#you feel it hit and slide into your boots
Text
thank you - g.t.
Garrick Tavis x reader
Garrick shows you how grateful he is that you saved his life, and how much he missed you while you were apart. Or, what caused all those sunflowers to sprout in the hallway.
part of Garrick and Angel’s story (fits into what was I made for?)
words: 4.0k
🏷 NSFW. set during IF, but no spoilers in this one. this is 4k of straight up sex. afab reader who is referred to as a girl a few times (I cannot write smut without at least one "attagirl" in there, I'm sorry) makeout, groping, fingering, unprotected piv (don’t do that), a lot of swearing from Garrick lmao, fluffy lovey future talk, several I-love-you’s and a casual marriage proposal in there somewhere, aftercare and cuddles 🥰 still working on my smut skills, so pls be gentle with me hsfdj
As soon as the door closes, Garrick’s hands are all over you; pulling you close and kneading the plush of your hips, smoothing over your sides. He’s just groping you, for lack of a better word, but it feels good and you don’t want him to stop.
“Gare, what are you— oh,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his lips trailing over your jaw.
“M’ reminding you,” he says, placing a kiss behind your ear, “that I am very much alive,” another kiss to your neck, “and showing you how thankful I am that you saved my life. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” you manage, already out of breath. “That's okay.”
“Good. Now just relax for me, angel. Let me do the work, hm?”
You stutter out an uh-huh, already feeling yourself start to slip into that familiar soft and fuzzy headspace, ready to be taken care of.
He settles into your desk chair like he owns the place, parting his legs and tapping the space between them. “Foot up.”
You rest your boot on the edge of the seat, letting him pull at the laces and slide the shoe off, dropping it onto the floor with a soft thud. You start to move your leg down, but strong hands close around your calf, his fingertips pressing into the tight muscle through the fabric of your pants, silently working out the knots. You sigh softly, feeling the tension slip away.
He taps the back of your leg twice, and you switch, setting your other boot on the seat. He takes his time with the laces, loosening each row carefully before removing it, continuing to massage away the soreness from the morning’s workout.
Another two taps, and you lower your socked foot to the floor.
He guides you forward with a strong hand on each of your hips, until you’re standing directly in front of him.
You’re mesmerized by the soft look on his face as he slowly starts to remove your arsenal, setting the few small blades behind him on your desk in a neat row — Failsafe last, and the most gently. You didn’t realize he knew where they all were, but then again, he knows everything about you.
He starts to peel away your uniform, slipping off your flight jacket, which now bears the proper Lieutenant’s insignia to match his, dropping it next to your boots.
You’re hit with a wave of self-consciousness as he helps you out of your shirt. The last time he undressed you like this, you were in his room at Basgiath, nearly five months ago, and in that time you’ve no longer been forced to overexert yourself every day, no longer in a constant state of fight-or-flight… you don’t look exactly how you used to.
Your worries face quickly, brushed away by his soft words and the gentle brush of his hands over your skin.
“Missed this perfect body so much,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his hands settling on your waist. “So soft, so nice to hold, to kiss…”
He unbuttons your pants with ease, guiding them down your legs and smoothing his hands over your hips, letting you step out the rest of the way and kick them aside along with your socks. He presses a few soft kisses to your tummy before he pulls back.
“C’mere,” he coaxes, patting his thigh.
You climb into his lap without hesitation, the chair creaking under your combined weight, but that’s the least of your worries — he’s still wearing far too much clothing.
He’d said that he wanted to do all the work, but he doesn’t protest as you tug at his shirt, untucking it from his pants; he just gives you that smug grin you adore, slipping it over his head easily and tossing it aside.
You will never tire of the sight of him shirtless, all that thick muscle on full display, his relic contrasting with his pale skin so beautifully, curling up his arm and onto his shoulder…
He has a few new scars on his sides, ones you know weren’t there before you were sent to Resson — a long, shallow slice on his left and what you really hope wasn’t a stab wound on the right. Both are fully healed, and likely too old for you to do anything about them, but you still reach out to trace them with gentle fingertips; a soft, loving touch, an acknowledgment of his pain and a silent apology that you weren’t there to heal them for him.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he begins quietly, anticipating the soft lecture you always give him whenever he comes home injured.
You lean forward to give him a soft kiss. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
You rub your hands over his sides for a moment, admiring the planes of muscle, the definition and strength under your palms. You dip your fingertips into his waistband, intending to undress him further, but he stops you, a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist.
“This is supposed to be about you,” he says playfully, nudging your nose with his.
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just let me love you.”
“Always.”
You sigh happily as his lips connect to yours again, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. You’d missed being this close to him, missed the hours you would spend just like this, sitting in his lap, giving each other lazy kisses.
His fingers hook into the leather cord around your neck, tugging on it gently, and you move back to let him pull it up over your head. He holds it carefully, setting it on the desk with your knives.
In the few days that you’ve had it back, you’ve gotten used to the weight of the runestone hanging there, and you feel a little anxious in its absence despite it being only a few feet away. You touch your fingertips to your chest subconsciously, feeling only warm skin and the beat of your heart.
He realizes what’s wrong, reaching behind him to take it off the desk and put it back where it belongs, but you shake your head no, putting your hand down.
“I’m okay,” you reassure. “Just feels a little weird being without it.”
You know he understands — he was the one who had the idea to make it into a necklace for you after you’d refused to put it down for days, nearly spraining your hand from constantly gripping it so tightly. He’d been enraged when he realized Varrish had taken it from you.
“Just let me know if you want it back, okay?”
You nod, your noses brushing with the movement. “Okay.”
“Attagirl.”
His hands settle back on your hips, his head dipping down to kiss over your heart where the cold stone would normally rest, just above the tight binding you wear every day. He hooks his fingers into the hem, pulling it down slowly until your breasts spill out over it.
“Missed this,” he murmurs, sliding his hands up your ribs to knead at your chest. “So soft, so nice to play with…”
Your breath catches as he starts to rub his thumbs over your nipples, soft brushes back and forth that send a pleasant, tingly feeling through you.
“Sit up a little for me?”
You straighten up quickly, adjusting your position in his lap with a few more concerning creaks from the chair that you choose to ignore.
He leans down, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple, and you clap a hand to your mouth, trying to keep quiet — your friends are in their rooms across the hall, and you’d be mortified if they heard you.
He pulls back, brushing his hands over your ribs soothingly. “I put up a sound shield, angel. You can just let it out. Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make.”
With that, he leans in again, licking at you the same way he does when he goes down on you, alternating between soft laps of his tongue and sucking gently, right where you’re most sensitive.
You whine softly, rocking your hips against his in search of friction.
He hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t stop, just switches sides, continuing to suck and lick and squeeze, keeping one hand on your back to hold you steady while you squirm in his lap.
If patience is a virtue, then Garrick Tavis should be sanctified for all eternity.
You don’t think you’ve ever been this needy in your life, this desperate for something, anything, to lessen the ache between your thighs. You know that he needs this as badly as you do, you can feel how hard he is through the thick fabric of his uniform, throbbing underneath you, but he isn’t going to let up any time soon -- you haven’t had the chance to do anything like this for months, being clear across the country from each other; he’s going to take his sweet time with you.
You’re about to ask if you can speed this up a little when he finally pulls back, kissing his way back up your chest before he stands up, walking you toward the bed. You squeak, clinging to him tightly, but he keeps you in place, strong arms hooked under your legs as he crosses the room.
“I’d never drop you, angel,” he murmurs, laying you back against the pillows and sitting by your side. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know,” you whisper, gazing up at him.
“Good,” he says softly, giving you a sweet, chaste kiss. “Comfy?”
You hum in affirmation.
He rests a hand on your thigh, and you part your legs on instinct, knowing where this is headed. He gives you a smug smile. “Eager, are we?”
Your cheeks warm in embarrassment, but you don’t deny it — you’re very eager for him to touch you where you need it most.
“Relax for me,” he soothes, slipping his hand beneath the hem of your underwear and starting to circle your clit with gentle fingertips.
You sigh softly, settling a little deeper into the cushions and letting your eyes fall shut.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and you don’t doubt that — you’ve never felt more overwhelmed with love for Garrick in your life than you did today — but it also makes every touch, every kiss, that much more intense. You haven’t felt this good since the last time you were with him like this, in his room at Basgiath, but this is even better.
There’s something about his touch that feels so much better than your own, no matter how many times you’d tried to recreate it yourself while he was away.
Maybe it’s the feeling of his fingertips, the skin a little rougher than yours from all his extra training, or the thickness and length of his fingers, filling you so nicely and reaching that special little spot so easily, pressing up against it and sending gentle waves of pure pleasure through your body. Or maybe it’s the tenderness with which he holds you, the gentle hand cradling your cheek and the taste of his lips as he kisses you slow and sweet, or the warmth of his body against yours, all that soft muscle to rest on, and the smell of his cologne…
Whatever it is, there’s no comparing it to just your hand and your imagination — you had stopped trying entirely after two very disappointing attempts, unable to get yourself there on your own no matter how long you tried. But now, after less than two minutes, you can feel your muscles tightening, feel that pressure building between your hips, your heart racing…
You’re nearly there, and Garrick knows it. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers to ground you, and resting his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.”
You make an effort to deepen your breaths, shutting your eyes and focusing on Garrick; the feeling of his hand holding yours, the softness of his touch and the warm glow of his presence beside you.
You gasp, a rush of energy flowing through you a split second before you tighten around his fingers, crying out his name.
He feels it too, hears the soft rustle of leaves around you as all of the small potted plants you’d taken inside to save from the winter cold start to grow, leafing and blooming across every available surface.
He looks over his shoulder, amused. “That’s new.”
Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, your heart still racing as you come down from your first orgasm in four months. “Sorry,” you stammer reflexively, stunned. “I had no idea that would happen.”
“Don’t apologize, angel. It’s cute. And I like seeing you feel good. Like hearing it, too.” He strokes his hand over the curve of your hip soothingly.
“Anything hurting?” he asks, gentle concern in his eyes. Since you told him about the pain your signet had caused you, he’s been checking in with you multiple times a day, especially after any form of physical exertion.
You shake your head no. “Never better,” you say with a lazy smile, still catching your breath.
You fight the sleepy feeling that’s already settling into your bones- it’s been a long day, and he’s succeeded in wringing all the tension from your body, but you still want to please him, dote on him the way he did for you.
It’s been so long since you’ve been able to please him, after all your time apart and how tired you’d been your entire third year with all those long shifts at the infirmary. Getting on your knees for him is the least you can do after that earth-shattering orgasm he gave you, and he’s always so gentle with you when you do, holding your hair back and praising you all the while… the thought has you pressing your thighs together with need.
You sit up, reaching for the waistband of his pants, but he takes your hand in his, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “If you’re up for it, I’d really like to make love to you right now instead.”
You flush at the words, nodding your permission a little too eagerly, and he laughs, giving you another soft kiss before he pulls back to take off the rest of his clothes.
No matter how many times you’ve seen him like this, you still can’t help but stare. All the hours he spends in the gym with the boys and all those crack-of-dawn leadership runs have seriously paid off — his entire body is coated with plush muscle, and it’s undeniably attractive.
You take the opportunity to pull off your underwear, tossing them to the floor before he climbs back up, settling between your legs. His body covers yours completely, broad shoulders taking up most of your vision, but you don’t feel caged in or trapped; you feel safe, protected, loved.
“Hi,” you whisper, blinking up at him.
He smiles, your nose brushing his as he leans down to give you a soft kiss. “Hi, my love.”
He braces himself on a strong forearm by your head, one hand smoothing over your thigh and hooking under your knee to raise your leg over his hip.
You can feel how close he is to you, the slick glide of his cock through your wetness, stroking up and down and sliding over your clit.
“Please, Gare,” you whimper, shifting your hips in an effort to get him to stop teasing. “Need you.”
“You have me,” he replies, resting his forehead against yours. “You’ll always have me.”
Your breath hitches at the feeling of your bodies finally connecting. He’s worked you up so well that he could just sink right in, but he still takes it slowly, inching deeper and deeper until every little bit of space you have to offer is taken up. You fit together perfectly, like you were made for one another.
“I mean it, angel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to give you the life you deserve,” he continues. “You do so much for everyone. I just want to take care of you, take that weight off your shoulders and give you a place to rest, protect you from all the hurt in the world, keep you safe and warm, show you how much I love you… That’s all I’ve wanted for years.”
He draws back ever so slightly, moving forward, and your jaw drops in a soft gasp. You can feel his heart beating against yours, feel just how genuine every word is. It’s almost overwhelming, feeling the whole room teeming with life and love, that warm energy that’s enveloped the both of you.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” you whisper, as if you’re afraid that saying it aloud will make it come true. “When I saw you like that… it felt like the world stopped turning. I don’t know if I could live without you.”
“You’ll never have to,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you for the rest of our days. It doesn’t matter where we are — here, or that godsforsaken school, or anywhere on the continent; you’re home to me. You’re my safe place, where I can let my guard down and relax, where I can feel what I need to feel.”
You reach up to hold his jaw, guiding him down into a kiss; wet and messy, broken up by your soft gasps, but loving, grounding.
He’s starting to slip, to lose his composure — he needed this just as badly as you did, and it feels like heaven for both of you. “Gods, angel, you feel so good,” he pants, picking up the pace. “Needed this so badly, missed this so much…”
You’ve very rarely seen Garrick out of breath; not during his workouts, nor flight training or anything else — only when he’s so deep inside you like this, chasing the release you both need so desperately.
He reaches down to stroke your clit, gentle little circles that make the pressure build faster, intensifying everything.
“Gare,” you whimper in response, not presently capable of saying much else — not when your mind is this hazed with pleasure and all the sweet words he’s whispering to you, all the promises he’s making.
“I know, angel, I know,” he pants. He does know, knows that those soft little pleas and the way you’re tightening your grip on him means you’re right there, that if he keeps doing what he’s doing, it’ll make you cum again, and that’s exactly what he plans to do.
There’s nothing he loves more than watching you like this, so close to the edge, all soft and wet and brainless under him, looking up at him so fucking prettily, pure adoration in your eyes; completely at his mercy, but trusting that he’ll take care of you, that he’ll be gentle and loving— and he always is.
That’s why you chose him.
“I love you,” you pant, finally forming words.
“I love you too, angel. I love you so much,” he breathes.
You hear it again, those rustling leaves and blooming flowers, but this time there’s the sound of breaking pottery and falling books along with it.
Neither of you let that distract you, your eyes still locked on each other’s, hands still clasped together tightly as he continues to rock his hips against yours, continues those soft little circles on your clit until you shatter, your eyes rolling back and sweet little whimpers pouring from your lips.
Cumming on his fingers was nice, but this is so much better -- feeling so whole, your heart and your lungs and the deepest parts of you filled with Garrick’s presence, feeling him pressed against you after so many nights apart…
It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. You hold him impossibly closer, your fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders and your legs wrapping around his hips, wanting him to stay like this, nice and deep, rocking into you so deliciously, his entire body pressed up against yours.
You can tell he’s right there with you -- his grip on your waist has tightened, his rhythm faltering and his breaths shaking.
“That’s it, angel, just like that,” he rasps. “Feel so fucking good wrapped around me like this, taking me so well… missed you so much, my perfect girl, my soulmate… I can’t wait to marry you, to call you my wife, settle down with you… oh, fuck,”
You tangle a hand into the dark curls at the back of his neck and yank him down for a kiss.
He struggles to kiss back, gasping and panting against your lips as he nears the edge. It doesn’t take long before he stiffens, his eyes rolling back with a gorgeous little moan as he spills into you.
With a few slow rocks of his hips to ride it out, he collapses onto the mattress beside you, winded. “Gods,” he pants, his arms shaking from the prolonged effort of holding himself up. “that was…”
You laugh, tilting your head up to give him a soft kiss. “Yeah. It was.”
He slips an arm underneath your back and rolls you both over so you’re laying on his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. You rest your knees on either side of his hips, keeping him tucked inside your warmth a little while longer.
You can feel your combined sweat and arousal dripping down your thighs, but you don't have it in you to care about that right now — he’s tired you out, but not in the way that the school had; no, he’s relaxed you so deeply that it’s bordering on hypnosis. A soft, fuzzy kind of tired, sweet and sleepy and safe. You focus on the warmth of his body and the slowing rise and fall of his chest underneath you, trying to match your breathing to his, to synchronize your heartbeats.
He strokes a hand over your back, from your shoulders to the base of your spine, up and down, up and down. “You okay, angel?” he asks softly, sounding a little worried.
You nod your head yes against his shoulder, cuddling into him further and closing your eyes. “M’ perfect.”
He laughs softly. “Damn right you are.”
Your cheeks warm at the praise, as if he hadn’t spent the last hour telling you just that.
“We made a bit of a mess, huh?”
You turn your head to see the state of your floor and the desk — overgrown with tangled vines and flowers, many of the clay pots having shattered from the rapid growth of the roots inside. The wall to your left is covered in ivy, wrapping over your bookshelf, many of the volumes having been knocked to the floor.
A physical testament to your love, of the growth and life you’re capable of when you have each other -- and a giant mess that you are absolutely not going to deal with tonight.
“I’ll clean it up in the morning,” you mumble, your cheek still pressed into his shoulder. “jus’ wanna be with you right now.”
He hums in acknowledgment, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.
“Gare?” you ask quietly.
“Yes, my angel?” he answers, fighting a yawn.
“I want all of that, too,” you say softly. “The settling-down stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you answer, closing your eyes and picturing it. “A house of our own, with a giant garden where I can grow every kind of flower on the continent. And an apple tree, so I can make pie every year for your birthday.”
“Two kids,” he adds sleepily. “A boy and a girl. And a couple of dragons.”
“Someday,” you sigh. “But until then, I’m happy staying right here.” You nuzzle your cheek against his chest, over his heart.
“Someday,” he murmurs in agreement.
You both hope that day can come soon.
#Garrick and Angel#garrick tavis#garrick tavis x reader#fourth wing#fourth wing x reader#fourth wing smut#reader insert#smut#18+#mine
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
you and 09!ghost were never really on good terms, things were always frosty and cold between you two. missions kind of connected you guys but that was notning special, it was the same with everyone else on the team so you wouldn’t really consider that extraordinary.. until something happened.
the location was already bad enough — georgian - russian border, what a blessing. a part of the task force was supposed to clear the house hidden in the woods in hopes of finding makarov as this was one of his possible hiding places. you could only hope for the best.
the mission didn’t turn out to be a success, though. the area was cleared and you shot what felt like hundreds of soliders, yet there was no sign nor trace of the man that the whole world was looking for — vladimir makarov. roach was downstairs copying the files from the central computer he found there, but it was taking extremely long and you just couldn’t help but start exploring the house out of boredom.
your heavy gear was sticking to your body like a soaked towel, your body sweaty from all the stress that was put on you. the wooden floor was creaking under your military-issue boots that were so uncomfortable on your feet after such a long day. however, after a while, you heard the sound of another pair of boots knocking against the probably rotten wood, making you turn your head and look up. ghost. it’s ghost.
“impressive. you did really good,” he mumbled under his breath, though he didn’t seem like he was actually serious. to be honest, you didn’t even know what he sounded like when he was dead serious. the balaclava on his face always somehow filtered the tone of his voice and you couldn’t guess what could be going on in his mind.
and the next thing you remember is him pushing you against the wall and slamming his lips against yours, the fabric of the skull-print balaclava obviously being in the way. both of your saliva made a little spot on the soft cotton, and what a funny touch because you imagined your panties looking the same — with a silly little wet spot on it. he held you tightly under your butt with one arm, your back against the wall so it would be easier for him to keep you up in the air.
just like that, he was already reaching down to your panties. unzipping your pants with shaky, gloved fingers as he seemed incredibly desperate. he circled the wet spot on your undies, outlining it with the tip of his finger as a horrible excuse of foreplay. just moments later he was in his pants too, needily taking his rock-hard cock out of his boxer briefs and not wasting any time to pull the fabric covering your pretty cunt aside, almost immediately sliding into you.
it was really weird that he didn’t say anything. it all just happened and it was weird. you laid you head into the crook of his neck, fingers gripping the gray wool-ish texture of his pullover. at first he only slid in with his flared tip but then seconds later he pushed more of his length in, letting you feel the raw weins on his slightly curved length. he was huge and you were sure that he would hit your cervix the moment he bottomed out inside you — and that was why you began protesting with soft little sounds coming out of your mouth, tiny and silent moans of his rank slipping out. not ghost nor simon, not even riley. you felt ashamed that the only thing coming out of your mouth was just “lieutenant, please..”
“ssh, we don’t want roach to hear you downstairs, do we?” he asked almost silently, but you could tell that he was holding back a few gruff grunts too, judging from the way he breathed. “do we, sergeant?”
“no. no, no. but it’s so-“ and you had to swallow the rest of your sentence down because of how you could almost feel his tip leaking inside you with every word you painfully uttered out. it was messy and sticky, the lewd sounds your pussy kept making were basically reverbating off the walls. and it was all dripping down into your panties, small droplets sliding along your slit and soaking into the thin fabric. “nasty..”
“fuck..”
and as soon as he mumbled that curse out, you heard a pair of boots againts the wooden floor — one that sounded identical to your and ghost’s ones. shit. shit!
looking over ghost’s shoulder you had to blink thrice to confirm that what you saw was indeed real. roach stood there in the doorway like a deer in the headlights, his goggles pushed atop of his tactical helmet as you could physically see his adam’s apple bob from how hard he gulped. he held a few papers and an usb memory stick in his hands, fingers shaking as he slightly raised it up in to the air. “it’s- it’s done, sir-“
#i love writing biblically accurate cod smut :3#cod#call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost smut#ghost mw2#modern warfare 2
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)
Epilogue: Choosing My Confessions
Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.
You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same
AN: Mild spoilers but this is the hurt/comfort aspect. If you'd rather hurt/no comfort, then leave it at the previous chapter.
Chapter 10 // AO3 Version // Masterlist
Weighed down by a worn-out fleece, John Price dragged himself into the lift of his apartment building, hitting his floor button with one knackered pointer finger, his other hand refusing to drop his bag until he was inside his bedroom. Tomorrow, he’d spend half the day soaking in a hot bath with a flannel on his head, air heavy with condensation and the smell of cedarwood. What a welcome for the new year. He counted each of his breaths each level he was taken above. His toes were stiff with chills in his boots, wriggling to get some warmth in his bones before the stroke of midnight.
Sliding in between the doors, he grunted whilst fidgeting in his pockets. At last, his key came free and it slid into the door - awkwardly, so he made a mental note to oil it later into his shore leave. The door slid open. John instantly withdrew his pistol, using the muzzle to push the door open further. A quick evaluation showed the additional cylinder lock still functional.
Abandoning his bag outside his door, John silently prowled into the front room, expecting anything: unturned furniture, ransacked drawers, an identical gun pointed straight at him, anything.
Except for the large lump he spied tucked up on the couch.
The maroon throw blanket that usually rested over the back of the sofa was curled around a sleeping body. John pivoted around, his gun still raised until he saw the face poking out the blanket’s edge. Then his arms slacked, the gun still safe but loose in his grip by his thigh as he laughed under his breath.
He reached across to the side table and flicked on the lamp. Its golden glow highlighted the scar on your cheek, a new one gained in the nine months since he’d seen you last. Your chest was rising and falling with little snores accompanying each motion.
Once he’d retrieved his bag, John slung it to the floor beside the almost identical one at your feet. He debated over what to do next. Eventually, he landed on clearing his throat.Your head lifted instantly, your soporific gaze meeting his equally tired one.
“Hello, stranger,” He said, his voice hoarse yet kind.
“Hi,” You replied, rubbing your eyes before waving a hand at the front door, “Sorry, I waited an hour before I picked the locks.”
So you had gone through the motions of getting his address but not his phone number. Not for the first time in his life, John questioned your train of thought. Then he remembered what he put you through for a decade and decided that hypocrisy was not the goal of the evening.
“Waited longer than I would’ve,” He huffed then used his foot to carefully nudge your overnight bag, the onehe knew you could live out of for a fortnight if push came to shove.
You didn’t notice, or chose not to, instead asking, “What time is it?”
“Uh,” John checked his watch before taking it off, “Half eleven.”
You nodded in acceptance but made no further effort to talk, looking down at your hand fidgeting with the throw rug in your lap.
Sensing you didn’t wanna get into the reason you were sleeping in his sitting room yet, John offered you a helping hand, “You can take my bed. We can save the shop talk for tomorrow.”
Your hand in his, hauling yourself up, grip tougher than it looked, you moved past him, leading the way to the bedroom, “Thanks.”
John didn’t ask how you knew which door it was behind. Rather, he sought refuge in his en suite, shedding his clothes and finding the energy to bother separating them into his divided laundry baskets. It was all he could handle not to fawn over you being in his home and your reason. You always were a curveball in his life, keeping him on his toes. Opting against the effort of shaving, he washed his face and pulled on his pyjamas.
Somehow, the image of you slotting in your earplugs and seeming stiff in the middle of the ice cold bed tilted John’s world off its axis all the more. You whispered a good night to him, which he returned, then he moved away, out and onto the couch just as you had done. His feet poked out onto the armchair, but he didn’t bother covering them in the throw. Instead, he focused on the ceiling, flat and smooth with boring white paint.
Sudden cheers caught his attention, echoing from outside. Faintly, he could make out the numbers descending.
The bellowing of “zero” brought flashes of red and yellow lights slipping through the gap in the curtains. They irritated the white paint with splashes of unpredictability. John’s mind switched up, despite his deep breathing, and he swiftly closed the blinds behind the curtains, shutting out any sign of the new year from his sitting room. Slipping back under the blankets, his body tensed against the few echoes of explosions that made it past the double glazing. He despised every second his body betrayed his intentions, putting him in work-mode in the comfort of his home when he could normally flip the switch without a second thought.
After about ten minutes, John pushed to sit up and groped around the sofa cushions for the remote. Grounding himself amidst the sounds with the images of the sparks showering around the Thames had to be easier than this.
Outside, some drunkards singing Auld Lang Syne clashed with the sporadic and delayed fireworks and the arid display on his TV set. It did little to convince his amygdala that he didn’t need five exit strategies on top of the ones he already had in place. The only reassurance was that, if something were to happen, this would be a nice place to go – with you nearby.
A dim shadow in the screen turned John’s head to see you and how you’d found his dressing gown, donned it accordingly.
You spoke before he could. “Can’t sleep. Where’s your tea?”
When you held up your hand to his attempt to get on his feet, John began pointing out the cupboards needed for your quest. His twisted spine didn’t complain; you brewing for two nondescript mugs was far more fascinating than whatever revelries were going on in some London stadium or recording studio. A soft thanks crossed his lips as you passed one mug to him over the back of the couch.
“Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year. What you watching?”
“BBC concert. Wanna watch with me?”
“You’re so fucking-” You let out a huff, then you hit him lightly with the dressing gown’s cord: “Polite.”
With a short yet deep belly laugh, John patted the sofa cushion beside him, “Never been called that in my life.”
“Don’t make me do it again then.”
Still, you moved around the couch and sat in the space offered to you. A healthy distance cushioned between John’s legs and yours.
Temptation to ask about what you’d been doing the past nine months blended well with the milk and tea – it was “tomorrow” after all. The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall out in such a casual way to mask the impact of your reply, whatever it would be. You couldn’t just be here and not have something to say.
Your earplugs, nudged neatly in place, protected you from the stray fireworks outside and from noticing John’s runaway train of thought. It was almost peaceful to watch Rick Astley and Rylan (of all people) bop about on stage with warmth in your hand and at your side. Just enough to settle your stomach, you sipped your tea and absorbed the warmth through your palms.
In a move categorised under “high risk, high reward”, John unfolded the blanket he had been sheltered under and held up the corner in your peripherals wordlessly. You tried not to let this action derail your intentions as you tucked in closer to him to lay that portion of the blanket over your lap.
Three inches of suffocation between the two of you yet goosebumps extended from your arm hairs to feel the hum of his blood beating through his veins, like your body needed proof you were really next to him and not just a daydream you’d conjured up each time you debated if you regretted your choice or when you’d revisited the situation in therapy numerous times. This feeling was no doubt mutual. John Price had the patience of a sniper, but you were dangling him off a precipice whilst he waited for you to explain yourself.
Knocking back another sip of tea like it was whiskey, you asked, “I’m not keeping you up, am I?”
“No. No, you’re all good.” John told both truth and lies. Yes, you were fine being here. But you’d kept him up many nights, not just this one.
He zeroed in on your wrist as you leaned forwards to place your mug on the only other coaster on the coffee table. A new tattoo of a lit match sat beside his callsign’s artwork, the flame’s linework a nice contrast to the helmet’s bold yet fading black. So much of John’s attention was on the inked pairing that he almost missed what you said to him as you sat back into the couch.
“I think I’m ready to try and work things out with you.”
John wasn’t the kind of man to double take at something shocking. His body was built for earthquakes, absorbing all shockwaves, no swaying, sturdy and reliable. But the phrase he’d hoped to hear all those months ago sent tremors off the Richter scale. Twice glancing at your complicated expression, your words sank into his head with a sluggish pace he was unfamiliar with.
“What?” He asked, his heart beginning to pound and pine for confirmation.
You gave him the privilege of looking right in your eye as you repeated yourself, as steady as before:
“I’d like for us to try working things out. I’m ready to move on from that and I’d like to do that with you, like you asked me to back in March.”
A lot of Nerve was needed to pull this stunt off. Good thing you were known for it. The old times, so far away, waved to the new ones you’d just told him could exist.
Eyelids pressing shut to stave the mist that filled them, John’s chin met his chest as his head gave into gravity. His voice had gone AWOL. Maybe you were gonna be in the habit of making his speechless, but he wouldn’t care if you did if it meant what you said was God’s honest truth.
Meanwhile, you were starting to tremble with the effort you’d made to come here in the first place. All the decisions you’d opted for, rehearsals with your therapist and in your head, led you to sit in front of him and say with the integrity of your soul bared that, after months of absence, you were willing to try properly. And you were met with a stoic stern man sniffling.
“Am I too late?” You said quietly.
John sighed, drawing himself back up to show you the smile breaking out on his face, “Never.”
First time in years, your tears were not brewed in agony and his presence hummed in your veins. Reaching for your hands, John’s snapped together with yours like magnets. It wasn’t enough. Almost instantly, you had climbed into his lap and wrapped yourself around him until you could strangle each other with your iron grips. You felt nauseous with relief. John’s nose stuffed into your neck, his entire body bloating as he breathed you in with his burly arms firm against your back.
The smallest gap between you so that he could look you in the eye. His thanks fell from his lips over and over, like water tumbling down a fissure, for giving him another chance. Through his gratitude, he could see in the glass of your eyes how much you’d worked to get to here – to him, for him. Because of damage that he’d caused. The best thing anyone had ever done for him, and he didn’t deserve it. But he would take it in this rough reunion, too overcome to do more than just sink into one another.
Far from the same, from before, from a normal steady relationship that would survive under normal circumstances, especially considering you’d be shipped back out to Urzikstan in three days. But God, you knew you’d made the right choice coming back at this point in time. You’d take every second with him now that you could.
---------------------------------
AN: And that's it! I finally finished writing a fanfiction series. Thank you for reading and engaging with it on here and AO3. I really appreciate everything. Thank you again also to @mockerycrow for the original concept and allowing me to write this inspired piece of writing. Onwards, to the next fanfic!
Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe
#john price x reader#john price fanfic#captain john price x reader#captain john price fanfic#john price#captain john price#cod#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod x you#my writing#series#r: gn
26 notes
·
View notes
Photo
A Big Yawn by mharoldsewell
Gentoo Penguin (Pygoscelis papua)
#Gentoo Penguin#penguin#bird#shit missile#i worked with this species and they aim for the crack in your boots#you feel it hit and slide into your boots#10 hour shift with penguin shit between the toes#they don't pay zookeepers enough#at least they're not asshole like chinstraps#Pygoscelis papua#Pygoscelis
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
ruined.
LN x fem!reader - 4k celebration
based on this request!
in which, why wouldn’t they fall in love?
back with another celebration request! thank u anon, love this one sm! so tempted to make something longer form outta this one omg... lemme know what you think of this, hugs hugs hugs
i had to reupload this! sorry if you already interacted :(
songs to set the mood: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas, you are in love by taylor swift, sofia by clairo, till forever falls apart by ashe and finneas
warnings: 18+!! minors go away dni!! smut, fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, voyeurism? kinda? friends to lovers, mutual pining
3.4k words
“i bring gifts!” you call out, throwing the keys on the side. you shuffle your feet against the doormat, awkwardly balancing the bottle of wine you hold in one hand and the box of pizza in the other. it doesn’t help that you feel like the michelin man, bundled up in a jacket and a scarf. you kick off your boots, leaving them haphazardly in the hallway.
“in the kitchen.” lando shouts back, and you trudge towards the sound of his voice, sliding around in your fluffy socks.
“i hate all of those stupid little cars that everyone in monaco seems to drive.” you tut, sliding the pizza box across the counter, the bottle of wine clinking against the granite.
“even my jolly?” lando pouts. he’s waiting with two wine glasses, even though you’ll drink most of the merlot while he scrunches his nose up in distaste, but this is routine, standard procedure.
“i do miss the jolly, to be fair.” you give him that much, grinning playfully.
five minutes later, your coat and scarf are long forgotten, slung over one of the high chairs that line his breakfast bar. you’re in the living room, sprawled on one end of the couch, him on the other. your feet rest in his lap and the pizza box rests across your knees. some series you’ve been trying to watch for weeks is playing on netflix, but you aren’t really paying much attention.
“so, you’re telling me,” you pause to take another bite of pizza, swallowing between giggles, “you’re telling me that you heard oscar through the wall?” you choke.
“yeah, i’m telling you! little oscar is definitely not… little, from what i heard.” he cackles. “and then afterwards, bless them, they were all dishevelled and he would not make eye contact with me.” lando explains, both of you a mess of giggles.
“oscar piastri, what a minx.” you shake your head in disbelief.
“as if that’s what i needed, by the way! the dry spell was not helped by whatever him and lily were getting at.”
“dry spell? you? don’t lie to me, norris.” you kick him gently.
“what? i’m serious! start of the season has been so busy, haven’t had time to… get busy.” he wiggles his eyebrows and you roll your eyes.
“welcome to my world, you prick.” you tease, kicking him again. you catch his ribs as you do, knowing full well you’ve hit the prime tickle spot.
“what’s your excuse?”
“excuse you, i’m a busy gal! we can’t all be famous jet-setting f1 drivers.” you feign offence, and he grins toothily.
“i meant,” he starts, speaking slowly as if you’re stupid, and for a third time, you kick him, a tad harder than the last two times. “you’re a catch, how are you not getting laid?”
you pray he can’t see the way you’ve gone pink.
truthfully, he’s the damn reason. how can any man live up to the one and only lando norris? how can anyone compare to your best friend? world famous, beautiful, down right hilarious, beautiful!
lando’s the guy that picks up the pieces every time some loser breaks your heart. he’s the guy who’s key you keep on your overflowing keychain, the guy who buys duplicates of the skincare products you use, so you can keep them at his place - you still laugh every time you remember the first time he tried to pronounce salicylic acid. he’s basically your guy, but after 10 years of friendship, you’re not willing to tell him that.
“just… not.” you shrug, tucking your hair behind your ear. he hums in response, sounds like he doesn’t believe you, but he drops it.
you sink three glasses of red, the pizza box is on the floor, and your eyes are drooping, heavy.
“bedtime for you, methinks.” lando whispers, gently shifting your feet from his lap. you frown, missing his touch already. you make grabby hands at him, too comfy to move on your own. “want me to carry you?” you nod lazily, a smile stretching across your face.
he slides one hand under your legs, the other under your back, and hoists you up. he holds you close to his chest, your head resting against his heart, so close that you can hear the soft thrum that keeps him warm.
“thank you.” you murmur as he places you softly on your- his guest bed.
“anytime, honey.” he smiles down at you. he thinks you’re so pretty like this, so sleepy and cosy. he fights the demons that tell him to crawl into the empty space beside you. “there’s some water here, sleep well, love.” he walks away, reaching the door when:
“love you.” you coo. he shivers. you always say it, and he always says it back, but lately, it pains him.
“yeah. love you too.”
lando pulls the door to quietly, leaning against the wood for a moment trying to compose himself.
-
it’s been an hour, and you’re sobered up, wide awake in the dark.
you try to fall asleep, really, you do, but your mind is moving a thousands miles an hour, and all you can think about is his dry spell. your dry spell.
how can you sleep when you know he’s on the other side of the wall, as needy as you are for a warm body. you also know that you’ve soaked through your underwear. you’re wildly uncomfortable, restless, desperate for a sweet release, whether that be of sleep, or something else.
you can’t ask him, it would be a step too far, despite how torturously close you already are. so instead, you drive yourself insane with the thought of him; the image of him, head thrown back, slick and sweaty, cock hard in his hand.
what’s the harm in helping yourself out?
you’re throbbing, hot all over. you lose the war with yourself and your hand trails shamelessly down your body. you’re so sensitive that you’re instantly stifling moans, hand slapped over your mouth. you can’t get the earlier image out of your head, and you pray he’s on the other side of the wall thinking about you. you’re desperate, bucking your hips into your hand, aching for a release. you wish your hands were lando’s, big and rough, toying with every quivering part of you.
you have an idea, a twisted one, the kind that almost sends you over the edge. what would happen if you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, if you tore your hand away and cried out like you wanted to? every shred of rationality leaves your needy body.
you’re whining, clear as day. your resist calling out his name as your high builds, tweaking your clit between your fingers. you’re so dangerously close, hovering right on the edge. that’s when you hear it.
on the other side of the wall, your vision of lando has become a reality. your faint whines through the wall have him rock hard, fucking his own hand. he wishes it could be yours, and with the way you’re crying out, he doesn’t think you’d oblige to sitting on his lap, wet and pretty, and letting him sink his cock nice and deep.
but he can’t cross that line. not with you. it doesn’t matter how badly he wants you, how he’d go to the ends of the earth for you. one night wasn’t worth ten years of friendship, washed down the drain.
his hand speeds up, his head thrown back, at the same time as you slip two fingers inside of yourself. you fingers curl, hitting deep when you hear a throaty groan sounding from the other side of the wall.
you’d think a millionaire would have thicker walls.
he hears the exact moment you cum, a noticeable change in your sounds. they’ve gone up an octave, breathless, and before he can even register, he’s spurting thick white ribbons that land hotly on his skin.
you clean yourselves up, rooms apart but the same exact things running through your minds.
i just got off to the sound of my best friend.
-
you nibble the crusts of your toast. the kitchen is quiet, painfully so, and the air is still.
lando has his back to you, making you another cup of coffee. he’s forgone a shirt and you try your absolute best to ignore the warm glow of his skin. he looks radiant. you know why; orgasms can do that.
“lando-“
“we don’t need to talk about it, honey.”
“um, i was just gonna tell you that you’re burning your toast.” you snicker.
“oh, fuck.” he slides along the floor to the toaster, burning his fingers on blackened bread.
when he turns to you, he’s tinged red, grinning bashfully.
“moving on.”
“i need to get home but dinner later? i won’t stay the night.” you wink. you crave the normalcy that once was, the light, teasing nature of your friendship.
“i’ll cook.” he’s still blushing.
“ooh, on second thought.” you suck air through your teeth, pulling a face.
“get outta here.” he sticks his tongue out at you.
-
dinner was… well, it was edible.
he made spaghetti and some kind of sauce, one that you couldn’t quite work out the contents of but it was good enough.
“thanks, lan.” you smile softly, helping him clear the few plates off the table.
“anytime, honey.” he replies.
you’re standing at the sink, placing the cutlery down when you feel him behind you. you spin around, instantly regretting it, because you’re caged in. he’s leaning up to reach into a cupboard, frozen. so, so close. his panicked breath fans your face and you can feel the heat of his body.
you lean in, because why wouldn’t you? and so does he, so, so close. your hand that rests on the edge of the sinks moves so that you can reach out and cup his disgustingly perfect face but then-
a knife that had been hovering between the counter and plunging into the soapy hot water gets nudged over the edge by your clumsy hand and clatters against into the bowl.
the irritating noise springs you both back to reality and he jumps away like an orange cat. you grimace at the awkward tension, and he scratches the back of his neck. and then you’re laughing, hard, and of course he joins in because this situation is utterly ridiculous and your laugh is so beautifully contagious.
“oh my god, what is wrong with us?” you wheeze through the laughter, leaning back against the counter.
“last night was… insane. and now everything feels weird so, let’s just go back to basics.” lando smiles gracefully. you nod.
“that sounds absolutely perfect.”
“netflix?”
“and chill?” you chime in sarcastically. he glares at you. “couldn’t help it.” you hold your hands up in faux surrender.
-
you don’t know when you fall asleep, but you conk out, head lulling against his shoulder when you do.
he haunts your dreams, fingers thick between your thighs while you whimper his name. you must be out of it, so deep in your slumber that it takes lando a good few coos of your name to draw you out of it.
when your eyes shoot open, he’s looking down at you, a single curl falling over his forehead, taunting you.
“you dreaming of me?” he grins, something in his eyes that snaps you out of your grogginess.
“wh-why?” you splutter, sitting up. he’s still so close to you, coy smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips,
“kept making these little sounds, panting my name. got me thinking.”
“about what?” you whisper.
“how much i wanted to pin you to that bed last night and make you cry for me.”
“is this gonna ruin us?” your voice trembles with a unique blend of fear and anticipation.
“after last night? baby, we’re already ruined.”
his lips meet yours, tentative for just a brief second, and then it’s passionate, warm, lightning. his hands are firm on your body, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no other option but to clamber into his lap. your hands find his hair, tugging wildly until his curls are a disheveled mess, pulled every which way.
“you’re so beautiful. want to tell you all the time but-“ lando mumbles into your mouth, urgent and hushed.
“but friends don’t do that.” you cut him off.
he pulls away from you, his nose bumping yours. his eyes are so blue today, sparkly.
“i think we’re more than that.” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “i think we have been for a while.”
“yeah.” you pant. “yeah we have. yeah.” your eyes dart between his and his kiss swollen lips.
and then you’re licking into his mouth, sighing at the relief. he paws at your waist, warm hands sliding under your jumper, gliding over your hips and up, up, up, until he’s dragging the material over you head and tossing it carelessly to the side. he kisses over your collarbone, licking and nipping while his hands smooth over your bra. he plucks at the fasten, and you relax as it snaps open, and the straps slide over your shoulders.
“is this okay, angel?” he whispers.
“perfect.”
his thumbs trace over the curve of your breasts, teasing your nipples gently, enough to send shockwaves through your body. you’re subconsciously grinding down on him, dragging your hips over his crotch, mouth dropping open when you hear the way his breath catches in his throat.
“driving me insane, honey.” he gulps, rolling your nipples between his fingers. “need to get inside of you.”
“hurry up then.” you sound desperate to your ears, delicious to his.
“do you know how hard it was to stay in my room last night? when i could hear you making those pretty little noises? you’re so bad.” he tuts, lifting you off of his lap and laying you back against the couch.
nimble fingers undo your jeans and you jolt as he slides them down your thighs, intimate touches on intimate skin. you lace your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, and you moan into his open mouth when his fingers trail beneath your underwear.
lando dips his fingers between your folds, groaning as soon as he feels where your wetness has pooled in your panties. you’re intoxicating, he thinks, and he’s starving for you. he pries his hand from between your legs, lapping at his soaked digits. his eyes fall shut, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks.
your taste sparks something within him, and he wriggles onto his belly, resting in between your thighs. he toys with your panties, just for a second, and he can’t help but latch on. he laves his tongue over the growing wet patch, eyes fluttering shut. he drags your underwear to the side, lapping over your cunt messily.
“taste so good.” he slurs into your pussy, depraved and ravenous. you buck your hips, the sensation of his words sending rumbles of vibrations to every one of your nerve endings.
you writhe against the plush couch, sinking deeper between the cushions as he fucks his tongue deeper and deeper, burrowing his face as far between your thighs as he can go.
“lando, ‘m so close.” you gasp, tugging hard at his curls, taking your nails across his scalp. he whimpers, whimpers, at the sensation and that’s enough to finish you off.
he keeps going, kitten licking you through your orgasm and you pant, nothing but white behind your squeezed shut eyes. you have you drag him away, overstimulated and twitching against the silvery grey fabric of the sofa.
“fuck.” you laugh, breathless.
“good?” he smirks.
“shut up and come here.” you make grabby hands at him, and he clambers over you, smiling wide, his lips coated shiny and red.
“you’re pretty.” he coos, licking his lips clean.
“so are you.” you whisper.
he collapses on top of you, urgently slotting his lips over yours. he slides his hands all over your frame, memorising every dip and curve, while your hands find the waistband of his joggers. you push the material down his hips gently tracing his hip bone; he shudders at the graze, kicking the fabric away and wrapping his hand around his cock.
you glance down, taking in the sight before you. he’s thick in his own hand, red and slick already, as he runs his hand over himself.
“you want me?” he manages to ask through gritted teeth.
“please.” you whine, reaching to replace his hand, but he bats you away.
“patience, baby. wanted you like this for so long, you can wait a few seconds.” he scolds, condescendingly.
you don’t get a chance to talk back, because he’s sliding inside of you, nice and slow. your eyes roll back at the delectable stretch, he’s bigger than you’ve had in a while, and you hum lowly. he kisses over your throat and you can hear his shaky breath fanning your ear. you’re fluttering around him, adjusting to him with small circles of your hips.
“do something.” you beg, hushed and breathless.
“you think you can take it?” lando taunts, but you can hear the way his voice waivers as your walls spasm around him.
“can you?” you whisper, giving as good as you get. something inside of him snaps and pride kicks in, because before you can even truly gloat, he’s barrelling into you.
you cling onto his shoulders greedily, digging your fingertips in to whatever part of him you can get hold of. he thrusts so deep, all the way in, before dragging fully out, leaving you aching for him to fill you up again. he’s going quick enough that you can’t really complain, but slow enough to tease, to drive you insane beneath him. it feels too good to hurry him up, he knows what he’s doing and you want to take it, feel him like this. you’re quivering, his cock hitting every single spot that makes you tick and you think you can die happy now that you’ve had him.
“i’m so close.” you warn, overstimulated from your first orgasm. he ups his pace, just enough to send you spiralling, and you can’t keep your eyes open as you let go, your legs kicking out.
it’s too much when you open your eyes and find him staring down at you, sleepy and sweaty. he’s gorgeous like this, pupils blown, bronze skin glistening in the low light. he feels the way you throb around him, still buried so deep.
“not done with you yet, angel. c’mere.” lando sits back, pulling your limp body along with him until your right back where you started, sprawled over his lap.
he’s so close to his own release, pained and restless, and you can feel the head rubbing against your clit. even in your state of pure exhaustion, you can’t help but grind down against him, and he lifts your hips enough for you to sink down on him.
your sounds of pleasure ricochet off of one another’s, animalistic contentment spilling from between two sets of equally swollen lips. you’re so full like this, rocking tiredly, backwards and forwards.
“just like that, baby. just like that.” he’s breathing heavily, brows furrowed. his head tips back, neck thick and flexed, and you’re thrown back into the deep end of your fantasy.
“oh my god.” you choke, tears of satisfaction building. “lando!” you cry, meeting his shallow thrusts. he’s guiding your hips up and down, just enough to hammer against that special spot that makes you whine his name.
“cum for me, baby, last one. know you can do it pretty girl.” the praise knocks the last bits of air out of you and you collapse forwards into his arms. he holds you tight, groaning sweet nothings and your name like a prayer, right in your ear.
“you’re definitely staying tonight.” lando laughs softly, coming down. you think back to your earlier refusal, grinning lazily.
“guest room?” you joke, kissing his shoulder.
he pulls you back so that he can look at you, cupping your face.
“you’re never staying in that room ever again.”
he kisses you, then. soft. warm. home.
it’s natural, everything you’ve been missing, and somehow the only thing you’ve been missing in your relationship with him. he already gave you everything you could ever need, tonight was the cherry on top.
“are we gonna be okay?” you whisper, so quiet that you can barely hear yourself. fear pools in your belly.
“i hope so. ‘cause i’m never letting you go now.”
-
i feel so warm inside hehe
-
taglist
@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789 @ln4norizz @formulaal
lemme know if you wanna be added or removed :)
#lando norris#lando norris smut#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris oneshot#lando norris x reader#lando norris fics#f1 fic#f1 fics#f1 smut#f1 fluff#f1 driver x reader#f1 driver x you#lando norris x you#formula 1 smut#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fics#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 oneshot#jas’s 4k celebration#writing things#request
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
miss sunshine
pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k]
summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought.
📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated.
⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.
read on ao3 | masterlist
ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.
When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.
Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.
Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."
Fuck.
Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.
His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.
They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"
Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"
Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.
What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.
His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.
You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."
He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."
"Any special occasions coming up soon?"
Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"
"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."
"Brainstorming...?"
"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."
You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"
The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.
You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"
"Always," he nods.
"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.
He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.
"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.
Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"
"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"
You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."
"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"
"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"
At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."
"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."
"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.
You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."
"Yeah?"
"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.
When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.
Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.
"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."
"Aren't those the same?"
"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"
"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."
"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."
"That's true."
"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."
He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."
He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"
That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."
I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."
Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"
Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."
"And that'd be a bad thing?"
"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.
It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."
You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."
"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."
Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."
His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."
"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"
Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."
"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."
"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."
Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"
"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."
Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?
"That makes sense."
Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"
Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.
"I'll let you," you answer.
Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.
"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."
"I'll leave the door open."
"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."
"Alright, jeez," you laugh.
It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?
When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.
It makes your brain melt.
Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.
He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.
It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.
For now.
"Brand new man?" you ask.
He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."
You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.
Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"
"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"
Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."
"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"
Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."
You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"
Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."
"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.
"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."
Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.
"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."
"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"
"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."
"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.
You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"
He pins you under his gaze.
You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.
"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.
Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."
It grounds you.
The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.
Joel talks about anything, no reservations.
In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.
Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?
He wasn't.
Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.
Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.
Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.
He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.
Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.
He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.
The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.
"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."
Joel was very attentive.
He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"
"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."
He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."
"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."
"Do you?"
"'Course. Most days."
"Oh my—"
"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."
It was easy.
Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.
He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.
In his skin.
That was intoxicating.
When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?
The first bottle end, but it's too soon.
You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.
Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.
You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."
"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.
The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"
"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."
"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."
"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."
"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"
Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"
"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.
Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.
When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."
"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"
"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."
"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."
Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."
"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."
Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.
It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...
Well, very few times.
Fuck, you think.
Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.
He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?
Once in Rome...
Fuck it.
It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.
The air outside could be felt.
When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.
He has the whole night free.
You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.
Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."
You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.
He moved his chair closer again.
"Do share," you urge.
Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."
You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.
Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.
"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."
"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.
"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."
"What did he make you promise?"
"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."
You take note of the effort he's making.
The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.
'I'll take you someday'.
'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.
So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."
Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."
You laugh. "Older and younger?"
"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."
"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."
He agrees with you.
When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.
He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.
He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.
Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.
It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.
Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.
Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.
It makes your throat dry when he does.
Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.
You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.
It's a welcomed contrast.
When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.
"Define 'like this'."
"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."
"Is that me?"
"Sure is, Sunshine."
None of the questions that people usually ask.
It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.
He pulled them from you.
When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.
Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"
Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.
"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."
Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"
"Really," he nods.
"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."
"Yeah? You made friends already?"
"A few, yeah."
"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."
"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.
Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."
"And I believe you," you nodded.
He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"
"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.
From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"
"Sure do," you nod again.
He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"
"I'm warming up to them," you smile.
Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."
"Ew, Joel," you laugh.
His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."
When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?
"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."
"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"
Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.
"You just didn't want it?" he echos.
You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."
"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"
At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"
Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."
"You are very far from boring."
"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."
Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?
"Why me?" he asks.
It's nothing more than a breath.
You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."
This was amazing already.
Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.
He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.
The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.
"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."
Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.
You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.
Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.
Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.
He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.
"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.
What could you say to that?
"You really haven't."
Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.
"Do I get a kiss, then?"
He would never have to ask you twice.
Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.
He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.
His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.
If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.
Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.
He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.
His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.
Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.
He wants to feel your body.
The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.
He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.
It makes you want to scream.
When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.
"Joel..."
Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.
You do as he says.
His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.
To not make a mess, it says.
Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.
"Is this ok?" he asks.
He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.
He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.
"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."
That gets to you.
Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.
It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.
You were right about the torture.
He enjoys it.
Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.
You can only cling onto his hair.
I dreamt about this, too.
"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.
His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.
Joel's only starting.
He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.
He eats.
Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.
That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.
Because it's good.
Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.
At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.
He pulls back for air, once.
His fingers enter you instead, two at once.
"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.
As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.
His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.
Joel looks like he could eat you like this.
"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.
"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."
Profanities.
That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.
It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"
He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.
"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"
"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."
All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.
No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.
Your vision whites out.
The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.
What a little death.
After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.
He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.
The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.
When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.
Nothing but black briefs.
You have to drop to your knees.
Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.
To him, you want to do only your best.
You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.
"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."
With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.
Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.
He shows you what strong body means.
"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.
"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.
He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.
"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."
"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.
He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.
Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."
"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."
You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.
Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.
A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.
"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;
And who are you to say no to that?
Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.
"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.
"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.
Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.
His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.
You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.
Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.
When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.
It's criminal.
Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.
The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.
You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.
So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.
"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."
There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.
Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.
Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.
"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"
You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.
He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.
He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.
It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."
It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.
Joel takes care of you afterward.
Of course he does.
Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.
"Just for a while," you ask.
He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."
Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."
"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."
🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene
⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox.
↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ ↲
#usernexusnyx#joel miller#joel miller drabble#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller fluff#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller masterlist#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x oc
10K notes
·
View notes
Text
Mr. Mechanic - E.M.
wordcount- 1.5K
warnings: spitting, choking, p in v sex, older Eddie ((he’s 40 and reader is 29)) name calling, roughness, cum eating, they almost get caught, if any of this makes you uncomfortable please don’t read it and lemme know if I missed something and I’ll add it to the warnings! Do not read unless you’re eighteen or over, thank you! feedback welcome as always! ❤️ @voyeurmunson thanks for the help on this sweetheart!
“Y’know we don’t have very much time sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear, deep and full of lust. You moan quietly, biting your lip hard to keep yourself as quiet as possible as his hands run themselves down your torso and to the top of your jeans. “Just couldn’t help yourself could you, had to walk in here looking like absolute sin? Bet your daddy doesn’t like that very much does he?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes, pushing your ass back against him hard, feeling his hips dig into you, his obvious bulge pressing up against your ass. “Quit talking and get to it already Mr. Munson, before he catches us.” He shushes you quickly, wrapping one of his hands around your throat and pulling your head back so he can lean down close to you, you groan out as his brown eyes narrow at you. “That’s not how you fucking talk to me is it baby?” You shake your head ‘no’, earning a disappointed look from Eddie. “I thought I taught you better than this doll. You answer me with words.” He says harshly, quickly letting go of your throat to push your pants down hastily. You look down, watching your clothing hit the dirty shop’s flooring, ‘oh well I can wash those later’ your mind quickly focuses back on the older man behind you as you watch his thick fingers hook into the sides of the tiny thong you purposely wore just for him today. “Baby have I ever told you why your dad watches me so closely when you’re around?” You go to shake your head before remembering his rule, muttering out a quiet ‘no’ instead. “Your dad only watches me when you’re here, he knows I can’t keep my eyes off of you, and I think you like knowing that this is wrong. I could get fired for this, but I don’t care.” You fight back a smirk, you naturally knew the effect you had on Eddie, it was pretty obvious. Every time you made a trip to your dad’s car shop, Eddie was always following you around like a lost puppy. It was adorable to you, but your dad hated it. You wanted to talk back and tell him how he’s ’not slick’ but you didn’t get the chance, hearing his belt being buckled behind you sent your brain into overdrive, your legs shaking with anticipation as you bend further over the car, waiting for him to give you what you need. “Tell me baby, do you like showing up here, looking like a slut? Do you like making me so hard that I feel as if I could cum in my pants again like some virgin who can’t control themselves?” You bite your lip hard as his ringed hand slaps down onto your ass, before he’s digging his blunt nails into it, causing pleasure and pain to shoot its way through your body, your toes curling in your shoes as you do your best to answer him. He doesn’t give you very much time to reply before he’s pushing his boot in between your shaking legs, spreading them apart for him. Your body jolts as you feel something wet slide down from your ass to your pussy, shockwaves of pleasure course their way all through you as you realize that he just spit on you, ‘dirty old fucker.’ You thought, laughing slightly before the air feels as if it’s being punched out of you, he doesn’t even warm you up before he’s pushing the tip of his cock against you, muttering out about how you have the ‘prettiest pussy’ he’s ever seen. You clench your eyes tightly, the feeling of how big he is isn’t something you’re used to, his big hands are placed gently on your hips as he pushes in further and further, just when you think you can’t take much more he bottoms out inside of you, his hips pressed up snug against your ass as you clench around him. The intensity of how deep he is makes you feel like you could pass out, but it was the most delicious thing you’d ever felt. Your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head as he pushes you down flat against the car in front of you, he places his hand right in the middle of your back, holding you down as you squirm beneath him, he thrusts once, twice, before he’s picking up the pace, Eddie Munson is anything but gentle when it comes to fucking, and you were finding that out.
You moan loudly, trying to find a place to grip on the car but it’s too slick, your hands sliding down it pathetically as you cry and drool all over the hood. “Oh baby, you look so pathetic, look at you making a mess on my customer's car. You’re cleaning that up when we’re done here.” He laughs, pushing in even deeper as his other hand digs into your hip, it’ll cause a bruise later but you’d welcome the reminder of being taken apart by him like this. “Dirty old man.” You spit out rolling your eyes no, as he fucks you harder than you’ve ever been fucked in your life, tears well up in your eyes as he slaps your ass again. “Sorry, what’s that? Oh wait, look who’s the one getting fucked by the ‘dirty old man’ awww sweetheart you really wounded me.” You clench around him again, your brain fuzzy and floating as your orgasm approaches. “Fuck… Eddie please…” you moan, pushing up a little to look back at him. He was a sight to be seen, the bun that he was sporting earlier in the day was gone, his crazy curls were everywhere, framing around his face beautifully. He’d pulled his shirt up enough for you to be able to see his stomach flexing every time he slid back into you, you wanted to run your tongue all over him and never stop. “Please what?” He pouts at you, laughing sadistically as you push back against him, asking for more. “W-wanna cum, please let me cum, can’t hold it anymore.” You cry out, not even waiting for him to allow you before your orgasm comes crashing down, Eddie moans out behind you, keeping his grip on you and grinding his hips against you slowly, letting you ride out the waves of pleasure making their way through you. You slump against the car lazily, your breathing slowing down some as you sigh. “You’re precious, get up and get your ass on that car, right now.” The assertiveness in his tone is all the motivation you need as you sit up quickly, pushing your pants off the rest of the way and spinning yourself around, sitting down on the car before scooting back on it and spreading your legs. “Keep them open for me sweetheart, gonna cum all over your pretty pussy.” You look up at him, his eyes black with lust as he strokes himself in front of you. You wanted to suck him off but there was no time to, ‘maybe another day’, you think as he tenses up in front of you. “C'mon Mr. Munson, give it to me.” The most beautiful sound comes out of his mouth as you lay back in front of him, he strokes one more time before he’s cumming all over your pussy, some of it is hitting the car beneath you, it’s an absolute mess, but so hot. You look up at him and smirk before pulling him down into a kiss, it’s filthy and full of want. As soon as you go to speak you hear the door rattle on the other side of the room. “Oh shit… my dad!” You whisper, trying to get off the car as quickly as you can while Eddie pulls his clothes back up. “No wait, get over there and clean up the car. I can’t have him see that.” He says, staring directly at you. “How am I supposed to do that Eddie?!” He laughs quietly, and points to your mouth, you don’t have time to think as you hear keys being put into the door, you quickly drop down and pick up all of his cum off of the hood, before standing back up, grabbing your pants and getting them up as fast as you can before turning to Eddie again for a moment. “Show me.” He whispers, grabbing onto your chin and tilting your face up towards him. You stick your tongue out proudly, before swallowing and leaning up to kiss him sweetly. “Get to work Mr. Munson, I'll see you some other time.” You whisper smiling at him before sneaking out the back door, just in time to hear your dad come into the shop. “There you are Eddie! I’ve got another job for you, but do you want to go grab some lunch first?” You hear him say as you laugh, walking back down the street towards your car.
#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#older eddie munson#older eddie#eddie munson x female character#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Simon having sex with reader on the Thanksgiving dinner table? Maybe he comes home from work really late to a table full of food and reader looking pretty as ever, and he decides to show his gratitude.🥴😏
Welcome Home
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (no y/n)
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2,009
Warnings: oral (F receiving), table sex, dirty talk, praise, use of "good girl", tongue clicks from Simon
Note: Everyone say "Thank you @sillylittlereader " for fueling my feral Scribs-brained behavior (Also everyone say "thank you anon" bc that addition made me literally lol). Gonna combine these two cause I caaaaaan. Happy Wanksgiving all! Hopefully yall enjoy my first attempt at full smut after many, many moons.
As soon as Simon opens the front door and steps inside, he knows he's in for a good evening.
The smell of food hits him immediately, the house warmer than usual from where you'd been cooking. He discards his boots and follows the scent into the kitchen, where he finds you milling about and putting another dish onto the counter. It joins several others, and he's quick to notice at least a couple of his favorites.
"Now what's all this?" He says with a grin. You look back at him with a matching look.
"Dinner," you say simply. "I know doing day work and training on-base isn't your favorite, so I figured I'd make a nice, big meal for you. Everything's on the counter, table's cleaned off, so all you have to do is make your plate and eat."
A warm feeling constricts Simon's chest, and he finds himself unable to resist striding towards you and pulling you in for a kiss.
And another.
And another.
As he parts from you, hands on your hips as you look at him with a lidded gaze, he realizes there's one thing he wants before he enjoys the work you've put into welcoming him home.
"I know it's technically bad form, love," he rumbles, guiding you by the hips back towards the table, "but maybe you could let me have dessert first, yeah?"
"Oh, I suppose I can allow it. Just this once," you reply with a sly grin that he matches.
With that, he hefts you up onto the table and takes a seat between your legs.
He wastes little time lifting your shirt just enough to press a few hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. From there, he helps you quickly divest yourself of your pants and underwear, grabbing both and helping you lift yourself from the table just long enough for him to pull both off in one fluid motion.
When the garments land on the floor, Simon hooks his arms beneath your legs, pulls you closer to him, and buries his face in you.
If there is one thing Simon does well when he's not in the field, it's eating. He devours you like a man starved, like he'll never get another chance to taste you. He dips his tongue into you before sliding it up to your clit, kissing and sucking and lapping at you in a practiced manner he knows works. As much as he knows he should give you a few of his fingers to help stretch you open for what is to come, he can't help but forgo the courtesy, too invested in tasting your slick to waste any.
"Taste so fucking good, baby," he moans, "can't get enough of this cunt. Never get enough of you."
He's telling the truth. He could spend hours with his head buried between your thighs. In fact, he has before. He wonders if you'll be so kind as to let him do it again tomorrow morning; have him wake you with his tongue and continue like that until you start pushing him away.
But that's a thought for later. For now, he's got much more important matters to attend to.
He feels your hand grab his hair, a low groan tearing from his lungs as you pull him deeper into you. The hands on your skin tighten their grip, his brows knit together in concentration.
"That's it love," he says, voice muffled by your cunt, "take what you want from me."
Your hips buck against him and he follows, cock hard and twitching in his pants as you moan for him. He knows you're close by the way your thighs shake in his grasp, and he's determined to all but drag you over the edge.
Your breathing gets shallower, interspersed with staccato moans and whines. You breathe his name into the air, and Simon growls against your heat.
"That's it love," he encourages again, "be good and cum for me, yeah?"
With that, he returns to his task at hand, laser-focused on getting what he wants.
And what he wants is for you to smother him. What he wants is for you to envelop him, make it so nothing else so much as touches any of his senses.
He wants - no, needs - to make you feel good. To help you fall from the precipice and lose yourself to what he's giving you.
And fall you do.
With a sharp cry of his name, he feels your sex clench and twitch against his mouth as you come undone beneath him. He helps you through it, moaning soft, affirmative "mhm"s as you ride your orgasm to its end.
When you slump against him, muscles finally relaxing, he gives you one last lick with the flat of his tongue before moving to kiss your thighs.
"Good girl," he says softly, "so, so good for me."
He begins a slow ascent, nudging his nose against the hem of your shirt and pushing it upwards so he can mouth at the skin just beneath it.
After pressing a few more kisses to your abdomen and stomach, he stands, removing his shirt and using it to somewhat dry his face before discarding it.
"Look so fuckin' pretty when you cum," he says as he leans in to kiss you properly. "Never gonna get tired of watchin' you."
Simon's hips rut against you as his tongue dips into your mouth, a light hum leaving him as he hears you whine softly.
"I know, baby," he murmurs apologetically against your lips, "I know you're still sensitive. Jus' can't help it, yeah? Wanna make sure you're nice and wet before I take you."
It's an excuse, and both of you know it. Simon knows you're plenty ready for him, especially after one orgasm, but he's allowing himself to be selfish. To give himself a taste of you before he devours you again in another way. In the depths of his brain, he wonders if some of your slick will coat his belt. Wonders if it will dry there, where he will carry it with him the next time he wears it to base. An invisible mark of ownership.
He could keep going, keep grinding against you until he comes undone without ever even removing his own pants.
But that simply will not do. Not for Simon. And after you whine again against his mouth, the overstimulation on your clit no doubt bordering on painful, he gives you mercy.
At least, that's what he tells himself as he unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, pushing them just far down enough with his briefs to release his cock from its confines.
"See what you do to me, love?" he says lowly as he slides gently against your heat, coating himself in a mix of your spend and his precum.
Then, deciding he's had enough teasing for one afternoon, Simon begins the slow push into you.
He's not a small man, and he knows it. Saying so doesn't come from a place of inflated ego, but rather from real, practical experience, both with you and past lovers. He guides himself into you as gently as he's able, not wanting the pressure he knows you must feel to turn into pain.
But then, as his hips are about halfway to you, he notices something.
You've closed your eyes.
And, again, that simply will not do.
"Hey. Hey," he says gruffly before he clicks his tongue twice at you, "eyes open, love. Want you to look at me while I stuff you full."
You give him a bleary look, eyelids just barely obeying his command as he continues to push deeper into you.
The pair of you erupt in joint moans when the front of his thighs meet your body. Simon leans forward to rest his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.
"Fuck, love, you feel so fucking good," he breathes into the space between you.
"So do you," you answer in an equally breathless tone.
Simon surges forward to kiss you, keeping his lips on yours as he begins to roll his hips. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you.
As much as he wants to draw this out, as much as he wants to start slowly and build up until you're both tense and begging for release, he simply can't find it in himself to wait any longer. His hips seem to move of their own accord, snapping into you and punching moans from your lungs.
When he pulls back for a moment to stand and watch your body, he notices that your eyes are once again closed as you're lost to the pleasure he's giving you.
"Show me those pretty eyes, love," he says softly. When you only whine in response, he reluctantly stills his thrusts.
"Hey, eyes on me," he says more harshly, once again clicking his tongue at you. "You open those eyes and look at me."
You slowly obey, and he feels you clench around him when he clicks his tongue. When he's satisfied that you're watching, he begins his thrusts again.
"There she is," he says breathlessly with a grin. "There's my girl."
He holds your gaze as he continues, fucking into you at an increasing pace. He is enraptured by you. By your voice, by your body, by your gaze. He chases his high, but quickly realizes there's something important that he's forgotten.
"Reach down and touch yourself for me, love," he commands. "Want you to give me one more before I fill you."
To your credit, you do as he asks, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit as he continues to thrust into you. The action catapults Simon impossibly closer to his peak, though by some grace he manages to hold himself together as you chase another orgasm.
It doesn't take as long as Simon assumes it will for you to come again. Or perhaps it does. Time has long since become an abstract concept to Simon, just as it always does when he's inside of you like this. Nevertheless, he feels your walls flutter around him as you sigh his name.
"Good girl," he croons to you as you come, "good girl."
Once you come down, he throws his self-restraint to the wind and surges towards his own orgasm in earnest.
"Gonna cum, love," he says, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours again. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine."
You don't respond in words, but he feels a hand grab the back of his head as you pull his lips to yours.
A groan rips through his body as Simon comes, stilling inside of you as his cock twitches. He moans out some approximation of your name against your lips as he loses himself.
An indeterminate amount of time later, when the two of you part and begin to catch your breath, you lock eyes.
And you both laugh.
A light, beautiful sound.
"Well, can't say I was expecting that," you say.
"Had to thank you somehow, love," he quips.
He helps you to sit up, tucking himself back into his pants as he leaves his shirt on the floor and his belt unbuckled. He aids you in putting your pants and underwear back on, softly promising to help you shower after you both eat.
"After all," he says as he kisses you, "it'd be a tragedy to let all this food get any colder than it is already."
You laugh softly at him.
"And whose fault would that be, Mr. Riley?"
"Yours," he says with a teasing nip to your shoulder, "not my fault you looked good enough to eat."
The soft, good-natured groan you give him as you lightly shove him from you warms his heart. On the field, he prides himself on being cold, calculated, and for leaving little room for anything else. But here, in his home, with you by his side, he feels like the battlefield is a thousand years away.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#ghost x reader#ghost scribbles
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
One Bed
Joel Miller x f!reader
Rating: Explicit
A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️
--
“Goddamn it.”
He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at.
Oh.
“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”
You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath.
“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head.
“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”
Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”
He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh.
“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”
His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still.
“You coming?”
There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor.
“Fine.”
–
Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.
You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer.
He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder.
“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”
Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason.
He shakes you again. “Hey.”
Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark.
Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands.
He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t.
“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.
His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.
When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place.
You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead.
You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan.
Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it.
He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident.
“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need.
His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers.
“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.
“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.”
His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take.
“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”
You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you.
He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke.
You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move.
“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip.
“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again.
Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him.
You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share.
“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”
He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.
You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on.
Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste.
He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do.
“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”
His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace.
Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close.
He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other.
He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking.
A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth.
“Thank god for one bed.”
#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller/you#joel miller/reader#joel miller smut#joel miller the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
Simon is so worked up all day that he rushes home, telling you to meet him at the door because he cannot wait to have you
“Meet me at the door,” Simon said before you could even finish your hello as you put your phone to your ear and answered. “Almost home, just…uh, meet me at the door, alright?”
You didn't get the chance to ask what or why before the call was promptly disconnected, but from the twinge of desperation in his voice you had an idea. It wasn't long after that that you heard the car pull in, the door slam shut, boots quickly crunching over the sidewalk, and then finally his key hit the lock.
The door opened in a rush and the second that auburn gaze connected with your form standing right there before him in your tiny apartment, he was on you in just a few large steps. Ripping that skull mask clean off the front of his face to reveal those chiseled features and mess of blonde cropped locks he was leaning in towards your head before the bang from the door being slammed shut behind him had even finished ringing through the place, lips immediately catching yours in their embrace as he wrapped his arm around the small of your back to pull you into him.
Nothing was held back, hours of pent up desire shooting to the surface.
Kisses were being pressed heatedly to your mouth with an urgency that left you breathless as he worked to devour that tender flesh, nipping along your full bottom lip before easing the sting down with the tip of his tongue while exploring fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and stumbled across bits of your soft skin with the tips to make him gasp into your mouth at the tingle your body radiated off into his touch.
“I’ve been fuckin’ gnawing at the bit to get back to this,” he breathed the needy words against your mouth, “to you; can't stay away. Christ I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how badly I wanted to fuck ya all goddamn day. Nearly ran two fuckin’ red lights just to get here.”
His yearning words ignited that fire in your stomach, the burning need finding its way into your veins as his assault on your mouth only intensified while his large hand found the back of your head so that he could tangle his finger in the strands of your hair to hold your face tighter to his. The more he consumed your kiss, the more he had to have.
It was contagious, his animalistic appetite for you and soon you found your hands sliding between your joined bodies to search by touch to find his belt. Shallow breaths hitched in his chest as your cool extremities brushed up against the hot flesh of his pelvis as you made to undo the long piece of leather so that it hung loose around his hips.
Suddenly you both were on the move, his lips staying locked as Simon spun you around to where he knew the door was and pushing you back by his grip on your hips, your back was forced to hit into the solid slab of wood. It was your turn to gasp into his mouth at his delicious roughness as he took control, dominating you easily with his impressive size until he was perfectly molded into your curves, and you could feel his smile on your lips before he pulled back only long enough to wrench your top up over your head, taking your bra with it.
“Fuck, I need ya to touch me, baby,” he growled, mouth unable to stay away from yours for any amount of time. Faces were pressed together so completely that your head was pinned firmly against the door and you could not move.
Touching him was a request you would never deny.
You went back to your work, undoing the solitary button at the top of his pants and then sliding the zipper down just enough that you could fit your hand inside the fabric.
“Mmm… a-ah,” he whined as you caught the waistband of his boxers in your fingers and parted it from his skin so you could move further down into them. Then you felt it, that veiny appendage throbbing and engorged against your fingertips.
As you brushed over it and wrapped those digits around the thick shaft his body jolted into you and you bounced off the surface of the door with a loud knock.
“Goddammit, sweetheart,” he choked out the muted words, “even your hand feels so fuckin' good.”
It was like every part of you was made of ecstasy and he couldn't get enough.
Slowly and with even pressure you began to stroke his length with your hand from base to tip and what was once a stoic, 6’4” beast of a man instantly devolved into a grunting and groaning puddle.
“That's it, pretty girl, ya know j-just how I like it. Always so fuckin' good to me. …O-oh, fuck…”
A twinge of pleasure shivered up through Simon’s spine as your smooth hand glided effortlessly over his aching cock so that he bucked with a snap into your palm, his hands digging into your hips greedily to keep you close. Abdominals clenched, sweat gathered, lust stifled the air and every second you stroked brought him nearer to the edge of his release at a rapid rate.
“The guys back at base would gimme hell if they knew how fuckin' obsessed I am with ya,” he murmured into your face as his hips continued to grind his cock into your palm. “None of ‘em even knows the half ‘a what I'd do just to get the chance to fuck ya nice and proper. I'm fuckin' whipped baby.”
God, words like that brought their own specific brand of euphoria, the dangerous and addictive kind that you could not get enough of, and the more he said them the wetter you fucking got.
“You know just what to say to make a girl come apart,” you breathed into his open mouth.
The pace of your hand quickened with the spike in your heart rate, squeezing and pumping with new vigor until Simon’s hips again joined in to grind into your hand. Goddamn he was drifting away; too much more of this and he'd come undone.
He released your hips and frantic fingers found the closure on your pants and ripped them open with a little struggle before he plunged his mitt in their depths; he needed to get his hand on you. With haste he moved into your panties and found the lips of your pussy, spreading them open so that he could get his fingers inside.
Knowing your anatomy like the back of his hand, he found your clit with ease and with the pad of his finger rubbed tight circles over top of it.
How could atoms have combined in such a way to create something so perfect that it felt like heaven? Leaning into your shoulder, he matched the pace of your strokes to simulate that union that he would have in just a few moments once he knew you were ready. As overwhelming a demon as his desire was even then, he was not about to let you suffer.
Your pleasure was just as important to him as his was…and at times more important. To hear you breathe heavily, groan and squirm under his touch, nothing filled him with more ecstasy. To know that he knew every inch of your body gave him a smug satisfaction that fueled his fantasies.
Your bodies rocked together in unison, a flawless machine with only one goal: carnal release. Writhing and bucking like wild creatures, you both drew each other closer and closer.
But everything was too perfect and he was too worked up; once he was satisfied with the dampness gathering in his palm, he slowed his movements or else he would come too quick and that wouldn't do.
“Gotta give me just a second or this is gonna be over to fuckin' soon,” he breathed as he regretfully pulled you hand out from around him.
Simon paused with his forehead resting up against your own, noses brushing upon one another with eyes fluttering open and closed, movements being guided by mostly touch alone. Lips ghosted ever so close together as he forced himself to take a breath before he passed out. He inhaled the sticky, moist air from your mouth as his gaze drifted down to that full pout, desperately hungry to recapture your lips with his own and taste you again.
Soft, voluptuous breasts rested flush to his bare chest, warm air tangling in the hair that covered his torso while your hands drifted up to the sides of his face, guiding his head as he dove back in now ready for more. His need was insatiable as he caught your lips again in quick, broken, open-mouthed kisses.
“Goddammit, sweetheart, ya make me feel alive,” his gruff voice unsteadily murmured between the breaks in your mouth’s connection, his body trembling with that ache of overwhelming need; he was a man consumed in the titillating, hazy lust of his carnal desire. “I need to be inside ya, now.”
You smiled into the kiss. “Then take me, baby,” you returned.
Two large hands desperately clutched at the silky curves of your body as if starved for the feeling, even though there was not an inch of skin that he did not already know intimately. Slipping his thumbs inside the waistband of your pants he gripped them tight and shoved them down, taking your underwear with them as they slid over the bulk of your ass and down your thighs until you could kick them off without help.
He did the same to his own garments, more easier for him since the process had already been started and soon you both stood bare and glistening with perspiration before the other. He wanted to take you in, admire that gorgeous body that only he got to have, but the moment he got sight of it all bare and beautiful that primal part of his brain took over and Simon was gone; only pleasure remained.
Two strong arms jerked you up into the air by your waist without warning, but you already knew this song and dance. “Wrap your legs around me, luv,” he demanded and you followed suit. Secure around his hips with your arms wrapped around his neck he shoved you back against the door to pin you there for leverage.
You could feel it, his cock resting just right at your petals and you trembled with excitement; you needed him to take you, make you feel so fucking good.
Squatting down, the tip of his throbbing phallus pressed against your petals and slowly he slipped himself up inside the lips but not into your core just yet. Sliding back and forth through your slit he coated himself in all that moisture he had helped produce. The base of his veiny cock rubbed against your swollen clit causing you to grind into him as the euphoric sensation in the pit of your stomach grew.
Your thighs clamped down around him hard. “Please,” you whimpered, the simple request. “I need it Simon.”
It was like being struck by lightning and burned by fire all at once the way your plea reached him and his heart fluttered with his quivering limbs as he pulled back and aligned his tip with your entrance. He was so hard that in one smooth thrust your pussy sucked him up as he pushed himself in all the way to the base.
Your head flew back and hit the door, so full with him that your eyes watered. Simon stumbled, but held you securely in his iron-clad grip, breathing through the intensity of that first sensation of entering you. It was so fucking warm, so fucking wet, that he could not think straight having such a sensative organ be overwhelmed by all the goodness.
“God-d-d-dammit,” Simon stuttered with a gruff whine. “Christ, I'm gonna go fuckin’ mad from this sweet little pussy of yours. Can't control myself.”
His pace quickened hastily, unable to hold back as he became drunk off the feeling of your cunt. All that daydreaming he'd done earlier in the day, images that made him feral and pent up all that lust with nowhere to go, was now unleashed.
Like a wild animal he rutted into you, hips snapping as you squirmed and whimpered from the delectable roughness of his thrusts. Scratches from the door's surface burned across your bare back and you dug your nails into his shoulders to match the sensation, making him moan.
He never minded a bit of pain; made the pleasure more exciting.
Leaning his face close to the side of your head, he felt compelled to unleash all those thoughts he had circling inside his devious little brain all goddamn day, the ones that made his skin hot and his pulse race.
“Ya know what I think about doin' to ya that gets me so worked up? Wanna fuck ya until ya can't walk,” he grunted his fantasies into your ear with each thrust. “Keep ya on your back for an entire weekend, naked and breathless, fuckin' ya whenever the mood hits. I want you goddamn ruined by the time Monday rolls ‘round.”
Shit he was intense today, more than he had ever been before… and you were eating it up.
“Yes,” you moaned as his words fueled the flames. “Yes baby, keep going.”
“Wanna have you spread across the bed, my face pressed tight to your pussy, just devourin’ all I can get,” he continued, spurred on by the need in the tone of your voice to hear his depraved thoughts. “Wanna suffocate between your thighs for hours, lapping like a goddamn dog at all that fuckin' sweetness until my tongue is raw and my cheeks are pruned. Want my skin to smell like your pussy for days.”
“Fuck,” you shuddered as his words mixed with the twinge of a chord of pleasure being plucked deep inside you. “You make it sound so good.”
“Gonna mark ya up nice and good with my teeth; all that soft skin to play with until you're crying and beggin’ me ta take ya,” he groaned, his thrusts though just as intense becoming more sloppy as he struggled to hold on, “I wanna make sure everyone can see you're completely taken when I ain't ‘round. No one else can fuckin' have ya, understand? You're mine sweetheart, mine.”
“Fuck Simon, yes!” you gasped as that warmth in your stomach gathered harshly, threatening to throw you over the edge of euphoria at any second. “Don't…stop. C-close…”
Heavy breaths filled the silence, the sweat beading in the hair across his abdomen as he felt the inner walls of your pussy contracting around his cock. Fuck he couldn't take it, pounding into that wet cavern with everything in his soul, slamming his pelvis in you and pulling almost completely out to repeat it all again. Your juices mixed with a bit of his dribbled out of your entrance and clung to the hair around his shaft.
“Come on sweetheart,” he coaxed in a hiss as he caught your earlobe between his lips to nibble at the sensative flesh, “I gotta fuckin' come, but you're gonna come with me. That's it my pretty girl, come all over my fuckin' cock. Make me feel it. Give me somethin’ ta dream ‘bout.”
The wet noises from your cunt being fucked to the brim filled the room, accentuated by his grunts and your moans; the only fucking music he'd never get tired of. A few more hard snaps of his hips and the warmth gathering in the pit of your core shot out white hot and filled your senses as you cried out and shook against him, falling over the precipice violently as he continued on.
“Good girl, ride it out for me, almost there,” he groaned as he let himself go, giving in to all that glorious pressure that he had staved off till now. Through the high of your release you squeezed your thighs together to help you bear down on his cock just like he liked to help send him off. “Right there, that's it…Goddamn baby...fuck.”
And his orgasm exploded like a rocket, making his body trembling as warm cum shot up into you to coat the inner walls of your pussy as he milked himself dry. Low guttural whimpers he echoed into your chest as he nuzzled his head into the nape of your neck, his limbs vibrating as you contracted and relaxed the muscles around his cock for good measure.
Panting and exhausted, his pace slowed until it finally came to a stop. Simon continued to hold onto you, his body pressing you into the door, cock still buried deep as he calmed himself. Gently you ran your fingertips over his scalp in long lines until you could feel his pounding heartbeat slow and he could move again.
Carefully he pulled out of you, a bit of cum dripping down your thighs as he set you back on your feet once again. Cupping your cheek against his palm, he placed a more delicate kiss to your lips as a silent praise for how good you did for him.
As he pulled away, his gaze lingered at your eyes. “So, what're ya doin’ this weekend?” he asked with a smirk before kissing you one last time.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simin ghost riley#simon smut#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost cod smut#cod ghost
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
they want the best. and they need to eliminate the recruits that can't stomach reality.
(18+, sniper!fem!reader x ghost)
you have met them all save for one. pretty boy gaz, with a nice smile, and you wonder momentarily how many barracks bunnies make bets on how they'll get him in their bed.
he's too pretty not to be a slut.
and then there's johnny. big, snarky, with a potty mouth, and he always sounds right stupid when he talks, but when you see him in the field, you are in awe. he has nimble fingers, and it scares you how well he can use them.
their captain is kind. he exudes something fatherly, a keen sense of responsibility. it is obvious that chaos rolls off his back--he is calm, collected, easy to think and fast to act.
but the last one, the lieutenant--he has never been seen. he's a ghost, in name and in physicality. he was there, once, when it was the first day of your arrival. you stepped out of a car with five others, and when you stood in formation, he was standing by the door, arms crossed over his big chest as he surveyed the room.
he hasn't reappeared for six weeks.
six, grueling, terrible weeks. crawling through mud, through snow, in rain. breaking your nails as you climb walls of brick or wood, throw yourself over obstacles lined with barbwire, scrape your knees on hard sand as you hit your targets from a distance. you wake up before the sun is out, and you sleep once its long gone, and by the time the six weeks have passed, there are only three of you left.
you want this. you want it so bad, you feel it in your bones. you were bred for this, born for this, and you have everything to lose if you do not succeed. the girl beside you? she has a college degree. the cocky frat boy in the next tent? he's white, blond, and well-spoken--he will have it easy.
but you are you, and nothing is that simple, and you will not fail.
you cannot fail.
you stand shoulder to shoulder, your eyes trained on the wall as they size you up. you see a shadow at the door; you recognize it. you're asked to pick an opponent, and since you finished first during drills this morning, you are allowed to pick.
your head turns, and you eye the skull mask that glares a few yards away. you don't say anything, just meet his eyes, and the captain follows your line of sight before hooking his fingers into the straps of his vest and chuckling low.
"ye sure about that, sweetheart?" johnny asks, and you only blink.
"that one," you say softly. "that's the one."
that's the one.
it rings in his ears. the one. he's the one. you've chosen him. he hides, and yet you have seen him, and you choose him, and he is the one.
he stalks into the room, and his steps are heavy. his boots can crush skulls, and yet he walks easy, fluid as he makes his way over to you and looks down at you.
you have not seen him so close. he is huge. a bear of a man, wide and tall and hulking, and you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.
your lips part, and his gaze lowers as he watches your tongue slide over your teeth just that much, a telltale sign that you are not afraid.
ghost straightens, turns, and he gives the captain an unreadable, parting look before he leaves. you stare after him, and then back, and you swallow, wondering if you had done something wrong.
but johnny grins. and gaz raises a brow. and your captain sniffs, masking a chuckle, and you watch the three of them settle in front of you.
you realize later, when ghost has you bent over, knees spread so he can put his face between your thighs, that their reaction was simply acceptance.
you choose him. and he chooses you.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x you#simon thoughts#ghost mwii#ghost call of duty#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#ghost smut
724 notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[2.7K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+
SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE
LESSON #3
You didn’t have to wait seven whole days to see Steve again, and when you did, it wasn’t poolside.
This meant that between you both, there were a lot more clothes than normal, but you found out the hard way that that fact didn’t really make a difference to the effect he now had on you. There was a party at some rich kids house on the outskirts of town, someone called Sam that neither you nor Eddie knew all that well but Robin used to work with him at the Shake Shack and well-- if Robin was going somewhere, Steve followed, and if Steve was allowed through the door, that meant Eddie had a ticket in too.
If Eddie was there? High chance you were too.
It’s how you ended up in a neighbourhood that rivalled even Steve’s, each house sprawled out across green manicured lawns and the pools out the back were almost as large as the one you were learning in, a shiny red slide to boot. Three stories, arched windows, a winding driveway to a three door garage and when you entered behind Eddie, the crystal chandelier in the foyer was vibrating to the beat of the music.
Two guys you recognised from the trailer park grabbed Eddie as he pushed his way through the crowd, your fingers hooked in his as he dragged you behind him. They were ready with cash, bills rolled up and an eagerly impatient look in their already glassy eyes, so you waved the boy away and headed to the kitchen, a safe enough sanctuary as you skirted around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the living room. It seemed that anyone over seventeen and anyone under thirty was at the party, the large space full to the brim with drunken strangers, people moving to the synths of INXS.
The pushed back furniture made it difficult to move around the gyrating bodies, Sam’s parent’s cream coloured carpet already stained and sticky with questionable substances. The lights had been switched off and someone had strung multicoloured Christmas lights around the curtain poles, around the second chandelier above the coffee table. There was a broken disco ball sitting in a wall sconce, pink and green and blue hitting off each mirrored tile, making everything glitter.
You saw Steve before you could make it to the kitchen, rainbows on his cheeks, a stripe of colours across his lips. He was talking to a girl - a pretty redhead who had a drink in one hand and Steve’s bicep in another. The sight of him made you feel as warm as a saturday morning, as if you were walking into water with his naked chest in front of you, his pink cheeks and sleep mussed hair just for your eyes only. It felt almost unfair to see him now, surrounded by others, touched by someone else. He looked just as pretty with a striped shirt on, his hair styled and curling around his ears and neck, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket as the other gripped a beer.
His gaze caught your own, a fleeting thing before recognition clicked at the sight of you and then Steve was moving, the redhead’s fingers catching at his sleeve before he was in front of you, her frown behind him.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Steve was smiling, eyes drinking in the corners like he was genuinely happy to bump into you. He craned his neck and spotted Eddie, raising his beer in greeting. “You want a drink?”
“Uh, yeah.” You smiled back, heart in your throat because Steve was placing a familiar hand on the small of your back in order to steer you into the kitchen and Eddie was grinning, a full beam that made your cheeks warm. “A drink sounds good.”
You let Steve pour you a vodka and lemonade, and he fumbled an ice tray he found in the back of the freezer, the fizz spilling over the rim of the glass as he handed it to you with a grin. You watched him lick the soda from his fingers, his eyes on yours as he smiled still, his cheeks a little pink and it felt like you were back in middle school and the pretty, popular boy was giving you too much attention.
You weren’t sure why, but you lapped it up happily.
Taking a gulp, you hummed, happy that your drink didn’t burn on the way down and Steve stayed close, his hand gone from the small of your back but his shoulder bumped yours and you could smell his cologne, leftover sunscreen and hairspray.
“You ready for lesson three tomorrow or are you planning on getting black out?” Steve asked with raised brows. “I gotta tell you now, legally, I’m not covered for drownings due to hangovers.”
You rolled your eyes, lips lifting into a smile you tried to suppress because you had absolutely no intention of getting messy drunk in the vicinity of Steve Harrington, with or without the threat of swimming the day after.
“It depends,” you joked anyway, “what does lesson three include?”
Steve smirked, leaning close, hair falling across his forehead and you could see the freckles over his nose, the glint of the chain he wore flashing under the collar of his t-shirt. “M’not sure I should tell you now.” He was all charm, a cheekiness you normally didn’t get to see up close. “You might stand me up.”
You scoffed, a dismissive sound that barely covered your embarrassment because you were sure that your eyes were wide enough to show off how flustered you were. You took another long sip, lemonade and bubbles coating your tongue and you watched Steve stare at the way you licked the vodka from your lips.
“I wouldn’t stand you up,” you murmured, barely heard over the thud of the music.
The boy beamed, ecstatic. “You wouldn’t?”
“Not unless you were planning something drastic, you know, like swimming.”
A laugh burst from Steve’s chest, his eyes shining with an amusement you were proud of producing. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, spreading his feet wide enough that you were able to stand between them. Not too close, not too suggestive, just close enough to each other that girls glared at you and no one tried to interrupt.
“Swimming? In a pool?” Steve cocked his head to the side, one hand nursing his beer, the other reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, amazed at how such a friendly touch seemed just as intimate as his hands on your bare back, keeping you afloat. He frowned at you, all faux confusion that made him look unbearably cute. “Who the fuck would think of that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to stop smiling. Come to think of it, your cheeks ached a little, your grin permanently etched onto your lips since you saw Steve, whether it was from being flustered or amused. Your cheeks felt hot, your chest light and you barely noticed anyone else in the room.
It’s why you jumped when two hands caught your shoulders, a diabolical cackle in your ear as you recognised the scent of smoke and old spice a little too late. Eddie smelled like childhood and home but now, standing in a strangers kitchen with Steve Harrington, you couldn’t have been less impressed with your friend’s appearance.
“Hey, there’s a good chance I can shift the last of this green if I hit up this party on Maple Street,” Eddie half yelled over the music, his arm draped over your shoulder in a too familiar way. You wanted to elbow him. “You comin’ with or—?”
He was glancing at Steve over your head, brows raised, suggestive and waiting on an answer from him rather than you. You swallowed hard, noticing how Steve had seemed just as disappointed as you at Eddie’s arrival but he shrugged, nonchalant. “I could walk you home later,” the beer in his hand glinted in the low light, his fingers tightening around it. He smiled, eyes soft, “I don’t mind.”
You wanted to say yes. Fuck, you wanted to say yes so bad and the word was costing your tongue, buzzing and excited, a fizzy candy explosion. But you took too long to look at the boy, tanned skin and messy hair, scruff on his jaw that he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, the freckles on his cheeks and neck that made you want to touch them.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed a boy, never mind one you really liked. And perhaps that wasn’t even on the cards, maybe Steve didn’t like you in that way at all - but the idea of being alone in the darkened room with strangers, people you didn’t know and people who wouldn’t care if you fell into each other - it suddenly seemed a little too much for one night.
“Um, it’s— it’s okay,” you told him regretfully. You hated the way his eyes seemed to lose a little warmth, his lips turning down before he righted himself. “I should probably just go with Eddie.”
“Pussy,” Eddie coughed, barely concealed and Steve stared at the ground, cheeks pink.
You really did elbow your friend then, the sharp point of your arm finding his rims and he kicked at the back of your heel, childlike in the way he scuffled to get you back in a way that really wasn’t subtle.
“Thank you, though,” you smiled at Steve, hopeful that he’d return the gesture. He did, although not as warm as before, not as confident as he’d been as he’d guided you to the kitchen with a wide hand on your back. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, right?”
Steve sank the last of his drink, licking it from his lips before nodding. He was already back out of the kitchen and you tried not to look defeated. “Yeah, ‘course,” he told you. “See you in the morning.”
“Well,” Eddie watched Steve retreat, his hand slapping down on your slumped shoulder. “You fucked that, didn’t you?”
Steve was already in the pool when you arrived the next morning, still sleep mussed and frazzled from the way your alarm had blared too loud. Despite three weeks of early mornings, it was still a struggle to pull yourself from bed. But the promise of a warm day, pink-blue skies and Steve Harrington made it so much easier than you ever thought.
You paused at the loungers for longer than you needed, your toes curling at the thought of stripping off your shorts and shirt because the swimsuit underneath was newer and skimpier and cherry red. Steve was underwater, swimming effortlessly beneath the surface from the shallows to the depths you weren’t brave to venture to yet.
So you took the opportunity to pull off your t-shirt, a ratty old thing that used to be Eddie's and you cursed picking it up from your floor, hoping Steve wouldn’t get the wrong idea despite how many times you’d told him that Eddie was just your friend.
You let it fall to the sun warmed tiles just as Steve broke the surface, pushing his hair back with one hand as he grasped the edge of the pool with the other. He grinned when he saw you, a familiar and friendly thing that made your heart jump but his gaze darted to your chest, just for a second, just for a tiny moment, and you remembered to feel shy.
“New suit?” Steve asked, sounding casual, his brows raised as if it didn’t really matter what the answer was.
You wondered what he’d say if you told him you’d bought it with him in mind, what he’d say if he knew you’d stared at your half naked frame in your bedroom mirror for far too long, inspecting each curve, each bruise, all the old silver scars and stretch marks, stripes along your thighs that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. This suit dipped low in the back, as modest as it still was in the chest. Would he think your boobs were too small? Too big? Too flat? Uneven? Could he tell?
Would it matter?
It was a vibrant colour against your skin, the same red as the cherries you’d scooped in your smoothie before you’d left, a shade off of Steve’s lifeguard shorts. It seemed too bright now, too silly, but you nodded regardless and tried not to make a big deal out of it.
Steve leant on the pool edge, chin resting on his tanned forearms, water dripping from his wet hair, clinging to his too long lashes. He tilted his head, appraising, gaze gentle, never staring. “S’nice. Colour looks good on you.”
His words made it a lot easier for you to unbutton your shorts and slip the denim over your hips. Chin ducked, you couldn’t hold eye contact, not bold enough quite yet. But you let the shorts drop from your thighs, hitting the tiles and you kicked them under the sun lounger as you flicked off your sliders at the same time. The sun was already blazing, rising higher in the sky, turning the tangerine edges into a warm blue and the heat of it slipped over your skin like a blanket.
Feeling a little less naked than before, you walked to the shallows, Steve swimming the length of the pool to meet you. You stopped just shy of the stairs, lips pressed together and brow furrowed, contemplating. Steve stopped too, watchful as you considered your next move the boy positively beamed when you dropped down to sit at the edge of the water.
The surface lapped at Steve waist when he stood, not too deep but certainly not the gentle entrance you’d become accustomed to. You cringed as you slipped both feet into the cool water, hands curling around the edge of the pool until your knuckles burned.
“Yeah?” Steve coaxed, sounding impressed. Proud. “You’ve got it. You can just slide right in, you’ll touch the bottom.”
You knew you would. The logic was in front of you, just like the bottom of the pool was very much visible. Looking down, you could see Steve’s feet on the tiles, rippling into funny shapes and sizes, his bare legs, just as tanned as the rest of him and dusted with coarse hair. He was planted there firmly, no current or waves to knock him over, steady as ever.
He lay his hands on the top of the water, palms up. His gaze met your own, his smile warmer than the morning. “I’m right here.”
It was comforting, his words, his closeness, even if you didn’t take his hands, he kept them there, waiting. It was enough for you to lean forward, bum slipping off of the warm tiled edge and into the cool water. You gasped as always from the shock of the temperature difference, the water rippling around the tops of your ribs and it was enough to make your nipples pebble, glaringly obvious under the new, thinner material of your suit.
If Steve noticed, he didn’t dare look down.
He did take a step forward though, enough for his toes to touch yours and you could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose, could see the chlorine water that still made his lashes cling together in spikes. It was intimate enough to make you wonder if something like this would’ve happened the night before if you’d stayed. If you had let Eddie and the boy shaped comfort blanket that he was go, if you’d hung back with Steve and shared secrets and drinks under the multicoloured lights, if you’d let him walk you home under the glow of street lamps.
If he would’ve kissed you at your front door.
But then the gate clanked noisily against the chain link fence and there was a splash big enough to soak your chest and the side of your face - Steve’s too - both screwed up in shock.
Eddie appeared from the water - the deeper, indigo coloured end - shaking his sopping curls like a wet, disobedient dog, his tattooed chest bare and much paler than Steve’s. He grinned through his curls, oblivious to whatever he’d just interrupted, his arms spread wide.
“What’s up, fuckers?”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#Steve Harrington fanfiction#Steve Harrington oneshot
559 notes
·
View notes
Text
‘Blowing off Steam’ Hobie/Spiderpunk smut
When Hobie is feeling the stress of his job and needs to blow off some steam.
Warnings: Penetrative sex, shower sex, cream pie.
____________________________________________
The nighttime air was as crisp as it usually was. Y/n’s room was cold, window open just incase Hobie felt the need to drop by. The past couple nights he had been coming in incsreasingly more hurt, his hands bruised and teeth laced with blood.
As the night began to past, she decided to take a shower instead of waiting up for Hobie. The warm water eased her nerves and calmed her mind as she washed her body. Then suddenly she head a thud coming from her room.
There was shuffling out there, then the door to the bathroom opened and closed.
“Hobie?”
“Hm?” He mumbled, stripping off his mask and boots and immediately stepping into the shower.
“Hobie!” Y/n exclaimed, eyes wide as he wraped his arms around her naked body.
“Baby you’re still wearing your clothes.”
“Didn’t have time to take ‘em off. Just needed to hold you.” He mumbled, pressing his face in the crook of her neck.
“Bad day?” Y/n asked, slowly pulling down the zipper of his spiderman suit. Hobie wasnt hurt in the slightest, maybe that was a bad thing.
“yeah.” He mumbled, beginning to take his pants off. Soon he was naked, still holding her loosely.
Y/n pressed a kiss to his arm before beggining to rub his body down with soap. Hobie groaned as her fingers ran over his shoulders, massaging the skin there.
“Youre so good to me.” He said, leaning down to press his lips to hers. His large hands traveled down to her hips, his thumbs massaging the skin there. Y/n wraped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. She playfully caught his lip ring between her teeth and tugged on it.
Quickly Hobie picked her up, pulling her legs around his waist. He pressed her against the side of the shower, breaking the kiss to nip at her neck.
One of his hands reached down and carefully stroked his half-hard length.
“Hobie I need it.” Y/n mumbled into his ear, her fingers dancing over his chest.
“You need it?” He smirked.
“My baby needs me just like I need her, doesnt she?” He groaned, already sliding the tip up and down her already wet slit. He slid in and bottomed out in one smooth stroke, closing his eyes and relishing in the warmth of her cunt.
“Fuck I might’ve been thinking ‘bout this all day.” He mumbled, placing both hands under her ass and beginning to deliver deep strokes.
Y/n threw her head back, whining and squeezing his shoulder every time Hobie’s tip dragged against her walls.
Hobie pulled his hips back, then slammed into her with a bit of force. He smirked at y/n’s squeak, continuing his actions. His eyes rolled back as she moaned his name over and over, the warm shower water still hitting his back.
“I know, I know.” He cooed, cuping y/n face with one of his hands.
“Mhm, yeah.” He teased, mimicking her moans.
“Youre so beautiful.”
Hobie pressed his lips to hers again, his hand coming down to circle her clit with his thumb.
“Hobie please-” She moaned, hands clawing at his wet back as his thrusts began to pick up speed.
“Cum for me. cmon baby.” He mumbled, angling his thrusts to hit a different spot. He bit his lip as y/n legs locked around his waist. Her walls clamped down on his, her warmth milking him as she came. Hobie groaned loudly, thrusting his load into her until he had nothing left.
He breathed a deep sigh, rubbing y/n’s side with his hand.
“Still having a bad day?” She asked quietly. Hobie pressed his face into her shoulder with a stiffled laugh.
“I cant have a bad day when Im with you.”
____________________________________________
#hobie brown#hobie brown x reader#hobie x reader#across the spiderverse#spider punk#hobie brown smut#spiderpunk x reader#spiderpunk smut
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Cw: Stalking, serial killer Simon, non-con, stalking.
Stalker and haunted house worker Simon who sees you and your friends enter the park and immediately is drawn in by you. Getting horny just thinking about stalking you around the park, following you into the darker rooms of the haunted house full of blood and gore.
Thinking of you unsuspecting as you sign that waver to be touched and pushed around, laughing with your friends as you entered the house...
Watching you take an interest in one room, while your friends part and walk another direction...
Pinning you to the wall once you're away from your friends, touching you all over, pulling at your outfit. "Look so beautiful tonight..." He rasps under his mask and jacket, leaning into your neck.
You whined, gasping and fumbling around desperately. Feeling aroused by being like this. People coming and going through the house, probably able to see you.
Simon keeps you pinned, the fake hatchet they gave him pinned to your throat as he wiggles your bottoms down, not wasting any time spanking your ass.
Looking around before taking down his belt and stroking his cock between your ass cheeks.
The idea of fucking you like this making his head spin and his gut tense.
The sound of his fingers sliding inside you colliding with the sounds of the statues and obstacles throughout the place going off. Bathed in red light when his cock sinks inside you, flesh slapping against skin. His boots planting in the ground, gripping you tightly.
The sound of your moans and the house flowing together, hearing others screams from different rooms while you shake and moan beautifully under him.
You look so good, you take him so good. He's so infatuated with you. Seeing how you squirm to try and get away but he only pushes you down, arches your back. He can't stop even if he wanted to, watching his fat cock pound through your insides.
"Got like this all for me." He strokes your cheek, seeing your tears, seeing your lips falling open in a silent moan, followed by a sharp cry of pleasure.
"Fuck, moan louder, love. Louder. Fuckin' let them hear you." He grunts, thrusting his hips violently and harshly inside you. Making you sing louder, desperately crying out with each thrust that hit you right where you wanted it.
You cry, whining and reaching to try and grab him but he keeps you pinned, skull mask staring at you, large body pressing you into the wall, hips still chasing his orgasm.
Wanting to fill you full. Seeing you since the moment you entered the gates of the park in his wanders. Wanting to empty his load deep inside you and make you walk around with his claim deep inside you.
Pulling an orgasm out of you, feeling pride as he fucks you straight through it, your gasps and whines echo. Pleading with him. But he doesn't stop until he shoves all the way in, keeping you still as he empties his balls deep inside you.
Grunting and filling you up with his hot, sticky load.
Pulling out and fumbling desperately to keep it all in, heart pounding in desperation as he keeps every drop of his seed inside you.
Pulling up his pants again, the hatchet digging into your throat as he kissed your neck through his mask. "Go find your friends baby."
He let you go, leaving you there to shakily pull yourself back together, whining feeling so full. Your friends worriedly searching when they ran into you, laughing about where you'd gotten lost to.
You could feel him watching you the rest of the night. Through the haunted house, through the theme park, through the parked cars.
Simon who watches you get in the car with your friends, eyes locked on the licence plate. Simon watching you leave the parking lot. Taking the mask after his shift, getting in his car. Securing the mask, grabbing his hatchet from the backseat. The blade glinting off the moonlight...
He was gonna find you and your friends again. He had to. He wanted you.
(little blurb since what I had planned for Halloween might come a day late. Unless.. we want a full version of this? Up to you.)
#simon ghost riley#cod smut#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x female reader#cod mw2#simon ghost riley x reader smut#simon ghost riley x male reader#male reader#male reader smut#simon ghost riley x any gender reader really#little halloween blurb because what i had planned will probably come late
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
sorry, this was born out of a need to indulge myself
featuring: gaz, ballerina!reader, stalking, intrusive thoughts, delusion, mentioned SA and kidnapping
Kyle first spots you on the Piccadilly line in London's underground.
He's usually wary of public transport – would really rather walk the hour from Knightsbridge to Hammersmith than risk the inevitable unsavoury interaction bound to happen in an overcrowded tube – but it was late at night, he'd just spent his day sitting in a hotel lobby gathering intel for Price, and the idea of ducking down narrow streets in the blistering cold was the last thing he wanted coming to fruition. That's how he ended up in a (thankfully empty) train car anyway; hoodie up and hands stuffed deep into his pockets, thumb brushing over the handle of a switchblade.
He's focused on the shady character stretched across three seats adjacent to him when you happen to prance in. Perhaps prance isn't that accurate an account either, but it's hard to attribute much else to you when you're dressed like a character from one of his sister's childhood storybooks. Angelina ballerina, or something of the sorts – mismatched leg warmers, knitted bolero sleeving a black camisole, basketball shorts over nude-coloured tights, and dance booties that look like little puffer coats for your feet.
The duffel bag slung over your shoulder concerns him briefly – it's hard to look at carryalls the same after serving the military, he finds – but the tired look on your face pacifies any suspicions he might have of your intentions. Wouldn't be wise to execute an offensive when one of your operatives is weary, especially given they're the only agent in sight. Regardless, he's hit with a distinct trepidation that takes a while to name.
You slide past the figure he'd been observing early, hop over Kyle's boots as well, fingers clasped over your behind as if to protect yourself from any wandering hands. The feeling rippling in his chest worsens, yet it's only as you slot yourself onto a far-away seat is he able to recognise it.
You shouldn't be here this late. This isn't the place for you.
With your hair neatly pulled away from your face, he's given full reign to ogle at your darling features. Round cheeks. Hydrated lips. Pretty thing. His molars grind against each other. There are no doubt men on this train that'd want to take advantage of that. Press your mouth open with a thumb on your tongue, rub themselves raw just to see cum decorate your lashes and drip over your brow. Barrack talk, the type of shit he hears floating between his comrades-in-arms when missions drag a little too long. Perversion brought on by desperation.
The intercom dings, and the lady with the soothing voice announces their arrival to Hammersmith. His stop, yet the thought of getting off and abandoning you is enough to keep him stuck to his seat. His stomach upturns as possibilities occur to him like frames in a technicolor film; none pleasant, all ending with you tied up in the trunk of some random van. Some part of him recognises his paranoia, the ridiculousness in his attachment to a perfect stranger (which chides him in a voice eerily similar to Price's, all gruff vowels and whispered consonants), but it does not change the fact that when the doors open to his station, he does not move.
Yeah. He stays on so long as you do – which fortunately is not an extensive length of time. You collect your stuff one stop later, standing to wait at the door once the lady announces Acton Town. He doesn't get up until you're a few seconds out though, slipping through the closing panels of the entryway to follow a few paces behind your heel. Up the escalator and down the block.
The night air nips at his nose, chilling his knuckles so they creak if he curls them. Are your nipples knotted under your layers? Or would they need the help of his fingers to perk up? His throat stiffens. He shakes the thought from his head.
You make a turn. Kyle stops for a second, breathes in, before veering left behind you. Heading towards the west part of town, now. It's a good place to live, all things considered. Still, he wonders if you deadbolt your doors, if you keep yourself safe online. You seem smart, but there are people who won't rest until they get their way. People like the one's he deals with at work – amoral men with biceps that could crush your head. Rotten, horrible men who are only rotten and horrible to cope with the tasks assigned to them. Depraved enemies, depraved friends. Only difference between the two being which flag they fight for.
You throw a look over your shoulder, shoulders shrinking as you wrap your arms tighter across your chest. He looks around, seeking the threat you seem to be so put off by. Nothing but brick-and-mortar storefronts and flattened cigarette butts.
He's compelled by the urge to shush you, to scratch your back as he tells you that there's no need to worry. He'll walk you all the way home. Make sure you get nice and situated, listen for the tell-tale lock of your deadbolt, watch for the dimming of your light. He'll stay until you fall asleep, then walk back to where he came from, take the returning line to Hammersmith – so when he flops back down into his own bed, he'll be reassured by the knowledge that you're safe a mere 4 miles away.
Might take a shower before then, though. Your arse looks great when you're speed-walking like this, pronounced even behind the loose material of your basketball shorts. He hopes the image remains as vivid when he's attending to the heavy mass between his legs later.
Kyle halts right in his tracks.
What is he doing?
You're nearly running now, shrinking away from him at an exponential rate, and duck another corner when you look back to see that he's no longer in pursuit. Completely out of sight.
His Captain’s voice comes to life once more, echoing in the part of his brain he has yet to compartmentalise.
You draw the line wherever you need it, Sergeant.
#unedited and probably bad#tbh this is a character study poorly disguised as a fic#lmk if yall want a part 2 tho#kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader#gaz x reader#kyle 'gaz' garrick#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz#x reader#x afab reader#call of duty#cod
663 notes
·
View notes
Text
incandesce
zoro x afab!reader
an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺
cw: fluff :)
wc: 1.1k
@bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath
The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.
You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.
Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.
It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.
No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism.
He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.
And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.
Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.
And you show him that worth.
His worth.
Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest.
A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.
A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.
Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.
“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”
“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips.
It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.
Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.
Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception.
Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.
To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite.
You’re home.
You’re his.
#one piece x y/n#one piece x reader#roronoa zoro x y/n#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro fluff#zoro x reader#one piece scenario#x reader#zoro x y/n
740 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sunil429
Sunil
untamedsinning
too kinky for the kink blog
saudenopoder
Saúde no poder
saucy-gremlin
Ongoing Crisis