#them shins are thin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1800titz · 3 months

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HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental.

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks.

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.”

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.

“Easy.”

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?”

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.

“Hey, you.”

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?”

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry.

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?”

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug.

That’s dangerous.

She’s glad he isn’t.

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.”

Her breath stutters.

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?”

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.”

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.

“Would you like that?”

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.”

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?”

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled.

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…”

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign.

It’s not.

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks.

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.”

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?”

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.”

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.”

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.”

The pointed little end grazes over his balls.

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.”

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first.

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.”

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?”

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.”

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene.

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.”

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds.

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans.

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.”

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.”

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.”

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach.

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.”

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile.

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.”

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock.

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?”

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?”

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.”

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends.

Just friends that fuck.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dom!harry x sub!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #fwb!harry #fwb au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles one shots #dom!harry

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evie-sturns · 3 months

Text

𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 - 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

summary: you walk downstairs, wearing a skimpy minidress for your friends party, matt doesn't let you go.

contains: smut, dom!matt, argument, yelling, overprotective!matt.

-------------------•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•-------------------

i pull up the straps of my white minidress, its my best friend, lexi's, 19th birthday. i check myself out of the mirror before walking out of me and matt's shared bedroom.

my high heels click on the stairs as matt looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowing.

"where are you going?' he asks, manspreading on the couch.

"just lexi's house, its her 19th." i say chirpily, grabbing my purse.

"is it only gonna be you and her?" matt questions before standing up off the couch, walking over to me casually.

i scoff, "no? theres gonna be a few hundred people, im excited!"

"go get changed." matt says sternly, looking me up and down. i instantly roll my eyes "why should i matthew."

matt raises his eyebrows, "you're wearing half a fucking dress, i think you're forgetting you have a boyfriend?" he says, pointing to himself.

"matt." i groan, applying a coat of lipgloss before unlocking the front door.

"its thin, i can see your fucking tits clearly." matt says, stuttering slightly. "why are ya looking?" i tease, putting my gloss in my back before walking out onto the front porch.

"y/n. i'm serious." matt says, raising his voice slightly as he grabs my wrist with a firm, but not painful grip.

"just cause you're jealous doesn't mean im changing!" i yell, turning around to face him.

matt takes a step back, his eyes widening.

"don't be stupid." matt says before pulling me inside and shutting the door. "go, look at what your wearing in the mirror sweetheart."

i try to pull away from his grip, but he doesn't let me go. "fuck off of me matt, i'm going whether you like it or not!"

matt shakes his head, "no you're not. you're being a brat and you look like a slut wearing for that."

my jaw goes slack before i start "but matt!-" im cut off by his finger on my lips. "you're not going baby."

"fine!" i yell, dropping my purse and kicking my heels off, one of them hitting his shins.

"dont be snappy." matt says, letting my wrist go as i stomp upstairs.

"fuckin' tantrum." i hear matt mumble under his breath before he flops down on the couch.

it’s not even been 4 minutes before matt’s knocking on the door to our bedroom, i’m laying on the bed wearing panties and a shirt, i mean after all matt did tell me to change?

matt comes in before sitting on the end of the bed.

“what do you want.” i say in a huff, folding my arms.

“i want you to realise everything i do is for your own sake.” matt says in a ‘know it all’ tone.

i stay silent, my lips pouting.

“you understand?” he says, putting a hand on my thigh.

i nod.

“mhm.” he mumbles before standing up off the bed and walking over to me, still laying in the same position on the bed.

“you’re gonna loose that fucking attitude.” matt says, clearly irritated.

i roll my eyes, matt tugs down my white lacy panties, discarding them across the room.

“mattt!!” i yell, closing my eyes.

“gonna dress like a slut you’re gonna be fucked like a slut, got it?” matt says harshly as he pulls my arms up, lifting my shirt off.

i nod nervously as matt flips me over onto all fours before pulling on my ankles, yanking me to the edge of the bed.

“look to your side.” matt demands, i comply, looking at myself in the mirror beside our bed.

“matt..” i mumble as he pulls down his sweatpants to his mid-thigh. his erections springing straight out, hitting his stomach.

“arms behind your back.” matt says, pulling my arms and holding them behind my back.

he slams into me full force, i let out a loud scream, biting the silk sheets.

i hear matt chuckle as he slams into me at an unheard of pace. “fuck fuck fuck!” i shout, squirming my arms which are pinned in place from one of his hands.

“this is what happens when you want to have such a big ego.” matt says in between thrusts.

my legs shake as he pushes my back down, forcing me to arch even more. “taking me well aren’t you.” he mumbles as his thrusts become more frantic.

“keep looking at yourself.” matt says, using his spare hand to tilt my head back to the side.

i feel myself clench around him, orgasming with a scream of his name, matt keeps thrusting, overstimulating me.

he quickly pulls out of me, painting my back with white streaks.

my mouth is agape with shock as matt rubs my thigh “oh my god stay still.”

he grabs the white mini dress of the floor before using it to wipe my back clean. “you okay..?” matt says, worry in his voice before handing me the dress

“you can go to the party..” matt says, pulling the dress onto me.

“what..?” i mumble in a dazed tone.

“you’ll be to sensitive for anyone to fuck you even if you wanted to..” matt says innocently.

——————————————————————————-

i wrote this in the shower 😛😛

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

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hier--soir · 11 months

Text

bite the bullet

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two idiots finally bite the bullet and admit how they feel. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, age gap [20 years], angst, miscommunication, a meddling Tommy Miller, soft sleepy sex, oral [f], unprotected piv, masturbation [f], rimming, sixty-nine, both of them are assholes for a minute, resolved emotional tension. word count: 9.4k [i got carried away sorry!] series masterlist | masterlist this is part four of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: one, two, three.

Everything was wet.

Your feet squelched against the ground as you moved, little flicks of water splashing up against your shins with every step. Inside waterlogged shoes your socks clung uncomfortably to your skin.

Tommy was crouched underneath your sink, inspecting the u-bend of the pipe there, his lower half damp from the water that covered the floor of your kitchen.

“It’s definitely comin’ from in here,” his muffled voice came, and you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face in exasperation. “I can stop it, but it’s gonna take some time for the place to dry out. I’d say you’d better clear out for a few days, leave a few windows open.”

You’d had a nice day. A lovely day, even. And you’d been looking forward to curling up with a whiskey and a good book before bed. But upon returning home from the greenhouse, you’d been horrified to find the entrance of your home covered in a thin layer of water. Splashing down the hall, you’d discovered that the entire place was wet; a shiny film of liquid coating anything that touched the ground. The wooden floorboards were soaked to the bone with cold water. A fucking flood. Thankfully Tommy was right, and you trusted that the August humidity would naturally dry it out with enough time.

“I can’t just stay here? I didn’t think it was too bad,” you lied. “Could lay down some towels.”

Tommy laughed under the sink. “You know you’ll get sick if you’re sleeping around all this water – towels or no towels.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, gazing at the floor glumly. “Okay, yeah, I suppose I’ll uh… I’ll get some stuff together.”

“Joel would take you,” his said, and you snapped back to reality, staring at his back while he worked. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. When you didn’t respond, his head reappeared, and he looked at you curiously, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “You and Joel are pals, right? Pals help each other out.”

Pals, you thought cynically. That’s one word for it.

Two weeks had slowly passed since the Peterson incident, and you’d only seen Tommy’s older brother a handful of times. There was still a tense energy between the two of you, so you’d been keeping your distance a little, allowing things to cool off. Bumping into each other here and there, dinner on the same table at the hall… but no alone time. No real time that would leave you two open to actually talking about it. That didn’t mean it didn’t play on your mind, though. Oh boy did it. In fact, most days you’d catch yourself gazing into a pot plant, thinking about that night. The way he’d taken you, made you tell him the details about Peterson, the way he’d showed you he fucking owned you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the way it had made you feel, and so you avoided it, even though your chest ached with the Joel-sized hole his absence had left in it. At least you weren’t so stubborn that you couldn’t admit to yourself how much you missed him.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Tommy gave a polite shrug, smirking at you. Testing you. A huff escaped your lips, and you broke eye contact, stretching out your shoulder. “Yeah, alright, I’ll ask him,” you agreed begrudgingly, brain whirring trying to come up with excuses. “It’s late though, and he might not want me there.”

“It’s not that late, but sure,” he chuckled knowingly, going back to work on the pipe. “When hell freezes over and Joel says no to you, you let me know.”

An hour later, you were on your best friend’s porch, a bag slung over your arm, hesitating with your knuckle raised in the air. Taking a deep breath and running through what you were going to say, you finally willed yourself to rap your fist twice against the wood.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Joel, in a soft wrinkled t-shirt.

An easy, involuntary smile spread across your face upon seeing him. His beard was a little longer than he usually kept it, greys sparkling through the dark hair that framed his mouth so handsomely. He had clearly been settling down for the night, and he looked oh so cosy dressed in his sleep clothes.

“Hey man,” you offered up a sheepish smile.

He looked appropriately surprised to see you, considering you certainly hadn’t been knocking on his door at any point in the past fortnight. One of his eyebrows hitched upward, and he eyed the bag over your shoulder warily. “You skippin’ town or something? Who’d you piss off this time?”

You rolled your eyes and readjusted the duffel. “You gonna let me inside? This thing’s kind of heavy.”

He stepped back into the entryway with a grunt, allowing you to breeze past him and dump the bag onto the ground with a low thud. “Pipe under my sink is busted. Flooded the whole place today – Tommy said I should clear out for a day or two.”

He hummed, narrowed eyes raking over your face. “Oh yeah? So where you gonna go?” he teased, and relief rushed through your veins like warm water as you recognised the smirk threatening to take over his face.

You gave him a small laugh and sighed, holding your arms out in mock surrender. “Come on, Miller,” you said. “Let me crash here – I’ll owe you one.”

“Owe me one, huh?” his eyes shone with mischief. “Well I like the sound of that.” An odd, twisting sensation rippled through your stomach and you sucked your lips into your mouth, nodding slowly.

“Sure,” you retorted. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.” When the words left your lips you both stilled, staring at each other warily.

He hummed, eyes darkening a fraction. “You’re playin’ with fire,” is all he said, before bending down to pick the bag up off the ground and ushering you towards the stairs.

You wondered off ahead of him, and when you reached the landing you veered right, pushing open the door to the spare room. He didn’t follow you in immediately, instead pausing in the doorway with a frown plastered across his face. You hadn’t thought about where you’d be sleeping until the second you reached the top of the stairs, but you knew this was the right decision. Sharing a bed with Joel for a few days? Probably not a good idea. Unless of course, that was going to be how you repaid your debt…Thankfully, or unfortunately, he didn’t push it, dropping the bag gently in the corner of the room.

“Hope Ellie won’t be bothered I’m here for a few days,” you thought aloud. The tone noticeably shifted, and you almost at how Joel seemed to deflate.

He leant an arm against the doorframe and sighed. “She ain’t spendin’ much time in the house these days,” he admitted quietly. “Stays in the bungalow or goes out. I doubt you’ll even see her.”

You hesitated for a second before asking, “Have you two spoken much lately?”

He scratched his chin for a moment. “You know the kid,” he shrugged. “She’s stubborn. M’tryin’ not to push it.”

“It’ll be okay, Joel,” you offered softly. “She’ll come around.”

He assessed you silently, eyes flitting down your body before resting on your face once again, and then he stepped back into the hall. Coughing awkwardly, he raised a hand in a sort of farewell, and said, “Well, uh, you know where everything is. I’m gonna… I was gonna head to bed, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded, watching as he turned to head toward his room.

“Hey, Joel, wait,” you called, and he turned, eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. I miss you, you wanted to say. I miss you, and I’m sorry things are off between us, and I wish we could forget it all and go back to normal, and I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. “Thank you,” you said instead, voice soft. “I really appreciate this.”

The look in his eyes dimmed a little but he offered up a smile. He nodded once, said, “Glad to have you here,” and then closed his bedroom door, and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

After showering and unpacking the few things you brought along, you curled up in the foreign bed. The mattress was soft enough though, and the sheets smelled like the soap Joel used. Your body ached from a long day of work, muscles tense and wired from hauling heavy pots around under the sun. Soon enough, you began to relax enough to drift off to sleep. Only a few hours into the night though, your dreams were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps padding across the landing. A beam of soft yellow light was shone into the room, painting the inside of your eyelids orange. Cracking an eye open, you saw that the door was ajar, and a tall figure was peering in.

“Joel?” you asked groggily, dragging a knuckle over your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” his deep voice came, but he made no move to enter the room. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said softly, and your heart clenched.

Pulling the blankets open on the empty side of the bed, you didn’t even think before you said, “Get in.”

Your head fell heavily into the pillows, and sleep tried to pull you back under as you listened to Joel shuffle across the room and slide into the bed beside you. For a moment, he just laid there, a sizeable gap between you on the mattress. And then his warm, firm body was pressing up against your back, his large palm sliding over your hip to rest on your stomach and guide you back against his chest. His scent overwhelmed you, hints of mint and soap and pine tickling your nose, and fuck you had missed him. it was so familiar, and yet your body tingled as if it was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on you. Through the haze that settled over your sleep addled brain, you could feel him, stiff against your thigh.

“Jesus,” you teased drowsily, throwing caution to the wind by rubbing yourself back against him. “Were you having a dream about me or something?”

His nose traced a long down the back of your neck and you fought off a shiver. “Always dream about you.” If you weren’t so tired, that probably would’ve garnered a bigger reaction from you. But as it were, you just brought a hand down to rest over his on your stomach and gripped his fingers softly. “Was thinkin’ bout you being so close, yet still so far. Just down the hall, sleepin’ in my sheets…”

You hummed, warmth flooding your abdomen as he nudged his hips forward, rutting himself against you. His hand drifted out from under yours to slide up underneath your shirt, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your breast.

“Joel,” you murmured, eyelids heavy.

He hummed eagerly, planting a soft kiss underneath your ear.

“I‘m so tired,” you said regretfully. “It’s been a long day – can hardly keep m’eyes open.”

“Let me help you fall asleep,” is all he said, hand now freely roaming over your chest. His thumb lightly brushed the firm peak of your nipple and your whole body shuddered. “Just relax.”

You were vaguely aware of him pulling the covers off you and moving down the bed, dragging soft kisses down your stomach, before dragging your underwear down your legs. Slumping into the soft bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

Gentle, reverent kisses were pressed over your hip bones as he settled between your legs, pulling one of your thighs up to rest over his shoulder. His long fingers rubbed over the muscles in your leg, pressing down gently when he found knots, pulling deep sighs of contentment out of you.

“That feels nice,” you whispered into the darkness, and you could’ve sworn you felt him grin against your hip.

When his nose dragged through the dark hair on your mound you twitched slightly, body waking up a little at the sensation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and you relaxed again, humming lowly as his pressed a kiss against the inner most point of your thigh.

It felt like hours passed with him between your legs. At first you allowed yourself to slip in and out of near sleep, eyes closed as lax puffs of air escaped your mouth while his tongue dipped gently between your folds, giving you soft lazy strokes that warmed your insides. When the first bit of slick began to seep out of you, he groaned gratefully, licking and sucking at your entrance, exulting in your taste.

It felt like you were dreaming. Laying pliant on the bed, you were fully at his mercy, allowing him to move your legs anyway he wanted to give himself better access. You could vaguely hear him murmuring against your skin, but couldn’t make out the words over your own sighs, smiling sleepily as his tongue lapped against you. He worked slowly, and you realised that it was as much for his enjoyment as it was for your own. You knew by that point how much Joel enjoyed going down on you. He had told you as much on multiple occasions; how he’d love to spend hours with his face trapped between your thighs. But he’d never had the chance, or the patience, to really do it.

The sounds of his enjoyment vibrated against your core, echoing through the room around you. The way he fucking moaned into your cunt never failed to drive you crazy, but in that moment you just smiled at the sound, enjoying how peaceful it was, how sweet.

Every now and then you’d lazily blink your eyes open and look down, expecting that at any moment he’d pull away, be over it. But he never did. Every time you looked his eyes were closed, hands gripping your thighs softly, thumbs stroking rhythmically against your skin as content breaths rushed out of his nose, and you’d close your eyes again, the dark image of him scorched into the inside of your eyelids, never to be forgotten.

You started to feel more awake when he finally gave his undivided attention to the achingly sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your core. Moving painfully slow, he glided his firm tongue across your clit, switching it up between swiping back and forth across it and then circling it.

“Oh,” you murmured lowly, voice hoarse from lack of use, but you couldn’t help the soft exclamation as your hips shifted upwards, suddenly searching for more. He didn’t change a thing, pace never increasing or slowing down, and it was perfect.

Your orgasm washed over you in gentle waves. Joel’s tongue swirled slow, gentle circles around your clit and your thighs tensed around his head, fingers reaching down to softly rake through his curls. He hummed happily, tongue lathing against you, enjoying every second of your release. Only pausing once your body stopped twitching and the muscles in your thighs relaxed against him, before kissing way up your stomach, your neck, under he was holding himself over you.

Eyes still closed, your hands drifted to the back of his neck and you pulled him down, his weight crushing against you but you didn’t care. Yours lips met tentatively, and for a moment that was all it was. A soft, gentle kiss. And then you felt him, straining against his briefs, pressed between your thighs, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. It was messy and slow, tongues tangling together, teeth knocking awkwardly, and you found yourself smiling into his mouth. It should have unnerved you. Should’ve been enough to make you stop, turn your head away and make him fuck you rough so you would forget how intensely intimate the moment felt. But you didn’t.

“You should sleep,” he murmured against your lips, pulling his hips back a little so his erection wasn’t so obvious.

“You should come inside me,” you whispered back, reaching down to grip the band of his underwear and tug them down over his hips. He groaned and kissed you again before reaching down to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

No other words were exchanged as he adjusted himself, and then he was pressing into you, his needy moans spilling out against your neck while your hand snuck underneath his shirt, fingernails gliding down his back as he filled you completely.

“God, I missed you,” he choked out, voice cracking. You whimpered softly. “You’re so wet.”

“Made me feel so good, Joel,” you preened, kissing the side of his head.

“Yeah?” he pulled his face out of your neck to look at you, and you nodded, staring at him through bleary eyes. Joel kissed you again. A long, yearning kiss that made your heart throb, and it didn’t take long until he was falling apart on top of you, shaking against your arms that wrapped around him, held him against your chest. You whispered praises in his ear as he came, hips grinding into yours, pushing himself so deep inside that it had you gasping into his mouth. It was so unlike any other time you’d ever slept with him, and alarm bells rang somewhere far in the deep recess of your brain, but you ignored them. You’d missed each other, and you’d both earned a little softness after the time apart. And so the two of you fell asleep like that; tangled in each other’s arms, with him still inside you.

You woke up to the sun streaming in through the window. The light was harsh, and you cursed yourself for going to sleep without drawing the curtains. You went to sit up in the bed but stopped suddenly, realising how hot you were. With a soft start, you glanced down and understanding jolted through you like a flash of lightning. Joel’s house, you remembered; you were at Joel’s house. But what you hadn’t expected to find was Joel still in the bed, arms coiled around you like wire while he snored quietly in your ear. For as many times the two of you had slept together, neither of you had ever slept over. It was an unspoken rule, and one that had never been difficult to follow. But he’d broken it… or you’d both broken it, maybe. Keeping your body as still as possible, you found yourself breathing deeply, trying to maintain the allusion of still being asleep to avoid rousing him from his slumber. Frustratingly, your heart pounded in your chest, brain zeroing in on every part of your body that touched his.

His soft lips brushed the back of your neck, heavy breaths puffing against your skin. A solid knee was wedged between your legs, one hand lazily gripping your breast. The insides of your thighs were sticky where his come had leaked out of you overnight, and your eyes widened at the sensation.

What surprised you the most wasn’t that you didn’t hate waking up with him beside you. No, what surprised you most was that you did like it. In fact, you found yourself longing to relax into his arms and go back to sleep. But common sense reared its head, and you slowly slipped out of his grasp, moving slowly so as not to wake him while you dragged yourself out of the bed. Staring down at Joel, a pang of fondness rush through your chest. Messy curls were strewn across his forehead, plump lips pushed out into a pout as he breathed deeply, hand resting on the empty bed where you had just laid. His breathing hitched momentarily, and you froze, realising how odd it would be for him to wake up and catch you standing there naked, staring. Trying not to give it another thought, you quietly collected some clothes from your bag, and slipped out of the room to start your day.

Hours passed in the greenhouse. You distracted yourself with cucumber seeds and tomato plants, pushing Joel out of your mind as you worked under the sweltering sun. Underneath the glass roof of the nursery, the heat multiplied, and by the time your shift was over you were covered in sweat, shirt ticking uncomfortably tight to your back. You stopped by at the community hall for dinner and ate alone, your brain a whirlwind of thoughts of Joel, Joel, Joel. You couldn’t shake the feeling that had lingered in your bones all day; the aching desire to have stayed in bed with him, to have relaxed into his arms and cuddled him for the rest of the morning. Your best friend, for fuck’s sake.

“Christ,” you mumbled aloud through a mouthful of food, rolling your eyes at yourself.

It felt like you were going crazy, but the worst part was understanding that this must’ve been how he’d been feeling for weeks already.

I’ve never asked you for anything. Not for anything more than what we’ve been doin’, never pushed you for more.

That’s what he’d said, two weeks ago, the day he found out about Peterson. The words played in your head like a mantra. Words that you had firmly avoided bringing up, ones you’d never pushed for an explanation about. You’d chosen to sweep them under the rug, and yet, as hard as you tried, you couldn’t fucking forget them.

By the time you returned to his house you discovered him sitting on the couch downstairs, engrossed in a book. It was the picture of domesticity. The sweet scent of vanilla floated through the air towards you, and you noted the small candle burning on the table beside him.

Staying in Joel’s home, even for just one night, you’d noticed so much more about it than ever before. There was something interesting to look at everywhere you turned, and sweet-scented candles were just the tip of the iceberg. He left random objects littered across countertops, like little treasures for you to stop and inspect during your travels throughout the house. Wood that he’d whittled into interesting shapes, books that he’d read the first few pages of and then abandoned, countless mugs in odd places with dark brown coffee stains at the bottom of them. It was homey, and warm, and subconsciously you found yourself enjoying the insight into his most private space – into the things he did when he was truly alone.

Joel hadn’t noticed you come in, so you seized the opportunity to watch him from the doorway for a moment. He was wearing his comfortable clothes again, and a thin set of reading glasses were perched on the scarred bridge of his nose. A quick flash of heat tore through your stomach. You’d never seen him wear those before, and it had you stumped. The glasses, paired with the salt and pepper through his beard and hair, reminded you of his age. Twenty years older than you, and still the most handsome man you knew.

You finally broke the silence, announcing yourself by asking, “What’re you reading?”

Joel’s head snapped up, and he stared at you over the top of his glasses. Shutting the book quickly, he straightened up on the couch. “Uh, Brave New World,” he lied, flipping the book so you couldn’t see the cover.

You hummed, unconvinced, and bit down on your bottom lip to hide a smirk. Tommy had told you once before that Joel was a sucker for gothic romance novels, but you’d never truly believed him until that moment. From where you stood, you recognised the tattered copy of Wuthering Heights that had gone missing from your bedroom a few months prior.

A flush rose in his cheeks and he coughed awkwardly, picking up a mug that you hadn’t noticed on the floor by his feet. It was cute; a little beige ceramic thing, with an owl painted on it.

“You see the patrol roster for tomorrow?” he spoke into the mug, swiftly changing the subject.

“I did,” you murmured. What you didn’t acknowledge, was that you’d also seen Peterson and Davis’ names on the list for the morning patrol. “Should be nice. We haven’t gone to the ski lodge in a while.”

A vivid memory of you two fucking up there raced through your mind, and a low heat simmered across your face as you remembered Jesse and Dina almost catching you once. Shaking the thought from your mind, you looked at him again to find him gripping the mug tightly, lips pursed in thought.

“We haven’t,” he agreed lowly, and the corner of his mouth twitched a little. “You haven’t been gettin’ called outside the gates much at all these days.”

This is it, you thought hungrily. This is the moment he tells you how he can’t wait to fuck you there tomorrow while you’re supposed to be patrolling. This is the moment he tells you he can’t even wait until tomorrow, and he drags you upstairs to his bed. Warmth flooded through your thighs, and you held your breath, staring at him.

But Joel didn’t say that. Instead, you watched dejectedly from the doorway as he rose slowly from the couch and tucked the tattered book underneath his arm. “Well,” he coughed, turning towards the stairs. “I’m gonna get some shut eye. It’ll be a warm day, and I’d better get some rest before we head out.”

You watched him move towards the stairs, heart beating painfully fast against your ribs.

“I’m actually not tired,” you blurted out. Joel paused. His left hand gripped the banister, and you could’ve sworn it might break in half based on the way his knuckles went white.

“Well, I am,” he said over his shoulder, before padding up towards his room , not even turning to give you a second look.

You tossed and turned for an hour, staring at the ceiling wide awake. The linen sheets stuck to your sweaty skin, making you feel claustrophobic enough to kick them to the end of the bed. You waited for him. Every creak and groan the old house made had your ears twitching, eyes glancing eagerly toward the door, expecting it to creak open and reveal him sneaking in through the darkness.

And when it became clear that he wasn’t coming, you pushed away the uncomfortable feeling it brought, and snaked a hand past the band of your underwear. Your fingers raked over the coarse hair there, teasing yourself for a moment, before you slid a finger through your damp folds. Collecting your slick, you dragged it up to coat your throbbing nerves and sighed in relief.

Your middle finger dragged quick circles over your clit, and all you could picture was Joel above you, fucking you while wearing those stupid fucking glasses. Cursing him in your mind, you pressed a finger past your entrance, and huffed in frustration at how it paled in comparison to the thickness of his digits. You imagined the way the glasses would fall to the tip of his nose, almost falling off his face while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. In an attempt to stifle the soft moans trying to escape your mouth, you bit down on your bottom lip, fingers moving quicker against yourself. And you came like that; hand down your underwear, rubbing yourself frantically, thinking about nothing but him.

It was hot, and the skin of your thighs chafed painfully as you and Joel ambled silently through the stables, getting your horses from their stalls to saddle up. He hadn’t said much to you all morning and you were trying not to read into it, but the fraught silence had you on edge.

You winced upon spotting Davis and Peterson standing by the gate, chatting while they loaded their rifles. Lloyd caught your eye and smiled, offering a short nod in your direction. You returned the nod before looking back down and fiddling with Japan’s saddle, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed.

“Gimme a sec,” he muttered. “Gotta go pick Jesse’s brain.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and continued tugging on the straps of the saddle, until your skin prickled, a presence looming over your shoulder.

“Should we see if we can swap partners?” that voice sounded, and you turned to see Lloyd smirking suggestively at you. “Send Davis and Miller out East together, and you and me could head to the ski lodge?”

Your palms dampened a little and your eyes darted around the stables. There was no denying that Lloyd Peterson was a handsome guy. He was young, somewhere in his early-twenties. He had bright green eyes that shone in contrast against the dark brown hue of his skin. Straight, bright white teeth almost blinded you whenever he smiled, and you’d have to be a robot not to be effected by it. Past his shoulder, you spotted Joel hovering at the mouth of the stables, gaze trained on the pair of you. Caught, he turned quickly, muttering under his breath as he stalked off toward Jesse.

You looked back to Lloyd and shook your head once. “I don’t think so,” you said. “Gonna stick with Miller today.”

Not giving him much chance to respond, you gripped Japan’s reigns and led her out of the building. Joel and Jesse were talking in hushed tones by the gate, and you walked in their direction, pausing a few metres away when you noticed how tense the conversation seemed to be. Jesse was frowning at the older man, shaking his head slowly.

“Hey,” Lloyd’s voice came again, and you turned with a sigh, raising a hand to block out the sun as you stared up at him. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” you rushed out, glancing to the side just as Joel appeared beside you, holding out a rifle. You shouldered it quickly, noticing the way Lloyd seemed to balk at the older man’s presence. “Peterson,” you urged, eager to get it over with. “Get on with it.”

He spared another awkward glance at Joel before speaking in a lowered voice. “Did I do something wrong?” You cringed, knowing Joel could hear every word, and yet he didn’t move a muscle. It seemed he wasn’t going anywhere, eyes trained on the man, uninterested in offering the pair of you any privacy to finish your conversation. “I thought we had a good time, y’know? But you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you replied plainly, even as the thought of him telling Davis about fucking you flashed through your mind. Joel was deadly quiet, eyes flicking between the pair of you like he was watching a game of tennis. You sighed deeply, wishing this wasn’t happening in front of him. In a moment of almost… shame, you realised that you didn’t want Joel to get the wrong idea. Didn’t want him to think that anything else had happened, or would ever happen, between you and Peterson.

“Then why won’t yo-“

“Why don’t you back off kid,” Joel interrupted suddenly, and your shoulders tensed, skin prickling at his harsh tone. “She’s not interested.”

Lloyd flinched at the words, and he looked to you, waiting for you to say something, to refute Joel’s claim. But you were distracted by the sudden warmth in your abdomen, and when you didn’t react quick enough he scoffed quietly, spinning on his heel and walking back where Davis was waiting with their horses. When you looked at Joel, he had a pleased smirk on his face, and you felt your stomach fall somewhat, guilt spreading through you at the way Lloyd rode out of the settlement without looking back.

The ride to the ski lodge was long. For the most part of the three hour trek, you rode alongside each other in silence, until finally you couldn’t help yourself, thoughts tumbling from your mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

Joel looked at you out of the corner of his eye, and didn’t say a word.

“He was already embarrassed,” you added. His top lip curled up into a mean smirk.

“Peterson’s an ass. He should be embarrassed.”

A huff escaped your mouth and then he was turning, looking at you fully now with his eyebrows pinched together.

“What, your little boyfriend can’t handle some friendly teasin’?” he sneered, the change in mood so sudden you almost fell off your horse. And all the warmth you’d felt, every soft yearning part inside of you toward him, you pushed it to the side and focused on the confusion instead, allowing it to morph into pure anger. You were seeing red; furious with him for never being able to just see reason.

“Oh, fuck off Joel,” you scowled. “I’m not doing this with you today.” You kicked your heel against Japan’s hide and rode ahead, not listening for a reaction.

The higher the pair of you rode up the mountain, the hotter it got. By the time the horses were tied up by a trough of water and the pair of you were walking into the lodge, sweat was rolling down your skin in rivulets. A headache brewed in your temples, and frustration weighed heavily on your chest as Joel huffed and puffed around the room. Even being able to hear his breathing across the room while he scrawled in the logbook was enough to set your skin on edge. Eager to get some space from the tense atmosphere, you gruffly told him that you were taking first patrol, before shouldering your rifle and stalking back outside into the heat.

“You idiot,” you scowled to yourself, storming through the trees. Shame burned in your chest like a wildfire as you thought back to the night before. Touching yourself in his house, making yourself come thinking about him, wondering if he’d fuck you at the ski lodge. God, you felt like a teenager with a hopeless crush.

Your feet planted in the dirt, the word ringing in your head like an alarm. Eyes wide, you gazed into the trees.

“Nope,” you mumbled, starting to walk again slowly. “No, no, no.”

“Y’know they say talkin’ to yourself is the first sign of madness.”

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” you turned quickly, staring him down from through the thick trees. “I told you I’d take first patrol.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Saw you storm off too,” Joel rolled his eyes, propping his hands against his hips. “What’s your problem?”

“Jesus,” you grinned sarcastically. “I should be the one asking that question.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, stepping forward. The tan skin of his neck glistened in the sunlight, and you hated yourself for wanting to know how it tasted. Thankfully, hatred and anger were easier emotions to tap into than whatever the fuck you had been feeling about him for the past few weeks.

“It means,” you ground out. “That you’re a nasty old bastard.” His face darkened, lips twisted into an angry snarl, but you continued. “Peterson’s not my fucking boyfriend, so you can give it a rest okay? I had it handled.”

“Sure,” he laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it, havin’ him hit on you right in front of me. You get off on the attention, from him and from me. I bet you loved havin’ me step in, tell him to fuck off.”

Your face was on fire as you glared at him, acutely aware of how the tension had spiked between the pair of you. Entire body tensed, you squared your shoulders and stared him down. “Are you fucking serious, Joel?” you asked lowly, eyebrows raising.

“Deadly,” he grit his teeth. “Don’t forget that I know you, baby, better than anyone.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” you spat desperately, turning around and walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“Oh yeah,” he called, the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you making your stomach drop. “Walk away, sunshine. Let’s just not talk about it, right? I know that’s your favourite thing to do. Walk away, and act like nothing happened.”

“Oh my god!” you shouted. “Grow up, you fucking assho-“ But as you spoke, your foot landed awkwardly on a patch of moss. You heard a low popping sound before you shrieked as your legs flew out from underneath you. You hit the ground awkwardly, ass slamming into the ground, and dirt sprayed into the air around you.

“Shit,” you hissed, moving to get up but cringing as a sharp pain shot through your ankle. The flesh around your shin was already swelling, and you cursed audibly, reaching down to rest your hand against it only to wince at the dull pain spreading through your entire foot.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard him say, and then his warm hands were on your shoulders, and he was crouching beside you. Breathing heavily, you stared as your ankle swelled to the size of a golf ball. “Come on, let’s get you back,” Joel said, gripping your elbow to lift you up.

“Get off,” you snapped, shoving him back. He stumbled a little and then stood, glaring down at you. “I can do it myself.”

“Clearly you fuckin’ can’t.”

Eager to prove a point, you dug your fingers into the dirt and pushed yourself up, and then began limping back towards the ski lodge.

You moved slowly with Joel trailing just a few steps behind, close enough that you could hear his breathing, and the way he muttered inaudibly whenever you stumbled. When you almost tripped trying to step over a tree branch, he snapped, appearing at your side in an instant and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Joel,” you warned lowly, but he interrupted.

“Would you stop bein’ such a brat,” he snarled. “You might’ve broken your fuckin’ ankle, just let me help you god damnit.”

You grumbled under your breath but didn’t fight him again, silently grateful to lean on him and get some weight off the injury. His chest rose and fell quickly as he led you back to the lodge, and you could practically feel the anxiety radiating from him.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered. “Probably just a sprain.”

“Good,” he grunted, helping you up the steps and into the building. “Idiot.”

“Jeez, thanks, Joel,” you said bitterly. “You’re a real pal.”

His hand gripped your waist tighter, before lowering you onto the couch. “Any time, bud.”

Joel stormed into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of water, tossing it at you before slamming down onto the sofa beside you. “Jesse and Dina will be here in a few hours, just keep it elevated until then.”

“You got it doc,” you rolled your eyes, eagerly gulping down the water even though it had gotten uncomfortably warm in his pack.

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, your ankle throbbing where it rested atop the coffee table.

“I don’t fuckin’ get you,” Joel finally breathed, and you looked to him with a raised eyebrow and a snarky comment on your lips, only to find him with his head tilted back against the couch, eyes closed.

“What?” you asked dumbly.

“You heard me,” he said. “I don’t fuckin’ get you. You go two weeks avoidin’ me, I hardly see you, then you’re knocking on my door, askin’ to stay? And then today you’re cursin’ my goddamn name. Throw me a fuckin’ bone, darlin’, cause I got no idea where I stand with you.”

Your lips parted, all the breath in your lungs rushing out of you in one fell swoop. His eyebrows were furrowed, a deep frown settled across his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. He didn’t look angry, you realised. He looked confused; he looked hurt. Your stomach rolled.

“I could say the same,” you started pathetically, and then his eyes flashed open and he was staring back at you with those dark brown eyes that fucking killed you.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he said blankly, eyes darting around your face.

Your lips felt numb as you slowly asked, “What?”

“You left,” he said quietly. “You fuckin’ left me, and I just don’t know if I can keep pretendin’ anymore. Pretend that this doesn’t… mean anything to me. Pretend that I’m fine with… this. Don’t know if I can keep doing it if you’re just gonna leave. My heart can’t take it.”

It felt like time stood still for a moment. Outside one of the open windows, you could hear the trees rustling in the hot summer wind. Your ankle ached. Joel kept staring at you.

“You know that’s the best I’ve slept in years?” he asked softly, licking his lips. “Slept so fuckin’ sound with you next to me. No nightmares – hell, I didn’t even dream. And then I woke up, and you were gone, and I almost wished it had never happened. So that I wouldn’t have to know how good it felt to have you, wouldn’t have to try and sleep without you every night after, knowing exactly what I was missing.”

“Joel,” you tried again but he shook his head, raising a hand in the air to stop you.

“Just let me,” he took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking. “Let me say this. Just once, and then I’ll let it be, okay? I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were befo-“

“Stop,” you croaked out, tears swimming in your eyes. “Shut up for a second. I,” you paused, eyes darting over his face, searching for understanding. “I didn’t want to leave, okay? But I’m scared Joel. Jesus, I’m so scared of this.”

“Scared?”

“Of this feeling that won’t go away. Of wanting to stay. I’ve been trying to push it down, to ignore it, and it doesn’t fucking work, no matter what I do. I’m so scared that I’ve fucked up our friendship, that I’m going to lose yo-“

“Never,” he shook his head firmly, hand reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Listen, you’re not losin’ me, okay? That's never gonna happen.”

“But Joel,” you sighed shakily. “If we push things further, there’s no going back. Don’t you understand?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he admitted quietly. “I think it’s been too late for me for a while now.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, and when you spoke again you could hear the fear in your voice. “I don’t know if I can be what you want.”

Joel chuckled humourlessly and sighed, squeezing your thigh again.

“It’s you,” he said. “That’s what I want. You don’t have to do anythin’, don’t have to change or be anythin’ else. I just want you.” His eyes shone in earnest, and you couldn’t help but surge forward, planting your lips against his. He returned the kiss with fervour, parting your lips with his tongue and gripping the sides of your face in a searing grip.

He tasted like salt and mint and your head was swimming, consumed by him. Your fingertips were numb as they raced over his body, desperate to touch him everywhere all at once. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until his hands joined yours, carefully undoing them all until you could pry it off him.

Pulling back from the kiss, you allowed your eyes to rake over his exposed chest, taking in the sight of his tanned, hairy chest, littered with scars and freckles and you felt the urge to kiss every single one of them. So you did. You pushed him back into the couch and straddled him, ignoring the way your ankle cried out at the movement, and attached your lips to his collarbone, licking and sucking your way across his torso. Showing reverence to every imperfection on his skin. Your tongue swiped past one of his nipples and he jolted beneath you, hands dragging under the fabric of your shirt to rest on your back. You could feel him growing hard beneath you and you smiled against his skin before rolling your hips down against his. He was murmuring your name in between sighs, scratching at your skin, revelling in the kisses you sponged across his chest.

Your eyes trailed upwards to meet his. “Want your cock in my mouth,” you whispered, and his face crumpled in on itself, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Fuck,” he sighed, gripping your hands tightly before pushing you off him. He stood up and in one quick movement he knocked the coffee table over, before he was undoing his belt and stripping his pants off. He helped you off the couch slowly, before lowering you down onto the carpet, crouching down to rest beside you. His large hands roamed across your chest, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward to expose your breasts, your aching nipples peaked and begging to be touched.

“Fuck,” he repeated, harsher this time, leaning over you to plant his mouth on your chest. His teeth scraped across your sensitive skin and you whined, gripping the nape of his neck as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked gently.

“Joel,” you mewled, tugging his face back up to yours for a brief kiss. “I mean it,” you breathed into his mouth. “Need you in my mouth so bad. M’gonna make you feel so good, I swear.” Within a second, he flipped the two of you over so his back was against the ground and you were straddling his hips. You grinned triumphantly, shifting your hips back as you kissed down his chest, moving your body down until you were straddling his shins, and pulling his briefs down with you.

His cock rested proudly against his stomach, thick and swollen and begging to be touched. The head was a deep shade of red, small beads of precum weeping out of his tip as he stared at you, patiently waiting for you to make a move. You didn’t waste a second before leaning down and gliding your tongue softly over the tip, swiping up his salt and humming at the taste. A sharp inhale whistled past his teeth, and you watched his eyes clamp shut at the sensation, hand forming a fist at his side. Gently, you took his hand and raised it to your head, encouraging him to touch you. He obliged, fisting your hair in his hand, grip tightening as you parted your lips around him and let him sink into your warm mouth. A long, drawn-out moan left his mouth and your cunt pulsed in response, the warmth between your thighs suddenly impossible to ignore.

“S-so good for me,” he groaned, pulling your hair tighter. “Love your mouth, I love it. That’s it, baby, open up a little more for me, show me how much you can take.”

The sharp sting on your scalp made you moan around him, and he cursed, undoubtedly feeling the vibration. The weight of him against your tongue was intoxicating, and you bobbed your head up and down slowly, his cock gliding in and out of your mouth easily, slick with your spit. You’d missed the taste of him, missed the sensation of him filling you up to the point where it was hard to breathe, and yet you still wanted more. You pressed forward, eager to feel him fill you up, but when his cock brushed the back of your throat he was gripping your hair and pulling you off him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and you looked up in confusion. His bottom lip was bitten raw, and his eyes were a darker brown than normal as he gazed at you. When you didn’t move, he was pulling you up and turning your body so your back was to him, and only then did you realise what he meant. He pulled your shorts down your legs, dragging your underwear with them, and then he carefully tugged one of your knees up and over his shoulder, so you were straddling his chest. Slowly, you shuffled back on your knees until your wet heat was hovering over his face, and you leaned down to let your chest rest against his.

“Baby,” Joel sighed. “So fuckin’ perfect. Such a pretty pussy. Can never get enough of you.”

You clenched around nothing, and heard him groan, signalling that he’d seen it. Without warning, his tongue dipped between your folds and you gasped, pushing your hips back to give him a better angle, before taking him back into your mouth. And it was nothing like it had been two nights before. He wasn’t gentle, or slow, or relaxed. No, Joel was relentless.

His tongue moved rhythmically against you, and you tried desperately to focus, harsh breaths leaving your nose as you moved your mouth lazily along his length. You pulled back and lathed your tongue around the head of him, tasting the salt that dripped out of him. He grunted into you and you smiled, stroking him slowly as you sucked the tip, grinding your tongue into the sensitive skin just underneath his head. Joel’s hips bucked up off the ground, and your hand left his length, gripping his waist firmly to hold him down while you took him into your mouth again. You pushed yourself as far as you could, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he brushed the back of your throat. His beard scratched against your inner thighs deliciously, and you decided you loved it a little longer. And then suddenly, his tongue moved away from your clit and he was licking broad strokes along the entirety of your core, and then over your entrance, and then… his tongue flicked all the way back and into new territory.

You flinched forward, his cock surging deeper into your throat and you gagged around him as you explored the new feeling. You moaned, eyes screwing shut at the foreign sensation, and you felt your legs begin to shake against his sides. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you down harder against his face, ruthlessly dragging his tongue back and forth from your clit to your hole, until you were tearing your mouth away him and sitting up, grinding yourself down desperately against his face. Arching your back, you writhed on top of him, crying out hoarsely. Every strong flick of his tongue felt like an electric shock jolting through your body, and he continued until you were panting and twitching on top of him, and then you let go. The orgasm tore through you, a shout falling from your lips as you rode his face, gripping his thighs for leverage as your entire body shuddered with the intensity. He didn’t let up; licking and sucking and kissing, his moans vibrating through your core until you were whimpering and dragging yourself off him, clit aching from the pressure.

You were still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Joel pressed your back down onto the carpet, nudged your knees apart so he could fit between them, and pushed himself inside you. A sweet, low burn blazed in your abdomen with every inch he gave to you. The wet sound of you sucking him in might have embarrassed you, but the look of awe on his face as he stared down at where you were connected just made you feel powerful.

His thrusts were strong, the sweaty skin of your thighs smacking against each other noisily filling the air, mixing with your breathless moans of his name.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he was saying, but you weren’t listening, eyes rolling back in your head as he played with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cried out at a particularly hard thrust, stomach tensing as the head of his cock grinded against your g-spot.

“There?” he panted, and you nodded frantically, mouth hanging open as he pressed against it over and over again, groaning at the way you tensed around him.

Urgent sounds left your lips as you felt yourself nearing the edge again, and you watched with wide eyes as his hand trailed down your chest to rest over your mound, his thumb slipping between your folds to press gently against your throbbing clit. Your back arched up from the ground and you choked out a moan as he rubbed you in slow circles, a stark contrast to the way he drilled into you with his cock.

“Come,” Joel encouraged and you whimpered, eyes screwing shut as the overwhelming feeling soared through you. His free hand landed over your throat and your eyes flew open, looking up at him as he applied soft pressure to the sides of your neck. “C’mon baby, let me have it. I can feel you, you’re so fuckin’ close, give it to me, please, I want it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you gasped against his hold, bucking up into him as he fucked you roughly. You twitched and writhed on the ground, his thumb never stopping its movements against your clit as you cried out his name.

And somewhere amidst it all, his movements slowed. His hands turned soft on your body, head dropping down to drag gentle wet kisses along the skin of your neck.

“So good,” he praised lowly. “So beautiful.” Your heart soared in your chest, and you smiled drowsily, body tingling as he continued to give you gentle thrusts.

“Kiss me,” you said shyly, and Joel smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You sighed into his mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip as you draped your heavy arms around his neck, pinning his torso down against yours. “Fuck me like this,” you told him. “Want to feel you close to me.”

He nodded, starting up a slow rhythm, only ever pulling out halfway before pressing back into you. You were both slick with sweat, and you wiped his forehead gently before raking your fingers through his thick messy curls. His face was red from exertion, and you thumbed his cheekbones gently. A heavy sigh fell from your mouth. Still recovering from your previous orgasm, you knew it wouldn’t be hard for him to build you up for another one.

“Give me one more,” he begged, sponging feather light kisses over your eyelids, your cheeks, down your neck. “Want to feel you come with me, baby, please. Just one more, I know you can.”

You gripped his hair and kissed him deeply, your tongues tangling together as he moved his hips slowly, cock dragging in and out of you at a devastating pace. Joel pulled back to watch you, eyes gazing down with adoration as he moved above you. That familiar liquid heat began to burn in your stomach, curling through every fibre of your being, and you could see in his face that he was close. And there was something else there too. Something you couldn’t place; simmering in his eyes, lingering on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. His hips began to stutter against yours, a choked gasp of your name falling from his lips as he quickened his pace until you were coming together, holding each other tightly on the ground of the ski lodge. He moaned heavily against your mouth, and you throbbed around him as his spend coated your walls, warm and slick, squeezing out around his cock as he moved.

As a low, warm silence filled the room, you worked to control your breathing, body shaking against his as he pulled out of you. You whimpered at the empty feeling, missing the weight of him already. But he didn’t go far.

Joel laid down on the carpet beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. Your fingers trailed over the skin of his stomach, smiling at the goosebumps that developed in your wake. Mine.

His hand caught yours and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently. You leaned forward to rest your face in the rook of his neck, and he sighed in contentment, trailing his fingers down your back.

“Hey Joel?” you murmured against his skin.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I called you a nasty old bastard.”

Joel laughed and tightened his grip around your back, tugging you closer to his chest. “I forgive you.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #fwb joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #my writing #bite the bullet #cat's outta the bag #don't cry over spilt milk #whole new can of worms

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

Text

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

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cowgirlcherrie · 9 months

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STARTEAM ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ volleyball! loser! ellie drabble

a/n: there is no plot for this it’s just a thought I haven’t been able to shake since seeing the amazing volleyball! ellie art by @caspervi ♡♡

volleyball! ellie art. support their work here!

update: also just realized @elliespeach has a wonderful volleyball! ellie fic and basically kickstarted the idea so support their work here too !!

content: 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, lowk saliva play if u squint bro, fem! water girl! reader

— song(s): STARTEAM by lastclass & byelilfly

Ellie was in timeout.

Well not literally, but being benched felt like she was. Suddenly she was 5 again and her teacher was moving her card to red, for her indecent behavior. Ellie wanted to whine, she wanted to fight back – bitch and moan. She had been putting in the work! Up in the gymnasium at the crevice of the glowing somber night to practice her bumping and setting; perfecting her spikes and it seemed as if she would never get to reach tranquility. She couldn’t be an ace, she couldn’t beat her opponents.

She was drenched in sweat head-to-toe — the fabric of her jersey sticking to her chest like glue. Beads of fresh sweat dripped down her forehead as she licked her dehydrated lips. She needed to breathe. But Ellie didn’t know breath control. She didn’t know stopping either, her routine was damaged, she was jaded and her brain was fuzzy the plays didn’t even make sense to her. Her brain was insanely flawed. Nothing but incoherent doodles as her coach yelled in her face to take 5.

All she knew was routine:

Wake up at 5 am. Go for a run at 7 am. Nutritious breakfast at 9 am. Practice 10-4 pm. A quick nap and muscle soak before a game.

All her hard work burned into ashes; eventually to dust and crumbs as it became nothing but a false sense of dedication. Sleepless nights and aching muscles just to be benched. Ellie was incandescent. Her eyebrows furrowed, cheeks a pulsing red – like clown makeup from the intensity. Her blood cells flowed healthily and her heartbeat was in the root of her ears like the pulsing of the music that kept her going. While some may say a body is a temple; her’s was a ticking time bomb ready to go off in any second.

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes open, the sound of sneakers against the freshly polished floors made her eardrums bleed, similar to scraping a metal ruler against a school board.

Dropping her head as she looked down at her legs. Her thighs were drenched in sweat the shin guards cutting off any circulation, making her thighs look wonderfully plump and 10x more muscular. Ellie was becoming hyper-aware until a sudden tap on her back and a sweet toothache-inducing smell filled her nostrils.

It was you.

The water girl, her hero. Just the right person to fix her cravings. A thin white ridged paper cup in your hand with water filled to the brim as you held it out in front of you with a gentle smile. Ellie always thought your sweetness was ravishing. She thought her teammates were undeserving of such pleasure and authenticity from you. The other girls would dim your light – and by dimming it she meant flirting with you. Calling you sweetheart and asking to take you out to dinner which was followed by your rich voice telling them, “It’s unprofessional!” but she was too bashful to admit it; she wanted to do it too.

The word baby could not escape her lips without being immediately flustered by it, Ellie was too smitten and starstruck by you. Quiet and lightly spoken, hell she was called ‘Bitchless 7 Williams’ for a reason. Stuttering over her words, hands shakier than ever, her affection becoming aggression she wanted nothing more than to drag herself out. She wishes she could be more flirty, more outspoken; then just maybe she would have been lucky to snag you, her water girl.

You knew she could get down, she palpably could get rough with the right motivation. It was the way her anger transcended on the court, you were sure it would manifest in other places too. But part of you loved it, it turned you on, when you were alone at night, entangled in your duvet as you wondered what she would look like calling out your name. She was a fucking loser, a pathetic whiney player that still took the fall.

Initially, you thought you were sweeter; more gentle but Ellie was more bashful than you. She wasn’t like her teammates. Ellie didn’t make eye contact with you at all or call you names. She did, however, stare at your boobs for too long through your tightly fitting workout jacket that hugged every crevice of your body just right. Giving your boobs an extra push. It was perverted, but you caught her every time. Coincidentally that’s what got you hooked on her. You weren’t going to stop her.

Like a hound dog you could smell what she wanted, you never failed to see the drool finally dripping from her tongue that she masked by bringing up her cup with great speed as the stretchy saliva dripped down the edge of her fingers and her cup. You did notice how she would leave a sticky residue; her clear fluids all over the cup before handing it back to you. Running off right before you can get a word in.

“Hope you’re thirsty It took me hooours to pour this” you teased, holding out the cup towards Ellie with a smile. That soft grin of yours that easily made anyone swoon on you. Ellie caught herself doing it again. In a room with so many people, her team, friends, and family, she sent a quick look at your boobs before looking back at the sparkles in your eyes. Like diamonds and pearls; vibrant and warm. Lewd thoughts raced in her brain like gnats.

She was giving you teeth, as she took her shirt up; again, to wipe her forehead clear of the everflowing liquid.

“Oh yeah,” Ellie taunted back, with a smirk on her face. She wasn’t sure where this confidence was coming from, so she reached out to take the cup from you. Bringing the cup up to her lips as she tilted her head back, taking large gulps of the water not breaking eye contact with you. You saw the string of saliva again as she dropped the cup from her lips, taking a soft breath.

“More . . .” Her voice was breathy as if she ran a mile.

“More what?”

“More water…please?” Ellie pleaded, she spoke fast and in a whisper shaking the empty cup as she handed it back to you.

“Sure thing Els,” You confirmed taking the cup from her hands feeling the sudden dampness of her drool around the cup. Almost damaging to the deteriorating paper. “You got something here”

You pointed to your own chin with your pointer finger, as Ellie quickly rushed a hand up to wipe off any excess liquid with the back of her hands, fingertips covered in bandaids.

“Sorry,” it was a quiet whisper.

You turned to the back this time giving Ellie a full view of the way you looked in the short shorts — that were almost as tight as your top. Ellie had to look away. Almost as if she were being under surveillance, she had to behave; control her wandering eyes that betrayed her more than often.

Just as you were about to give Ellie the cup again, a shout from her coach filled the spacey gymnasium. With that simple shout, Ellie became a machine. Lifting her legs up forgetting about her water request and rushed back onto the court. If she was so lucky to have the chance, she’ll fetch the water from you later. Hopefully with a reward on her back.

Williams! Back on the court! Let’s try it again #7 Hustle!

#💭ᜊ cher thinks #cherry writes 🤍#ellie williams drabble #ellie williams #modern! ellie williams #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x reader #volleyball! ellie #modern au #ellie x you #ellie x reader #college! ellie williams #ellie williams smut #loser! ellie #loser!ellie #sub!ellie

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tojisun · 4 months

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SUNNY SUNNY!! can you imagine the reaction simon would give u if u start singing big boy by sza?? GRAAAAHHHH HE WILL GO FERAL!! NEED TO CLIMB HIM UP LIKE A XXXMAS TREE

ANA BABE!! IM ACTUALLY BARKING IN MY CAGE WHAT??? THIS IS SO!!! no bcuz it aint just singin– it’s a whole performance that you’re giving him!!

simon’s sat on the sofa, huffing a laugh when he sees you frantically fiddling with the remote control before flicking on a youtube video of just the cut of sza’s lines – one that simon doesn’t know.

the bass trickles into the living room like dripping molasses and simon quirks up a brow in question when you turned to him all of a sudden, the mic now held up before your lips. you sway your hips along with the music, trailing your hand up from your belly to your chest, playfully squeezing your tits with a wink, before falling to your knees slowly. almost salaciously.

then, you begin to crawl towards him, head still tipped up as you sing the lyrics. simon’s breathless all of a sudden, eyes wide as he follows your slow crawls. he has to grip the armrests, blunt nails biting into the upholstered material, when the lyrics finally click in his brain.

“it’s cuffin’ season, an’ all the girls are leavin – i need a big boy.”

“fuck,” he rasps out the moment you reach him, your hand – empty of your impromptu mic – creeping from his shin to his knee before squeezing his thigh, acrylics digging into the robust muscle.

you continue to crawl close, squeezing yourself between his legs – those that simon spread open even more – before pressing your cheek to the inside of his thigh. you look up at him from your long lashes, batting them in faux demureness.

simon almost goes catatonic when you nuzzle your cheek to his thigh, sighing wistfully, before ending your teasing with a last, “i need a big boy.”

you get to ghost a kiss on his leg before simon’s lunging to pluck you from the floor, growling in restrained hunger. you squeal, the remote clattering onto the carpeted floors as you find purchase on simon’s shoulders, gripping tight when the centre of your gravity shifts.

simon drops you on his lap, big hands squeezing your hips. “yeah?” he asks, chest heaving with need.

“mhmm,” you say, one that is another teasing purr. “need ‘im bad, si.”

“well, he’s here,” simon teases back, shuffling you close until you’re pressed flushed on his chest. he noses along your neck, breathing you in with a tremble.

you giggle at the puff of warm air, shifting at the ticklish feeling. simon lightly nips at the column of your neck in warning. “any more an’ i’m fuckin’ you here, sweetheart.”

simon shivers at feeling your acrylics dancing across the expanse of his back, the thin material of his shirt not doing much in dampening the sensation. then, he hears you mumble, “an’ if i wanna be fucked here?”

simon rips his head from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze and, with reverence in his voice, he says, “well, big boy’s gotta do what his girl wants, yeah?”

you lick your bottom lip in excitement, nodding eagerly, and simon thinks enough’s enough before diving down to kiss you. to devour you. to claim you.

OH I NEED HIM SOOOOOIR BAD

dividers by @/plutism!!

#suns.f #ana <3 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ask #suns #LOVIE THIS ONES TOOOOO GOOD

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shidouryusm · 5 months

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✿༝༚༝༚ Satoru: 1 You: 0 ✿༝༚༝༚

content -> fluffy fluff, banters, teasing and touching, making out, mentions of hickey at the end, implied sexual innuendo at the end.

w/c- 1.6k

a/n -> Happy birthday to my blue eyed goober, I love this lil shit till infinity. @pastelle-rabbit to answer your ask more thoroughly hehehehe. And to every Gojo fucker, hope y'all enjoy this once again extremely self indulgent piece with me and let's celebrate our pookie's birthday. Gojover? hell nah what's that

dividers by @/cafekitsune

“Babyyy, I’m hereee. Stop looking at your phone”, you hear Satoru’s whines muffled in your sweater. Your arms wrap around his neck as you hold the phone above his head, which in fact you were using to post for his birthday.

“Just a min, ‘toru.” you murmur softly, using one of your hands to thread through his cloud like hair. Your nails gently graze his scalp, starting from his undercut, as they smoothe over the prickly skin, reaching to the tufts of white candy floss that sits atop, repeating the circling motion again and again. Satoru hums satisfyingly at the feeling of your hands combing through them, comfortable enough to shut up momentarily and nuzzling himself further into your chest. You smile at his clinginess, dipping down to press a light peck on the top of his head.

Your nostrils fills with the sweet scent of shampoo, the fragnance carrying undertones of candy and molten marshmallow. You wonder where he even gets these and how much do they cost?

His hands envelopes your back as you half lay on the couch with him plopping himself right on top of you, his tall frame settles between your legs while his head nests snugly on your chest. You tangle one of your leg around the back of his shin. A mess of limbs under the thin blanket that covers both your lower bodies.

Outside, the sun shlyly peeks from the greyish clouds that wrings out sudden downpours every now and then, forcing both of you to coop up inside the house.

Not that Satoru was complaining at all, until now, when you shifted your attention from your grown ass boyfriend to your phone. He scoffs mockingly at you, still immersed deep in your phone. What even is there in that godforsaken phone? His blue eyes maliciously eyes that rectangular device. He lays on your chest, silently devising plans on having you all to himself, till the cogs of his brain click.

He shifts, raising himself slightly under the pretext of “just getting comfortable” so that his face now nestles the crook of your neck. Warm breaths tickles the skin under your ear to which you squirm a little,

“Toru-” you warn. From your peripheral vision you see him curled up over you, pulling the warmth of your body towards him. His face painted with an expression of serenity as if the only thing in his mind is to be bask in your silent embrace.

“Hmmm? What did I do?” faux innocent laced his words. You roll your eyes, one of your head still tangled between his locks. He waits for a while, letting you fall into a fake sense of security before his hands that were wrapped around your lower back start their journey to explore the expanse of your back. His touch is soft, leaving an electrifying sensation through your thin sweater. Almost ticklish and tantalising. One of his hands reach below, long fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, daring to slip underneath it.

You try your best to not give into whatever mischief his brain has cooked up. Even though, you know, you should have given him the attention, considering it’s his birthday.

But, since he had to be a menace, two can play the game, right?

Your attention has now fully shifted to your phone, the cat reel that was playing became ten times more interesting to watch. You even decided to up a notch, removing your hand from his hair to grab the phone with both hands.

“So, this is how it’s gonna be?” you hear him challengingly mutter, the removal of your hands acting as a declaration of silent war between you two. You dared not to look at him, although you were certain that his face is curled up in his trademarked smirk, plotting to win.

But if he’s Gojo Satoru, you are Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend. No way in hell you are backing out from this little game you both started literally out of nowhere.

“Gonna be what, ‘Toru? What did I do?,” you parrot his words back at him, feigning innocence while still peering at your phone. Your jaw muscle twitches, a smile threatening to break out.

Satoru quirks an eyebrow, amused by your witty banter. One of the many things that made him fall head over heels for you – your ability to match his energy at any given moment.

Little challenges sparking up between you guys often, keeping the ultimate fire of passion alive.

“Well, if you say so then,” Satoru breathes, his hands now fully getting into work, as they roam around your body. his other hand trails down to your hips, studying the way his palm bumps over the dips and curves.

The hand that was fiddling with the hem has slipped inside, resting over the waistline of your sweatpants. You feel your heart race as his blunt nails scrape over your skin ghostily, hooking one finger under to pull the elastic. He snickers against your skin before releasing the fabric, letting it snap against your skin.

You let out a small gasp at his ministrations. From the corner of your eyes you can make out this insufferable prick grinning at you, still resting his face on your neck.

“Low blow, ‘toru.” you narrow your eyes, determined to still not make any eye contact as you whisper under your breath, which apparently he caught on.

You hear him hum, “hmmmm? should have known before removing your hand, baby,” his satirical voice vibrates through as you scoff.

“Should have kept your hands to yourself in the first place.”

“Shouldn’t have ignored me in the first place. Y’know it’s impossible for me to not touch you, why demand such a thing?” with that, he lets his fingertips place fluttering touches all over your skin, without the obstruction of your sweater. You hiss, trying to squirm away from his cold fingertips but this sturdy, 6 foot giant had you locked under his hold, causing you to fail horribly.

“You’re cold! Get your hands off me.” you grumble. Satoru pretends to not hear anything, continuing to draw random lines with his fingers all over your lower back and sides. At times, fully planting his palm on your back, the frigidness making you gasp and falter.

“More the reason for me to touch you. You’re hot, baby.” he quips, to which you fall silent. How does he have the answer to everything you say?

“I’m not gonna leave my phone nor will I react now. You’re gonna lose the challenge”, you huff to which he shrugs his shoulder,

“Nah, I’d win.” Satoru says coolly, resuming his exploration with his hands.

You fall back to your phone, finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever is playing on the phone with the way Satoru’s hands glides over your skin. The pads of his fingers skim through your stomach. Even though they are cold, the lingering touch leaves wamr blaze in its wake. Your heart races sporadically as you anticipate where his hands might move next.

Although, your face says otherwise, making the most sour expression possible as you stare daggers into your phone. Satoru has always noticed every minuscule details and changes in your body, so this definitely didn’t go under his radar.

He decides it’s time to dial it up a bit. Afterall, he’s the birthday boy.

With his left hand which was already underneath your sweater, he continued tracing over your skin, while his right hand snaked up to the neckline of your sweater right where his face is currently planted to tug it down, exposing more of your skin in front of him. The veil of cold from the weather outside causes goosebumps to flesh out in your skin, catching Satoru’s eyes as he admires them with his piercing gaze before his mouth puckers in a “o”, cool air slid over your skin from his mouth.

“T-toru, stop it.” your resolves crumbles like your voice.

“Are you denying the birthday boy, baby? Don’t hurt me like that.” He whispers against your skin, a mocking bent in his tone as he feigns sadness. You debate whether to succumb to his touches or strangle him.

You breathe through your mouth, attempting to gain composure which you are notoriously failing to do. Satoru’s lips presses against your skin, his lips etched with a grin as he places countless pecks throughout the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“So fucking pretty, still can’t believe you’re like all mine. Why were you ignoring me, baby. Need you always so fucking much.” Satoru’s gravelly voice vibrates through your skin, the tingles straight shooting down your spine. His hand has now gripped your side like a vice, fingers indenting deep into the skin.

He groans against your shoulder as he press a kiss there, finding his way back to your neck again, millions of kisses littering your skin. He reaches under your ear, his teeth nipping lightly at the lobe.

Meanwhile, his hands push your body up, towards him, grinding his lower body against yours.

A soft whimper dares to escape your lips before you suppress it. Hands turning a little wobbly, and you hate how heat courses through your veins as Satoru turns your whole being into a mushy puddle against himself.

“Give up, darling.” Satoru whispers in your ear, before his mouth catches hold of your skin. His teeth scrapes the skin, sucking it fervently, while his back pushes you flush against him, letting you feel all the ridges and contour of his skin. His heart rhymes with your, palpitating with galloping beats. A soft whine escapes Satoru's throat at this steamy turn of events.

This had to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back as your phone slides from your hand, falling somewhere on the floor. Your head tips back and a breathy moan ricochets the room as Satoru duly runs his tongue over the hickey that prickled a little.

You hear Satoru’s simpering resonating around the room as he pulls you up, now seated on the couch with you straddling his lap

“See, told you I’d win.” his hand caresses the newly formed mark that will definitely take a concealer or turtleneck to hide.

“You prick. Fuck you. You did that on purpose.”

“Tell me where it says I can’t do that.” he muses, shutting you up once again. Your lips jut in a pout as you stare at him.

His eyes are so blue, glossing with the reflection of the rain pouring outside. His forehead veiled with your most favourite part of his body – those fluffy tufts of hair and his lips curl into a toothy smile. The eyes brimming with love and admiration for you.

Even as he weaseled his way out with an upper hand, you don't feel any of it. Rather, you drink in the way he looks so haphazard. So messy. So homely.

Your hands reach to cup his face, feeling the physicality of his beauty before you lean down to press a kiss.

“The least I can do for you birthday is to let you win, I guess. Happy Birthday, sexy.” you murmur against his lips, taking them between your own.

He returns the kiss with the same vigour, his hands are now out of the sweater, holding your back for support, whilst pulling you close to him.

The flavour of your strawberry balm etches itself in Satoru’s mind and he never wishes to stop from relishing the taste of your soft lips. A calm havoc wreck his insides as he thanks whatever lies above for granting him the biggest gift of his life – you.

You break apart from him, his eyes deepening their shade of blue and his face carrying a lingering expression of passion. His chest heaves from deep breaths as you stare at him with confusion. He motions his eyes downwards, making you realise what’s the issue.

“Mind helping me out?”

a/n -> God I'd commit felonies to experience this especially with a 6'feet, white haired, blue eyed, freakishly handsome and annoying blockhead.

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lady-phasma · 29 days

Text

In the fading light

Daemon Targaryen x fem Dornish!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, but I was going for soft!Daemon so I don't think there are that many warnings this time.

Summary: Daemon comes to visit you at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion, in Dorne. Kind of an AU in the sense that Rhaenyra isn't the object of his love, nor his motivation for "ending his marriage" to Rhea. 2.6k words

From the request here - romantic Daemon inspired by the song "kalam eineh" (Words of his eyes) by Sherine. I was able to work in a few lyrics as well ("the one whose eyes the moon envied" and "get lost in his beauty").

a/n: Dorne is a very big place and all of the houses are as different as the Northern houses. So as I write more Dornish!reader fics I start to see them uniquely in my headcanon. Godgrace is on a river from what my research tells me, so I think it worked out perfectly that Sherine is Egyptian. I've dropped some Egyptian elements into Godsgrace and that's how it is in my head now. (If there was a face claim for a location think Thebes/Luxor landscape.)

A warm breeze wafted onto the balcony where you and Daemon sat. The sun sank low against the horizon. The river in the distance shone with golds and pinks. A falcon screeched nearby. You turned from the gorgeous view of the Godsgrace river oasis to look at your Prince. He sat, reclined, opposite you. You slid your toes up the inside of his leg, teasing him. He stroked the top of your foot, your ankle, up your shin. Your smooth skin reflected the light of the setting sun much as the river did. Daemon slipped his fingertips under the hem of your thin skirt. The contrast of his pale hand under the bronze fabric was delightful to you. This Northern prince, so accustomed to clouds and darkness. Such a dreary land he came from.

You watched him as he looked out over the Greenblood river. It would be so easy to get lost in his beauty. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him was entrancing to you. You glanced back out at the river, the people going about their evening paying no attention to the lords and ladies so high above them. Birds circled above fishing boats as the nets were pulled in. Lights began to flicker in windows across the city. You smelled roasted meat and fresh baked bread on the warm air. You would have to dress for the evening meal, if you didn’t request it in your quarters.

“Did you come only because the fool Prince Martell forbade it?” You were genuinely curious. “Or because of your brother?”

“You know that is not the reason,” he spoke softly and continued to stroke your leg. “Their approval means less to me than you think.”

“You risk much coming to Godsgrace.” You wiggled your toes against his thigh.

“It is a fair price,” Daemon replied.

“Surely you are quite rested now, my love,” you goaded. “It is a long journey up the Greenblood, but not so tiring that you would ignore me.” You flashed your eyes at him. They were nearly the color of burnt umber in the fading light. Soon your maids would light torches and candles in your chambers. You would hear them through the diaphanous curtains that hung in the entry of the balcony. Though they would never dare to disturb you, even if you had your Targaryen on the floor in front of them.

Daemon turned his violet eyes toward you, finally pulled from his thoughts. Gods, you thought, even the moon could envy those eyes! The last pink of the sunset caught on his silver hair as it swung freely about his face, tendrils caught in the breeze.

“Quite rested,” he smirked as he spoke. He slipped his hand behind your knee and, reaching forward, grabbed your other leg and pulled you, bodily, to him. Your chair legs screeched against the stone floor as you threw your head back and laughed. When he had you where he wanted you, he smoothed his palms up the inside of your thighs. You rested your bare feet on the seat of his chair on either side of his legs. He pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist as he stared into your eyes. His thumbs grazed the creases of your thighs and you sighed.

“The journey was too long, but certain hindrances are now resolved,” his voice was low and quiet. “I am no longer married.”

You raised an eyebrow at these words. You trailed your fingertips down one of his forearms.

“I hope that it was painless, my prince,” you both knew the mocking of his title was not malicious. He was not your prince and you enjoyed reminding him of that. “You know, you could have stayed in Godsgrace and I could have sent one of my women to dispatch the issue quickly.” Your grin was knowing, yet seductive. Daemon’s response to Northern morality was curious to you. He didn’t want his wife, but could not bring himself to have another while she lived.

“I did not say I did the deed,” he tried not to smile. “Only that it was resolved.” Oh, he was deliciously vile when it suited him. You chuckled at this.

“Well, I had no trouble with the situation,” you grazed his thigh with one foot. “I needed only your devotion, not your marriage.”

“That you will always have, my lady,” he replied as he sank to his knees in front of you. You moved your foot to his shoulder, the other still in his chair, as you languidly spread your legs to make room for him. He looked up at you again, catching your eyes with his as he kissed your thigh, then your belly. You stroked one hand over his silky head as he lowered it and kissed the dark hair between your legs. You heard him inhale, smelling you, and you became even wetter.

Daemon licked the full length of your slit and paused at your pearl. He circled it with the tip of his tongue and you gripped the arms of your chair. He slid an arm around one thigh to steady you. Then he grazed a finger through your folds, finding your entrance quickly, as if he knew your geography by heart. He teased and didn’t slide inside you yet. He used two fingers to circle your opening, almost matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. Your hips rocked. You tried, and failed, to get his fingers inside. He stilled you as much as he could and continued for a moment that felt like an eternity.

When he finally slipped his fingers into your wet heat he sucked on your clit and your hands flew to the back of his head. You moaned and pushed against his mouth. You thought you felt him chuckle. You didn’t care. You ground your hips on his mouth and fingers.

“Daemon,” you whispered, as that was as loud as you could manage. “That’s it, just there. Please.”

He rubbed his fingertips against the spot that drove you wild, fighting against your clenching muscles. His tongue resumed its circling movements, but with a slightly quicker pace. Your breathing was becoming shallow and the sounds you made came deep from your chest. He pumped his fingers harder into you, knowing the pressure you needed to reach your climax. Your toes curled on his shoulder. You let go of his head, gripped the arms of your chair again, and your body curled forward as your climax overwhelmed you. You yelled his name, moaned incoherently, and then laughed. He hadn’t stopped, tongue still lapping causing your thighs to twitch. You playfully pushed at his forehead to give you peace.

You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. His expression wasn’t playful, as yours was. The look was full of something akin to admiration. You kissed him, roughly. You licked yourself from his lips, his tongue, and moaned into his mouth. He reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, letting some of it loose from the pins that held it in place. Without much grace, he blindly began to release your hair from its confines.

Daemon broke your kiss and began to stand up. You let your fingers trail down his body as he did. You grazed your fingers over his pants, deliberately avoiding the hardness straining the fabric. He pulled pins and a comb from your hair, tossing them on the floor with abandon. You looked up at him, a playfully displeased look on your face for the carelessness he showed for your jewelry, and shook out your hair. It fell in near-black waves down your shoulders and back.

“I need you,” Daemon breathed. His eyes were dark with lust. Still looking up at him from your chair, you pressed your palm over his erection. His eyes nearly closed. His chest rose and fell, trying to maintain his composure. You pressed just a little harder. He grabbed your wrists. It didn’t hurt but made it evident that he couldn’t be teased this evening. You stood, your wrists still in his hands. You raised to tiptoes and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your eyes narrowed in defiance against being so restrained.

“That’s enough!” He threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and laughed, kicking your feet and pounding your fists lightly against his back. Your laughter bounced off the stone walls as he carried you through the curtains into your chambers. You pushed against him, raising your head to look at the two startled maids, and laughed harder.

“Let me go!” You giggled and kicked your feet but he only held your ankles as he walked you to the bed. You heard the two girls scamper from the room, giggling and twittering.

Daemon dropped you lightly on the bed. You were breathless from laughing. He smiled down at you, but that look was back. What had changed since he had gone North? Your laughter faded into giggles, which in turn faded into quick breaths as he knelt on the bed and kissed his way up your feet, calves, and thighs. He began to unfasten the ties of your skirt at your waist and you helped him with the small buttons of your delicate top.

He licked and kissed the curves of your exposed belly. He nuzzled his nose between your breasts, then kissed each of your nipples. You played with his silky hair, enjoying watching him worship you. When he reached your neck and jaw you began tugging on his shirt, pulling it toward his shoulders. He straightened long enough pull it over his head, then bent down to your mouth again. You kissed him back, hands gripping his neck, stroking his shoulders, down his biceps.

Daemon moved with you, still kissing, as you began to sit up. You gently pressed his shoulders back and guided him to lay down. You straddled his thighs and began pulling at the laces of his pants. He groaned at the pressure of your fingers. You stroked his freed cock, watching your hands move slowly. You enjoyed making him wait but you couldn’t wait any longer. You released him and begin to remove his breeches. Once you had both struggled with that for a moment, you trying not to giggle during the endeavor, you climbed up him and placed yourself on his belly. You could feel his cock pressing against your buttocks. You leaned forward and kissed him and he cupped both of your breasts in his hands.

You lifted your hips enough to reach between you and guide him into your wetness. He growled and squeezed your breasts a bit harder. Slowly, you took him inside you. You raised up, allowing him to keep his hands on you, and pressed your hands against his stomach as you rocked your hips. You took his cock as deep as you could. Gradually, at first, then setting a gentle pace that brought sweet sounds from Daemon’s lips. You leaned forward slightly, finding the angle you needed. He moved his hands, one to your neck, one to your hip. As you settled on a rhythm, he began to match you, thrusting upward slightly each time you rocked back on his cock.

You let your head fall forward, you hair sweeping forward, framing your face and his. Your fingers curled against his chest. You kept this pace as long as you could before your cunt began to ache with the beginnings of your climax. You slowed and Daemon took over. Gripping both of your hips, he fucked up into you, harder than you had been able to manage. His grunts made you squeeze around his cock. They were wonderful sounds that only increased your need for him.

You rested your face against his, pressing your cheeks together. Neither of you could stay quiet. Your name fell from his lips as fluidly as the curses he uttered. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down onto each of his upward thrusts. The sound of flesh against flesh, lewd and satisfying. Your bodies glistened with sweat in the torch light. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him but the pleasure was too great.

“Yes, please, Daemon,” you whined in his ear. Your lips drug across his cheek as you searched for his mouth. You tried to kiss him. Instead you panted and moaned against his mouth. As your climax began the wave that would drown you, you heard his voice, much calmer than yours could have been in that moment.

“Look at me.” You did. He didn’t stop fucking you, but he held your gaze with those perfect eyes. “I love you. I would kill for you. I would kill anyone who kept us apart.”

Something in his eyes, not just his words, was your undoing. Your climax spread over you at the same time as it curled up inside you. You squeezed your thighs against his hips, almost stopping his movements entirely. You bent to him and kissed him, moaning and sighing, as you came.

Suddenly Daemon’s large arms encircled you and in your delirium you could hardly notice that he was moving you. You clung to his shoulders as he somehow, and gracefully, managed to lay you on your back. He had not pulled out. You wrapped your legs around his hips and ran your hands into his hair.

Daemon fucked you without restraint. You were coming down from your climax but your cunt gripped him tight and he grunted with each deep thrust. He shifted his weight to one hand and deftly scooped one of your legs into the crook of his arm. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him. He was watching you.

“Touch yourself,” he panted. “Come on my cock again.” His smile was enough to convince you, if his words hadn’t been.

So you did. You rubbed your fingers quickly, and in time with his strokes. When you were close again, you arched under him, head thrown back, Daemon’s mouth on your exposed neck. Then he pressed his hips against you as hard as he could. His cock buried completely inside you as he came. Your cunt spasmed around him and you both felt his seed fill you as your climax peaked. He cursed and tried to gently lower your leg. Your body shook and you were unable to help him. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

As he slowly pulled out and away from you, you mewled and groaned, closing your thighs and squeezing them together. Daemon lowered himself down next to you, on his side. He rested his head on your chest. You smoothed his hair away from his forehead in a long stroke down to his back and sighed. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. He held you close to him.

The cool night breeze wicked the sweat off your skin. The torches guttered slightly. You wrapped one leg over Daemon’s. You wanted every part of your body touching his. You breathed in his smell mixed with your own and the dusty sweetness of Godsgrace coming in through the curtains.

“No one will come between us,” Daemon whispered against you.

“I know, my love, my dragon” you replied, lips brushing against the top of his head.

The sun had set and, perhaps, the dark was what he needed. In the light of day The Rogue Prince was rakish and disreputable. But at night, with you, he could shed that facade.

Masterlist

Tags: @black-dread

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

Threesome smut with WolfstarxReader where Rem is obiviously a dom and he is sitting there and watching+comanding Switch!Reader and Stwitch!Sirius. Or it could be Swiftch!Reader and sub!sirius either is okay

thank you for requesting!🖤

“Stop.”

“Remus, please—”

“I said stop.”

You choked out a whine, your hands fisting the material of the sheets beneath you as Sirius lifted his head from between your legs. He had been teasing you for the better part of the last hour, letting his tongue lap your soaking cunt and tease your entrance before he was told to pull away by Remus.

It wasn’t often Remus got in one of these moods.

It was not an unusual or uncommon occurrence for Remus to take control in bed, and you and Sirius were more than happy to let him have his way. But sometimes—usually closer to the full moon when his aggression was pent up and his patience was wearing thin—he would be like this. He would be intense and dominating and it was hard not to fall under the spell of Remus Lupin.

And both you and Sirius knew better than to disobey him.

You knew instantly something was up when Remus came down for breakfast this morning, subtly kicking Sirius in the shin under the table as you nodded towards your boyfriend. You had both been on edge, waiting for him to say something or do something or just snap.

It wasn’t until hours after dinner when you headed up to your dorm room when he finally did.

Over an hour later, he was lounging on a seat a few feet from the bed, his cock in his hand as he watched the two of you with heated eyes. You and Sirius were nothing but toys for his pleasure, for him to direct and control and to play out his deepest and darkest fantasies on.

“Please,” you choked out, your body glistening with a thin, sheen layer of sweat. Your heart was racing in your chest and your legs were shaking from the overstimulation and you just wanted to finally come. “I-I’ll do anything, I–”

“Such a needy little whore,” Remus grunted, squeezing the base of his cock as he watched Sirius stare longingly at your soaking cunt, your legs spread and tied open with a quick flick of Remus’ wand. “Both of you, it’s fucking pathetic.”

“Remus,” Sirius’ voice was gruff, his hair tied back in a low bun and his chin glistening with your release. He licked his lips, shifting in his seat in hopes of easing the bulge in his boxers. “She tastes so good—”

“Did I say either of you could speak?” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Both you and Sirius shook your heads.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Remus grumbled as he stood up, naked and glorious and both of your bleary eyes couldn’t look away from him. “Both so fucking mouthy, especially you.”

You squirmed under his gaze. “I–”

“Whores don’t talk,” Remus bit out, watching with some amusement how your chest stuttered with your shaky breaths. He turned his gaze down to Sirius who kneeled at the edge of the bed, his fingers working quickly to remove the hair tie before his fingers tangled in his hair.

“Shit,” Sirius moaned, head falling back when Remus roughly tugged.

“Guess I gotta keep you quiet,” Remus groaned as his other hand gripped his cock, stroking himself until beads of precum leaked from the tip. He guided his cock to Sirius’ mouth, watching as the boy parted his lips instantly and wrapped them around the tip. “Atta boy, Pads.”

You whined, watching the way Remus dragged Sirius’ head up and down his cock, the way he moaned and whined around his cock.

Remus only scoffed, something quite like a smug smirk on his face. “Cry all you want, darling, you haven’t earned my cock yet.”

Your cheeks flushed and your lips parted in shock. “Remus—”

“Whores don’t talk,” Remus repeated mockingly, letting out a small hiss as his cock hit the back of Sirius’ throat. “Now be a good girl and stay quiet, don’t need you distracting Sirius.”

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mellowswriting · 1 year

Text

did you miss me?

pairing || Din Djarin x f!reader

word count || 4.2k

summary || Din proves just how much he missed you while he was away.

content || pure poetic smut, rough but loving sex? is that a thing?, blowjobs, deepthroating, face fucking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms Din is pussy whipped and painfully in love, thorough aftercare, dorks in love

a/n || not me coming back from my mini hiatus with pure smut 🤠 no one is surprised, right?

It’s been too long since Din has felt your lips against his skin. By too long, he means just a little over a week. Call him dramatic but he’s certain it’s a miracle he survived without you at all. He wasn’t meant to be gone for so long. He’s far too used to waking up and falling asleep next to you, teasingly smacking your ass as you walk by, dragging you close and fucking you against whatever surface is available. Din can feel your absence tugging at his skin, pulling him taut and tense. He’s grown… attached. More attached than he imagined himself capable of, in fact.

So when Fett came to him for help, Din was less than enthusiastic to leave the little world of calm you created together. It took a bit more cajoling than usual. It will take two days at most. We can compensate you. Then you can take your pretty little lover out somewhere nice. Din rolled his eyes at the light teasing from his fellow Mandalorian, but he couldn’t deny the prospect sounded like… fun. Something he hadn’t sought out in a very long time. So Din looped you in on the plan, fucked you nice and thorough, and very begrudgingly left you in his bed to help his friend.

Two days quickly became a week. He really should have known that this would happen but Din is a man of his word. He stays and fights by his friends’ sides, and undeniably wins the entire ordeal for them. The celebration afterward would have been tempting if he didn’t know exactly what was waiting for him back home. Fett didn’t even bother trying to convince him to hang around; he just tossed Din a bag of credits and a knowing grin, which Din pointedly ignored. He took a quick shower before he headed off, all too aware that he wouldn’t be wasting a second once he has you in his arms again.

Din sees you before you see him. He half expects you to startle when he wraps his arms around you from behind - an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin, something. But you just lean back into his chest with a surprised but happy sound, the blaster you were stripping abandoned on the counter. Your hands rub down his forearms until you reach his hands and deftly tug his gloves off, carefully setting them aside before lacing your fingers with his. Ease trickles down his spine as he takes in the feeling of your skin against his. Din never realized just how much he needed this. He’s so starved for affection that he feels like he just might die without yours. It doesn’t help that you’re just so… you. Soft against his scarred hands, firm against his stubbornness, so understanding of his inexperience.

“Did you miss me?” There’s a thread of humor in your tone that sends a flare of want burning through his body. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder, a small punishment for your teasing, but his hands are too busy to reach up and take off his helmet.

“Of course,” He says instead, the modulator in his helmet doing nothing to hide the raspiness of his voice.

You turn in his arms and Din is graced with your beautiful smile. A thread of concern laces through him as he takes in the tension that lingers in your body and the exhaustion-induced darkness under your eyes. You never sleep well without him. It must have been a late morning for you; you’re still wearing the tiny shorts and old shirt you love to sleep in. He catches a glimpse of the peak of your nipples through the thin material of your shirt just before your chest presses against his beskar. “Yeah? How much?”

“Help me out of my armor and I’ll show you.” That’s all it takes to encourage you to lift his helmet off.

Din drags you in for a blinding kiss the moment the helmet is out of his way. It’s a far cry from the first time he pressed his lips to yours. There is a confidence that surges through him - it ignites his need for you into something palpable and ferocious. Unrelenting. He digs his fingers into your thighs as he hauls you up into his arms and blindly stumbles his way into the small bedroom. Your bright laughter fills the air as he drops you on the bed and for a fleeting moment, genuine fondness soars over his lust, mixing into one devastating need. The two of you eagerly strip away each other’s layers, armor and clothes falling into a pile on the floor.

“Come on, get the fuck - get off.” You grumble under your breath as you finally unclasp his pants enough to strip him out of them. Din’s chuckle dies in his throat at the feeling of your fingers around his aching cock. Fuck, it feels so good it almost hurts - but that doesn’t stop him from greedily chasing more. His hand wraps around yours and guides it along his length in long, tight strokes, and the intensity of finally feeling your touch has his eyes fluttering closed. You huff a quiet laugh at his antics but don’t hesitate to give him even more - little kisses peppered along his belly and gentle caresses to his sensitive inner thighs. He’s so lost in the weight of your worship that he doesn’t even notice when you slip to your knees in front of him.

Din jerks in surprise at the warm, wet slide of your tongue along the head of his cock. A guttural sound rips through his chest as his fiery gaze meets yours, his jaw slack, lips parted as the heat of your mouth slowly envelopes him. His hand falls away as you work him further, instead coming to rest on the crown of your head. He doesn’t pull your hair or try to push; he just rests his hand there, gently caressing your hair as you roll your tongue in practiced swirls. Every inch you take further sends him reeling, pulls out those desperate little sounds he knows you love. Pride swells in his chest as your nose brushes the short, curly hair at the base of his cock. It isn’t easy; Din isn’t exactly a small man, in any sense of the word, but you still work him until your jaw aches and drool drips down your chin.

“Fuck… you’re so good,” Din’s voice is gruffer than usual, all deep and gravelly, and it does something to you. He watches with rapt attention as you go all soft and pliant for him, a muffled whine vibrating against his cock. His hips jerk unbiddenly at the feeling and an apology is poised to fall from his lips - but you just whine again. “Oh, is that what you want? You want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

You nod as best you can and Din has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. It ignites something almost animalistic in him when these moments align so perfectly; his need to be in control rises to meet your need to be taken, and the two of you become one. Din’s wide palm settles at the back of your head to steady you against the slow, steady pace of his thrusts. His free hand grabs one of yours and laces your fingers together, and the familiar unspoken agreement passes between you.

Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.

The muscle in his jaw jumps at the sight you make. Unshed tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, your lips stretched around the thickness of his cock. His fingers drift across your cheekbone and the steady pace he’s built falters as you instinctually lean into the familiar touch. Din’s heartbeat stutters. It's so simple, the absolute trust you show him. Even as your throat flutters around the almost too-big stretch of his cock, your eyes glimmer with so much love that Din nearly drowns in the overwhelming wave of intimacy. His stomach tightens, his stamina dashed in the wake of your beauty. It's enough to force him to pull you away. He can’t finish now, not like this. Not until he has you laid out beneath him, trembling and sweat-slick under his nimble fingers. He has been fantasizing about it for days, the idea taking the front stage of his mind and consuming all of his attention.

“Fuck, wait…” Din grits out through clenched teeth. His blunt fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his thigh as he tries to drag himself away from that edge. You just smile up at him, all too aware of the effect you have on him, and Din can’t help himself. He guides you up with a hand on the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely, completely unbothered by the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. He grumbles against your lips, “You’re too good at that.”

You don’t have long to preen under his praise. Din has the body of a hard-working man; he’s thick, all well-built muscle and startlingly fast reflexes as if he was handcrafted by the highest divinity. He’s powerful. And he has no issue in using that power to manhandle you onto the bed. Din kneels on the bed and uses his broad stature to his advantage, your thighs forced to part as he braces them against his own. The opportunities feel endless with you lying so close, so exposed beneath him. Din aches to worship every inch of your body. He wants to tease you with his tongue and fingers until you beg him, until his name falls from your lips, all sugared and desperate and ethereal.

Din hums a pleased sound as he finally lets his touch gravitate between your thighs. You’re so warm, so slick. “I haven't even touched you and you're so wet…”

“Yeah, well,” You chuckle breathily. “I missed you, too.”

That whispered confession makes his heart lurch. He has to sink his teeth into the delicate, already sore flesh inside his cheek to rein in the instinct that rears its head; that old animalistic instinct that screams at him to bend you over and fuck you, raw and unrelenting until he has his fill. He knows he’ll give in to it soon, but first… first he needs to show you the devotion you deserve. A shudder wracks through your body at the insistent exploration of his fingertips as they delve deeper into your pussy, teasing at your entrance before sliding up to brush against your clit. He’s entranced by the petal-soft feeling of your skin; so soft, so warm. He could stay like this for hours.

But then your breathing goes unsteady and you grind against his hand in a feeble attempt for more. “Please, Din.”

The fragile hold on his self control snaps.

Two fingers sink into your pussy and Din moans at the feeling of your wet heat tightening, trying to draw him even deeper as if he isn’t already buried knuckle deep. His other hand braces against the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh to keep your legs spread wide. He isn’t letting you hide from him, not tonight. Those two fingers curl up, driven by muscle memory and an overwhelming need to make you see stars, and he’s rewarded with your cries of pleasure. His fingers are thick and calloused from years of hard work, and he knows just how to use them to make you scream.

Din works your pussy in eager strokes, easing his fingers out of you only to introduce a third on his way back in. He watches with bated breath as you devolve into a whimpering, writhing mess. The sheets are your only anchor against the onslaught of pleasure. Your fingers twist the expensive fabric so tight that your nails threaten to tear right through it, but you can’t help it - not when his thumb is rubbing precise circles over your clit until you see stars. Your hips roll and a strangled whimper falls from your lips, and Din can feel it. He can feel the intensity that radiates from you the closer he draws you to a devastating orgasm.

You’re just so easy for him to read. Every hitch in your breath, every jerk of your hips, every rhythmic pulse of your walls. The siren song of your body is impossible to resist. You whisper his name, lovesick and aching, and Din knows you’re close. Some small, cruel part of him wants to leave you right there on the precipice with euphoria hanging just outside of your reach. The bigger part of him, though? It won’t rest until you break for him.

“Let go,” Din rasps, leaning closer to kiss your thigh. The roughness of his stubble makes you jerk in surprise. He can’t take his eyes off of your face, too enraptured by the sight of you falling apart just from his touch. “Fuck, you look… you’re so beautiful, cyare.”

The praise sends you trembling. You manage to meet his eyes for a mere second before you throw your head back into the plush pillows, a broken cry choking through the clench of your teeth as you rock your hips down into his touch. Din lets you take and take without hesitation until you finally shatter. The violent arch of your spine forces Din upright to give you the space you need, his hand still working you through your orgasm in steadily slowing strokes.

“Fuck, that - you… so good, you did so good for me.” Din trips over his words in his haste to praise you but it still affects you all the same. You give him that love-drunk smile as he presses closer to hover over you, his broad form caging you in against the bed. He knows you’re still lost in the bliss of it all but he just can’t help himself from dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving sloppy kisses and teasing bites in his wake. It has been days since he had the chance to properly shave and the rough feeling of his stubble against your skin makes you squirm and laugh brightly. “You have no idea how - fuck…”

He can’t even find the words to tell you just how much he needed this, how much he needed you, but he doesn’t need them. You whisper ‘I know,” before kissing him, your tongue teasing his soft lower lip, and Din whines. A sound of pure need and adoration. He crowds closer to deepen the kiss and he can’t help the small canting of his hips as his neglected cock nudges your thigh. It isn’t easy to ignore the ache that has been building but he wants to give you time to really come down and recover - he is an excellent lover, after all. But he isn’t the only one who has been impatiently awaiting this moment.

The shock of your fingers wrapping around his cock has Din breaking the kiss with a rough gasp, those dark brown eyes widening as they lock with yours. He can see his own lust mirrored in them as you guide him closer and line him up, too impatient to wait for him to move of his own volition. You’re breathtaking in your need for him. It never fails to stroke his ego, to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world. An unspoken question passes between you, one you answer with your thighs wrapping around his waist, and Din’s willpower to ignore his urges vanishes.

Din sinks into your wet heat, doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt and the head of his cock nudges your cervix. He usually pauses there, just to give you time to adjust to the obscene stretch, but the animal instinct that burns between you is too much to ignore. His blunt nails bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he pins you beneath him, keeping you still and unable to escape the sharp, fast shove of his hips - as if you would dream of trying. The entire bed shudders and jerks under the weight of Din’s strength.

It doesn’t take long for Din’s large hand to find its way to your throat, his forefinger and thumb digging into the hinges of your jaw. He doesn’t restrict your breathing; Din just wants to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you brainless. Your lips part with a small gasp and an awed, pleasure-struck smile blooms across your face, and warmth unfurls through Din’s body at the sight you make. So beautiful, so intoxicated by his touch. He can’t deny you when your chin tilts, your wordless request for a kiss met by a soft brush of his lips. Such a soft, gentle thing should seem out of place in the deliciously harsh treatment of your body, but it doesn’t. It feels so right that his chest aches with it.

Din’s nose brushes yours as he hitches your hips higher and suddenly your back arches, his name cried out right against his lips. He drinks in the sounds of your ecstasy, the very nectar of the gods he needs to go on. The slight shift in angle only deepens as he damn near presses your body in half, your knees pressed back into your chest. The sharp shift makes you feel even tighter, especially as your pussy throbs deliciously around his cock. You whimper a broken sound because you know just how fucked you are. The position isn’t easy for either of you to hold but it just hurts so damn good, a perfect pinch of pain against endless waves of pleasure that makes you gush around him. Din doesn’t fuck you like this until the very end, when you’re both eager for release and clawing for that last little bit to throw you over the edge.

The earnest press of his thumb against your clit sends you reeling, the sensitivity almost too much to handle, but you both know he won’t rest until he hears you scream his name again. It’s sharp and electric, and Din knows just how to play your body until you break. Your hips jerk away on instinct before surging forward once more, driven by greed and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A whisper of ‘just like that’ is all the encouragement he needs to work through the burn in his thighs and keep his sharp pace, his violent thrusts shoving you further up the bed. It’s so fucking worth it just to feel your pussy tighten around him so hard you nearly force his cock out. Your thighs tremble and your hand flies up to press against his chest as you choke out a vague warning, your words nearly unintelligible as the surge of your orgasm gushes from you to wet his thighs and belly.

The feeling makes his rough pace stutter in shock and Din growls your name, fascination and lust burning hot in his tone as realization washes over him. It’s the only thought playing on a loop in his mind - he made you fucking squirt. He’s always wanted to see it, to feel the wetness of your cum on his skin. Delight and pride sing in his veins as he falls into a sloppy pace of short, rough strokes. Your slick drips along his thighs in little rivulets down to soak into the sheets and Din finally breaks. He doesn’t pull out - some filthy part of him wants to see his cum mixed with yours, dripping from your fucked out hole just so he can shove it back in with his fingers. He wants you marked as his, just as you have marked him as yours.

“Was that…” Din asks, his dry throat making his voice even rougher. “Did I really make you…”

“You did,” You answer his half-finished question with a breathy chuckle - as if you haven’t just rocked his entire fucking world.

You welcome the heavy weight of his body sinking into yours. Even with the ache in your thighs and back from his rough manipulation of your body, you let your legs shift back down to his waist and stroke the soft curls at the back of his head. Din kisses the valley between your breasts, a small offering of appreciation as he buries his face in your chest. The exhaustion of the last days - hell, of the last hours - vies to take over. Din lies in the embrace of your arms and your cunt, your overstimulated walls pulsing around his softening cock, and he finally feels at peace. At home, safe in the bed you share. But the urge to care for you is much stronger than the urge for sleep.

Din carefully untangles your body from his. Your disgruntled little groan is shushed with promises of a quick return and a fleeting kiss to your forehead. He has his own little ritual for those moments after he’s fucked you senseless. Water, a soft robe, maybe a snack or two, and a small cloth soaked in warm water. He catches a glimpse of the little smile on his face in the bathroom mirror as he wrings the excess water into the sink. It all feels so… right. For once, he isn’t searching for somewhere, for someone. He feels lucky. Din takes his armful of goods and that little smile of his back to you - and he nearly drops it all at the sight of you.

You are glowing in the aftermath. A light sheen of sweat illuminates your body in the low light, shows off the curves of your body as you lie prone in the expensive sheets he bought just for you. The crook of your elbow hides your face from view, but he already knows the blissful expression that is tucked away there. It is seared into his memory, one of his most beloved memories. Every ounce of tension has left your being; you’re loose and relaxed without a care in the universe. Elegant and beautiful with the evidence of his presence drying on your thighs, darkening the curve of your hips in the shape of his fingers. You are a goddess in your own right and Din knows he will spend every moment of his life worshiping at the altar of your body. He revels in that knowledge, takes the utmost peace in it.

Life may be chaotic and uncertain, but this… this is eternal.

In these quiet moments, he knows you crave his touch more than anything. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, skin on skin as he eases you through the submissive haze. Din settles close to you, propped up on his elbow, and sets about taking care of his lover. You wince just slightly as he passes the cloth along your sore cunt. Murmured apologies are met with dismissive hums. No words need to be said for your message to get across. I loved it. Don’t apologize for giving me what I want. Still, he pays close attention to the marks he left on your body. The soft floral scent of your favorite lotion lingers in the air long after he’s finished using it to ease the knots in your muscles.

Din loves taking his time with his aftercare. Once he has you cleaned up and rehydrated, he snuggles in close and lets his hands wander. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns into your plush thighs, over your belly, and up your sides. You shiver as his fingertips trail over your ribs and shoot him a warning look that he knows all too well. His sweet little woman, so sensitive to his touch. He does know better than to tickle you, so he instead slips his fingers beneath your jaw and tilts you up into a soft kiss. While he has you enraptured by his lips, his hand falls to your chest, cupping your breast in his large hand and groping you shamelessly. It's so silly that you pull away with a playfully incredulous laugh and Din can’t help but smile, one eyebrow raised as he takes in how beautiful you look.

“I really did miss you, you know.” You say as you reach up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Din sighs and captures your hand in his, drawing it up to his lips to kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, even your palm.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips without thought. It startles him, his own candor. The vulnerability of it. But just as anxiety begins to crest, it’s burned away by the bright grin that blooms across your face.

You tug him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I love you, too.”, like a little secret, just for the two of you - and you kiss him. You keep kissing him, pulling him down until his body is pressed fully against yours. Din doesn’t know how long the two of you lay there, languidly kissing and whispering little confessions of love, but he knows he would stay there forever.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #mando x reader #din djarin x reader smut #mando x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut

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killsaki · 1 year

Text

old gold ☆ shinichiro won’t give you a chance ‘cause he doesn’t want you to waste your youth.. but he and his friends have never shared the same values.

takeomi akashi x female!reader x wakasa imaushi

3.7k words. | read on ao3. | minors dni.

cw/tw : spit roast, fingering, unprotected sex/creampie, exhibitionism (heard not seen), pet names, praise, light degradation, slight burn play, age gaps, reader wears a skirt, corruption kink.

“you look so pretty in an apron.”

shinichiro glares playfully at you out of the corner of his eyes, a smile creeping up on his face before he shakes his head.

“you know how they’ll talk to me if i burn this.”

you put on a fake pout, swinging your feet from where you’re sitting on the countertop watching as he finishes preparing dinner for the swarm of young men that were piled in the living room.

“it’s not like you’ve never burned anything before.”

he sucks his teeth at that, a small smile still lingering on his lips. you know you didn’t have much time left alone with him, that mikey would come around the corner looking for you with that chilling expression like he always does when you’ve snuck off to flirt it up with his big brother.

“and they don’t let me live it down until i cook for them agai—“

“shinichiro, let’s get married.” you cut him off and he just laughs. it’s like a broken record the way he brushes you off, treating you as if you have some school kid crush on him. like you’re not someone of legal drinking age with a fully developed brain. “i’m not a little girl.”

“i know you’re not.” he sighs through his nose, eyes leaving the stove top to look over at you and your feet still against the wooden cabinet door. “but you have so much time left to do whatever it is you want.”

“what i want to do is you.”

“you need to have fun.” he raises his eyebrows, he speaks the words softly but you know the intent behind them is firm. “you’re a beautiful girl, you’ve got the world in your palm. don’t let a relationship while you’re young tie you down.”

you want to open your mouth to answer but before you get the chance, you’re interrupted by the sound of mitsuya swinging himself around the corner. “smiley’s in here talkin’ shit about you not finishing the tournament.”

“i’m coming.” you quickly reply, hoping he’ll go away, but he doesn’t. you hop off the counter to follow after him, chewing at the inside of your cheek in frustration.

“two years.” you hear shinichiro speak from behind you and you spin on your heels. “in two years, if you’ve had all the fun you can handle and still want to get married, i’ll be here.”

there’s a smile on your face before you realize it’s there. “you’ll wait for me?”

“i don’t have anything else to do.” he shrugs and you don’t comment on how he doesn’t come off nearly as cool as he probably thought. “just workin’ at the shop.”

you nod, ignoring the calls of your name from the other room. “and cooking meals for us,” you add on, taking another step towards the living room before calling from behind the wall. “like what you’re burning right now.”

“shit—” you wish you could’ve seen his eyes go wide, and you nearly go back to fawn, until another call of your name rings off the walls and your already thin patience dissolves.

“i’m fucking coming!”

/ / /

“is it even unlocked?” you huff, irritated by the summer night’s heat as you walk in front of your two closest friends towards the all too familiar bike shop.

“should be, he said he’s hanging out with his old friends.” mikey answers.

��you should not be saying that.” draken laughs, and you know it’s meant as a shot at you.

“i only have a thing for shin’, not all old men.” you tsk.

“didn’t you tell inupi that he didn’t meet your age requirement?” draken teases but mikey is far from amused.

“my brother is not old, you—“ the shorter one starts.

“oh, it’s open.” you cut him off as you swing the door and to avoid his annoyed expression you rush inside. “shin’!” you sing, practically skipping through the bike shop looking for the man in question.

“slow down!” draken chides from behind you, muttering something about you knocking something over.

“why do you get to be the first one to say hi? he’s my brother.” mikey adds on and all you can do is laugh as you enter the hallway to the office near the back where the light shines under the door.

“‘cause he likes my face better than yours,” you swing the door open, sticking your tongue out at mikey. “obviously.”

it takes you a full minute to process who it is in front of you when you finally look and once you do, your jaw all but drops. through all the time you’ve spent as mikey’s friend, all the years you’ve followed shinichiro around, you’ve only caught glances of the old higher ups from the first generation of the black dragons. and aren’t they a sight to see.

shinichiro pulls you from whatever thoughts were forming as you eyed the other older men with a greeting.

“mikey messed up something on his bike.” you blurt, biting your lip to keep anything else from leaving your mouth. you point with your thumb towards the boys who have come to stand behind you, only to have the one you named slap it down.

“she did it, not me.”

you scoff at his lie, elbowing him to earn a nudge that sends you stumbling forward.

“i’ll look at it.” shinichiro pushes himself from where he’d been leaning against the desk, looking over to his white haired friend. “benkei, come pull the garage open?”

you watch him cross the room with hearts in your eyes, leaning into the door so your shoulder is pressed flat against it. you catch sight of his silver chain glinting in the low light, his black shirt only making it more prominent. you start to back out of his way alongside mikey, but the blonde doesn’t allow you to pass the door frame.

“you’re not gonna talk about how hot my brother is the whole time,” he pushes you back in the room, turning away and telling you from down the hall to, ‘go sit down.’

“my friends don’t bite.” shin’ smiles a promise and it comforts you slightly, especially when you catch his scent as he passes by—but not enough to turn around and face them. not until the door closes in your face and you can feel the burn of stares on your back.

“we really don’t bite,” is spoken from the couch following the sound of a lighter flickering.

“okay,” is all you manage back, awkwardly. you avoid looking at them in favor of staring at the spot where shinichiro had been leaning as you approach it.

“you shin’s girl?” makes you giggle as you hop up on the cold wood, thankful for the contrast to the warmth of your skin. but you still bite your lips, looking up at them as you debate how to reply.

maybe the whole first generation of black dragons were attractive, you think. surely draken couldn’t have been right about you just having a thing for older men. your eyes drag from the long-haired man with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen to the more rugged one with a unique dye job of his own. you surely knew their names… somewhere in your mind.

“nah,” is what you settle on, shrugging. “not yet.”

the longer haired one says your name like something about your response made something click for him. “he said somethin’ about you before.”

you nod slowly, curiosity suddenly eating at you but like always, you’re interrupted before you can pry.

“been havin’ fun?” the one you’re starting to realise is akashi asks another question, and you only shake your head. maybe shinichiro told them about your deal. they were some of his oldest friends, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe. “you smoke?”

“oh no, not tobacco.” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose at the memory of how it’d tasted when you’d taken a hit from hanma shuji’s cigar months back.

“c’mon,” he calls you to the couch with a wave of his hand, watching intently as you hesitate, looking towards the closed door. shinichiro wouldn’t leave you with them if they would hurt you. slowly, you make your way to stand in front of him. he leans his head against his shoulder to blow the smoke away from your face when you stop, giving you a view of his defined jaw and that scar running down his cheek.

“one hit won’t hurt.” he looks back at you and holds the cigarette up for you to grab. with shaking fingers, you take it from his fingers. you can practically taste the smoke off of his scent alone. he reeks like a chainsmoker but somehow it’s not enough to make you repulsed.

“you’re such a pretty lil’ thing,” he mutters, leaning forward and reaching out with rough fingers to skim up the side of your thigh as you take a short drag. “it’d be a shame not to show you a good time while we got ya.” your face burns at the touch, and whatever expression you make from the unexpected words mixed with the sting of nicotine hitting your chest makes him chuckle. “that’s if you can handle it.”

you cough out the smoke, quickly moving the cigarette away from where it pollutes your air. “i can handle a lot,” you say coolly, grimacing at the aftertaste. “cigarette smoke just isn’t on that list.”

he chuckles and reaches to grab the cigarette from your hold. or so you thought, his hand instead wraps around your wrist, pulling you down gently to straddle his lap.

despite his gentle guiding, you manage to be clumsy enough that ashes are dropped on the top of your thigh— the burning cherry falling with it making you suck in a sharp breath, hand twisting into his shirt and eyes fluttering shut all the same. he hums and apologizes under his breath, adjusting you on his thighs as he reaches around you to the coffee table for his lighter— his chest pressing up against yours and free arm wrapping around the small of your back to secure you in the process.

“‘ll be more careful with ya, promise.” his stubble brushes against your neck as he leans back against the cushions, fingers fumbling against the plastic and the other trying to be delicate not to break the paper. you’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but you grab the lighter from his hold and flicker the flame for him, not once breaking eye contact as he places the butt back between his lips and leans in to catch the fire. your hand falls after the flame dies, watching him take a drag as your own breath gets caught in your throat when his free hand starts to dance up the side of your body.

once he finishes inhaling, he licks his lips and you feel something heat in the pit of your stomach at the sight—shinichiro wants you to experience being young and wild, surely he wouldn’t be mad if it was with his friends. smoke is blown across your face and before you have a moment to react, the hand at your side wraps around your jaw and holds it, but doesn’t pull you forward—you move on your own.

you press your lips into his and the taste of his tongue makes you whine before you adjust to it, your hands moving from where they’d fallen limp to wrap around his neck. the hold on your face disappears and then you feel the same rough palm gliding under your skirt, squeezing at the soft give of your ass. his mouth moves from your own, down to your neck where you shiver at the way he seems to find all your most sensitive spots with ease, sucking and licking at them. you’re so lost in the feeling that you don’t even notice when he moves his hand again, not until his thumb is pressing at your clit through your panties making you let out a soft whisper of a curse and you’re bucking your hips into his touch.

so caught up in how akashi consumes your senses, it takes far too long to recognize the other man’s hand— the man you’d completely forgot was still lingering in the room—is tugging at the end of your skirt.

“c’mere.” imaushi speaks low, his gaze dragging from your chest back up to your eyes before trying again to beckon you over with a nod of his head and even as akashi pulls from where he’d likely been putting marks into your skin, you hesitate. “it’ll be fun.” he finally convinces you and with akashi’s help, you’re crawling off his lap only to realize with a flushed face that you’re now stuck between them on your hands and knees.

the long-haired man’s hands are much softer in comparison to those trailing along the backside of your thighs. imaushi wraps his hand under your jaw the same way akashi had done, and you realize that he also waits for you to close the gap between the two of you on your own. low eyes glancing between yours and your likely swollen lips until you reach to connect with his.

his lips are softer than akashi’s, you note, his tongue sweeter. he moans lightly as you suck on the muscle, his grasp loosening in favor of wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you in closer. behind you, akashi thumbs over your slit, pressing the wet fabric deeper into your folds with each pass. you’re sure you make a noise when he starts to circle at your clit, one that imaushi mimics tauntingly before he pulls your shirt up, using the hand not pinning you to him to slide under your bra and tweak at your nipples.

one of akashi’s hands work your underwear to the side, a low “shit, baby” falls from his mouth and he mimics his same movements, teasing your clit and entrance until you’re making an even bigger mess for him, the sound of him gliding through your slit obvious in the otherwise quiet room. the need to have them do something— anything else becomes overbearing.

“stop teasing,” nearly comes out as a whisper when you pull from the kiss. but you know they both hear you because imaushi looks past you to where his friend is sitting and they both laugh shortly at your expense.

“not teasin’, pretty.” the man infront of you turns his hold so his thumb is under the side of your jaw, the rest of his fingers wrapper around your throat. “we don’t rush things like the little boys you run ‘round with.”

and as to prove his point, akashi pushes a single finger into you, taking his time to press it against your softest wall that he didn’t have to guess to find. if not for it being held up, you’re sure your jaw would drop as the high whine vibrates through your throat. another is added and you’ve lost a sense of where you are, your eyes roll back and you’re pushing your hips to try and force his pace but the hand that you know is holding his still lit cigarette grabs the fat of your ass, holding you in place for him to fuck his fingers into you how he sees fit.

you can hear the sound of imaushi undoing his pants below you but you don’t register why until he brings his mouth to your ear. “spit on it for me, princess.”

obediently, you do, moving with shaking arms to pucker your lips and drop spit onto the head of his cock. when akashi adds the third finger, your arms completely give out and imaushi’s hold isn’t as strong as you’d thought because you fall right onto his lap. you can’t complain, not with the pleasure coiling in your stomach, added with the sight of him pumping his length with your spit coating him.

“how you feelin’, lil’ baby?” the words float from the other end of the couch.

“s’good, ‘kashi, fuck.” he curls his fingers and pushes them deeper than before on your last word making you squeal.

“takeomi,” he huffs and you feel the weight by your feet shift. you’re sure you’d be able to pick up the sound of him unzipping his own pants but imaushi’s hand distracts you with a guiding push towards his now fully hard cock.

you’re granted the sight of his lean abdomen when he slides his own shirt up away from where his dick rests against it. “‘nd call me waka, yeah?”

you mumble out an, “‘kay, waka,” but it’s swallowed by the gasp you make when akashi presses the thick head of himself against your entrance. “‘omi, ‘omi fuck—“ he’s easily bigger than anyone you’ve taken, in girth at least.

“s’wet.” he sucks in a breath as he pushes in slowly, holding your skirt out of his way as he pulls back after every inch he sinks in to ease himself into you. “this for us old men, little thing?”

you moan a sweet ‘mhm’ though your face burns in embarrassment. you force yourself onto your forearms and wrap your lips around imaushi’s cock, the taste of salt diminishing the thought. later you’d think about how pretty his dick was, from the pink of the tip to the veins running along the shaft— veins that you now tongue at while you take more into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him when akashi pushes even more of his thick cock into you and you’re starting to wish you would’ve taken the extra prep he’d been trying to do.

“what a mouth.” is grunted from above you and you wouldn’t believe the deepness in his tone if you weren’t hearing it for yourself. akashi chuckles shortly from where he’s kneeled when he feels you clench around him at what one can hardly call praise.

it’s when he finally bottoms out that his ashes fall on your skin once again, this time on your ass and you choke around the tip hitting your throat when the cherry burns you yet again, making you jump from where your hips were pressed to his.

“dirty girl.” akashi shakes his head knowingly at the way you tighten around him again. “‘nd i was so worried ‘bout hurtin’ you.”

“she like that?” imaushi asks with the most amusement you’ve heard from him tonight, which is still closer to none. but you don’t hear if he gets an answer because akashi winds his hips back and starts fucking into you— the pace isn’t brutal, but is far faster than the one he’d used while fingering you.

you try to bob your head but it’s no use when you’re forced down onto imaushi with each push of the clothed thighs behind you until you can’t breathe anymore and you have to pop off of him. your head falls back on his thigh and your nails come to dig into the fabric of his dark jeans.

“you’re good,” imaushi coo’s, grabbing your hand from his lap and using it to jerk himself off as your eyes flutter. “just be good ‘nd feel good for us.”

it’s all too much, the ecstasy they give you that you’ve never even brought yourself to, how they’re fucking you out farther than you’ve ever been, all while still treating you like glass. it makes your head spin, tears welling in your eyes as the knot in your stomach winds so tight it’s starting to fray.

“‘m close, s’close—fuck, fuck—“ you try to reach beneath you with your free hand, but akashi bats it away.

“c’mon baby, don’t insult me like that.” one of his rough hands reaches around your hip, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers and sends you tumbling over the edge.

all you see is white as the hot static flows through your limbs, the curses escaping both the older men lost over the sound of your own broken moans. their names mix together, whined softly like a prayer repeated again and again as akashi fucks you through your high, groaning as his grip tightens into your plush skin at the way your pussy pulses around him.

“feel so damn good,” his own voice sounds worn and you let out a whimper. “‘gonna take it for me?”

you only have a clue at what he could mean but you nod and babble out ‘yes’ and ’please’ before you truly give it any thought. his speed picks up, but somehow still as gentle as he shove his cock so deep its painful and paints your walls white. it sends your eyes rolling back again just from the sensation.

“shiiiit— put your tongue out f’me, princess.”

it’s a heart racing sight to see how imaushi stares at you with parted lips, chest heaving as he throbs in your palm. you loll your tongue out just as he asked and he nearly instantly shoots his load on it with a silent moan, one that only becomes audible when you lick at his slit before swallowing what coats your tongue.

you’re floating as you’re straightened up by sturdy hands, a different set of hands massage soothingly at your thigh when you’re back upright.

“keep tryin’ with shin’.” akashi scoots to closer, letting you fall and lean into his side, one heavy arm resting along the back of the couch as the other put his nearly gone cigarette back between his lips. “he’s bound to give in.”

“”nd if not, just put it on him.” imuashi squeezes the fat of your thigh as he adds on. “he won’t be able to say no.”

all you can do is smile dumbly and nod. you’re so close to drifting off after such an orgasm and the way they speak so lowly from either side of you nearly lulls you to sleep. the only other thing you can remember before you fall into unconsciousness is the music playing from inside the shop— you wonder how long it’s be on, and why it’s so loud.

you miss shinichiro who finally comes back into the room after keeping everyone out of the hallway after he’d caught sound of your moans. miss the small rise of the corner of his mouth when he sees you all tuckered out and disheveled, the way you snuggle into akashi’s chest and push your leg into imaushi’s hand when he stops massaging at it for even a second.

“she have fun?” he asks his friends as he passes behind where you’re sat, palm falling to rub the top of your head.

“‘course she did,” imaushi answers.

“don’t get stingy when you finally put a ring on it.” akashi blows his smoke opposite of you. “even married women should have fun.”

feedback + reblogs are appreciated <3.

[repost from an old blog]

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #wakasa smut #wakasa x reader #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi smut #tokrev smut #wakasa x you #tokyo revengers x you #takeomi smut #takeomi x you #tokyo revengers fic

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veroniquesboutique · 1 month

Text

Shooting Blanks - Suguru Geto x Reader

Your boyfriend Suguru Geto gets a Prince Albert piercing and makes you wait the whole 6 weeks before you can sleep with him again. You take advantage when the wait is over.

Title: Shooting Blanks

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:

AFAB!Reader, Female Reader, Explicit PV Sex, m-Overstimulation, light bondage, cum shot, creampie, cum eating, Oral Sex f-receiving, multiple orgasms, piercings, pet names (baby & darling mostly) m-Masturbation, consensual voyeurism

Characters & ships: boyfriend!Suguru Geto x Reader

Word count: 4.2k words

18+ Minors DNI!

More explicit below the cut

6 weeks. You had to wait 6 whole weeks to have sex with your beautiful boyfriend, Suguru Geto, as his newest piercing healed. Those weeks were very, very long, and when you received the calendar notification that your waiting period was up today, you almost left work early to greet him at the apartment, but he beat you to it, texting you as you were gathering your things to stay put because he was going to be home late, and it wasn’t worth using the sick time. So you sat down and got absolutely no work done for the next few hours as drool pooled in your mouth thinking about the terrible things you were going to do to him when you got home.

He beats you to it, though, because as you finally get home and slip your shoes off at the door, your boyfriend sidles up behind you and covers your eyes with his large, masculine hands. You hum in enjoyment, leaning back against his chest to feel his body against yours. It’s so warm, and he hulks over and around you, encapsulating your body in his wide stance. He smells of syrupy vanilla and smoky bourbon and shampoo in his long black hair wisping over his shoulders, over your shoulders, tickling your nose as he leans in close to your neck and breaths in deep.

“Hello, my love,” He murmurs, a smile on his lips pressed against the soft skin of your neck, and your body is practically vibrating in anticipation because 6 weeks is the longest amount of time, you think. It must be because it feels like an eternity since you last had him thrusting roughly into you, and the thought alone makes your knees weak.

“Hello,” You purr back, attempting to turn to him to make eye contact, but he follows your movements, keeping his hands covering your vision the whole time, “Something specific you’re hiding from me?”

“Just a surprise,” His voice is already slick with want, deep and rumbling and warm just like the heat radiating from his body.

“I love surprises.”

“I know,” He whispers before slowly starting to lead you into the bedroom you two share. Your steps are slow and shuffling as you try to avoid the corners of furniture that frequently like to bruise your shins, but finally, he sits you down on the bed. He blocks your view, towering above you, and he shimmies his tie off from around his neck. The silky, thin fabric shines in the lamplight as he reaches around you and binds your wrists together. You smile up at him; this territory is familiar, and after this long, anything this kinky is going to finish you in mere minutes.

“This is my kind of evening,” You whisper, starting to lean back, but he grabs you by the top of your head and sits you back upright. He is strong, he is stern, not forceful but commanding.

“You stay here. Sitting like this.” It’s an order, not an ask, so you sit up a little straighter and lick your lips. He finally moves out of your way, and sitting in front of the bed is a single chair. You can’t help but scrunch your face in confusion.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see,” He teases, slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt with one of his hands and grinning at the torture he’s putting you through. You whine a little in desperation and frustration, but when the shirt falls from his shoulders and he flexes just for you, turning at the waist briefly to show off his back, you fall silent in awe. He chuckles and unbuttons his pants and lets them slip to the floor.

Geto is not wearing any underwear underneath.

His cock stands at attention before you, and you gasp, slurping up the drool dripping from your lips, locking eyes with the shiny new appliance adorning the tip of his impressive length.

The look of this piercing against his tan skin is not, on paper, surprising to you. He has other piercings - his earlobes have been done since high school, he said, and he had a lip piercing when you first met him, and he was bragging about how he had gotten his nipples done on your first date. These embellishments to his already perfect skin made him even more irresistible.

This piercing, however, makes a record scratch in your brain. It is beautiful, hugging the tip of his cock like your tongue does when it’s in your mouth, and it makes you want to rub your fingers against it, rub your tongue against it, feel it pressed against your most sensitive bits because he promised he’d do that when he told you he was going to be getting his Prince Albert done and needed a 6 week recovery window without temptation.

He smiles when he sees your eyes locked on his prize. “You like it?”

“I want it,” You whine out, shifting your weight on the bed as the heat starts to build between your legs. What is he doing? Why hasn’t he ripped your skirt, pushed it up to your waist, and slammed right into you?

“Ah, ah,” Geto teases, and finally you peel your eyes up to his, and they are looking awfully mischievous right now. “You are going to watch.”

“Watch?” You ask in disbelief. He wants you to just watch? Has he even seen himself? Does he know how hard that is?

“Watch,” He commands again, letting the words drip like hot honey off his tongue as he sits in the chair, legs spread facing you, his length already hard and dripping and bouncing off his toned abs. Your eyes are glued to his cock, and his eyes are glued to the absolutely crazed look on your face as his hand comes up to grip himself. His thighs tense at just that touch, and a shiver rips through him. “It’s been a while for me too, darling.”

He brings his hand slowly up his length, and he lets his head drop back, and you finally take in all of his body before you. His jaw is tense, and as he gulps down a breath of air, you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and it takes everything in your power to not sink your teeth into his neck. His chest is flushed red, and his arms and shoulder keep tensing as he slowly fists himself. His thighs - his beautiful, thick thighs - stretch out wider, and you have full view as his fingers travel up and down his length, a slick noise from the movements making your body ache for him.

He lets his thumb brush against the piercing, and the feeling sends a shock through him, his neck tensing.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You coo, watching him for a reaction, and he groans, rolling out his neck and brushing against it again.

“So, so good.”

“Am I going to get to watch you cum?” You ask, your voice dark and daring, and he pushes his hips up into his hands with another groan

“You’re supposed to be watching not talking.”

You grin, knowing you’re getting him all worked up. “I just want to taste it, baby. I just want to taste it so bad.” He lets out a softer moan at your words, and his hand speeds up, rubbing over his tip and all the way down his length, and his other hand is gripping the seat of the chair. “Please won’t you let me taste you?”

“You’ll get what you want soon,” He breathes out, lolling his head back up to look at you through his eyelashes. A blush has covered his face as well, his hair sticking to a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes are glued to yours. You bite your lip and nod softly.

“I need it. I need you to fill me up, Suguru. Please, please come fuck me,” You beg, and you watch his pupils dilate and shrink. His grip tightens, and you see the veins throb in his cock in his hand as he drips all over his own fingers.

“Do you really need me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I need you. Ruin me, I need you to ruin my body,” You coax, sitting up on your knees, your eyes flitting back down to his length as he pulses, throbs, twitches in his hand. The tip has become a beautiful violet color, sticky and wet with his mess, and his own eyes flutter close as his breathing stutters. “I want all of it, baby.”

Suddenly, he stands, kicking the chair out from underneath him, and he’s beside you in seconds. He still fists his cock with one hand, but with the other, he pushes you down on your back and slides you to just the right angle under him on the side of the bed. Placing one foot on the bed and the other firmly on the floor, he leans his head back, pushes his hips forward, and lets himself cum.

It douses your body, clinging to your neck and collarbone, the thin fabric of your shirt, staining your skirt, dripping onto the sheets from where it hit your arm, it’s in your hair, and somehow, none of it landed on your tongue, sticking out enticingly, and you are just a little furious.

The anger melts away seconds later when he’s pushing your skirt up to your waist, pulling your panties off in a singular swift movement, pulling your shirt up over your face, pushing your legs wide apart, and burying his cock to the hilt in you with no resistance. You call out, arching your back at the sudden feeling of fullness, but his softening cock hardens right back up inside you, and you can suddenly feel his new piercing pressing against your G spot like its a doorbell, and your tongue goes stupid. You can’t even think it all feels so good.

“Is that what you wanted?” He groans in your ear, enveloping your body with his, and he thrusts once experimentally, and the cry that rips from your throat at how nice it feels after so long would be embarrassing if your legs weren’t already shaking with pleasure. You’re lost in the foggy haze of arousal, unable to say anything to Suguru, simply panting into his mouth as his lips find yours, sucking on your tongue as he starts to pound into you.

“I….need….you…” You moan out of your mouth between hiccups as his hips ram into yours, and your brain turns to mushy white noise each time his tip hits deep into you, spasming all of your muscles into what might be the best orgasm you will ever have.

“You have me, darling, you have me,” He whispers comfortingly into your ear. You arch your back, your jaw wretched and frozen open as you try to pull in air. With an uncontrollable need to get him to fuck you deeper, harder, rougher, more more more, you wrap your legs around his waist and push him into you, and it makes him chuckle so deep in your ear that it vibrates your spine and you have to grip the sheets with your still bound hands to keep yourself tethered to the moment.

“More, please, more,” You moan, desperate, and he obliges, pulling your legs up so your knees are to your shoulders, and this new angle splits you open. You have never felt this full before, and at this point, you’re past an orgasm. Your brain is melting out your ears as your pussy throbs around him, and it pushes him on, slamming into you harder and faster, and your bound hands can finally claw at his thighs under you, leaving red angry marks as you try to pull him even closer

“I’m going to cum again,” He grunts, gripping your hips even harder, and you nod, bobbling your head dumbly at his words

“Inside me, please, please.”

That’s all it takes for him to lose it, and you feel him sputter inside you, pouring himself into you, warming you from the inside, melting you, and makes your toes curl. His face is scrunched in pleasure, and his fingers are gripping you so hard that they’ll leave bruises, but it doesn’t matter because the look on his face leaves you needing even more.

“Again, please, more,” You beg, and it breaks his concentration on the pleasure pulsing through his veins.

“I don’t know if I can go again-” He starts, leaning back, but you push up onto your knees and interrupt him.

“I am going to milk you dry, Suguru,” You declare, determined, as you push him back onto the bed, his head lolling off the end.

“Wait, love, hold-” But you cut him off as you settle in his lap, taking his again softening length and settling it between your slick slit before grinding against him. His piercing is now brushing against your neglected clit, and it feels like your body is on fire with the lightning electricity dancing across your skin at every touch. You can feel his cum dripping out of you and onto him, and when he moans, he looks back up at you with pain and pleasure covering his face, his teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard that it might draw blood. “It’s too much,” He whispers, but you can’t stop yourself.

“I need to fuck you again, Suguru, please, I need more.” You feel your begging work as he lengthens, hardens, grows in your wetness, and you sit up on your knees, and when you guide him into you, Suguru’s hands shoot up to your waist with a cry.

“Gentle, please.”

“Okay, baby, yes, gentle,” You nod, you agree, you babble, but your hips say otherwise as you bounce up and down on his length, speeding up when you hear him whimper and moan and whine beneath you because it is simply too much for both of you. His legs tremble, and you settle into his lap again, grinding against him so you can rub your clit against his pelvic bone and feel him kiss your cervix and you’re wild with how badly you want to cum. “Use your hands, please, please, please-”

And he obliges, taking the thumb of his free hand to press against your clit, and you clench around him in response, and when you see the tears start to bubble in his eyes, it just urges you forward, grinding against him at as punishing a speed as your hips could manage. Your walls are spasming with pleasure, and it ripples up his length, and you can feel his heartbeat inside you. Your pants melt to moans, loud loud moans of his name and curses and pleading for him to make you cum. His cheeks are bright red, so pretty, and his hair is sticking to his wet skin all over his body, and his breathing is harsh as you push him closer and closer to an edge.

“I can’t cum anymore,” He groans, and the bite of his nails in the flesh of your hip is delectable.

“I can,” You let out a soft giggle, and his ab muscles contract at the sound. “I haven’t even once!”

“My love,” He’s nearly begging now, and you can hear the wobble of overwhelmed tears in his voice, but it makes you wetter, faster, slicker, needier.

“I want you shooting blanks at the end of this,” You purr, and as you arch your back and crane your neck to stare at the ceiling, you reach back with your bound hands and palm at his flesh, dragging your fingers up his inner thighs, near the base of his length, gripping at his balls. His knees stutter, his breathing stops, and you feel a weak release deep inside you again.

However, you still haven’t cum, and as he whimpers below you, all you want is more.

You still on his lap and push out your bottom lip in a pout. “Suguru, more, please more.”

He brings his hand up to your mouth, cutting off your words, and he catches his breath, sniffling and sucking back tears. His chest bounces with his sporadic breath, and when he finally picks his head up, he looks barely there, lost in a fog of sex and pleasure behind his eyes. His arm is weak, shaky, and his legs vibrate underneath you.

“Just give me a moment,” He whispers before slowly slipping three of his fingers into your mouth. You take it greedily, licking at his skin, swallowing him down as far as he’ll go, sucking frantically needing more. He smiles up at you, so soft it slows your heart just a tad, before he shifts underneath you, picks you up, and places you on your back on the bed. Removing his fingers, he slides down your body, spreading your legs and resting his head on your inner thigh to stare at your messy, sloppy core. “Let me clean you up a little.”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means, needing exactly what he means, and when his tongue slowly drags up your skin to your slit for the first time, you writhe into the pillows, gripping the sheets as a new flooding warmth of pleasure courses through you.

Suguru’s cock was great, but his tongue did things no one could dream of. Absolutely magical, mind-boggling things, and as he licked the cum dripping out of your opening, it shot the pleasure you were looking for directly into your brain. He is slow and deliberate with his movements, sticking to cleaning you, making sure to lick every inch of skin he can reach. He presses soft kisses to the sensitive parts of you, and you can’t help but pant like a dog in response, spreading your legs even wider for him to reach.

His tongue swirls inside you, dipping deep, and you grind your hips softly against his face. When you look down your nose to sneak a peek of the action, you match his eyes as he watches your every reaction, and it absolutely ruins you even more to know he’s getting off on pleasuring you. You grip your hands into the sheets behind you, humping harder against his face, and he lets you use him to chase your high.

“Suguru,” You whine out, carrying out the vowel into a high-pitch squeal.

He takes this as a sign you’re close, and it’s when he replaces his tongue with two fingers deep and fast inside you and sucks your clit between his lips that you finally lose it. You feel the waves of orgasm finally overtake your brain, and it rushes out of you from between your legs and all over Geto’s face. Your back arches almost painfully into the feeling, and you press your face into the pillow next to you to drown out the loud cries involuntarily escaping your throat

“That’s it, good girl, just like that,” He moans against you, continuing to lap up the wetness spilling from you, and your body convulses with the feeling until your brain is mushy and content.

Unfortunately for you, Geto wants his payback.

Just as you settle into the feeling of finally, finally being relieved of the throbbing need that had been pestering you for 6 straight weeks, you look down at him between your legs and see him gently stroking himself again.

“You taste so good, my love,” He murmurs, and suddenly, you’ve been flipped on your stomach, and he’s positioning you on your knees and spreading your legs wide to fit his overwhelming presence.

“Again already?” You ask, wiggling your hips enticingly, and he slaps your ass in response.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked, and you can feel his length prodding against your sensitive hole.

“Aren’t you a little shit?” You mock back, but you take your hands, still stuck behind your back, and spread you ass cheeks apart for easy access. “I’m all yours, baby.”

And he takes that as permission, pushing deep into you again, and it hurts so good that your toes curl immediately and you see stars in your vision as he bottoms out, draping his body over you and fucking into you with relentless speed. You squeak every time he hits deep inside, your mouth stuck open like a doll.

“I…thought…you…were…tired…” You manage between thrusts, and he rumbles laughter into your ear that shakes you straight down to your cunt.

“And then I saw how hot you are. God, you’re fucking irresistible,” He presses open mouth kisses against you back, his lips stinging your back with greed. It’s when he digs his teeth into your back that you can finally feel the gears in your brain turn, and you yelp a little at the pain. You can feel the piercing rubbing against your walls, making your stomach flutter and your toes curl as it pokes and prods.

“I-I like it,” You mumble into the sheets, and when Suguru lightly hums for clarification, you groan it louder. “I like the piercing!” He buries himself deep in you and kisses the soft spot below your ear.

“Good, that was the point.” Another hard thrust. “Touch yourself, darling.”

He barely even had to ask. Your fingers find the bud between your legs, and soon, you’re frantically chasing another orgasm as his hips rocket against yours. Your walls throb in time to his heartbeat in his cock, and if you thought about it for a while, you’d probably think it was romantic, but right now thinking is hard, and it’s probably for the better that the only thing in your brain is just Suguru’s name like a chant to the Gods.

“Fuck, baby, fuck, you feel so good all used like this,” He moans, massaging the flesh of your thighs with his thick fingers, and you can feel the blood rushing to the irritated skin, your nerves sensitive from his manipulation. You press harder against your clit, and your toes curl with need, a wet moan slipping from your lips.

“So big, Suguru, so big,” You mumble, clenching around him to punctuate your thought, and he stutters at the feeling. You turn to see his eyes roll to the back of his head as he gives you a few more thrusts before falling atop you, kissing you, licking at your lips, biting your tongue. His cock spasms inside you, barely leaking the little he has left to give.

The feeling deep inside is victorious, and it helps push you over the edge to your own final orgasm. It has you screaming out, your whole body vibrating with pleasure that turns your vision white before collapsing from your knees. Geto falls atop you as well, careful not the crush you but fully enveloping your much smaller body. Curling up against him, you moan, almost purring, in pleasure, and he welcomes you to him by wrapping his arms around you.

“That was wonderful,” You whisper, stretching your neck to kiss his nose as he finally reaches around to untie your hands. With a brief rub at your wrists, you shift and turn, wrapping your own arms around his neck. You are as close to him as you physically can be, and sometimes even that doesn’t feel like enough.

“It was a lot, that’s for sure.”

“That’s what happens when you make me wait.”

“It was six weeks!” He scoffs a laugh, disbelieving but still playfully smirking. You laugh too, letting a warmth cover your face.

“I genuinely think six weeks is the longest we’ve ever waited. Honestly, give me a half hour, and we can go again.”

He groans, crossing his legs just at the thought of the feeling. “I’m going to need a few days.”

“A few days?!” Your mouth drops open, and he laughs again at your reaction.

“If I promise to go down on you again tonight, do you think you can make it?”

You purse your lips in fake consideration before giving him an over-exaggeratedly sad nod. “I guess, if you hate me, that’ll do…”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous!” He grabs a pillow and gently bats the top of your head with it.

“All I’m saying is don’t ever make me wait that long again,” You wink, and he kisses your forehead softly, pulling you closer.

“Was it worth it?” He whispers, pressing his hips towards you, and you nod wildly.

“You tell me,” You coax, and you reach down, gripping his cock suddenly in your hand, rubbing your thumb along the cool metal of his piercing. He shivers, pulling away quickly.

“Watch it!”

“Worth it, but I never want you to do it again.” You sigh in relief, wiggling from his grasp to lie on your back on the bed. You spread your legs wide, showing a new slick wetness off to him before shooting a glance over at him, your eyebrow high on your face. “Ready to go now?”

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idyllic-ghost · 7 months

Text

Title: The Royal Gambit

Pairing: prince!Joshua x princess!reader

Warnings: smut, head (f and m receiving), exhibitionism, corruption kink, degradation, praise, impreg kink, p in v action, general filthiness. angst, arguments

Genre: angst, fluff, smut, royalty au, romance

Synopsis: Marriage should be a beautiful union between two lovers, but you did not love Prince Hong and he clearly did not love you. Everything you did, you did for your kingdoms - except when you started meeting him in quiet corners of the castle to take out your frustrations on each other. However, would this relationship be enough to hold together a marriage which your countries depended on?

Rating: 18+

A/N: idk why but all of my royalty au's turn out being super long! i really loved writing this, so i hope it'll be appreciated. also!!! i would be lying if i said i wasn't very influenced and inspired by @heartkyeom 's "be sweet", so please go read that and give it some love (it's an amazingly good hoshi fic!!!!) and thank you to @strawberryya for reading through my drafts and making sure everything made sense!

Word count: 17.7k

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A gasp escaped your lips as you stumbled forward on the slippery floor. Heat spread across your cheeks as you stared down at the black-and-white checkered ground. Everyone’s eyes were on you, and it was most certainly not because of your beautiful dress. You weren’t sure how you ended up tripping, but you had managed to fall over thin air onto the dance floor. You kept your gaze down, not wanting to look at anyone else, and unsure of what to do you decided to stand frozen. Behind you was a wall of people, towering over you like some sort of evil entity. You surely couldn’t push yourself through them to hide - that’d be even more embarrassing. In front of you was a large open floor, couples standing evenly spread out and moving across the black-and-white marble floor like perfect chess pieces. They knew exactly where to go, and exactly what to do. You weren’t good at dancing and, more importantly, you didn’t have a partner. Tears started burning in your eyes, to think that the first ball you go to in this new place would go so horribly. Your nails dug into the palms of your hand through the thin fabric of your gloves. Not a second later, someone grabbed your arm and led you further out on the dance floor.

“There you are. Sorry, I’m late.” The man spoke loud enough for others to hear and led you toward the center of the floor.

You stared at him with wide eyes, unsure of how to act. He was gorgeous; a warm smile, with equally warm brown eyes, and broad shoulders - where one of your hands now laid upon.

“Act natural, okay?” he whispered.

One of his hands was on your waist, high enough to be tasteful, and his other hand held yours. The music reached your ears, as you were finally calm enough to register it. A waltz. Surely you knew how to waltz. Still, you found yourself praying that your legs wouldn’t betray you. Your knees were already shaky, and your feet were tired from standing all evening. The dark-haired stranger moved you across the floor, while you were looking at your feet and counting your steps. His hand moved to your chin and angled your face toward him.

“Look at me,” he said and repeated, “Make it seem natural.”

His hand returned to your waist. Without him holding your shin in place, it was hard to not let it drop again. Staring into his eyes felt like torture - a wave of overwhelming emotions hit you, the biggest one being embarrassment but confusion was a close second.

“Why are you helping me?” you whispered.

“I can’t simply leave a lady in distress to her own defenses.” He flashed a smile.

You didn’t like the way he talked about you, but you couldn’t complain when he had just helped you escape from utter embarrassment. Besides, a handsome man sweet-talking you was an ideal way to spend your night. It wasn’t as if you were going to spend more time with him after this.

“Well, thank you,” you murmured.

The two of you kept conversing in this modest manner; about the art on the walls, and the sound of the music. Futile things. Small talk. You never even learned his name, but it didn’t matter to you. When you said goodbye, he bowed down to you before escaping into the crowd. You were sure you were never going to see him again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You found yourself in the neighboring kingdom Ceadrotia to be sold off. At least, that’s how you saw it. The lands here were prosperous, the soil was perfect, and their harvest was always impressive. However, they lacked in their economic department. You can only win so much from a good harvest, especially when your financial system is practically nonexistent. That’s why you found yourself within Ceadrotia’s palace walls. You were the Princess of the Xaevia kingdom, sworn off to the Prince of the neighboring lands. It was a decision made to get more allies and to support Ceadrotia in their time of need. Your kingdom would give them economic growth and stability. In return, you would get better harvests and the safety of one of the biggest armies on the continent. Nothing could you do to stop this arrangement, and neither could the Prince. His Majesty Prince Hong was known to be a gentleman, but would often play this act in order to win something for himself. He was an altruistic man with egotistical goals. It wasn’t necessarily women that he wanted, for he always treated them with respect, but you had heard tales of the many mistakes no ordinary man could get out of. He was sly, and proud of it too.

After the ball last night, a supposed welcoming ball in your kingdom’s honor, you had made your mind up about him. For Prince Hong had never shown up. He hadn’t greeted you like he was supposed to, which gave you no chance to meet the man before the engagement was to be finalized. Now you’re sitting in the drawing room with the Prince’s mother, discussing meaningless matters over tea, while waiting for your father to finish talking with King Hong. So when your father entered the room with a much younger man behind his trail, you were surprised. If this were to be the King, then how young was the Prince?

“Ah, good! You’re already settled,” your father exclaimed, “Y/N, dearest, I’d like you to meet Prince Hong.”

The young man stepped into the light, and you saw that it was the man from the night before. He looked just as sharp as last night, although now his hair was hanging in front of his face instead of being slicked back. He recognized you, you could see it in his eyes, but he said nothing.

“I thought you were doing business with the King,” you said, without greeting or so much as looking at the Prince.

“Y/N-”

“My father can’t exactly sign any binding documents when he is lying on his deathbed, can he?” the Prince snapped back in a calm manner.

He was ice cold, but he kept up a professional mask.

“Joshua, honey, she couldn’t possibly know,” the Queen said before giving you an apologetic look.

“I apologize if I may have caused any offense,” you said in an irritated tone, “But your Highness must understand that I take the matter of my own marriage quite seriously, and I want it to be handled correctly.”

Prince Hong looked at you with disdain, unlike the way he had looked at you last night during the ball. However, you didn’t move your gaze from his no matter the glimmer of hate in his eyes. He clearly didn’t wish for this marriage either.

“There will be an official engagement in front of the public,” your father interrupted, “It will be held in a week, meaning that you’ll spend this time working on your… attitudes towards each other.”

“And I’ll get you a chambermaid, Princess, as we have discussed,” your future mother-in-law added.

In all of this chaos, it was nice to know that at least your mother-in-law would be pleasant company. The honeymoon days would certainly be a pain since you wouldn’t be able to have her, or anyone else to talk to, around. You thanked her with a warm smile, but it fell as soon as Prince Hong started talking again.

“We will make arrangements for you to get a new dress for the official engagement,” he said nonchalantly, “And I’ll need your finger measurements for the jeweler.”

“For a man who can’t even show up to greet your future wife properly, you sure do make a lot of demands.” You stand up. “I shall take a tour of the palace. I assume you’re too busy to make time for me, so I’ll take a maid.”

Prince Hong was visually taken aback by your blunt nature. He was clearly not prepared for this sort of conversation. Perhaps he was too used to everyone agreeing with him. You were certainly not going to be one of those people - you were set on hating Prince Hong.

Nevertheless, Prince Hong showed you around the castle despite your assumptions about him. Never-ending hallways, with tall ceilings, and the most sublime architecture. You could stare at it for hours if it wasn’t for Prince Hong who insisted on hastily making his way through each room. When he reached the library you had to practically beg him to stop. Large wooden shelves reached all the way up the walls.

“How do you ever leave this room?” you asked.

“When you have other duties it’s easy to forget these things.” He kept on walking, although a little slower than before.

You walk past a set-up chessboard, which seems to be doing nothing but gathering dust. Ignoring his comment and his seeming need to get out of the library, you stopped and sat down.

“Do you play, Your Highness?”

The maid who was chaperoning the two of you hid her giggle behind her hand. Joshua looked at you, somewhat amused but still clearly annoyed. Prince Hong sat down in front of you.

“I was taught the art of a good chess match at a very young age,” he bragged, “I had a chess master for a teacher, and my classes only ended once I could manage to win against him.”

“You talk big, Your Highness-”

“Would you stop it with the formalities?”

“Just play, Prince Hong.” You move your first piece. “Knight to F3. Your turn.”

The prince moves his knight to F6, mirroring your movements. You end up taking out his queen far too early on, with your bishop out of all pieces. He was clearly rusty, and you found it hard to not chuckle at him. When you finally got his king into a corner, you couldn’t hold back your victorious laugh at his disappointed expression.

“Seems you’re rusty, Your Highness,” you teased.

He stood up and smoothed out his suit, then held out his hand to you. Even though the gesture was kind, the bitter look on his face said otherwise. However, you stood up and shook his hand.

“We’ll have to schedule a rematch.” He cleared his throat.

“We shall.” You smiled. “I’d like to see the garden now.”

You took the lead and started walking out of the library, your hands locked behind you and your chin lifted high with pride.

Toward the end of the day, when the sun was closing in on the horizon, dinner was served in the grand dining hall. After the chess game, you hadn’t spoken much to Joshua at all. You had followed him around and ogled at the architecture of the palace, but he hadn’t spoken another word to you. Dinner was no different. Joshua barely acknowledged you, which you were pleased with. If he was half the man he was during the other evening, you wouldn’t mind marrying him. However, his attitude towards this arrangement was clear - and it was not a positive one.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It hadn’t fully settled in that you would be marrying this man - this stranger. That realization came later during the night. While it had been fun to put this man in his place, it was not something you wished to do for the rest of your life. Together with a man who had no feelings for you whatsoever, and who you didn’t care for at all either. Your bed was large and cold. Lonely. You were beginning to feel homesick and you felt so incredibly small in this huge room. Tears began flooding in your eyes as you thought back to your childhood room, the one that you shared with your siblings. It was always filled with warmth and quiet giggles, as well as hushed, silly arguments. You used to be annoyed with your family at times, but now there were no other people that you wanted by your side. The first night of your stay in your future home, you cried yourself to sleep.

That night you dreamt of walking along a corridor in the castle, slowly being chased by people you knew - your family, servants, and, worst of all, Prince Hong. The marble floors seemed to move under you because you could never get to the door at the end of the hall. Behind you, the people pursuing you were shouting. They were shouting at you to come back, to stop - any commands they could think of, really. You could hear Prince Hong mocking you, and it was tempting to turn back to slap him. However, you couldn’t - you had to get to that door. In hindsight, it wasn’t a truly terrifying dream - but it had you waking up in a sweat. You rang the bell by your bed and asked for a cold bath, anything to wake you up.

Your bathroom, which was connected to your room with only a door between, was decorated with gold from the ceiling down to the floor. There was no time for you to appreciate it the night before, but now you were gawking at all of the details. A maid helped you undress and held a towel for you while you stepped into your bath. It was cold, as you had ordered, but you didn’t realize how cold that would be. You almost bit your tongue from just dipping your toe into it, but you still sat down. With a shaky breath in, you dipped your head under the water. You sat there for a few seconds and breathed out bubbles in the water. As soon as your head appeared again, the maid held up the towel for you. You stepped out of the tub and let her wrap you up in the fluffy towel. After thanking her, she left you to your own devices - saying something about breakfast almost being ready, and that she’d get you a proper dress for it. You walked over to the vanity mirror and sat down in front of it. There were a number of delicate boxes on the table for you to use, none of which you were very familiar with. You picked up a lotion and turned it around in your hand.

“Interesting,” you hummed as you opened the lid.

The lotion was velvety to the touch, rich in feeling but had no smell. It was important to not wear anything too fragrant, as your mother had told you before you went on this journey. If a woman were to wear too much perfume, she’d be classified as a harlot. You were unsure of why it was so bad to be a prostitute, as whenever you brought up the subject you’d be rejected immediately. You had the answer to pretty much anything you wanted, but anything sensual in nature was dismissed. It was for your future husband to teach you. Your thoughts were brought back to the task at hand, as you smeared the lotion across your face. Not too much, never too much, as your mother had also taught you. Once the lotion was applied you picked up a hairbrush. You would wait for your maid to help you put it up, but you could brush it yourself. The door opened.

“I have a dress for you, your highness,” your maid said.

“Thank you. I shall put it on now,” you said while looking at her through the mirror. “Would you help me with my hair?”

The maid helped you get ready for your breakfast. You were nervous. It was common for the Queen to eat breakfast in bed, as any married woman would, and neither your father nor the King of Ceadrotia would be present. All of this meant that you’d be alone with the Prince. If he showed up at all.

“May I put rouge on your cheeks, Miss?” your maid asked.

“Rouge?”

“It’s a mixture of strawberries and herbs, used on the cheeks for an innocent glow,” she explained. “I’m sure that the Prince would adore it.”

You scoffed, but let her proceed with putting the product on the apples of your cheeks. You felt slightly ridiculous. Before this, you hadn’t been out in society yet. This meant that you never had to worry about these treatments, and now they were all being thrown at you at once.

“I put some perfume on the sleeves of your dress as well, Miss,” the maid said when she finished your hair, “Violets, it’s a favorite amongst the women of the court.”

You only hummed. Preparing yourself for this might take more than you expected.

You walked down the hall, your heels clicking against the hard floors. Your maid followed closely behind, showing you which way to go. When the doors to the dining room opened, you were met with lonely chairs. This was worse than having the Prince here, you thought as you sat down.

“Has no one called upon the Prince?” your maid hissed at one of the servants behind you.

“He wasn’t in bed this morning,” he responded in a hushed tone.

“Leave him be,” you said loudly, “I’m sure he had better things to do than to have breakfast with his future wife.”

As you ate alone, you thought about your future here. You looked around at the decorating. Would you be in charge of such things? Despite how much your mother had explained to you, you were unsure of certain details of your role as the Prince’s wife and Lady of the castle. Someone prepared a plate for you. Was this hospitality or was it the way things worked in Ceadrotia? Would you never have a say in any decisions? You thought back to your father, who would always ask his eldest daughter for advice on his decisions - until it came to your hand in marriage. He hadn’t been able to look you in the eye, and his expression exuded shame. But it had to be done. An alliance through marriage is an alliance that’ll last forever. You stabbed the cut-up fruit with your small two-pronged fork. The memory of your father giving you the news of your arranged marriage, as if there was nothing you could do to stop it, filled you with a fit of familiar anger. Breakfast that morning was finished in haste, and you left as fast as you could.

You wandered around the castle, the passing staff watching you closely. You were trying to find the library again but had managed to get lost. There was not a world where you would think to ask for help. So you wandered, pretending you knew exactly where you were going. As you approached a pair of doors, two servants immediately opened them for you. It was a room that you had yet seen. Prince Hong had seemingly forgotten. Inside this room, light-flooded freely. The windows were large, and the curtains were open. The walls were filled with paintings, and across the floor, there were statues of the finest marble. Exquisite forms, perfectly posed in front of you. Naked bodies are exposed for you to gaze upon. You wonder if this is what Prince Hong looked like underneath his robes, although you quickly shook this thought away. As you wandered around the room you came upon a door, which a servant stopped you from opening.

“This is the Prince’s office,” he said.

“... is he in there now?” you asked.

“He is, but-”

“Let me in.”

The servant reluctantly opened the door for you, and you stepped inside. Prince Hong yelled something about being occupied. You fidgeted with your gloves, but kept walking into the room.

“I said-” Prince Hong stopped speaking when he saw you. “You.”

“Me,” you said.

“Why are you here? I’ve told everyone to keep you out of this room.” The Prince spoke as if you could not hear him, as if he had no care for what you thought of him.

“Do you really despise me that much?”

“No-,” he blubbered, “I don’t-... this is my sanctuary. I’m alone here.”

“You don’t despise me?”

“Why should I? You have given me no reason to.” He stood up from his chair and walked over to you. “I just don’t want to marry you.”

“And yet you signed the papers,” you huffed.

He was close to you now. It had been fine when he had sat behind his mahogany desk, but when he towered over you it made you feel nervous.

“I signed the papers, not because I am madly in love with you,” he said sternly, “But because my kingdom is in need. My father is ill, I must bring hope back to my people somehow. An alliance with the Xaevia kingdom is what they need, and it is what I will give them.”

You stared at the necklace, the Ceadrotian emblem lying against his chest. A raven with an arrow in its claws. The Prince cleared his throat, and you looked back up to his eyes. He was smiling, proud of making you tremble.

“I want some ground rules,” you said suddenly.

“Rules?”

“Yes, rules.” You took a deep breath. “I want you to have breakfast with me in the mornings.”

“Can’t do,” he said, “I go on my morning rides when you have breakfast.”

“You will have breakfast with me, and we’ll socialize together. If I’m going to marry, then we’ll have to be on speaking terms,” you explained, “I am not asking you to love me, or even like me, but you should at least speak with me.”

“I’ll speak with you.” He said, but when he saw your face he quickly added, “And have breakfast with you.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

He smiled again, and you swore you could hear a faint chuckle.

“Why are you so different?” you asked quietly.

“Different from what?”

“From when we danced,” you said, “You were so… kind.”

“Because you needed it,” he said.

You were taken aback by his words. Needed him? You scoffed in his face and turned your back to him, walking towards the door.

“Get this through your head,” you said as you stopped by his door, “I don’t need you. You need me, your kingdom needs me.”

Prince Hong said nothing as you slammed the door behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The days went on. You and the Prince spoke on civil terms, but never alone. Someone was always there, which kept the hatred at bay. You learned that the Prince enjoyed art, as well as a good sport and that he tended to keep to himself in his office or in his chambers. His mother seemed delighted that you had brought him out of his shell a bit more. Apparently, the Prince only went out if there was a party he could attend. Your welcoming ball must have not been good enough for him to make an official appearance. Despite your complaints about the Prince, he was starting to grow on you. It was refreshing to talk to him, especially when you got to win your small arguments. Breakfast had turned into frequent debates.

“Why shouldn’t I call you that? It’s your title!” you exclaimed.

The two of you had begun talking over breakfast when he suddenly got tired of being called by his title. You saw an opportunity to tease him and you took it.

“I don’t think it's suitable that you call me Prince when we’re going to get married,” he said.

“Ah, but we’re not married yet.” You grinned, “So, therefore, I should continue calling you Prince Hong.”

“What would it take for you to just call me Joshua?” The Prince sighed.

You picked around your plate with your fork, humming to yourself as you thought. Prince Hong was staring at you intently, his gaze practically burning through you.

“A miracle,” you proposed, looking back down at your plate.

“Then that’s going to have to be another rule,” he said.

“Oh, no, no, no…” You shook your head. “That only benefits you. The rules have to be for the both of us.”

Ever since your first rule, the two of you had started making more. There was your rule of socializing. Then, he decided to make a rule that you had to go with him to look over the horses. You agreed to this, it fits with your socialization rule. This back and forth went on, but you only agreed to rules that would do something for the both of you.

“In the end, it would benefit you too, no?” he asked. “Being seen calling me by my name would fall in line with your social thing.”

“Well… sure,” you said, “But you’re doing this to tease me with it later.”

Prince Hong rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. You enjoyed this kind of banter, it made you forget about all of the rude comments he’d throw your way. It made it all seem okay, even though you were about to marry a man who you didn’t care for one bit.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your nightmares had continued, each night was the same. You woke up in a cold sweat and had to take a bath in the morning. However, you learned from your mistakes. Now, you asked them to make your water lukewarm instead of ice cold. Your stress was never-ending, and the closer you got to this engagement to be official the more your stress grew. This wasn’t what you wanted, but what could you do?

A few days before the engagement was to be announced, you woke up once again. This time, it was still dark outside. You didn’t want to call for a maid, it seemed rude to wake them from their sleep yet another night. Instead, you decided to take a walk in the garden for some fresh air. You got out of bed and put on a pair of shoes. Your nightgown was made of thin material, and you decided to wrap yourself up in a scarf before you sneaked out.

The air was thick tonight, warm and humid. It was probably going to rain soon, but you’d just be a minute. You looked past each corner before walking through the halls. It wasn’t difficult to sneak around the shadows of the castle late at night. There were a few guards around, but it just meant that you had to take a longer route. Somehow, you made it out to the garden. Feeling the fresh air against your skin, not just from an open window, was relieving. Maybe you should’ve done this earlier, maybe it can cure your nightmares. It certainly felt like it could. You took off your shoes and put your feet in the grass. It tickled, but it made you feel grounded. You went over to the fountain and shook off your scarf to sit on it. Feeling the cool water grace your fingertips made you smile. This was exactly what you needed. Which is why you weren’t upset when it started raining. You welcomed it with open arms and laughed out loud for the first time in days when the thunder sounded over the skies.

“What are you doing out here?” Prince Hong’s voice echoed out over the garden.

He didn’t startle you. In fact, his presence only made you feel more joyful - someone else could share your happiness for the simple things.

“Planning my escape!” you said with a laugh.

You didn’t have to look at him to tell that he was amused by your delightful mood. However, when you did turn to him he didn’t meet your gaze. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but you thought you could see his ears burn red. You looked down to see your nightgown completely drenched, the thin fabric having become sheer. The dress clung to your form, leaving nothing to the imagination of the man standing in front of you; the curve of your hips, the mound of your breast - everything was on display. You gasped and tried to cover yourself up with your scarf, but the thunder and lightning started you and you dropped the fabric in the fountain.

“Please, have my coat”, Prince Hong said.

You watched him shrug off his coat. His eyes were still not meeting yours, they were pointed straight to the ground. Be that as it may, you were staring right at him. Wearing nothing but an undershirt, you watched as his skin peeked through wherever the raindrops hit the white fabric. Something bubbled up in your stomach when you watched him as he put his coat around your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you said with a shaky breath.

You were staring at that pendant hanging on his chest again. The raven with the arrow in its claw. It glimmered as the lightning struck again. For some reason, the thunder and lightning that you had embraced before, now startled you. You threw yourself towards the Prince, pushing your hands against his chest. Prince Hong put his hands on your waist, keeping you in place. The two of you stood there for a moment, not moving an inch. When the lightning struck again, you let go of each other. The Prince grabbed your hand and started leading you inside.

Prince Hong led you into the parlor, there was a fire lit, and chairs pulled up around it. He sat you down in front of the fire and then got on his knees to feed more wood to the flames. You watched his drenched back work as he moved his upper body. His body wasn’t far from what the sculptures outside his office looked like. When he stood up you shifted your gaze to your hands. Your bare hands. He had held your hands without any gloves. From the new knowledge, your hands started burning and you felt your face go warm as well. Prince Hong picked up a blanket and put it in your lap, then grabbed another one to wrap around his shoulders - much to your disappointment.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He brushed it off, settling down in his own chair. You wondered if he must have sat here before. The many books and papers littered across the table beside him told you that he had attempted to move his office here. You hid your naked hands under the blanket, suddenly feeling insecure. The Prince was watching you.

“Why were you out there?” he asked.

“Nightmares,” you said quietly, “I thought that if I couldn’t sleep, I could take a walk.”

“In the rain?”

“It wasn’t raining when I went out.” You sighed. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Why have you decided to move your entire office into the parlor?”

“Late night work, there’s a lot of paperwork I had to take over when my father fell ill,” he said, “Which is truly none of your business.”

“As your future wife I am-”

“But you’re not my wife yet,” he said with a smug look on his face, referring to your argument about his title a few days ago.

You sighed and leaned back, having nothing else to say to him. When you looked around, your eyes met a wooden checkered box. In between plush pillows and beautiful, carefully crafted, decorations, you found a wooden box that caught your attention.

“Do you want a rematch, your highness?”

The two of you were giggling, spilling your drinks on the wood while you played. The Prince had stored away a bottle of liquor and, despite your years of training to be a proper lady, you were drinking out of the bottle.

“Are you too drunk to see what a giant mistake you just made?” You giggled as you took the Prince’s bishop.

“Maybe I just wanted to be nice to you,” he said as he took the bottle from your hand.

His hand brushed against yours and you felt a giggle bubble up your throat, which you hid with a cough.

“You? Nice?” You scoffed and tried to brush off how good his touch made you feel.

Prince Hong put his lips to the bottle and drank the last of it, which you loudly protested. He only laughed it off, and seeing him chortle made you burst out as well. After he moved another piece, you put the man in check mate. You looked at him with a suspicious glance.

“You let me win,” you mumbled.

“What if I did?” He wore a beautiful loopy smile.

“Did you let me win the other time too?”

“Sadly, no.” The Prince sighed. “But I couldn’t resist this time… you get a sparkle in your eye when you win something. It’s endearing.”

Endearing. Your voice failed you when you tried to open your mouth to speak. You shut your mouth and looked down at your hands for another time. He was being genuinely nice to you. Or was this like the time at the ball? Was he just pretending to keep up an image? Except there weren’t any people here to see him. Just you. All alone with him. No chaperone, no one around for miles it seemed like; no one had come to check on the noise you were making, no one had seen you in the garden, and there was no one to disturb this moment. It all hit you at once. Looking at the Prince, he seemed to have realized as well.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “You look a bit cold.”

Prince Hong made his way around the small table and kneeled down in front of you. His hand pushed against your forehead as he looked up at you. His pupils were dilated, his lips slightly parted- they were flushed red and shimmering from a residue of alcohol.

“Prince H-”

“Please, my Princess…” he begged in a sinful whisper.

“... Joshua.” You took his hand in yours and brought it down from your forehead. “I’m alright.”

You held his hand in yours and pressed it against your cheek. Joshua’s other hand fell on your knee - it made you shiver. Suddenly he looked so desperate. Your eyebrows pinched and you looked down, right where his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hand inched closer up your thigh, making your breath hitch in your throat. Every touch made something ignite in you, but you couldn’t put it into words. You had never felt this before.

“We shouldn’t…” You brought your hands to his face.

“I don’t know what you mean, Princess.” He moved closer to you. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“... I don’t know,” you whispered.

His lips were inches from yours, and you were the one to close the distance. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his soft lips against yours. As you leaned toward him, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards him. Joshua moved back as you moved down from the couch and onto his lap, your legs on either side of his hips. The kiss deepended, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. You had no idea what you were doing, you just followed his lead. His calloused hands gripped your hips. Over the material of your thin nightgown, you could feel the roughness of his palms. And when his hands lightly encouraged your hips to move over his, you did. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The rough fabric of his pants against your core had you moaning against his lips. You pulled away from him, surprised with yourself, but you didn’t stop moving.

“Joshua…” you panted, “Why does this feel so good?”

Joshua stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at you with wide eyes, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. With his strong hands, he stopped you from moving. You whined and protested, but you couldn’t move.

“You’ve never-” He cleared his throat. “Y/N, I don’t think we should be doing this. Not now.”

“No, please, it was good-”

“That doesn’t matter, dearest.” He brushed his thumb against your cheek. “If you’ve never done this before, I don’t want this to be the first time.”

“Please, Joshua,” you begged and clawed at his shirt, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Then you can wait for me, can’t you sweetheart?” he hummed, “I’m going to make you feel like this again, I promise. Just as long as you keep saying my name like that.”

You’d repeat his name over and over again if it meant that he’d continue whatever it was that he was doing to you. However, you could tell he was being serious. He helped you back up and wrapped you up in his coat again.

“I’ll make sure that no one’s outside, wait here for me.”

“Okay,” you murmured.

“Good girl,” he said and left your side.

That morning you woke up sweaty again - this time, however, it was not from a nightmare. You dreamt about the Prince touching you like he had the night before, and you felt something wet pooling between your legs. It was not time for your monthly bleeding yet, so the sensation confused you. You reached down under the covers and cupped your heat over your underwear, trying to remake what he had done to you the night before. It didn’t feel as good as his hips had, but the friction did help to dull the racing thoughts in your head. Moving your hand became difficult, so you began moving your hips over your palm instead. As you began humping your hand, the doors swung open.

“Good morning, Princess!” your chambermaid said happily.

You swore under your breath before greeting her, your secret act quickly hidden away but never forgotten.

Prince Hong did not show up for breakfast. You were furious, to say the least. After asking one of the servants, you found out that your future husband was in his office. So that’s where you went next. Your heels clicked against the floor as you strutted impatiently toward his office. Walking into the art room was way more flustering than it was before. Every statue of a male figure reminded you of Joshua’s wet shirt and his hands against your hips and on your thighs. You turned around to your servants with a flustered face.

“Leave us!”

They all left the room, and you stormed into the Prince’s office. He looked up from his papers, shocked by your sudden entrance. You walked up to your desk and slammed your hand onto the wood.

“What did you do to me?” you hissed.

“Sorry?” The Prince grinned, and you wanted to slap that smile right off his face.

“It feels like my entire body is on fire, you did something to me last night,” you huffed. “What did you do?”

“I apologize, but I-”

“I need you to do it again, Joshua,” you pleaded.

When he heard his name, Prince Hong’s eyes lit up. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the door, looking back at you from time to time. Your breath hitched in your throat as you heard him turn the key in the lock. In a matter of seconds, he was in front of you again. His hands hovered over your hips and, despite towering over you, you weren’t intimidated.

“Do you realize what it would mean?” he asked. “This is something that you’d do with your husband.”

“You are my husband-”

“Future husband.” He interrupted you. “This can be very sacred for a woman like you, I want you to be sure of your actions.”

“Do you not want this, your highness?” You looked down at his lips, and looked back up to his eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to ravage you since I saw you in that ballroom,” he admitted. “Containing my desire has been torture. You have no idea what you have done to me, and you have no idea how much of my energy it takes to loathe you.”

“Let me relieve you, then.” You put your hands on his chest. “I need you to show me how to get rid of this feeling. I don’t care about rules right now. Please.”

Joshua pushed you up on his desk, helping you pull up your dress in the process. You were glad that you weren’t wearing heavy fabrics or many layers today. If you had, you wouldn’t have felt his rough hands travel up your thighs or the cold feeling of the wooden table against your skin. Something that felt so good couldn’t be wrong - and his lips on yours was the most angelic sensation you had ever gotten the pleasure of experiencing. Joshua’s hands urged your legs to wrap around his waist. When you did, he lifted you up and carried you over to a chaise lounge in the corner of the room. He sat down and made you straddle him, just like you had last night. As you began grinding on his lap, Joshua smiled against your lips and wrapped his arms around you.

“You’re so eager,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t you want to slow down?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad I need this. I’m putting aside my pride for this, your highness.” You grinned as you ran your hands across his chest. “I just need you to do whatever you did before.”

“But there’s better things to do-”

You put your pointer finger on his lips and hushed him, making him smile. A part of you still wanted control, even though he was clearly the one with the most knowledge. So you decided what you’d do and when you’d do it, he just had to show you how.

“Show me later, okay?”

He nodded before connecting his lips to yours again. Joshua’s hands gripped your hips, just as he had the night before, and he started moving you over his crotch. You moaned into the kiss. Finally getting what you had been needing the past few hours, you let go of all of your tension. Without you noticing, Joshua had removed his hands and your hips were now moving on your own.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you Princess? Moving all on your own.” His hands gently grabbed at the delicate fabric of your dress. “What a fast learner, I bet I can teach you to do things you can’t even imagine right now.”

You moaned at his words and the feeling of something hardening in his trousers. If you had been in the right state of mind you would’ve died from embarrassment, but something about this made your brain foggy and you couldn’t care less about consequences right now. He began kissing down your jaw, leaving sloppy marks on your skin.

“You like feeling dirty, baby?” He grinned against your skin. “If I knew you’d be like this, I would’ve tried something sooner.”

Your movements grew sloppy, and Joshua put his hands back on your hips. Both of your noises bounced around his office, and the lewd scene of it all made your head spin. Joshua gripped you harder, his fingertips surely leaving marks on your skin. When your head fell onto his shoulder, he chuckled and loosened his grip ever so slightly.

“Tired already, honey?”

“I feel like I’m going to explode…” you stuttered out.

“Good, baby. Means you’re about to cum,” he panted, “You can cum for me, right? It’ll make you feel so good, Princess.”

“Yeah.” You gripped at his shoulders and nodded. “Gonna cum, ‘Shua…”

“Just let go for me, let it wash over you…” He began kissing your neck again.

Something snapped in your lower stomach, and you felt what you could only describe as fireworks going off inside you. Joshua kept moving his hips back and forth until he grunted and stuttered his hips. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while you came down from your high.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Joshua’s hand was stroking your back in a calming manner.

You could only hum in response, your entire body had gone numb and you couldn’t find it in you to reply properly. His laugh rumbled through his chest, and you nuzzled your face closer to him at the feeling. Even though a part of you was screaming at yourself to get out now that the act was done, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Joshua shifted, letting you lay down with your back on the chaise lounge. He sat up, you whined from the loss of contact, and he helped you fix your dress to cover your legs again. When he sat beside you again, he had a strange look in his eyes.

“What?” You smiled and sat up.

“I didn’t think this could ever happen with someone like you,” he admitted.

“Someone like me?”

“You’re usually a lot more high strung,” he teased.

“Excuse you,” you scoffed. “I’m fun to be around- and you can’t deny that!”

“I’m not trying to say anything, Princess-”

“Don’t ‘Princess’ me! You know what?” You stood up from the couch, “This is the last time I’ll do anything like this with you.”

It was not the last time. Prince Hong taught you things about your own body that you didn’t know that you could do. The first time he ate you out, in a secluded corner of the library, you almost passed out from the sensation. Your hand had been clamped over your mouth, your legs shaking around his shoulders as he held you in place when he drew orgasm after orgasm from you. His hand appeared from under your skirt after what felt like hours, your juices dripping from his chin, and he had proudly commented on how “he won” your bet after looking at his watch.

Leading up to the announcement of your engagement, Prince Hong had taught you how to be, what he called, a good slut - a term which you both loved and hated. The day of the engagement announcement you were in his office again, this time under his desk. Your knees were probably bruised, but you didn’t care.

“You’re taking my cock so well, sweetheart,” Joshua hissed. “Who taught you to suck cock like a good little slut, hm?”

Your mouth let go of his cock with a pop, and you continued stroking it. In any other state of mind, you wouldn’t dignify him with a response, but you couldn’t help yourself when your brain was in a fog.

“You did, your Highness,” you moaned.

“Good girl.” Joshua ran his fingers through your hair and made you look him in the eye, instead of staring down his reddened cock. “Are you gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours?”

You nodded excitedly and took his cock in your mouth again, trying to take it deeper and choking on his length. The bit that you couldn’t take with your mouth, you pumped with your fist. The Prince had yet to fuck you, and every day that passed made you wonder if you could actually take him. He was big and even though you hadn’t seen a cock before, it seemed like it wasn’t supposed to be this huge - especially considering how much just two of his fingers filled you up. Much to your dismay, there was a sudden knock at the door. Joshua pushed you under the desk which, thankfully, had a back to it so that the person walking through the door would be unaware of your presence.

“Come in,” the Prince said, making your eyes widen in horror.

You tap his knee, trying to get his attention, and tell him to not let another person in the room. Joshua completely ignored you, and only moved closer to the desk. The person came in and started discussing the engagement announcement with the Prince. You didn’t listen very intently, you were far too busy staring at Joshua’s, still hard, cock. His hands were on the table, unable to reach down and stop you without arousing suspicion. You took the chance at hand and wrapped your hand around his cock again. Joshua cleared his throat to cover a gasp. He kept on talking, so you took his head into your mouth again. Your tongue swirled around his tip before you started sucking him off again.

“Are you alright, sir?” the man on the other side of the desk asked.

“I’m just fine. I suppose it’s nerves.” The Prince managed to joke his suspicious behavior away, but he couldn’t continue like that forever.

You took his shaft as deep in your mouth as you could without making a sound. One of your hands stayed on his cock, but the other started massaging his balls. His cock twitched inside your mouth, and you knew he was close. The Prince cleared his throat again and asked abruptly to be left alone. When you heard the door open and, finally, close you let go of his cock again.

“Fucking slut,” he sighed and looked down to you. “Can’t keep off of my cock, can you?”

“You know I need my mouth filled if you want me to shut up, sir,” you responded with a sudden confidence.

Prince Hong was caught by surprise by your forwardness. A mixture of pride and fear swirled in his eyes as he looked upon his horny creation. You grabbed his shaft again and pumped it slowly, all while you were staring up at him with a smile.

“You can’t be mad at me for doing what I was taught, Prince Hong,” you said, “Especially not when I had such an eager teacher.”

Joshua swore under his breath as he watched you sucking him off. You kept eye contact, urging him to cum whenever he wanted - you would take it all for him. When he came, with a string of moans followed by dirty words, you didn’t swallow his seed immediately. Instead, you waited for him to look at you, and opened your mouth for him to see you before you swallowed. He reached out to touch you and graced his thumb across your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured.

“I win,” you whispered.

Joshua chuckled but didn’t try to deny it as he usually did. He didn’t even try to do anything to “discipline” you like he had tried before. He looked at you with a warm gaze, almost lovingly. Your victory, in making him cum, was trumped by his nearly romantic actions. What this meant was unknown to you.

Later that afternoon, you were preparing yourself for the announcement. You would stand in front of a crowd, beside your future husband while he held a short speech about the future alliance. Then you would speak to the people, talking about how welcomed you felt and how this would be an alliance to last. Your engagement was a symbol of hope, everything had to be perfect.

You were dressed in a traditional gown of your kingdom. It was blue, representing the oceans that surrounded your land and the peace that this alliance would bring. The Prince would, in a similar fashion, be wearing green - representing his kingdom’s many fields and forests. When you saw yourself in the mirror, you wondered if your parents would be proud of your sacrifice.

“Miss, are you ready for the ring?” your chambermaid asked.

You merely nodded and turned to her. The ring had a jewel the size of a pea, which matched the jewels in your crown. A part of you wished that Prince Hong could have given this to you himself. Would it be so horrible if he had just given the ring to you himself? He didn’t have to get down on one knee, but he could have made this more personal.

“You look beautiful,” the maid said.

“Thank you.” You gave her a kind smile, then turned back to the mirror.

There was no getting out of this now, this was the end of the road for your freedom. You told yourself you would learn to love the Prince, it wasn’t as if you didn’t enjoy his company from time to time. You put the ring on your gloved finger, the metal clashing against the white fabric of the glove.

Standing in front of hundreds of people, who were all there to see you, felt less nerve-wracking than you thought it would. You were standing on a stage beside the Prince. Your hands were strategically placed in front of you, one over the other, and making sure that the ring would show. A smile was plastered on your face as you listened to him talk. Your father and your future mother-in-law were standing behind you, also listening and smiling.

“And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful woman.” Joshua gestured to you with a charming smile. “She is truly a symbol of hope for this land, and she shall be cherished as one.”

The last comment made your smile falter slightly, but only for a second. That word, “symbol”, sat with you in a weird way. Nevertheless, your mind is filled with scenarios of what his cherishing would entail. The Prince continued talking, even though you could barely listen anymore. When it was your turn to speak, your hands were trembling. Prince Hong must have noticed this because his hand soon appeared on the small of your back in a comforting manner. You barely remember what you said, your mind was elsewhere while you were speaking. By the look on your father’s face, however, it seemed like you said the right things. When applause reached your ears, and Joshua’s gentle hand began pushing you, you knew to go back inside the castle.

“Good girl,” Joshua whispered in your ear, only loud enough for you to hear.

You felt your knees wobble and a warm feeling spreading in your lower stomach. His hand on your back was burning through the fabric of your dress, but you never wanted him to remove it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Fuck, why did you have to do that to me when we’re in public?” you hissed as he pushed you against the wall of a closet.

His leg was shoved between yours, rubbing against your cunt. You were struggling with the fabric of your dress, pulling it up to give him more access.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Princess.” Joshua grinned.

When he began kissing down your neck, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your hips were moving on their own across his thigh, while he kissed as far down your chest as your dress would let him. He had yet to see you completely naked yet, the closest he had gotten was seeing you in your nightgown.

“Why haven’t you fucked me properly yet?” The words came out of your mouth without warning.

“I have to save something for the honeymoon, dearest,” he joked and kneeled down in front of you, “Be grateful I’m giving you anything at all right now.”

“Screw you,” you gasped as he ripped off your underwear.

You watched with a slack jaw as he put your ripped panties in his pocket. Joshua kissed up your thigh, taking it and moving it to sit atop his shoulder. One of your hands rested in his hair, while the other tried to find a surface that you could stabilize yourself on. As he delved into your heat, you accidentally knocked something off a shelf but at least you found something to hold onto.

“You’re a piece of shit sometimes,” you breathed out.

“Careful, honey,” he tutted and began rubbing your clit with his fingers. “You’re forgetting who’s in charge of your orgasm.”

“I could do this myself, you know,” you huffed.

“Oh really?” Joshua sat back. “Why don’t you make yourself cum for me then? Prove me wrong.”

You ripped off one of your gloves, the one without the ring on, and slid down the wall to sit down. Suddenly aware of Joshua looking at you, your face flushed.

“Are you going to watch me?” you asked.

“What? It’s not like I haven’t seen you like this before.”

He had. Nevertheless, you felt that all of your time spent together had gone to waste. The time that you were supposed to practice for public appearances was spent with way more private situations in mind. Was this really what you wanted?

“Prince H-”

“Joshua.”

“Joshua,” you said and closed your legs, “I don’t mind this relationship- I prefer it… but shouldn’t we try to work on our public relationship?”

He paused and then shuffled to sit up straighter. As soon as you had said it, you regretted even opening your mouth. Joshua’s expression broke you. The sudden cold and analytical eyes were a harsh replacement for his previously mischievous but warm look.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked defensively.

“We’re officially engaged,” you stated, feeling like it was obvious enough to explain your needs.

“What did you think was going to change? That we’re magically going to fall in love because you wear a ring on your left hand?”

His words cut you deeper than you expected his words ever could. It was partly his tone, suddenly changed from his teasing and flirting to the person you met after the ball. You hated this side of him. However, his words hurt because they were somewhat true. You had started thinking that this new side of him was all there was to him, now that you had gotten to know him a little better. That was your first mistake. You stood up, wanting to put space in between you but you were stuck between him and the wall. He stood up as well.

“Is it wrong for me to want love?” You started feeling stinging in your eyes. “I never wanted you. Do you know what I wanted? I wanted to love and be loved in the comfort of my own kingdom. I’m only here for you, and you can’t even bring yourself to like me when you’re not fucking me!”

“I didn’t make this choice either!” he exclaimed, “You’re not here for me, you’re here for my kingdom-”

“I am not a ‘symbol of hope’!” you interrupted. “I’m not a symbol at all, I’m human- why do you never treat me like a person, Prince Hong?”

“As if you don’t do the same to me! Why can’t you see me past my title?”

“Fuck you!” you said, as you fell short on a reply to his counter argument.

The two of you stare at each other, chests heaving. Prince Hong suddenly lept toward you, taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was rough and sloppy. A tear fell down your cheek, and you gave in for a second. For a second he was the man you loved, kissing you for no other reason than the fact that he was in love with you too. You quickly snapped out of that state of mind, pushing the Prince away from you and into the shelves beside you.

“I’m going back home!” you cried, “I’ll plan this stupid wedding from there- but you have to leave me alone until then!”

Prince Hong doesn’t say a thing as you leave.

The carriage that would take you to the nearest coast, where you would take a boat back to your kingdom, was ready for you about an hour after you requested it. It only took half an hour to pack your necessary things and tell your father of your sudden departure. He took it as you expected, with grace, and told you that he’d handle wedding things in Ceadrotia before joining you for a while. The wedding wouldn’t happen for a month, so you had time to relax at home before moving your entire life to another kingdom.

A bumpy carriage ride was not what you needed right now. The over one-hour-long ride was hell, but you’d rather be in hell than stay another minute in the castle of Ceadrotia. You didn’t want to face Prince Hong for a while - what he had said to you hurt, but a part of you also knew that you were in the wrong. A combination of anger and embarrassment flooded your chest and tears flooded your eyes.

Arriving at the coast was relieving, it was a promise of finally coming home. Xaevia was surrounded by the ocean, and water was of high cultural importance. Almost every home had its own big bath, and those who didn’t could go to the many public baths around the kingdom. Water is life, and in Xaevia it was taken very seriously. So your stay in Ceadrotia had been unusual from your normal life. It hadn’t necessarily been bad, but it had only made your homesickness worse.

As you watched your things get loaded onto the boat that would carry you home, you thought you heard someone calling your name. You looked towards the boat, thinking that maybe someone wanted to ask you something about where your luggage should be, but everyone was busy and not even looking your way.

“Princess!”

Both of your guards prepared themselves but quickly went back to their natural position when they saw who it was. Prince Hong was riding toward you, having followed you on horseback. You take your time processing his presence, which is enough time for him to jump off his horse and walk up to you. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were determined.

“We should have the wedding in Xaevia,” he said abruptly, then paused as if he had forgotten all of his words. “And I’m sorry I didn’t realize your sacrifice for me sooner... if you’ll let me, I want to come with you to Xaevia and help you make the wedding that you desire.”

There was complete silence between you. If it weren’t for the ocean waves or the grunting of the men loading the luggage onto the boat, you could have heard a pin drop. The Prince looked to you for an answer, but you were unsure if you could give him a proper one. A wedding in your home country was what you wanted, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him just because of his sudden declaration. Joshua reached up and pressed his hand to his chest, right over his heart.

“I have promised my country a sufficient ruler.” He gripped the fabric of his shirt in desperation. “However, my affection and my devotion will always be with you first. I need you, Princess, and I apologize for hiding behind such a sorry excuse as I did. There is no one else that I could consider being my Queen. I need you there with me Y/N.”

There was no other sound, they had all been drowned out by your beating heart. You stared into Joshua’s desperate eyes. He longed for you, or at least he was willing to act like he did. A part of you still thought of him as deceitful, a devil with many tricks, but you set it aside for now. You took a deep breath and looked over to the ship. They were almost finished packing.

“We’re leaving now.” You looked back at him. “If you truly wish to come with me, you’ll have to leave with only the clothes on your back.”

“I don’t desire anything else than to stay by your side, Princess.”

“Good.”

The boat ride would take a day to complete and, since you had left so late in the day, you’d be arriving in the midst of the night. You were standing by the bow, looking towards where you were sailing. It was already dark, so there was not much to see, but you enjoyed the feeling of standing at the front of the ship. It wasn’t just the view; it was the feeling of the salty air, the sound of the ship plowing through the waves, and the slight rocking underneath your feet. Everything felt so natural to you.

“It’ll get cold soon, Princess.” You heard Joshua call out to you.

His footsteps echoed towards you, each step graceful as if in a waltz. He was a good dancer afterall. You felt the heavy fabric of a wool blanket wrap around your shoulders. One of his hands lingered there, and you put your hand on top of his before you turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For everything.”

“It’s nothing. I want you to be happy,” he admitted. “Even if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind.”

“It’s certainly not,” you chuckled and turned back to look at the sea.

In the far distance, you could see lights, meaning that you were closing in on land. You let go of the Prince’s hand, which led him to let his hand slip off your shoulder.

“It’s enough,” you added. “This is enough for me.”

Prince Hong now stood beside you, looking toward the lights as well. When you looked at him, he reminded you of the many stories of beautiful mermaids and mermen you had been told as a child. Beautiful but devious, although helpful and even generous at times. His emblem of the raven gleamed in the moonlight.

“What does the raven mean? Is your kingdom not known for its soil?” you asked.

Joshua looked down at the emblem and held it in his hand. He inspected it as if it would give him the secrets to its definition, but it didn’t take him long before he answered.

“Many people see the raven as an evil omen. It means death in certain cultures. We associate it with its insight and wisdom. The raven is always there, watching over.” He turned the jewelry in his hand. “They’re said to travel between the world of the living and the dead- they’re our connection to the ones before us. Yes, we’re known for our crops- but I suppose this is our way of honoring our ancestors, of having them with us. We come from the soil, and we’ll go back to the soil when we die- it’s the raven’s job to tell our story.”

He looked at you with an embarrassed smile, clearly feeling like he had talked too much. His hands were perched on the railing of the ship, so you placed yours beside his.

“I think it’s a good way to honor tradition,” you said, “And maybe learn from past mistakes.”

He seemed more relieved now that you had shown your interest. His hand inched closer to yours. You looked up at him. This is the first conversation you had together without throwing petty insults or interrupting each other by pressing one’s lips onto the other’s.

“I hope to show you these kinds of things in my kingdom as well, if you’re up to it,” you said.

“I’d love to,” he smiled.

This was what it was like to try, and you wished you would’ve done it sooner.

The arrival was a blur of happy shouts from your family and many hugs. Prince Hong was slightly left behind, except for a simple “hello” and “welcome”. You were finally home again, and you couldn’t think of anything else. That night you slept well in your old bed, with no nightmares in sight.

As soon as it slipped that the wedding would be held in Xaevia and not in Ceadrotia, your entire family erupted in happy shouts and screeches. The planning began almost immediately, and word was sent out to the people of both kingdoms quicker than you could have imagined. The people of Xaevia cheered for the sudden change and, while there were people who were happy for you in Ceadrotia, not everyone took it as well in the Prince’s home country. It was to be expected, and you didn’t let that slow your wedding plans down.

The wedding was to be held in Xaevia’s royal palace, and your honeymoon would be spent in a castle on one of the islands surrounding the kingdom. With everything surrounding preparations for the wedding, and finally getting to be with your family again, you didn’t have much time to spend with the Prince. You saw him whenever you were working on the wedding together; you picked out the colors together, the flowers, et cetera - all of which surprised you as he didn’t seem like the type who would do this sort of thing. Nevertheless, he was surprisingly good at it.

As you were looking at the different flowers together, you finally got a moment alone. There were guards and servants around, but it was the most alone you had been together since you had gotten to Xaevia.

“You’re not too bad at this, your highness,” you said with a small smile.

“I enjoy beautiful things.” He had a flirty tone, and the look in his eye confirmed it. “You should know that by now.”

You chuckled but didn’t delve into that sort of conversation any further. You had made a conscious effort to not indulge yourself in flirtatious conversations with the Prince because of your earlier sexual pursuits. Even though you wouldn’t mind falling into the same routine, you didn’t want to risk an argument like you had before.

“I suggest the peonies- they’re supposed to mean romance and prosperity,” you said, avoiding the topic that the Prince had tried to bring up.

“Sure, but I-”

“Red roses are beautiful but seem a little cliché, and they’re difficult to take care of.”

“Yes, Princess, but I’d really like to talk about-”

“But I don’t,” you interrupted him again, “If we talk, we fight. So let’s not talk, Prince Hong. Just tell me what flowers you think we should have at our wedding.”

“... Hoary stock,” he pointed to the pink and long flowers, “Beauty that doesn’t fade with age.”

His tone was cold again, but not as cold as it had been during your argument in the closet. It was more of a disappointed tone than anything else. Nevertheless, he was right. The hoary stock would be nice, and you were sure that you could figure out a good bouquet to decorate the halls. The woman taking care of the flower arrangement came back, and you motioned to the peonies and the hoary stock. Now that you were finished you walked out of the room with Prince Hong, but you turned away from each other as soon as you got into the hallway.

The day of the wedding had arrived, and you were shaking from the nerves. That morning had been spent scrubbing you clean and pampering you to get ready for your big day. Maids had helped you put on your white dress and fix your hair. Everything had to be perfect, and you weren’t allowed to lift a finger. When you got out of your bathroom, you were met with a surprise. Your room had been filled with flowers, a supposed gift from the Prince. You were a white dot in the middle of a sea of red. Roses gave the room a pleasant smell, but sitting there alone with them made you feel lonely. The grand gestures were nice, and you were sure that the Prince would continue giving them - but that wasn’t enough for you. It was a marvelous act, but it only showed that he had the resources to do these kinds of things for you - not that he had put any feelings behind them. You felt selfish, but you tried to shake it off.

Since the wedding wasn’t being held in Ceadrotia, and the King was still alive, you wouldn’t be crowned Queen or sworn into your future kingdom. This ceremony was only meant to celebrate the alliance of two kingdoms and the marriage of two people. Still, it was to be held in Xaevia’s throne hall. It was a long, oval-shaped room that could fit around a hundred people - which would all be seated in rows in two lines, with the aisle in the middle of the two. At the end of the room were two thrones, both decorated with white gold and blue, and above them sat Xaevia’s emblem; two seahorses with their backs facing each other, and a sword between them.

“No peeking, Princess!” One of the maids giggled and pulled you back from the curtain.

People had settled in the throne room and, if you looked out to the window on the other side of this small room, the people outside were all waiting for an appearance from the newlywed. After the ceremony, you and the Prince would walk out onto a balcony and greet the people of Xaevia, as well as the people of Ceadrotia who had arrived for this special occasion.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I’m just nervous.”

“It’s completely natural for you to be nervous.” Your mother walked into the room.

With a big smile, you lifted up your dress slightly and sprinted over to her the best you could. The two of you embraced, and she kissed your cheek. You felt yourself finally relax.

“You’re going to shine out there, darling,” she said as she let go of you.

“Thank you.” You smiled. “I’m just happy it could be held here.”

“Well, that Prince of yours is certainly generous. It’s more than anyone else would have done, especially with the backlash he might get from his own people,” she muttered. “But! Not for you to worry about now, darling!”

Your mother didn’t have the best way with words, but you decided to try to forget about the comment. Such things could be taken care of after this wedding.

“The Prince is about to walk down the aisle,” a maid said.

“Then that’s my cue to leave,” your mother said, “I’ll see you out there, darling.”

When your mother left your side, you prepared yourself by the curtains. Your father soon joined you, and you held his arm. The music started, and the Prince walked in. You could picture his charming smile and suave walk, and you shut your eyes tight at the thought of having to look at him while slowly walking down the aisle. When the curtains finally opened, and your flower girl had taken a few steps, you started walking arm-in-arm with your father. Your eyes were on the floor, but you knew it wasn’t proper so you forced yourself to look at your future husband. He was smiling. His formal suit was blue, which you thought was a nice touch, and he wore a crown in a similar fashion to yours. The most important thing to you, however, was the idyllic look in his eyes as he intently watched you walk down the aisle. Maybe it was your imagination, but you thought you saw tears in his eyes.

The song ended and you were standing in front of him. He held out his hands to you, and you placed your hands in his. They were still shaking, but when he started stroking his thumb over the back of your hand you calmed down a little.

“Dearly beloved.”

And the ceremony started.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After the ceremony, greeting the people, and a short celebration, you and Joshua took a boat to the island where you’d spend your one-week honeymoon. It was where you spent a lot of your summers as a child. Stepping foot on the island again, seeing that it hadn’t really changed, was comforting.

“It’s beautiful,” Prince Hong commented.

“Just as I remember it,” you added.

He looked at you with a warm smile, which he had been wearing all day. The Prince seemed to be genuinely happy, and it calmed you down. Your shoulders relaxed, and you took a moment to breathe in the fresh air. As you walked up the stone steps to the castle, he held your hand to keep you steady.

The castle was up on a hill, looking over the ocean. It wasn’t far from the coast of Xaevia, and you could see the royal palace from the beach of the island. Even though the castle wasn’t very big, and the towers weren’t very tall, it was certainly enough for the two of you. The humble stone castle gave you a warm welcome, along with its staff. They congratulated you as soon as you made it through the door. You were lucky that you had changed into a simpler dress before stepping foot on the island, walking up so many steps in a big wedding gown would have been hell - and as you entered the castle, you saw even more steps.

“Where do you want to go, my Princess?” he asked, and now it was really true - you were his Princess.

“The sun’s about to set,” you said, “Maybe we could get settled and then I can finally get to show you one of the many baths in Xaevia.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

He lifted you off your feet in one swoop and began carrying you up the stairs. A squeak escaped your lips, followed by quiet giggles and snorts. Your hands gripped onto Joshua’s shoulders and you pressed yourself against him. You had no doubt that this man was strong and stable enough to carry you, but it was still nerve-wracking.

“... where are we going?” he whispered once he reached the top of the stairs.

“Over there,” you whispered back and pointed to where he should walk.

Joshua carried you like this all the way to your shared bedroom, with the help of your directions, and both of you giggled the entire way. It felt ridiculous to act like a married couple without having had a proper courting season, but both of you leaned into the absurdity of it.

Once Joshua had managed to open the door to the bedroom and walked in, he carefully threw you on the bed. You looked around and saw that your things had already been carried up to the room. The staff works fast. The rustling of Joshua taking off his coat brought your attention back to him. Before you could process anything, he was on top of you and pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi? Is that all you have to say to your husband?” he joked.

“Shouldn’t we go to the bath? The sun is about to set, I want you to see it with a view.”

“You’re all the view I need.” Joshua kissed you again, but you quickly pulled away.

“I’m serious, Joshua,” you chuckled.

You were bothered that he could so easily float into the role of your husband, as if you hadn’t argued and as if you hadn’t had the relationship you had. He couldn’t even acknowledge it, there was no time to just talk about what you had been through together or what the future might hold.

“Okay, let’s go to the bathtub.” He huffed.

“It’s not a tub-”

The two of you arrived at the large pool of water, surrounded by pillars that supported a roof. It had three walls, to protect it from wind, and one side was an open view of the ocean. You had made it just in time to see the sunset, painting both the ocean and the water of the bath in beautiful hues of lilac and red.

“See? Not a tub.” You smiled at him

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, “Did you want to go for a swim?”

Joshua began unraveling his shirt in front of you. You widened your eyes in shock and looked around, but there was no one to be seen here. You were all alone again. He kept taking off his shirt and threw it to the ground.

“Should I help you?”, he asked as he saw that you hadn’t moved an inch.

“... I don’t know.” Was all you could say.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” His voice was sweet and laced with worry.

“Don’t-...” You sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

Joshua took a step towards you, holding out his hands to you like he had during the wedding. You remembered how comforting he had been, and you took his hands. His thumb began gently rubbing the back of your hand again, and you took a deep breath.

“Who says we’re in a fight?” he asked.

“... when we were in Ceadrotia, we ended up fighting during…” You stopped yourself. “I’m sorry, this is stupid. Maybe we should just-”

“No, it’s not stupid,” he assured you. “We fought, yes. What does that have to do with now?”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, “What if all that we can do is fight and… fool around?”

He chuckled at your choice of words but brought you slightly closer to him by pulling at your hands. You took a deep breath and finally looked him in the eye. His kind brown eyes calmed you down.

“You’re my wife now, Y/N,” he said softly, “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you live a good life with me. That isn’t to say we won’t fight, we might, but we can handle it together. I’m sure we can. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded.

Joshua pulled you even further towards him. One of his hands hugged your lower back, while the other held your hand. With a knowing smile, you put your hand on his bare shoulder. He slowly started swaying from side to side.

“There’s no music,” you whispered.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

You put your head on his chest, and his hand that was previously holding yours now met the other one on your back. He hugged you, still swaying slightly, and kissed the top of your head. There was no time present in this moment, Joshua had taken up your entire universe. The feeling of his skin under your hands, his smell, his soft breaths against the top of your head - the only thing that existed was Prince Hong.

“Would you help me take this off?” You pulled away to look at him. “I think I want to go for a swim anyway.”

Joshua smiled and nodded softly. He took one of your arms, running his hand across it until he reached your glove. His fingers gently pulled one of the gloves of your hands, his lips kissing every inch of skin that he revealed. When he finally removed the piece of fabric completely he threw it to the side, looked you in the eye, and kissed the back of your hand. You let out a soft laugh as he did the same with the other glove.

“Turn around for me, my love.”

You did as he said, and turned your back to him. As he began unbuttoning the back of your dress, you realized that he had never seen you without clothes on. Joshua pressed a kiss to your upper back, comforting you without saying a word. You pulled the sleeves off and let the gown fall to the floor. You were left in your corset and underwear. His expert hands worked magic on your corset, and soon enough Joshua had taken it off. With an anxious feeling spreading in your chest, you turned around to face him, your hands covering your chest.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“It would be better if I weren’t the only one naked,” you suggested.

While Joshua pulled off the rest of his clothes, you took off the last you had on and started walking down the stairs of the pool. The water was still warm, and you quickly dove in. When you came to the surface again, you wiped the water from your face and looked behind you. Joshua was waist-deep in the water, looking out towards the view. You watched him without saying anything, taking in his appearance as if it were the last time you would see him. His body looked like it was sculpted by the gods. Broad shoulders, a soft curve from his chest to the lower abdomen, and his muscles being more pronounced with the shadows created by the sunsets - your eyes had been blessed. Joshua met your eyes, and you had to stop drooling over him. Having never seen him naked before, it was difficult to not stare and you had to look away to force yourself to stop.

“You can stare as much as you want, sweetheart.” He walked further into the pool. “I’m all yours now.”

Your body sank down in the water, hiding everything except from your eyes and nose. Joshua swam towards you. Seeing you flustered over his frame clearly made him proud because he had a big grin on his face, showing off his perfect teeth. Was everything about this man perfect? How had you not seen this before?

“Can I hold you?” he asked.

You let the rest of your head peek up from the surface of the water, nodding yes to his questions. Joshua’s strong arms wrapped around you. His smooth skin under the water felt like laying down in a bed of silk.

“I’m happy that it’s you that I get to spend the rest of my life with,” he murmurs into your ear.

You’re unsure of when and why Joshua had turned so soft, but you weren’t going to complain about it. Moving your hands up his body, feeling every curve and crevice, you cupped his face in the palms of your hands. His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, not thinking you’d be so forward. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, leaving him wanting more when you pulled away.

“Are you going to prove it to me, your highness?” you said with a grin, making Joshua scoff.

“Maybe I should just leave you here, hm?”

“Don’t,” you warned. “What do you want me to call you then?”

“Joshua,” you moaned out as your back hit your bed again.

The flimsy towel wrapped around your body had been pulled off as soon as you entered your room, and thrown into a corner. Joshua’s hands held onto your waist while he kissed down your jaw to your chest. Your hands tangled in his hair, and you felt him smile against your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed out, “Please.”

“I’ll do more than that, my love.” Joshua crawled back up to press a chaste kiss on your lips. “I want to take care of you, make love to you.”

Instead of answering, you kissed him again. Hands cupping his face, while he pressed his body against yours. Feeling his skin on yours, his hard cock against your lower abdomen, without any fabric coming in between you felt like heaven. His slow, deep kisses suddenly turned into pecks all across your face and you giggled at the feeling. Joshua was so different from the other times, it put butterflies in your stomach.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Loving you,” he answered. “I want this time to be different. Special.”

“It is, I promise you.”

“Good.” He smiled and gave you another peck. “Is it okay if I do this?”

Joshua brought his hand down to your lower stomach, and you nodded. His fingers did quick work at spreading your wetness around and rubbing your clit before he went lower to insert a finger in you. The sensation was familiar to you, and you didn’t show a very big reaction - you were far too busy with your lips on his. However, when he pushed in another digit, scissoring them and stretching you out, you started whining.

“Think you’re ready for me?” he asked, leaning his forehead against yours

“Yeah,” you hummed.

Cumming around his fingers wasn’t new for you, but somehow he made it feel even better this time. Maybe it was the feeling of complete relaxation that you finally got around him. Joshua began rubbing his tip against your soaked cunt, making you squirm.

“... Shua,” you whined.

“God, I love it when you use my name,” he huffed out and kissed your temple.

He finally pushed inside you, slowly to make sure you got used to the different size. You gripped his shoulders and let out a quiet gasp. The quiet whimpers coming from you urged Joshua to keep going until he bottomed out, and then he stayed there. You felt completely full and unable to move.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, voice slightly strained.

“Mhm…” You nodded. “Are you okay, Shua?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” He chuckled.

Joshua shifted slightly, getting more comfortable, but the movement made you whine. The sheer size of his cock was enough to make you tremble. He looked at you to check in with you, and you answered with a tired smile.

“You can move,” you murmured, “I’ll be okay.”

He answered by slowly pulling out until his tip was almost out of you, the two of you groaned and whimpered at the sight, and then plunged in you again. Joshua’s lips captured yours in a kiss again as he began moving his hips. The tip of his cock hit a spot inside you that made you see stars every time he thrusted into you. Your kiss grew needy and sloppy as your bodies moved against each other. It was impossible to ignore the growing tension in your lower stomach, and Joshua’s hands wandering across your body only egged you on more.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” Joshua mumbled against your lips.

“It’s good…” Was all you could muster to say, your mind too far gone to think.

“Adorable.”

The two of you giggled, you more so because of the rousing feeling in your stomach. It was a familiar feeling, but somehow different this time. Joshua’s bare skin was hot against yours. All of these sensations became too much; his touch, his kiss, his soft moans… it all fired you up until you couldn’t take it anymore. You warned him with one final cry of pleasure, and he came soon after you.

Joshua fell on top of you with a grunt, his cock still deeply buried inside you. You put your arms around him, one of your hands playing with the hair by the nape of his neck. He hummed happily at the feeling, placing soft kisses in the crook of your neck. Adoration filled your heart as he looked up at you again, his big doe eyes sparkling like they held every star of the universe. Over a month ago you despised the man, but now you never wanted to leave his side.

“We should go to bed,” you murmured as you played with his hair.

“Stay still, I’ll help you.”

He pulled out of you, letting out a soft groan. For once you had no trouble doing what he told you to, so you laid still on the bed. While he got the bed ready for the two of you, you just watched him. While he certainly knew that you were watching him, evident by his proud smile, he didn’t look back at you. Not until he decided to move you to lay under the covers. You winced and he cooed at you, tucking you in gently before getting under the covers himself. The bed was big but unlike your bed in Ceadrotia, you didn’t feel lonely or cold - how could it be with Joshua there with you?

“Do you think we made an heir?” you asked in a giddy tone while he cuddled closer to you.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he hummed, “If not, we can always try again.”

“Then I hope that we didn’t.”

You laid on top of him, your head right above his chest. The two of you stayed quiet, the only sound being the wind blowing outside. Joshua’s fingers drew circles on your bare back under the covers. Everything felt so perfect.

“What would you name them?” he suddenly asked, “Our heir, that is.”

“I think I’d wait until I saw them,” you thought out loud, “Holding them in my arms for the very first time, I think it’d make me come up with a name on the spot.”

Joshua let out a soft laugh. You leaned on your elbows to get a better look at him, wondering if he was teasing you. His eyes were closed, ready for sleep. Brushing out the black strands of hair that had fallen in his face got his attention back to you. His eyes fluttered open and looked at you.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you teasing me?” you mumbled.

“I’m not, I think it’s sweet,” he said, “Just like you.”

Satisfied with his answer, you put your head back on his chest. The two of you talked a bit further, saying sweet nothings to each other before falling asleep for the first time as a married couple.

The honeymoon week was spent staying close together. You didn’t just stay in the bedroom, you ended up getting creative with your sex life again - this time without having to sneak around. Going for a swim? Sex by the pool. Have a cute picnic in the castle garden? Fucking on the picnic blanket. Suddenly horny during breakfast? Tell the staff to leave the room because you’re about to fuck on the table. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

However, you didn’t just fuck around for the entire week. You started talking, exploring each other’s interests and minds - instead of just bodies as you had before. Through your talks, you got to know Joshua as he was when there was no pressure for him to behave in a certain way. He was a naturally flirty and charming person, but he was also gentle and truly kind - and you experienced that kindness time and time again.

Good things always come to an end. When you got back to Xaevia, you were met with saddened faces - your parents and siblings wearing black. The King of Ceadrotia had passed away. Everything happened so fast, that you were unsure of what to do yourself. Joshua went back to his kingdom right away, leaving you behind. You were left to prepare for your permanent move to Ceadrotia in the midst of mourning. The wedding was only a week ago, but two entire countries are already clouded with sorrow. You wondered what you could’ve possibly done to deserve it - but shook it off as a selfish thought.

Arriving in Ceadrotia after the death of the King was contrasting from the first time you arrived. No one was smiling, everyone wore black, and the streets were practically silent. Although you had never met the King, you knew of his importance to the people. No, the country wasn’t thriving - but the people still loved their King. Seeing everyone in mourning, feeling their pain, made it difficult for you to understand how to approach the situation.

The worst part of all was seeing Joshua cry. He was sealed away in his office, which is why it was the first room in the castle you visited. Opening the door, you heard quick shuffling and sniffling. You saw Joshua wipe away his tears with a paper towel before turning to you.

“Shua…”

“Please, don’t pity me.” Joshua sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.”

“How can everything be fine, Joshua? Your father-”

“Everything has to be fine,” he snapped, “I have things I need to do, Y/N. Please leave.”

“But you’re in mourning!” you said as if stating the obvious, “You have to spend time with yourself and loved ones to get over this-”

“Leave, Y/N. I don’t have time for this.”

This was not the Joshua you had just spent an entire week with, nor was it the Joshua you had met when you first got here. In a matter of days he had built up a wall around himself, and you didn’t know how to connect with him. You left the room without a fight - you didn’t have it in you to fight with him when he was like this. However, seeing who Joshua could be when it was just the two of you, made you want to try to help.

For the next few days, you didn’t see Joshua. He was working, eating, and sleeping in his office. Every day was spent with worry and sorrow settling deep in your bones. Worry for your husband’s well-being and health. Sorrow for his loss, which was in turn your loss. You never spoke with the late King, but you had only heard good things of him. Seeing the grief of not only your husband but the people of Ceadrotia as well was enough to understand what a loss it had been. However, this didn’t mean that Joshua had to put his health at risk. As his wife, you felt that it was your duty to take care of him - even with his many servants and maids. Only you could take care of his mind.

Seeing the Prince in the dining room was an unusual sight. He was disheveled - his hanging eyelids and puffy eyes were evidence of his lack of sleep, and his unkempt clothing proved that he had stopped caring about his appearance. He sat down in front of you, on the other end of the table, but refused to look at you. Instead, he stared at his empty plate, not even bothering to put breakfast on it.

“Joshua…”

He looked up and met your eyes.

“I’m tired.”

You stood up from your chair and walked around to be by his side. Kneeling down by his chair, you looked up at him. His eyes were teary and lacking in luster. Although you were unsure if he would let you touch him, you reached up your hands to cup his face. To your surprise, he gladly leaned into your palms.

“I know, my dear,” you hummed. “You know that I can help. All you have to do is ask.”

“... will you help me, my love?” Joshua put his hand on top of yours.

“Always.”

While Joshua rested and spent time with his mother, you went on to plan for the funeral. With his guidelines, it was impossible to not do what Joshua had planned all along. The grand hall was prepared with flowers and the magnificent things that the King loved dearly. But it was to be kept simple and elegant. As you planned the funeral, you also began setting up for the coronation. The throne room was prepared for your introduction to the Ceadrotian family, and Joshua’s introduction to his new role.

The funeral went on as it ought to, but even with its success it brought you no satisfaction. It was to be expected, but the layer of despair hanging over all of you laid especially heavy on your shoulders. After the funeral, you went to your room with Joshua. He said that he needed to lay down and rest, and you could only follow. When you watched him sit down on the bed, watched as his entire frame shrank in defeat, you wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But comfort like this could not be spoken with words, it had to be spoken directly from the heart. You sat down next to him, placing a kiss on his cheek and putting a hand on his back.

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t do that right now,” Joshua murmured.

“Do what?”

Joshua looked up with you, his eyes speaking for him.

“No, of course not, darling. I don’t want that either.” You took his hand in yours. “Not everything that I do with you is about sex, you know?”

“... now I feel foolish.” Joshua put his head in the crook of your neck in an attempt to hide his reddened face.

“Don’t,” you warned. “I don’t blame you. It’s all we’ve known, but I don’t want it to be like that in the future.”

“I haven’t even thought about our future…” He put his head in his hands, removing himself from you completely. “I feel like I have already managed to fail as a husband… I knew my father was ill, I knew it all this time. And it still managed to shake me to my core. I crumbled so easily under pressure, I completely forgot about… well, everything else.”

You stood up and walked over to the head of the bed and pushed the sheets aside. It got Joshua’s attention.

“I haven’t changed.”

“Just take off your overcoat and shoes. You need to lay down.”

Without question, Joshua did as you said. Once he had gotten in bed, you got in next to him. The two of you were facing each other, and you did your best to smile when he couldn’t.

“Now what?” Joshua asked.

“Well… do you want me to tell you of my plans?” you asked, and Joshua nodded. “Okay, let’s see… I’ve pictured us a lot in Xaevia. Going on visits, especially to the countryside. I know you’d adore it and… well, the children would as well.”

“Children? Are you-”

“No, no… not yet.” You grinned. “But our potential children would love it. And then I’ve also spent some time thinking about our life here. About you and I spending our evenings here together, about me beating you at chess every now and then.”

“You haven’t beaten me that many times.”

“Enough times,” you said sternly. “We would, of course, take care of the horses together.”

“I miss that,” Joshua hummed.

“Then we can go for a morning ride tomorrow.”

“Good.” Joshua cupped your cheek in his palm. “Thank you, my love. You’ve successfully cheered me up.”

“I’m glad.”

“Would you mind telling me more about our children?” he asked.

You let out a small laugh before you began telling him about your future plans.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽YEARS LATER☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Joshua? Could you come here, darling?”

Giggles and eager footsteps echoed through the grand halls of the castle of Ceadrotia, just on the other side of the bedroom door. Joshua took his attention away from putting on clothes to look at you. He had just gotten back from a bath, his hair wet and slicked back. A smile played on his lips as he walked up to the side of the bed.

“Good morning, my love.” He leaned down next to you, his wet hair dripping over the sheets.

“I don’t know about good morning, since you let me wake up alone.” You held his face in your hands. “But I think you should know that there are a few people who are very eager to see you just outside the door. They told me you need to hurry, they’re very impatient little creatures.”

“Ah well, if they’re so very impatient.”

With long strides, Joshua walked up to the door. The giggles persisted - grew louder, even. Joshua opened the door in a haste. Roaring shrieks sounded across the room, followed by loud laughter. Your husband kneeled down and caught the children in his arms.

“You’re all awfully carefree today,” Joshua said as he gave the two children a morning kiss on each of their foreheads. “And how did you come up with this ambush?”

“Mother helped us plan it!” Your oldest daughter grinned proudly.

“Your mother helped, huh?” Joshua looked back at you. “Always the mastermind behind these schemes.”

You smiled from your place in the bed, waiting for them to attack you as well. As you expected, the two children ran to you as soon as their father let them go. Joshua closed the door behind him, following the kids to your bed. They climbed up and laid down next to you, your son having a bit of trouble getting up.

“I feel bad that our sister can’t join,” your son said.

“She can’t walk yet,” Joshua answered, “But we can go see her in the nursery right after this.”

“Only if she’s awake,” you warned.

“Of course, my love,” Joshua said with a smile. “We don’t want to wake our sleeping beauty.”

“Don’t try to smooth over you leaving me to my lonesome this morning.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He tried to charm you with another loving smile, but you turned to your children instead.

You could feel his eyes on you, as you intently listened to your children ramble on. They always said just what they were thinking, and it was adorable to witness. But even with this sight, you could not ignore your husband for very long. Sometimes it seemed like your husband needed even more attention than your children. At some point, the nanny came into the room and took away the children - finally letting your husband have all of your attention.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes, so what is it?” You shuffled closer to him.

“Am I not to stare at my beautiful wife?” He huffed. “All I want to do is stare at you.”

You let out a short laugh and tried to get up but you were stopped by Joshua, who held your wrist to keep you in bed.

“Stay. We have nothing planned for the day.”

“But the children-”

“Can wait,” he finished your sentence. “Let’s just have a moment to ourselves.”

Joshua leaned up to you, and you met his lips halfway. It was a short kiss, but tender. It left space for the possibility of something more, it lingered in the room.

“Did you mark the calendar for when my bedrest after the baby would end?” you quipped with a quirk of your brow.

“So you are off bedrest?”

“As of two days ago.”

He leaned in for another kiss, this time more passionate, and took the opportunity to crawl on top of you.

“May I?” Joshua played with the neckline of your dress. “I’ll be gentle with you, my Queen.”

“I can’t say the same for me, my King.” You grinned, pouncing on the man on top of you.

#svthub #seventeen #kvanity #svt #kpop fanfiction #svt fluff #joshua seventeen #joshua imagines #joshua x reader #joshua hong #bee buzzed εїз✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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