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andypantsx3 · 9 months

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ON ICE : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

summary: your pro hero boyfriend ices you to the counter and has his way with you. content warnings: shameless unedited smut, fem/afab reader, aged-up characters, established relationship, misuse of shouto’s quirk (aka ice restraints), nipple play, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex word count: 2.6k

It happened right in the middle of lunch prep.

You’d just taken the vegetables out of the oven and you’d been peering thoughtfully into the sauce, wondering what else it needed, when there was a crackling, crystalline sound, almost like glass shattering. There was the freezing touch of ice at your ankles, curling up around your foot, locking you to the floor.

You yelped, catching yourself on the counter, and whipped around to stare at your pro hero boyfriend as he lounged in the doorway.

“Shouto, that’s fucking freezing!” you yipped, clutching the countertop for balance as you tried to yank your house slippers out from the block that had encased them. The thickness of your socks and the material of the slipper protected you from the worst of Shouto’s quirk, something you thought he’d probably banked on, but you could still feel the icy chill beyond them.

“What the hell?” you demanded.

Shouto, for his part, looked extremely unconcerned with what he’d just done. Today was his off-duty day, and he’d clearly just awoken from the nap he’d been taking, face down in the bed when you’d left him. The right side of his hair was mussed, fluffed up and out of its usual silky perfection, and he still looked sleep-soft in a dark tee shirt and sweatpants. A tiny, mischievous smile turned up the corner of his perfect mouth.

“Caught you, love,” he said in his low, gentle tone. Which was extremely sexy but also explained absolutely nothing.

You peered at him suspiciously over your shoulder. “I’m making lunch—there’s nothing to catch.”

You watched your boyfriend’s mismatched eyes slide over you in a cool assessment, icy grey and fiery blue, flickering down the lines of your body. Instead of answering, he pushed off the doorway, padding slowly over to you. You lost sight of him as he moved closer, unable to twist your head at that angle, so you were surprised by the sight of a long fingered hand reaching out by your hip, tugging the pair of oven mitts hanging off the side of the stove.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you wondered as his hand retracted, only to shiver as he stepped up behind you, his chest warm against your back.

“Hold out your arms, love,” Shouto said, catching you under your left elbow. You watched, mystified, as he pulled your hand back, gently guiding an oven mitt down over your arm. “I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“Frostbite?” you echoed as he pulled on the second one. Shouto carefully guided your hands back to the counter, encouraging you to take hold. You had your answer, then, as a lick of ice formed under his hands, pressing yours down to the counter. It crackled up and over the fabric of the oven mitts and clamping down tightly until you were encased in ice up to your forearm, a solid, unmovable mass, locking you against the counter.

You could feel a vague sense of the cold through the mitts, but it was abstract, distant—cool more than cold.

You stared, blinking down at the ice block in bemusement. “Sho—what the hell?”

Shouto’s chest pressed more firmly against your back, and his hands skimmed up the skin of your arms to your shoulders, holding you as his mouth pressed to the side of your neck. You shivered in his grip, feeling lost and confused and also weirdly, strangely turned on.

“You asked, love,” Shouto said into your shoulder, those long fingers playing with the straps of your dress, pulling one aside so his mouth could reach the skin under it. Your brain went a little bit fuzzy with the feeling of his soft lips on your skin.

“I think I would remember asking you to turn me into a giant ice cube,” you told him, wracking your brain for what he possibly could have interpreted as a request for this.

“When we watched that movie last week,” Shouto said, his hands sliding down your back to grasp your waist. His front pressed all along your back, and you thought you could feel the slight stirring of his interest, pressed just above your ass.

You tore your focus away from the feeling of him, a long, hot line along your back, trying to dredge up the memory of whatever movie he was referencing. “The—the super old All Might one? With the frost villain?” you asked incredulously, suddenly recalling.

There had been a classic damsel in distress, frosted to the side of a building set to implode—and All Might, aka an actor in a horrendously blimped-up bodysuit and yellow wig, had come charging in to free her. She’d been all dark eyes and heaving bosom as she’d called out to him, and when he’d pressed an enthusiastic kiss to her waiting mouth, you’d unthinkingly given voice to your doubts.

“Shouto, I said that there was no way that situation was as sexy as they tried to make it look!” you said, your mouth dropping open. “There can’t be anything hot about being ice cubed!”

Shouto hummed into your skin, a low vibration you felt all the way down your spine. “We’ll see about that, love,” he said, pressing a slow, languorous line of kisses up the column of your throat.

You tried your ice restraints again, aching to reach up and pinch him, but there was absolutely no give. “And you took that personally?” you asked.

“I did,” Shouto replied, his hands bunching up the waistline of your dress. You realized he was slowly gathering up the folds of your skirt, his fingers skimming the skin of your thighs as they were bared.

“Okay well my bosom won’t be heaving,” you promised him. Shouto’s mouth quirked against the back of your neck and he hummed again, low and full of promise.

“We’ll see,” he said again, as his hands slipped beneath your dress, sliding up your stomach to cup the aforementioned bosom. You couldn’t help but laugh, and you could feel Shouto smiling into your shoulder too, even as he grew harder against your back, pressing himself into you with intent.

“I’ve got plans for the state of your bosom,” he told you, making you laugh again. Long fingers fiddled with the cup of your bra, occasionally teasing the skin underneath, until he pulled it away from your chest, rolling it up and over your breasts.

His hands replaced the cups, warm and gentle, and you shivered again as he bit a careful kiss into the lobe of your left ear, just as his thumbs came up to brush slowly over your nipples.

“Feels good, love?” he murmured, doing it again, his thumbs flickering back and forth again in slow little circles. You could feel your nipples growing stiffer in his palms, incontrovertible evidence that it did feel good.

“Y–yes,” you said, letting out a slow breath. You felt your thighs squeeze together in the open kitchen air, your legs and your entire front bared with the way Shouto had your dress rucked up over his forearms.

Coupled with the immovable pressure at your arms, the vulnerability was unusual, and a little bit nerve-wracking. But there was no better pair of hands you trusted yourself in than Shouto’s.

Shouto kissed up the back of your neck, slowly, as his fingers worked your nipples, gently pinching and plucking, exactly how he knew you liked. Despite your earlier promise, you felt yourself growing wet, your breath coming heavy, your chest almost heaving. You realized your hips were moving, grinding in little circles against Shouto’s front.

“O–oh,” you said, when Shouto rolled your nipple just so between those elegant fingers, in a way that made the edges of your vision go a little bit blurry. "Ah—yes—"

“Mmm,” Shouto intoned against your ear. One of his hands released your breast, sliding back down over your stomach, dipping with intent into your panties. “That’s it, love,” he said, over the bitten off moan you choked out, as his fingers found their way between your folds.

His middle finger sank into you easily, his thumb brushing gently over your clit.

You grasped the counter tighter between your fingers, barely able to adjust in the minute space his ice had given you.

“It’s not so bad, is it, pet?” Shouto murmured, both his thumbs stroking over your sensitive areas in unison. His index finger joined the first, pressing up into you with purpose. "Could it be good?"

Something about the guiding question in that low, indulgent tone made you shudder, pressing harder back into him, clenching around his fingers. You felt him adjust himself against your back, his cock pressing against your ass through the fabric of his sweats, dragging up the cleft in a rocking motion.

He let out an appreciative huff, kissing below your ear, adding another finger. The heel of palm pressed firmly to your clit as his other hand plucked at your nipple again.

You turned your head, seeking his mouth. You could feel the tiny smile on his mouth as he met you halfway, licking across the seam of your lips. You moaned into his mouth as his heel pressed harder against you, pinning you back against him. You were slowly rocked between his hand and his hips, your vision sparking and fizzing, then dimming completely as your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“I’m going to take you, love,” Shouto said between kisses, licking slowly and unexpectedly filthily into your mouth, continuing that insistent rocking of his palm, the press and curl of his fingers within you. “Do you want that? Right over this counter, pet? Trapped in the ice?”

You nodded quickly, squirming in his hands. Fuck, you didn’t even care that this meant he’d been right about how sexy the ice thing could be. His fingers were so clever, so good inside you, but you wanted him more—wanted to be bent right over the edge of the counter and filled with him, wanted him weighing you down to the countertops, all those kilos of pro hero muscle curled possessively over you.

“Shouto, please,” you managed, and Shouto’s hands left you instantly. You felt him pull down the waistband of his sweats, and those fingers were teasing your panties aside, and then he was guiding himself into you, long and thick and full and utterly delicious.

You were so wet already he slid into you easily, and you realized he’d melted the ice at your feet as he walked you forward to press you right over the counter, fisting a hand in the back of your dress.

“Fuck, love,” he said, his voice tight. Hearing the inflection in his normally impassive tone heated your blood until it was simmering. “Ah, you feel so good. So sweet for me.”

He felt so good, especially when he slid back out and into you again, his hips slapping the flesh of your ass. He bucked into you slowly, groaning his approval, one strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you back into him.

“Oh my god, okay—Shouto, please—please—” you said again, uncaring that your voice had risen into a high, shaky whine.

His hips slapped into you again as his fingers found your clit once more, his palm pressing down against you. The slide of him within you and the tease of his fingers without had you moaning into your dress, bunched up over the top of the ice. You could feel the sharp bite of the ice block against the underside of one of your breasts where your dress didn’t quite cover it, shockingly cold against your overheated skin.

Shouto worked you up with the maddening skill and precision of long familiarity. He knew just how you liked it, murmuring praise into your hair, his hands roaming over every inch of you, plucking, pulling, teasing. He fucked into you with long, hard strokes, all that pro hero athleticism turned on you, maintaining a pace that had you slumping bonelessly into the counter, heat licking through all your veins.

You wanted to clutch at him, but you could only flex your fingers uselessly within your stupid oven mitts as that pressure in your lower belly started swirling out of control. When his hand lowered to your cunt again you found yourself unable to get away, every slap of his hips driving your clit more firmly into his fingers.

His other hand found your right breast and carefully teased your nipple again, rolling it between fingers that were suddenly slightly too hot, then slightly too cold.

You realized you were babbling something, but you couldn’t hear yourself over Shouto’s warm murmurs against your temple. “That’s it. That’s it, love. So perfect for me. So lovely, so tight—so good. Come for me, pet—come on. Can’t you do it?”

You were delirious with the sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers, the slide of him inside of you. With only a few more slaps of his hips, you found yourself twisting desperately in his grip, every muscle in your body drawing taut, like a string about to snap—everything inside you hot and tense and tight—

And then you were thrown out over the edge, crying out Shouto’s name, twisting and squirming and writhing out your pleasure between his hand and his cock. Shouto fucked you through it, his low, soft moans in your ear, the rapid huff of his breath stirring your hair.

Even as you relaxed against him, feeling pliant and shivery like gelatin, he kept going, seeking his own release. You pressed your cheek against the cool ice through your dress, Shouto still fiery-hot against your back, sweat sticking you together. Shouto’s hands both clutched your waist, and it was the tightening of his grip that signaled his orgasm, as his thrusts grew more hurried, more irregular.

He groaned out your name into your shoulder as he came, his voice thick and low and warm and pleased.

His weight trapped you against the counter, even more firmly than his ice, and a feeling of deep contentment and satisfaction pooled in your veins.

So...he had been right, you could admit. The ice thing could be sexy, or whatever. Given the right pro hero in the mix.

“I thought so,” Shouto said when you admitted this aloud to him, sounding a little too pleased with himself. “I suspected you would be interested.”

You turned your head to look at him, catching sight of one blue eye, his scarlet bangs falling across his brow. “I am pretty certain I said I thought it wouldn’t be sexy though,” you said, squinting at him suspiciously.

In the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth quirk. “Ah but that means you thought about it,” he said, with the terrible perceptiveness of a partner you’d had for years.

Your whole body went suddenly hot with embarrassment.

“Okay but I say a lot of stuff during movie scenes,” you said defensively, as Shouto’s hands came up to smooth over your waist again, clutching you almost possessively. You were occasionally kind of a talker during movies, you could admit it. It wasn’t like this scene in particular had been special.

“Which means we have several other scenes to explore, love,” Shouto said, shifting over you with intent, still buried within you. “I seem to recall two others from this last week.”

You suddenly realized he was making no move to free you from the ice, even as his hands slid over you again. And you recalled with a startling clarity just which scenes you had remarked on this last week—

You could feel your boyfriend’s smirk against your skin, and you shivered with delight, as he slid down your body and began his work anew.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki smut #bnha x reader #shoto x reader #character: todoroki shouto #nsft #andie's writing

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carmillas-vampiric-rage · 4 months

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Mk1 but it's a Comedy

bi-han with a partner who's just a m e n a c e and makes his life a living hell. teases him. laughs at him. does not take him seriously. uggh i live for that shit.

warnings: crackhead post, wrote this in like 92 seconds (real), nsfw only towards the end but it's nothing sexual if that makes sense lmao, reader is out of their mind

bi-han x black biracial reader (gn!)

this bitch pretend dives off of furniture then says "guys guess who i am". kuai liang and tomas find it hilarious and bi-han threatens to break your hip flexor.

was there when he said "freeze where you stand" you actually gasped out loud and spun your head violently, nearly exposing the entire lin kuei attack as a test- liu kang literally needed to calm you down with how flabbergasted you were. kept whispering to bi-han as you followed him and the brothers down stairs to liu kang that you couldn't believe he made a fucking ice pun

absolutely appears out of nowhere behind bi-han and announces your presence by saying "freeze where you stand" now. bi-han has aged like 50 years with this.

you told kung lao -who naturally started to say it around bi-han too- and now he's plotted both your assassinations.

"obey your grandmaster!" is followed by loud laughter and patting the nearest person on the back as you walk out the room wiping a tear from your eye.

which is followed by an immediate ice block to the head.

you two are glued to the hip, leaning, cuddling or hugging at any given moment... which was quite the shock to kuai liang and tomas. if they mention the fact bi-han is sprawled out over you with your legs somehow resting over his chest, and his swept over the arm of the chair, he will flat out deny it.

"you look quite comfortable, brother"

"what nonsense are you speaking about?"

"it's not bad, bi-han, you two look cute!"

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

"..."

"obey your grandmaster!"

and bi-han flicks you against the forehead.

you're the only person who gives the same shit bi-han gives to everyone else. arguments aren't common between you two, surprisingly, (to the shock of all around) but when you guys do fight... somebody's ending up in a headlock.

raiden and kenshi remember training one day, noticing bi-han walking across the courtyard, and then hearing your loud, raging screams across said courtyard as you threatened to use his cryomancy as a dildo so he can go fuck himself. suffice it to say, raiden and kenshi called it a day- and decided to see what new video johnny was filming around the temple.

his brothers thought bi-han pointed a lot at them- babe- kuai liang and tomas have seen nothing! they see that finger pointing ↘️↗️➡️↙️⬆️⬅️↖️ at you at all hours of the day for literally any reason.

absolutely roasted this man for getting his ass beat by johnny cage- but then you gave him kisses and hugs and said "you'll get 'em next time champ" which resulted in bi-han tossing you in the nearest body of water.

the two of you sleep like someone tried to rob you in the middle of the night. sheets scattered, pillows on the floor, and the two of you lost in limbs and hair as your foreheads are pressed together. tomas barged in one morning to ask bi-han for something, and legitimately thought you'd both been murdered by the state of your bedroom. it took you scream laughing and bi-han throwing a lamp from his nightstand for tomas to realize you two were very much alive.

(you definitely wacked bi-han in the face and told him to apologize for throwing a lamp at his brother, to which he begrudgingly did)

you'll say something outta pocket, laugh in his face when bi-han orders you to do something, and he'll scowl at you, growl, then kiss you on the forehead and walk away. it never ceases to shock you, you're literally standing there frozen (hehe) no thoughts going through your mind, but that quickly turns into giggling and blushing. bi-han adores forehead kisses, and it's one of the few times he can get back at you and leave you flabbergasted.

#bi han x black biracial reader #bi han x black reader #bi han x reader #sub zero x black biracial reader #sub zero x black reader #sub zero x reader #sub zero headcanons #bi han headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #bi han #mk1 bi han #mortal kombat 1 bi han #sub zero #mk1 sub zero #mortal kombat 1 sub zero #tan's tangents

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chaotic-mystery · 11 months

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Not A Survivalist Girl: Part 3

“Mr. Fucking Piece of Work Miller”

Written by @chaotic-mystery & @tightjeansjavi

(Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary: Joel Miller lives a life alone. It's the way he likes it. After losing his daughter 13 years ago, and his brother Tommy ditching him for the fireflies out west, he doesn't have much sympathy, nor care for what remains of civilization. That is..until he meets you in the woods one cold night. How stupid could you really be to light a fire, and put yourself in imminent danger.

Warnings: implied age gap, canon typical violence (eventually) slow burn, mean! Joel, dark! Joel, is literally just a grumpy old asshole!Joel, sunshine reader, no survival skills but she's doing her best, Joel is a loner, mentions of depression, PTSD, trauma, childloss, angst, grumpy vibes, some degradation, nicknames, teasing, eventual smut, (+18) minors dni!

WC: 3.1k

At dawn's impending approach, Joel was still wide awake. He didn’t sleep much these days anyway. His eyes were dry, and crusty and his back ached from sitting on a log all fucking night. The pain reminded him that he was still alive, that he was still breathing. There was frost coating the dry grass in little ice crystals and the fire from the night before had completely died out. Not even the morsels of hot embers remained. Joel was freezing but he would be damned if he’d wrap himself up in your stupid fluffy pink blanket. That was until his teeth started to chatter, and he could see his cold puffs of air. With a grumble of pure annoyance, he wrapped his broad frame in the fluffy blanket. He wasn’t happy about it but what choice did he really have?

As you climbed out of your tent and slowly made your way to Joel, your eyes fell on your pink blanket that was draped around his broad shoulders. “Good morning, I uh- I see you found my blanket.” You cleared your throat and crossed your arms over your chest for warmth. The morning sun was barely peeking over the horizon, the air nipping at your cheeks. Joel immediately took the blanket off of him like it had something wrong with it and practically shoved it in your arms as he stood up in front of you.

Joel responded with a grunt as he slowly stood up from the log, bringing his hand to his lower back as he tried to stretch it out. Goddamn log. Goddamn stupid fucking fluffy pink blanket. Goddamn stupid cans hanging from a fucking tree. Goddamn birds chirping. Goddamn. Goddamn. Goddamn. You looked cute in the morning. That was for goddamn sure.

“So are you really not going to let me come with you? I can be so helpful to you and you don’t even want to consider that?” You were trying to make him a great offer, but he instantly called your bluff.

Joel scoffed under his breath as he straightened out his back before reaching down and grabbing ahold of his rifle that was resting along the log. “Now why the hell would I let you come with me, girlie? You don’t got shit to fuckin’ offer me. Except for another body to look out for and a mouth to feed. Do I really come across as the charitable type? Cause I sure as hell ain’t.”

Your eyes looked up as you were taking in his answer like you could see it working through your brain. “That's…very true, but think of it this way: you can show me how to shoot guns, use knives better, I can look out when we go hunting so you can actually get some sleep and not be a grouchy ass man! It’s perfect and we both win!” The singsong tone you had going on was getting on his last nerve and you loved it.

Joel chucked under his breath as he cocked his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. “You? Look out for me? That’s cute darlin’. Absolutely fuckin’ adorable actually that you think I have any use for you. The hell am I supposed to do with your ditzy self and that fuckin’ pink blanket, Hm? Enlighten me girlie.”

As your mind raced for a useful response, you started to panic as he was losing patience quickly. “I just don’t want to be left by myself anymore and I know for a fact I can be helpful to you if you teach me, please..I don’t know where to go from here. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long but I’ll do anything, I’ll listen to everything you say.” Your twiddling thumbs came to a stop with your sentence as you met his eyes, showing him how serious you were being.

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath as he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and muttered something unintelligible through gritted teeth. The truth was, Joel had spent all fucking night going over the pros and the cons of taking you with him. Unbeknownst to you, he just wanted to see how far you would go to insure your own safety. Leaving you out here to fend for yourself was certainly a death warrant. You were the first living person he had come across in months and perhaps the company wouldn’t be entirely awful. He also just couldn’t stand to face the flashing images in his head of you being torn apart by clickers, or worse.

The silence started to put fear in your heart, not really sure if he’d change his mind and let you tag along with him to wherever the hell he was going. The truth was just that: you needed him. Somehow his scary presence he tried so hard to put forward wasn’t scary to you, it actually made you want to know more about him. You tucked some of your hair behind your ear and crossed your arms slowly as you waited for his response, preparing yourself to hear him tell you no.

“You’ll listen to everything I say? No questions asked? You’re damn right it’s a miracle that you have lasted this fuckin’ long out here girlie. You clearly got some fight left in ya.” I can’t believe I’m about to do this. Joel internally said to himself. Allowing you to travel with him was going to take some time getting used to. An adjustment that would come with all the bumps, and nitty gritty shit along the way.

“You can come with me girlie. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll teach you everything you need to survive. Don’t go and get all excited just yet cause I got some fuckin’ ground rules. First, you listen to everythin’ I tell ya to do, got it? Whatever I say goes and trust me, you ain’t gonna want to start arguin’ with me. If I tell you to run? You fuckin’ run. If I tell you to shoot? You fuckin’ shoot. Finally, if you get bit, just realize right now that I’m gonna have to kill ya. I’d make it quick, painless before the cordyceps spread. Do yourself a favor and do not get bit. Alright?” Joel spoked sternly, he wanted to instill a bit of fear into you. Some tough love if you will. He hoped to god that he’d never have to kill you under any circumstances.

“Thank fucking god, you didn’t have to wait so long to say that, this isn’t some movie where we need dramatic effects!” You let out a huge fake sigh and sarcastically wiped your forehead, trying to play it off that you weren’t actually scared.

“How about you just say fuckin’ thank you for me saving your goddamn life? Don’t make me change my mind, girlie. Those clickers are still gonna be lookin’ for a snack.” Joel grumbled before he reached into his bag and pulled out a small pistol. “You know how to use one of these things girlie? Or would you prefer a knife? Pick your poison cus’ I got lots of it.”

“Thank you oh so very much kind sir, how ever will I repay you?” You mocked in a terrible southern accent. You thought about all the options he listed and decided on the knife, holding out your hand for him. There was no turning back now, you were in it. You were here and you had to listen to everything he says, but where's the fun in that?

Joel let out a grumbled sigh as he stuffed the pistol back into his backpack before retrieving a decent sized combat knife and handed it over with the blade pointing towards the ground. “Try to not hurt yourself with this, alright sweetheart? She’s pretty sharp.”

“Well if I do hurt myself I have plenty of bandages to use, I’ll just need a hand with it probably” you teased and observed the knife, your thumb brushing over the sharp blade gently. “So where are we going now? Don’t really think you want to stay here after killing all those clickers last night.” Even when he grumbled and talked to you as if you didn’t know a fucking knife was sharp, he was still growing on you. Sure you only met him last night, but you weren’t afraid to admit he was easy on the eyes.

Joel let out a deep sigh as he zipped up his bag. It had only just dawned upon him that he was going to have to share a space with a whole other human being now. His cabin was his safe space. His solace. His home. The fact of reality was he didn’t really want to have to share his space, but what choice did he really have? He promised to protect you and stubborn as he may be, he was a man of his word. “Well, I’ve uh—got a cabin 10 miles west of here. It’s a bit of a hike so I hope you ain’t gonna complain too much about bein’ on your feet.”

“You have a cabin? Why didn’t we go back to it last night instead of sleeping out in the fucking cold?” You start to take the supplies from inside your tent out as you wait for his response. After the third item you put outside the tent, you felt like he was judging so you wrapped everything else in your sleeping bag and rolled it shut, setting it outside in a ball. “Regardless why we didn’t go back, I can’t go to someone’s cabin who won’t even tell me their name, ya know?” The desperation was apparent, you just wanted to know his name.

“Use your head, girlie. Why the hell would I take a total stranger back with me in the middle of the night? Like I said earlier, I ain’t a charitable person. Plus if you knew any better, traveling at night, is by far one of the dumbest things to fuckin’ do out here.” He stated as a matter of factly. Course she wants to know my name. “It’s Joel. My name is Joel. Don’t go and wear it out, cus’ I jus’ have a feelin’ that you will girlie.”

The sound of his name just sparks something inside you, you feel your heart racing a little more now that you finally have a name with a face. “Joel..I like that. It suits you.” I definitely will be wearing it out though, in more ways than one, you thought quietly to yourself. Maybe it was your daddy issues or maybe because you haven’t been around humans in forever, but he set your body on fire, regardless of how much older he was than you.

“You’re a weird one, you know that girlie? It’s just an average Joe’s name. Ain’t nothin’ special about it.” He grumbled under his breath as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta get movin’ and I don’t plan on takin’ any rest breaks.” He strode past you, giving you a light shoulder check.

As you walk for what feels like forever, you finally make it to his cabin. It’s quaint but still beautiful and bigger than you thought it would be. “Holy shit, Joel! Did you build this yourself? This is amazing.” You compliment as your hand runs over the smooth wooden beam of the porch.

By the time you and Joel arrived at the cabin, Joel’s back was aching, and his boots felt way too tight but he did a good job of hiding it, especially when he was so close to having a stiff glass of whiskey. “Yeah I uh..built it. Took a bitch in a half, but it’s pretty sturdy. Hold your horses though, alright? I need to check to make sure the area is safe. Almost had a nasty run in with some raiders last month so I’ve taken some extra precautions.” He was already cocking his rifle, using his freehand to grasp your arm and yank you behind him protectively.

You’d be lying if you said him putting you behind his back while he looks for anything out of the ordinary didn't scare you. No one had ever been that protective over you though, the way his hands cocked his gun so fast, he didn’t hesitate to take the right measures to ensure your safety. It was hard not to admire him for his bravery. “Yeah I think I’ll just stay riiight back here, behind you.” You whispered and crouched behind him so all you could see was his back. You grabbed the bottom of his shirt to keep you following the right direction as you were close to him at all times.

Joel lightly smacked your hand away, turning his head slightly to look down at you with a narrowed glare. “Cut that shit out. How the hell am I gonna protect us if you’re grippin’ on me like that? Jus’ stay right here, and do not move till I say you can. You got that girlie?” He harshly whispered.

“What? No! You can’t leave me here by myself!” You half-whispered back at him as you dropped your hands to your side. There was a small chance someone could come out right now and stab you to death, leaving you to die in your own pool of blood and he wouldn’t even know it because he thought leaving you alone was a good idea.

“Shuddup. You’re gonna be fine! Just lay low and don’t make a fuckin’ sound.” He whispered as he glanced over his shoulder once more, giving you a reassuring small nod that everything was gonna be just fine. It was always just better to be safe, than sorry. He quietly climbed up the wooden steps, taking a small breath as he slowly pushed open the door handle to the cabin, aiming his gun around the expanse of the entryway. He meticulously checked every room in the small cabin before he made his way back to the front door, pushing it open as he peeked his head out. “Alright, girlie. Coast is clear. We’re safe.”

“Don’t do that shit again, not until you’ve taught me how to defend myself, buddy.” You said annoyed at your own fear making your skin crawl as you put your hand on his chest and pushed past him into his cabin.

“What the fuck did ya just say to me girlie?” Joel grasped your upper arm firmly around his calloused palm, stopping you in your tracks. “Keep that fuckin’ attitude up with me and you’ll be sleepin’ outside like a goddamn dog sweetheart.” His words were harsh, bitter down to the very bone.

“Let go of me, just show me where I’m sleeping, please I’m tired.” You knew you should apologize for your fear making you be so mean but fuck he didn’t need to be so harsh. You looked him in the eye as you tried to tug your arm away, not succeeding in the slightest.

Joel inhaled deeply, exhaling as his nostrils flared out. His grip loosened along your upper arm till it was gone completely. “Fine. Would a thank you fuckin’ hurt? I’m gonna have to teach you some fuckin’ manners.” He gritted through his teeth, striding past you. His boots were heavy along the wooden floor as he walked further into his home.

You rolled your eyes out of his sight and sighed, following him loosely. He could make you sleep on the floor if he really wanted you to, to which you’d lock him out of his bedroom and sleep in his bed. Then who’d be the one sleeping on the floor, Mr.Asshole? “Oh I have manners and I use them with people who deserve them. You, however, do not. Feel free to teach me anything else though, I’m a quick learner.”

“Oh my god, my poor poor heart. That really hurts me, girlie. Go on and twist the knife deeper, why don’t ya?” He scoffed under his breath as he walked down the hall before making an abrupt stop at the first room on the right. He shoved the door open with a small grunt. “This is where you’ll be sleepin.’ It ain’t much, but the bed is decent. Bathroom is down the hall. Don’t expect 5 star service either. Still workin’ on getting proper plumbing.”

“Well thank you, I will be sure to leave a review tomorrow morning, depending how the night goes. Thank you, and I’m sorry.” You hated saying sorry, but it was in your best interest to at this moment. You reached out to touch his arm, just to show him you meant no harm.

“Uh huh. You’re so very welcome.” His tone was laced with sarcasm and as soon as you reached out to touch his arm, he instinctively moved back. Joel was not an intimate person. Well, not on the surface at least. Even so, that part of him had died a long time ago. He wasn’t about to welcome it back in with open arms. “Get some sleep.” Was the last thing he said before he retreated from the open doorway. He grabbed his bottle of whiskey from the makeshift kitchen area, not even bothering to grab a glass before he took a large swig, muttering under his breath. The front door could be heard slamming shut shortly after as he went to stack wood on the log rack. His muscles ached, and his back was sore but these were things that Joel Miller had grown accustomed to. He’d rather suffer through physical pain than deal with his emotions.

As you made your way to the guest room, you noticed his room was right next to yours. Looking around for Joel in sight when you finally saw him outside carrying firewood to fill the log rack on the side of the cabin, you slipped in his room just for a moment. There was a framed photo of a younger version of Joel and a young girl was sitting on his nightstand, he was covering her eyes as the photo was being taken. She had a beautiful smile and this was a whole different version of Joel you didn’t even think existed. Context clues were telling you something bad had happened, but now was not the time to pry. Setting the pink duffle bag on the ground, you quickly grabbed your blanket from inside, fluffed it out and folded it so it was just the right size to lay at the end of the bed for him to use tonight. Regardless of what he said, he liked your blanket and he’d never admit it, and this was your peace offering for not having manners.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #not a survivalist girl #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader #gi and mads

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ournosleep69-blog · 8 months

Text

Joel Teaches You a Lesson

Pairings: Joel Miller x fem!reader (use of she/her, feminine terms)

Content & Warnings: Smut. 18+. Established relationship, age gap (user is Ellie’s age; 19), humiliation/degradation, unprotected PinV, masochism, sadism, slight mentions of gore and death (y/n kills a clicker), orgasm denial, edging, marking, petnames, sweet aftercare, fluff, dacryphilia, glossaphilia, dom!joel, protective joel, creampie, yelling, ruined orgasm.

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Y/n does something reckless, Joel finds out. Punishment awaits.

A/N: I didn’t write this one with zero sleep, so I think this one’s a little bit better than the last. Feel free to leave suggestions. Happy reading!! <3

In the freezing embrace of a snowy morning in Jackson, you awaken due to the shining sun practically spearing through your sheer curtains. Rising with the first light, you meticulously prepared for the day ahead, indulging in a refreshing shower and savoring a quick breakfast. Embarking on patrol alongside Ellie, her animated account of a vintage action film captivated her, shielding her from noticing the sight of Joel's green flannel gracing your form beneath the soft layers of your coat. You were grateful she hadn’t noticed, and you’d be lying if you said the idea of Ellie finding out what her best friend and father-like figure were doing together behind closed doors didn’t excite you a tiny bit.

“Dude, so there’s, like, ten guys and they’re just..fucking going at it an- are you listening?” With a deep furrow in her brow, Ellie playfully snapped her fingers in front of your face, demanding your attention. The two of you traversed the well-worn creek trails, the weight of the heavy hunting rifles in your hands serving as a constant reminder of the purpose of your walk this morning.

“Sorry- what?” You ask, offering a sheepish smile in apology.

Ellie huffs and tucks a piece of auburn hair behind her right ear and then nudges your side with her elbow. “You’ve been spacey all morning. What gives?”

You can’t answer, though, because the sound of a twig snapping in the distance calls your attention. You’re both immediately on high alert, holding the forestock of your rifles tightly. The slow heartbeat in your chest is steadily increasing, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

“The fuck was that?” You ask in a slightly panicked voice, already starting to push past the tree branches and bushes to walk in the direction of the sound. It’s a dumb idea, running into something like that. And you knew that.

Behind you, Ellie’s lush green eyes widen with concern and worry. Her canvas sneakers pound on the iced-over crunchy snow as she races over to you. No way in hell she’d let you fight off an infected on your own…if it even was an infected.

“Dude, what the hell are you-”

In a swift motion, you dismissively wave your hand, urging the girl to maintain absolute silence. The sudden snap of yet another twig sets your instincts into high gear, propelling you to swiftly track the sound's origin. With determination, you navigate through the tangle of undergrowth, pushing your way through a compact bush, until your eyes behold the sight that awaited you.

A clicker.

Its vibrant orange and green, jagged protective plates make for a haunting sight which is only enhanced by the reflection of the melted snowflakes running down them. The clicking rumbling deep from its chest grows louder and louder as it senses a nearby human. You.

You’re scared. But at the same time you know this could be the chance you’ve been waiting for. A chance to prove yourself to Ellie. She’s always the one to take out infected on these patrols, the one to protect you. So for once, you decide to be the hero.

This is stupid. Am I really about to do this?

Yes.

Ellie can’t even try to stop or persuade you from doing what you’re about to do. Calling out to you will only serve as a death sentence, and using the rifle when you haven’t checked the rest of the trail may lead to unwanted attention.

You slowly reach for something tucked in the back pocket of your jeans - an old pocket knife - and grip the tang tightly in your left hand. Your fingers brush over the spine of the small blade, just a small hint of just how sharp the damn thing is.

Your footsteps are quiet when you sneak behind the clicker. Adrenaline is pounding through your veins. For a second you think of stopping and just shooting it, but you still want to play the hero. Its screech echoes about the clearing in the woods, only met with the heavy and chilling winter wind that fills your ears.

It’s all almost under control. You almost bury the blade deep within the clicker’s neck. It almost bleeds out and falls to the floor writhing in agony. But it doesn’t.

It hears you. It hears you and it turns around, throwing out its arms and clicking directly in your face. The smell of fungus and rotting flesh swirls in your nostrils, but it’s one you’re all too familiar with in the world you’ve grown up in. Your screams are cut off when it suddenly jumps and tackles you to the ground, rolling you both around in the snow. The tight hold you have on the knife slips and it clatters to the snow-filled ground.

“Shit!” Yells Ellie, rushing forward to try and help you out of this dangerous situation.

You’re too busy quite literally fighting for your life, kicking and squirming to get out from under the infected being above you. Its yellowed teeth chomp and snap at your face with hungry fervor, looking for an opening to pry the skin off of your face.

Right before its teeth do end up making contact, Ellie stabs the monster’s temple with the sharp edge of her switchblade. The clicker’s body begins to twitch while pained, strangled clicks rumble from deep within. It collapses on top of you, its body pressing heavily into your own, essentially pinning you down into the cold snow.

With one sharp kick from Ellie, the body rolls off and you’re free to stand up. You don’t even have to glance for more than a second to see the pissed off expression on her freckled face.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?!” She punches your arm a bit too hard while you’re brushing your jeans and coat off from the dirt, snow, and blood. It causes you to teeter for a moment but you quickly regain your balance.

“Ow- jeez, El. I was just trying to take it out,” you sigh heavily, bending down to grab your rifle and pocket knife; both of which you dropped during your battle. The blade folds in and you tuck it back into your pocket all while still catching your breath and ignoring the pain radiating in your left bicep.

“That was some seriously stupid bravery.”

“Yeah..that- uh. Sorry. Don’t let anyone know about that, alright? That’s suuuper fucking embarrassing.” You try to laugh and play it off as a joke but you can’t disguise the hint of seriousness in your tone. If Joel found out about how reckless you’d been...you shudder even thinking about it. It’s like you can already hear him telling you to ‘bend over’ in your mind, and it’s enough to make your cheeks flush. Thankfully it’s covered up as just from being out in the cold.

“I won’t, I won’t,” she snorts, seemingly less mad and now more amused at your dumbass-ery, “that was pretty dumb though. You can’t even deny it.”

You both laugh, but yours sounds a bit forced because of the slight nervousness growing in your stomach. If Ellie told Joel how you’d tried to fight a Clicker in an act of foolish confidence, you’re thoroughly fucked. Figuratively and literally.

“Now can we please get out of here?” Asks Ellie while she leans forward to dust some fallen snowflakes from your shoulder. You only nod in response…then you’re both on your way to complete the trails.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

Around fifteen minutes have passed since you and Ellie got back in Jackson after patrol. Your cold hands are being warmed by cozy licks of flame from the fireplace in front of you while Ellie bullshits in the kitchen with Joel.

She didn’t think to question why you wanted to go to Joel’s as soon as you were in the confines of the settlement, and it‘s not suspicious since she’s close with him as well. If only Ellie knew what you two did together…what you two were together.

But all those thoughts are gone the moment a gruff, baritone voice whispers into your ear, the warm breath caressing the shell of your ear and sending jolts of electricity down your spine,

“I missed ya’, sweet girl. That mine?” Joel murmurs, his larger and calloused hand slipping down until it’s resting on your side, tickling you over your shirt in its wake. You’re no longer wearing the coat, just his flannel from this morning. It still smells like him.

Your cheeks fill with a familiar heat as you peer up at him through your lashes, giving a childlike giggle at being caught by your boyfriend.

“Yeah..I hope you don’t mind. It was just there and-”

The fingers dip down and brush against your hip bone in seductive strokes. He knows what he’s doing. “No. ‘S all right, ‘s cuter on you anyway.”

You shift in your seat on the worn leather armchair, trying to ignore the pooling feeling from between your thighs. It’s utterly insane what this man’s voice can do to you alone.

“Sooo..” Ellie’s voice rang out from the kitchen, her back turned to both of you, “did you guys wanna watch Return of The Living Dead? We could use a shitty zombie movie…especially with the patrol we had..?”

Ellie whips her head over to you as she giggles, completely oblivious to what Joel had just been doing to your body a few short seconds ago. His hand quickly retreats when he hears her words.

“Whaddya mean, kiddo? Somethin’ happen?” Asks Joel innocently, cocking his head to the side like that of a curious puppy’s. He’s even got the pretty, brown doe eyes to go with it, and they never fail to make you swoon and your heart to race just a little bit quicker than usual.

“Oh, nothing-” You start to chime in to save yourself from any anger on Joel’s side, but he’s quick to raise a finger to silence you.

“Nah, what happened out there, Ellie?”

“She tried to fight off a clicker with a knife. Like an idiot.” Ellie laughs softly, clearly finding nothing but humor in the situation. You want to tell her to shut up, but it’d only be met by her asking why you were so nervous, then that would lead to you getting all weird and suspicious. It’s just not worth it, you decide.

Then you can see it. The gears turning in Joel’s head. The way his posture straightens and his sharp jaw ticks. The slight flare of his nostrils. Shit. Shit. Shit. Joel slowly turns to face you, giving you a warning look.

“Ellie, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Joel abruptly asks in a cold voice, his gaze never leaving your own. Your heart’s already racing.

A confused expression falls over Ellie’s face, and she opens her mouth to protest.

“Dina ‘prolly needs ya’ or somethin’. Go see.” He mutters.

“No way! You look pissed. I wanna see-”

“Now.”

It’s the dumbest, worst thought of excuse to get Ellie out of his home, but she listens anyway. With one last weary look towards you, she shrugs and heads for the door. Her auburn hair is the last thing you see before the front door shuts tight and you’re left alone with Joel.

“What was she talkin’ about? Tell me right now or so help me god..” Joel warns, kneeling down on the carpeted floor so he’s at your same level as you sit in the chair.

“It was nothing-” You swallow thickly, feeling anxious yet turned on under his watchful, angry chestnut eyes. Your leg begins to bounce nervously up and down against the floor.

“It was not no god damn nothin’! What the hell happened out there?”

“She already said.”

“I wanna hear it from you, girl.”

Joel’s face leans forward, so close you can see the scar on his nose. Without even blinking, his right hand climbs onto your thigh and slides up your stomach, over the soft globes of your breasts, and stops when it’s finally wrapped around your throat in a firm hold.

“I t..I tried to- to kill a clicker. I thought I could sneak up on it!” You’re quick to protest, shaking your head and vehemently defending yourself as much as your trembling voice will allow.

His fingers tighten around the sides of your neck ever-so-slighty; it’s not cutting off your air flow, but it’s just on the precipice.

“And tell me why you were tryin’ to be so fuckin’ brave, princess.” The southern accent mixed with the acidity of the anger dripping from his tongue only serves to excite and scare you more. This has happened so many times, but it never gets old. And you don’t think it ever could.

“I wasn’t- wasn’t thinking..’m sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t fuckin’ cut it. What if you were bitten? Huh? The fuck would I do then? You never fuckin’ learn, do you, you goddamned idiot.”

Those words were harsh coming from Joel, a lot harsher than usual. You get the sense you’ve majorly fucked up this time, and it won’t go unpunished, that’s for sure. The sudden pit in your belly urges a lump to form in your throat.

With his hand still grasping you, he growls out the words, “Stupid fuckin’ little girl. Think she can do what she wants.”

“I’m sorry..” You whisper, biting the inside of your cheek harshly so the waterworks don’t surface and make an appearance.

“What did I just tell you, girl? You know better and yet you’re out here actin’ like you’re goddamned invincible. The hell is wrong with ya’?”

The fingers wrapped around the base of your neck shake you lightly as if he’s trying to knock some sense into your head. You can’t hold it in anymore, and that’s when the tears start to build behind your half-opened lids. They slowly creep down your cheeks as you fight a tiny sob.

“Aw, darlin’...did I make ya’ cry?” Joel’s expression softens, but his jaw is still clenched tightly - as are his fingers. He asks this in a condescending tone, knowing damn well he’s the one making you cry and feel small.

“Pumpkin, ‘s alright. I like when those tears run down your pretty little face.” The hand leaves your throat and brings his index finger to brush against one of your tears. You watch on in awe when he brings the finger to his mouth and laps it away with his thick tongue. Even upset, you feel your pussy clench around nothing inside of your jeans from the erotic sight.

“Now let’s go. I ain’t lettin’ you off on a warning this time. You knew the damn rules.”

The Texan stands up and strides in the direction of the bedroom down the hall. Your stomach drops, but you shakily rise from the chair and follow behind him. You feel so small under his touch, his gaze, his height, his everything.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

The room looks much cleaner than how you and Joel left it last night. The bed is made, his clothes no longer litter the floor, and there’s no longer a pillow tucked behind the headboard.

“You know the drill,” Joel prompts once you’ve shut the door and turned to face his giant form, “clothes off. Slowly, I wanna see ya’ take your time.” He commands.

It’s no use trying to get out of this, out of whatever he has planned for you. His jaw is still set and there’s still that cold glare in his stare. Joel wants you to undress.

Your hands slowly slide down your body and grip the hem of his flannel, pulling it up and over in a languid manner; even though this is going to be hell for you, you can’t help but tease him nonetheless. The shirt drops to the floor, revealing your basic yet sexy white bra.

The jeans are next. You notice Joel’s stare, his eyes glazed over in a look of lust and anger. He’s a man of few words, but that doesn’t stop him from owning and dominating you the way he does. Your hands are a little quicker to grab at the button of your pants.

“Slower.” Growls Joel, now crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, shoulders squared back.

You nod weakly, unbuttoning them steadily. The zipper is slid down next, the fly opening and revealing your matching colored panties. There’s undoubtedly a wet spot on the cotton fabric, and it’s only getting worse. The jeans are then rolled down and kicked off, leaving you dressed so lewdly.

“Good girl. What’d you do wrong? I want ya’ to tell me while I touch you. And start from the beginnin’.”

In a matter of seconds, you can feel Joel’s body heat behind you, warming your bare back, legs, thighs, and neck. It’s like the fireplace you’d been sitting in front of earlier, only this is a different kind of heat. It’s a lustful, primal heat.

“We..we were out on patrol and..” Your breath catches in your throat when both of his strong hands travel up from your thighs to your hips. He squeezes lightly; not enough to hurt you, but enough to show you that strength that he can use if he so chooses. He could break you, and he gets off on that. It’s evident when his semi-hard cock presses against your lower back.

“And?” Joel croaks out, feeling you start to tremble as you become similar to malleable clay within his hands.

“We…I heard a- a noise and we..” The tips of his olive-toned fingers dip into the elastic waistband of your panties, brushing over the little bit of pubic hair you have. In an attempt to keep from sucking in a sharp breath, you bite your tongue and try to continue the story.

“..I checked it out. It, ah..w-was a clicker. It didn’t notice us an- oh god..”

Your words and coherent thoughts quickly flee from your mind once his right index finger ventures down until it’s prodding between your slick folds, feeling how wet you’ve become from this alone. Joel could feel your hips almost instinctively buck up against his fingers, trying to somehow bring pressure to your swollen clit.

“Keep. Goin’. I wanna hear it all, Pumpkin. You ain’t done. And keep fuckin’ still.”

“I grabbed my- my- Joel, I can’t..” You mewl breathlessly, enjoying the touch when his finger shifts back and begins to rub light circles over that sensitive nub you so wanted him to touch.

“You’re not cummin’ ‘til I hear what you gotta say, girlie.”

“But Joel-”

“Get to talkin’.”

This is absolute brain-numbing torture, and you hadn’t even started yet. This is only the beginning and it’s going to get much better and worse as time goes on. His finger continues its teasing, even slipping where it was to slide inside of your tight, velvety walls. You whine out and clench your cunt around his finger, needing something much bigger inside.

“Fuuuck…we..I snuck up be- behind it and tried to g- get it with my knife..”

“Mm.” A simple grunt in response is all you’re going to receive in terms of vocalization. Painfully slowly, he starts to pump that finger in and out of your sopping cunt, intent on working you up and teasing further. It’s working, your body is heating up and begging for more of his touch.

“It j- it jumped on me..had to- Ellie had to- kill…it..”

His finger slides out and leaves your underwear, leaving a wet trail of your juices up your stomach. He’s obviously not done with you. Not even close.

Your body is instantaneously gripped hard from both sides, and you find yourself being tossed to the bed like a ragdoll. The top half of your body is pressed face down into the mattress while your legs are hung over the edge of the bed so you’re bent over it. The anticipation consumes you as you grasp for purchase on the bedsheets.

“Joelll..” You whine.

“Shut it, princess. I’m not too happy with ya’ right now.”

Heavy footsteps from Joel’s boots get closer and closer to your wound up body from behind. His now fully erect dick is sat between the cheeks of your round ass, but isn’t quite making contact because of your underwear and his jeans.

The sides of your white underwear are grabbed and pulled down in one swift motion so they’re bunched around your ankles.The wetness of the fabric brushes against your calf, making you shudder.

“I’m gonna make sure you don’t run off and do somethin’ stupid like that again. You got that, little girl?” With that, your inner thighs are taken into his rough hands and parted, the sensations of different skin textures feeling ever so welcomed. Your mound is exposed to him in all its intimate glory, your slick starting to seep out onto your upper thighs.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby. ‘S a shame it belongs to such a stupid thing like you, eh?” Joel chuckles huskily. As much as you want to be annoyed with his degradation, you can’t be. It’s one of the hottest things to leave his lips, and it makes you feel so, so dirty inside and out. You crave it.

Your plush lips form an ‘o’ when Joel’s body shifts behind you. The heat of his mouth teases your throbbing, aching heat and creates a warm feeling that makes the desperate need increase by tenfold. Your mind is foggy, only visions of Joel fucking you senseless flooding your every waking thought.

The rough and scratchy, silver-streaked beard of his scrapes the soft meat of the back of your thigh, and you know he’s so close to eating you out. To giving you what you need.

“I’m gonna eat you out nice and slow, Pumpkin. And you ain’t gonna cum, not yet. Understood?”

You don’t even have time to respond before his open mouth attaches itself to your soaking wet pussy. A soft but surprised moan escapes your lips as your fingers clench hard onto the sheets to the point that your nails are digging through to your palms. The urge to push your hips back and facefuck him is strong, but you refrain.

Joel’s hot, wet tongue slides from his mouth and slips between your puffy lips. He’s tasting you, his own brown eyes closing in bliss while he groans into your cunt.

“Joel..!” The pleasure is already overwhelming. You’re so fucking turned on, you need this. And you need it badly.

“Quiet. This ain’t for your pleasure. ‘S for mine.”

That tongue of his pushes deeper between your folds, nuzzling into them with his nose and mouth. You’ve never had him eat you from the back, but it’s a feeling you can’t even begin to describe. The tip flicks against your swollen clit, earning an involuntary eye roll from you.

“Taste so fuckin’ good f’me. So damn sweet.” As he’s sucking and lapping at your sensitive bud, his hands move from the backs of your thighs to your ass cheeks. The older man kneads and squeezes the round globes in perfect time with his tongue-flicking. Lewd sounds of him noisily pleasuring you plus your loud moans fill the bedroom, leaving space for nothing else.

It might be because you’re wound up. Maybe it’s because you were worked up before you’d even gone on patrol. Either way, you know your orgasm is quickly approaching once that familiar pressure builds up in your lower abdomen. Your pussy muscles start to squeeze and contract around nothing as if it's got a mind of its own while your legs threaten to buckle and twitch.

“Please- oh fuck, please-” You cry out, your body starting to shake with every tantalizing move that brings you closer and closer to climax.

And then just as quickly as the build-up started, it fades away when Joel pulls his mouth away. You glance behind you to see Joel’s mouth and chin coated in your slick. He’s got a dark smile on his lips.

“What’d I say, princess? This ain’t for you. You ain’t cummin’. Not until I want ya’ to.”

“But Joel-! You said-”

“And you said you’d be safe on patrol. Guess we’re both liars now, ain’t we? Now turn around.” Joel chuckles, getting up from the floor and starting to unbuckle his dark brown leather belt.

You groan and gasp, too weak and jelly-like to move. With a little..rough..assistance from Joel, you’re turned around and fully laid on the bed.. He wastes no time climbing on top of you and gripping both cups of the white bra you’re still wearing, fingers digging into the soft and squishy fabric.

In a moment of intense strength, Joel pulls them apart without much effort. The bra splits open down the middle, revealing your breasts to the hungry man above you.

“Oh, look at you..” He croons, starting to grope at your tits while his fingers roll and pinch your nipples until they’re hardened peaks ready to be admired. His lips quickly find your cleavage and start to leave featherlight kisses down between them, earning another moan from you. Each touch is like a burst of fireworks in your body.

“So fuckin’ eager for me to punish you. That is, princess? Want this old man to fuck ya’ until you’re beggin’ to cum on my cock?”

Joel’s hard dick is straining against the fabric of his jeans, pressed snugly against your bare cunt. You catch yourself starting to shift your hips, chasing that friction. He’s too busy to care about that right now.

With a hoarse groan on his end, those soft, hot lips of the Texan’s venture back up until they’re fully pressed against your own in an aggressive, passionate kiss. That tongue, that damn tongue, slips between your lips without asking for entrance. Your tongues roll and battle for dominance, but it’s an easy fight for Joel. His left hand reaches up to grip your hair and keep you in place while he pulls away.

There’s a string of saliva connecting you two, wetting your chin a bit as his face then nuzzles into your neck. A new, sharp sting causes your body to jolt at attention, and you can tell Joel’s biting at the soft flesh at the base of your neck down to your collarbone.

“Everyone’s gonna know I’m the only one fuckin’ you. The only one stretchin’ that tight little pussy.”

Joel buries his nose along the hollow of your throat while he gathers your sweet, natural musk. The tousled, graying brown hair at the top of his head tickles just underneath your chin while he continues to mark your skin with deep red splotches that’ll form into hickeys any second.

“M- mhm..all- all yours..” You mewl loudly, your back dipping and arching in the pleasurable pain from Joel’s sharp teeth.

“That’s right, baby girl. I still ain’t gonna forgive you yet, though.” God, this man is relentless to you.

“Now,” he suddenly shifts back, sitting between your thighs while his strong, veiny hands move to his half-undone belt. It’s briskly pulled off and tossed to the floor before he’s already reaching to step out of his jeans. The button unsnaps and the zipper falls, the jeans already being yanked off and dropped right next to the belt. That thick, hard cock is visible through Joel’s boxers, but you don’t have time to admire them because those are quickly rolled off too.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ take me and I’m not preppin’ you. You hear? I don’t care if you’re gonna be a whinin’, bitchin’ mess. Spread those pretty legs, pumpkin.” It’s a mix of stern yet loving yet angry from earlier events.

On command, your thighs open up once you reveal yourself to him again.

“Jesus Christ, that’s so fuckin’ hot.”

Joel’s hips press to yours, his left hand coming to grab the headboard to keep himself stable. His right hand grips his cock, which is beading with pre-cum, and starts to stroke it languidly. The pre is spread along the head and shaft when he uses his palm to rub it along. Meanwhile, you can only look up at the beast of a man with pleading eyes, desperate for him to be inside you. You don’t care if it’ll hurt..if anything, you crave the burning sensation when he stretches you out.

Without warning, the tip of his dick is slapped teasingly against your aching, dripping mound. Joel begins to move again, gathering slick onto his length so he can slip in with ease despite not preparing you to take him in. You gasp and catch your bottom lip between your teeth, too messed up and blissed-out from what you’ve received so far to so much as utter a single sentence.

“I need…need you..” The voice is so small and strangled that you can hardly believe it came from your own body. The need and lust has completely overridden every coherent thought and word from your brain. It’s like you're drunk on his cock and you haven’t even felt it inside yet.

“Yeah? Hold on tight then.”

With that, Joel pulls back and harshly slams into you, his cock spearing your cunt and filling you up completely. There’s a searing pain where he’s stretching you out with the thickness alone, and his name leaves your lips like it’s the only thing you know. And right now, it is.

“Oh, fuuuck. There it is…s’ so tight..you’re gonna fuckin’..take alla’ it.” He rasps, his right hand gripping your shoulder so tightly his fingernails are leaving crescent shaped marks into the flesh.

“N-No- wait..wait..” You whimper, trying to stop him from thrusting so you have time to adjust.

But he doesn’t care.

“I ain’t waitin’. Not for this. You didn’t listen on patrol, I ain’t listenin’ to your cries.” He reminds you.

Hard, deep thrusts start to shake your body, the tip of his cock occasionally slamming against your cervix and creating whitehot pleasurable pain that presumably leaves bruises deep inside.

The unrelenting assault on your soft, tight walls makes you cry and beg, nails searching to grab onto anything to keep yourself stable and in the moment while he ruts into you over and over. Your breasts bounce with every movement, which is a sight you can tell Joel enjoys, evident by the hungry expression on his face.

“You wanna be such a bad little slut, dontcha? Don’t. Wanna. Fuckin’. Listen.” Every word in the last sentence is punctuated by a thrust when he drives himself into you.

“J- Joel! Pleaseee…” The pleasure is making your head hit the pillow, your toes to curl, and a thin sheet of sweat to build above your browline.

“Bad girls who..ah, fuck..” He croaks, getting cut off by a wave of pleasure crashing over his own body. You swear you can even hear a…whimper as his dark eyes roll into the back of his head.

“..girls who don’t..listen- they get their holes..fuckin’ used. Just like this, princess.”

There it is again. That build-up in the bottom of your stomach. Your orgasm is once again approaching, and you’re hoping he’ll finally let you get your release.

Joel must’ve noticed your fucked-out state, because he smiles deviously and slams back into you.

“What? Y’ wanna cum? Wanna cum while I’m poundin’ into ya’?”

“Ye- Yes- Joel, please!” You yell. There’s no holding back, you needed this. Your hands reach up and cling themselves into his mop of brown hair, burying your fingers into it while you whine and garble underneath him.

“If that’s what ya’ want..” You don’t notice the devilish gleam in his darkened doe eyes, you’re too caught up in the relief of knowing you’re going to be able to cum. As his thrusts and grunts continue, two thick fingers slide down towards your heat and delve between your sensitive folds. The fingers move away and are replaced with the calloused pad of his thumb pressing harshly against your throbbing clit.

“M- Fuck!” It’s almost too much; Joel’s pounding into you paired with his thumb not letting up courses sparks of indescribable pleasure radiating through your body. Your orgasm builds and builds and builds until..

“I’m not rewardin’ you today.”

Joel starts to swirl his thumb quickly around your already super sensitive nub instead of slowly and gently. The wave of ecstasy you’d been waiting for and pining over crashes over you for just a split second and that usual over-sensitivity takes over before you could even enjoy it. The orgasm was fast and ruined and you fucking hated it.

A sense of frustration fills your senses while you glare daggers up at Joel, who’s still moving and holding tightly to your body until there’s red handprint marks left all over your hips, chest, and thighs. You grunt and furrow your brows at him.

“You mad, princess? Too…too fuckin’ bad. You’re so fuckin’ adorable..”

Joel’s then holding you down onto the bed while he fucks into you with reckless abandon, using you like his own personal fleshlight until he’s ready to shoot his load deep inside of you. Of course it’s not long before his movements are losing their rhythm. They begin to stutter and twitch as his cock throbs while you’re wrapped around him.

“Ohh, shit, princess…’m gonna cum so fuckin’- so fuckin’ hard. ‘S gonna fill you up ‘til you’re leakin’.”

One thrust. Two thrusts. A third, final roll of his hips emits an animalistic groan from the rough southern man as he shoots thick ropes of his semen to paint your soft insides. You feel the hot substance spilling into you, and you can’t help but let out a moan despite your anger towards your boyfriend right now.

His softening cock doesn’t pull out even as he’s caught his breath and laid atop you. You’re being crushed by his body, but you don’t mind.

“You’re…an asshole..” You mutter, voice muffled from Joel’s sweaty shoulder pressed to your lips.

“Love ya’ too, sugar. Maybe now you’ll fuckin’ listen when I tell ya’ to start bein’ safe.” It’s obvious Joel’s being genuine right now, with his voice soft yet still hoarse from the sex while his southern twang rings in your ears.

You can’t stay mad at this man, can you?

“I ain’t tryin’ to be a dick. I just…want you safe. That so hard to ask for? Ya’ don’t needa be a hero, kid.”

“I know..”

“What’d we learn?” He whispers in your ear, hand coming up to roll a few strands of your hair between his fingers in a loving way. His flaccid cock is still inside of you, but it’s oddly..comforting.

“Not to…be reckless..”

“Good girl.” A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead, nothing like a kiss you’d felt from the Joel from earlier. It’s a tender one, meant to comfort you. At the end of the day, all he wants is for you to be safe. Hell, he hates you even just going on patrol.

“I love you. You know that, dontcha?”

“I know. I love you too..”

You both lay there, curled up in each others’ warm embrace. As much as Joel likes to torture you when you’ve been ‘bad’, you know he loves you. Even if he sucks at words and feelings, the love in those eyes says enough.

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller #tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us tv #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #ellie williams #smut #joel miller fic #dom!joel miller #sub!reader #fanfic

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vikings-til-valhalla · 4 months

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So I've talked here before about my D&D Dragonborn Oath of Vengeance Paladin, Hyrax, and his Devil boyfriend, Baeron, and how Hyrax once broke into Hell to save Baeron, freed a Devil from prison to be his guide, and disguised himself under the name "Nezerath". Succeeding in finding his lover, Hyrax and Baeron escaped to the mortal world, and continued adventuring.

In the end, I'd planned for Hyrax to, with his final dying breath during a dramatic battle, make a pact with Baeron saying, "I'll find you in the next life, my love." And with that, Hyrax would be cast into Hell and into the river Styx, where his memories would be erased, and he'd be reborn with just a vague feeling of longing for someone unknown. Someone gone. Someone he would never know. But that feeling would never leave.

And well, I had a dream that literally gave me the perfect story from beginning to end, just for Hyrax and Baeron.

So basically, when he went to Hell to find Baeron, he disguised himself under the name "Nezerath". So! Once Hyrax is plunged into Styx, he begins transforming. But... not into a Devil. No. Nothing even close. He is a white Dragonborn, and slowly, his body morphs. Wings sprout from his spine, he grows almost 10x his size, his legs crack and break as they shape themselves into the limbs of a four legged lizard, and his face contorts completely into that of a Dragon. A white Dragon. And he flies from the river, roars angrily, spewing a deadly cold breath, and hears a single voice:

"Nezerath, come to me. Serve your goddess faithfully, defending me until your final breath unleashed to freeze the Nine Hells over."

Nezerath flies toward the gigantic mountain where the servants of Tiamat live, and from there, goes to join them.

Tiamat wants revenge on the Devils, who trapped her there in Hell long ago. And now, she has found just the warrior to do this for her. A former Paladin of Vengeance, who'd always sought ruin upon the worlds of wrong, and whose fury and wrath and prowess knew absolutely no end.

So, with Nezerath and his kin, other Dragons of Hell who serve Tiamat, they all go by command of the Dragon goddess, and begin laying siege to Hell layer by layer. They murder Devils where they stand, eating them limb by limb sometimes, and causing absolute chaos and decimation.

Nezerath, he leads every attack on the Devils. He spearheads the assaults, freezing the world over literally with just his breath. The realm of fire and brimstone becomes a hellscape of frozen corpses and an endless ice age set in eternal night.

Once the first queen of the first layer is eaten by Nezerath, the other kings and queens go to attack.

One Devil, he hears the name of the one who murdered his queen. And immediately, he knows who this Dragon is. He was a Dragonborn Paladin, one who loved Baeron, and broke into Hell to rescue him. His name was disguised, hidden, never spoken in truth. And he'd set this knowledgeable Devil free from prison to be his guide to Baeron, under the name of Nezerath. This Devil, Karetath, goes immediately to the next level of Hell to warn the king there of what is happening.

The king knows of these attacks on the first layer, and now that he knows they're planning to come for all layers, he heeds the words of Karetath and says, "We need to find Baeron."

Baeron has been searching for Hyrax for ages, it seems. He heard Hyrax's promise to him, to find him again, but Baeron is so devoted to finding him first that he's abandoned all duties to the upper ranks to search for his former lover.

Nobody knows where Baeron is. No one has seen or heard from him in forever.

And all Baeron knows is, the Dragons of Tiamat are laying waste to his homeland, likely in the name of their goddess. But he's not sure. He hasn't spoken to anyone to ask what's going on.

Nezerath leads the Dragons across Styx, down to the second layer. There, everyone attacks in full force, and goes after the king.

The king, alongside Karetath, fights, and when they do, Nezerath appears before them both and tries taking them on. Both Devils realize it's a losing battle, and there is no hope. The king pushes Karetath aside and tells him to go, find Baeron, he is the only key to saving Hell. And Karetath does as he is ordered, flies off, and begins his search.

Nezerath freezes the king where he stands, as a statue before his throne, and the other Devils fall in battle against the Dragon army. They move on to the third layer next.

Karetath searches all layers calling out for Baeron, starting with the first. But never, there is no response. He flies across frozen wastelands and finds nothing. Almost nobody. The few survivors have huddled together in hiding from the Dragons who've begun to take over.

But Karetath, loyal as all Devils are, remains on his quest. He goes to the next several layers, with no response, and warns each queen or king of the incoming attacks by Nezerath. And Karetath goes on while all of Hell prepares for the war. Finally, he reaches the last layer of Hell, where he finds Lord Asmodeus, king of all Hell, speaking with Baeron.

Karetath flies over to them, and bows respectfully. He says his king sent him across the levels to warn others of the Dragons, and to find Baeron.

Baeron, confused, asks Karetath why him specifically.

And there, the Devil tells him, "Nezerath, he was the Dragonborn. Long ago. Who loved you. He broke into Hell and set me free to guide him to you, under the same name: Nezerath."

And Baeron is silent for a moment as, for the first time ever, he cries. "And I unleashed this attack..." he barely says.

Asmodeus asks Baeron what he means.

Baeron explains, before his lover died, he'd made a pact with him to be cast into Hell and into Styx, with the promise: he will find Baeron again in the next life. Baeron says this Dragon, he is Hyrax. Tiamat must have corrupted him, and transformed him into what he's become.

But, Baeron says, this is not the Hyrax he knows. Hyrax was a noble warrior, who, though he did awful things, he did them in the name of the greater good. Hyrax acted on the words of Meliki, defended his friends and his lover at all costs, including that of his own life. In the end, he even sacrificed his soul so that he could still be with the Devil he loved somehow, someway, someday.

Baeron knows now, he needs to go find Nezerath.

But Karetath warns him, it's no use. This Dragon has frozen and eaten most queens and kings of Hell by now, and turned the world into a frozen wasteland. None can stand up to Nezerath. Nobody is a match for him.

"But he promised he would find me again," says Baeron. "Whether he remembers or not, he's coming. For me. And I'm his only hope."

Baeron rushes off before anyone can stop him. He begins searching the layers alone, finding most every one frozen over. But, after a while of searching, he hears the unmistakable sound of Dragons roaring.

And Baeron braces himself.

An entire army of Devils comes, chasing after the Dragons, and surrounds them from below.

Sure enough, at the forefront of the onslaught, the white Dragon, Nezerath, is there, fighting, killing, eating, ripping apart Devils without mercy.

Baeron flies over and commands the army of Devils to stand down. This Dragon, Nezerath, he can be defeated. But not how anyone thinks.

Everyone is confused. They listen, desperate to survive, and back down.

And from the Dragons, Nezerath flies forth ahead of everyone. And he lands on the ground, walking toward none other than Baeron, who stands alone, arms and wings open wide.

Nezerath sneers. "You're foolish! Do you know how many of your kin I've slain to welcome forth my goddess in their paths?"

Baeron nods. "Many. And I must say, I'm impressed. You've grown. In power. I never fathomed what you'd become when you reached your strongest, but if I'd known this was it, I'd have never made the pact with you."

Nezerath scowls and roars. He presses his muzzle against Baeron, and chomps, as though trying to make the Devil flinch. But Baeron doesn't even move.

"I would NEVER make a pact with a lowly traitor like you!" Nezerath screams. "Tiamat is my master!! And it was you Devils who trapped her here!!"

"And it was I who sent you here, and her who took you in," Baeron tells him calmly. "Tiamat, she corrupted you. Long ago. The moment you landed in the river, and it wiped your mind, she saw a chance to use your strength for herself.

"You were loyal once, to another goddess. Meliki, of the Feywilds. You were her Paladin, and fought for her. But more importantly, to you, you'd fought for *me*."

Nezerath tires to attack Baeron, who evades, and then, he reaches up for Nezerath's face, and cups it with one hand.

"Hyrax. Sworn to vengeance. Holy beacon of the greater good, regardless of cost, I've searched for you throughout Hell. Come back to me, Hyrax. I know you're not a monster."

Nezerath unleashes his frozen breath, but Baeron matches it with a simple flame produced on site from his clawed hands. The ray of frost is nothing compared to this small burst of fire. It's clear, the Dragon is not using all his strength. In fact, he's far from it.

Baeron nods. "See? You can't even bring yourself to hurt me," he says. "And it's because you were good once. Still *are* good inside. Somewhere. Tiamat can corrupt your mind, but you have the heart of a Paladin. And the light inside can never burn out, no matter what deity tries to snuff it. So come, Hyrax. Return to me, and bring an end to this chaos. Seek revenge on the one who did this to you. I'll help you. I promise, my love. My Hyrax." Baeron goes in, and kisses the Dragon gently on the muzzle.

And there, Nezerath begins to glow. The glow overtakes him entirely, and morphs into a different shape. One familiar to Baeron and Karetath.

As the glow dissipates, there stands a tall, beefy Dragonborn Paladin, clad in thick plate armor, carrying a gigantic sword so large it acts as a pike. He falls to his knees crying, and in a soft, familiar voice, says, "Damnit, Baeron! How can anyone ever forgive me?! How can I forgive myself?!”

Baeron walks to Hyrax, and hugs him. "By doing the right thing," he says. "Just as you always do."

Hyrax nods. He stands up, smacking the tears away from his face, and looks. He sees the mountain, where Tiamat resides, and draws forth his weapon. "I'm afraid..."

"Everyone is," Baeron tells him, putting one arm around Hyrax. "But you're not alone. Together, we can kill Tiamat where she's bound, in her land, and end her once and for all. You're powerful, Hyrax. More than nearly any of us. And it's time to show the goddess of Dragons what it *means* to be a Dragon."

Hyrax nods. He turns his head, and kisses Baeron, and they both turn to the army of Devils.

Baeron speaks up. "All legions gather the remaining forces of Hell! Together, we will march upon Tiamat, and the Draconic Paladin, Hyrax, will lead the charge! We'll take her down where she stands, and set this land free of her wrath!!"

The Devils do as commanded. They flee past the Dragons, into the lower layers. And Baeron, he picks up Hyrax, and carries him down with everyone. They split off into groups who go to warn the remaining kings and queens, but Baeron takes Hyrax to the last layer. And there, they land before the biggest Devil of all, whose mere presence gives off an aura of damnation and sin, and Baeron bows to him.

Hyrax follows suit, and does the same.

"Lord Asmodeus," says Baeron.

Asmodeus crosses his arms and looks down upon the two. "You must be Hyrax," he says. "I hope you have a good idea of what to do. Tiamat neither takes betrayal, nor opposition."

Hyrax nods. "Your majesty, I swear, on my very dying breath, I will take her down. For Meliki. For Hell. For my honor. For... Baeron." He smiles a little, glancing toward his lover.

Baeron chuckles, and smiles back.

Asmodeus nods. "If it's your life on the line, we can't be losing much. Baeron, take him to the top. Defend him, but if you find yourself on the brink of death, leave him, and save yourself."

Baeron reaches a hand and grabs Hyrax's in his own. Looking up at Asmodeus, he says, "Your majesty, I follow your command until the end. But Hyrax gave his first life for mine, and for all of us Devils. So if I fall doing the same for him, it will be the greatest honor I could ever achieve. More honorable than living to serve you one more day." Baeron jumps and begins flying, carrying Hyrax again away from this layer, and through all the others, to the first.

Many Devils follow the couple, flying nearby them as all head for the top of Tiamat's mountain. Some break off, and take on the Dragons who try to stop them on the way. But Baeron and Hyrax continue forth.

Minutes later, they rise up only to meet five Dragon heads staring them both down with sheer rage.

"You served me well, Nezerath, and led your kin to victory," the heads say in unison. "Whether you're ready to die trying, or surrender in submission, your unholy actions will rebirth this realm into a haven for Dragonkind, and all will thank a wholely evil but loyal brother who served his goddess's wishes to the very end."

Baeron and Hyrax land on the ground, and Hyrax steps forth, weapon drawn and pointed for Tiamat. "You created Nezerath, and I watched him die in the name of the greater good. Now, only I remain. Hyrax Mythos. And it's time for you to face the wrath of Heaven and Hell!!”

Hyrax strikes Tiamat with all his might, and Baeron join in, unleashing every ounce of power he has. Both lovers fight as hard as they can, and, just as they believe themselves to land the killing blow, Tiamat screams through all five heads at once, and a hellish fire surrounds her. She glows, and stands, angry, the fire never waning, and she unleashes a breath weapon.

Hyrax dodges, and, tired, realizes the goddess is nowhere near done fighting. She's back to full. And stronger than ever before.

As Tiamat goes in to strike, a portal ripping open in the sky, someone flies up behind her and strikes her harshly. Tiamat stumbles, the portal closing and her strike missing as she screams.

Asmodeus has join in, and he is not taking this.

Baeron takes the opportunity to strike, but one head takes notice, and grapples him within her teeth. Another portal opens, and Hyrax screams as he watches his lover be thrown into another dimension, and the portal closes.

Asmodeus calls out. "Hyrax!! He'll find his way back!! Keep fighting for him as he will for you!!"

Hyrax, tears in his eyes, nods, and turns back to Tiamat. With a fury he never knew he had, he strikes and attacks with holy light guiding every hit. Alongside Asmodeus, he battles to the bitter end.

And finally, Hyrax jumps, drives his sword pike back, and charging it with the most powerful smite he can muster, he strikes, chopping off all five heads of the Dragon goddess at once, then lands and drives his weapon through her heart.

Tiamat falls, dead, limp, lifeless. Her body turns to shadow, and the shadows rise to the sky, and spreads out, dissipating entirely until it becomes nothing.

And a single portal opens, and out flings Baeron, more bloody and battered than before. He seems unconscious, and is falling. To his death.

Asmodeus flies forth and catches the Devil, then rushes him to Hyrax, and sets him down gently.

Baeron isn't moving, is barely breathing.

Hyrax begins to sob. "Baeron, my love..." he musters, voice breaking.

"You're a Paladin," says Asmodeus. "Can't you heal him?"

Hyrax trembles. "I... I don't know. I'm so spent. I'm not sure what's left that I can do..."

"He believed you were the key to saving everyone in Hell. All Devils. That means saving him, too."

Hyrax throws his arms around the limp Baeron, and hugs him tight. "Meliki, please. I have been used. Manipulated. Wronged. I've sought revenge to free the world from wrath, but I swore to do it for one man I love and all his people. They made it because of me... Please... Let me save him, too..."

A golden light of healing surrounds Hyrax, and stretches to encompass Baeron. It glows brighter, to the point everyone has to look away, and when they notice through their eyelids that the light has faded, they all open to look upon the Dragonborn and his Devil lover.

Baeron twitches, and opens his eyes. "Hyrax... Did... we do it?" he asks.

Hyrax sobs into him, and hugs him close. "Yes, my love!! All of us!! We did it!! Tiamat is dead!!"

And slowly, the frozen lands begin to melt, revealing the brimstone and lava, and flames burst to life throughout once more, across all the layers of the realm.

Asmodeus walks to Hyrax, and places a hand upon him.

Every Devil join in, placing one on him, and when he's covered, they place hands on each other, all leading back to the single Dragonborn who freed them all.

Baeron kisses Hyrax, and smiles. "I'm proud to know who you are. And I'm even more proud to know that you do everything to save everyone. Even if you lose yourself, the debt will be repaid, and those you stood for, will stand for you and guide you home again.”

As Hell comes back to life, the remaining Devils return to their rightful places, and new kings and queens are appointed to the levels which lost theirs.

And Hyrax and Baeron, they go on to marry. Asmodeus ordains the wedding, in (un)holy matrimony, and binds the two together in love.

Neither Hyrax nor Baeron serve just their leaders anymore, but rather, they serve each other as well. To the end. In life, death, and everything in between, they are together, defending one another, and they are free to go as far as they must to do this.

And in Hell, all throughout, a single name is hailed on the breaths of all as they rebuild.

Hyrax Mythos.

#d&d #dnd #dragonborn #paladins #dragons #tiamat

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godfrey-hath-forsaken-thee · 1 year

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On Thin Ice

So... This was a little story I submitted to a writing competition at school, and it got second place! This little piece of no-plot fluff got SECOND PLACE in a writing contest!!

Brief summary of Whomst The Frick is in the story:

Samantha McDermott is, at this point in my lore for her, 20 years old. If I had to describe her in one word, it would be determined. Samantha is fairly intelligent, and though she tries to appear tough, she cares about people a lot. She's currently taking a gap year and travelling the world, and right now, in December, she finds herself in the Norwegian mountains, sharing a cabin with...

Nicole Saunders - Nicky for short to those who know her well. She's about the same age as Samantha, and she's bright, optimistic and outgoing. She was ✨single handedly✨ responsible for Samantha's Bisexual Awakening, and the two make for one heck of a couple.

Please let me know if you enjoy this, I love getting feedback from people!

Now, without further ado, let's get on with it...

The door of the quaint little mountain cabin swung open and hit the wall from the force of the gale outside. Two young women entered, and the snow blew in with them, taking the heat from the air. Samantha McDermott was the first to step onto the rug, not caring about the tracks her sodden boots left in their wake. She removed her brown overcoat and hat, revealing her light brown hair, windswept and messy, but she kept her blue scarf on, arranging it a little more neatly. Nicole Saunders followed her, shivering violently with her head bowed and immediately walking somewhat awkwardly into the living room.

The two of them had been ice skating on a frozen lake nearby, and had severely misjudged the thickness of the ice; Nicole had fallen though and gotten soaked. After about thirty seconds of utter panic, Samantha pulled Nicole by the arms out of the freezing water and helped her get out of her skates. It was then that they decided to simply walk back to the house and try and get her warm.

Samantha lit a fire in the living room, and set the mug of hot chocolate she'd made for Nicole on the table. Nicole reached for the cup, drinking deeply from it and giving a shaky sigh. She continued holding the mug, clutching it like a sort of lifeline, coveting the warmth it gave. Samantha bustled out of the room, getting a thick tartan blanket from upstairs. She then came back into the living room and moved the couch a little closer to the fire, inviting Nicole to sit down. Nicole arranged the blanket around herself and gave another harsh shudder. "Don't move, Nicky," Samantha said softly, "I'll get your nightgown and pyjamas so you can get out of those wet clothes…" Nicole tried to answer, but could barely speak because her teeth were still chattering from the frigid conditions outside. She took off her jacket and boots, which were absolutely drenched. Samantha came back in and handed the silky pyjamas and fluffy lavender nightgown to Nicole, before leaving again for a few minutes so Nicole could get changed. When Samantha returned for the last time, she was in her nightdress and a tartan dressing gown. She took a sip from her own mug of hot chocolate, which was beginning to go cold.

"Are you alright after that, Nicky?" Samantha asked, "That was a hell of a fall you took." "I'm fine," Nicole said, a little shakily, "I just can't seem to get warm, is all…" "That's the last time I ever set foot on a frozen lake," Samantha muttered to herself, "Don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" "Noted," Nicole had to agree with Samantha, "But it was my own fault, really - I should've known better." "Don't blame yourself, lass," Samantha told her, "What matters is that you're okay now." "Well, I hope I am, anyway," Nicole began, "I still feel freezing, and I think I'm getting a headache…" Nicole raised a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment while she re-centered herself.

"Let me get a look at you, love," Samantha said. Nicole raised her head, looking up at Samantha, Her weary, out-of-focus brain struggled to take in Samantha's concerned expression; she looked even more anxious than usual. "Y-you're doing that thing with your hands again," Nicole pointed out, her voice breaking involuntarily. Samantha was tapping her fingers, the way she always did when she was nervous. She couldn't help it, it just happened. But Samantha Hortense McDermott knew when someone wasn't feeling their best - indeed, it was a feeling she herself knew all too well. When someone needed help, a softer side to Samantha emerged. She was usually so uptight and serious, but she cared about the people she loved an awful lot. And right now, Nicole was someone she really loved. She'd never felt this way before, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"I think we should both get to bed," Samantha suggested, "The rest will do us good." She let Nicole lean on her shoulder as the two of them stood up, which was fortunate, because Nicole was a little unsteady on her feet. Samantha helped her walk up the stairs to their bedroom. There were two single beds there as opposed to a double - probably just as well, as Samantha couldn't sleep with someone next to her. And those beds had never looked quite as inviting as they did tonight. "Goodnight, Samantha," Nicole said through a yawn as she got comfortable under the covers. She fell asleep almost immediately. "Goodnight, my darling," Samantha smiled as she turned off the light, before fumbling her way through the darkened room and getting into her own bed.

It took her longer to fall asleep. Thoughts and feelings chased each other around her mind, some of them achingly familiar, others totally new. She'd never expected, when she and Nicole first crossed paths, to feel this way about her. And she certainly hadn't imagined that she would be quite so… fascinated by the sight of her in this situation. Samantha knew she was doing a good thing, helping her out, and maybe that fulfilment in itself was part of it, but there was something about the way NIcole looked at her as she pulled her out of the icy water, something about the way her hair, wet and limp, framed her face perfectly, something about how her voice cracked and wavered when she spoke, that for some reason Samantha found a little bit pleasing.

"Why do I feel like this?" Samantha asked herself, "I… I shouldn't feel this way…" She sighed. This was going to be a long night, wasn't it?

#godfrey's random rambles #writers on tumblr #writeblr #my ocs #hell yea babey #i posted something #hope you like <3

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purgetrooperfox · 2 years

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30: “What if there’s no happy ending for us?” for Noctitra ❤️❤️❤️

man I have two ideas for this and they both HURT so here's the one I finished first. I'll probably finish and post the other soonish ;-;

[ prompt list ]

rating: T

pairing: Kit Fisto/Clone Medic Nocte/Dara Idella

characters: Kit Fisto, Clone Medic Nocte, Dara Idella (@spacerocksarethebestrocks)

tags: implied dysmorphia, polycule supremacy, established relationship, going grey, accelerated aging, angst, hurt/comfort

ao3

It's not vanity.

Nocte scowls at his reflection in the 'fresher mirror and pointedly ignores Kit hovering in the doorway.

It's not vanity.

For all intents and purposes, he's 25 standard years old. It's not vain to be unnerved by the ever-increasing amount of premature grey streaked through his hair. Maybe it's karma for teasing Fox when he went a few weeks too long without shearing the sides of his hair and revealed his own salt-and-pepper. Maybe Carrion's right, and he needs to stop internalizing so much stress, and this is a sign.

Raking his fingers through the discoloration at his right temple, he resigns himself to another stint of simply pretending this isn't an issue. If he feigns indifference for long enough, everyone will eventually believe it.

"It just seems rude," he admits, since Kit's still watching him, "that on top of everything else, I have to deal with double-time greying. Someone should really file a complaint with the longnecks."

Kit hums what might be an agreement and flashes a lopsided smile. "I think it makes you look dignified," he says. "Roguish. Like the protagonists in those old spy thrillers."

Nocte hasn't seen those old spy thrillers but he still has his doubts about that. "If you say so."

All he could do at this point is dye his hair and he absolutely will not be doing that. So he blows out a sigh and twists it into a braid - if only so it doesn't try to strangle him in his sleep - then turns to face Kit. To his credit, there's no discernible pity in the dark depths of his partner's eyes.

There's sympathy in droves, but not pity.

The words they need don't come easily at times like this. Stabs at humor save them from directly acknowledging one of the uglier realities of their situation.

As Nocte shuffles past Kit, he rises up onto his toes to plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. The toll of the day's exertion on his body is rapidly making itself known, pressing down on his shoulders as he sheds his clothes and slumps onto the bed. Dara simply puts down whatever she was reading on her 'pad and reaches out to squeeze the crook of his arm.

To say that Dara's conservative with language would be a wild mischaracterization, but she's good at knowing when advice or comfort aren't needed. Or wanted.

Nocte tosses his shirt and pants toward the corner of the room and finally Iays down, curling onto his side and pulling Dare close with an arm around her waist. The familiar scent of her soap and detergent - lavender and citrus and linen - begin to ease his roiling anxiety. She trills softly, almost too low to be audible, and shifts like she's trying to burrow halfway underneath him.

"Comfortable, sweetheart?" he murmurs and watches her tendrils quiver happily.

"Mm." With her face mushed into his chest, it's a bit of a challenge to discern what she's saying. "You're warm. Comfy."

It doesn't bear repeating that he runs hot, another side effect of his heightened metabolism. "Someone has to be," he says instead, "or the pair of you would probably freeze."

"Ah, hell," Kit exclaims from somewhere behind Nocte before the bed dips under his weight. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever figure out the real reason we keep you around."

Whatever sarcastic remark Nocte would've made is strangled by the yelp that punches from him when frigid, ice-fucking-cold toes dig in behind his knees. Dara only offers a muffled giggle before curling her legs around Nocte's to warm them up as well. Then sticking her free, equally cold, hand down in his boxers to rest on his bare hip.

A chill rattles up his spine, because of course it does.

"You make an excellent heater," Kit comments. His arm comes to rest across Nocte, reaching just far enough to idly stroke Dara's tendrils.

Any other time, such an innocent statement would roll off him like nothing.

He knows he's more than that to them. He knows they care far more than they probably should. He knows they love him. He knows that there's a space for him, carved out with gentle intensity, between and alongside and before and behind them. They can rib him about being nothing more than a source of heat because he's so much more than that.

It scares him more than he ever likes to admit. Feeling scraped raw, he edges back against Kit and squeezes Dara and tries to center himself.

Acrid emotion threatens to rise up his throat but he stubbornly swallows it back down. It's a small miracle that when he eventually finds it, his voice comes out steady, "You'll need to invest in a heated blanket at some point."

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, it sounds entirely too morbid.

"I just mean… I won't be around forever," he retries.

The reality is that Nautolans live far longer than nat-born Humans. If he's incredibly lucky, Nocte will live half as long as a nat-born Human. Every day the war drags on increases the odds of him going down as one among thousands of casualties. Fulfilling his purpose.

It's not vanity to bemoan the signs of his accelerated aging when they serve as reminders of who and what he is. A fraction of a man with a fraction of a life, bred to replace someone exactly like him, to die, and to be replaced. An interchangeable part of an army of clones.

He forcibly unclenches his jaw when neither Kit nor Dara answers him. "It's not–" and this time his voice does betray him, breaking around a single syllable. Dara turns her face toward his and brushes the backs of her fingers along his jaw, waiting. "What if it's just not possible?" he manages to grind out. "What if there's no happy ending for us?"

What if I'm wasting your time?

What if this was a mistake?

What if I'm just intruding?

What if we were doomed to hurt from the start?

What if–

"Then we cherish whatever happiness we can get," Kit cuts off the downward spiral of Nocte's thoughts. "To have this, now, is worth it."

"We cherish what we have and we fight for the future," Dara adds, just above a whisper. "We all fight for it. Whatever it takes."

dm or fill out this form to be added to my writing tags <3

@willowworkswithwords @saradika @catboy-kenobi @dikut @voidika @certified-anakinfucker @milf-plokoon @secretlyatimelady @spaceydragons @tayylie @moonstrider9904 @thelove-ablepenguin @maulpunk @frietiemeloen @spacerocksarethebestrocks @zinzinina @quinnqueens @thefact0rygirl @misogirl828 @amyroswell @rain-on-kamino

#leocs #others' ocs #clone medic nocte #dara idella #kit fisto #oc x canon #leo.writes #asks answered

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etherealvoidechoes · 2 years

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can't wait to see the trio, but some juicy backstory info on varsha and her roommate malik?

I really need to doodle them out. I have all my refs together >_>

Ah, I’ll give a bit. A rough idea which I may change some things in the future. In short(well long with how I babbler so read more time), he and several others were hired to kill a new(she’d been there for a few years by then) and upcoming person in Arasaka that was just doing far too well in the Counterintelligence Division and somehow also making some headway with the Cybersecurity Division(and getting on good terms with NetWatch too.)

Malik was one of the smart few to gather as much info on Varsha was he could before acting, like figuring out her schedule. Especially noticing there were a high amount of failures on trying to kill this one target, whether it be in person or on the net. He was mildly thinking of dropping the job when he learned who Varsha’s family was, but those sweet sweet eddies were calling.

Eventually he a a few banded together, fought for a higher payout, and put a plan in action to try and sandwich her when she would be a home and on the net. It was a plan guaranteed to work... except she had a merc friend over, some good home security(both in person and on the net), and turned out she was doing some work with NetWatch. Oh! Added bonus, the work she was doing dealt with examining some oddly friendly AIs and wrangling/destroying the nuisance ones. Yeah things went to hell pretty fast.

Now Malik and another Netrunner managed to freeze her, but just about everyone but him got killed. He barely disconnected from the Net in time. Quickly went about dismantling/destroying his hideout before going on the run but didn’t get far for several reasons. Spoilers, he was pretty disabled before getting a full body makeover.

So he’s arrested and interrogated on how to release Varsha from the pretty impressive black ICE and then who hired them to kill her. Takes a few days but he finally caves(but really can’t say who hired them as they hid their identity well) and Varsha gets released. So he’s gonna be taken off to jail and probably get his brain picked *cough*Soulkilled*cough*, but Varsha wants to talk to him. Actually wants to hire him. Impressed by what he could do and has been thinking about hiring some cybersecurity for her home system.

He thought she was insane. Others thought that too and that she was joking. But she was all too serious. So some deals get worked out and Malik gets chained down with a lot of trackers to keep him from running. Malik is expecting the worst since he’s now stuck with her, but turns out Varsha is actually nice if a little off/distant. Now he’s got “free” room and board as long as he worked hard and behaved, and over some time as he got to know her better; the two became friends, she pays for all his cyberware and then some long sought over cosmetic surgeries he’s been needing for ages. Yeah, what he looks like now is not how he looked like years ago.

Also as he becomes friends with her and learns more about her, he figures out more reasons why there were those hits on her and then really questions how he didn’t die that like everyone else. Mixture of family business, her working for several corporations over the years before finally getting plucked by Arasaka, experimental cyberware, experimental tech in general, and some AI shenanigans.

So yeah the two have a “fun” past and he’s probably what chipped at her cold shell and allowed another OC and Jackie(and eventually the Twins) to crack through it when they got transferred over to Night City. He’s the brother she’s always wanted, despite his habits of playfully teasing her and getting in her space.(Now that took some time because he was absolutely terrified of her in the beginning)

#*Varsha Joshi-Blackbourne #*Malik Nystrom #need to do some more reading on all the lore #Cyberpunk 2077 #CP2077

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gaykarstaagforever · 4 months

Text

He goddamn is not.

You know that! You drew this!

Or did two men with a slightly different haircut really blow minds in 1965? Plus this certainly is the same universe where no one recognizes the biggest celebrity in the world as soon as he puts on glasses.

Superman 181 has another feature besides this boring "Superman is Allergic to the Pacific Ocean Now" story.

It is better that that. In that, it is still bad, but actual things happen.

Just be warned that it centers on two of the very worst features of every Silver Age Superman comic: some woman altering time and space merely to try and date Superman (it isn't Lois this time, for once). And stupid Superman clone robot shit.

Morna Vine, the niece of one of the Daily Planet's major shareholders, nepo's her way into a job in the newsroom. Lois, Jimmy Olsen and Clark are immediately afraid of the new competition. Which is weird, because you will note this is the same newsroom where Lois, Jimmy Olsen, and Clark stand around all day as Lois and Jimmy make fun of Clark for CLEARLY not being cool like Superman, until Perry yells at them to get out there and do a report on the latest space-monster trying to eat the city.

But I guess in this story they are all locked in perpetual mortal kombat over who gets the best scoops. Which, immediately, is Morna Vine. And man, do the others get real catty about it. This might be the bitchiest Superman story ever.

See? Even the narration is doing it.

After Lois herself gets scooped by Morna on some story about a guy storing an antigravity ray in a lead vault, she agrees with Jimmy that Morna must have Superman powers that make her slightly better than them at reporting.

High stakes, here.

...How is a new ray even a "scoop" for the Planet at this point? Superman invents and forgets a new one every second issue.

Let Morna have this partucular ray gun, Lois. You can report on the next six of them.

Lois tries to trick Morna into admitting she has superpowers. It involves blackface and kryptonite. Because of course it fucking does.

It goes without saying that this plan fails.

But because both Lois and Jimmy refuse to believe a normal woman could dare top them at noticing stuff happening, Clark is also soon convinced she must be magic. And being Superman, he can actually prove it.

By abandoning Morna on an iceberg in the Arctic.

...Also Clark Kent can fly helicopters now? When the hell did that become part of his secret identity?

At any rate, Clark's plan "works," in that Morna doesn't freeze to death, and also scoops him on the story he dumped her in the ice to go report on (some guy built an artificial sun that makes it possible for white people to develop a Caribbean resort at the North Pole. It absolutely does not matter). Morna could clearly have only beat Clark to it via "telescopic vision," that power only Superman has, where he can just see anything, anywhere.

Only Superman, and his godforsaken robot clones, of course.

That he stores in a closet in Clark Kent's apartment now.

"Kent? This is your landlord. A question, if I may. Are the four full-sized talking dolls of Superman in your bedroom, that refer to you as 'Master,' a work thing, or...?"

No, his landlord doesn't find them. That's just me, writing a better Superman story than this mess.

After interrogating his clone robots during working hours and getting nothing but maybe fun out of it, Clark doesn't have time to abandon Morna in any other dangerous locations. Instead he and her are sent to cover a story about stolen Nazi paintings the local museum has in a vault (?!).

This is the second exciting news story the Planet has run in so-many-weeks about something locked in a vault. Is it always like this? How is Clark never scooping everyone in this lunatic town?

Clark guesses, correctly, shockingly, that Morna will somehow break into the museum after hours to use her Superman powers to scoop him again. So he himself breaks in and hides, to spy on her.

When she attempts to do her thing, the vault latch explodes, because Nazis.

Which I guess no one bothered to consider when they were bringing it into the museum.

Superman rescues Morna and takes her to the hospital for treatment of her injuries. And here, FINALLY, he and Lois and Jimmy just ask the woman why she has superpowers.

A thing they could have easily done way before she was nearly killed by exploding Nazi paintings. But then I wouldn't have had to read all of this. And what was I going to do instead? Vacuum? Drink? Make love?

Not a chance, 1965 DC. We burn together, you and I.

The solution to this stunningly woven tale of mystery and intrigue is that this one time, Morna was scubadiving near where one of Superman's robots got smashed by ocean robots (yes). She stole its head before Superman himself could get there and retrieve it.

If any young children were indeed reading this in 1965, I'm sure this panel made bedtime extra fun for the whole family the next couple of weeks.

Her dad, another random super-scientist who lives in this delightful world, took a break from building the next new shrink-ray to salvage all the parts from the head that Superman put in there to replicate his powers. Then he somehow engineered them into jewelry for Morna to wear, so that she could use those powers herself.

Which she only did so she could become the best reporter in Metropolis. ...So she could get close to Superman. ...So he could fall in love with her.

Because Superman has to be in love with whatever girl reporter is the best at the Daily Planet? They don't explain this otherwise.

Having finally sorted...whatever this was, out, Superman scolds Morna for being selfish, takes her gadget jewelry, and leaves her sobbing in a hospital.

Then he goes off to play around with his robots of himself some more.

Honestly the only mystery here is how someone like Lex Luthor didn't get his hands on this tech before Kal-El applied the most rudimentary security protocols.

This is indeed the end. Morna isn't shown getting arrested or sentenced to therapy. This is a woman who has the means and drive to run a long-con based on a romantic obsession, and it led her to arm herself with literal weapons that nearly blew up a museum with herself inside it.

But she's sad now, and lost all her jewelry, so that solves her womanly problems in 1965, I guess!

...Then again, maybe Superman is kind of into it. He does spend a whole page fantasizing about her in sideboob-revealing spandex.

#silver age comics #superman #dc comics

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yoonpobs · 3 years

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Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I?????

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection.

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better.

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate.

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm.

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut.

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off.

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

#YOOOONGI #so cute #help me #tsundere yoongi #oblivious oc #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #yoongi scenario #bts fanfic #suga imagine #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fluff #yoongi

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calummss · 3 years

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts | Kylo Ren

masterlist

summary: kylo is supposed to fix the furnaces after they shut down, not make them cool out starkiller base

requested by: @theimaginesawakenvii

words: 1K

a/n: my account was terminated so i’m reposting

Starkiller Base was cold enough already. After all; it was located on an ice planet. You never realised how cold it was until the furnaces shut off and frost would start to build up in the hallways. You were never able to get used to it, no matter how long you stayed. Furnaces shutting off was a normal day to day occurrence. Usually when this happened, the engineers would bolt to the heart of the base and fix it within 10 minutes. Those 10 minutes always felt like hell. You would wrap yourself in one of Kylo’s bedsheets and pace around the room trying to create a higher body temperature. Did it work? Absolutely not. Would you still do it? Of course. It so happened that one day, all the engineers were on the Finalizer and the frost filled the halls. Out of this exact reason, Kylo took it upon himself to learn how to fix them. He could not have his commanders and girlfriend freeze to death. It was thrilling to date the galaxy’s most powerful and feared man, but also to have him wrapped around your little finger.

The Base was filled with warm air as you made your way into the main command center.

‘General Hux,’ you bowed your head. ‘Supreme Leader Snoke wishes to see you.’

‘Very well. Take charge whilst I’m gone.’

‘On it, Sir.’

With that he left through the big steel doors leaving you alone with all the generals and workers.

‘You.’ you turned to one of the workers. ‘What’s Hux working on?’

‘The blueprints for the super weapon, Miss.’

‘Draw them up.’

The plan popped onto one of the high tech screens and blasted a bright blue light onto your face. You continued to work until you were interrupted by non other than Kylo Ren.

‘What are you doing?’ the robot-like voice echoed from his helmet.

‘Working on the beam that’s supposed to wipe out an entire planet. What have you been doing?’ you turned your back to him. ‘Guessing you were discussing stuff with Snoke and Hux. You know…, I don’t trust Snoke. Not one bit. You should ta-‘

‘Not know Y/N. If someone hears you it’s going to end bad for both of us.’

‘Fine.’ you huffed.

‘Let’s go to my chambers.’ he held out his hand which was concealed in his black leather glove.

You took a breath and put your hand into his, taking down the blueprints to keep them secure. On your way to the chambers, you noticed several guards running towards the south side of the base. Not batting an eyelash you continued to walk by Kylo’s side before arriving at his door. He confirmed his identity and the door slid up, revealing the white rooms with black finishings.

‘You know, you should add more spark to your room.’ you walked through his room.

Meanwhile he took off his helmet to reveal his soft black curls that curled up upon the sides of his face.

Then you felt a wave of coldness take over your body.

‘Kylo...is the furnace broken or something? It seems rather cold.’ you held your arms across your chest trying to trap some of your leftover body heat.

Kylo reappeared to your sight, grabbing his helmet before closing the door.

Great.

You were guessing he was going to fix the heating problem. Since it was going to take around 10 minutes, you grabbed your electric heating blanket. It was a gift from Kylo. He gave it to you when you arrived on Starkiller Base. He knew how sensitive you were with the cold. In fact—you were the only person with such a blanket. No one else was in possession of anything like it. You walked towards the sofa and plopped yourself onto the soft blue cushions. You pulled your legs to your chest and quickly wrapped yourself in the black cover trying to reheat your body. You were staring at the ceiling waiting for Kylo to return. It felt like Kylo had been gone for ages. Suddenly you felt even colder than before, like Starkiller Base had just shut down entirely. You turned up the temperature of your blanket and snuggled your face into the warm fabric. About to curse, the door opened and Kylo stepped inside.

‘And?’ you raised an eyebrow at him.

He took off his gloves and placed them onto a near countertop, leaning his back against it.

‘I tried to fix it, but it switched up, so now it’s starting to blow cold air through the vents and all…’

‘Are you serious?’

He nodded, setting his lightsaber aside, heading towards the couch you were sitting on.

‘I tried my best you know.’

‘Looks like you didn’t try enough.’ you snickered. ‘It’s kind of funny if you think about it,’

He tilted his head with questioning eyes.

‘I mean, you were supposed to fix it aka make it warm again, yet you made it cooler.’

‘Well with that attitude I might have to take this away.’ he yanked the blanket out of your grasp and held it above your head.

You jumped up; immediately the cold air hit your skin, forming goosebumps.

‘Kylo, give it back.’ you protested.

‘Maybe you should’ve appreciated my will to try.’

You jumped up high and managed to grab the end of the blanket. ‘Now give it back.’

Apparently Kylo was in no mood to be the understanding partner he is and with the span of your attention looking around the room, he pulled it out of your grasp again.

‘Kylo this isn’t funny anymore.’ you crossed your arms. ‘I’m genuinely freezing.’

It was at this point where Kylo noticed the shivering, and chattering of your teeth. He quickly unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling it tight in front of your chest. He pulled you in by the ends of the fabric and held you in his arms. You snuggled yourself into his chest, feeling his warmth radiating through your body. Still holding on to each other, you waddled back to the couch, falling onto the soft seats.

‘You know,’ you started. ‘I’ll have to remind myself, to not ask you to fix the furnaces again…’

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch. 9

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

'I’ll see you later', she said.

But 'later' never comes.

After the days that have passed, it doesn’t look like it will, either. Your schedule is changed to working the day shift, permanently. When you ask about the change, the Grand Chambermaid tells you it is a direct order from Lady Alcina.

A few months ago, you would consider it a gift from heaven. The morning shift is absolutely safe and maids trip over themselves in happiness to get it for however long. It means the daughters are asleep and the halls are quiet; that there is no danger of blood drawn over the slightest misstep.

But you are not happy. If anything, it feels like there is a thorn lodged in the back of your throat, hurting you from within.

Keep your head down. Do your job. Map every nook and cranny of the castle. You repeat the same words to yourself to give you a driving force, a sense of purpose… yet it is not escaping that your mind reels right back to.

It’s her.

It’s the way she would pop out of nowhere, going “rah!” just to get your blood pumping, then break into little giggles before gluing her body to yours, to bask in your warmth. The way she would fidget when she couldn’t keep still. Her quiet laughs when something genuinely amused her. Her cool touch. Her voice. Her breathy gasps and hooded eyes in the dark above you.

The time you despised Cassandra seems so distant now it may as well have been a different life. She is —perhaps always will be— many things you should detest. But she hasn’t been any of them around you for so long.

The initial cuts on you turned to scratches, then to simply the drag of her dark-painted nails over your skin. She stopped terrorizing the other maids. Her time in the dungeons below the castle diminished.

There were times when you were laying in bed together that you even considered the playful girl there with you had the potential be someone you could see yourself love.

From what you hear some of the maids whisper… that girl is no more.

At first, you don’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.

Until you see one of the girls —Valia, if memory serves—downing one painkiller after the other and clutching at her bandaged chest during breakfast. And you make the mistake of asking what happened.

“This is all your fault!” she snaps and swings her hand to hit you, but you stop her and pin the limb down, rattling the table.

All eyes in the room shift to you.

“Calm yourself.” you warn her.

“She wasn’t like this before! What did you do to displease her and have her take it out on us, huh?!” she demands, tears in her eyes.

Then you understand. Cassandra did this to her.

As the older maids come to separate you, taking her away and trying to soothe her, you find your appetite is gone. You take your leave from the room and get to work an hour earlier than you’re supposed to.

It isn’t easy when every glance at a window reminds you of her scream, or when every flying insect that enters your peripheral brings forth the image of her body breaking apart from the cold.

You don’t notice how long you’ve been working for, until your surroundings are positively bathed in shadows. When you look out the nearest window, the sun is nowhere to be found in the sky.

Oh, no. You start to stress. You should have left ages ago.

Hurried steps take you through hallways you know the daughters don’t frequent as much. It is the long way around to your room, but distance is the least of your worries.

A familiar laugh from the other end of the corridor sends every attempt to calm your nerves right into the trash.

You are suddenly overcome with the urge to say her name, to see her, to make sure she’s alright so you can erase the image of her form crumbling from your mind.

But.

There is a reason Alcina had you working the day shift. And Cassandra would have come to see you if she wanted to. It’s not a pretty thought, but reality usually isn’t. You’ve come to terms with that from a very young age.

So you bite your tongue and keep walking, eyes fixed on the carpet. Part of you is relieved to hear Daniela’s giggle follow her sister’s voice. Cassandra can focus on her and pass you by like she does the decorations around –which, considering the past days, is probably all you were worth to her, anyway.

The distance between you gradually diminishes…

You’ve almost passed her by when Cassandra stops. At least you know her well enough to brace for it.

The next instant, nails are digging through the skin of your biceps and your back is pinned, hard, against the wall. You gasp but you’re too proud to cry out. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“I thought mother had you working during the day.”

There’s ice in her voice as she says it, though her eyes have a strange look about them you’d almost describe as melancholy. You know how they light up at the prospect of hunting and killing. This isn’t it.

“Forgive me, Lady Cassandra. I lost track of time.” you reply back. An accusation you can't quite erase is adrift somewhere in your tone.

Her lips twist. She rips your shirt and opens bleeding cuts on your flesh with how harshly her nails pull out of you. The force shoves you sideways, into the faint alcove of a shut window.

Her hand comes to your nape and traps your head there. You can feel her entertain the idea to squeeze harder. Perhaps hurt you enough for everything that ever was between you to completely die. And still your body, the worst traitor of all, welcomes the feel of her breath by your ear when she leans in.

“How come you haven’t used it yet?” she asks. “You know our weakness now, Alexia.”

And she’s right, isn’t she.

How come you haven’t used it to escape? You know it’s below zero degrees outside. Certainly, you could make up an excuse to yourself about the winged monsters lurking around the castle or that you may not make it to the village with that much snow. But that’s all these are. Excuses.

“Come on, the window is right here.” Cassandra hisses and forces your hand to wrap around the handle. “Open it.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Daniela take tiny steps to the side, to avoid the blast of cold should you indeed decide you want them to feel what you feel. “Uhh… Cassandra…?” she says, quietly.

And suddenly you see red for reasons that have nothing to do with the sharp fucking sting on your arms. You can’t contain the anger that bursts out of you like lava from a volcano—

You jerk back with all your strength, actually managing to move her a step away.

“Maybe you get off on it but I sure as hell don’t hurt the people I care about!” Even when they don’t care back.

You’re certainly no stranger to the feeling.

Cassandra freezes up. Daniela’s eyes flit between the two of you like she’s debating calling out for either Bela or her mother for help, before the storm brewing in the air really fucks something up.

Cassandra’s hand shoots forward and closes, tight, around your throat. She presses close, close enough for you to feel the phantom caress of her mouth over yours as she speaks;

“If you don’t want to hurt me, make sure I don’t see you again. Because if bleeding you out is the only way I can be with you… I may take that deal.” Her fingers tremble on your jugular.

Then she’s gone, dragging her sister along with her. You can’t breathe any easier even without her cutting off your airway.

“…so…. does this mean I can have Alexia now?” Daniela’s voice faintly reaches your ears from down the corridor.

Cassandra only grabs her by the nape and pushes her into one of the rooms in response.

Crimson-red travels down your body along with the waterdrops and rolls around the drain in hypnotic swirls. The cuts on your arms would hurt if your heart wasn’t already in pieces.

But who is there but yourself to blame? You knew what you were getting into was no wise idea. You knew you were fucked when it stopped being about your survival. You knew. Yet you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more with her.

And now every single one of your issues and insecurities rises up like a tsunami ready to sweep you with its force and crush you amidst the wreckage.

It seems to be an inescapable curse in your life that everyone you care for leaves you in shambles, one way or another.

It started with your father, when he abandoned you and your mother for a wealthy woman, never to return. Continued with her bringing you to this superstitious, shitty village and soon after leaving you due to an illness. The first girl you fell for fled one night without telling you a single thing. Only a half-assed letter was dropped behind for you.

And now Cassandra discards you, as well, like a broken toy she cannot stand to see yet stubbornly refuses to let go of. You are left bleeding inside and outside, feeling more and more like how she used to call you;

A plaything.

The word never quite bothered you, but now it makes something inside you boil.

Like everyone else, Cassandra has left.

So why should you be the one to stay?

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #fanfiction #writing #in which the babies are hurt #and not coping very well #on an unrelated note why is Daniela so cute I can't--

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Note

#21 and #46 for kiss prompts, maybe? I can't get enough your writing tbf

kiss on a dare- a little jonmartin season one fluff <3 All in all, this is one of Tim’s better Friday nights.

It’s been ages since Jon’s hung out with them, and never with Martin along for the ride. The Archives had been off to a messy start after the Dog Incident and Jon’s subsequent panic over the state of the place. What used to be an ‘every couple of weeks’ tradition turned into an almost-never one as the newly-assembled team got buried under more and more boxes of dusty statements. He’s pretty astounded that Jon agreed to dinner and drinks- although it’s a Friday night, Jon’s been apt to stay weekends more often than not. He figured if he arranged for it at one of theirs instead of a pub, Jon would be more likely to come. He always preferred less crowded settings.

No, the real feat was getting him to come knowing Martin was invited.

Jon’s been getting...better around him, that’s true. He was perfectly fine at his birthday party, going off about emulsifiers for a solid fifteen minutes. Tim’s always been rather fond of Jon’s infodumping, and if he’s comfortable enough to do it around Martin that must be a good sign. Despite an initial freeze-out, he now thanks Martin for his tea and saves his most pointed comments for Martin’s more egregious screw-ups (and even those have less bite than usual). Still, a colleague does not a friend make, and Jon’s never been good at opening up to people he doesn’t know all that well. However, Jon just nodded at the Martin caveat, seemingly not giving it a second thought. And Martin didn’t seem all that worried either.

Whatever, Tim’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s just happy they’re all here, having a good time. It’s late and Jon’s had enough wine to keep a smile on his face. He missed that. It’s nice how easily they slot together, even with all of the upheaval and a new addition. Martin himself isn’t so shy after a drink or two, more willing to engage in banter and keep the conversation going. This is what it should be like all the time, Tim thinks. Shitty archive job or not.

It’s when they retire to the living room, drinks in hand, that he finally notices the little grin on Sasha’s face. And Tim, knowing exactly what that means, is both a little afraid and excited. Four-drink-Sasha has always been a host unto herself.

“Why don’t,” she begins, a hiccup interrupting her as she slumps into an armchair. Tim snickers and ignores the glare this earns him. “Why don’t we play one of our old games-”

Tim raises a glass in agreement as Jon, predictably, groans. Martin looks quizzically between them. Ah yes, time for your initiation, Marto! Not that they’ve played this in about a year or so, of course, but it's always fun to revisit the good old days.

“Seriously? We’re not children-”

Tim gives Jon a playful slap on the back that sends him flying forward on the couch, spilling a bit of wine on Sasha’s rug. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “C’mon, it’ll be fun, boss! Nothing like it to break the ice, and there’s definitely some ice that needs breaking.”

Martin blinks, hand tightening on his glass. He looks nervous, like he always does when he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. Which is a shame, because he’s been so nice and open all night. Even chatting with Jon. “Sorry, what are you talking about?”

Jon rolls his eyes, giving Martin a commiserating look. “Truth or dare.”

Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh, relaxing minutely. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Jon’s foot reaches out to shove at Tim’s leg. “Tim loves pulling ridiculous stunts-”

“-Hey, you loved the karaoke idea-”

“You sing?”

“No.” Tim would dispute that, but the look on Jon’s face declares it a bad idea. “And Sasha likes to ask probing questions.”

Sasha preens, though the remark was certainly not meant as a compliment. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Truth-”

Tim snorts. “Hacking and blackmail more like-”

“Anyway-” Sasha sings out as Tim dodges a pillow to the face. ��Tim….truth or-”

“Dare, always dare.”

“You’re absolutely no fun,” Sasha pouts, though it doesn’t take long for her eyes to narrow in thought. There’s very little Tim won’t do, but that’s a dangerous look. “I dare you...to text…”

“Text? You can do better than that, Sash.”

“Text...Elias.” That’s more like it.

Jon immediately scowls. “Tim, no-”

“I don’t have his number-”

“I do-”

“Sasha!”

“Jon, it’ll be fine! He’ll just say ‘oops, wrong number’ afterwards, no harm, no foul-”

Tim takes this time to snatch at Sasha’s phone, sitting precariously on the arm of her chair. She doesn’t notice, too busy gesturing at Jon empathically. He scrolls through her contact list.

“And then it’ll come down on me-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “How is he going to connect it to you? It’s not like he knows we’re all together-”

“Done!” Tim tosses the phone back onto the couch with a little grin. Sasha blinks, looking down in confusion.

“Wait, that’s mine-”

The screech and smack on the arm at Tim’s hastily fired off ‘u up? ;)’ to Elias Bouchard were definitely deserved. He’s sure he’ll face consequences for that in the near future, but Jon and Martin’s immediate laughter had been well worth it. Shouldn’t dish it if you can’t take it, that’s Tim’s motto.

In the next round, Tim manages to get Martin to confess to his poetry-writing habit, an admission that has him turning an attractive shade of red. Jon just giggles quietly to himself as Martin reads through one of his poorer attempts at rhyme saved to the notes of his mobile. Tim watches the two of them; Martin keeps looking up at Jon throughout it all like he’s the only one in the room and god, his crush is so evident and yet Jon is oblivious, smiling at him like he’s not on the receiving end of some of the most loaded glances of all time.

Martin gets Sasha to admit to her most recent perusal through confidential institute records, which turned out to be previous archival expenses (solely to find out what Elias would cover with their new jobs, of course). At first glance, there wasn’t much in the way of extravagant meals or supplies, but a bit more digging had her finding Gertrude’s extensive travel budget. For an old woman, she certainly was a globe-trotter.

“All I’m saying, Jon, is that we could definitely do with a trip to China-”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Elias about Gertrude’s trip to China, something I certainly shouldn’t know about, and he’ll have to let us go.”

“Refill?” Martin’s on his feet, taking Jon’s wine glass in his hand and Tim watches as their fingers brush- go Martin!- and yet Jon just nods his thanks, completely oblivious to the seduction taking place before him. Tim’s given it some thought and honestly, he thinks they’d make a cute couple. An odd pair, for sure, but Jon’s so soft once you get to know him, and Martin’s one of the funniest, sweetest guys he knows. They could be good for each other.

“Well, I still think it’s worth a try.” Sasha’s eyes are starting to blink heavily - she’ll be out for the count tonight, for sure. “Anyway, it’s your turn. I dare you-”

“I didn’t even pick!” Jon says, though he doesn’t seem too put out by it. This is the Jon Martin should know, the easy-humored, smiling man sprawled out before him. He’s even taken his little sweater vest and tie off, looking more like the familiar friend from research Tim knows so well. It warms his heart.

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare, I suppose. Seeing as how you already have one queued up.”

“I dare you to...to...to give a little kiss to someone in this room.” She waves her glass around imperiously. “Anyone you like.”

Silence. Tim gives Sasha a warning look that she ignores. She’s well in her cups, and he supposes any sense of propriety has gone out the window along with her sobriety. He’s actually seen Jon give quite a few kisses on a particularly memorable New Years Eve, but that was a different time. He doesn’t want him to feel pressured, not when he’s just starting to open back up.

“Jon doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you remember-”

“It doesn’t matter- Jon, you can skip this one if you like, we can think of something else-”

“Tim, it’s alright.” Jon puts a hand on his arm to stop the argument, and there’s a strange look in his eyes that can’t be attributed to liquor. It’s mock-serious, almost playful paired with his little sly smile. He thinks for a moment that Jon’s going to lean in and kiss him but instead he gets up from the sofa in a smooth motion and walks across the room to Martin, who’s just turned around with two glasses in hand. He freezes in place as Jon gets on his very tippy toes, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him.

Jonathan Sims. Kissing Martin Blackwood. Against a kitchen counter. Martin Blackwood, who, once he’s over his surprise, puts the drinks down behind him and kisses right the hell back, arms winding around Jon’s waist like they belong there.

What. The. Fuck.

_____

“The leg bit was a nice touch.”

“Hmm?” Jon’s in Martin’s lap, sprawled out on his couch back at his own flat, eyes closed in contentment as he leans back against the other man’s chest. Martin’s got one hand in his hair, and the other entwined with Jon’s, twirling the black ring on his finger. It’s heavenly.

“Thought you were trying to climb me.”

“Well, you usually pick me up at that point, make it easier.”

“Sorry, next time.” Kissing Jon’s always fun but kissing him out in the open, in front of their friends? Was that something they could do now? “Should we tell them we’ve been dating for two months?”

Two whole months since that night in Document Storage when Jon had finally let his guard down. When Martin had held him in his arms. Jon was very particular about keeping up appearances, though that all seemed to have crumbled tonight. Sasha rather fashioned herself a matchmaker, and Jon didn’t do anything to dissuade the fact. It’d been nice, having their relationship to themselves, the secret of it, the obliviousness of their friends who still thought Jon only tolerated him. It’s not that he wanted to keep it that way, of course, but it was nice while they were still figuring it out.

“If you’d like. Maybe it’s time.” Jon tilts his head back, giving Martin a fond look. “Though I know how much you enjoy playing the lovesick fool-”

“There’s something so poetic about unrequited love, yknow?”

“All the more when it’s requited, I’d say.” Martin couldn’t argue with that. He leans down to give Jon’s forehead a peck.

“Hmm. Give it a few more weeks. Act out the honeymoon phase for a bit, it’ll be fun.”

And when Jon squeezes his hand and smiles back, Martin thinks he won’t need to do much acting at all.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31318724

#tma #the magnus archives #my writing #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #fluff #kiss prompts #i have a little backstory to how they got together in this one that maybe one day i will write #but heres a lil something something #jonmartin secret dating is fun okay #v enjoyable #jaybirdsfall #reblogs appreciated <3

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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vendettaparker · 3 years

Note

Tom Holland x actress reader

Where are there in the same movie together and the cast goes out and Tom and reader really likes eachother maybe smut and after it’s really awkward between them fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Not In Love [T.H]

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: sexual themes, cursing, slight angst, probably some typos

a/n: hi hi! i’m so sorry but i don’t write smut, so i hope it’s ok that i just implied it! i will probably start writing smut in the future but for right now i find it a bit awkward for myself to write. also, sorry that this took so long to get out, i planned for this to only be like 800-1k words, and obvioulsy, it just kept going. hope this works well for you!

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(Y/N) (L/N) does not fuck around with co-stars. Ever since you started acting at the young age of eight, you were always told by your mom, manager, and others in the industry to avoid casual, co-star related hook ups. As your career progressed, even through puberty, you remained faithful to your vow. No mingling with co-workers in a non professional manner. Sure, some of your previous co-stars and you remained good friends, even after filming. But the main internal lesson always stayed the same: don’t fuck your co-stars.

In your long and glorious career, the only hindrance to your resolve was Tom fucking Holland. His stupid British charm and playful wiles always had your knees buckling and the butterflies in your stomach going haywire. And when he called you darling? In that stupid, yet honey-like accent? You were done for.

Tom had the absolute pleasure of working with you in The Devil All The Time. He watched all of your movies and practically grew up watching you on Disney Channel. To say he was simply starstruck would’ve been an understatement, he was enamoured. Practically in love. And when he got to know how kind and sweet you were in real life—not just on screen— he just had to turn on his British charm, just to watch you squirm.

Every little comment he made caused your skin to tingle. Your stance on co-star relationships had never been so harshly challenged. He would constantly call you whatever cute pet name he could think of at the time, and unluckily for you, they always seemed to just roll right off his tongue. He even went out of his way to grab you a coffee if he went out to get one, or he’d ask his brother to make sure to bring back your signature order: caramel macchiato with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla, and extra caramel drizzle. How he knew that was your go to order was a mystery to you.

It’s not like you didn’t retaliate with your own antics though. Sometimes during his scenes you send him a wink and a smile, just to watch him lose focus. Or maybe you’d tease him about the way he says croissant, but then also say it in the over pronounced way he does, just to bug him. On days when the sexual tension between you two was especially palpable, you’d kiss his cheeks after his scenes and say “good job, babe” or something else to rile him up. So no, you weren’t innocent in this matter at all.

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This build up of tension was bound to boil over at some point. But why the fuck did it have to be during the fucking full cast and director dinner?

You all arrived at the fancy restaurant, all 40+ of you. You sat next to Eliza and secretly hoped that Sebastian, Harry, or even Robert would take the seat next to you, anyone but Tom. He had been especially touchy that day, and you knew if he continued his ministrations, especially under the cover of a table, your resolve would surely fade away.

Unfortunately for you, Tom practically bolted to the seat next to you. You scooted a bit closer to Eliza, who nudged your shoulder playfully.

“You should just give in.” She stated, smirking the whole time. “Look at him, poor thing just wants some love and attention.” she giggled, nodding her head to where Tom was whispering with Harry on the other side of him.

“Stop it, you’re insufferable.” You rolled your eyes, but still smiled at the joking banter.

“(Y/N), hon, he’s one of the hottest celebrities in Hollywood right now, and he wants you.” Eliza pinched your makeup covered cheek, “you’re telling me you don’t wanna just jump in his pants? Do you not find him hot or something?”

You smacked her hand away, “No, I do find him attractive, I just d—”

“Find who attractive, love?” Tom interrupted, smirking at the comment he heard. No, he didn’t know for sure you were talking about him, but one can hope.

“Nobody,” you dismissed, “I was just telling Eliza here that I think her dog is cute, right Eliza?”

“Sure.” She mumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically, then winking directly at Tom, just out of your view.

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled, “Yes, you find her dog attractive then?”

“No!” You defended, red faced from being backed into a hole, “I didn’t even use that word; you’re just hearing things.”

“Don’t worry, love. I find you absolutely, without a doubt, drop dead gorgeous.” Tom winked, before returning back to his conversation with Harry.

Eliza pinched your side, causing you to yelp. “See, I told you!” she whisper-yelled, a knowing smirk dawning her face.

“You didn’t tell me shit.”

“Ugh, whatever, you’re hopeless.” She sighed, just as the waiter was coming around to take your orders.

The majority of the evening went by just as simply and smoothly as possible, it was when dessert arrived that Tom stirred up trouble once again. His damned British charm made him the perfect devil in disguise.

“Darling, you have some cake right—” he licked his thumb before drawing it over your bottom lip, slowly, “here.”

He smirked at your surprised gaze and wiped the chocolate cake from your rose-painted lip. Never breaking his gaze, he drew his thumb back to his mouth and sucked on the digit, gently humming at the sweet taste of chocolate and strawberry lip gloss that flooded onto his tongue. This bitch.

You cleared your throat and ceased your—more than obvious— gawking. He wasn’t going to win this time. You sat quietly, smirking as he watched your every move, simply waiting for retaliation. And it came soon enough, when you knocked your water off the table into his lap, on accident, of course.

He jolted up the second the cold water hit his slacks, cursing, yet still keeping that charming smirk on his lips. You immediately started the steady stream of apologies, a faux look of remorse etched on your face. The rest of the cast simply looked on, none the wiser.

“Oh Tom! Gosh, I am so sorry.” You stood up as well, taking the napkin from your lap and dabbing his torso where the water splashed up. “I’m just so clumsy, forgive me.” You looked up at him with false serenity in your eyes, but a devilish grin.

“No worries, love.” He mused, “I’m just going to go dry off in the washroom. Could use some help though; it’s the least you could do.” The rest of the cast went back to their desserts and conversation, so they failed to notice the hidden glint in Tom’s eyes or the lustful insinuation behind his request.

“Sure.” You smiled up at him, determined not to lose this game of cat and mouse. You followed him to the large family restroom in a dimly lit corridor. He opened the door and gestured for you to go in first. What a gentleman, hm?

He closed the door behind him and locked it before undoing the buttons on his dress shirt and removing it. His toned torso also damp with freezing droplets of ice water.

You sucked in a shaky breath, taking in his less than professional, disheveled look. “You gonna come help me, princess?” He reached for paper towels and grabbed a handful, dabbing the wet spot on his lap, right over his crotch.

“I—um, sorry,” you snapped out of it. Following his movements, doing the same but to his wet torso.

“You’re okay, love.” He looked at you, the close proximity of your bodies creating the most delicious heat in the bathroom. Tom leaned in slightly, just until your noses were brushing against one another. “Though, I’ll admit, the fact that you're not giving me an apology kiss right now, makes this a little less than okay.”

You didn’t even process your actions completely, the second those words left his mouth yours lips were on his. You held his face in your hands, rough passion seeping through your entire body, and he was just the same. He kissed you fervently, holding your waist with one arm and the back of your head with his opposite hand, tangling his fingers into your hair. The tension and desire that had been building up for almost as long as you’ve known him finally boiling over.

Tom gingerly inched his hand up the side of your leg, under your dress.

“Wait, wait,” you pulled away, breathlessly, “we need to get back, they’re probably wondering where we are.”

Tom was about to concede when a knock rang through the room.

“Hey guys,” It was Eliza, “Seb paid for all of us, so we’re gonna head out. Take your time! Oh, and use protection!” You could practically hear the smirk on her face.

Tom stopped your little scowl by returning his attention to kissing you, “How lucky are we?” he mused, repositioning his hands, starting to fumble with the zipper of your dress.

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The next Monday at work was hell. You spent the whole weekend internalizing your little rendezvous in the bathroom. Tom texted you nearly fourteen times over the two day break period where you didn’t see each other, and you ignored every single one of them. The first ones were simple ‘hey’s’, ‘hi’s’, and ‘good morning’s’, but they soon progressed to show Tom’s concern over you not responding. The last message being,

Tom: I hope you know, I don’t regret it, but I’m sorry if you do.

You didn’t mean to ghost him, but your feelings were so confusing. You liked him and the things he did to you. But you had a code. And maybe the ‘don’t date your co-worker’ was a bit old school and shitty, but you’d been able to stick to it for this long and your work has never been better. Then again, all your previous boyfriends have been assholes; constantly upset over how busy your schedule was. Maybe a fellow actor would be more understanding?

The second you arrived to set Harry was on your ass.

“(Y/N), hey!” He called to you from the snack table where he was talking with Tom. You gave him a small smile and wave, but proceeded to your makeup chair. He motioned for you to join them, but you waved your hand in dismissal and gave him an apologetic look. Whether or not you regretted your night with Tom, you were absolutely not ready to confront it just yet. However, you didn’t miss the disappointed look on Tom’s face or the way Harry gave his brother a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

Harry even came up to you asking how your weekend was and if you were busy or not, no doubt trying to gauge your mood for Tom. You were friends with Harry so you didn’t mind talking to him, but when it was becoming apparent that you weren't giving much away as far as how you were feeling, Harry resorted to more ‘less than subtle’ questions.

“So… are you seeing anyone, currently?” He asked, playing with his fingers, the question struck you as extremely off-putting, especially since Harry said it with little to no confidence, like he really didn’t want to be asking that.

“Why? Are you trying to ask me out?” You teased. Watching him squirm was almost as fun as when it was Tom.

“No! No, I mean— I’m not opposed, you’re very pretty—no wait, I don’t mean it like that, I just—uh, I think you look nice, but not too nice—I’m gonna go.” Harry painfully stuttered out. Cursing under his breath as he walked away, back to where Tom was standing, watching on. These idiots were the most obvious divs in the whole world.

After you finished with your stylist, you were ready to start running lines for your scene. You have the majority of your scenes with Tom, so as per usual, you were acting opposite him. As the director was explaining how he wanted the scene to go, Tom kept glancing over at you, raising his eyebrows a bit, obviously wanting to clear the air.

The scene went by fine, but it was clear to many of the people around you that you were not on the top of your game today. It even got to the point where the director needed to ask if you needed a break. You said you didn’t and persisted. The scene was finally done to perfection, but it took almost double the amount of time it usually would for you.

Tom noticed you struggling the most and couldn’t help but feel guilty. He was quick to give you words of encouragement between takes, but you only responded with a quick ‘thanks’ and moved on.

When lunch time came around, the caterers were all set up and prepared on a different part of the lot. You quickly made your way over, running into Eliza on the way.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)!” she beamed at you. “Did you finish your scene?”

“Yeah, are you going to set right now?”

“Mhm, I’m shooting the scene at the church with Robert.”

“Well, good luck.” You smiled at her, about to move along when she grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, did something happen between you and Tom? He’s at the lunch table moping, even Seb is trying to cheer him up.”

“Um well no, I mean, maybe? I don’t know, I guess I’ve been avoiding him a bit.” You shrug, now not really wanting to go to lunch, but you know you have to. If you don’t show up then it’d be all too clear to Tom that you were definitely avoiding him.

“Oh, well, maybe just talk to him?” Eliza comfortably put a hand on your shoulder before walking away to set.

You continued to the lunch set up, seeing club sandwiches, soups, and cupcakes set up. You grabbed what you wanted and went to sit by Tom and everyone else. Yeah, you may have been avoiding him, but you didn’t want to make it that painstakingly obvious.

As soon as you sat down, Tom put his arm around you like he always did when you had lunch together. Only this time you stiffened up, not because you hated it, but because the action felt so different after what you both had done, it felt like it meant more. Tom noticed, of course, and removed his arm, frowning.

“Can I talk to you, (Y/N/N)?” he whispered to you, the rest of the table in their own little world, too caught up in their interactions to notice yours.

“Um, sure,” you mumbled in response, “but maybe when I have free time later? I’m just really hungry right now.” you gave him a small smile, trying to keep up the amicability.

He nodded and continued his conversation with Seb, who looked completely uninterested, but still continued responding since he could tell Tom was feeling shitty about something.

Later that evening, the entire cast had a one hour break since the next scene they wanted to shoot needed to be done at night and it wasn’t dark yet. That’s when Tom took you to his trailer to talk.

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I can’t help but feel like you’re avoiding me.” He stated, once the door was shut and you were already seated on his couch.

“I’m not.”

“But you are. I can tell. You didn’t talk to me at all today, even when I made a joke that I knew you’d have the perfect come back to.” He sat next to you, but kept more of a distance than usual.

“I don’t have to talk to you, Tom. You can’t rely on me to keep you entertained.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed that you’d been caught.

“That’s not what I’m saying, (Y/N), and you know it.” Tom pointed a finger at you, equally annoyed now.

“Fine, so what if I was avoiding you? You’re a grown man, you can handle rejection can’t you?” You spat. The argument was quickly becoming more heated. If there was one thing you hated the most in the world, it was being called out, especially if you knew you were in the wrong.

“What the fuck is your problem today?” Tom asked, exasperated at how defensive you got so quickly.

“Tom, I’m sorry, but I don’t do this,” you motioned between the two of you, “I don’t do the cliche Hollywood, sleeps around, one night stand scenario, so back off.”

“So you regret it.” Tom looked down, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He really did like you, but maybe it was naive of him to assume that sleeping together would open the door to something more.

“No, I just—it shouldn’t have happened. I liked it, but I’m not that type of girl. I’m a relationship type of person. I never wanted to be another girl for you to mark down on your list of possible hook ups.” You sighed. Tom wasn’t necessarily notorious for random hookups, but he was a famous actor who just so happened to also be single. It was hard to not go there with your thoughts, so in your mind, you had him pegged.

“I’m a relationship person too, though. I wanted all of this. All of you.” Tom inched closer, gingerly taking your hands in his. “I may have gone about it wrong, I should’ve asked you out first or something.”

“Tom, stop.”

“No, (Y/N), because you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t flirt with you or spend time with you just to get in your pants.” Tom pulled you closer. “I surrounded myself with you because I wanted you. And I think you want me too.”

You looked in his eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, small as it might be, but Tom was being the most sincere he could possibly be. Tom cautiously leaned closer, just wanting one more kiss, even if it was the last. However, you were the one that took the final plunge and pulled him in, kissing him. You both moved together so fluidly, like you were made for each other.

When you did pull apart, Tom was the one to break the silence, “So does that mean you like me or…”

“I kissed you, didn’t I?”

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