your cheek pressed against his chest.

Simon chuckled softly, hand tracing your frame as he listened to your soft breaths. “Enjoyin’ yourself there, princess?” Giggles filled the hot room as you buried your face within your large lovers upper body. His hand clenched around your side, keeping you close by his side.

“I’ll make you a pair, pet. It’ll be a way for me to be wit’cha while I’m on deployment.”

The frown that overtook your smile made his heart cry. He didn’t like seeing you sad or hurt. Made him feel like he’d done bad as a partner, as a boyfriend. “Hey, hey -- you know I hate it too. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Ghosts can’t die, remember?”

You snorted, gently thwacking him in the side as you giggled. He loved your laugh, your smile -- he loved you. It wasn’t an emotion he was used to, but you helped him understand it somewhat better.

Here, now a month later, you sat on the bed you shared with Simon with your hand clenching the tags tightly. Tear-stained cheeks and loud sniffles filled the silence of your home. Right now, the worst of the worst came to mind. To you, Simon had died. Ghost had died.

Memories of him flooded your mind. The first time you met -- it was a funny story, actually. You’d been out in a local grocery shop, getting the monthly items you needed to stock up the apartment you rented.

While walking, you were roughly shouldered out of the way, your balance quickly faltering and colliding with the hard cold flooring. Ghost had picked up your belongings and helped you up, offering you a hand as his other held your basket.

His eyes were difficult to understand, but not impossible. Warm, deep brown that reminded you of elderly trees felt more comforting in that moment than anything else you’d ever known. A soft thank you fell from your lips, admiring the way his facial shape appeared. It was difficult to understand what he look like due to the skull-jaw mask he wore.

Ghost had decided to help you with your shopping, something appealing to a lurking sense of emotion in his cold heart. You learned his name during that encounter, and soon after got his phone number. Simon Riley, the Ghost. A silly nickname that you didn’t understand until later, but one that you adored no matter what.

You wiped at your face with the shirt you wore, one of Simons by chance, as you tried to silence your crying. Mouth dry, nose stuffed -- everything felt icky. A solemn look across the room only worsened your mood.

His clothes were strewn about, left the same since he’d left so you could at least harbor a bit of normality while your lover was gone. Simon was always a tidy person, or at least he tried to. When he would be home for breaks, he’d often scold you for how messy the house had gotten.

The blue-white illumination from your phone caught your attention. Heart pounding in your ears, worry clouding your gaze. What if that was Price, alerting you that something had happened to him? You didn’t know if you could stand to have the confirmation of your worst fears.

You wiped away your tears and turned your phone face-down. It’d be a few moments before you could even manage courage to actually look at whatever the notification was. It could’ve been a normal notification -- maybe it was social media.

Deep, slow breaths helped calm you down. A clenched hand against the blankets let you safely and carefully express your nervousness and fear. Your throat felt dry as you coughed, wiping at your face again. Silence overcame the house for a small while before the loud interruption of the front door opening caught your attention.

Nobody knew you were here except yourself, Simon, and Price. He was the only member of of 141 that knew of you, simply because Simon trusted Price with his life. Heavy doubt filled your mind that it was Price or Simon, so you grabbed your phone and walked out the bedroom slowly.

The pad of your socked feet against the hardwood flooring countered the heavy boots by the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, questioning if that could be your Simon. You really hoped so, because if it wasn’t you were surely fucked.

You peeked your face around the corner, eyes wide with fear and curiosity. A breath held itself in your throat before escaping. There he was -- he was home.

You leapt forward, arms reaching out and grabbing onto him as you sobbed in delight. Wide, thick arms wrapped around your middle as you clung to the man in your doorway. His hands went to your hair, petting it as you sobbed into his chest. A piece of you didn’t believe that he was real right now -- you didn’t fully believe that this was your Simon alive and well.

“Si?”

“I’m home, love.”

Another sob ripped through you as your face buried itself in his chest. You couldn’t believe that he was actually here, alive and well. Simon pressed one hand against your back, keeping you close as he moved away from the door. His fingers tapped against your thigh, a silent signal of him wanting to carry you.

Your arms found their way around his neck, holding onto him as you sobbed harder and harder. The realization that he was really there still hadn’t encapsulated entirely but you were so, so happy that he was alive and safe.

Ghost -- Simon -- pulled your head back softly, gloved hand tracing your cheek and wiping off a straying tear. His mask sat on his face was practically taunting you as his brown eyes watched your every move. One of your hands pulled away from his neck momentarily, tentative fingers tracing the edge of the mask.

He made no move to stop you as you hooked your fingers on the bottom lip of the mask, pulling it up and off of the man. A breath escaped the both of you as you got to encapsulate his face entirely. Large, sullen brown eyes that light up at the mere sight of your face. Thin, pale lips that were wet from his tongue darting between them.

God, you loved this man so much.

Simon, now with a revealed face, brushed his thumb against your cheekbone once more. He smiled softly, eyes darting across your face before landing on your lips. His tongue darted out once again, wetting his lips slightly before he leaned in.

When you kissed, it felt like fireworks were going off in your stomach. It was euphoric, the feeling of kissing him. You learned early on that Simon was a good kisser, and especially more that he was a gentle lover. His hands, though rough and calloused, never truly did any harm to you.

Simon was a rough man. His hands were the opposite of gentle and caring, and yet that’s exactly how he treated you. He was so kind and soft with every grace of his fingers, every kiss he placed. The hulking man before you was the definition of loving when he was with you.

“Sweetheart, hey, hey,” His voice was soft as he listened to your quiet sniffles. “I’m home. I’m here with you, love. Why’re you cryin’?” You shook your head, pressing your face into his collarbone once again and trying to stop your whimpers. Simons heart broke at each whimper, worried that he had become the cause of your cries.

In a sense, he wasn’t wrong.

Soft words filled the air between the two of you as you explained the fear that you’d experienced. Simon was in the military: he wasn’t a new face to the chilling hands of fear. It was something that he had hoped to hide you from, before everything else.

He leaned down, pressing his lips against your forehead. Seeing you scared, hurt -- it made him feel terrible. Some days Simon wished he could just retire already and stay at home with you, but he knew those days weren’t for him. Not just yet.

Simon placed an arm behind your knees and his other on your back before literally swiping you off the ground. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto his tightly. He wouldn’t drop you, you were fully aware, but you still held onto him.

“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t text you while I was on the mission, needed to be secret.”

Simon pressed a kiss on your forehead again, his scruffy beard scratched itself against your skin as he walked to the bedroom. His eyes jumped across each painting that he’d placed in the hallway. One of the two of you on your first date, when you moved in with him, even one from when you met his captain.

He smiled. Simon had never truly had a happy moment before you. His life had been terrible, from his father to his service, nothing had ever truly gone Simon’s way. It made loving you feel so odd. At times it even felt wrong because of how different the two of you.

Gently, he placed you on the plush bedspread, watching as your body sat flush against the blankets. His lumbering body towered over you, his dog tags falling from inside his shirt to dangle above your face. That was a sight he loved, you with dog tags.

“Si?” “Mm?” “Can... can we be gentle tonight? I- I know we haven’t seen each other in a while but...” “Course we can, sweetheart. I wasn’t gonna be too rough with you.”

Simon leaned down further, pressing his lips to yours as one of his hands pressed into the blankets behind you. His body wanted to deepen the kiss and kiss you aggressively, feverously, but he held back. You specifically requested that tonight was gentle.

He pulled away, leaning above you as he admired you. Eyes tracing every single mark on your face, all of the little imperfections you would unconsciously pick out on yourself. He thought you were truly gorgeous, in all honesty.

His fingers trailed town, hooking onto your shirt and slowly beginning to tug upwards. His eyes flickered upwards to yours, asking for silent consent. You nodded -- he knew he had consent, but he always asked beforehand. It was kind.

The shirt came off quickly, being thrown to some side of the room that Simon couldn’t care less about in the moment. He was aware you didn’t wear a bra when you were at home, especially late in the evenings. Simon scooted himself down, latching his lips onto one of your nipples as he clenched the other in one of his large palms.

His low, labored breaths were hot against your skin, writhing under his grasp as he continued his assault against your chest. The wet ‘pop!’ that came from him lifting his mouth from your breast was enough to force your face red. A wicked grin sat on his features as he captured your lips in a soft kiss.

You softly tugged at his shirt, Simon immediately catching on and pulling it up, tossing it in the general direction of your shirt. His eyes trailed down as your fingers tracer the scars across his torso. He’d told you about each of them one night, when the two of you were just laying in bed.

Simon pushed himself down, trailing kisses down your naval until he pressed one to your pelvis. He did the exact same thing he had done with his shirt, exposing the happy trail of dark hair going down his naval. His fingers hooked themselves on the rim of your soft pajama pants and underwear. With a single nod, they came off quickly.

He pressed kisses to your newly exposed skin, leaving soft little bite marks on both of your thighs. Teeth latching onto the soft skin, his eyes looked up to you. In this moment, Simon was the most beautiful thing in the world. Brown eyes illuminated by the lamp sitting beside the two of you, scruffy beard imperfectly filled in, large hands holding your legs apart.

One more kiss was placed on your skin before Simon pressed his face into your cunt, tongue lapping at the pink flesh. His hands hooked around the backs of your thighs as he pulled you closer to him, letting his tongue begin it’s inner assault.

You whimpered, head falling back into the blankets as one hand clutched his hair. Simon grinned against your cunt, lapping up your juices as if it was the last meal he’d ever get to fully experience. He groaned against you, tongue exploring you as much as he could.

Simon groaned again in response, metaphorically drinking in your moans and whimpers. He pulled his head up momentarily, watching you with lust-heavy eyes. “Sweetheart, you an’ I both know that I could sit here ‘nd eat for the rest of the fuckin’ night. As much as we’d both enjoy that, I think you wan’ somethin’ a little bigger than my fuckin’ tongue.”

He sat up, thick fingers losing their gloves as they glossed over your body. One of his hands remained between your thighs, fingers slowly creeping closer to your weeping cunt. Simon grinned at your writhing body, beginning to press a finger against your clit. He chuckled at the cry you let out, back arching.

“What, my little pet can’t take it? You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Be my good little pet -- good pets get rewards.”

He laughed at your whimpering pleas, listening to you as you begged and sobbed. Simon wouldn’t categorize himself as a sadist, but he did enjoy overstimulating you a bit. Your whimpering begs and cries as you writhed in the pleasure were music to his ears.

“Good pet.”

Simon’s hands went to his belt, beginning to work on undoing it. The cling of its metal caught your attention as you sat up on your elbows, panting softly as you watched him. You whined, wanting his hands back on your body. He smiled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your skin.

His pants dropped but a moment later, underwear included as his cock stood straight. It slapped against the naval of his stomach, covering the happy trail that sat against his skin. You wanted to reach forward and press a trail of kisses against it, but Simon had other plans.

He pushed you down slowly, chuckling softly as you gasped with your back hitting the bed. “I treasure you so dearly, my little one.” His voice was barely over a whisper as he leaned over, whispering things that would otherwise be absolutely lost to the darkness.

Both of his hands rubbed the backs of your thighs, thumbs grazing over the soft flesh as he pushed them backwards. When the two of you got together, you never would have thought that you would be able to touch your knees to your chest, but Simon quickly proved that you, in fact, could.

Simon took his cock in one hand, using the other to give your clit slight stimulation as he rubbed his tip against your slit. You keened, whining softly as you begged him to ‘hurry up, Si. I need you.’ With a heavy chuckle, he pressed his tip into your slit.

He wasn’t a small man in any sense. From his towering height to the sheer amount of mass he was, Simon was a large man. On the battlefield, he was a good soldier to push and move in to fight. In day-to-day life, he was like the perfect guard dog.

In the bedroom, he believed that he was more... difficult to exist. Simon believed himself to be too large for the actions that would happen within those confined walls. You quickly proved his worries to be just worries.

Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in escape him as his tip pressed into you. The feeling of your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulder nearly made him pound your cunt as hard as he could, but then he remembered what you had asked of him.

He bit his lip, slowly allowing you to get used to his size -- it had been a little over a month since you’d last taken him. A prideful grin broke across his features as he slowly pressed himself deeper and deeper, listening to the small sounds you’d make in response to him. He leaned his head down, pressing light kisses to your collarbone.

“That’s a girl, you’re doin’ so good for me.”

His praise alone was enough to make you wet enough for him. Whimpers and desperate begs filled the air of the room as he sheathed himself fully inside your cunt. Simon huffed, forgetting just how good the feeling of you felt. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

Your cries of pleasure just by the minor movement of him bucking his hips in-and-out fueled him. He pressed a hand against one of your thighs, using it as leverage as he attempted to press himself deeper. This was for you -- Simon would have been fine without having sex. His sex drive was high but he could repress the urge.

Arms coming up, inviting him closer as your face melded into one of his absolute favorites -- the most euphoric, pleasure-filled face he’d ever seen on you. Every single time he saw your face contort, he fell more in love with you. Simon leaned down, pressing another kiss into your lips before pulling back and panting against your lips.

“Fuck -- sweetheart, I’m close.” “Me... me too... Si...” “With me, love. Come with me.”

Simon growled into your ear, cock throbbing against your cunt. It felt like you were trying to milk him, as if your pussy was purposefully sucking him in deeper. You whined out loudly, clawing at his back as your orgasm neared closer and closer. “Si -- Si, please-” His voice was so low and quiet you almost didn’t catch his demands.

The room was filled with your pleas and whimpers as you pleaded with him to let you cum, sobbing out and nearly begging him for your orgasm. Simon let go of the grasp on your thighs, pressing his hands into the blankets beside your head. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, pulling him in closer and deeper.

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as his hips sped up. The slow, methodic thrusts he had been keeping up dissipated, now being replaced by a faster, harder, deeper rhythm. Your moans fueled his orgasm, one of his hands reaching down and pressing against your clit. The fingers against your cunt rubbed your clit as he chased his orgasm, growling into your ear as he barked orders to you.

“C’mon, c’mon love, cum for me. Fuck -- all over my cock, sweetheart. Thatta girl -- good pet, that’s my good girl.”

His praises heated the flame of your orgasm, the white heat of it rushing to overwhelm you. Your arms and legs clenched down onto him, wanting him as close as you physically could have him while your orgasm ripped through you.

Simon groaned, cock throbbing as his orgasm tore through both of you. His head curled down, into your neck and biting down on your collarbone. A silent marking that you were his -- as if the cum that had just been poured into you didn’t say that you belonged to him already.

He stayed there for a moment, letting his cock empty itself inside of you. His teeth let go of your skin, slowly flattening himself onto you as his cock rested inside of you. He sighed out into your skin, slowly pressing small kisses into your neck.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, just letting yourselves calm down from the orgasms you had just experienced. Simon wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you on top of him as he laid onto his back. Somehow, he’d kept himself inside of your cunt while turning himself over.

Simon looked down to you, eyes soft as you took your breaths on top of his chest. You nuzzled your face into his warm chest, feeling to chill of the house begin to creep into the bedroom. His head fell back against the pillows, one arm reaching over to pull a blanket across your body.

“Mm... Si?” “Hm?” “I love you.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair as he rubbed your back. “I love you too, sweetheart. Now get some sleep -- I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.” You smiled in response, giggling softly. Simon always understood you further than you’d ever know.

Simon Riley was a big and scary man, but he was also a kind and loving man. He was soft and gentle behind that mask he wore. The mask that only you could see past. You never got to see Ghost -- you only got to see Simon Riley himself. If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind it either way.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty: modern warfare 2 #cod #cod: mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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dancingbirdie · 7 months

Text

This feels more like a character study of Astarion than anything else, but it's part of the series I'm working on called "The Planets Bend Between Us."

Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here.

Everything on Ao3 here.

My Astarion Spotify playlist here.

I hope you enjoy! Comments always appreciated and hoarded like shiny magpie trinkets.

Only You. Only Me.

Rating: Mature (for descriptions of sex/fantasizing)

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings/Tags: Astarion's trauma responses, mental health, coping mechanisms, self-degradation, discussion of sex/physical intimacy, angst, fluff.

Summary: Halsin propositions Tav, prompting another important conversation between her and Astarion. Astarion works through more of his feelings about Tav, physical intimacy, and recovering from the torture he previously endured.

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Astarion had always enjoyed reading. It was one of the very few discreet pleasures in which he could partake when skulking about Baldur’s Gate at night. He would read by the light of the lamp posts dotting the main thoroughfares, slouching against them and perusing texts at his leisure. He could even justify the habit to Cazador and his siblings, as on numerous occasions, it captured the attention of unsuspecting passersby who considered his behavior intriguing enough to strike up a conversation. It was a more passive means of gathering victims, true. It felt akin to fishing for prey as opposed to stalking them. But, still, it got the job done, especially on nights when his skin and bones still ached from his master’s beatings.

Suffice to say, when he pilfered an armful of books from the druid’s grove several weeks ago, he was excited to finally indulge in the familiar activity once more. He had just selected a worn edition of Traveller’s Guide to the Sword Coast Vol. IV: The Risen Road and begun reading the author’s note when Tav barged into their shared tent with an audible huff.

“Honestly, I was only making conversation…” she grumbled under her breath as she began aggressively rummaging through her pack to retrieve her night clothes.

Astarion peered at her over the top of the tome, quirking a brow.

“Is there something you want to talk about, my dear?” he casually intoned.

Tav scoffed before turning to look at him over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe the conversation I’ve just had with Halsin,” she grimaced.

Ah, so it finally happened, he thought to himself. He was grinning wickedly as he closed the book and laid it next to his bedding.

“What’s that smile for?” Tav accused.

A true, hearty guffaw burst from his mouth at that. Tav would have found it delightfully endearing if she weren’t so flustered.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me about this,” he replied, still chuckling.

“What? How could you tell? Did he say something to you already?”

“I guessed! The man can’t stay quiet about ‘enjoying the freedom of Nature’s gifts’,” Astarion said, adopting a low, throaty tone to mimic the First Druid’s voice before cackling again. “Why, I bet he’d outlaw clothing if he could.”

Tav clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “It’s ridiculous. I was trying to make conversation with him a few days ago, because he seemed lonely and out of place. I mean, at least we all sort of know one another now. Tadpole business and all that. I thought he could do with a friend. So I merely asked if he had someone special waiting for him back home. And, apparently, that’s a coded question for ‘I’m interested in you?’ Honestly,” she scoffed.

Astarion continued to watch her with obvious amusement.

Tav turned back around and began undressing. He swallowed thickly as he watched her shrug out of her armor and begin untying the laces of her chest binding. The fabric fell to the ground with a muffled thump. He caught a mouth-watering view of the side of her breast as she bent over to fetch her nightshirt.

His nightshirt, to be more precise. She’d taken to wearing his clothes (with permission, of course) soon after they had begun sleeping together. Said article of clothing was long enough to serve as a nightgown on her.

His eyes followed the curve of her waist and hips as she slid her breeches over the peaks and dips of her legs. His chest began to feel a little tighter, his breathing a touch ragged. He knew he should turn away. Be a gentleman. Give her some privacy, even if she wasn’t asking for it.

Tav had grown increasingly casual about her nakedness inside the confines of their tent. She wasn’t doing it as a means to tempt him, he realized. Experienced as he was given his former… raison d'être… he would have picked up on the first whiff of it had her intent been to cajole him into sleeping with her again.

No, her behavior stemmed entirely from a place of trust. She let her guards down - physically and emotionally - with only him. It was a pure thing. Borne out of a sense of security that Astarion hadn’t thought anyone would ever feel with him. The thought alone was enough to send a surge of blood toward his groin. The tent suddenly felt a lot warmer than it had before she’d entered.

They hadn’t slept together since the night of tiefling’s celebration. It wasn’t because he didn’t desire her. He did, much more than his conscious self possibly cared to admit. He was especially reminded of that truth during moments like these, when she undressed in front of him as though she had done it a thousand times before. Like she’d do it a thousand times again. The way she shared her body with him, even non-sexually, was enough to kindle fire in his blood.

But he still felt tainted, no matter how many times he scraped and scrubbed his skin clean. The sense of it was still there, like an invisible grime marking him as unclean. Unworthy. And the act itself was still tainted in his mind. It wasn’t an easy place to return from – that cognitive hellscape where sex was a weapon, a vulnerability to exploit, a means to another’s end.

He would frequently picture himself filling her to the hilt, wrapping her legs around his waist, thrusting into her with all the passion he could muster. And at first, it would bring him nothing but unbridled feelings of pleasure. Of yearning. But then the vision would be overshadowed by other thoughts, memories of previous trysts. Reminding him of who he was. What he was. What he’d done to others. What had been done to him. And by the time he was able to beat back those intrusive thoughts, the urge to ravish her would be lost. And he would be left loathing himself for even thinking of touching her, or having her touch him, in that way.

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve her. That’s not meant for you. The thoughts would taunt him like crows circling a dying animal.

He knew she wanted to be with him again. Of course, she never asked for it, the polite and empathetic sweetling that she was to him. They had discussed the subject thoroughly, and she had resolutely accepted his boundaries. He knew she’d never overstep them unless he permitted it. But he could feel her wanting in the desperate way she kissed him. In the way she touched him, so reverently, when they curled up in their bedding to rest. It caused his heart to flutter and fracture simultaneously. Because no matter how desperately he wanted to give her what her unspoken actions craved, he couldn’t figure out how to bypass those horrible memories and thoughts that plagued him.

Things had gotten better, he had to admit. His aversion to touch and intimacy was slowly but surely fading. There were many nights he and Tav lay together in each other’s arms, lips moving together in perfect, glorious synchrony. They explored each other’s bodies – fingertips ghosting along skin, leaving heated trails of gooseflesh in their wake.

“Tell me to stop,” she would whisper against his neck, her hands roving the planes of his body, as she peppered kisses along his jawline and the column of his neck. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“Keep going,” he would murmur in return, touching her just as desperately. “Please. Keep going.”

It would continue like that for some time, until it became too much. Until her touch stopped feeling like an analgesic to his mind and more like an agonist. He would tense, and she would feel it. He would quietly whisper “stop,” and she would halt immediately. He would clutch her in his arms, and they would lie still as he recovered.

He wished he could give her more. Give her everything. She said she never minded. That she wanted them to take this slowly. And he believed her. But still. He knew he was a different sort of lover than she likely imagined her first to be.

Which was why he had resolved to accept the possibility that she might want physical pleasure with someone else. Someone like Halsin, who could give her that attention immediately. Without the additional baggage and self-loathing that he came with.

Under Cazador’s enslavement, the question of whether he preferred monogamy versus polyamory was just a cruel joke with an even crueler punchline. And before that, well, he couldn’t remember how he’d preferred his relationships. It was disorienting, to be so unsure of himself. Not knowing whether his decisions and preferences now were a reversal of his former personality or an exact alignment. Maybe some craved that sort of clean slate, but to Astarion it was terrifying. And enraging.

But matters of self-identity aside, he had pondered long and hard about how he would respond were Tav to express interest in someone else. He had seen the way the gazes of some in their party lingered on her, knew they were curious about his little hellcat. Knew it was only a matter of time before someone became brave enough to proposition her. And he’d resolved to tell her, should she ask, that he would be all right with it. If she wanted to be intimate with another. He wouldn’t mind.

Because it wasn’t her body he wanted, he had realized. While, yes of course, she was exquisite and beautiful and incomparable. She had a feral sort of beauty that drove his senses stark-raving mad sometimes. But what he really wanted – what he craved from her – lay so much deeper within. He wanted her heart. Her trust. Her pride. Her love. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He wanted to know it, wanted to learn.

“It’s all right, you know,” he murmured finally.

Tav turned to face him, tying her hair up in a tight bun for sleep. His nightshirt inched up her long, taut legs as she stretched.

“What’s all right?” she frowned.

“If you do wish to be intimate with him. I wouldn’t mind. I’m happy for you to have as much… Halsin as you wish.”

Tav just stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“I just have one question, though,” he continued, pressing on while he still had the courage and vulnerability to ask. “It wouldn’t be because… you know… we haven’t… in a while?”

The answer mattered so much to him. It was all he could think about for some time now. It made the defensive, self-preserving part of his mind absolutely seethe with rage, but try as he might, he couldn’t shake its importance.

Objectively speaking, he knew it was reasonable if she did respond with yes, it’s because we haven’t in a while, and I really do want to have sex. She was free to feel how she wished. He wouldn’t dare try to force her to stay with only him. He wouldn’t take her agency away from her like that.

But still, he couldn’t deny that it would gut a part of him, if that would be her reason for taking the First Druid up on his offer. Astarion knew his penchant for misery and self-loathing would seize that answer like a prized jewel. Taunt him with the reality that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worth the effort, wasn’t deserving of anyone’s sole focus.

“Astarion. Look at me,” Tav intoned, interrupting his frantic spiral.

He hadn’t realized he’d dropped eye contact, his unfocused gaze instead directed somewhere to the side of her head.

She knelt down before him, her knees pressing into his thigh. Gently, she took his hands in hers.

“I don’t want to sleep with Halsin. I don’t want to sleep with anyone else,” she said resolutely. He could hear the conviction in her tone.

He stared at her, stunned into silence. In all his pondering and fretting over this, he hadn’t prepared for that answer. Once again, her response left him feeling flat-footed.

“Listen,” she pressed forward, scooting closer into his side. “I’m fairly new at this, at all of this really. There’s a lot I don’t know about relationships and… physical intimacy… But I do know myself. And I know that sex doesn’t mean nearly as much to me as our emotional connection does.

“Really?” Astarion whispered, his eyes darting rapidly across her face, desperate to suss out the truth.

Tav nodded seriously, squeezing his hands in hers. “While, yes, I want you in that way… it’s you I want, Astarion. Not the act itself. Just you.”

He wanted to break down in sobs at her words, at just how much they meant to him. That she just wanted him. Astarion. No gimmicks, no quid pro quo, no expectations. She had said it to him before in a different manner of phrasing, but he wasn’t sure if he would ever tire of hearing it.

She couldn’t possibly understand how her simple truth, her sincere love for him, was upending his entire concept of life and relationships, like a meteor obliterating the ground beneath it. And out of that obliteration, something new and wonderful and terrifying was arising within him.

Marvelous as it may be, it was still too much to process. The self-preserving part of him reared up in desperation, anxious to shield him from the unknown. He slipped into his costume of confidence and ease once more, although a distant part of him noted how this façade was beginning to chafe.

“I know,” he chuckled with an offhanded shrug. He could sense the false bravado in his voice and wondered if Tav could discern it as well.

“I was being foolish,” he continued. “But thank you for saying it.”

Tav gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hands one last time before releasing them.

“Of course, my star” she replied lovingly. “Let’s get some rest then, yes?”

“Yes, my darling. Let’s,” he returned.

He gathered her up in his arms as they burrowed down into their bedding. Tav sprawled on top of him, her head on his chest, a leg hitched between his, an arm banded across his waist.

Within a matter of moments, she was fast asleep. Careful not to shift too much and wake her, Astarion picked up the previously discarded tome and resumed his reading.

Astarion had always enjoyed reading. Although, he had to admit, the surroundings and company had dramatically improved since the last time he cracked open a book.

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kermitcasanovaspamz · 3 months

Text

a.o ii

[this is based off of my own experience and interactions i’ve had with people, so take only what resonates]

venus in aries is the most passionate venus placement i have dealt with. honestly, bonnie and clyde type of high. loves to be treated like 'the prize', but does not want to be babied

yooo moon in pisces people, when they like you??? FAM it's like they worship tf out of you

i will always preach for moon opposite moon synastry. yeah, it can be disastrous, but when it's not, it's one of the most rewarding bonds you can have w/ sb (imo, but i may just be a lil crazy :P)

the 2h/8h placements that i've known tend to be extremely wary of their finances. i've seen some being super careful with their money, others (with for e.g moon in 2h or even taurus to a certain extent) go through periods of time where they don't waste a single cent and then BOOM self-indulge to an extreme. what i mean is, 2h/8h individuals and their relationship with money is... interesting to say the least haha

i think we need to talk about how sensitive aquarius placements are. not necessarily emotional, but they have a big heart for sure and really want the best for other people

on a less positive? note lol... libras (ESPECIALLY libra moons) love it when their partner is good looking. like when their s/o smells good, puts in effort to look presentable, they love that. it's superficial, but it it's important to them: the aesthetic, the harmony, etc

#astrology observations #astrology #a.o kermit #aries venus #pisces moon #2nd house #8thhouse #aquarius #libra #moonoppositemoon

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nonranghaes · 11 months

Text

warning: fem!reader bc this is a lil self indulgent, mentions of future kids (as a joke) tht are p much implied to be biological.

“oh my god.”

as much as you love your boyfriend’s friends, there’s a reason why you rarely hang around them for extended periods of time. mingyu was deep in conversation with wonwoo on the couch. key word: was, because you had been literally standing there, talking to seungkwan, when you took the tiniest of side-steps and lost your balance, nearly tripping over yourself. this is common enough in mingyu’s eyes, but it was seungkwan’s “oh my god” that shut up several people.

“is this why you like her?” seungkwan says in a stage-whisper. he’s drunk (and, honestly, clearly joking), his face is red, and you know it. “mingyu.”

mingyu only giggles from his spot. you find yourself smiling a little, too. between shutting your own clothing in doors, or bumping your head on the inside of whatever car you’re in, or tripping over your own feet... you’re clumsy. and mingyu knows it. he opens his arms up, gesturing for you to come over to him.

“what if it is?” mingyu asks, and he easily pulls you into his arms when you get close enough. “it’s cute.”

“are you the same person?” he asks, “should we be worried? she almost fell over nothing--”

“it’s cute,” mingyu insists, snuggling you closer to his chest. “it’s okay. we catch each other,” he giggles.

“she barely even moved!” seungkwan says, and then lets out a sigh. “of course mingyu finds someone almost as clumsy as he is...”

“almost?!” mingyu speaks up. and you nearly bury your face in his shoulder out of embarrassment.

“so she’s as bad as you?” seungcheol looks up from his phone. “ah... remind me to never babysit your children.”

mingyu hugs you a little tighter, almost as if he’s shielding you, but he giggles again. “it’ll be alright,” he says. “if two negatives make a positive... i think our child would be coordinated.”

“or worse than you,” minghao doesn’t even look up.

mingyu must be in a sappy mood, because he just presses his cheek against your shoulder. “nah... if it’s with her, then i think our kids would be perfect.”

with ease, the topic shifts from teasing the two of you to teasing mingyu alone... and you just cuddle into his arms closer, thankful to have a boyfriend who cares about you. even if the two of you haven’t told the others the real story of how you met (... because you did end up tripping into his arms, and ended up liking them so much that you stayed).

#nonranghaes.thoughts #nonranghaes.svt #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #svt x reader #svt imagine #seventeen x you #svt x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #kim mingyu fluff #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x you #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #this is purely bc i nearly fell over just now trying to change clothes.#there is no hope for me ill probs die bc i tripped over myself

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moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

hiiiiii🩷 It’s P 😊😊I was just wondering if I could request something a little bit self indulgent 🫠

Just a small thing about Remus comforting r for being anxious about having to start wearing glasses and being a bit embarrassed to wear them 🩷🩷🩷🩷

me from now on : 🤓🤓

have a lovely day 💋💋💋

Hi P! Thanks for requesting lovely <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 763 words

You’re trying not to squint at the menu behind the barista, but an ache blooms in your temples anyway. You give up, looking away. You and Remus are still a few places back in the line. You’ll read it once you get closer.

“What’re you thinking, dove?”

“Hm?” You glance up at your boyfriend, but he’s staring at the menu.

“What’re you thinking of getting?” he clarifies, his quiet voice barely reaching you over the chatter of conversation and whirring of machinery behind the counter.

“Oh. I’m not sure,” you answer honestly, “what’re you thinking?”

“I’m sort of intrigued by the orange clove latte, but the dark chocolate and mint one sounds good too.”

“Mm, yeah.” You turn back towards the menu, your voice wavering with uncertainty. “Those both look good.”

“Dove.”

“Mhm?” You look at Remus again, and this time he’s looking back.

“Where are your glasses?”

You hesitate a second before patting the side of your bag soundly, feeling the bulge of your glasses case within. “I’ve got them,” you say.

“You don’t want to wear them?” he implores. There’s a funny squint to his eyes, not entirely unlike your own. More teasing. “I doubt you can read the menu from all the way back here, sweetheart. Why don’t you put them on?”

You grimace but don’t argue, digging for them in your bag and sliding them onto the bridge of your nose. The relief is instant, but so is the self-consciousness. You feel as though the difference in your appearance must be glaring. That when people look at you, your glasses must be all they can see.

Remus senses your unease, slipping his hand into yours. He worms his fingers between your own.

“I could tell you were having one of your headaches,” he murmurs, and now the details of his expression are startlingly clear. Every line of it is shaped by a tender, aching fondness. “You get a bit of tension right,” he brings his other hand to your face, running his thumb over the skin just above your brow, “here. It goes away when you put them on.”

It’s both touching and embarrassing to be so thoroughly known. You rest your head on Remus’ bicep, cheeks warming. He doesn’t comment on it.

By the time you get to the front of the line, you both know what you want, and afterwards you step to the side to wait for your drinks.

Remus is watching you, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Sorry, nothing.” He shakes his head. “You just look really cute in your glasses, you know?”

You scoff. A cynical exhale that sounds more like a snort. Remus’ eyebrows go up. “You don’t have to say that,” you tell him.

“I don’t feel like I have to,” he defends himself. “It’s fairly obvious. Don’t you like them?”

You’re somehow even more aware of them than you were five seconds ago, touching your finger to the bridge to push the frames up an extra millimeter. “It’s like having an intruder on my face,” you joke lightly.

Remus chuckles, giving your hand an affectionate squeeze. “You’re just not used to them,” he promises. “As someone who’s seen your face both with and without and loves it very much, I can testify that they don’t interfere with the general effect. You’re still lovely.”

Neither of you can quite look at each other as he says it, though when you lean into his side a bit in thanks, he leans back.

The barista calls out your order, and you both pick up your drinks, claiming a table by the window.

“I’m shackled to iced coffee for the rest of my days,” you grouse, sipping your drink from a straw. “Hot drinks are too inconvenient, with the way they fog up my glasses.”

“You always want iced ones,” Remus points out.

You shrug like well yeah, but that’s not the point, and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. They slip closed as he sips from his own cup. He’d gone with the odder one, orange and clove, and he seems uncertain about the taste, letting it sit on his tongue for a bit.

“Interesting,” he decides. “Want to try?”

You reach for the cup curiously. He passes it to you, and you blow on it out of instinct, immediately penalized when your vision is obscured.

“Ugh.” You pull your face back from the cup, trying to see through your foggy lenses. “So annoying.”

Even through the mist, you can see Remus’ lips curve in a smile. “Adorable.”

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twirlywhirlywriting · 2 months

Text

Consequences of Being a Brat

Eddie Munson Fic Incoming!

NSFW 18+, Minors DNI! Okay so this one is… whoo. A lot more intense than my previous fics. I know I said my next fic would be with Clarke Griffin from The 100 but I got smacked in the face with inspiration for this so, here you go. This fic is purely self indulgent and I pretty much made it just for my own desire BUT I am sure all you dom!Eddie lovers out there will enjoy it too. I honestly have no clue if The Magic Wand existed in the 80’s but for the sake of this fic, it absolutely did. The ending is super fluffy so please stick around for it too! Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this, it would mean the whole entire world to me!

Word Count: 9,016

Warnings:NSFW 18+, Angst (very slight), Smut, Fluff, AFAB Reader, Aftercare, BratTamer!Eddie, Brat!Reader, Breath Play (one time near the end), Bondage, Biting, Potential CNC? (honestly I’m not sure if it is or not. Reader doesn’t want to accept punishment but it’s all a part of their brat/tamer dynamic and consensual, but as always, read at your own risk), Choking, Crying During Aftercare, Dom!Eddie, Degradation, Dacryphilia, Eventual Submission, Extreme Sensitivity, Face Slapping (Only a couple of times and it is not extreme), Forced Orgasms, Fingering, Humiliation, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), Orgasm Control and Denial, Punishment, P-in-V (unprotected, wrap it up irl folks), Rough Sex, Sub!Reader, Spanking, Swearing, Squirting, Subspace (mentions of, it’s not super deep), Vibrators

Idk I feel like I overdo it with warnings sometimes but I want you to be able to read at your own risk and avoid your own triggers, I do not want my writing to cause harm! Only horniness and happy feelings! Anywho, here is my newest fic and I really hope you all love it!

Consequences of Being a Brat

The stage lights focused, the crowd hushed, and the electric hum of anticipation filled the air. Eddie Munson, with his shaggy brown hair cascading over his shoulders, stood center stage. His fingers started strumming his electric guitar as Corroded Coffin launched into their first song. In the sea of people, Eddie scanned the crowd, looking for one face in particular–yours. You never missed a single concert, and tonight shouldn’t have been any different. But tonight, no matter how hard he searched, you were nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is she? He thought to himself. As the concert reached its crescendo, Eddie’s mind wandered, his performance slightly faltering. Once the last note echoed through the quarry, Eddie rushed offstage. His heart pounded with a mix of post-performance adrenaline and concern for where you could be.

Back at home, I was absolutely fine. My coworker at the bakery asked me to pick up their shift, so I was working overtime and honestly forgot about the concert tonight. I was laying on the couch, lounging in Eddie’s Hellfire club shirt and black cotton panties while watching some cheesy horror flick. I was just about to get up from the couch to call in for a pizza delivery, when Eddie crashed through the door.

He looks absolutely frantic, making me feel instantly guilty. I totally forgot to tell him that I wouldn’t be able to make the concert tonight. Fuck. “Eddie, I’m so sorry! I had to cover Emily’s shift tonight and I completely forgot to let you know I wasn’t going to make it. I feel terrible.” I stand up to give him a hug, he looks like he needs it.

Eddie’s frustration softens, but is still very present. “You just forgot to tell me? I was worried sick, baby. I thought you were hurt.” He hugs me back tightly, before sighing and letting me go.

“I know, I know, Eddie. I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back as he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. One of the rings on his fingers gets stuck in his hair and as he is figuring out how to get it un-stuck, I can’t help but giggle.

His head immediately snaps to look at me, questioning, “What’s so funny?”

I try not to, but I can’t hold back another giggle. “I can’t help it, you looked so worried.. It was kind of cute.” I know this conversation will get me nowhere but trouble, but my heart feels so inflated with how much he cares about me, I don’t even care right now.

His eyes close for a moment as he processes what just came out of my mouth, his tongue jutting into the side of his cheek. When he opens his eyes again, they seem much darker than they were before and I knew that my words had started something. His tone itself could cut through ice. “Excuse me? Would you like to repeat that? I’m just not sure that’s what you were really trying to say, sweetheart.”

His words shoot a shiver through my body and directly down to my core. He doesn’t call me that unless I’m really starting to push my limits. It’s a fucked up nickname because it’s way too gentle for whatever he’s planning to do to me.

For some stupid reason, the desire to provoke him becomes unbearable. “That is actually exactly what I was trying to say. You were so worried about me that you ran home and almost tore the front door off its hinges. It was absolutely adorable.” I put extra emphasis on the last word, a smirk playing on my lips.

His eyebrow raises at me as his arms cross over his chest, his fingers tapping his arm in an attempt to control his desire to put me over his knee right that second. “Oh yeah? Wanna make that hole you’re in a little deeper?” He takes a step closer to me until it feels like he’s towering over me, his face only inches from mine, and whispers, “Go on, say something else. I dare you.”

Those fucking words. Maybe on any other day, I would have just apologized and took a spanking or two. But daring me? Oh boy, today was not the day. I just got done with two fucking shifts at work in a row and okay, yeah, I can see why you’d be worried about me and now you’re mad that I’m mouthing off, but seriously? Fuck you, Eddie! I thought to myself.

Surprise registers on his face as his mouth opens slightly, eyes widening. Oh god. Did I just say that out loud? I look up at him and laugh nervously. “Is it too late already to say I’m sorry?” My voice is much more quiet than I mean it to be, but it’s too difficult to speak up when his eyes are on fire and it’s directed right at me.

He just stares at me, his eyes going from that teddy-bear brown to straight up black. He starts unbuckling his belt, pulling it from the loops slowly. My mouth dries out and for a moment, I’m frozen in place before the realization of what he’s about to do hits and I fucking bolt towards the bathroom so I can lock myself in there for a while until he calms down.

His hand quickly reaches out and grabs me by the wrist before flipping me around to face him. He grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him while his other hand continues pulling his belt from the loops at an agonizing pace. “And just where do you think you’re going? You really think you get to say that shit to me and then run off to avoid my belt? Really?” He can’t help but laugh at my escape attempt, but his laugh sounds empty.

I try to pull my face away from his grip, but it’s impossible. My nerves turn into anger and I suddenly swat his hand away from my face, my voice raising to a yell. “You can’t get me in trouble for this! I was just messing around, Eddie, can’t you take a fucking joke?”

The growl that escapes his lips is feral. He grabs me by the back of the neck and pushes me forward, forcing me down the hallway towards the bedroom as he bites back, “Eddie? I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, sweetheart, but that is incorrect.”

I’m practically stumbling over my own feet, he’s pushing me so hard and walking too fast for me to find a good rhythm in my steps. I get shoved down onto the mattress face first, but quickly flip myself around and sit up, scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed. “Stop it! Eddie I said I was sorry, I was joking! Don’t do this, seriously.” My voice is definitely mixed with panic and anger… arousal is in there somewhere too, judging by the wet spot I know is coming through my panties right now.

He grabs me by my ankles and drags me back towards him, before flipping me over, scolding me as he yanks off my panties and giving my ass a few hard spanks with his hand to warm me up. “Let me get this straight. You are acting like a fucking brat, and now you refuse to take your punishment for it? Not only that, you know how you’re supposed to address me right now, yet you keep acting like you’re just my sweet little girlfriend and calling me by my name. But you’re not my sweet little girlfriend right now, are you?”

He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond to his questions, he just grabs his belt and uses every harsh spank with it to emphasize his next words. “You. Are. My. Bratty. Fucking. Slut.” I wince and whine at every smack, and then my hands fly back to cover my now-bright red ass for protection. He has no patience with me anymore, I can tell. He grabs my hands to pin them behind my back, which makes me groan out in frustration and panic, and without even thinking about it, I’ve kicked my feet at him and hit him right in the thigh. Thankfully it wasn’t a direct kick to the balls, but it was close. And now I’m fucked.

I look back at him as best as I can, and the look on his face sends another round of chills down my spine. I can feel myself getting wetter by the second though, fuck my life. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!” I scream at him, squirming as hard as I could to try to get away, “I wouldn’t have done that if you had just let me go!”

He tuts at me from behind, sighing in disappointment. “You really need a lesson in obedience today, don’t you? I tried to just give you a few spankings with the belt. Just a few, and you just can’t stop making things worse for yourself.” He grabs me by the hair and yanks me up to sit, making me yelp. My shirt is torn off of me before a quick, double-handed shove sends me crashing back down. It’s not gentle, and I let out an “oof” when I hit the bed. He grabs me by my hips and flips me over again before getting onto the bed and straddling me so I can’t squirm away.

He leans over and grabs a piece of rope in the bedside table drawer before grabbing my wrists harshly. As he is tying my wrists together, he talks to me rather calmly, as if he’s explaining how two plus two equals four. “If you had just taken your punishment like a good girl, I wouldn’t be having to do this, sweetheart. But you just couldn’t shut your mouth, could you? And then you kick me? You actually kick me? Well, when this all gets too intense for you, just remember that you brought this on yourself. I tried to let you off easy, I really did. But now it’s time to face the consequences, sweetheart.” He sighs as he pulls my arms up to tie the other end of the rope against the headboard, acting like my squirming is literally nothing to him. The entire time he’s talking I’ve been doing my best to squirm, to look at him with pleading eyes, to whimper at him submissively like I know he likes, but none of it was doing a single thing to change his mind.

I suddenly notice just how naked I am, and just how clothed he is. It makes my thighs squeeze together as I try to hide just how fucking turned on I am by all of this. Am I terrified? Yes. Have I ever gotten in this much trouble before? No. Am I wetter than I’ve ever been before in my life? God, yes. When he is done with the ties, he looks down at me with his arms crossed against his chest again and his eyebrow raised, waiting for… something?

I look up at him for a few seconds, getting a little bit irritated by the way he’s sitting there and staring at me expectantly but not doing or saying anything. “What?” Oops. That came out harsher than I meant it to.

“Well? Are you going to apologize?” He demands. Why the fuck is my only urge when he looks like that to make him even more agitated? I know punishment is coming. I know he’s at his limit with my disobedience and attitude. And yet it’s just too entertaining to witness all of his reactions when I refuse to give up.

“No. You don’t own me, you can’t make me do shit.” I glare at him, shutting my eyes and pulling at the restraints slightly as I prepare for a slap. It doesn’t come.

I slowly peek one eye open and he leans forward, grabbing my chin in his hand so hard it hurts until I fully look at him, and then whispers, “Oh, but I do. And you’re going to learn that the hard way.” I can’t help but swallow hard, and my mouth dries out again. I have no clever response to that.

He crawls off of me and grabs the underside of my knees, yanking them open despite me trying to keep them closed. I knew I was a mess down there and I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that too. When he sees how wet I am, he lets out a whistle. “Damn, baby. You are such a dirty girl.” His fingers go right to my core, spreading my lips apart with two fingers, causing me to whimper and turn my face away from him because the way he’s looking at my pussy right now has my stomach doing flips.

He slides two his two fingers up and down my slit to wet them before shoving them both inside me, giving me absolutely no time to adjust before he starts pumping them in and out at a much faster pace than he normally warms me up with. I moan out as his fingers are sliding in and out easily. I can already hear how wet I am on his fingers, and it makes my cheeks flush at the sound. I can’t even help it at this point and I squirm at the sensation, my legs closing around his hand. Which, obviously doesn’t do fucking anything to stop him or even slow him down. He curls his fingers up once he feels my g-spot start to swell from stimulation, not only making a “come here” motion but also still bringing his fingers in and out of me at a vicious pace. I squeeze my legs tighter and my moans straight up sound like I’m in a porno movie or something.

“You are so fucking wet. I don’t even need to warm you up like this, do I? No, I don’t think I do.” He rips his hands away and leaves me whining at the empty feeling, but it is quickly replaced by the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. I don’t even remember seeing him take off his pants. He slides it along my slit and barely touches my clit with it, which makes me flinch. He slowly pushes himself inside of me as he grabs my hips so hard, I swear they’ll bruise. He leans his head back and groans at the feeling, but just a moment later he is pounding into me at an unforgiving pace. I look at him as my mouth hangs open, keeping eye contact as I’m unable to hold back my moans yet again. The speed of his thrusts mixed with just how turned on I am causes me to get closer to an orgasm much faster than I’d like to.

I absentmindedly try to wrap my arms around him for something to hold on to but the ropes promptly remind me that I can’t. As he feels my pussy starting to twitch and throb the closer I get to an orgasm, he grabs onto the back of my thighs and pushes my legs up and to the side of me, giving him a much better angle to hit my g-spot with every thrust. When he hears the sweet sounds I’m making at this angle, he starts pushing himself deeper and thrusting his hips even harder, practically slamming into my cervix every few thrusts. If it weren’t for how ruthlessly he was fucking me, I would be extremely distracted by the heavenly groans that were freely flowing from his lips right now.

I’m heading towards an orgasm so quickly, I barely have time to say “I’m gonna” before he pulls his cock out of me faster than I can realize what was happening. Right as I’m about to open my mouth to argue or whine at him for rudely stopping my impending orgasm, he brings his hand down to slap my pussy. The wet sound it makes mixed with the sting on my sensitive lips makes me arch my back and groan. He chuckles darkly and slaps my pussy again just to hear me make that sound again.

Then he gets right in my face, and his voice sounds like it’s practically an entire octave lower than usual. “Do you want me to make you cum? Hm? Is that what you want?” I know where this is heading, and it is not in my favor. I nod my head quickly at him, making my voice sound as submissive as I can manage right now, hoping it will work.

“Yes! Yes please, please make me cum! Please Ed-Sir! Please make me cum Sir!” When I almost called him Eddie, he looked like he was about to fucking lose it, so I corrected myself. There have been times before when he’s edged me for days without letting me cum, and I absolutely cannot take that kind of punishment right now.

He places his hand around my throat, squeezing tight enough so that I can’t easily speak and then slams himself inside of me again without warning. No sound comes out when I try to cry out from the sudden force. He speeds up and slows down in a repeating pattern until I’m quivering under him and he can feel just how close I am. He loosens his grip on my throat and has a devilish smirk while he says, “Say it again. Beg me. Say ‘Please Sir, please make me cum like the little slut I am.”

I balk at his words; my voice is caught in my throat and I even stop moaning for a second. I’m so fucking close to cumming though, my legs are shaking uncontrollably. He slaps both of my tits, hard, to jump-start my brain into saying something. “Fuck! Don’t make me say that, God, please just let me cum!”

A chuckle escapes his lips and he tuts his tongue at me in disappointment. He slaps me in the face suddenly. “God isn’t here, sweetheart. It’s just me. You just don’t want to listen, do you?” He says this casually, as if he didn’t just hit me. He pulls his cock out of me again, and I whine as my impending orgasm fizzles out again. He leans over and grabs more rope, silently tying my calf to my thigh and then tying the other side of the rope to the headboard. He does the same thing to my other leg, so that both of my legs are tied up and out of his way. I give the ropes a test squirm and become increasingly nervous as I realize just how little wiggle room I have. I can barely even move my hips an inch. Not good.

I want so badly to complain, to whine, to beg, to argue my way out of this. But as soon as my mouth opens, no words come out. Which is good, because the way he’s looking at me is telling me that now my punishment is going to really begin, and I am too nervous to make it any worse than it’s about to be. He reaches his hand out towards me and grips my cheeks in between his thumb and fingers, digging in. “You have been such a brat today, you don’t deserve an ounce of mercy, sweetheart.”

He lets my cheeks go with a bit of force, before aligning himself up against my entrance and slamming inside me again. I’m hitting the edge so fast, I can’t even help myself from begging, despite what he literally just told me about not deserving mercy. “Please! Please just let me cum. Don’t edge me again, please! Two times is enough, Sir. Please, two times is enough!” My voice sounds whorish, even I can hear it. The force that he’s slamming into me makes every other syllable sound strained through my moans.

“Oh, you think two times is enough?” He scoffs at me before pulling all the way out until just the tip is at my entrance, before slamming into me all the way and growling, “You think two times is all you deserve? You’re pathetic, baby. You don’t even realize how much you need me to break you, to put you in your place.”

He pulls out and slams into me again, his hands reaching up and pinching my nipples hard enough to make me yelp. He continues at this pace, keeping me right on the edge with his incredibly slow, forceful thrusts. “Now beg me for it. Tell me you want me to make you cum. Say ‘Please Sir, please make me cum like the little slut I am.’” He spits out the word “slut” with venom, his eyes don’t leave mine for a second. I’m so close, so needy, so fucking close that I don’t dare look away from him either.

I cry out in frustration, a “no!” escaping my lips before I can even stop it. I look at him desperately, about to apologize for defying him yet again and beg him to just let me cum, but he smacks my tits again and uses both of his hands to grip my throat. He squeezes just enough that I can still breathe, if I really focus, but there’s no way I can talk.

“No?” he repeats, an evil grin spreading across his face as he pulls out of me all the way again, and I think for a second he’s going to stop completely. “Well then, I guess we’re just going to have to keep going, aren’t we?” He leans in and bites the inside of my tit right next to my nipple so hard that I pull against the restraints and my eyes squeeze shut. He pushes himself back into me again, his pace so fast the bed sounds like it’s going to fucking break. I’m so close, so so close, and he knows it. He can feel it. “Don’t you dare fucking cum, babygirl.”

As tears start to spring to my eyes, he lets my throat go and places his hands on each side of my head instead. The second I can, I’m begging as best as I can, “Please! Please pleasepleaseplease let me cum, Sir I can’t take it, please!” My words are barely even words, they’re all mushed together and tangled in between moans. My entire body is shaking from being so close as I try my best to hold it back.

The grin on his face is sinister. “That’s more like it! Keep fucking begging, sweetheart. Say those magic words for me and I’ll let you cum.” His pace is unrelenting, giving me no option other than to hold back my orgasm, which he knows I can’t do for long.. Bastard, he isn’t giving me a choice anymore.

My breathing becomes ragged as I fight desperately not to cum, but I can’t do it anymore. My eyes fly open wide and just as I’m about to lose control, he pulls out of me all the way. I never thought I’d be so relieved to feel the sensation of my orgasm fading away. I immediately pout at him, my voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t say it, Sir.. It’s too embarrassing. Please, please just let me cum.”

“Oh, is it embarrassing for you?” He asks, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He wraps a hand in my hair, pulling my head up just a bit and putting his face very close to mine. “You think it’s embarrassing to beg for my cock? To admit that you’re mine and you’ll do anything for me to let you cum?” He slides his fingers inside of me, curling his fingers up towards my g-spot and fingering me violently, putting his entire arm into it, causing my hips to jiggle with the pure force of his movements. “Well, you’re gonna have to get over that embarrassment and beg me the right way, because I’m not stopping until you do, slut.”

Tears form in my eyes at his words and the fact that he’s yet again working me so quickly towards an orgasm. It’s making my brain start to go fuzzy from all of the edges, slaps, and harsh words. My mouth opens and I can tell that the moans and gasps coming from me are just entertainment for Eddie at this point, because he mockingly moans right back at me, then growls. “Yeah? That feel good baby?”

I can’t handle it anymore, all of my nerves feel like they’re being set on fire with how much I need to cum right now. I let out a single whimper in defeat, and my eyes drift away from him despite the fact that he’s holding my head up and forcing his face in mine. “Please Sir! Please make me cum…” the second half of my sentence is barely above a whisper, but I know he can hear it. “Like the l-little sl-slut I am.” My cheeks are on fire and I’m sure I am the color of a tomato after I finally say it.

He sighs with satisfaction, his smirk turning into a huge grin and he finally lets my hair go. Just as I think he’s finally about to let me cum, he pulls his hand out of me yet again. I squirm against the ropes and a single tear falls onto my cheek with pure frustration, looking at him with horror as if he just committed a crime.

“You’re not getting off that easy. Say it like you mean it, baby. Say it like you’re proud to be my slut.” He slides his cock back into me, both of us emitting a low, guttural groan at the same time. He barely gives me a second to hesitate before slapping me on my cheek again, his voice as sharp as a knife. “Fucking. Say. It.”

I gasp as he slaps my cheek again before letting out a mix between a moan and a whine in frustration from how torturously slow he’s going. His goal right now is just to keep me teetering on the knife’s edge of an orgasm. I finally give up and cry out, “Please! Please Sir, make me cum like the little slut I am, please! I can’t take it anymore!”

The smirk that crept back on his face was pure evil. “Good fucking girl!” he groans as he finally picks up the pace, pumping into me deep and hard and fast, slamming into my g-spot with every thrust. As my orgasm finally crashes into me, I practically scream. My back arches as much as it is allowed and I can still hear the sloppy wet sounds of him slamming into me over and over, despite how loud I am. My breath is stolen away from me with how intense it all is, all of those edges making this one orgasm almost unbearable. My limbs keep shaking and fighting against the rope even as my orgasm slows down because my pussy immediately feels overstimulated. My eyes look glossy as tears are filling them again and I can’t stop squirming. “Please stop, please stop, it’s too much! I came, I’m done cumming! Sir I came, now please give me a break!”

He chuckles at my predicament, leaning down and brushing his lips against my ear as he whispers, “You are mine to use however I want. I’m not going to stop until you’re a sobbing, blubbering mess.” The sound I make at this is in between a cry and a moan, since he is fucking me so hard and fast that I’m immediately being dragged toward another orgasm. The sound I make causes him to groan and add, “And even then, I might not stop. Not until I’m good and ready to stop watching you cum. You have been such a naughty fucking girl today, and I am going to teach you a fucking lesson.”

I cry out at his words in protest, hopelessly squirming against the restraints as he fucks me closer and closer to my next orgasm. The closer I get, the more uneven my breathing becomes. I look up at him, pleading with him desperately. “Sir, please don’t do this to me! I’ve learned my lesson, I promise!” I can’t help but squeeze my eyes shut, fighting hard to hold back my next orgasm threatening to hit me like a brick wall.

“I don’t believe you,” Eddie growls, thrusting harder as he feels me tensing up beneath him. He looks down at me heartlessly. “You’re going to cum for me. Right now.”

As soon as he tells me, no, fucking commands me to cum, I’m seeing stars. I can feel his eyes locked on my face, committing the look of pleasured agony on my face to memory. My moans are stuck in my throat with the intensity and my entire body is shaking and twitching and squirming. The sounds coming from his cock slamming into my pussy is fucking filthy. As my orgasm slows down, my limbs go limp and I am panting hard, trying like hell to catch my breath.

He finally pulls out of me, leaving me twitching and whimpering from how hard I just came. My eyes flutter open at him, thanking him wordlessly for finally giving me a break. As I lay there with my chest heaving, believing he’s going to actually have some mercy on me, he lets his eyes trail down my body and fall onto my pussy. More specifically, my swollen and twitching clit.

The sight makes him look at me like he was just given a new favorite toy. “Oh look, your poor little clit is just begging for my attention. I’ve been so mean to neglect it!” He slowly glides his fingers down my thigh, looking into my eyes and chuckling, “I hope you didn’t think I was done with you, sweetheart.” He quickly removes his own shirt before ever so gently sliding his fingers up and down my folds, before landing on my clit and gently circling it, but not quite touching yet. He leans down and kisses my chest, working his lips all the way down to my pussy, ignoring every one of my whimpers. He places a single, very gentle kiss directly on my clit as a warning for what’s to come, making me jerk and squeal.

“Please Sir, my I’m way too sensitive for this!” I beg, a full pout on my lips. “I’m too sensitive..”

Eddie laughs in amusement at my protest. His tongue darts out to flick at my clit, making me gasp and jerk my hips again. “Oh baby,” he breathes, “You’re always too sensitive for me.” He smirks and flattens his tongue, slowly licking from the very bottom of my entrance to the top of my clit, making me squirm and whine, unable to peel my eyes off of him. He suddenly pulls back, bringing his hand down to slap me 5 sharp times on my pussy, which makes me throw my head back with a long groan and flinch with every hit. “I don’t remember asking for your fucking opinion, though, slut.” He leans back down, placing his lips directly over my clit and sucking just barely, before rolling his tongue slowly. He only gives me about 2 seconds of soft touches before starting his assault. He violently lashes his tongue against my clit, then starts sucking hard, rolling his tongue with force.

I squeak and jerk, before ungodly sounds start falling from my mouth. My arms and legs pull against their restraints and I do my very best to buck my hips away from his ministrations. I’m babbling nonsense and moaning lewdly, already fully overstimulated and he’s barely even started eating me out.

He groans at the sight of me squirming, sending vibrations through my clit. He’s unable to stop himself from groaning out some more as he hears every one of my incoherent babbles for mercy. He keeps going at a steady pace, pushing me close to another orgasm. He could spend days down there, the sound and sight of me right now just too sweet for him to not enjoy every single second of it.

I’m internally panicking as I near the edge of another orgasm. My breathing is fast and shallow and I can barely get a single word of my begging to actually sound like a real word. “Please, please no this is too intense! I can’t!” I pant out, praying he can understand me between my moaning and panting and how much I’m stuttering through my words.

Eddie chuckles darkly at my pleas, happy that he’s got me exactly where he wants me. He pulls back just enough to lick a long strip up my entire pussy again and looks up at me with a smirk. When I look back at him, I gasp slightly. His eyes are fucking black, his pupils are so huge that all the pretty brown in his eyes have disappeared. There wasn’t a single ounce of leniency in his features. “You can’t handle it, huh?” he taunts, laughing. “It’s too intense, baby?” He pouts at me mockingly, using his fingertips to gently rub my clit, keeping me from getting a real break, but I’m grateful to be able to catch my breath at least.

I whimper at him pathetically and nod, looking at him with tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. “Yes! Please, please no more Sir, it is too intense, it is! I won’t be able to handle cumming like this!” My words are flying out of my mouth as fast as I can say them, hoping beyond all hope that he listens to me this time.

He watches me intently as I beg and the tears threatening to spill down my face are obvious, but his eyes don’t soften one bit. If anything, they seem to somehow darken even more. He shakes his head slowly, his lips curling into another sinister smile as he whispers, “Oh, it’s so cute when you beg me like that. I think you’re finally starting to learn your lesson in respect.” And with that, he returns his tongue to my clit, thrashing it cruelly against me and wrapping his lips around, sucking and rolling his tongue to elicit more sweet, desperate cries from my mouth.

I let out a strangled moan as soon as he continues, and my orgasm hits me almost immediately. I struggle and thrash against the restraints, this orgasm feeling 100 times more intense than the others. Tears fall onto my cheeks as the pleasure turns into pure torture, words lost in my throat yet again as all I can do is scream and moan and take it.

His tongue works up a frenzy, not giving me a moment's rest as he forces my orgasm to be drawn out as long as he can. When I finally come down from my high, he looks up at me to see my ruined face. Pink cheeks, tear stains, red and swollen lips from how much I’ve been chewing on them. His hand moves to gently rub my pussy lips, licking his lips at the sight of me. “That’s it, my little slut. You belong to me. I can do whatever I want with you. Right?”

His question is a test, and I am desperate to pass with flying colors. “Yes! Yes Sir, I belong to you! You own me, please!” I look at him with pleading eyes, a few tears leaking down my cheeks again as my legs tremble uncontrollably.

To my utter relief, his eyes finally soften towards me and he smiles up at me. He pulls himself up to kiss my lips gently, slowly sliding two fingers inside of me, thrusting them deep and hard, but slow. “That’s it, good girl. I’m so glad to see you’ve finally learned your manners, baby.” He pulls back to watch me, enjoying the sight of me being so submissive as he slowly slides his fingers in and out of me with force. After a minute or so, he talks gently to me. “I’m going to leave you tied up, sweetheart. I know you’re being good now, but you understand that I have to finish your punishment, right? I can’t let you off the hook just because you’re finally being my good girl.”

I’m so grateful that he’s finally being gentle with me that it takes me a good few seconds to process what he says. My eyes are glossed over and my brain is so fuzzy; I can feel myself drifting into subspace with every passing moment. He can see it in me too, he knows me so well. I sniffle when I finally realize what he’s said and he’s expecting a response, slowly nodding my head. My voice is hoarse from all the sounds I’ve been making. “Yes Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

He hums, visibly pleased with my response. “That’s better baby, I know you are.” He pulls his fingers out of me before standing up, turning towards the night stand again. He opens up a drawer and pulls out my arch nemesis: The Magic Wand. I can never handle that without begging and sobbing for mercy, even without it being a part of a punishment. Even when he tries to be nice, it’s always too much.

He turns back towards me, searching my face for any sign of resistance, just to make sure that I really have learned my lesson and I plan on being a good girl. The second I see the wand my cunt clenches and I let out the tiniest whimper, gulping nervously. A single tear falls down my cheek again and he brings his hand up to wipe it away. “I know baby, I know.” He says softly before turning around and plugging it into the wall.

The moment he turns back around and switches it on, he presses it against my clit, watching every single expression on my face. I jerk against the restraints and feel like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. He bites his lip for a second before groaning out, “Ohh, that’s it baby. Feel that?” I can only whine at him in response, struggling to keep my eyes on his but somehow I manage, although tears are threatening to spill out any second from the overstimulation. “You’re going to cum so hard for me, aren’t you baby?” He presses it into my clit more, making tiny circles, causing me to cry out and arch my back, my entire body pulling against the restraints whether I want them to or not.

“Yes!” I cry out in response to him, although it barely sounds like a word. My entire body feels like it’s being electrocuted, and I can’t help but shake violently as I’m being thrust into an orgasm within seconds of him asking. A scream rips itself out of my throat and I feel like I’m going to explode. Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he hears me, groaning out, “That’s right, fucking scream for me.”

I feel like this orgasm is never going to end. My vision is going black, or maybe my eyes are just squeezed shut, I can’t even tell anymore. The way I scream is absolutely primal, tears rolling down my face and my crying turns to sobbing. My entire body is full of electricity and suddenly, I feel it. My body is fucking convulsing (as much as it can against the rope, anyway) as fluid starts squirting from my pussy. I feel it pool up underneath me and I hear a gasp and a groan from Eddie. “Thaaaat’s it baby, look at you fucking go!” he sounds like he could cum just from the sight of me. As soon as it ends, he finally turns the vibrator off and pulls it away. I feel like I can finally fill my lungs with oxygen again.

When my eyes open, Eddie and I stare at each other with the exact same look of utter shock on our faces. That’s the first time I have ever done that. His look of surprise is short-lived though because when he sees the mess I’ve made on his hand, he drops the vibrator to inspect his hand in the light. He licks off every finger with a smack of his lips and a wicked fucking grin on his face. My face is frozen still, especially after seeing him do that. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, staring down at me with a mixture of awe and something wild in his eyes.

I close my eyes and a few more tears fall out onto my cheeks as my breathing is still a bit ragged. I feel his hands gently wipe away my tears and he whispers, “Baby, look at me.” My eyes flutter open halfway, nibbling my bottom lip. “Color?” He asks, his eyes look so warm and caring at this moment. I lean into his hand on my cheek with a tiny smile and a sniffle.

“Green.. I promise I’m okay. That was just… I don’t know if I can do that again.” I shake my head at him to emphasize my words, but I feel much more grounded after the check-in.

He smiles gently at me, nodding back as his expression softens. “I know baby, I know that was a lot. But you’re doing so well.” He puts two fingers under my chin, making sure my eyes stay trained on his so that I really hear every word. “You can do this, sweetheart. I know you can.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead before lifting back up, a stern expression on his face again. “Now. I want you to repeat after me. Say ‘Please Sir, I want you to make me cum like that again.’” He watches me closely, licking his lips as he waits for my response.

I close my eyes as he kisses my forehead, nodding through his encouragement. But my eyes fly right back open with his last demand and my voice gets caught in my throat again. Even as fucked out and obedient as I am now, my heart rate spikes at the thought of having to do… that again. Still, I swallow hard before somehow forcing the words out. “Please, Sir… I want you to make me cum like that again.” My lower lip is quivering as I whimper the words out.

He groans as I say this, his cock twitching noticeably. His lips suddenly crash into mine, kissing me roughly. As he pulls back, he’s got that wild look in his eyes again as they trace over every inch of my body. “That’s my good girl. I’m going to make you cum one more time while I use that throat of yours.” He climbs onto the bed again, facing away from the headboard and putting each of his legs on either side of my head. I open my mouth and stick my tongue out, the heavenly sound of his own moan flooding my ears as he slowly lowers himself into my mouth, making sure to glide himself all along my tongue on the way in. He pumps his cock in and out of my mouth at a steady pace, slowly working its way towards my throat. After a couple minutes of this, he feels himself getting close to his own release. He leans over and grabs the wand again, turning it on and growling, “Get ready, slut. Knock on the headboard if you really need to breathe.”

He shoves his cock deep into my throat and I can’t help but gag, struggling to breathe through my nose and relax the muscles in my throat. “Fuck!” he groans out, before he pulls the hood of my clit back, something he knows is the most cruel thing he could do, and presses the wand firmly into my clit. Every single muscle in my body cries out in agony, begging to be allowed to squirm away from the sensation. I try to scream out but it makes me gag, and I lose my ability to breathe at all as my lungs refuse to work anymore from all of the stimulation. Too much stimulation. My brain feels like it’s short circuiting. Just as my lungs are starting to burn from lack of oxygen, I cum somehow even harder than I did the last time. I feel like I’m on fire and being shot up into icy space at the same time. I can’t move, I can’t scream, I can only cum. Once again, I feel myself start to squirt, and it all becomes too much. I start gagging on him again, and I hear him fucking whimper before groaning. His cum shoots down my throat and I have no choice but to swallow it.

He turns the vibrator off and throws it to the side, pulling his cock out quickly as I gasp for breath, taking in huge gulps of air as he makes quick work of my restraints. He slowly guides my arms down and gently rubs my shoulders, then helps me close my legs and gently rubs my hips. He whispers, “I know baby, I know,” as I wince from the pain of finally being able to move my limbs and them being so sore.

The second he looks me in the eyes and is about to ask how I feel, my vision goes blurry and I’m confused for a second before I actually realize I’m crying again. I can’t stop it though, my body is so exhausted and my brain is so fuzzy and every part of me is buzzing and sore. He instantly wraps me up in his arms, cradling my head against my chest and kissing my head. “Good girl,” he whispers to me, and his voice back to the normal, sweet and kind Eddie I hear every day. “You are such a good girl, I am so fucking proud of you, baby.”

This was easily the most intense punishment I have ever been through, and he knows it. I’ve never squirted before in my life. I can barely even hear him whispering reassuring words to me over my own ragged breathing and sniffles, but I do notice that I am clinging onto him for dear life. He holds me close, rocking me gently back and forth. He kisses me on the top of my head again, and his voice starts to soothe every ounce of unrest in my body.

“Shh, shh.. It’s okay baby, I know it was rough, that was a really hard lesson. But you did so good.. I’m so so proud of you, baby.” He slowly takes his hand off of my head, leaning back enough so that he can wipe away the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs. Then he cups my cheeks in his hands and kisses all over my face. He starts at my forehead, then my nose, then both of my cheeks, and over my eyes. He is so gentle with every kiss, and about halfway through my tears stop falling and a little tiny giggle escapes my lips.

I open my eyes to look up at him and his heart breaks when he sees my eyes red from so many tears and my cheeks absolutely covered in tear stains and blotchy pink skin. “Was that too much for you?” he whispers, talking so softly, as if his tone itself could blow me away if it was too loud or firm.

I smile softly and shake my head, still sniffling but just barely. His eyes look so pretty, I could get lost in them and never want to find my way out. His eyebrows are furrowed with concern and I can see his eyes scanning my every feature to make sure I really am okay. My heart swells about a thousand times its normal size. “No, it wasn’t too much, Eddie. It was so, so good. It was easily the most intense thing I’ve ever felt in my life, but it wasn’t too much. I promise. I just need lots of love now, okay?” I smile at him again with a little scrunch of my nose, trying to make extra sure he knows I really am okay.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath but I can see the relief on his face as he brings my head into his chest again, holding his hand there to cradle it as he tickles gentle circles across my back with his other hand. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here. I’ve got you. I love you so much.”

I close my eyes again because the sensation on my back feels like heaven. I mumble into his skin, “I love you too. So much, Eddie.” I start trying to regulate my breathing, every deep inhale brings his delicious scent of woodsy musk and cigarettes. Once I feel like I’m returning back into a normal headspace, I pull back a little and show him my wrists and point to my legs. They’re still red and indented from the rope. “Can you help these feel better please?”

He smiles softly down at me, his eyes and fingers running over every single mark on my skin, before nodding. “Of course, baby. Let’s go into the bathroom and I’ll take care of you.” He gets off the bed before picking me up and helping me wrap my legs around him. I press my face into his neck and wrap my arms around him and can’t help but smile. I could honestly live like this, in his embrace. Smelling his skin. His hair tickling my face. Feeling his chest against mine. It’s all perfection.

Once we get to the bathroom, he slowly puts me down and spins me gently to face the mirror. He looks into it at me, smiling and petting my hair to smooth it down. “There’s my pretty girl,” he murmurs, “You are so perfect.” My face turns a bright ride and I hide my face in my hands, unable to help myself.

“Eddie!” I giggle out. He always knows how to make me smile and completely fluster me at the same time. I gently peek at him in the mirror through my fingers, his smile is so sweet as he watches me. He chuckles at my reaction, gently placing his hands on my hips and spinning me around to look at him. I lower my hands and stare into his eyes, practically entranced.

“You’re so cute, baby.” He smiles and kisses my forehead again, bringing each of my hands into his and up to his lips, kissing each one so gently. He guides me over to sit down on the toilet seat, before turning to the tub and turning on the water. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, yeah?”

As I sit down and watch the tub start to fill, I nod and lean forward to rest my head against his side, wanting to never stop touching him. “Yeah…yes please, I’d love a bath.”

We wait in silence for a few minutes before he checks the temperature. Deeming it perfect, he grabs my hands again to help guide me towards the tub. As I sit down and relax into the water, he smiles at me and says, “Ahhhhh, that’s better, isn’t it? Feel good baby?”

I nod and smile up at him and watch as he grabs the shower head to bring it down. He sits down next to the tub, turning on the shower head and he is so careful about wetting my hair without letting water drip onto my face.

He takes his time, massaging my scalp slowly and with the perfect pressure as he shampoos it. After another few minutes of silence, I hear him starting to hum one of the songs from that Black Sabbath album, Master of Reality. I can’t tell which song it is, though. My eyes start to droop and I giggle a little at the end of the song as he’s slowly rinsing the soap out of my hair.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep if you keep this up, you know. Warm water, massages, and music? You’re spoiling me, Eddie.” I say, my eyes closed still to make sure no soap or water gets into my eyes as he rinses my hair off.

He chuckles softly at me, pressing a kiss to my now-clean hair. “I could do this for hours, baby. Plus, you deserve to be spoiled. Trust me.” I sigh in content and lean into his kiss, feeling utter bliss in the calm of the moment.

Once he is done making every inch of me nice and clean, continuing the whole time to give me praise and making sure he is absolutely as gentle as he can be, he drains the tub for me and helps me stand up. He wraps me in a towel and gives me a great big hug, and it takes him a few seconds to let go. He picks me up again, bridal style this time, and brings me back to the bedroom despite my giggling at him that I am able to use my feet again.

“I know you can, but I’ve got you baby, don’t you even worry about it.” He presses another kiss into the side of my head, which is probably the thousandth kiss of the evening. Not that I’m complaining for a second. He helps me get dressed into my comfiest pajamas and then dresses himself in boxers and a random t-shirt. He turns to me when he’s finished, cocking his head at me with a smile.

“So…I call for pizza, you pick the movie?” he asks, already reaching for the phone. Yeah… I’m so spoiled.

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