#still refuse to draw nips.
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Dirty Talk
Miguel might be the top in your relationship, but not when it comes to dirty talk... (obv...18+) I refuse to apologize for my horny ass self...
It started out so simply, you wanted to try your hand at dirty talk, and of course Miguel was all for it...
At first, you were more than happy to let Miguel take the reins after your botched first attempt where you inadvertently referred to his cock as 'dumbo' and compared the sounds of your love making to a seal clapping its fins...
(He still hasn't stopped teasing you about saying 'sea world' when he orgasmed into your hand)
After that, he'd taken the firmly dominant position. And aft first... that was great, sure you loved beimg called his 'little slut', and you loved Miguel dearly, but you couldnt help but feel that he was holding back...
Hed start out intending to be degrading and rough, but once his dick was inside of you, he devolved back into your pussy drunk teddy bear.
And while you'd never complain about having him draped over you, pressing praises and affection into your skin as he slowly rocked in and out of you... you couldn't escape the morbidly curious thought...
What if he let go?
Which led to weeks of digging and research, because hell or high water, you just had to see that darker edge he kept hidden so well...
***
"Gonna cum for me, mi amor?" Miguel gripped your hips, titling them slightly off the bed to meet his lazy thrusts. You turned your face into the pillows and bit back a whimper.
"Don't hide those sounds." He growled, draping himself over you, humping his cock deeper. You whimpered, and your walls fluttered around his cock, dragging a throaty moan from his chest.
Oh, how you loved those primal sounds he made... and you needed more, it was never enough, nothing was ever enough with Miguel.
Nipping at your ear, he laced his fingers over yours and moaned again, flooding your body with tingly vibrations that your pussy constricting his cock mercilessly.
Another groan and his thrusts slowed as his jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over with just how good you felt.
"So good..." He whimpered, and you felt your teddy bear returning to his natural state. Fisting the sheets, you squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath before,
"I want you to fuck me." It was more of a whisper than a statement, but Miguel froze mid thrust, and propped himself up on his elbows, pearing down at you in confusion.
"I thought I was fucking you." His lips tipped up in a half smirk as he smoothed his hand down your hip. Shaking your head, you ran a hand through his damp hair and slid your hands down his shoulders.
"I want you to fuck me." Your voice dipped as your hands trailed up and down his arms, and you shivered as his hand tightened possesively around your thigh.
"Amor," He warned gently, stroking your inner thigh with his thumb. Wrapping your arms around his neck you tugged until he rested his weight more firmly against yours, effectively pinning you to thr mattress.
"I wanna be your cumdump...." You purred, nipping at his ear. Miguel's grip on your thigh tightened as he drew it up towards his hips. "Wanna be your fucktoy." You mewled, wrapping your leg around his waist, resting the heel of your foot lightly against his ass.
"You're playing with fire, muñeca." He murmured, voice strained. You bit down on his pulse point, drawing a pleased rumble from his chest, his hips rolling into yours. Heat pricked your skin, and taking a shaky breath you sucked at his ear.
"I want you to mount me... and fuck me like a bitch in-" With a primal grunt, Miguel easily flipped you onto your stomach. You squeaked as he tugged you up to your knees roughly.
"Wanna repeat that, querida?" He growled in your ear, sinking his fangs into the nape of your neck. A helpless whimper escaping our lips as he wound his hand in your hair and tugged until your back arched. "I believe...you were saying..." Your eyes rolled back when he nudged your clit with the head of his cock, little spurts of presume mixing with your arousal.
"Fuck me dumb." You whined desperately, dropping to your elbows, presenting your ass. Miguel ran a hand over the plush of your ass, grinning darkly when he spread your cheeks only to find you horribly aroused and puffy.
"My kittens grown quite the dirty tongue." He purred. You cried out as he slid his hard cock into you in one fluid motion.
"I'm going to ruin this pussy." His words reverberated through you with each sharp thrust of his hips, and you were still feeling the aftershocks the next morning when he carried you to the shower...
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#miguel imagine#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara smut#atsv
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warnings: smut, afab!anatomy, unprotected p-in-v, eye contact, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), biting, hickeys, drooling, literally a good for nothing thirst, pwp
Miguel O'Hara likes to watch your face as he fucks you.
Doggy style and cowgirl are good 'n' all, don't get him wrong. There's a particular way to them that allows him to hit parts of you inaccessible in any other position. But Miguel O'Hara likes to watch your face as he fucks you – sandwiched between your spread legs, rutting in missionary – because nothing gets him going like the subtle unravelling of your expressions. The manner in which your brows screw up, or the tears that droop your lashes. How glossy your lips get with the spittle you've no energy to swallow, drooling, fucked silly on his cock.
Yeah, if he had it his way every time, he'd choose to be real up close and personal, his full weight on top of you. Nothing gets him going like when your noses touch one another, your jaw captured in his hand. He holds your head in place because he knows how flustered you get with constant eye contact, all demure in spite of the wanton moans he thrusts out of your chest. So, you're either a shy thing or his attention is too intense, severe reverence pouring from carmine irises onto every tenuous reaction. The room, your shared space, heady and sweltering hot with sex.
And he never misses a thing. He sees the way your teeth clench when he pinches your clit, ignited by the strict pleasure. He sees how your cheeks cringe, pull, drop, when he plugs you with his cock, siphoned into stillness by your spasming slit. And when he whispers filthy promises onto your chin, mouth pressed there in a perpetual kiss – gonna fuck you full, corazón. my pretty girl, clever girl. gonna cum into you and lick it clean. you'd like that, hm? uhuh. yeah, i see you. i know you would – he revels in the hot bursts of breath that fan across his cheeks. He's always close enough that he can feel, not just hear, your moans.
That's the thing. Miguel likes panting in tandem with you – warm, dry palm smoothing the matted hair off your cheek. He's always infinitely more composed, though. A thin sheen of sweat glazes his bronzed skin, and his cock is slick with both your juices, but he still manages to keep his wits about while you hardly remember yours. They're always honed in on you; how you respond, what you like, what he does that draws the loudest scream. He peppers your face in kisses and nips the fleshier bits. He nuzzles the plane under your jaw. He keeps his efforts almost exclusively focused on your head and cunt, equally divided amongst the two, and it's only on the rare occasion that he ventures away from either.
To take a nipple into his mouth, maybe, tongue lapping at the pebbled peaks. To lay hickeys over your chest – a personal favourite past time when the rise and fall of it is another indication to your enjoyment. To drag his fangs softly on the soft expanse of your tummy. He always makes good on his word, so he eats you out like your pouring into him will quench him for weeks, stuffing his face on puffy folds and refusing to come up for air.
All the while, though, his eyes will remain trained on you. They never left. He props your neck up by a pillow so your expressions are still accessible to him, and when he moves gradually down your body, they're focused upward through dark lashes. If you squint through the foggy pleasure that obscures your vision, you in turn can recognise the subtle smirks he makes at every ministration. The sniffs when you cum on his lips for the umpteenth time. The lewd wet of his fingers when he sucks them in preparation for your needy hole. He scissors them into you, stretches you enough, then dives back up to squash a bruising kiss to your lips as his cock finds its way back in again.
Because he can't forget the other component of his promise, of course – to pump you full of his seed. It's so much, an hours worth of build up, straining his heavy balls from the moment you started. He humps you until every last drop is adequately milked from them, groaning into your mouth as his tongue wrestles yours. It's hard to breath with his body pinning you down, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, and the unrelenting attention battering you into something stupid – yet the hypoxia only adds another intoxicating angle to the mix. You have to make the decision between stopping for air or taking him in in all his vigour.
And, more often than not, it's the latter. It's the least you can do after all he's given you, after all.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fanfiction#thirst#miguel headcanons#headcanon#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#smut#spiderman 2099#spiderman: across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderman#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#x you#x y/n#reader insert#x reader#spider-man
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mean brother’s bsf ! rafe who says he has to go to the bathroom while he’s over at your house playing video games w ur brother but instead walks to ur room and starts fucking u :((
𓍢ִ໋🪷˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🦢
you can always hear the group of them — rowdy and loud, yelling at the tv whilst they play the game, or watch some kind of sport that you yourself had no interest in. you had no idea why your brother refused to ever close his door, especially when he had friends round— they were so damn loud.
you hear rafes voice in the hallway and it makes your heart rate spike, your brothers friend calling something into the room as he leaves it, the boys exploding into laughter. you wondered if he’d stop by today, like he did every time — or if he’d pass you by and act like you don’t exist, something he has also demonstrated he is capable of doing when your brothers around.
it had happened only earlier, coming home from your pilates class in your cute little get up which usually you knew rafe would be all over— the boy stood in the kitchen, chatting to your brother when you arrived home.
“hi!” you chirp politely, happy to see him there, knowing what it meant for you. rafe barely glanced— offering you a “hey.” before continuing on his conversation. you couldn’t help but let your face fall. you knew he couldn’t give you much attention infront of your big brother, not wanting to draw suspicion— but just a hey was rude, impolite even.
you hear your door creak open and you don’t turn to look, playing nonchalant as you lay on your stomach on your bed, flipping through a book. he’s careful to close the door again, taking in the sight of you laying there, more importantly the sight of your ass cheeks spilling from your pyjama shorts.
“did you miss me?” he drawls, taking a step closer and you spare a glance over your shoulder, playing like you didn’t.
“oh, hey.” you repeat his greeting from earlier boredly. it was petty, sure— but unfortunately, you were crazy about rafe. you wanted him to know you were a little peeved.
“that all i get, hey?” he sounds amused, dumb and part-lipped as he steps a little closer, fingers tickling your ankle which makes your leg jerk out, nearly kicking him.
“well that’s all i got earlier.” you flip a page, pretending to be totally disinterested in the conversation. you hear him still, breathing as he tries to recollect the moment.
“i dont — i-i don’t understand. what’s this about?” he asks, already irritated with the way you aren’t turning around to look at him. you sigh, sitting up and spinning around to face him. he didn’t get to be mad, best to nip it in the bud.
“i said hi to you and you acted like you didn’t even know me.” you pout immaturely, running your fingers along the bed to avoid his eyes. his eyes widen, hands spreading at his side in incredulity.
“your brother was there. fuck you expect, me to stick my tongue down your throat and slide a finger in your ass whilst he’s just standing there? i — i don’t —”
“no! just… you didn’t even look at me.” you sigh and he drops his hands, skulking over to stand right over you at the edge of the bed. he places his large hands on your cheeks, lifting your sulky gaze to his.
“‘cus if i did, id probably get all riled up… you don’t want that, right? infront of big bro?” he softens, but there’s something conniving about his tone.
“no.” you sigh and he nods in approval.
“right. i just had to play it cool. yeah?” he clarified slowly, like you’re a little dumb.
you blink up at him, and he gives in, bending down to press his lips to yours, the familiar taste of his tongue integrating into your mouth as you hum, visibly relaxing into the kiss.
“i did miss you.” you whisper, and he prods at your shoulder to encourage you to lie back.
“and i told everyone i had to take a phone call outside, so we haven’t got long… you wanna take these shorts off for me or am i gonna have to rip ‘em off like last time n’have you cryin’ at me again?”
five minutes in, and it’s increasingly harder to stay quiet. he’s mounted you, an obscene and degrading sight for anyone that would accidentally stumble upon it. your legs were up by his shoulders, cock nestled deep inside you as presses his lips together, stifling the little breathy groans from the back of his throat.
“m—my bed, its creaking!” you mewl, cunt tightening when he slides a large hand up the back of your thigh to the crevice of your knee, keeping it raised.
“those suckers aren’t listening. stop— stop thinkin’ bout that, yeah? look at me. focus on me.”
𓍢ִ໋🪷˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🦢
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SHRINE
Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader
Word count: 1.3k
Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; soft!dom!choso; female body worship; fingering; cunnilingus (oral sex - f!receive); little religious imaginery; female gendered anatomy
Summary: He just wants to please you.
Part of my JJKS2 writing week.
event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
The room’s dimply lit, shadows dancing along the walls, casting a solemn ambiance that hangs heavy in the air.
You can’t take it anymore.
He’s taking his time. It was supposed to be just a quick foreplay.
Time slips away, swallowed by the abyss of pure, primal and raw pleasance.
And Choso isn’t done yet. The weight of his touch – rough and relentless – presses against your flesh as if he’s seeking to sculpt you into something more than human. Something he can worship, pray to – his own shrine. Hands, calloused and weathered, navigate the curves of your body with a fervor that both unnerves and enthralls.
Drawing docile moans from your throat. He takes a long lick; collects your juices. Swallows it all; an intoxicating concoction of metal and salt, a confection so sweet it spreads warmth through his starved body, sets his senses ablaze; a humble acolyte.
Like a serpent in the Garden of Eden – each drop glides down his throat, a symphony of flavors that dance upon his palate.
Christ, how much he has missed you.
His hands gingerly skim up your curves, exploring every inch of the silkiness of your flesh. Fingertips apostles baptizing your skin with trails of reverence, dancing across your thighs, treasuring the way your legs open to accept him; to embrace his expansive frame.
Choso lapps at your throbbing nub, tongue hot and wet, making broad, leisurely strokes that almost cause you pain. He brushes his lips against you then pulls away, not wanting its taste to end too soon; pushing his tongue inside your pussy, stroking the slick walls until they squeeze and tighten around him; the muscles inside you clench even tighter as he flicks your clit with his tongue.
"Choso–mmpmh," his name a mere mewl, "please, more," you sob out, drawing Choso’s eyes up, the color for penitence and mourning – a pleading glance, and he’s aware. Knows what you want, what you plead for.
Heart swelling with the desire to please, silently adoring you. For an eternity, wants to taste every inch of your body – to devour you.
Still, he refuses to give it to you. Wants to prolong this hour to eons, hear you beg more.
One hand slides away from your thigh, his thumb triggering an uncontrollable shudder as it flicks over your clit, circling the bud; he pulls back, lips tracing the curve of your navel. Teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh before he murmurs against your quivering form, "Words, baby. I need words."
A plaintive whine breaks free from your shaky voice, every nerve in your being gets set on fire as the wet tip of Choso’s tongue traverses the expanse of your bellybutton, meandering towards the tender hollow of your sternum before his face rests in the crook of your neck – a hand enclosing the fat of your breast, thumb stroking over the nipple.
"What do you want?"
The heat of his breath spreads over the slight curve of your clavicles, making the skin tingle. The hand that’s been toying with your nub now fully cupping your leaking pussy, hot and ready; waiting.
"Want your—ahh," his tongue licks the curvature of your neck before his teeth nip at the damp flesh; the pressure of his hand between your legs intensifies, yet it stays still, "Choso–"
Breath hitching, Choso's middle finger teases your slit, running over your entrance tantalizingly slow as he waits.
You grip his hair, legs spreading wider apart, offering yourself up to him more. Hand sneaking over the contours of his shoulder; feeling the play of muscles and tendons underneath your pads.
"Your fingers," you whimper out, heels digging into the mattress as you push your hips against his hand.
The sight of you – spread open, aching and so desperate for his touch, for him – draws a curse from his lips, cock twitching in his pants.
"Christ–," he kisses you then. Wet and needy. His middle finger pushes forward, feeling you grip him, suck him in as you writhe underneath him, swallowing the strained cries, "you’re so beautiful. So perfect."
He takes his time. Adds another finger, stretches you out.
Sinking his fingers deeper inside you, exploring the tightness of your walls in search for uncharted territories, tasting your pleasure and the way your body moves on its own accord. His thumb brushes against your clit with each thrust, setting off mini-explosions within you as his mouth latches on your breast, a hand kneading the other one.
With the flat, wide expanse of his tongue, Choso licks the fullness of your breast, seeking out and taking in your nipple. He circles it until it’s a hard peak and then, ever so slightly, takes it between his teeth. Eyes staying glued to your face, watching the blissful abandon as your eyes close.
Curling his fingers upwards, putting blunt pressure onto your weak spot and feeling the slickness of your heat drip onto his hand, Choso pushes you closer; feeling your pussy contract, walls quivering around him, he doesn't slow down.
Instead, he pushes harder, with greater intensity, his fingers working you in and out, shameless sounds of your juices squelching fill your ears – send heat to your chest, cheeks; only fueled by the feel of his mouth never leaving your breasts.
"Choso–m’gonna–uhh," words incoherent, consciousness consumed by a rapturous trance, "Choso–ahh–fuck–"
He hears you, captures the sweet melody of your voice. Thumb drawing eights, stroking the pulsating nerve, coaxing you; he smiles, a gentle curve that caresses the tender skin of your chest before his lips meet the hollow of your sternum. Each press of his mouth against your skin ignites a holy rhapsody of overwhelming ecstasy, the warmth of his breath mingling with the softness of his touch
"I know," his lips move upwards, "doin’ so good for me," until his breath scorches your cheek, meets the curve of your earlobe, lips tracing the arc of the cartilage, "cum for me, love."
You feel it then – the waves of pleasure washing over you, growing increasingly stronger until you’re shaking beneath him. Every nerve in your body on fire, you surrender and let go, feeling as if you’re floating away on a cloud.
His gaze lingers on your face; burning the image into his mind – the indent between your eyebrows as you furrow them together, the way your eyes are tightly shut, the fluttering of your lashes, and the trembling of your lips as they part to release a cry so raw and pure and blissful that it almost makes him cum.
Choso doesn’t stop.
Fingers plunging deep into you, the white heat of pleasure radiating from your core. His thumb toying with your aching clit; you can feel the heart beating between your legs when Choso moves down, the tip of his tongue drawing a straight line from your chin to your abdomen before he draws his fingers out. Puts them in his mouth instead and sucks them clean.
You watch the way his eyes flutter shut; how his lips curl into a satisfied smirk as he licks away the evidence of your latest orgasm. Then his lips find their place back on your pussy, licks another stripe. Arms supporting your legs, keeping them wide apart with hands gripping your sides.
Your hand sneaks into his hair, messy and flat, sticky with sweat, "Choso–" you whine, twisting under his grasp in an attempt to get away, "can’t–can’t do another."
"Just one," his breath scorches your skin, tongue sneaking its way up your inner thigh, pasty with your own cum, mixed with his saliva lapping at the sweat dripping from your trembling body; he already made a mess of you, "just one more."
#choso smut#choso kamo smut#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#choso drabbles#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk thirsts#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#smut#moni writes#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#choso x reader smut#choso fanfic#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#choso x you#choso#choso kamo
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https://www.instagram.com/reel/C4_yhJhMW9i/?igsh=MXd5YmszMDhidTJ5dA==
This is soo cowboy price. I bet his hands are the most rugged hands Duck has ever felt.
Ooooh I know that guy, he's putting dog paw pad medicine on his hands to make them rougher. It's supposed to help puppies with delicate toes, but I guess if you want sand paper hands that works too.
You know I will never resist an opportunity to talk about Price's hands...
John's hands have always had callouses. As long as you've known the man you've felt the uneven, rough, planes of his hands as they skated over your skin. You've seen the way he picks at the sturdy skin at the base of his fingers, the way he digs his thumb into his palm to rub at the scarred skin. You've felt the ebb and flow of calloused fingers, softening when he's home, only to be rougher when he comes back from deployment. When he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit, the drag of it sparks a different tingling heat than anyone else could.
Working on a farm certainly hasn't softened the man's hands. Rope burn, chicken scratches, nips from the goats, tossing hay, checking equipment, pulling weeds. Your man's hands are rough. Blisters dotted the space between his callouses the first summer you took him to the farm, and even now you find angry red marks inside John's thumb. His knuckles split in the winter because he refuses to wear gloves, and you every so carefully swipe vaseline and lotion over the angry skin. You get the feeling sometimes that he does this on purpose just so you'll doctor him.
You love those rough hands though. You love the slight yellow at his finger tips from his cigar habit, you love that uneven scars and callouses, you love the way his thick fingers always spread wide to squeeze whatever soft flesh he's landed on. You love that he touches you so delicately, that his fingers press to your lips as soft as rose petals and only enter when you open your mouth to let them slide over your tongue. You love that he murmurs to you, presses his lips to your cheek even as his fingers thrust in and out of your mouth. You love that you know you're only slicking them for him, know that he'll catch the drool that dribbles over your chin in his calloused palm and smear it against your cheek where he'd kissed you.
Really you don't see why you'd want a softer hand to hold. John's hand squeezes your breast and you arch into the feeling, enjoy the way the rough edges of his palm drag over your nipple, the way his spit slicked fingers circle the hardening bud and pinch. It's not for any sort of masochistic fascination that you love it, but for the pure simple reason that they're his hands. You can name the scars on them, count the callouses and blisters you've treated. So you know that when his beard scratches against your cheek and his lips touch your ear, you'll fold to those work worn hands every time.
"Lemme take care of you momma," He rumbles, voice rough and so very promising. He asks as if you'd ever say no to him. As if the part of your legs isn't a forgone conclusion despite the way he situates himself between your knees. His fingers glide over your skin, perfectly delicate when he wants to be, and find their way to spreading your slick folds.
You know he likes being gentle with you, likes knowing you still bend as easily as you did when he first met you. The rugged slide of his fingers against sensitive skin makes you shiver. He draws them up your slit, pushes them back down, firm slow strokes as you pant against his ear. He kisses your temple, coaxes you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Each stroke of his fingers burns through your blood, your skin on fire for him. Every place he touches is a match strike against red phosphorus, lighting up with a blaze you'd never want to contain.
You're always so wet for him. So soft and warm, he can't help wanting to be a little rough with you, but moments like this, with your lovely voice so soft and imploring in his ear, he can't help feeling a little indulgent. You reap the rewards of that indulgence. Your hips twitch to follow the stroke of his fingers, angle so that he flicks the tip of his finger against your clit, and he lets you. He follows your guiding whines, presses his finger in teasing dips against your hole, collects slick to ease the glide of his fingers against your clit, and whispers praise with twist of your hands.
Calloused hands are your absolute favorite when their fingers are sliding into you. Each inch slipping against your walls, stroking and prodding at your softness, lets you feel the roughness of his fingers. You grind your clit against the heel of his hand, and he pushes it against you firmly. You swallow down the pleasure that bubbles in your chest, blink the stars from your eyes, the needy whines from your throat. John's fingers thrust into you hard, the sudden switch from his gentle exploratory strokes to the quick targeted thrusts forcing out a surprised moan. You dig your fingers into his back, pull vicious red marks with your blunt nails to hear the shaky breath he takes.
Roughness for roughness, aggression for aggression, his fingers move against you, thrust hard and fast into you until you're moaning and panting. The burn of friction, the targeted attack on your sweet spot, when his thumb finds your clit you whimper. John's fingers pull back, circle your clit and spread your slick over your skin, working at the bundle of nerves until your legs are starting to shake. Your stomach feels like it's been turned to boil, something molten burning outward through you. John thrusts into your cunt again, slow teasing strokes that leave you desperate for more until he pulls them out and returns to your clit.
He works you up only to ease you back down, bringing you to the edge again and again. He seems to count the seconds it takes to make you shake, timing them so he can gauge where you are at any moment. You reach to grab for his hand and he snatches your wrist, strong calloused hands pinning yours to the mattress. Your hips buck, twist to try and get more. John hooks a leg over one of yours and holds you firmly in place. You know well that gentle doesn't mean he isn't in complete control of you, or that he won't make you beg for what you want.
You had more shame in begging when you started dating, now it comes as second nature. "Please John," You drag your lips against his cheek, one arm still locked tight around his shoulders to keep him close, "let me come on your fingers, please."
"Know the magic words momma." You can feel the curve of his smile, know you have one to match as you run your tongue through his beard.
"Please Captain." You murmur. His swallow is audible, the heavy pinch of his brow at his title on your lips. His fingers twist inside you, thrust quick and shallow to hit your sweet spot every time. Tight, tight, tight, your stomach coils and coils until you're begging your body to let go. You know it won't, not unless he gives the word.
"Come on baby," John orders, "on my fingers, just like you wanted."
Everything uncoils, the tension snapping as your muscles arch your back, your legs shaking and your vision starry. Pleasure courses through you, you feel it drip out of you and know you've soaked his fingers. You do your best trying to catch your breath as his slick fingers tug at his belt.
Take care of you, he says, but what he means is "let me ruin the bed spread".
#cod x reader#x reader#x oc#cod x oc#captain price mw2#captian price#captain john price#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price smut#f!reader#john price#john price x reader#john price smut#john price cod#john price x oc#oc: duck#cowboy au#cowboy!price
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tw: somnophilia and breeding with Zhongli (consenting established relationship), and reader is female. Follows on from this post which is fluff only. The below is far from SFW!!
Zhongli wakes from his short nap to find you still fast asleep and he can’t help but find himself aroused by how you appear. You’ve shifted fully to your back, the shirt you’d borrowed from him earlier that night riding up to expose your soft stomach and inviting thighs. Before he fully comes to his senses, his hand is beneath the flimsy cotton of your panties, slender fingers working deeper between your folds and seeking out your cute little button to toy with. Groaning in his throat at how easily you wet his fingers from such minimal effort, cooing “good girl” beneath his breath. His amber gaze is fixed upon your pretty face, taking in your expressions that morphs in your slumber and wondering how far he could take this.
His cock strains to the max behind his pants, enough to force Zhongli to roll to his stomach and slowly begin to rut against the mattress to find that dose of friction he craves. It’s not enough; it would never be enough because he’s not buried in your perfect cunt. His mind is overrun with taking you, that primal instinct overruling rational thought, and when did your panties disappear? When had he buried his face between your thighs to make out with your pussy? It’s surprising you’re still asleep, not that he is complaining, although he does miss the sound of his name being moaned whilst he sucks on your pert clit and tongues your leaking hole. Slick flows over his skilful tongue and down his tongue, sweeter than any wine and he wants to take you - to breed the sweet little pussy that belongs to him.
Zhongli blinks, opening his eyes to find his raging cock in hand and the tip already wet with spit and dipping past that first tight ring of muscle at your entrance. Your face is contorted in evident pleasure, breathing coming in shallow pants that causes your tits to rise and fall rapidly and your pretty plush lips parted and dewy from how your tongue has licked over them. Your heat is intoxicating, wet silken walls moulding to accommodate his long, girthy dick to perfection. His thrusts are slow and shallow, working you open leisurely so as to not wake you too soon. The thought of having you not rouse until his cum is leaking out your hole causing his eyes to roll, tugging harshly on his lower lip.
You finally come to after a particularly loud and aggressive grunt, your eyes snapping wide with a gasp in your throat. The sight that greets you is enough to steal the remaining breath from your lungs. Dark ruffled hair, burning amber irises and cheeks stained red. Your lower half rests on his lap, cunt swallowing his cream coated cock and you clench down hard enough that you trip into an orgasm you weren’t prepared for. Laughter rumbles in your ear, cool air kissing your burning chest before a molten tongue is wrapped around your nipple. Zhongli continues to snap his hips forward whilst he suckles you. Holding you still through the relentless storm of pleasure that crashes over you. Sobbing at how sudden it is and hissing when he draws back with a nip of his teeth so he can rasp directly in your ear.
“Good morning, beloved… you looked so perfectly peaceful and inviting. I simply had to breed you, my love, but don’t worry if it doesn’t take this time, I can do this everyday if you’ll let me..?”
It’s only then you notice the thick drooling excess of his seed that’s slicking your thighs and staining the sheets. This wasn’t the first round and that thought alone was sinful. How could you refuse? You’d wake like this every chance you could and Zhongli was more than happy to provide.
#delirious writes#zhongli smut#zhongli x reader#morax smut#morax x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#tw somno#genshin zhongli
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Do you have a recommendation when designing a black character? Or tips, or maybe pages you visit for references?
Suck at explaining stuff but I’ll try
‼️ Ethnic Features ‼️
So, the art world is in a very weird place when it comes to ethnic features. The conversation was about how using POC ethnic features as an insult in media was damaging and needed to stop, and that somehow morphed into people being scared about drawing people with those features.
Black people have big ears, big noses, and big lips. That's not the problem. The problem was that media was using it to make us look like giant ape, monkey, monster creatures. It's okay to give them these defining features.
Also, remember that brown people have lighter pigment under their feet, hands, and bottom lips. 🌸 (didn’t really know where to put this but drawing mix people is basically a spin the wheel we come in all different shapes and sizes and features. There’s really no wrong way to draw a mixed POC.)
‼️ It's Just My Style ‼️
I'm so goddamn tired of hearing this goddamn excuse. A style does not mean you can't properly represent POC. I would even go on to say that if your style is stunting you so grossly that you can't draw a proper black person, you have a bad art style. Sorry—not really.
Media has shown us that style does not stop representation. The only thing stopping that is your ignorance and refusal to improve. Great examples of ranging styles still being able to represent different POC are "Adventure Time," "Disney's Soul," "Proud Family," "Afro Samurai," etc. I'm just saying this because I've seen this excuse be more prevalent in the art world, and it's just better to nip that in the bud.
‼️ Whitewashing + I Don't Know How to Use the Color Brown ‼️
I've seen people make the excuse that the skin color is lighter because they use a pastel style, but they never bring up the fact that the only color in the art that's lighter is the skin tone. 💀
Also, the whole thing about people saying they don't know how to shade and color brown palettes is just completely bullshit. I would even say that trying to shade pale colors is harder than shading darker colors. Additionally, there are multiple artists and tutorials showing you exactly how it's done. You have no excuses other than you just don't want to.
YouTuber Sinix has a great video on painting skin tones!
‼️ Black Hairstyles ‼️
I love dreads. Dreads are a very pretty hairstyle. However, we have more hairstyles other than dreads. If you're going to draw black characters, I would encourage you to branch out and explore beyond dread heads. There are so many unique black hairstyles out there. We need to move on from just focusing on dreads.
YouTuber Ari has two wonderful videos on black hairstyles in video games. I would recommend checking them out.
‼️ References ‼️
I love referencing old black media such as "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air," "The Proud Family," and "Little Bill" (before all the Bill Cosby stuff came out). I also appreciate how "House of the Dragon" implemented black people into the lore. Other references include "BOTW/TOTK Rottmnt," etc.
Some artists I reference all the time are Mohammed Agbadi, who doesn't do many art tutorials anymore but often discusses black characters in media, and his art is still amazing. Ethan Becker has a very interesting video on the racist triangle that I recommend checking out.
On Instagram, I love the art of Jojo.Dreamie, Chibichanga12 (holy shit, love their art), Bruniosktch, and Caw.Chan. I also just reference my family a lot. 💀
This is a lot of rambling, but what I’m gonna say is don’t stunt yourself by tricking yourself into believing that your art can’t include POC 🌸🌸‼️💌💖💌💌🎀💕💘‼️🧁
#rottmnt#rottmnt fanart#rottmnt mikey#pastriesart💌#pastrieschat💌#this was long but hope I got my points across#as a Afro head I challenge dread heads to a duel
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Do you think you could do genshin charas (I don't mind who! Your pick 🫶) with a reader who has a reaaaaally clingy cat
The kitty hates everyone but the reader and follows them everywhere. When the reader leaves and the cat can't follow it meows SO loud for hours until the reader comes back. Kitty will jump up on the readers shoulder and sometimes sit on their head (small kitty) and if anyone comes close to reader the kitty will start hissing and swatting at them until they back away. Basically like a guard dog but a guard kitten
hmm im giving you diluc and kaveh!! i'm also making it so that kitty warms up to him *eventually* because itd be so sad if it hated him forever :( ALSO my friends kitten literally hates me she refused to take a treat from my hand for like half an hour [sob] she would sniff it but wouldnt eat it :((( oh ya also surprise rafayel bc hes so funny LMAO
I can see Diluc taking to cats. They're more self sufficient than dogs and considering his busy work schedule he'd think it'd be a little difficult to keep a dog busy without also worrying for it's safety. When you tell him you have a cat he doesn't mind it at all but he's a little concerned when your cat starts hissing and spitting at him.
He looks at you, unsure of what to do and you explain that the cat is simply just protective of you. He doesn't want to somehow offend your cat by encroaching on your shared bubble so he looks to you to see what he can and can't do.
Now whenever your cat and Diluc hang out it's like a game of chicken. Diluc's trying to figure out what he's allowed to do (by permission of your cat) and you're trying to make sure your cat doesn't scratch Diluc/hurt itself trying to jump onto him to protect you.
Diluc also tries other ways of acclimating your cat to him. He leaves a jacket in the room you and your kitty are in together so it can explore his scent freely, waits to see if it'll come to him rather than you bringing it to him, etc. When it slowly finally warms up to him he can barely hide his relief, hating the thought of you having to choose between him or your pet.
He's very patient and your kitty seems to appreciate it, hissing at him less until finally, one day you come home and find Diluc sitting incredibly still watching your kitten sleep soundly on his lap. He's barely breathing, turning to you when he sees you come in with awe in his eyes not unlike a child's. It definitely helped that his body runs warm and kitty just needed a place to nap.
Kaveh jumps the first time your cat hisses at him. He wasn't expecting that to happen since most animals warm up to him pretty quickly. Similar to Diluc, he knows not to force a relationship between himself and your kitten so he also takes his time to acclimate your cat to him.
Unlike Diluc I think your cat would warm up to him faster. Kaveh has absolutely great vibes and animals tend to follow him around because he also has a habit of feeding them if he can. This natural kindness is shown in the way he respects your cat's boundaries and the way he watches you care for the animal.
Your cat slowly explores Kaveh only if you're close to him. He has a bit more success if he's wearing something or has something you've recently worn draped over him but he's careful if your kitty starts circling around his feet. Even if it lightly nips or hisses at him he tries not to react too strongly, knowing that it's just trying to protect you and getting mad at it is just going to halt progress.
Eventually your cat starts to slowly enjoy sitting with Kaveh and watching him sketch. It doesn't interrupt his drawings but you notice it's eyes watching his pencil flit about. When it gets more comfortable it might tentatively bat at it, Kaveh carefully picking it up and depositing it into your lap to avoid any actual damage being done to his work.
Rafayel is incredibly dramatic and because you know he's afraid of cats you've decided to keep your cat away from him. That was mostly successful until one day he came in as you were getting dressed in your room. You knew he'd be coming over and you forgot that he could just let himself in and quickly tried to make yourself decent the second you heard his screaming.
You're ready to attack whatever it is that made him lose his composure, thinking you're ready to go face to face with a Wanderer when you find him crouched on top a kitchen counter glaring daggers at you. He knew you had a cat and was under the impression that since you knew he was coming today you would have put it away.
In a weird way he tells you he's glad that your cat isn't "trying to trick him" by being cute and cuddly. He's very adamant about not touching your cat and keeping his distance away from the "creature". You'd have to convince him to touch your cat but that only happens once your cat actually calms down in his presence. It sees how you act around him and over time realises that you care a lot about him.
It takes some more time but your cat and boyfriend have some sort of peace treaty with each other that's never actually communicated. They relatively leave each other alone and tolerate each other's presence only for you.
#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#diluc x reader#diluc ragnvindr x reader#kaveh x reader#rafayel x reader#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader
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More Than Friends
kai parker x reader (80s!kai x witch!reader)
summary: your "more than friends" status with kai is revealed when you lose hold of a silencing spell. jo, of course, has a lot to say about it.
tags: jo's boyfriend, fluff, smut, choking, vaginal sex, pet names, overstimulation, loss of consciousness, spell failure, dysfunctional family, mentions of child abuse, siphoning
word count: 2.9k
“Do you hear that?”
The smallest sound of a girl’s whine is heard over the movie playing. The boy watching the screen turns to his girlfriend to see if she caught it, too.
“Jo?”
“Hm, what?”
“Did you hear that noise?”
Suddenly, on the tv, a woman cries out. The killer has slashed her throat.
“That one?”
“No, you goof, the one coming from upstairs. I thought we were home alone tonight.”
“We are. Aside from Kai, but Kai is Kai. He doesn’t leave his room.”
“Well could he be doing anything to be making that noise?”
“Jackson, I don’t even hear a noise. But no, he has strict orders from Dad and he knows the consequences if he breaks them.”
Jackson stills. Maybe he didn’t hear anything. In the back of his mind, he knows he did, but if Jo says it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Besides, if it is her brother, he figures it’s best to leave it alone. Jack’s never met Kai - Jo’s been adamant about that - but he does know the basics from her and her siblings.
You can’t touch him, and you really shouldn’t talk to him. He can hurt people just by touching them, and will hurt people to get his way.
Jo’s little sister, Clara, had said to him once: if Kai doesn’t wear his gloves, Daddy gets mad, because then he can hurt us. He did it to Sarah once and made her cry.
That alone is enough to keep him away from the boy. And despite his curiosities, he refuses to pry, mostly out of fear of Jo’s dad. Even without the dangerous son, the man is scary. The first time he showed up on the doorstep to take Jo out on a date, he had nearly threatened him. Sure, that’s a typical dad thing, but something tells him that Joshua Parker wouldn’t hesitate to actually harm him if he thinks it’s necessary. Maybe that’s where Kai gets it…
An eerie chuckle from the TV snaps the boy out of his thoughts as Chucky approaches his next victim.
Jo curls into her boyfriend, sweating. “Maybe we should’ve watched “Children of the Corn” instead,” she mutters.
Oh, yeah, that’s another thing…
Jackson’s mind flashes back to about an hour ago, when they were picking the movie.
“Not “Children of the Corn”,” Jo shudders, “that boy shares a name with my brother.”
Kai’s real name is Malachai. How creepy is that?!
“Eh, I think we’re better off with the killer doll,” he decides, also perturbed by the name.
As Jo cuddles into him, he starts to forget the sounds he thought he heard upstairs.
~~~~~
You’re breathing heavily, hardly. Kai’s hand is around your throat as he rocks his body into you. He pulls out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, and you swear his cock is reaching your stomach. His other hand holds onto your waist to keep you in place, probably leaving a bruise you’ll find in the morning. Every so often, he ducks his head to nip and lick at your breasts. Or, he’ll lock eyes with you, and you’ll feel your pussy fluttering, wetness pooling.
“Kai,” you mutter, eyes fluttering. Between his grip and the pleasure, you’re having trouble forming words.
And normally you wouldn’t care, but one thing’s wrong: the spell is breaking, you can feel it. You’re losing your concentration, and quite frankly, your consciousness.
“Kai. Sl-slow d-, wait-” the last word turns into another moan, and you’re unable to get his attention.
You can feel the energy of the magic in the room as it weakens. Though as the spell fizzles out, your orgasm draws nearer. Harder, even, as if the magic is channeling itself into you instead of holding up your silencing spell. Kai repositions his fingers on your neck, but he doesn’t slow down. There’s no telling what Jo is probably hearing now. The thought of her telling on you two starts to fill you with fear. Sweat beads at your forehead and you fight to cry out your boyfriend’s name as he keeps pace.
“Cum for me, Princess,” he whispers into your neck.
The pet name takes you out, quite literally. Forgetting all about Jo and the spell, your orgasm hits you. White spots take over your vision and your mouth becomes dry. Equal parts pain - from his grip on your neck - and pleasure - between your high and his, occurring at the same time - are felt throughout your body. He spills into you, filling you so much that it already starts to leak out. Your legs are shaking hard, and for a second, you black out.
When your head slacks onto the pillow, Kai stops abruptly and removes his hand from your neck. “Princess, are you okay? Wake up, please, come on.” He gently taps the sides of your face to bring you back to consciousness. With no luck, panic starts to rise in his chest. “Y/N, please.” Grabbing the water bottle beside the bed, he puts the cool metal against your neck, hoping a temperature shock will do the trick.
Immediately, your eyes open. You wake gasping, still feeling the effects of your high.
“Hey, gorgeous, you okay? Sit up, let me get you some water.” Kai fully pulls out of you, then comes to your side to tuck a few pillows under your head. He holds the bottle as you drink, playing with your hair gently at the same time.
Finally, you’re stable enough to look at him. Before you can get a word out, he’s already talking. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay? I think I choked you too hard, or maybe I should’ve slowed down. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
His concern melts your heart. “Shh, it’s okay,” you sit up to cradle his face, assuring him he didn’t hurt you. “I’m totally fine, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I enjoyed every minute of that, Kai.”
“You blacked out because of me.”
“Yeah, because you can fuck me that well, Kai. That’s something to be proud of.”
He tries to smile, but you can see he’s still worried.
“I promise I’m okay.”
“Okay… can I at least take you downstairs to go get some orange juice? I don’t want you passing out again. Just in case.”
“Of course.” But as soon as you say it, you realize, “wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Part of the reason I think I blacked out was the spell.”
“What? What spell?”
“Kai - the silencing spell.”
His blood runs cold, “oh fuck.”
“I lost it right before we came. I think I tried to warn you, but I was too lost in the feeling.”
“Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry! You tried to stop me, this is my fault!”
“No, no, no, hey, baby, come here.” The boy avoids your eyes, so you hold his face to make him look at you. “It is not your fault. And even if it was, I don’t care. It’s not the end of the world if your innocent little sister hears us.”
“She’s my twin,” Kai misses the point.
“Kai.”
“Hm?”
“She’ll live.”
“But if she tells Dad, we’re both screwed. He’ll ban you; he’ll do a stupid little spell that’ll keep us apart.”
“Then we’ll just have to bribe her. Chocolates?”
“Y/N, she’s daddy’s good little girl,” he mocks, “she’ll tell.”
You try to hide your anxiety. If Kai knows you’re worried, he’ll be ten times as worried. “Well, we can’t undo it. What’s done is done.”
“Maybe you didn’t lose the spell?”
Biting your lip, you answer, “no, I definitely did. But it’ll be okay, okay? Let’s just… go downstairs, like you said. Because to be honest, I am still a little out of it,” you try to refocus his anxiety onto your black out instead of his fear, “and if she brings it up, I’ll handle it.”
Thankfully, he nods.
“I promise you, it’ll be fine, Kai.” You give him a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. I trust you.”
“I trust you, too, pumpkin.”
Minutes later when you’ve dressed, you and Kai head downstairs, hand-in-hand. He’s still adamant about getting you an orange juice, and has now suggested several snacks, too. Though the sound of the TV being on as you near the kitchen has him holding your hand more tightly.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, “maybe it blocked us out.”
The way the Parker house is designed, anyone in the living room can clearly see anyone in the kitchen, and vice versa. The fridge door, however, blocks the person looking inside it. So the minute Kai opens the fridge, and you’re left standing by the sink, Josette’s and Jackson’s eyes turn to you.
“Hey, guys. Are youuuuu-?” You drag out the last letter, pointing at the unfamiliar boy.
“Jackson, Jo’s boyfriend.”
“Right.” You knew she had a boyfriend, but had never met him. Kai hadn’t, either.
“And who are you?” He shoots the question back at you.
Jo, however, cuts you off before you can even start to speak, “Kai’s only friend, that apparently, is a little more than a friend.”
So they heard. Whoops.
“Yeah, um, about that…”
“Dad gave you one rule when you started hanging out with my brother, and it was to not touch him. Do you not remember that?!”
“Oh but how could I not? His skin is so soft,” you whine.
“Y/N!”
“Jo, how am I not going to touch him? He’s my best friend.” You notice her eyes harden as soon as you say that. “What am I supposed to do if he needs a hug? Or if we’re watching a movie and our shoulders touch slightly? Ooh,” you make a wide gesture with your hands, “scandalous!”
“Y/N, this isn’t you.”
“Oh, it isn’t?! I’m sorry, was I supposed to come here almost every day to see you and pretend I didn’t notice your brother being left out of things? Forced to wear those stupid gloves because your daddy thinks he’s trying to hurt you? Not even allowed to talk to people, not allowed to leave his room half the time, not allowed to go on these stupid family functions you always have? Even I got invited to one of those, and I’m not even a part of this family. Josette, it’s insane! No wonder you think he’s crazy, you don’t even know him! You’ve never even let boyfriend over here meet him. Whatcha gonna do if he marries in? Say, ‘oh that’s my twin brother, but you’re never even gonna make face-to-face contact with him’? That screams dysfunctional family, and that’s not Kai’s fault!”
This interaction wasn’t going as planned. You hadn’t meant to start a fight with your ex-best-friend, you wanted to convince her not to tell on you and her brother. Well now she definitely will. Yet, you can’t stop.
“We are a dysfunctional family because of him, Y/N! He’s the reason we’re like this.”
“Why?! Because he was born different?! Because he doesn’t have ma-”
“Shut up, Y/N!” Her eyes widen as she scolds you.
Jo never says anything remotely close to a bad word, nor does she raise her voice. Her reaction only means one thing: Jackson doesn’t know. He doesn’t know they’re witches. Holy shit. You look over to Kai, both of you wearing shocked expressions.
The house goes quiet. Jo’s embarrassed by her own outburst, and everyone else is too speechless.
Finally, she calms, “just stop. I’m sorry I yelled. I don’t want to fight with you, I just want to know why you’re with him,” her face has a look of disgust, “like that.”
You sigh, “I’m dating him, because I love him, Jo. Because I let him in, and got to know him, and fell in love with him. He’s not some rabid animal trying to hurt you for fun, and he’s certainly not the man in the house you should be fearing.”
“Wait, me?” Jackson asks, confused, and ruining the seriousness of the conversation.
“No, idiot. Her dad.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s scary.”
Kai finally comes out from behind the fridge door. You knew he was hiding, but now it seems he’s gotten the courage to face his sister. Jackson stares at him, seeing him for the first time. Without glancing up at them, he hands you a glass of orange juice and a snack.
“Eat that.”
“What is it?”
“Cheese blocks. One sec, I have crackers, too.”
“So you’re Mala-”
“Don’t call him that,” you hear Jo mutter.
“-Kai.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re-”
“Y/N.”
“Soooo, best friends,” he points to you and Jo, “then curious about brother, but can’t be friends with both, so you chose brother, now you’re dating?”
“Yep,” you confirm with the same tone your boyfriend just used.
Kai then rises from the pantry floor, crackers in hand. “Eat this, too. Salt good for dizziness.”
“Why are you dizzy?”
Jeez, this boy is nosy.
“You wanna take a guess?” You can’t help being sassy to him.
“Oh.”
“Anyway… we’re going to go watch a movie now. Leave you to Chucky.”
As you turn to go, Jo stops you. “Wait, Y/N-”
“What?”
“I just… I’ve never felt comfortable with you two alone together, but now that you’re… doing that?”
“Jo, never in my life have I felt in danger around Kai.”
“Yeah, but one wrong,” with Jackson facing you, she makes the gesture of a siphon touch to your arm, “and you can,” she then makes one imitating someone being killed.
You take a deep breath. “Said it once, I’ll say it again. Kai’s not the man in here you should fear. That being said, you tell him you heard us, we’re all in deep shit. Including you, for having your boyfriend over when your parents aren’t home.”
“Dad loves Jack, he won’t care.”
“Believe what you want, but all I’m saying is that I snuck into Kai’s window the other night, and we both overheard Joey getting punished for just kissing a girl at school. You cuddling after what’s probably acceptable Daddy Parker hours, and us actually having sex, plus you not intervening with that? We’re all fucked.”
Her face goes blank at your words. “So you really did?”
“What’d you think we were doing? Hardcore cuddling? Nah, our first time was a loooonnngg time ago, Josette.” You pause, waiting to see if she’ll answer. Nothing; too shocked, apparently. “But yeah… don’t let your daddy find out his kids are growing up. I mean, I guess no dad likes to know their kids are doing that, but yours is particularly aggressive. I literally heard the slap to your brother’s face through the walls when he admitted he kissed some Clarissa girl he likes. I flinched. Kai didn’t. Wake up, Jo, your dad is a monster.”
And with your last word spoken, you take the snacks back upstairs, Kai close behind you.
The walk isn’t interrupted by a single voice, and it stays that way until you turn to your boyfriend. You’re on his bed while he’s just watching you.
“Come here, baby,” you make grabby hands towards him like a child, “let me cuddle you. I’m not gonna let him hurt you. Jo won’t tell; she knows I’m right.”
“She won’t change her opinion of him. She’s always going to be a suck up.” He caves and joins you on the bed, laying between your legs, head on your chest. It’s his comfort position whenever he feels scared: close to you, inhaling your scent, feeling your soft breasts on his cheek, hands intertwined.
“Yes, but she won’t tell about us, because she can’t do that without spilling her own secrets. One of them being that Jackson doesn’t even know she’s a witch. Like, that’s insane alone.”
Kai doesn’t answer, but you feel his tension ease up slightly.
“Hey, you need to relax a little more, okay? Take some,” you hold out your forearm for him to siphon, knowing your magic in his bloodstream usually calms him.
“No. Can’t hurt you.”
“Baby, it never hurts.”
“Already hurt you once today.”
“That didn’t hurt, either. I loved that. And I love this.”
He doesn’t answer.
“C’mon, Kai. You need it, and I need it. Makes me feel closer to you. Y’know, I can feel it, just a little, when my magic’s in you. It tingles my stomach. If I relish in it too much, makes me want you. Makes me wet,” you whisper, letting your breath hit his ear. “And I know you can feel it, too.”
Your words affect him, and soon, he becomes hungry for the need for your magic. The need to feel that same tingling effect, now amplified knowing you feel it, too. Slowly, he reaches a hand out, the one that’s not linked with yours, and grasps your forearm. As he focuses, the site glows orange, and the energy transfers between your bodies. You both moan lightly, and you cradle his head closer to you.
“There you go, my angel.”
After a few moments, he breaks contact, but that’s all that’s needed to have you swirling around his bloodstream. The sensation is there, and it’s strong, but you can tell Kai is too tired to take advantage of the feeling. Sometimes, it’s so intimate it puts him to sleep. Like this time, where you can feel the heaviness in his eyes from your linked bodies. It starts to make you tired, too.
“Take a nap, it’s okay.”
“I love you,” he mutters, almost inaudibly. You feel the words from his lips moving on your chest, though, and know what he’s said.
“I love you, too.”
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on strawberries and masonry: chapter v
series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company
OR
you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)
warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), maria is pregnant, the dinner party trope™️, joel picks reader up (but its actually been foretold that he can hold any weight ever, so don’t even worry about it), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, SMUT !!!!!, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (don't...even start), creampie, FEELINGS !! (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)
word count: 7.9k
authors note: an epilogue will be (probably) on the way but this is our last full chapter !! gag !! this is my first ever series and i'm so elated i decided to write and release it. this last chapter drained me mind body and soul and i don't know how i feel about it but i really hope you enjoy <3
series masterlist | masterlist
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the realization of your feelings for joel, that against all better judgment you’re tumbling somewhat unceremoniously in love with him, nestles itself between your ribs to scratch at your bones. it’s a tolerable ache, at first, and because you refuse to give into anything, you let it remain while joel fucks you on his tongue and fingers. you let him cover your skin in his spit and your slick and the marks of his fingernails, and inch closer to the doom of loving him, believing yourself capable of handling it, willing yourself to handle it. and you do. mostly.
what comes first is a need for him you’re unequipped for. his refusal to fuck you properly again (a promise he has continued to hold himself to) becomes increasingly unendurable, and you’re pushed beyond even the lust for him you’d fought against months earlier. you need him, daily, at least, pulling him behind the stables or coming to slam on his door so you can live another day. you want to please him, to mend him, to save him, even though you know you are incapable, and you try what becomes embarrassingly often to get on your knees for him, but he always denies you. yes, this is the first symptom of your almost-love, a wanting that reaches your innermost self and expands beyond the edges of you.
the second symptom is anger, a nefarious deviousness against him, a spiteful resentment for the small ways he rejects you. you are less cautious with him, nipping at him on patrol or in the dining hall with your own sexuality, constructing heavily unsubtle innuendos and whispering them in his ear. you’re looking to punish him, so irrevocably that he’s compelled to kiss you again, to fuck you again, but until now you’ve failed at ensnaring him fully. you barely recognize yourself this way; you have never been one for this wild sort of flirting, the obvious kind, but you succumb to it regardless.
the softness of him is the worst part. you skim your hands up his thighs and pull on the loops of his belt to tempt him to you in the ways he still refuses to give, and he’ll deny you orgasm as punishment, but still he materializes on your porch, or sits you next to him in the aftermath of the pleasure he does allot you, wet with your arousal, and lets you tell him about your life, leaves you breadcrumbs of his. he likes that spot he found on your neck that night when you cut the strawberry, wraps his palm around the base of your skull to feel the warmth of it, and with his callouses circling your skin you know that this is the most awful thing, the most terrible. it’s shameful, really, that he should show you this kindness when you’re this close to complete devotion to him.
“what d’you think, little wolf?”
little wolf. maybe this trumps even his hand on your head. last week, with three fingers in your dripping cunt joel had stilled his hand in you, let you thrash against him while he smiled into your hairline, and you bit hard into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving the marks of your canines there. easy, little wolf, he’d grunted into you, and he felt you pulse when he said it, so he’s kept the name, uses it often.
“hm?” you lift your head from his thigh, bare legs curled up along the couch while he sits back on the cushions. he’d tugged you from your walk to your garden into his home, licked into you while you pulled on his hair, made you come on his sofa like he’d savor the stain. his hand comes from around the back of your head to your face, thumb sweeping across your chin and along your bottom lip. you take it in your mouth and suck, eyes on his as his own mouth drops open.
“bout the jam. you want me to show you how to make it?” he repeats, voice low and broken as you swirl your tongue along the pad of his thumb. you’d brought the strawberries up again, how many you have and the white fuzz they grow; noah helped you remove the heaters from inside the greenhouse as temperatures rose outside, but a chill remained, and so your plant began a slow death. you’re left now with a small batch you like the idea of preserving in sugar and heat. you like the idea, too, of joel teaching you things, of him watching you learn. you nod slowly. “when?” he tilts his head as he asks. you pull from his finger and trail little unhurried bites along his palm, down the inside of his wrist. you want to suck his blood.
“tomorrow? evening?”
he nods, eyes hooded over as he watches you. slick drips between your thighs and sticks them together, wetting over the dried come he’d pulled from you minutes ago. you smile against his skin, teeth grazing his pulsepoint.
“you a good teacher?”
he grins and grips back at your head, tilting your chin up to his face as he leans down to you. “a real delight, i swear it.”
your noses bump and you want to kiss him (the whole of it is you’d like to suck his tongue into your mouth and hold it there, feel behind his teeth, let him spit onto your tongue), another vice he’s denied you since that first time. he sees it in you, this wanting, so he threads his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. the tug at the roots makes you rub your thighs together and he inches closer, close enough to whisper onto your lips “go home, little wolf,” and pulls himself off the couch. he’s practically limping with how hard he is, the strong outline of his cock casting shadows as he walks away from you, and it only serves to make you wetter, but because you’re certain he won’t let you help him (you tried in the stables this morning, hay softening your fall to your knees, but he’d hauled you back up with a gruff quit it) you pull your pants back on and retreat to your home.
stepping down his porch you bring a hand to your stomach, joel’s refusals of you burning green and orange there. the flames heat your skin and lick through your fingers, and the warmth indulges the part of you that hates him, but the rest of you (the part that loves him, lord help you) bends under the pressure. you drop your hand as you approach your house and find tommy leaned up against the fence post. panic seizes you for a moment, but you tamp it down sharply; surely, he can’t know where you’ve come from, surely he can’t smell him on you.
“isn’t this a little past your bedtime?”
he looks up at you with a smile as you come to stand fully in front of him. “yeah, well, i figured you’d be comin back from the garden right about now.”
something sparkles across your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice. “mhm. how’s maria doing? she’s in the, what, second trimester now?”
tommy nods, that boyishness and the pride of fatherhood puffing his chest. “that she is. she’s a wonder, i tell ya. don’t know how the hell she’s doin it. but the nausea’s gone away now, so she’s just restin up.”
“i’ve been wanting to come by and visit, but i didn’t know if she’d want me there.” it’s the truth; you’ve seen very few pregnant women in your life, and the magnitude of it frightens and delights you. besides, as little as she seems to enjoy your company, you suspect it’s a lonely existence, cooped up by the windowsill growing little arms and fingernails, and you’re self-aware enough to know you owe yourself to her.
tommy scratches the back of his neck. “well that’s what i wanted to come ask about, actually.”
you tilt your head. “me coming to visit?”
he hums. “maria’s been wanting some socializin, some…” he waves his hands around, looking for the word, “interaction. i figured you could come over for dinner.”
“just me?” you can’t help the surprise in your voice.
“...no. noah, too. and my brother.”
your throat dries out and you stifle a sputter. yes, indeed, dinner by candlelight with your most long standing existing friends, of which you have only two, a pregnant woman who sees you as you have been (a knife, with a girl on the end), and the man you’ve been fucking but not fucking (and you think you may be in love with him, also, but you try to keep this bit irrelevant). yes, yes. a fantastic idea! what a delight!
“i don’t…i don’t know, tommy. maria’s never been my biggest fan.” please, don’t make me come.
“come on, don’t say that.”
“i don’t mean any offense, i just don’t want to disturb her.”
“you ain’t disturbing her! i’m telling you she’d like it if you came!”
“tommy-”
“she barely tolerates my brother as it is, at least you’ll be there to occupy him. please?” and he asks with such sincerity, such unknowing of the things you’ve done to joel, and you know there is no way out.
“yeah, okay. okay. i’ll be there.”
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“so you’re goin to this…what is it? dinner party?”
joel’s halfway through a bite of something red and meaty when he asks, and you clamp on his moving jaw with your palm.
“don’t talk with your mouth full, sting, it’s not very southern gentlemanly.” he flips your hand away with a grunt and you bite your tongue between your molars to keep from smiling. “yes, i will be there.”
he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, looking out at the milling people filling the dining hall. “i still don’t understand the point of it anyway. the hell we playin family for?”
“joel, you are family.” his eyes flit to yours. “tommy’s family, i mean,” you clarify. he nods, some sort of relieved, the disappointed sort, you feel. you do your best to shake the stick of it, of that feeling, off.
“then why are you goin?”
“well, as it happens, i was invited. besides,” you snort, an unattractive thing but you let it pass, “i think your brother hopes i’ll keep you entertained.”
“entertained? you bein serious?”
you’re golden and beaming with how he looks at you, so incredulous and muscled and stiff with restraint from touching you, you can feel it. “i think his exact verbiage was occupy. he wants me to occupy you.”
“jesus.”
“buck up, cowboy, i’m a delight.”
“uh huh.” you think it’s meant to jab at you, that little grunt, but one end of his mouth turns up as he says it, an imperfect cover of his grin. “he ever do this kinda thing before? before i came?”
you bite the inside of your cheek and look to the ceiling. yes, he did, once. he’d been patrolling with pete mcneilson (a scrawny thing, squirrelish and panicked, but as young as you are) and decided you were fated to be wed, worked his hardest for weeks to set you up. he’d planned the dinner in hopes it would serve as a first date, but your halfway abnormality and owlish inspection of him—tommy’s words, really; he said you looked straight through the poor thing—had frightened him, you suspect. you consider lying, though these days such attempts rarely come out right with joel. you sigh. “yeah, once. maybe two years ago.” joel raises his eyebrows, urging you on. you sort of mumble, “it was a ploy to set me up, really.”
he drops his fork onto the plate, lets it rattle, and you nearly flinch. you’re somewhat surprised to find yourself expecting him to be angry, not that he’s under any obligation to be. really, you might like him to be angry, but he chuckles, instead, biting and smug as he is. “set you up with who?”
“don’t laugh.”
he raises his hands in surrender, grinning, still. “i ain’t, only askin for a name, baby.”
how often he uses it hasn’t dulled the sharp spasm of want that word seizes you with. “no laughing.”
“what did i just say?” he leans closer. “gimme the name, darlin.”
“pete mcneilson.”
joel does not keep his promise. he chokes on his laughter, heaves with it, tenses his ribs to keep it in the box of his chest, but it tears out between you anyway. oh, how gorgeous he is this way. “christ almighty, pete?” and then, shaking his head to himself, he adds “he’d be fuckin helpless.”
you scoff. “the fuck you mean by that?”
joel continues eating again, self-satisfied with some glorious victory that lays itself over his face. “helpless with you, darlin. you’re too damn vicious for him.”
you think for a moment. “little wolf, and all that?”
he clears his throat, laughter dead in the back of his throat but eyes still pinched a little in the tension of his smile. “somethin like that.”
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you think it’s a mistake, going to this dinner, as you walk out your door, smoothing your jeans down your legs. you know it’s a mistake when you walk in and see them all, the whole lot, milling about tommy’s home, your varying degrees of relation to each clashing violently. tommy rushes through the kitchen, mashing boiled potatoes and checking on meat that pours steam from the oven when he vents the door, and maria watches his frenzy with a pleased sort of smile. you know she’ll tense when she sees you here, and so you allow her another moment of secluded safety with her husband, and look around for joel; you’re almost embarrassed at how desperately you search for him, but all of it drains from you when you find him standing next to the dining table with noah, being what could only be described as talked at. you’re filled instead with a gripping warmth, pink and new, at the sight of him, so big and disinterested. he may remain mostly secretive of his feelings with you, but joel is intrigued by you, this much you are certain of, and the picture of him this plainly un-intrigued makes you feel singular, selfish, important to him. yes, tonight is a mistake.
“i can’t believe my eyes, the town ghost has appeared,” noah calls out from across the room. you give him your best attempt at a grin, eyes pulled like gravity and lust to joel but working to keep them ahead.
“in the flesh,” you dip your head in a bow, and noah pulls you into a hug. over the slope of his shoulder you see joel, hip cocked and brittle, and you both have the same thought simultaneously, that he’s never held you like this, not once. for all his increasing softness, he has never held you like this. he’s already angry, you think, gnawing on the figure of you in noah’s arms. you pull away and position yourself between them, nodding to joel, mainly for show. “i haven’t seen you in ages, noah, how are you?” and your sincerity is barely there, so slippery with joel so close, but enough to convince noah.
“haven’t you heard? i’m a mentor, now,” he smiles with sarcasm and a little pride, too. “been showing jesse how we run the patrols and all.”
you’re trying, so hard you are trying. joel is watching you precisely, hawkishly. “so i’ve been told. you started on our patrol route your first day, i think,” and you gesture to joel, but you can’t look at him, knowing you’ll twitch too damningly in his direction.
“ah, yeah, yeah that’s right.” with a playfulness he continues, “of course, we’ve moved onto much harder routes now.”
in the compendium of near-family you’ve concocted in jackson, noah serves as the spirited sort of brotherhood you imagine was normal decades ago. when you met, skittish and cut open as you were, noah found great joy in poking at you; your hardness grated against the easy youth he’s clung to, and you think he liked the challenge of it. as you melted more into the jackson scenery, though, became more earnestly open to friendship with him, he learned instead to lend you this ease, the sarcasm and good humor. there’s something lovely about taking it up when you speak to him, though it’s difficult now, what with the distraction at your side.
you cross your arms. “oh have you? you’re that good a teacher?”
joel coughs next to you, nearly chokes, and you feel the gentle thrum again of a shared thought between you, of yesterday on his couch, of his thumb in your mouth, of the jam (oh fuck, that was meant to be tonight). noah pays no mind, a sweet thing but dull around the edges. “you know it, baby.”
with a squeak of his boots and a grunt under his breath, joel storms into the kitchen and out of sight. you and noah watch him go, your stomach leadened with his absence, and you pull a breath in to lighten the weight, but it’s no use. baby, baby, you know it’s baby that’s driven him away. you feel noah step a little closer to you.
“speaking of, how’s your patrol been? i can’t believe maria finally let you do it.”
you shift: joel, his hands, his voice, the man you killed for him. “they’ve been fine, i guess.”
noah bumps his shoulder into yours. “details, details! you spend every morning with the big bad wolf over there, i mean how does that feel?”
you tilt your head at him. “noah,” you scold.
he brushes off your tone, craning his neck to get a look at joel in the kitchen, continuing, “he seems fucking scary to me. doesn’t he scare you?”
you huff and shove him back, but he looks back at you like he really means it. you’re startled with the sudden urge to tell him the truth, blood and spit and all. it rises in your throat like bile, but you swallow it all back down. “no, not anymore. not…not really.” your voice is heady with the history you and joel have carved with lips and tongues, and you wonder how gory it would all become if you had indulged yourself fully, let the acid of your feelings spill out. as you think it, noah scans your face, looks through it, and you worry for a moment you’re caught, that the whole of it is spread plainly on your features, but tommy comes barreling out of the kitchen with food cradled in his arms, maria in tow, and you’re spared from any further investigation. tommy laughs out your name from the head of the table.
“jesus, i didn’t even see you come in, come sit down!”
you nod, give maria a smile, glance at the globe of her stomach. she’s glowing with it, hand along the curve of her tummy, and she does her best to smile back at you, as soft as she is capable of. noah pulls the remaining empty chair next to him out from the table and you sit, finding joel across from you, biting on his tongue and furious, quietly, desperately furious, looking between you and him. fuck.
like the love, joel’s fury fissures you in two. you are, most viscerally, delighted that joel should be so angry at noah’s arm around the back of your chair. he watches the space between you, daring it to close further, shoulders strung taut like you’re his to fuss over. your heart expands and knocks on your ribcage, arteries singing with the pleasure of it, and arousal pools between your thighs and sticks there.
toe to toe with this delight, though, contends your own boiling rage. how desperately his gaze claws at you serves as a reminder of the ways he denies you of him, of his cock and his tears and his lips on yours. you would gladly give him this, let him bark and snarl like a wild animal in some unhealthy possession of you, if he let you possess him back. but, as it is, the edge of his eyeline cuts you irreparably, marks you with an indictment of you as a lover and him as something less. it makes you fucking furious.
“ellie helps you a bunch in the garden, don’t she?”
you look up to tommy. you haven’t been listening. “hm?”
“ellie. i’m always seein her in the greenhouse.”
you nod, grin at the thought of her. “mhm. she’s been a real help, actually, and it’s nice to spend the time with her. i think a lot of the other kids are sort of afraid of her.”
joel’s eyes gleam over for a moment. he loves her, you know, and whatever rift exists between them has persisted. noah grips your shoulder and shakes it a little, and the shine dries on joel’s brown eyes.
“sounds like a bit of you.”
tommy barks out a laugh and you push noah’s hand away. “yeah, yeah.”
maria lays a hand on tommy’s bicep. “i think it’s good for her. she needs to get acclimated here. she’s not like the other kids.”
you all look to joel. he hasn’t said a thing since you all sat down, actually. he clears his throat, and the rasp of it goes down hard. “no, she ain’t.”
“from what i’ve heard she’s got a real sailors mouth, big brother. that your doin?”
joel’s face pulls into offense. “no.”
“well she musta learned it somewhere,” noah sings. so very sweet, so very dull. joel looks like he might skin him.
“she came like that.”
“came like that?” noah repeats.
this is so very off limits. tommy and maria give each other a look, and they glance across the table to share it with you. stop him, for the love of god. you turn to noah, plead quietly, “just drop it, noah.”
“what? i’m asking him about himself,” and then to tommy and maria, “i can’t ask him about his daughter?”
what began as a wholly good hearted attempt at conversation has morphed, you realize, into the same sort of bear poking noah used to do with you. he’s calling joel’s prickliness and raising him a teasing interrogation. but for all your similarities, joel is not like you now, he will not absorb it as you did. he stares, lethal and still, at noah, elbows on the table.
“come on, we know nothing about the man. i want to hear your stories! give me something.”
joel scoffs and you ask again, “noah, please.”
“how am i doing anything wrong here?” his words devolve into childlike mumbles, unused to being denied this way. “i’m trying to make some fucking conversation.”
voice resigned from subtlety, all desperation, you call across the table, “maria, how’s your pregnancy coming along? tell us a long story about it.”
tommy snorts with your bluntness, but all three millers soften with a breath. maria rubs along her tummy, smiling down and speaking, but you go deaf to it as noah brings his arm all the way up, slinging it across the line of your shoulders. and you know, like all the other touches and like his antagonizing of joel, that he means nothing real by it. but joel takes the world in as meaningful: all of it, including noah. you can’t bear to look at him, but even still you burn with the steaming point of his gaze, frenetic and livid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“joel, jesus, slow down,” you call out as you hurry after him. tommy and maria had let you all loose to the jackson twilight, and with a smiling salute noah pranced off home, brushed already of the dust he knocked loose from joel at the dinner table. but joel eats up the ground in front of him with large, pacing strides, muscles corded in the back of his neck. you want to ride him, punch him in the stomach.
“go home.”
you catch up to him, grip a hand on the sleeve of his coat. “i will not go home. i want you to have a conversation with me first.”
joel doesn’t stop, drags you with him through the front door of his house by the fabric of his jacket. the door slams behind you and as the sound rings out joel whips around, boxing you against the wood. he heaves, little hurricane in his chest, casting shadows on you, even in the dark. “i’m not in the mood for a conversation.”
“yes, sting, i gathered that, but you’re being a fucking asshole.”
he huffs and looks to the ceiling, praying, you think, for divine intervention, or perhaps a lightning bolt to set the house ablaze. he can’t look at you when he asks it. “have you fucked him before?”
“jesus christ, no!”
he laughs, a little insane and swinging like a church bell. “seemed damn cozy in there to me.”
“yes! i’m sure we did! he saved me from bleeding out in the middle of winter joel, i told you that.” he adjusts his stance and peers back down at you, looking almost sorry with the thought of you red and unmoving, but because your fury is insatiable you poke him in the chest, adding, “besides, what if i had? what’s it matter to you anyway?”
he grips your wrist, asks incredulously, “what’s it matter to me?”
“no really, why give a shit? i promise i’ll still let you stick your fucking ring finger into my–”
“not another fucking word.”
the diseased part of you laughs with the irony of this moment, at the anger and jealousy you’d hoped for in the dining hall this afternoon; it isn’t exactly what you’d pictured. you sag with that thought. “please, baby,” his grip on your wrist tightens when you call him that, “throw me a bone. you seem entirely disgraced by the fact that we do…what we do, god forbid anyone found out, you won’t even,” you push a quick breath from your nose, “you won’t even waste the fucking energy to fuck me, kiss me. so tell me, please, what is your problem with–”
“you wanna know my fuckin problem? you drive me fucking crazy. i am clinically fuckin insane, darlin, and it’s your fuckin fault. beggin me to fuck you, fuck your face, i mean jesus, the things you ask of me.” and then, mainly to himself, “i ain’t strong enough for this shit. the hands and the eyes and the,” he remembers you in front of him, faces you again, “and the looking, i mean what—shit—what kind of fuckin look is that? you look at me like–like–”
“like what?”
“like you love me. you look at me like you love me. do you know how fucked up that is darlin? and i’m doin my goddamn best to keep you at arms length and it’s damn near impossible but i knew that first time that i–” another heave, “that i’d fuck you again and i’d love you too. be in love with you. and i couldn’t be that selfish. how could you ask me to be that selfish?”
his fingers around your wrist have formed more into a desperate sort of hold, thumb reaching up into the cup of your palm. the weight of his admission presses through your diaphragm, that i’d love you too, but the rift in you, the love and the anger, is growing savage, and you lash with it.
“i’ve never asked a fucking thing of you. i’ve wanted, jesus joel i’ve wanted, but i never asked you to go on this emotionally stifled quest to prove—prove what exactly? that you’re good? i mean, christ, we’re both awful!” you poke him hard in the chest. “you’re awful and i–i’m awful, and,” the momentum of your fury is slowing, you can feel it dragging its feet, “and you won’t let me get close to you. i’d let you in anywhere. and you won’t,” the loving is thawing from you, and like snow in your hands it drips into water and dirt, down your front, and you’re crying suddenly, caught up in the great tragedy of what you’re about to say. “you won’t let me do it, you won’t let me love you even a little bit. but i can’t help it.” you flatten your palms on his chest, gentle, nearly losing it at the hummingbird winged hum of his heart. “if you can’t do it, i’ll leave you alone. i promise you, sting, i will leave you alone, i won’t ask again, i won’t beg it of you. tell me you don’t feel it and i’ll go.”
he takes a stilted breath in and looks down at your fingers on his front, runs his rough hands up them slowly, feeling you here with him. “i–i…”
you nod, tears hot and fat running lines down your cheeks, and move to pull away. you open his door behind you, facing him still, but he jerks something frantic and closes it again. his hands come up next to your head on the door, and the both of you are so silent you can hear the wood creak with the press of his palms. you wait.
it comes out with a great pain at first, a terrible ache you see in the grimace of his face, but it eases as it goes, eases as he tells you, “i love you, little wolf, i do, i do.”
and then there’s a moment of stillness, of unsureness. what do you do now? what does anyone do now? oh, but he loves you, he loves you, you have to write it on a wall somewhere, burn a forest and bottle the ashes, wreak some irrevocable havoc. he loves you.
you drag a hand from his chest up to his face, and with a shudder he leans into the warmth of it, nods against the skin, affirming some wordless agreement, and leans down to press his lips to yours. and it’s been so long you can’t help the whimper that escapes you, squeaky and wet still with the damp residue of your tears, but he’s soft and hot against you, pulls his hands down around your waist and squeezes into your spine. you say his name against his lips and he nods again, presses harder, groaning when you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. you open your mouths to one another, hoping to suck each other’s souls out, you think, and he licks into your mouth with a moan. you’re still whimpering his name somehow, over and over, meaning nothing by it other than you like the taste of it along with his tongue, joel, joel, joel, and he replies with the heated moving of his hands along your body.
joel grips under your ass, pulls you against his cock as he ruts you into the door, speaks gruffly against your lips, “tell me again.”
and you do, somewhere between your moans, “i love you, i love you,” and he seizes with the sound of it, ducking his head to suck marks into your neck. you hitch a leg over his hip and he takes it as an invitation, dragging his cock through his jeans again along you.
with his face still in the crook of your neck and a muffled up he hoists you fully into his arms to take you up the stairs, and if you were more lucid you would notice you’re in the same spot you were months ago, the first and only other time he let you have him, but as it is you swirl your hips as best you can against him as he walks, biting the skin that beats with his jugular. you’re drunk on the scent of him, on the pressure of his body. he lays you down on his bed and leans over you with wild eyes as he drags the fabric of your shirt up. he mouths along the skin as he bares it, mumbling into your skin, “so pretty here, baby.”
you raise your back from the bed to pull your shirt and bra off fully and he groans, hands flying to grab at your tits, tracing a line between them with his nose. “and here.” you lift your hips and he pins them with his own, the heft of his cock dragging against your clit through your pants and you mewl with it. joel moves back up to your ear, still pulling at the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers, to whisper, “i’m gonna take you slowly. can you do that, darlin?”
and no, you’re not sure you can, but you nod breathlessly anyway.
“good girl.”
that drives you fully to madness, you think, and you tilt your head back into his bed, writhing into a moan. he smiles into you as he moves his face back down, down, past your sternum, hands moving to pull at your jeans. “can i take these off?”
“yes, please.”
he nods and pulls them from you, and runs his hands back up your legs. you can feel your own dripping, the gusset of your panties soaked through with arousal, and his smile drops as he looks at it, a single finger coming to run down the fabric. you shudder, and so does he, you think, hand still on your thigh tightening as the pad of his finger wipes along the dampness. “fuck. this for me?”
you’re already nodding. “yes, yes, you, please, touch me, please.”
and with that joel is pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of glistening slick where the fabric sticks to your flesh, and joel heaves you to the edge of his bed, kneeling with a grunt to the floor. you hum around a whine as he bites and licks up the insides of your thighs, his own moans reverberating back to you. his fingers, wrapped around the crease where your legs meet your torso, will leave bruises, you’re sure.
“joel,” you plead, but he doesn’t really hear it, heaving open mouthed around your cunt now, breathing you in.
with a long inhale he drops his forehead to your navel, squeezes you between his hands. “so good, baby, this pussy is so good.”
your eyes slip shut and you feel yourself pulse with his words. joel sees it, too, and finally, fucking finally, closes his plush lips around your clit, slurping and sucking as you all but scream into the space of his room.
“fuck joel, fuck, oh my god.”
“yeah?”
you thread your fingers through his curls and tug, and his groan makes your hole flutter. he circles his tongue around your little button, flattens it, flicks over it with the tip, and the drool of his own spit mixes with your slick as it slides from your hole to his sheets below you. you’re fucking aching now, so empty as he sucks around you, but before you can even plead for them, you feel his two fingers slip inside you, gliding in easy around the wetness he’s pulled from you and the slip of his saliva. he curls them, petting against someplace only he has ever reached, and you keen.
“that’s it, huh? there?” and it’s only halfway smug, all the rest earnest, and you pull harder on his hair. your nerve endings flare up and catch fire, his scissoring fingers within you, his taste buds on your clit, his sheets bunched at your head, it all tears at you with unbearable feeling, you feel with an intensity that blurs your vision. with the pulse around his knuckles, joel can feel how close you are, raising his lips from you with eyes hooded. “oh, you’re close, darlin, i fuckin feel it,” he rasps, and you nod again, delirious and mouth open, as he circles his thumb in the path of spit his tongue left. the noises you make would be humiliating in front of anyone else, you think, but his brows furrow with each of your blasphemous little whines, and so you let them claw out as he watches his fingers thrust in and out of you. “c’mon little wolf, let it go, let me have it.” and you do, you throw it at him, really, pulsing around his fingers and gushing down his hand, moaning wildly something that sounds like his name as he groans with the squelch of it.
he pulls his fingers away only as you relax, spine released and flat again on his bed. he drags his eyes up and down your body, spent but not yet satisfied, as he rids himself of his own clothes, and your pussy shudders with her own heartbeat again as you take him in. his cock reaches stiff between his legs, blushing and pearled with precome, and you lick your lips with finally, finally. he pumps himself once, twice, stalking towards you again, but you stand from the bed with shaky legs, sit him in the wet spot you made together. as you sink to your knees he curses and squeezes the base.
“jesus christ, baby.” but you only smile as you run your nose up the underside of his shaft, tentatively pressing the flat of your tongue along his head to collect what’s escaped him there. the salt and musk of it makes you whine and you fit your lips around him, laving along his skin and watching his hands bunch in the sheets. you smooth your lips down his head, lower, lower, and suck, cunt fully dripping again at the noises he makes. a broken version of your name leaves him as you start to bob your head, spinning your chin as you come up, letting your teeth graze the vein along the underside.
“oh fuck, you—shit—your mouth is so fuckin good,” and he brings a hand, now, to collect your hair and wrap his fingers around it, anchoring himself more than you, “yeah, yeah, that’s it baby, fuck.” you moan into him and his hips twitch as it moves through his skin, and fuck you want him to fuck your throat. you bring your fingers up to move his other hand, clenched taut at his side, to your head, pushing it down to show him. his fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to move you on his own, pulling you into him as you gag and swallow around his head. “oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, hips starting to rut up to meet your face, and your hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrusts deeper, sputtering as he grits out, “fucking gag on it.” you hum, so gloriously pleased with yourself and the taste of him, feeling him twitch in your throat, but with one final drag of your tongue on him he pulls you off. you start to whine but he’s heaving you up by the elbows to straddle his lap, grabbing you by the jaw to bring your face to his. your tongues meet and circle, the both of you groaning at the taste of the other, and he drags his wet cock along your seam. you angle your hips so he catches on your opening and his hands tighten on your waist.
“you still want it, darlin?”
you almost laugh, maybe you do, nodding with your hands on his shoulders. “yes, yes, please.”
and when he pushes in it is not like last time. he’s slow, agonizingly so, as he lets you sink down, your forehead dropping to his as you groan in unison. you clench and throb when your thighs meet, fully seated, and he pulses inside of you, but he doesn’t move yet, brings a finger from your waist to between the wings of your shoulder blades. as you breathe together, chests meeting in full flex, he drags the pad of his finger down, your body open and seizing with feeling of him.
“you like to touch me there,” you whisper.
joel nods. “it holds you up.” and something about it makes you wail. when his finger reaches the bottom, he bands his whole arm around your back, pulls you impossibly closer against his chest and moves his head next to yours, asks into your ear, “can i move now?”
you twitch as his breath fans over the side of your face, whispering back some sort of please, please, and he starts to thrust into you, slowly but deeply, so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix, and you both hold each other tighter as he drags back out.
“fuck, joel, so good.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
“you’re fuckin—ah—soakin me, baby.”
between the whispers in your ear joel takes your lobe into his mouth, biting and releasing, kissing the spot beneath it. your body tenses in his arms as his cock ruts in and out of you, still so slow and still so much, and his bicep around your back flexes to keep you in place.
“what is it?”
“fuck me faster, please,” you whimper. you feel his little smile into your skin.
“you said you could take it slow.”
“and i—fuck—i’m trying.”
he groans, long and with the movement of his cock in you. “one more second like this, just like this.” you try to roll your hips again but his grip stills you. “you have no patience, do you?” you shake your head. without a word, he reaches up to push your elbows up and over his shoulders, and you wrap your arms down his back. he nods a little, whispers just like that into your skin, and you throb around him.
the slap of his skin on yours rings through the room as he speeds up, thrusts meeting you, and you scream like this is salvation (you think it might be). neither of you can control your noises now, not that there was much control to begin with, and joel grits out agonized moans into the arc of your ear. your nails scrape up and down the skin of his back as he pounds up into you, clawing marks and holding there. again you’re on his name, repeating it with a fever and a cry, joel, joel, joel.
“fuck, i fuckin love the sound of my name like that, baby. you sound like you’re mine.”
you do your best to nod, head bobbing at his shoulder, i am yours, i am yours, but still it’s only his name coming out. he fucks you harder, holds you harder, moves like a zealot into your softness. he brings a thumb to your clit, circles it tightly, eats up your noises with a gluttony that pulls you right there, right there.
“i’m so close, joel,” you whimper.
“fuck, i know, i fuckin feel it. come on, darlin, come on my cock.”
again, you do, you do as he asks, pulled tight into him as you pulse and thrash, ecstasy washing over you.
“yeah, that’s—oh god—that’s it, that’s it,” he rasps, thrusts unrelenting, slapping against the wetness dripping between you. as the rigid pleasure runs through you and your body relaxes again, he picks you up, knees his way up the bed to place you down beneath him. you watch his face pull together as he forgets his plan for a moment, fucks you into the bed with a hand on the headboard, but he collects himself again and heaves you over by the crook of your knee so your stomach is to the mattress, keeping the head of his cock inside you. you hold yourself up by your knees and elbows, feel his hands spread down your back and around the globes of your ass before he picks up his pace again, hips meeting your ass in harsh bumps that make you scream into his pillows. the kick of him inside you is coaxing your body again towards orgasm, and you arch your back for him.
“such a tight fuckin fit, ain’t it?” you whine in response, pushing your hips back against his. he pulls you up, back flush against his chest, spreads his knees a little to rut deeper up into you. with what sounds like waning sanity, he grits into your ear, “you make it fit for me, darlin, i know you do.” your bag arches off his chest as you go stiff, so startlingly close again. you’re defying your own anatomy now, gone from the confines of your body, submerged fully in a rapture that beads like sweat down your skin. “fuck me, you gonna come again?”
“yeah, yes, fuck” you heave.
he nods against your shoulder and slides the paw of his hand down your front to rub you, using the flat of his hand to press into your clit. “i’m gonna—oh fuck—you’re gonna make me come, where do you want it?”
and you know you shouldn’t, but you’re so fucking close, and you want it. “inside, joel, please.”
his thrusts are stumbling now, losing rhythm. “yeah? you want me to fill you up? fuck,” and he laughs breathlessly, “tha’s how we’ll tell everyone, i’ll fuck you full of my fuckin baby.”
the both of you vibrate with that notion, buzzing together, barely human anymore, and suddenly you’re falling into climax, a third and quick and jolted one, pulling him with you as you clench and flutter, and the pump of his warmth inside of you feels like the most wonderfully selfish thing you’ve ever done. and as his cock softens inside you, a mix of your come sliding out, he’s really just holding you, wrapped up in his arms on his bed. he kisses you in the silence, up the line of your shoulder and to your ear. “stay here, baby,” and he pulls out as you lie all the way down, wipes you both with a rag before climbing up behind you and cradling you in the crook of his body.
night has fallen fully now, but the moonlight peers through his window and marks the wall ahead of you. joel’s hands are warm as they run up your sides, draws his name on your hip. you smile.
“sting.”
J–O–E–L. “hm?”
“will you tell me again?”
he stretches out his fingers and leans his head over yours. you turn to meet his face. and you think it hurts him, still, to say it, but he does, forehead creased with sincerity and a will to tell you anyway. “i love you, little wolf.”
“i love you, too.”
joel thinks a moment. “are you…” you sit up a little to see him fully, and even in the darkness you can see the flush of red around his ears. “do you still want me to show you how to make the jam?”
oh god, he is so tender for such a violent thing. “mhm,” you hum, but turn all the way over to situate yourself into his chest. through the hair spattered there, you add, “later.”
his thumb finds your spine again, traces it like he’s done before. in his arms here, you can admit that this, now, is your greatest achievement, the closest you’ve ever been to sacred. the puffs of his breath on the top of your head, the slowing of your heartbeats as you both drift towards sleep, yes, this is holy, a sanctified thing, the loveliest thing you’ve ever grown.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
aaah !! i can't believe this story has come to a somewhat-end !! i can't thank you all enough for the support on it. as my first fic it was fucking terrifying to put out, but i'm so glad i did 🍓🤍🤍
taglist: @koshkaj-blog @limerence4u @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 (let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!)
#joel miller fic#jackson!joel#joel miller#fem!reader#the last of us#tlou#hello woolf#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#on strawberries and masonry#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x reader
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communion // claire redfield
Claire x afab!Reader
Smut
wc: 2065
mdni - 18+
this is literally my worst nightmare i dont ever want to have a relationship like this again. unless......
the pillow princess kinda jumped out of me and onto the page, sorry. or you're welcome. idk. up to you.
afab reader, tit sucking, oral (reader receiving), religious imagery (my bad), really meandering prose, don't get into a relationship like this i'm begging you, not proofread
It’s over.
You’re not sure it ever really began, but watching Claire sling her backpack over her shoulder, motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, you know it’s over.
It’s over, and she’s back at your place the following weekend.
It’s over.
You’re not sure it ever really began, but watching Claire sling her backpack over her shoulder, motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, you know it’s over. She’s not mad. It’s nothing that you did. She just can’t continue on like this, that’s all. No hard feelings. Water under the bridge. You’re still friends. Nothing has to change.
It’s over, and she’s back at your place the following weekend. Crashed out next to you on your couch, heels kicked up on your coffee table, she looks like she never left.
You wish things would change. You wish this wasn’t so tense, wish the silence didn’t feel like it was crushing you. Every movement is magnified, every breath, every uncomfortable shift. You’re hyper aware of the smallest details. Claire seems infuriatingly unbothered. Her foot bobs carelessly. She pulls her hair from her ponytail with no concern for how it spills over her shoulder, how the scent of her shampoo drifts over to you. (Coconut. Not her usual scent. You wonder if she’s just mixing things up or if she’s showered at someone else’s place, and the jealousy of this imagined transgression carves out a cavern in your chest.)
If there’s any part of her that feels the tension the way that you do, she doesn’t show it. The TV drones on in the background, a cooking competition show from the mid-2000’s. Claire scrolls through her phone, one arm propped up behind the couch - behind you. She doesn’t like this show. You know she doesn’t like this show. She made it a point to tell you how much she hated it every time it was on, yet she sits next to you silently. This is less affection and more apology.
Her hand settles against your ankle to get your attention, showing you a text from someone at work and complaining half-heartedly about their incompetence. She doesn't move her hand away. This is how it always starts with Claire. Innocently enough that it doesn’t draw attention, not until her hands are helping you out of your clothes and laying you back against the closest surface.
You should pull your leg back. She wouldn't push you. You know she wouldn't. She would accept your silent refusal without a fuss, any awkwardness wiped away without so much as a word. She’s good like that - good at making you comfortable in the face of confrontation. Her hand strokes along your calf, thumb rubbing circles into your tense muscles. You sigh, somewhere between a noise of enjoyment and exasperation at how readily you’re giving in to her again. Her hand rests against your knee only a moment before sliding up to your thigh.
“Claire,” you say, voice a warning.
“What?” She feigns innocence, setting her phone aside. Her fingers curl, knuckles pressing circles against your skin.
You give her a look - the kind a mother spares a child who’s been misbehaving - but otherwise say nothing. Your attention turns back to the TV, trying to focus on the show. If you fill your head with the dramatics of reality TV, the dramatics of your life will pale in comparison, surely.
From the corner of your eye, you see Claire’s smile thin to something mischievous. She scoots closer to you, her leg pressing against yours. Her arm slips down from the back of the couch, wrapping around your shoulders and curling you closer to her, close enough for her to mouth at your neck, to nip at your earlobe and send a shower of sparks down your spine.
Your body ignites at her touch, the yearning you had prayed to fade surfacing so quickly that it makes you ache. Any pretenses of disinterest fall away so quickly it’s shameful. You arch into her, turning your head to capture her lips with yours. She stops, pulling back from you, so close and so far.
"No, no, keep watching," Claire says, the pattern of her breathing not even disturbed. She turns your head back to the TV with two fingers against your jaw. Her hand glides down your neck, glancing over your collarbone, pausing its pilgrimage only to cup your breast. She holds you there, feels the weight of you in her palm, and then her body’s slipping between your legs, knocking them wide with her knee. Her mouth latches onto your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your pulse.
It’s going to hurt, you think. Her teeth catch at your collar bone, the strap of your tank top shuffled down your shoulder. She sucks her devotion into your skin, the mark mottled and darkening even before she runs her teeth along it to ensure it takes. She squeezes your breast firmly, thumbs brushing over your nipple, aching and peaked under your clothes.
She pulls back from your skin, wedging her nails between her teeth and prying her press-ons off. You groan, swat at her limply, murmuring ‘gross’. She tosses them aside, and a moment’s irritation passes through you. You’ll have to find those later.
But for now? She has you fucking pavlov’d. Your knees fall apart for her, skin prickling as the back of her fingers trail against your inner thigh. Her fingers drag against your clothed cunt, not nearly enough pressure to even begin to unwind the coiling knot in your stomach.
She hums, her hand laying flat against your stomach, just above the waistband of your panties. She waits for any sign of protest. When you offer none, she hooks a finger under the elastic, tugging gently.
"This okay?" She asks.
You should say no. You should tell her that you’re going to bed, that she can have the couch, that you can’t keep doing this.
The thought crosses your mind as you’re lifting your hips to help her. Your hand cups her jaw, tugs her up to your face. You kiss her to satisfy a bone-deep need for her, your mouth falling open for her tongue to claim - and she does so eagerly.
She pulls away from you to work her way down your body, kissing a wet trail down your skin and stopping to free you from your shirt. Bared to her, she sits back on her thighs to admire you, her eyes half-lidded and lips swollen red. Her gaze flutters between your tits and your cunt, brows pinching together. This is the toughest decision she’s had to make all night.
Her hands grasp your hips, tugging you down the couch. There's a power in her grip that you don't often see, and it makes your stomach squirm. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, stifling a giggle. The corner of her lips lift into a smile. She leans over you, taking a nipple into her mouth. For a moment you think she’s made her choice. You arch into her mouth, whine sharpening into something high and needy when her fingers pinch your neglected nipple.
But she pulls away from your with a wet, sloppy noise. She presses your tits together for a moment to kiss both of them, and then she’s making her way back down your body. Her hands squeeze you until she rests between your thighs.
Her arms slip under your knees, hands coming around to brace the top of your pillowy thighs. She pauses, a dreamy sigh floating from her lips. She urges your hips up again to tuck one of the couch pillows underneath you, and then she’s settled, encouraging your legs to rest over her shoulders and lock you there once you oblige. Claire's cheek pillows against your thigh. This has always been where she looks most at peace.
Claire doesn’t eat pussy. She worships it.
Any vestiges of shame disappear the moment her head dips between your legs. Her tongue laves a worshipful path against your heat, bottom to top, savoring the journey and moaning her adoration into your skin.
If you could see her, see the way she admires your cunt with such reverence, you might push her away. She kneels at your altar and laps at the communion your body offers her so willingly. There's forgiveness in the act, collecting absolution on her tongue. Her fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs and tug you closer, and for a moment it feels like she needs you just as much as you need her.
The sounds coming from her are sinful. She suckles your clit so eagerly that you have to fist a hand in her hair and tug her back, the sensation too much, too quick. She pulls back, kissing your folds gently in apology. Her tongue shifts to swipe flat and broad over your folds. Her nose nudges against your pudgy clit, just enough sensation for you to lay back, boneless, moans falling from your lips.
She takes her time with you, savoring every moment she spends with her lips around you. There’s no reservation in the way she slurps and sucks at you, no shame in how she drinks down everything that you give her and returns it back to you in a moan, a hum against your skin that leaves you buzzing. If she could taste your moans, if she could kiss you quiet at the same time, you could die happy.
Her tongue churns against your clit, steady and predictable. She makes no effort to pin your hips down. Her shoulders roll with every buck and twitch, holding you to her, relishing the way that you writhe. Her finger presses into you, and you swear to god you hear her laugh against you. Another finger joins the first, the resistance negligible. You can’t tell which noises are from Claire and which are from the way your body greedily sucks her fingers in.
She knows your body well, but she rushes nothing. Her fingers curl into that spot inside you that makes you wail. Your hand fists in her hair, trying to hold her mouth in place, your voice high and desperate when you plead, “there, right there, please, Claire.”
Your thighs clamp around her head, hips rutting against her face. Her fingers grind against that perfect, spongy spot inside you and fuck, you’re gone, back arching, heel digging into her shoulder blade. Your toes curl, the pleasure erupting and spreading hot through your veins. Her tongue curls against your clit, lips shifting into a smile against you that you can picture with such perfect clarity even as your vision blurs. She coaxes moan after broken moan from you, not satisfied until your voice turns to a whimper, until your hands push feebly at her shoulders.
She pulls away from you with a last lurid lick. A shudder shakes your body, and she’s quick to soothe it, pulling you into her arms.
Claire slides up your body, her hands skimming reverently against your sides. Her weight presses you into the couch, her cheek resting against your stomach. In the gleam of the TV, her mouth shines with spit and you.
"Who got kicked off?" she asks casually, her breathing already evened out again.
"I dunno. Think I blacked out for a little."
Claire laughs, her hands squeezing your waist. She plants a kiss on your stomach and nuzzles closer. “That good, huh?”
You roll your eyes - not that she can see - and tug her hair just hard enough to be playful. Not gonna dignify that with a response, you think.
The moment is comfortable. It’s warm, familiar, even.
It’s over, you remind yourself. Her backpack is still by the door, ready to be picked up on her way out. You try to sit up and she presses you back down, whining that you’re comfortable, that you’re warm, and soft, a perfect pillow, please, baby, just hang out for a little. She plants a gentle kiss to your sternum and whispers promises of cleaning you up in a moment.
It’s a lie, you know that. You’ll both fall asleep here. You can only hope that you’ll wake with her still in your arms.
Against your better judgement, you reach up and pull the blanket down from the back of the couch. You fold it back to cover the both of you. Your hand pushes her hair from her face. You don't mean to comb your fingers through her hair. You don't mean to untangle her locks, to fix the mess that you had made of her. You can't help yourself.
#claire redfield x reader#claire redfield smut#resident evil imagine#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#claire redfield#claire redfield my number is xxx-xxxx
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soft, sweet bedtime sex with rhysie please?
- can i be 🌷 anon?
of course you can, my love. thank you for wanting to stick around! i look forward to seeing you again x
Reward
rhysand x reader
contents: pure smut my friends
masterlist
"Right there, oh Gods, right there."
A hum came from the male between your thighs. He had wanted to treat you especially well tonight, as if he didn't every night already. You'd been working a ridiculous amount recently. Rhys had been hellbent on making you his High Lady, but you didn't want to stop your work as a healer.
You compromised with him that you would take on the role as long as you still got to help as many people as you had before. You hadn't stopped working the past couple of weeks; from hailing in every Illyrian brute that took training too far to nursing post-natal females back to health.
He watched you walk through the door every night, too exhausted from work to stand up, but always with that sleepy, satisfied smile on your face. You deserved a big reward, he decided.
He'd run you a bath with rose petals and bubbles and candles, and had treated you to the best back massage you'd ever received. His thumbs worked into the knots in your neck, prying moans and squeaks from you that he revelled in, and he had run a soapy sponge over your body, cleaning and kissing your body as he went.
Now, you were laying on top of the sheets, hair still wet, as he licked and sucked at your cunt. His tongue ran from your soaked entrance to your clit, skilfully applying just the right amount of pressure to bring you to your climax.
When one particular movement sent shivers all the way down your spine and created an explosion at your core, you grabbed onto his onyx hair and released a loud wail.
"I know, baby," You could feel his smirk on your pussy, "That's a good girl. Let it all out."
"Rhys, please." You panted.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me, Rhys." You were desperate, gasping as air refused to fill your lungs, legs shaking around his head.
"Oh, darling. Look at you," He grabbed your thighs and placed them around his waist instead, moving his body up to meet yours. His cock brushed delicately against you, drawing a delicious mewl from your lips, "Don't worry, I'm gonna take such good care of my High Lady."
You melted further into the bed as his lips found purchase on your neck, travelling down, down, down, until his lips latched around your nipple, nipping gently at the swollen bud. He ran his hands over your waist and down to your hips, rubbing with his thumbs gently.
He released his hold on your breast, instead opting for planting a kiss on your lips. He was loving, tender. His tongue swiped your bottom lip before entering your mouth, meeting yours delicately, instead of the fervour he usually approached with.
You were too distracted by his mouth to notice him reach one hand down to his length, stroking himself before positioning the tip and sinking into you.
The feel of him filling you was euphoric, hands reaching to scratch down his back and grab at what you could. Your body arched up into him as you both moaned together, his a deep, guttural growl.
"Fuck, I could never get bored of this feeling." He groaned and began to rock back and forth, teasing you with his cock, pulling out all the way to his tip and sheathing himself inside of you over and over again.
"Oh, Rhys," You moaned, "So fucking good - shit."
You bucked your hips, matching his rhythm. Your bodies moved together, a rhythm you'd perfected over time together, yet somehow always better than the last time you'd fucked. But this, this wasn't fucking. He was loving you. Doting on you and waiting hand and foot.
"That's it, my mate. Fuck yourself on me." He choked out.
He continued his movements, rubbing your walls exquisitely. You became a flurry of hands and mouths, grabbing and kissing and sucking. You were so desperate for him, your body begging to intertwine with his. Nothing was enough for you.
Moans and whines filled the wide expanse of the dark room as Rhys brought you to an orgasm over and over, watching as the sweat dripped down your forehead from the heat between your writhing bodies.
"My dirty girl," A grit from between his teeth, "Fucking love you like this, underneath me."
And you never wanted to be anywhere else.
#rhysand oneshot#rhysand smut#rhysand acotar#rhysand imagine#rhysand x reader#rhysand x you#rhys imagine#rhys x reader#acotar imagine#acotar fanfiction#acotar smut#acotar oneshot#acotar fic
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Just Ten Minutes | Oneshot
Single Mom!Y/n x Bucky Barnes
Prompt: Bucky had finally explored the world of dating in the new century and found someone who he loves dearly. Now he has to explore the world of fatherhood to support his girlfriend and her baby girl.
Sort of requested by @browneyedgirl22 - I hope you enjoy it!
I admit, it is a bit faced paced but I'm working on that! If anyone has any feedback then please let me know!
If you like this then be sure to check out my current series 'Of Summer Days and Winter Nights' and 'Serendipity'!
Masterlist
~
Bucky and Y/n had only been dating a short while, a couple of months. Yet in those months, they had moved quickly through their relationship. Of course, they would have preferred to take their time, but it wasn't often that it was on their side. Whilst Bucky had been trying his best to adapt to the new century, finally having the time to do it, there were still occasions in which he was needed. Y/n on the other hand, was juggling not only her new relationship with the ex-Winter Soldier, but also her job and sweet baby.
Amelia had been from a previous relationship, her father having decided to not be in the picture - though he did send some financial aid for her. They were comfortable, and Amelia seemed to love Bucky just as much Y/n loved him. When they were first introduced, of course there was hesitance there. Bucky had never been left to care for Amelia on his own - why would he? But, he always included her whenever he was doing something for Y/n. If he brought flowers, there was always a small bundle of daisies for Amelia, even if she didn't understand why. If he brought cakes or dessert, then there was something sweet for Amelia that she could chew on. Small things that showed Y/n he cared for the small girl and knew they were a package deal. And that didn't worry him. He had spent time with Sam's nephews, gotten used to the childlike fascination with his arm and grew comfortable being around children. But Amelia was a lot younger than Sam's nephews.
He may not be her father, but if she came with Y/n, then how could he say no? There were times where he was nervous, of course. On one occasion, he had offered to take Amelia whilst Y/n nipped to the toilet during shopping. It would only take a few minutes and Bucky knew he could handle that. However, as he stood, holding the little girl who refused to get in the pushchair because 'she was a big girl and could walk on her own' yet 'didn't want to stand because her legs hurt'; he couldn't help but get slightly nervous. What if he dropped her? What if he was squeezing too hard when she wriggled? Luckily, it had just been a quick trip to the bathroom, but just from that small trip, Bucky knew his nerves may just get the better of him.
But, all of that would soon have to wait.
Having received a text from Y/n to cancel their date because she had much more work than she had expected, Bucky couldn't stand the thought of her having to over work herself. He knew she'd get sick by the end of it, burnt out and tired and that she would end up hating it because she couldn't look after Amelia properly. So, to prevent that, he got their lunch and dinner on his way over to her apartment, grabbing some food that was appropriate for the two year old that would inevitably join them. Using the key, he shot her a quick text, letting her know that it would be him walking through the door and not a stranger. He thought he'd see her pottering about, trying to organise whatever chaos her daughter had created in her wake, but instead, he found her slumped over the coffee table in the living room. Nodding along to whatever rant Amelia was talking about, letting her draw on her skin in an attempt at keeping both Amelia entertained and herself awake, pots and pans boiling in the kitchen like she'd forgotten about them and toys strewn about. It was clear that Y/n was currently having a hard time.
Smiling softly, Bucky places the bag of groceries on the floor by the door before making his way through the mess, kneeling once he'd managed to do so . Amelia squeals and hugs him as tight as her little arms can manage and he returns the favour, gently pulling her up into his lap. "Hey there sweet girl. Can you do Buck a favour?" He asks, tilting his head as the little girl nods quickly.
"Yes!" Smiling, he points over to some of the toys, "Can you clear up a little? Just some toys that you're not playing with, then when you've done that, we can play together." She pouts and pulls a face at him, wanting him to know her displeasure about the idea.
"Yeah I know, you don't like tidying up. But, we need a lot of space if we're gunna play right? So, we need to tidy up. I'll even come and help, but I gotta make sure mummy is okay first, yeah?" With a sigh, and as much attitude as a two year old could muster, she starts going about her business tidying up, making Bucky chuckle at the dramatics of it all.
Once Amelia was sorted and cleaning up her toys, haphazardly throwing things inboxes which Bucky knew he'd have to sort out later, he gently pulled Y/n to his chest, wrapping his arms around her exhausted body.
"Is it gone?" She jokes tiredly, peeking an eye open to see her daughter tidying. Bucky chuckles softly, rocking them gently.
"No, just busy. This is your chance to escape." He smiles, planting a kiss on her head as she sighs dreamily, "escaping sounds nice. maybe to Paris?"
"I don't think we have time for Paris," He muses, glancing at the girl who seems to be distracted from her chore. "Definitely have time for a short nap though, come on, up you get." Y/n groans, and Bucky can't help but laugh at the dramatics obviously shared by mother and daughter. With a grunt, Bucky stands, pulling his girl up with him and guides her to the bedroom. An arm wrapped around her waist to secure her as she stumbles through the apartment.
"Buck I have to clean and start making dinner, then I have to do the assignments. Shit, Amelia needs her snack - Bucky I don't have time to nap, I-" She stops at Bucky starting to shush her, pushing her to lay on her bed once he got her seated. "Don't shush me Barnes."
The man sends her an apologetic smile, kissing her temple softly, "I'm sorry love, I won't do it again. But you need to rest or you'll burn out. I will sort out dinner and lunch. You can clean and do work when you wake up," he smiles, there was absolutely no way she was doing either of that today whilst Bucky was here. He leans down, starting to take off her shoes and jeans, letting her get more comfortable to fall asleep, kissing the exposed skin gently before wrapping her up in a blanket. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Y/n could feel herself begin to drift. But there just so much to do, granted she wouldn't be able to do much if she was exhausted. So... maybe a ten minute nap wouldn't hurt.
"Okay Barnes, ten minutes. I will take a ten minute power nap and that is it."
"Ten minutes, got it."
"I'm serious James," He kisses her softly, brushing the stray hair from her eyes as he nods, "Ten minutes. I promise, I love you."
She grumbles her response, turning on her side and sighing loudly into the pillowcase. "I love you too Buck,"
After making sure she was tucked in and on her way to sleep, Bucky stood quietly and made his way out of her room, pulling the door closed on his way. Now to deal with the mess.
As he walked to the kitchen, he took a quick glance to make sure that Amelia was still occupied before turning off the stove, emptying the pots and pans and putting them in the sink to soak. Then, he made his way to the groceries left at the door, bringing them into the kitchen and putting them away. Once that had been done, he made a start on snack for Amelia. Said little girl was currently led on the floor, her tidying taking a backseat as she began to play with some of the toys left out. Seeing a few more toys on the ground, he set the small plate of fruit on the counter, walking over and tidying up the rest into her toybox before picking her up and lifting her high in the air. She squeals and giggles, kicking her legs in excitement as she's lowered to sit on his hip.
"Again! Again!" Bucky grins, "Again?!" he teases, setting her up to be lifted once again. "Are you sure?"
"Yes! Again- Ah!" She bursts into laughter, feeling herself get lifted once, twice, three times more. "Okay sweet girl, snack time." He sets her down at the small plastic table in the corner of the room, where Amelia would normally do her colouring. But it would do for this as well, especially whilst he cleaned up the place. Bringing her plate down, he gently ruffles her hair when she thanks him before digging into her snack. Making his way around the room, Bucky picks up any stray toys, straightens the blankets on the cough - why Y/n had so many he would never know - and picks up any stray washing up that needed to be done. Then, he washed and dried everything whilst Amelia ate her snack, cleaning her plate last when she brought it up and thanked him once again.
Finally, with everything washed and the place looking tidy once again, he set himself down on the couch, laying down and helping Amelia climb up after him. Bringing toys with her, she sat on Bucky's stomach and used his chest as a place to put the toys she'd brought. Occasionally, she would show him once and he would respond with great interest, watching her play with a smile on his face. Honestly, he thought he would be more nervous, like he had been any other time they'd been alone together. But Amelia was a smart little girl who would tell him if she was uncomfortable one way or another. And besides, if Bucky could make Y/n's day slightly better by looking after Amelia for a few hours whilst she rested, then he was happy to do it. It's not like he didn't love spending time with the girl anyway.
The two stayed like that for the next couple of hours, Amelia differing between playing and watching TV. Occasionally, she would take her sticker book and start picking stickers which she would then place on Bucky's arms. Currently, his right arm was covered in unicorns and stars, with his left arm having been decorated in rainbows and flowers. As he watched her, he smiles, loving the way she laughs and giggles whenever he tickled her teasingly or gave her a tight hug or teasingly complained about the stickers.
"I see you've gone with two different themes, that's great, real cute, you know? Oh, mixing it up, flowers with the unicorns huh? That's nice, real artistic." Whilst he knows the two year old may not completely understand him, she seemed to be enjoying herself enough and that was enough for him.
"James Buchanan Barnes."
Bucky looks at Amelia with a exaggerated shocked expression at the sound of his lovers voice, causing the girl to giggle. "Uh oh, mummy's awake." He whispers to her, sitting up and letting the girl fall back onto the couch before walking up to his tired partner. She stands, leaning against the wall with her hip sticking out to one side. Arms crossed in front of her and her face in a scowl.
"Hey love, I was just about to wake you."
"Ten minutes my ass James."
Grinning, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him, kissing her cheek. "Aw come on, you expected me to actually wake you in ten minutes?"
"A promise is a promise Barnes." She states, grabbing a sticker on his flesh arm and ripping it off, causing the man to flinch slightly and let out a whine of 'Hey'. "I swear to god if there are stickers on my couch."
"Mummy!" Kneeling down to catch the girl barrelling her way to the pair, Y/n hugs her tightly and picks her up. "Hey baby girl! Sorry for leaving, did you have fun with Buck?" She asks, smiling as she feels Bucky's arms wrap around her once more and pull the pair closer to him, leaning on the wall beside them.
"Lots and lots! We tidied up for you!" Bucky winks at the shocked Y/n, who seemed to only just take in the apartment after her anger at Bucky's 'betrayal' had passed. "You did?" She asks, looking at Bucky specifically who shrugs his shoulders in return, nodding.
"You didn't have to do that Buck," She smiles at him, gently putting Amelia down, who runs off to play with her toys once whilst Bucky leads Y/n to sit on the couch.
"I know, but I wanted to help you out a little bit. That's what I'm here for. To support you ad Amelia." Y/n smiles at him, not understanding how she had gotten so lucky that Bucky had been okay with the fact that she had a child.
"Thank you Buck, seriously." She leans forward, pressing her lips to his. He smiles into the kiss, bringing his hands to gently cup her cheeks, tilting his head slightly. Pulling apart, he licks his bottom lip quickly, gazing softly into her eyes before kissing her once more. Y/n sighs into the kiss, melting into the couch and pulling Bucky in with her.
"Anything for you, Y/n. Now, you keep your pretty self comfortable on this couch, and I'll go make us all some dinner yeah? You've been asleep for three hours." He muses, placing one last kiss on her lips before standing and making his way to the kitchen to cook for his girls. Y/n watches him, biting her lip softly, grinning at his back before she blinks and glares slightly.
"THREE HOURS!?"
#bucky imagine#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes fluff#james barnes#james bucky barnes#winter soldier fluff#winter soldier fic#winter soldier#winter soldier x reader#mcu bucky barnes#mcu imagine#bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes
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Soon
Eris x Rhysand's Sister!reader
a/n: just a lil drabble to spice things up.
word count 600
masterlist
Under the warmn glow of faelights faces always seem to blend together. Except one. With sharp amber eyes, Eris only grants you a few, calculated glances. Careful to not linger. Its the way it has to be for now. Your brother keeps you on the dias, flanked by Azriel and Cassian. He does it to keep you safe. To keep you out of the Court of Nightmare’s grasp, only allowing brief, illusive apperances from the sought-after princess of Night. He’ll deny any suitor, any bid for marriage. You’ll only be allowed out of the dias when the music begins. He’ll allow a dance or two.
The first is with a nameless male, he smirks the whole song. The second is with Eris. He looks indiferent, you look tense. Warm, flame bitten fingertips will graze over the exposed skin of your lower back. Your thumb draws cirlces on his shoulder. Some day you’ll be able to rest your head on it, to breathe him in and melt into the strong lines of his chest without the threat of war. Indiferent eyes will meet by the end of the dance, feigning nonchalance as heads bow in goodbye.
You step back to your position next to the throne. Dancing with him was always a gamble. Rhysand will scold your for it later. He always does when the heir of Autumn puts his “flea ridden paws” on you. Eris also thinks its unwise to push his limits but you insist “he needs to get used to the idea of us if we are to have a future.” You would deal with his tantrums.
A yawn and an “I’m going to retire for the night” will let your lover know to meet you in your chambers of the cavernous court. He knocks on the door but it is muffled by a large bookshelf. With magic it is moved to the side so the door to the tunnels can open just enough for him to fit through. Before speaking, you throw up a sound and scent barrier.
“You look dignified even when sneaking through tunnels, Vanserra.”
He rolls his eyes but a smile that is only saved for you breaks through the steel of his face. “You look lovely in that gown, I wonder what made you depart from the traditional black?”
You twirl and sway in the maroon fabric. “I wanted something different.”
He chuckles as the distance between you is finally closed. Lips coming together in a molten kiss. Now you can run your hands through his hair. He can squeeze your hips and bring you closer and closer. Clothes are quickly discarded as fractured flesh becomes one.
The night ends far too quickly. First light nipping at the windows. You help Eris get dressed, fixing his tie so that it sits perfectly on his chest. “When will we-” a gentle hand stops him from finishing the sentence. “When the time is right we will be together.”
“I guess that’s what it comes down to.” You nod.
“Soon, it will be soon.” You kiss him again, lips sore and swollen but still craving more. Maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you’re lying to yourself because Rhysand will not stand for this. Not for a long time. But you have to believe that you’ll be able to have it all. Refusing to live a life where your love, your family and your birthright are forever at odds.
#acotar#acosf#acowar#acofas#azriel shadowsinger#acotar fanfiction#acomaf#rhysand#eris vanserra x reader#eris x oc#eris acotar#eris x reader#eris vanserra#eris vandaddy#autumn court#night court#a court of silver flames#a court of thorns and roses#a court of mist and fury#a court of wings and ruin#court of nightmares#light angst
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⁀➷ ∵ the soft blue guy
⟶ oc!na'vi x reader
⟶ cw. pure fluffy thirst, short smut, unprotected sex, size kink, SIZE : P na'vis are huge after all, established relationship, interspecies, alien!sex, lots of kissing, lovey dovey + more
⟶ note. hi! this is really short : ) just testing the waters
you never realized how pretty they were. well, from the photographs they just seemed like overly large blue cat people. up close, it's different–like any other species their skin had multiple hues.
soft fingers skim his sharp cheekbones, hues of turquoise and sky blue–darker, richer hued stripes peppered his warm skin. his eyes shut feeling the heat of your touch, and softness continues to linger across his lids–long dark lashes against your fingers. just like his hair.
his noise twitches when you touch it. your lips spread into a cheeky grin and a chuckle leaves your lips. he scrunchies his wide nose bridge shaking his head playfully as if trying to get you off him. "play nice."
"nice? you're making my eyes water with your tiny fingers poking around at it." little strands of hair loosen from his braids from his day out. you scoff, reaching quickly to nip his ears between your fingers.
"ouch." his eyebrows stitched holding onto his pierced ears, littered with hoops all over the cartilage.
you lean towards his face and press your lips against his nose, a gentle kiss that makes his skin brighten and face flush. "hush, you crybaby."
"i am an adult, not a baby."
you lean back onto your palms, "it's just a term, to tease you."
"i do not enjoy your teasing." he nudges into the crook of your shoulder, taking a chomp of your skin, "mate."
"i'm not your mate. you forget."
he breathes, groaning against your skin. "i recall, my love. you refuse to mate with me."
you roll your eyes, drawing his face into your palms, "do you recall what we're doing?" you breath out a moan, feeling him thrust upwards into you.
his lips stretch into a grin, "of course, i enjoy how warm you are." his lips blue, dusted with some purple press a wet kiss on your throat as he sucks on it. you throw your head back, releasing more music to his ears. you're sure this is his favourite position, after all it's uncommon for you to be his height in most situations.
riding him allowed that, and he loved feeling all of you. kissing all of you whilst you did so, he almost rarely allowed you to control the pace of it all–constantly interrupting your rhythm with his hungry ruts. you took too long, as he says.
you roll your hips into him, holding onto his large thighs on your sides as you did. your legs rested on his hips, whilst his entirety punishes your insides. "i still want you to be mine."
"i am yours."
he growls, "i want you to be mine, i want to devote my love to you under eywa."
you know what he means. yet you don't even know if it's possible, it's barely possible to think right now. your mind drunk on his touch and body burning with heated arousal. the angle was almost painful, his cock larger than anything you knew, you recall the first time you took him–he was so proud, pleased you were capable of taking him.
seemed like fucking him inside your makeshift treehouse and home for this mission wasn't enough for him. "my love, eywa is everywhere, is she not?"
his eyes glimmer, you were right. after all, all the sacred lands were destroyed, where would you perform such mating ritual and well, you weren't exactly capable to joining yourself to him in ways the na'vi would.
he loved the way you spoke, so intelligent, so wise. you always knew what to say. his large hand holds your cheek with love, he smiles, "will you be mine?"
he captures your lips. warm and tender it was. he picks up his pace slightly, causing your body to burn. it becomes sloppy, hungry–lips attempting to devour one another. between his heavy strokes and everlasting kiss you manage to catch your breath.
"i've always been yours," you say, breathless–dazed, "now stop asking, and fuck me properly."
he lets out a snort, shaking his head. "my love, your tongue is primitive." he pushes off his butt, pushing you into the soft blankets and cushions splayed across the floor, the bed wasn't big enough to fit him. he angles you, ready to pound, your toes curl feeling him enter so slowly, "but of course, i will fuck you properly."
© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.
#avatar smut#avatar 2009 smut#avatar drabble#avatar 2009 drabble#navi drabble#na'vi#na'vi x reader#na'vi drabble#na'vi smut#na'vi pwp#avatar#avatar 2009#avatar x reader#navi x reader#navi#navi smut#alien x human#alien x reader#exophilia#pandora#pandora avatar#pandora avatar x reader
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You know I was randomly thinking about how my sister and I started saying "yummers" because of homelander saying it to a-train 😭‼️
Then thought of you and wanted to tell you that info‼️ and maybe drop this in your inbox bc :3c
Cw: Trans Jeff Sadecki, Creampie, breeding kink, crying (I have not watched yellowjackets i am so sorry if he's ooc 😭‼️), squirting, using cunt and cocklet for Jeff's genitals, meow!
Honestly you don't know how you got here, balls deep in Jeff's cunt while in the woods.
Well, you did know. It's not like your memory is that bad.
You hadn't seen Jeff for a long, long time. Growing up together just a house away as close friends, knowing each other so well at one point people said it was eery how in tune you two were. But you left for college, and Jeff stayed where you grew up with him.
You had graduated, calls and letters becoming less and less overtime. Missing him terribly but wanting to make it where you were, not willing to drop everything to a man who was already so busy. You didn't want to burden him, and dig up past feelings that had already sealed shut.
Now you're older, successful, done everything you could to become who you are. Yet you felt.... unfulfilled. You knew exactly what was missing, knew exactly what you needed....
Him.
So you trudged your sorry ass all the way back to the old place you left behind so many years ago, seeing how some of the sights had changed. Totally not procrastinating finding Jeff, knowing where he works and lives because of social media.
Eventually, you get the balls to find your way to his job. Watching as he walks towards his car, blissfully unaware that you're right there.
"Jeff." You clear your throat, watching as he stills and turns around with wide- disbelieving eyes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Bright eyed smile crossing his face as he walks up to you, pulling you in for a good and strong hug.
It's familiar, the way his arms wrap around your shoulders. Your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. His scent, his smile, his eyes.
Fuck.
"I missed this place, missed all the people."
Missed you. Goes left unsaid.
"You did? This ol' place?" He looks at you as if you grown two heads, clapping you on the shoulders and pulling away to lean back against his car.
"Yeah, is that really so hard to believe?" You murmur, unable to help the way you lean towards him. Moving just that bit closer to be deemed almost too friendly.
You know him, known him for years.
You can see the way his breath hitches, eyes widening slightly as you move a bit closer. The way he shifts to subtly squeeze his thighs together.
You smile, feeling your eyes darken and your heart begin to pound.
"Okay, maybe I fibbed a little. What, or who, I really missed was you."
It didn't take long for Jeff to push you into his car, unbuckling and unzipping your pants eagerly. Lips slotted together with yours as you practically rip his pants off of him, drawing him onto your semi-clothed lap and groaning at the feel of his bare cunt pressing against your length.
He doesn't even wait for himself to get all that wet, doesn't need to. Already soaked and dripping from his pink cunt, delicious curly blonde bush slicked down from sweat and arousal. His shaking hand guiding you up and against his hole.
Both of you groan into each other's mouths as he sinks down, down, down. Ass flush against your thighs, walls a warm vice around your cock.
"Fuck, you fit perfect-" He gasps out, holding onto your shoulders for purchase. Guttural moan flying past his lips as you hold his hips in place and jackhammer up into him.
"Been wanting you like this for years. Never had the chance back then, so I'm not wasting any time now." You growl out, kissing and nipping against his jaw. Wanting him covered in your marks, want to fill his cunt with your spend. Want to claim him in every way you can because you refuse to let him slip from your fingers again.
"Wait — fuck — slow down!" He cries out, cunt so slick you're sure it's audible outside of the car. But do you slow down? No. He's not in pain, he's just close.
You can feel it with the way his walls spasm, feel it in the way he gets wetter and wetter. Feel it in the way his blunt nails are digging into your shoulders at each sloppy thrust. Pink lips all puffy and red, slack with spit, eyes all glazed over.
He's about to go stupid from your dick.
You bring your hand to his cocklet, thumbing at the sensitive tip and seeing the way he goes wide-eyed.
Fuck.
He screams your name, tears slipping down his cheeks as his hips buck like wild while his walls spasm and milk your length. His body going taut as he throws his head back, flooding your lap with his juices.
Fuck.
With a few weak pumps of your hips, you spill into him. Pulling him down flush against your lap, even as jolts of aftershocks run through him. Cunt so tight it almost hurts as it clamps down.
MEOW :3c
I love that🙏 I got the wosrt habit of repeating things characters say😭
AHHHHH A JEFF FIC IN MY INBOX🥺WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!? THANK YOU SM FOR BLESSING MY EYES!! His character is on point😭 Just the thought of rekindling a relationship with Jeff after like twenty years will forever be ingrained in my brain.
#EVERYONE SAY YOUR THANK YOU TO EMBRY FOR PROVIDING THIS GEM#☆*cj's inbox 📥#☆*charlie's mutuals#jeff sadecki#jeff sadecki x reader#jeff sadecki x male reader
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