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ozarkthedog · 15 days

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𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

summary: joel secretly watches you shower.

warnings: 18+ mdni. older!joel miller x afab!reader. dubcon -> reader has no idea. reader has a bush but no other physical descriptors. male masturbation. joel is a conflicted, dirty old man but we love him so. w.c: 1.3k

author's note: the title is way too sweet for this. thank you @ghotifishreads for looking this over!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Joel is a bad man.

A very, very bad man.

Still, he couldn't think of a reason to stop as he gripped the base of his cock and began to stroke while he watched you dance like a sprite under the flowing stream.

It was a miracle the two of you stumbled upon a YMCA this far from the city. Joel figured it'd be swarming with people or worse, but it was oddly barren aside from crawling vines and small critters living in the alcoves.

It was even rarer that the water would still be working, but after you begged him with those big doe eyes, Joel checked it out.

You wait anxiously on a pathway in the center of a large washroom, shifting back and forth on your feet between the shower stalls while Joel stands in one of the less scary cubicles. The room was a mess. Mud cakes the floor and walls; once pearly white tiles are now smeared with dirt. Various tiles and mirrors are splintered and broken.

"'ere goes nothin'." Joel turns the knob, and the pipes behind the wall make a slew of thuds and loud creaking noises before a rush of water flows from the tap like a waterfall spilling over the edge of a cliff.

"No, shit." Joel curses in shock and tests the water's temp. "S'ice cold." he hisses before stepping out of the tiny stall.

You squeal elatedly. Uncaring about the cold, you move closer and cup your hands under the stream. You let out a soft moan at the frigid temperature. The unruly summer days were doing a number on you both.

Joel swallows hard at the sound and shifts his eyes to the floor before spying a few bars of soap a few feet away. He grabs two and tosses you one. "I don't know about you, but I'm taking a shower now," you announce, dropping your bag into the path between the stalls.

"Guess I should, too," Joel says, looking at the other, relatively clean stall across from yours.

"You definitely should." You quip and playfully wrinkle your nose as you shuck off your shoes.

"Shut up." Joel bites back with a sly grin. He takes a few short steps and turns the shower knob. Sure enough, crystal clear water streams freely from the head.

"See ya when we're clean." you send him a smile before tugging your curtain closed.

Joel shifts on his feet in the small space as he watches you pile your clothes on top of your bag from behind the curtain. He should keep guard and give you some privacy, but all coherent thought evaporates when he sees and hears you step under the stream.

Sunlight pours down into your stall from a window above, creating a tempting silhouette as you shimmy in the water and let loose an unrestrained moan. The sweet sound echoes off the washroom walls and slithers into Joel's brain. It races down his spinal column, and reaches home in his groin. His cock fills with blood instantly, forcing him to bite his cheek and mute his own moan.

"Ah, what the hell," he mumbles, setting his pack next to yours and closing the curtain to his stall. He's out of his clothes quicker than he remembers moving, chucking them carelessly on the other side of the curtain. His cock stands hard and raging, but he ignores it, choosing to step under the freezing stream with the hope it'll curb his arousal.

"Fuck." Joel groans when the cold rains down on his sweltering body.

"Told you." he hears you tease.

Joel shakes his head with a smile. It was by chance that your paths crossed. He wasn't looking for anyone to share in this new way of life, especially after Tommy left, but as luck would have it, you stumbled into his world at the right time, and now he's not quite sure he wants to live without you in it.

He'd kept his distance over the last few months. He was too old to get caught up in sappy feelings and didn't need the distraction when life was on the line. However, that raw, gnawing need never went away. It took him a while to relax and feel secure enough to get off, but when he did, he was able to let go and succumb to the urges he remembered enjoying so much before the outbreak.

He scrubs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, across his broad, hairy chest, expelling dirt and grime from his skin as it swirls down the drain. His erection still hasn't faded; if anything, it's even harder now as your airy singing fills the room.

He teethes his bottom lip as he succumbs to the urge once more and curls a soapy hand around his twitching length, circling the girthy base with a tight grip. Blood pulses in the crown— a desert sunset red, throbbing and weeping.

Joel knows it's wrong, but he's past the point of caring. With his left hand, he eases the curtain to catch another glimpse of your inviting silhouette but gets more than he imagined.

A breeze from the open window above your stall must have pushed the curtain open without you realizing. It was no bigger than a small gap, but it exposed enough of your body to Joel's prying eyes.

His jaw clenches tight as his deviant gaze travels along the wet, soapy expanse of your body. Water drips from your hairline, over your clavicle, between your breasts, and trickles down your soft belly. A mess of droplets and soapy suds cling to the patch of curls that covers your mound. Joel's cock throbs at the sight of your bush; he always loved the taste of a sweaty, hairy pussy.

You wash yourself, utterly unaware of his stare. The knot in Joel's abdomen twists, an unyielding cramp cinching ever tighter. He swirls his large, slick palm over his drooling tip, expertly moving with the right touch, trying his quickest to get off before the floor opens up and swallows him whole.

His sac tightens, drawing up as an intense wave burns through his gut. He watches with shameless infatuation as you run your soapy hands around your breasts and between your legs before rinsing away the filth. He roughly thrusts into his grip, imagining it's your cunt as it hugs and swirls around him while he greedily fucks into your warmth. He wants nothing more than to feel you under him, writhing from his illicit and soothing touch.

His spine curves as he hunches over and leans one hand on the wall for support as he comes with a mess of deep, broken grunts. Fingers scratch the tile, body quivering with searing pleasure as thick white ropes splash against the dingy tile; he pictures you gasping for him while he fills you to the brim.

Shame creeps in, swarming hot and fast like the midday sun after a summer rainstorm. He yanks his hand from his cock like he's been burnt when you suddenly appear on the other side of the curtain.

"Are you almost done?" your voice cutting through the white noise of the shower stream. Joel peers around the side of the curtain, eyes piercing yet sorrowful. "Yeah, gimme a minute."

For now, Joel shakes off his shame. He cleans himself up and haphazardly splashes the wall with water, washing away any evidence of his perverted seclusion.

"Here," he hears you say as you hand him his clothes. He opens the curtain a bit and notices your eyes are cast downward. Joel instantly feels the sharp fangs of regret sink into his flesh; you must've heard him.

"Thanks," Joel mutters. His fingers brush yours as he grabs his clothes, making your big eyes snap to his before they curiously travel down over his bouldering, sun-kissed shoulders. He watches your jaw drop with a silent gasp, and your knees slightly buckle at the dewy sight of him.

"Be out right out," he smirks when you forget to let go of his clothes, forcing you to mumble a mortified apology before he closes the curtain.

Maybe he was wrong.

Maybe he's not as bad as he thinks, and just maybe he might have a chance with you.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller smut

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moondirti · 8 days

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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

#should've made this a proper fic #it's longer than i expected it to be #anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x female reader #call of duty #fanfiction

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 1 month

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Hear me out please…

Imagine Bucky doing this as a way to get you stay home from work and says something like “Nope. You can’t leave. If you leave, I’m going with you.”

The Bed's Warm, Why Go?

PAIRINGS: James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: swearing, unprotected sex (darlings, please wrap your man's pig in a blanket), p in v, nipple sucking, mentions of cum, cumming inside. (If I have left anything out pls DM me and let me know 😊)

WORD COUNT: 730

ENJOY!

"Doll, don't leave me all alone," his arm snakes around your middle just as you're about to get up from bed. He pulls you towards him, and your back hits his warm, bare chest.

"Love, you know I don't wanna go," you turn in your place and smile at him while scratching his stubble. "Then don't," he pouts and rubs your hip, then cups the back of your knee and hooks your leg over his muscular thigh.

"I need to earn, Bucky. How else am I gonna spoil my favourite man, hmm?" Bucky smirks, and you can see his cheeks flush slightly red. He sits against the headboard and lifts you as though you weigh nothing, setting you on his thighs.

"Stay with me, princess. Call in sick," he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close as he stuffs his face between your breasts. You sigh and chuckle softly, running your hands through his fluffy bed hair.

"Convince me," you whisper. And that's it. That's all Bucky needed to hear.

He quickly flips the both of you, settling in between your legs. "Don't have to tell me twice, doll."

He tugs your underwear to the side, and slips his cock free from the restraints of his boxers.

You'll never really get over how big your boyfriend is. You start to whine, needing to feel something. "Bucky."

He smirks at your neediness, bending to catch your lips in a chaste kiss. "Oh, I know, doll, I know. Trust me, I'm going to fuck you so good that you forget about work. So good, that the way you walk into work tomorrow, your co-workers are going to think you were really sick."

A whimper leaves your lips, and he chuckles, tapping his cock on your clit. You gasp at the sensation. "Yes, please. Bucky, oh god," you whine, gripping onto his shoulders.

His brows pinched together as he slowly slips into your weeping hole. "Fuck. So, fucking tight, princess." You throw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip as you feel your walls trying their best to accommodate his girth.

He bottoms out in you, and you feel his pubic hair tickle your sensitive button. "Bucky, move please," you whine again. He leans back and grabs your hips, then he starts to pull out until it's just the tip of him inside.

Then he slams into you, and you wail his name. His thrusts start to become harsher, and your moans become more higher in pitch. "Such a good girl for me, yeah? Taking everything I give you."

You moan and start babbling when he hits that particular spot on your spongy wall. "Fuck, Bucky. Right there, right there!" Bucky bends, grabbing the headboard with one hand and tossing your leg over his shoulder with the other.

Reaching new depths into your canal, you scream in pleasure. "Oh yeah, just like that doll. Let the neighbours know how good I make you feel," he sucks a bruising kiss on your neck before sloppily marking up the rest of the column of your throat.

His thrusts are short and hard, and with each one of them, you move closer to the headboard. "Fuck, Bucky, you feel so good," you whine loudly.

You clench around him hard, feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes. "Babe, I'm close." Bucky groans at your words, thrusting faster. "Shit, me too."

The band tightens until the tension breaks. You arch your back as you gush all over Bucky's cock. "OH FUCK."

Bucky grunts, feeling you milk him. "God, so pretty when you come like that, princess."

You feel his thrusts falter in pace, indicating he's close. You reach behind him and grab his ass, squeezing the muscle. "C'mon baby, come for me," you whisper. He groans, pressing himself against you. Your thigh is impossibly pressed against your chest, and you moan again.

"Shit," Bucky grunts as his body goes slack, and you feel his warm load paint the inside of your walls.

You both pant hard, trying to catch your breaths.

After a while, Bucky removes your leg from his shoulder, and then proceeds to lay himself on top of you. Resting his head on your boobs, he smiles tiredly. "So, you going to work?" he raises a brow.

All you can do is just laugh and playfully flick at his nose.

💌💌💌

Thanks for the ask, babes!!!!

Absolutely, in love with that gif.

I srsly can't stop looking at it, LMAO.

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes

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javiscigarette · 1 year

Text

Push and Pull

Joel Miller x f!reader (no outbreak)

Summary: Joel just realllyyy likes your dress

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) no use of y/n, established relationship, dirty talk, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, choking, spitting, spanking, cum play, degradation (name calling), hair pulling, dom! Joel Sub! reader, descriptions of subspace, multiple orgasms, you know he talks you through it, straight up pure smut litcherally no plot

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: Might've gotten carried away with this, just needed to get it out of my system. I want to eat Joel Miller.

The sun is now fully set, the stars twinkling in the sky while the moon shines brightly. The air is still thick with heat but there’s a gentle breeze, cool against your hot skin.

The glasses of wine you had throughout the night were settling nicely into your body, relaxing your muscles and make your head feel light. You had been on your best host behavior, chatting with everyone while making sure they were happy with a full drink in their hand.

Joel eventually found you alone in the kitchen, popping lids off of beer bottles and refilling the snacks while everyone else mingled outside.

He looked absolutely delicious. The sleeves of his black t-shirt clinging to his biceps, his cargo shorts exposing his muscular legs that had your nearly salivating. His hair looked soft and fluffy; a few curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. You could see in the way his eyes were softer and that goofy lopsided grin looked permanently stuck to his face, letting you know that he was starting to feel the glasses of whiskey he had been steadily throwing back.

"Babydollll" Joel groans playfully, setting his glass on the counter as he approaches you before wrapping his arms around you from behind.

"This dress is fucking killing me" He whispers in your ear before he starts pressing wet, hot open-mouthed kisses on the column of your neck. His mustache tickles your skin and you can smell the liquor and the cigarettes (that he swears he only smokes when he drinks, even though you both know that’s a flat out lie) on his breath.

Of course, it’s the dress that he picked out a couple of days ago while he took you shopping in town, telling you to get whatever you wanted. It stopped mid-thigh, your ass centimeters away from being exposed if you bent over too far. The back was open too with thin straps, exposing as much skin as possible while perfectly stretching over your curves.

You don't protest when his hands started to roam your body, sliding up and down your torso, stopping randomly to grab at your skin all while pressing wet, hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck. In fact, doing anything other than melting under his touch was just not an option right now.

"Look so fucking sexy, trying to show everyone what they can't have, hmm?" Joel whispers against the bare skin of your shoulder, his hands coming up to cup your breasts for a few seconds before reaching in the top of your dress to pull both of them out.

"Joel!" you gasp, trying to squirm out of his grasp. Any second anyone from could come inside and round the corner to find you with your breasts exposed with Joel's hands around them.

Joel obviously doesn't let you go. Instead, he takes a step forward, pressing his hips against your ass until your trapped between him and the counter. You can feel his hard on press up against you, sending a pulse of electricity to your core.

"Isn't this what you wanted, sweetheart? Why else would you dress up like a slut if you don't want to act like one" Joel rasps.

You bite back a moan and throw your head back on his shoulder when he starts to pinch your nipples, rolling them gently between his thumb and index fingers.

"Yeah, I fucking knew it, baby. Such a fucking tease"

You can't deny how much you love when Joel is like this. Not too drunk that he can't control himself but drunk enough to let his walls down a little, to be riskier, to whisper absolutely filthy things in your ear before he takes complete control of you.

The moment only lasts for a few more seconds before it's interrupted by the sound of the back door opening followed by footsteps headed towards the kitchen.

Joel lets you go, taking a step away from you leaving you to frantically pull your dress back up to cover yourself. Tommy rounds the corner, immediately filling in Joel with a funny story about something that just happened outside. Tommy barely acknowledges you, too drunk to be polite right now. Your thankful that he’s completely oblivious to your reddened cheeks and flustered expression. You take a deep breath, trying to gather yourself, ignoring the way you can feel your slick already soaking your panties.

Joel takes two of the beers that you just opened and hands one to Tommy. They continue to chat as they walk out of the kitchen, Joel quickly turning to quickly eye you up and wink at you before turning the corner and heading back outside.

You let out a shaky sigh, half tempted to go upstairs and finish the job yourself. But you need to be a good host. You smooth your dress out, making sure everything is tucked in properly before you carry out the rest of the beers and the snacks. You make sure everyone is happy before you find Joel again, who's now sitting in a chair, talking with Tommy and a group of other men from work.

He catches sight of you, his eyes narrowing and a slight smirk creeping up on his face as you walk over to him.

"Can I get you boys anything?" you ask sweetly, standing next to where Joel is sitting, resting a hand on his shoulder.

The men decline wanting anything else, happy with their glasses of whiskey and cold beers in their hands.

"We were just talking about how good of a host you are, sweetheart" Joel says with a knowing smirk, his eyes never leaving yours. He snakes a hand behind you before resting it just below the hem of your dress.

You blush, tingles radiating from where Joel's hand rests on your thigh to the rest of your body. Even the simplest of touches had your knees trembling.

"Can you get a smoke for me babydoll? The pack is on the table over there" Joel asks with a sly grin and a squeeze to the back of your thigh.

You glance over to the picnic table that's a couple of feet away, his cigarettes sitting on the far edge.

What a perfect opportunity to get him back for his little stunt in the kitchen.

You smile down at him before turning to saunter over to the picnic table, your hips swaying loosely with every step. You can practically feel Joel's eyes burning holes into your back.

You don't walk around to the other edge of the table. Instead, you rest a knee on the bench and lean over the table to reach the other side and grab the pack. You try your best to make sure that Joel gets a good view of how your dress rides up as you move. You know you succeeded when you hear him choke behind you, trying to cover it up with a cough when he catches a glimpse of your bare pussy. You hadn't had the chance to tell him that you had removed your soaked panties after he felt you up in the kitchen earlier, not bothering to put on a fresh pair.

With the pack and lighter in your hand, you stand up on both feet and turn around. Joel is staring straight at you, his eyes so dark and face stern that you’d be scared if you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You fish a cigarette out of the pack, holding it up to your lips before lighting it and taking a drag. He doesn't take his eyes off you as he picks up his glass and finishes his whiskey in one gulp, watching as you return to his side.

"Here you go" you say with an innocent smile, handing him the lit cigarette.

Joel doesn't break his stare as he plucks the cigarette from between your fingers and places it between his lips. He takes one quick puff before standing up right in front of you. He wraps an arm around his waist and pulls you into his side.

"Well I'm just exhausted, think it's time for us to get ready for bed." Joel announces loud enough for almost everyone to hear.

Within 20 minutes, Joel is ushering the last guest out of the house, trying not to engage in anymore conversations while you bring in the dishes and empty beer bottles back into the kitchen.

Your skin is tingling with excitement, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to face whatever you ignited in Joel.

You hear the front door slam shut as your wiping down a countertop. You barely have time to turn around before he's towering over you, staring down at you with his blown, black eyes.

"It's only 10pm, Joel. You that tired?" You tease him, waggling an eyebrow at him.

"You think that's fucking funny, baby? Your cunt hanging out like a goddamn whore? Showin’ off to everyone what's fucking mine" Joel growls, his lips curling up into a snarl as he speaks.

"Then maybe you shouldn't feel me up until I'm soaking and then leave me hanging like that" You quip. You know that you’re poking the bear, but you can’t help yourself. You want to press all of his buttons. More darkness seeps into his eyes. You can see the tendons in his neck bulging out and the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth, chewing over the words you just said.

"Turn the fuck around"

You know what you're about to say is going to have Joel seeing a hundred different shades of red. But you can't help but push him, see how far he'll let you go.

"What, you're finally decided you want to touch me again? Y'know, I could've just asked Tommy after you left me in the kitchen like that. He would've been on his knees for me in a second. I know you see the way he looks at me. I bet he co-"

You can't get another syllable out, the force of Joel pushing you down by your shoulders until you’re kneeling in front of him knocks all the air out of your lungs.

"Such a fucking brat" Joel growls.

You're completely mesmerized watching Joel undo his belt and push down his pants and boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out, inches from your face. He's harder than ever, the veins running up his length prominent, his tip red and leaking. You try to lean up to lick him but he's quicker than you. He sees what you're trying to do and immediately has a hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place.

"You wear that fucking dress, your leaking cunt hanging out in front of all of our friends and somehow this is my fault?" Joel seethes.

You press your lips together, suppressing a whimper at his words. You have him right where you want him. You know that he's about to punish you in the best way for talking to him like this before fucking you completely dumb on his cock. But you want him as worked up as possible, it’s always better the angrier he gets.

"No words now, sweetheart?" Joel coos, his tone sickeningly sweet laced with a bite of anger. He brings his other hand down your mouth, his thumb hooking on your bottom lip and pulling your jaw open.

"M'gonna wreck this fucking bratty mouth, sugar. Shut you up with my cock."

That's all the warning you get before Joel is shoving himself inside your mouth. Your eyes wide with shock meet his, but he doesn't let up at all. Instead, he shoves himself deeper down your throat as you gag around him, his hand in your hair holding you still right where he wants you. Once he's 3/4 of the way in your throat, he yanks your hair forward, forcing your mouth down the rest of his length.

You can't stop gagging around him, spit already seeping out the corners of your mouth as your lips stretch around him. He doesn't give you any time to get acclimated to his length before he's pulling his hips back until he's halfway out before slamming all the way back in. He sets a brutal pace from the beginning, knowing that if you tapped his thigh at any moment he'd immediately pull out and wrap you up in a blanket, snuggling with you for the rest of the night.

But you never tap.

"This what you wanted? Needy little brat needed my cock down her throat, huh?" Joel grunts, his hips quickly building up speed.

You let out a whine, the sound muffled, and he huffs at the feeling of the vibrations around his cock. You're so turned on right now, Joel's dominance breaking open the floodgates. You can feel your core pulse and clench around air, your slick slowly starting to drip down your thighs.

Joel's pace is fast and steady now, pulling out of your throat before snapping his hips forward again until your lips are pressed against the trimmed hair at his base. His huffs and grunts as he mercilessly fucks your mouth is making your core burn, even as tears leak out of corners your eyes. It drives you absolutely wild.

He suddenly tugs on your hair, cuing you to look up at him.

"Keep your eyes open when I give you this cock"

You moan around his length, his words going straight to your throbbing cunt. You knit your brows together, eyes glassy as you look up at him.

"Already lookin' ruined, baby and I haven't even touched you yet" Joel grunts. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut.

Joel pulls back, his cock falling out of your mouth with a string of saliva connecting the tip to your bottom lip. He wraps a fist around himself and drags his wet tip across your puffy bottom lip. You poke your tongue out at he does so, trying desperately to taste more of him. It makes him chuckle with delight.

"You wanted this all along, didn't you, baby? Actin’ like a slut just so I’d be rough with you" Joel asks as his other hand moves from your hair to cup your jaw.

You don't have the chance to answer, Joel too quick to lightly slap his cock against your cheek. A quick nod is all you're able to give him before he's using the hand on your jaw to tilt up towards him. He replaces his tip with his thumb, sliding over your slick lower lip.

"Open" he demands simply.

You open your mouth obediently, sticking your tongue out with a small whine. He stares at you with dark eyes as he leans over, letting his spit drip from his mouth into yours. The warm liquid falls on your tongue and your quick to suck it back into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. He doesn't even have to say anything before you swallow and then open your mouth to show him.

"That's my good girl" Joel praises.

He moves at lightning speed, straightening back up and then shoving himself back in your mouth, immediately choking you on his length. He lets out a sigh and a whispered curse, his head falling back when he feels the heat of your wet mouth wrapped around him once again.

He leans down slightly, the angle making his cock slid deeper down your throat as he wraps a hand around your throat. He thrusts down your throat a few more times occasionally stopping when he's buried deep, feeling his tip bulge out against the palm he has wrapped around your throat.

"Fuck, babydoll. Take me so well, this mouth was made for me to fuck" Joel moans.

He gives a few final thrusts, going as deep as he possibly can before he's pulling out. You cough and gasp as you try to catch your breath. You can feel the tears staining your cheeks and you know your mascara is probably running down your cheeks right now, but you don't care. You know Joel loves to see how much he ruins you.

You watch as he lazily fists himself inches away from your face, his hand falling into an easy rhythm of sliding up and down, your spit making the glide effortless.

"Stand up."

You scramble to follow his instructions. You're already too fucked out to disobey him, his dominance easily sending you into submission. You manage to stand up, even though your knees are tight from sitting on them for so long, Joel's eyes glued to you and his hand steadily stroking his cock as you move.

You're barely on your feet before he grips your hip with his free hand and spins you around, bending you over until your cheek is pressed against the cool marble countertop.

"Such a fucking slut, baby" Joel grunts just above a whisper as he pushes your dress up your waist, leaving your ass exposed all for him.

You hear him moving behind you and you pick your head up a little to glance over your shoulder. You turn just in time to see Joel kicking off his pants before settling on his knees behind you.

A string of soft moans tumble past your lips, the heat of your breath fogging up the cold countertop as you feel Joel's hands palm your ass before spreading your cheeks. His thumbs slide to your folds, pulling them slightly open until your leaking hole is on full display for him. You gasp when you feel the cool air hit your burning core and then again when he exhales a hot breath, inches away from your aching cunt.

"So fucking wet, baby. Is this pretty pussy dripping for Tommy, sweetheart?"

His words cause a fresh gush of slick to drip from your core. He obviously notices and you can feel the hot breath of his chuckle against your exposed, soaked folds.

"N-no Joel, it's only for you. Only ever for you." You whine.

Joel lands a heavy smack to your cheek; the sound mixing with your loud cry and echoes out through the otherwise silent house.

"Use your fucking manners when you're talking to me" Joel growls.

It takes you a few seconds to fully understand his command, your brain already turning to goo in skull.

"Sir, fuck, sir, it's for you sir. I'm only yours, sir"

"That's fucking right" Joel grunts before diving into your aching cunt.

A loud moan rips through you as he immediately starts eating you out like a starved man at a buffet. You feel his tongue everywhere, swirling around your clit before tracing up and down your slit, darting into your dripping hole before coming up to your clit again.

Your knees go weak, your weight almost entirely supported by the counter underneath you. Joel is quick to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking harshly making you sob as hot electricity pulses through your veins.

"Fuck Joel, feels so fucking good" you cry out the white-hot ball of pleasure rapidly growing in your lower stomach.

He suddenly pulls away from you. You cry at the loss of his tongue, but it's cut off by your gasp as he delivers two harsh smacks to your ass.

"Use your fucking manners" Joel nearly shouts as he connects his palm to your ass again. "Not gonna tell you again"

You can't think straight, your brain five seconds behind everything that's happening to you.

"Sir!" You cry "Feels so good, sir"

Joel hums in approval before latching his mouth back on you again. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull when you feel two of his thick fingers notch at your hole before pushing inside.

Stars dance behind your eyelids and cunt clenches tightly around his fingers as they press right up against your g-spot. You're falling apart so easily, the tension that built up over the course of the night suddenly hitting you at full strength.

"That’s it, baby. Take what I give you" Joel whispers before taking your clit between his lips once again. You nearly scream at the sensation, your hands clawing at the countertop trying to get a grip on the slick surface. He keeps up a rhythm that has your chest burning with how hard you're breathing. You try to fight the urge to push your hips back into his face, but you can't help it when you feel his tongue move from your clit to circle around his fingers where he's stretching you open. He knows exactly how to bring you close to edge as fast as possible.

But he also knows how quickly he take it away.

The sensation is gone as soon as it came, Joel pulling away from you leaving you breathless and clenching around nothing.

"Such a greedy cunt, you just can't help be bad, huh baby?" Joel coos.

You look over your shoulder at him to see him fisting himself again. You meet his gaze and he's looking at you with one eyebrow cocked, giving you a warning to use your words.

"Fuck yes, sir. Need you always, I'll take anything you give me, sir" You moan, all of your inhibition flying out of the window.

Joel doesn't say anything as he smooths a hand up your spine until it reaches your cheek, gently pressing your cheek into the countertop while keeping you in place. You can't see him anymore, his hand preventing you from moving your head even an inch. But you do feel his tip notch at your aching entrance for just a moment before he slams his hips into yours, immediately stuffing you to the brim.

"That's right, baby. You take what I give you and you don't fucking complain, hm?"

He starts fucking into you with full strokes, pulling almost all the way out before filling you back up in one movement, his tip nudging against your cervix.

You cry out against the counter as he falls into a fast pace, once again not giving you any time to adjust to his size. Your wet enough doesn’t necessarily hurt, but your walls are tingling with a dull ache as you slowly adjust to his massive girth inside of you. But you don’t dare to say anything knowing that this is part of your punishment.

You swear you can feel him in your throat each time he presses into you, stuffing you impossibly full. You can't catch your breath, Joel knocking the air out of your lungs with each thrust.

"S-so big and f-fast, sir I can't t-"

"Yes, you can, baby." Joel cuts you off "I know you can. You know this cunt was made for me so take your punishment like a good girl” Joel grunt, not slowing down for one second.

Your eyes roll back into your skull with a whimper as he repeatedly slams into you. All you can do is lay there, taking what he gives you. You know you can safe word out of it any second you want and he would stop instantly, but you can't think of anything worse than him stopping right now.

The dull ache of your stretched walls slowly morphs into pleasure, ecstasy steadily seeping into your bones and muscles. You're so drunk on his cock you can barely open your eyes and your mouth is hung open letting out a never-ending string of loud moans. The hot pool of pleasure in your stomach is growing quickly, but you try to suppress it, knowing that Joel isn't anywhere near to letting you cum. Your legs are trembling, your whole body jell-o as he slams into your g-spot over and over and over again.

You're both fully aware that he's steadily pushing you into the delicate headspace where your thoughts and sensations disappear as pleasure consumes you completely. The first time you slipped was after a long night of spanking and teasing and Joel fucking you senseless after you had been particularly bratty all day. He was genuinely terrified when you went limp under him, unable to say anything with tears steadily streaming down your face. He had stopped immediately and held you close to him until you came back to Earth and explained how he broke you in the best way. After that, it was a lot of trial and error, a lot of close supervision and reassurance check ins until you two fell into a comfortable routine.

He’s now completely comfortable pushing you all the way and that's exactly what he does. The tension of him choking you on his cock, quickly followed by him eating you out for a few moments before slamming into you while talking you through it the whole time was making your head spin.

Joel notices how your moans start to sound wet quickly followed by hot tears or pure pleasure wetting his palm. The tears scared him the most at first, but after you explained that they were more of a release of intense emotion and pleasure building up as he fucked you so well, he started to gradually feel more comfortable seeing you cry.

He moves his hand off your face and leans over, pressing his chest into your back. He slows his pace down considerably but doesn't stop.

"You're doing so well, angel." Joel praises. His tone is sweeter and gentler as he checks in with you "You doin okay?"

You nod lazily, your whole body shaking under him as tears flow freely down your face.

"Yes, sir. Safe word is m-mango" you choke out, already anticipating what he was about to ask "I don't want to use it, s-sir, please keep going"

Joel's heart swells and his cock simultaneously twitches inside of you, listening to you being so good for him, telling him that you're okay and begging for more, all with hot tears of pleasure falling down your face.

"Good girl" Joel whispers into your jaw. He presses a soft kiss behind your ear before standing up again, grasping your hips with both of his hands.

"Such a good fuckin’ girl" Joel huffs as he starts to quickly build back up to his original pace.

You barely register the slaps that Joel lands on your ass before he's slamming his hips at that devastating pace. Your body feels so light that you swear you would float away if Joel wasn't holding you down. Waves of pleasure washed over you, pulling you under like a riptide and holding you down until your mind goes blank of everything except for JoelJoelJoel. The world around you starts to fade away, your grip on reality withering away until it’s just you and Joel.

You swear you feel your soul leaving your body as you slip into a space of pure tranquility mixed with immense pleasure. It feels warm and comforting and incredibly safe. You're so pliant under his touch fully trusting him to take care of you. It's like you're offering your entire life to him on a silver platter.

You can hear him saying things to you, but your brain isn't working to make sense of the words, your mind too focused on his touch and the numbing pleasure of him pounding right into your g-spot. Your mouth is hanging open, smushed against the countertop, loud moans and the occasional sob tumbling past your lips as you start to drool on the marble.

Joel's watching you carefully, making sure that you don't slip too far under. His fingertips are digging into your hips, easily maneuvering you back and forth to meet his every thrust. He can't stop his own moans as he watches you succumb to the pleasure that he is giving you, seeing how malleable and soft you are for him right now. It's definitely not the first time he's delivered you to this point, but he can't help but be in complete awe as he watches you settle into this headspace.

He continues to pound into you, giving you what he knows you need. He notices the slight change in the tone of your moans and the way you start to clench around him so hard that he can't move and he knows your close. He brings two of his fingers up to your mouth, resting them on your bottom lip.

Your dizzy brain eventually registers his fingers, and you automatically wrap your lips around them, sucking them into your mouth. You hum happily, utterly content with one more of your holes being stuffed full. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, suckling softly on his two thick digits.

The edge of the counter is digging into your lower abdomen, adding even more pressure as Joel pummels into you. You can feel your orgasm quickly building up, making every inch of your body tingle. Joel removes his fingers slowly from your mouth despite your desperate whine.

You sob out loud, fat tears streaming down your face when you feel Joel bring his hand to your core, pressing his two spit-coated fingers against your clit and rubbing lazy circles.

You writhe under Joel's grip as your orgasm rips through you, choking on gasps and sobs that fall freely from your lips. Your heart pounds against your chest, every inch of your skin electrified as you are hurled over the edge with a loud scream.

"There you go, baby. Just let go f’me" Joel soothes, fully knowing that you're probably not even aware that he's talking. You're soon transported to a far away place, the pleasure pushing you out of your body and fully consuming you.

Joel's eyes roll back, his own pleasure starting to take over his senses when he feels you clench and gush around him.

"Get so wet for me when you're like this, baby" Joel huffs.

He's not wrong. You're absolutely drenching him as you squeeze him tight, soaking his cock so much that it makes lewd squelching sounds and drips to the floor as he continues to fuck into you.

"You think Tommy cold fuck you like this, baby? Think he could fuck you absolutely stupid on his cock like this" Joel grunts between clenched teeth.

He's not expecting a response, but you moan out anyway.

"N-nooo, s-sir." You choke out in between sobs and moans.

It's music to his ears. He can't hold on any longer, the way you're squirming under him and squeezing around him, crying, and sobbing out for him is driving him insane. He grabs your hips as hard as he can and thrusts into you one, two, three more times before he's unloading deep inside of you with a loud, broken moan, just how he knows you like it.

You don't know how much time passes before the ringing in your ears starts to fade and you faintly hear Joel's voice calling out to you. You slowly return to your body, your sense slowly coming back to you one by one.

Joel has stopped thrusting completely, but he's still deep nestled inside of you, his warm chest pressed heavy against your back applying a comforting pressure.

"Come back to me, babydoll" He coaxes gently, brushing the hair out of your face. You blink your eyes open, your swollen eyelids and wet eyelashes blurring your vision. He presses soft kisses to your cheek, patiently waiting for you to come back from wherever you went.

You let out a soft whimper between sniffles, unable to make any other sound. You could stay here forever, in the warm, safe space pressed under Joel with his cock resting deep inside of you.

"You did so well" Joel muses against your cheek. He starts to rub a warm, soothing palm up your side. "Always so good, my sweet girl"

It takes every ounce of energy left in you to clear your throat and talk to him.

"Love you, Joel" You murmur with a satisfied smile.

You can feel Joel's chest vibrate with a laugh, feel his warm breath spread along your cheek and jaw. It's always the first thing you say to him when you come to, no matter how rough he is or how far he pushes you.

"Love you more, sweetheart. Lemme take care of you, yeah?" Joel asks softly.

You nod slightly, allowing him to stand up. You cringe at the cold air replacing the warmth of his body on top of you. He pulls out of you slowly, a fresh tear sliding down your cheek as you whine loudly at the loss. You hear Joel sigh as he watches his cum dribble out of your abused hole and onto your thigh.

"You look so pretty with my cum leakin’ out of you, baby" Joel says softly, running a palm up your inner thigh. "Can you take just a little more?"

You let out a high-pitched whine and nod.

"My sweet girl, taking whatever I give her" Joel whispers, swiping a finger through the cum that seeped out of you before gently pushing it back inside of you.

The sensation makes you nearly shout, your hypersensitive walls clenching so hard around your finger it almost hurts. He pushes his finger in and out so slowly that you feel every inch drag against your sore walls. He quickly finds the spongy spot on the roof of your wall, hooking his finger to nudge against it over and over again. You’re so sensitive but Joel knows how far he can push, and he’s not done yet.

“Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can. Soak my fuckin’ hand” Joel commands quietly before adding a second finger.

Your screw your eyes shut, a loud moan of echoing in the room as you squeeze around his fingers. You want to tell him to stop, that you can’t handle it, but you can’t even bear the thought of losing his touch.

He’s quick to bring you right to the edge. You scream as your second orgasm in under five minutes crashing down hard on you, your whole entire body trembling as you squirt around his fingers. Joel groans deeply, watching your release gush out of you onto his hand and wrist and dripping down onto the floor.

“Oh baby, look at that” Joel says, absolutely awestruck.

He continues to slowly finger you until you come down from your orgasm. You whimper softly and try to squirm away from his touch letting him know that you’ve had enough. He removes his fingers, pressing a quick kiss to your lower back before standing up straight. He easily scoops you into his arms, knowing it's near impossible for you to walk right now.

He carries you to your shared bedroom and places you down gently, making sure your head is resting on a squishy pillow. He takes a fluffy blanket from the end of the bed and drapes it over you, making sure you're fully covered.

You sigh at the warmth, your muscles fully relaxing and melting into the bed.

"I'll be right back, angel" Joel whispers before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

In reality is takes Joel less than a minute to return but to you it feels like an eternity and a half. He eventually comes back, his hands full with a damp warm rag, a bag of pretzels, two wrapped squares of chocolate, a water bottle, and a bottle of Gatorade.

You giggle when you see him struggling to carry everything over to the bed and your heart swells in your chest knowing that he always takes such good care of you.

He lifts the blanket and works a quickly and gently as possible to clean you up you just lay there, letting him maneuver your body however he pleases. Once he's satisfied, he quickly cleans himself up before tossing the rag onto the floor and climbing into the bed next you.

He slips under the blanket, sitting upright with his back pressed against the headboard. Your heart is bursting at the seams as you watch him unscrew the caps of the bottles and place straws inside. He offers you the Gatorade first, watching intently as you sip, making sure that you get enough. After you finish, he unwraps a square of chocolate and holds it out for you. You eat it bite by bite, Joel holding it in his hand for you until you take your last bite. You innocently lick the melted chocolate off his fingers but it’s really just an excuse to have his fingers back in your mouth. You smile softly when you hear his breath hitch. He gently removes his fingers from your mouth, stopping you before he gets too worked up. He then offers you the water which you gratefully sip before laying your head back down on the pillow.

Joel sets the water down on the nightstand and slides down until his head is on the pillow next to you and pulls your body into his. You snuggle up next to him and rest your head on his bare chest, his heartbeat thumping softly in your ear as he wraps his arms around you. You close your eyes and smile, worlds beyond content and satisfied.

"That dress, angel. You're never wearing that in public ever again" Joel whispers as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

"How about when I need an excuse for you to fuck me like that again?" You tease.

"Oh baby, you just have to ask and I'll give you anything you want" Joel says quietly and you know he's dead serious.

You smile against the skin of his chest, warmth spreading through your body and quickly lulling you to sleep in the safe confines of Joel's arms.

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A/N: Thank you for reading!! I just finished my first year of my masters so get ready for a lot more content. This was originally a Javi P. fic but I think it went better with Mr. Miller as I writing it what do you guys think?? hugs and smoochies <3 mwah

#Joel miller smut #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #Joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #tlou imagine #the last of us #javiscigarette

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storiumemporium · 6 months

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Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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joelhoney · 6 months

Text

#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads.

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.”

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?”

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past.

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.”

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages.

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately.

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts.

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous.

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained.

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom.

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on.

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his.

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight.

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—”

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him.

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small.

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.”

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts. The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever.

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller tlou #the last of us #tlou x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal x reader #tlou smut

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sytoran · 7 months

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟏 — 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

kinktober day 001 | CW!wanda x beefy!avenger!reader

after a particularly taxing work day, there's no better stress relief than your cute little bunny sleeping half-naked in your bed.

cont. mild non-con, vaginal fingering, begging, daddy kink

word count. 1390

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

"Fucking arrogant men and their fragile masculinities," you grumble in frustration, forcefully ramming the keys into the keyhole and unlocking the door.

It had been another hellish day of dealing with Tony Stark and Steve Rogers’ clashing personalities. The result of their foolishness meant a mission going haywire and taking about seven more hours than it should’ve.

As expected, you were pissed off. You shrug off your leather jacket, revealing a tight-fitting tactical suit, and then you kick off your shoes. Trudging up the stairs with your mind still in a fit of hazy anger, forcing open the door to your bedroom–

Seeing your pretty girl half-naked on your bed and deep in slumber.

You physically feel your chest relax, shoulders drooping as you exhale slowly. The burning heat that was fury subsides and the smaller flames burn in a different kind of lustful way.

Wanda was asleep in one of your old SHIELD shirts, which was about three sizes too big for her. Her cute, stiff nipples were poking through the fabric that was tight around her big chest, and the addition of tiny sleeping shorts made her all the more tempting.

"Bunny," you whisper, quietly crawling onto the bed, scared to ruin the serene silence.

Along the way, you unzip your tactical suit and toss it into a forgotten corner of the room, leaving you in just a pair of black boxer briefs and a sports bra. You puff out a breath of hot air as you slide into bed with Wanda, dragging the sheets over the two of you as your arms envelop your smaller girlfriend.

The little witch was the small spoon nearly all the time, not that you were complaining. You revelled in the feeling of enveloping Wanda in your arms, protecting her and keeping her safe.

Of course you also enjoyed the other benefits of having your hands so close to your girlfriend’s chest.

Wanda lets out sleepy little noises as she unconsciously shifts closer into your embrace, evidently still fast asleep with the slow rising and falling of her chest.

Her head fits under yours like a satisfying puzzle piece, her head of brown hair tucked under your jaw like it was meant to be. You lean down in the slightest to inhale her sweet scent of lavender soap, pressing a soft kiss on her head afterwards.

You can feel your residing anger gradually fading away, but the tension is still written between the lines and you can’t seem to erase them: in the furrowing of your brows or your tightened grip, in your uneven breaths or your racing mind.

Eventually, your hands creep up Wanda’s shirt, seeking that stress relief like it was second nature.

“Fuck,” you curse quietly, upon actively feeling Wanda’s lack of a bra, rough hands meeting soft mounds that you so loved to caress.

Today is no different, with you kneading her breasts, perhaps even a little rougher than usual.

Fat spills from your fingers as your greedy hands seek more, the tips of your fingers pulling at her hardened buds. A low rumble sounds in your chest at the cute, affected noise Wanda lets out.

However, she remains asleep, and you’re free to do whatever you please.

Soon enough, your mouth seeks out the sensation of warm skin, and your teeth find solace in the column of her porcelain neck. Leaving love-bites in different shades of red across Wanda’s skin, she stirs in your grasp, squirming slightly.

Your movements never cease. In fact, you get more eager at the prospect of your girlfriend waking up to such a dirty sight: you greedily groping her tits with your crotch pressed flush against her ass.

“Need you so bad, bunny,” you grunt, knowing Wanda can’t hear you, but having the criminal urge to voice out all the perverse things you were going to do to her.

Smoothly, one of your hands glide down the expanse of her torso and beyond the hem of her sleeping shorts. You’re met with the lace of a pair of panties — but nothing turns you on more than the growing wet spot you find that covers Wanda’s pretty little cunt.

“You’re so needy for me even in your sleep, hm, baby?” you ask heatedly, your other hand remaining up her shirt to massage her tits. It had been too long without having her like this, and you craved to memorise every crease of her lithe figure before your next mission.

Impatiently, you rub your fingers on that wet spot on Wanda’s panties, the growing slick making your fingers wet through the fabric. Your girlfriend emits little cries of discomfort at your unending teasing, turning in her sleep as your hand forcefully enters the threshold of her panties.

“Fuck, bunny,” you growl into her neck, two fingers finding her wet heat and then plunging inside.

It’s the sensation of your thick fingers pushing into her slick cunt that has Wanda awakening with a start.

“Y/N!” Wanda gasps out, high-pitched and breathy. You can imagine her eyes darting around the darkened room, only to register your vice grip around her body, one hand up her shirt and the other down her pants.

“Shh, bunny, go back to sleep,” you say, low and inviting. Wanda’s too sleepy to discern the affected tone of your voice.

“C-can’t sleep when y-you’re touching me,” she whimpers, velvet walls clenching the thick length of your fingers. She’s squirming so much in your grasp, but you’re so much stronger physically and she can’t get out of it.

“Sorry, bunny,” you lie easily, fingers still exploring her tight little cunt. “Five minutes, kay?”

Wanda lets out an incoherent whine when your finger brushes against a sensitive spot. “Too tired, Daddy,” she answers, adorably sleepily.

Yet, Wanda’s body instinctively attempts to arch off the bed when you harshly tug at her nipple, rigid to your touch. “Oh,” she moans, legs spreading wider unconsciously.

“So fuckin’ needy,” you repeat, your left hand thrusting deeper into her tight cunt. Your mouth is now on the juncture of her neck and her shoulder, a quickly purpling bruise making its mark. “Fuck, baby, let me make you cum, okay?”

Wanda tries to protest, the stimulation already too much for her partially unconscious body, but you take her shallow pants as a ‘yes’ and slide in another finger.

Wanda mewls at the intrusion, the familiar feeling of a tightening knot in her lower stomach making itself known. “Daddy,” she whimpers helplessly, fingernails clawing at your iron-hard forearm packed with muscle.

“Yes, bunny?” you pant, moving your three fingers in tight little circles, Wanda’s slick coating them. You were trapped in a headspace of lust, only aiming to make your pretty little girlfriend squirt all over the sheets.

“Please?” Wanda begs mindlessly, her desperate tone making your head spin. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for anymore; maybe it was for you to stop, or maybe it was for you to bring her to a long-awaited high.

“Mhm,” You take her plea as the latter, harshly curling your three fingers inside her tight pussy, your other hand flicking at her rubied nipple. Just like that, and Wanda lets out a choked noise of pleasure as she cums.

Your grip on her never lightens as Wanda throws her head back onto your shoulder, thrashing as wave after wave of an orgasm washes over her body. Her fingernails dig crescent-shaped imprints into your forearm.

“My pretty girl,” you whisper, fingers continuing in slow rocking motions so Wanda can ride out her high. Her body is too warm under the sheets, lightning-sensitivity overtaking her body, but Wanda feels if she leaves your grasp she’d simply melt into nothingness.

You listen as the erratic breathing of your girlfriend gradually evens out. “Still tired?” you ask, the low husk of your voice raising goosebumps along the shell of Wanda’s ear.

Wanda only uses both of her hands to drag your left hand back up her body and to her mouth. Grinding her ass into your crotch, her pretty lips wrap around your fingers and suck, suck her own juices off your fingers and into her mouth.

That’s all the confirmation you need before flipping the two of you over, pressing your body weight into Wanda’s front.

It was going to be a long night.

so... how do we feel about day 1 of kinktober??

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff x reader #x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x reader #wanda x reader smut #wanda x y/n #gxg smut #wlw smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #marvel smut #top reader #dom reader #bottom wanda maximoff #sub wanda maximoff

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trashycosmos · 10 months

Text

i've determined i will probs never play minecraft again bc the sheer amount of content, while amazing, also is overwhelming to the highest degree but gameplay videos are highly enjoyable. also since finding creativerse it just hits better and terraria is like my happy (moddable) medium.

#plus since they introduced columns npcs block rotation AND painting i have been OBSESSED #like don't get me wrong Minecraft is a lot of fun but there's just SO MUCH #Terraria can be a bit overwhelming at times too especially bc i like it modded but even then i feel like there's less to it #maybe just a bit more emphasis on mob farming #ngl the devs hope to bring mods to creativerse but idk how plausible that is but is2g if they make it a reality i'll lose my shit #it's basically all that i feel is missing #the style/textures are wonderful and the variety of blocks/decor you can craft is unreal #plus being able to tame 99% of mobs is just???? chef's kiss #don't get me started on how they have wiring instead of redstone which means you don't need an acre to set up machines and TELEPORTERS #also similarly to Terraria you can transfer resources from one world to another??? you just have to unlock and craft the chest #there's also the fact that once you get the right npcs almost everything is renewable without having to terraform #one of them even multiplies the drops you get from tamed creatures #i would like to see more customization for the base character model but dressing my character like a witchy green chicken has been hilarious #in short all of them are amazing but creativerse just appeals to me most #oh! going back to the modding thing if they did introduce it i think with the right people the game could become a 3d terraria #which is a DREAM to me #though Terraria was on a whole other level with the bosses/random events #like the mechanical bosses stressed me the fuck out and wof when i was beginning #i don't think i even ever made it to plantera on my last long run roflmao or any of them tbh #blood moon and goblin invasion was always fun and good for money #hadn't quite figured out the stairs situation though so npcs could traverse up AND down but it's fine #Falling Apart And Coming Together

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targaryenluvs · 3 months

Note

Would you be willing do to a yandere Percabeth fic? Even if it’s like three paragraphs long…I need to know what you’d do with it. If you’re taking requests or anything because I can’t find it but you also don’t have to take it.

— OUR BEST GIRL

pairing: dark!percabeth x fem!reader

summary: percy and annabeth would do anything for their girl.

warning: dark themes, obsession, violence

a/n: ik it’s short but here you go @lady-ashfade ❤️

you didn’t exactly know how you ended up between the two. whether it was by accident or by their design, you were always seen as the third in their relationship, not that anyone dared to comment on it.

you were the balance between the two, the sweet, smart, clumsy girl, in their eyes you needed protection. protection that only they could provide. it was one of the few things that they didn’t fight over, you were far to sweet to be alone. they were completely infatuated with you.

you were also oblivious to their actions and behaviour, believing them to have your best intentions at heart, of course they did! they loved you! they’d moulded you into needing them, seeking their presence and approval. you trust them, truly. everyone else around you, all the campers could see how defensive they were when it came to you.

“where have you been?” annabeth turned around at your footsteps, sounding her to your arrival. you frowned, “that poor demeter girl, she ended up in the infirmary after training. we tried to ask her who hurt her but she was too scared to talk!”

percy feigned concern, “that sucks. do you wanna swim tonight?” the smile on his face made you giggle, “cmon perce! she’s injured the poor thing.” percy held his arm up, “annabeth sliced me in training, i’m injured, why don’t i get the same concern?” he pouted as you gasped, “oh my god! are you okay?”

you quickly surveyed the bandaged arm as annabeth scoffed, “please i barely touched him.” you swatted her arm, “i’m okay, but i think a kiss would help.” you rolled your eyes before kissing his cheek, “cmon, let’s swim!” you ran inside your cabin, gathering your swimming necessities and clothes as the two leaned against the columns.

“you think she’ll talk?” percy glanced over to annabeth who was intently viewing you excitedly pack towels and snacks for the three of you, “nope,” she spoke, popping the ‘p’ as she stood on both feet, “but even if she does, we’ll make sure she doesn’t ever again.” she shrugged, free of worry or concern as she made her way inside to you, percy following along.

the amount of campers that had ended up mysteriously injured, almost fatally, for even approaching you whilst they weren’t present? too many to count. after more than enough injuries and bruised egos, the camp began to take a hint, you were off limits.

you were their best girl, and theirs only.

#yandere annabeth chase #yandere annabeth chase x reader #yandere!percy jackson x reader #yandere percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #yandere percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #yandere percabeth x reader #percabeth x reader #annabeth chase x you #annabeth chase x reader #kira and ash talk <3

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luvhughes43 · 7 months

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the beginning | jack hughes

au masterlist⭐️

summary: jack and yns relationship is super lowkey, but what happens when yn starts doubting why their relationship is so private?

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 5.6k

The first time you met Jack Hughes you were job shadowing a colleague of yours. It was your first real week of working at the New York Times, and with how busy the team's schedule was you were sent down with Lewis from the sports column to report on… something hockey related. You weren’t really sure, and Lewis didn’t care to fill you in.

You had never given hockey two thoughts when you were growing up. Your father wasn’t interested in any sports aside from the usual football game on thanksgiving (which you had a theory he just watched to get out of festive activities and house work). And anyway, there was only one local ice rink where you grew up so you’d never really had the opportunity to learn about the sport.

All that to say, you had no idea what you were doing. You watched Lewis pin his “The Athletic” reporters badge, and you fiddled with your visitors pass as you waited for the press conference to start.

When the conference did start, you jotted down notes absentmindedly on your notepad. About halfway through the meeting, your attention is immediately pulled to a side door where a few men stood, snickering and whispering to each other.

One of the men noticed you though, smirking half-heartedly in your direction as he nodded his head towards you. That small action caused the rest of the boys to look over in your direction. Your face flushed, and before you could look away your eyes connected with those of maybe the cutest guy you’ve ever seen. His hair was brown and overgrown, and his whole face lit up when he laughed.

“Ow!” you whispered, rubbing your arm to try and alleviate the pain that was Lewis elbow knocking into your side. He pointed to the man speaking at the front of the room, and immediately looked away from you with an annoyed expression etched onto his face. “i’m sorry,�� you whispered to Lewis but he shook his head in response. “pay attention.” his harsh tone brought you back to reality, and with one more glance at the cute man in the corner, you return all your attention back to the conference.

⋆ ★

“Journalists still use notepads?” a teasing voice asks, and when you lift your head up from your notebook you see the same man from earlier staring at you.

“We use recorders too but I'm just job shadowing so I didn’t think I needed it. Lewis the-” you stop your sentence short, well aware of the fact that this guy probably didn’t care about your writing tools or your coworker.

The guy surprises you though. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and nods at you to continue.

“Lewis, he works for the athletic paper. anyway, i was assigned to shadow him today because the woman who i was going to shadow had this breaking news story she had to cover,”

“why didn’t you go with her?” the man asks, genuinely curious.

“Well it's my first week and the woman is really particular about how she works. She said if I followed her she’d only get distracted,” you finish your story with the shrug of your shoulder.

the guy nods in understanding before he pushes himself off and away from the wall. He squints a little and points to your name tag.

“Oh, i’m Y/n” you say, adjusting your name tag so he could read it properly.

“I'm Jack” he smiles at you, and before either of you has time to say anything else, Lewis walks over to you grumbling.

“It’s time to go,”

you smile politely at Jack and he reciprocates.

“See you around, Y/n” he raises his hand in a boyish fashion before retreating out of the hallway.

⋆ ★

“It's so cold!” you shivered, voice quivering as you try to warm yourself up with the palm of your hands. you decided not to wear a coat tonight, against your better judgements, and now the frigid Manhattan air came to bite you in the ass.

your friend nodded, teeth chattering as you two ran across the street and down the next block.

your friends apartment came up first, and so she rushes out a quick goodbye before you set off down the street again.

“Fuck! Where am I?” you hear a mans voice ask off in the distance. You wouldn’t normally try and investigate, but when you looked up and saw the familiar mop of brown hair, you made the decision to go over and talk to him.

“Jack?” you asked, hands still rubbing up and down your arms to try and provide you some warmth.

Jack looks up startled, and once he recognizes it's you he relaxes again.

“Y/n right? From work?” he asks, and you nod as you step closer to him. The street lamps illuminate his face perfectly, hues of yellow and orange highlighting his features well.

“Yeah,” you nodded, face twisting in confusion as you watch Jack shrug out of his jacket.

“I’ll let you wear my coat if you help me get.. here” Jack points to the blue destination point on his phone.

You weigh your options, you could take his coat and help him out.. Meaning that you got to spend more time with him.. or, you could go home to the warmth of your apartment..

You hold your hand out for his jacket, and Jack smiles as he passes it over to you.

You peer at his phone, taking a mental note of where he’s trying to go before leading him in the right direction.

“Have you ever used google maps before?” you laugh teasingly, watching as the direction changes and the walk time gets shorter. “you were going in the complete opposite direction”

Jack chuckles, “my bad”

The walk is silent for a minute, before Jack starts questioning you. “So… Do you usually take walks with strangers?”

“You're not a stranger, I met you like two days ago” you joke, knowing full well it's probably not wise to walk the streets with a man you've only ever spoken a few sentences to.

Jack nods, and when you glance in his direction you see the hint of a smile grace his lips. “So, have you lived here long?” Jack asked at a stoplight.

“I’ve lived in Manhattan for a year now. I did an internship last year for journalism and then they hired me” you explain as the walking light turns on and you both cross the street. “What about you? How long have you been in jersey?”

“I live in Jersey for the hockey season. I've been in Jersey for 4 years now? I think?” Jack speaks, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his NJD hoodie. “I grew up in Canada though, and I live in Michigan during the summers'' he explains.

“I’m from Denver, but I don't go visit much. I went to college here on the east coast and ended up staying through the summers to work” you speak, surprised at how easy it is to talk to Jack.

“I didn’t go to school,” Jack blurts out, and you bring your arm up to try and disguise your giggles as a cough. Jack seems embarrassed by his small outburst and quickly clarifies, “like I was drafted and went straight to the nhl”

“That must’ve been hard” you hum, and Jack quirks an eyebrow at you. “Like, having to be in the real world so soon”

“you moved on your own at 18”

“Yeah but I moved for school. You were straight into the pros. That must've been a lot of pressure”

Jack doesn’t respond, but you can tell by the way he’s carrying himself that your words rang true.

“Anyway,” you pick up the conversation. “I really like living here. Yeah my hours are kind of insane, and rent is beyond… but I really like the city”

“I think i’d live here,” Jack replies as he surveys the mostly empty streets. “there's always so much to do”

You nod, getting ready to cross the next street. “Uh, where are you going?” you call out, as Jack starts walking down the wrong street.

“There's a pizza place!” he says simply, and you stare at him confusedly before he explains. “I’m going to a bar, I can't drink without eating something” Jack shrugs and you walk to where he paused. He points to the small 24 hour pizza shop he wants to go to, and you both walk inside.

After you both order, and you're sitting at your table with your food, you start to question things. “So, why were you wandering the streets? How did you get here from Jersey?” you ask, blowing on your steaming pizza before you take a bite.

Jack mirrors you, taking a bite before he answers. “My friends and I all came together. They went out for dinner first but there was this shop I wanted to check out, they’ve got sick shoes, anyway that's not the point. they dropped me off at the store and so my plan was to just walk and meet up with them after but I… well got lost”

You and Jack continue talking, time completely slipping by both of your minds as you let the conversation flow. You learnt that Jack did in fact like to read, and you made sure to give him a few recommendations before you both parted ways.

“Do you want your jacket back?” you ask, already starting to shrug out of the warm material.

He holds up a hand to stop you, “No you should wear it its cold-”

“I'm just walking back to my apartment I should be fine,” you say, shimmying your shoulder and letting the sleeve fall from your arm.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Jack's question stuns you.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

Jack only shrugs, “it’s only like 12 i’ve got plenty of time to catch up with them”

You nod slowly as you readjust Jack's coat on your body.

“Plus, wouldn’t want you to take up any other stranger if they ask for directions” Jack jokes, “might make me jealous”

You knew his comment was supposed to be a joke but… butterflies. Literal butterflies.

Fifteen minutes later and you were outside of your apartment building.

“Thank you” you say, “for the pizza and for letting me wear your jacket”

Jack smiles at you brightly, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. It was like a natural reaction.

“Thank you for taking me to where I needed to go,” Jack takes his turn in thanking you.

“But I didn't..”

“It's the thought that counts” Jack grins as he pulls out his phone. “But, since you didn’t walk me to where i was going… i’ll accept your number as an apology”

“Apology?” you laughed, placing a hand over your heart and pretending to be shocked by his words. “If I recall you were the one who wanted to stop for pizza and to walk me home”

“You're right, you're right,” Jack says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“But I will give you my number,” you say, holding your hand out to accept Jack's phone. When you pass his phone back, your contact fresh in his list, Jack beams.

“I’ll call you!” Jack yells out as he starts walking down the street.

“How about you text me when you make it to the bar!” you shout back. “And by the way! You're going in the wrong direction!” you shout again, and Jack sighs loudly. He dramatically turns around before walking your way again.

Before he has the time to say anything more, you give him a few directions so he doesn’t get anymore lost.

Less than 30 minutes later, while finishing up your skincare routine, your phone lights up with a notification.

Jack H: I made it! Thanks for tonight and for the directions

You went to sleep that night with a smile plastered onto your face.

⋆ ★

After that first “date” you and Jack routinely made plans to hang out. It started off with Jack texting you whenever he happened to be in the city, which then translated to you inviting him to all the new places in town you wanted to try.

“I don't know how I feel about that,” Jack speaks in between spoonfuls of his ice cream. You two had just gotten out of an exhibit, something about ancient rome.

“What? You never think about the roman empire?” you retort, thinking about Jack's interview that was posted earlier in the year. Jack rolled his eyes at you, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Like, how do they even have all that stuff? It's been so long”

“Yeah.. the armour was cool though,” you respond, shuffling across the crosswalk with Jack trailing after you.

There’s a brief pause as you walk up White Street towards the little italian restaurant Jack wanted to stop at.

“So, I was looking online and there’s this new exhibition popping up soon. Something about the elements and sensors… I don't know, it looked cool” Jack breaks the silence, and you have to bite back your smile. He was looking up exhibits for the two of you to go to? Last week he was talking about how much he didn't understand modern art!

“Since when are you interested in the arts?” you tease, knocking your shoulder against Jacks playfully. He looks down at you, eyes crinkled as he smiles.

“It’s something to do,” Jack shrugs, “plus, let's not lie here! You’d love to hang out with me more,” Jack laughs teasingly, but you can sense the hope that lies beneath his words.

“I’d love to hang out with you” your hand brushed against Jack without your knowledge. Your hand feels like it's on fire from the small contact.

“It's a date then!” Jack cheers, grabbing ahold of your hand to steer you in the right direction. You could only hope he meant a real date.

⋆ ★

The exhibit was great, but your time with Jack was even better. He always found ways to make even the most mundane things light up with colour. By the end of the night, you were positive that if you didn't ask Jack out on an official date, you’d lose your mind.

Jack, ever the gentlemen, walked you up all 6 floors of your apartment. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” you say as soon as you reach your front door.

Jack nods, easily agreeing with you. “I think i’m a changed man, that art thing was so cool”

You laughed lightly, leaning against your door as you watched Jack ruffle his hair with his hand. “My turn to pick the activity next time?” you ask.

“Yeah but no more ancient rome things” Jack easily jokes.

“How about something more…” you hedge, unsure of how to ask Jack out. Of course you’ve asked him to go out places before but… this was very different.

Jack leans against the staircase railing, tilting his head signalling for you to continue.

“Like…” you contine, all words escaping you as your attention is suddenly caught to the sight of his bare arms.

“A date?” Jack prompts, smirking as he catches you staring at him.

Upon hearing the word date you're immediately crashing back to reality. Your hearts beating wildly, something you hadn’t felt since the early days of university.

You nod, “yeah, yeah.. Like a date” you shake your head to clear it, and when you meet Jack's eyes he beams.

“I’ll be waiting for you to text me the location then…” Jack's voice trails as he walks closer to you, leaning in as he presses a quick kiss to your check.

You stand there momentarily stunned, watching as he slowly walks backwards to the top of your floor's staircase. “I’ll see you on our date?” Jack calls out, and you mirror his bright smile.

“I’ll see you on our date!” you call back, watching as Jack starts walking down the stairs.

you were falling hard.

⋆ ★

The big date came and went, and you and Jack continued dating silently. It was nice just being with him, away from all the pressures of his fans and his large social media presence. You had a small private account, so you would post some pictures on there, but you never officially went “public” with your relationship.

Ynuser

Liked by jackhughes, claudia, and others

Ynuser life recently...

Tagged: jackhughes

That didnt mean there weren’t close calls though. With Jack being extremely popular, there were a few times when the two of you were photographed out by fans.

After the first incident, you thought nothing of it. Of course someone would see you guys eventually. Although you weren’t sure how you felt about being photographed by random people out in public… Jack was always quick to reassure you that people would eventually forget about the photos.

It wasn’t the forgetting you were worried about though. After being with Jack for a few months, your twitter feed started recommending you hockey content. Which was fine at first, until you saw all the speculations of yours and Jack's relationship.

You muted all the hockey terms you could think of on your twitter account… but that didn’t stop you from thinking of all those accounts words. Was it true that you weren’t Jack's type? Is that why he wasn’t posting you on his social media accounts? Did he actually prefer going to small coffee shops and art exhibitions? Or was he trying to hide you from the outside world?

Even though you knew you liked your relationship being private… Was there an ulterior motive on Jack's end? Did he not find you pretty enough to post on main? You started to spiral.

⋆ ★

The bar was much more crowded than you would've liked, but when your boyfriend invited you out you easily agreed.

You sat in the corner of the booth all night, sipping on your vodka sodas and listening in on the conversation around you. The devils were doing good so far this season, and as a result, Jack had decided it was time to drag you out with him to the bar. You wished he hadn’t.

It’s not like you were an insecure person… (that was somewhat a lie), but when every girl was gorgeous and hitting on your boyfriend… it made you doubt things.

You watched all night as Jack looked at other girls, and your spiralling started to feel a lot more real.

“Who is she?” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as your boyfriend of two years stared at you in shock.

“Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! I swear! It's you who-”

“When was the last time you slept together?” you shouted, your boyfriend winced at your biting words.

“Last weekend…” your boyfriend finally admitted the truth. You had your suspicions that he was cheating on you for weeks now… and each time you brought it up he convinced you that you were crazy. “But baby!” his voice was frantic as you grabbed your bag and started shoving things into it.

Your eyes were wild as you stared into the eyes of the boy that you had loved. When he had nothing else to say, you zipped up your bag and left. Your chest arched and your heart burned… you promised that you would never let yourself get cheated on again.

A blonde touches Jack's arm. You know this because you're watching it happen, right in front of your eyes. You swig your now warm soda, blinking hard to will away the tears.

You look away from the sight, causing you to miss the way Jack's eyes immediately try to seek yours after he brushes the girl away.

The drive to your apartment was quiet.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Jack asks, and despite how much you want to call him out, you feel juvenile about it.

“Nothing,” you sigh, shifting in your seat so that you can look at Jack. He looks at you tenderly, as if whatever mysterious thing that's hurting you is hurting him too.

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?” Jack speaks up again a minute later, this time his eyes are trained on the road.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m just tired. Work was busy today”

Jack hummed in response, and that was the end of the conversation. As usual, he walked you up to your apartment, and then you kissed him goodbye.

When he left you stayed up in bed and questioned everything. You knew you were being insecure, but were you paranoid too? You didn’t want to be hurt again and you were fearful that you would be cheated on again. It was irrational, you knew. But your ex was always being hit on and he took one of the girls up on… no. You wouldn’t let that man ruin anything else in your life.

Everythings fine… you whisper to yourself, and soon enough you fall asleep.

⋆ ★

Things got worse from then on. Whenever Jack was gone on roadies you would read through every comment you could find about Jack’s types, his ex gfs, anything that you could find. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to them. It was like some cruel, sick addiction that you needed to keep up with.

user82

Liked by jackhughes, and others

user82 recently… 🍸

“She's just a friend! What are you talking about?” Jack was immediately defensive when you brought up his liking habits.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be some insecure girlfriend but-”

“You are insecure!” Jack's voice is loud and his words slice through you like swords.

Your eyes immediately start to water, “baby, I didn’t mean it” Jack rushes to your side, hand on your shoulder as he tries to get a good look at you.

“I’m sorry…” you cry, your hands coming up to shield your face away from him.

“No, I'm sorry. You're not insecure you’re right” Jack tries to soothe you but your mind goes numb.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

You let Jack drag you over to the couch, where you spend the rest of the night cuddling and watching some movie that was really just static noise.

Your chest aches and your heart burns, but you knew that Jack was right. You were insecure. You didn't think you were as pretty as the girls who wanted him, and now you certainly didn’t think you were deserving of an instagram post.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

⋆ ★

After that night, you tried to distance yourself from Jack Hughes. When he was on roadies, you would take extra long to reply to his texts. You were also suddenly picking up more hours at work, volunteering to cover stories nobody wanted to cover.

On the other side of things, Jack was confused. He had thought after his apologies that everything would be fine? He thought you needed space, so he gave you plenty. But now it seemed like the two of you weren’t even together anymore.

“Dude, just talk to her” Trevor's voice was somehow still loud over the phone.

“Yeah but she wants space” Jack sighed, as if Trevor had no idea how girls worked.

“Okay… and did she tell you that?”

“I can tell”

Trevor shuffled on the other end of the line. “Okay Jack, listen. You guys have been together what? A year now? You can’t just throw away your whole relationship because she may or may not be a little insecure. Why don't you talk to her? Like actually sit and figure this out”

For the first time, Jack thought, Trevor was making some sense.

“I want to be with you! Do you want to be with me?” Jack's voice was unintentionally rough and loud as he questioned you.

“Of course I want to be with you!” your voice is just as loud.

“Then what's the big deal!” Jack is visibly annoyed as if you're some person that's wasting his time.

“Well, don’t like other girls' instagram posts and stare at models in public!” you retort, crossing your arms childishly. Jack throws his hands up in the air, sighing loudly.

“I like you, what don't you understand?” Jack enunciates each word loudly and waves his hands around wildly in some effort to make his point clear.

“Why can't you understand that I just need some reassurance!” you cry out, completely worn out by this conversation.

“Reassurance? I’m not going to cheat on you! Why do you think so low of me?” Jack pauses, seeming to connect the dots in his head. “Oh. this is about him” Jacks voice turns cold and you feel the oncoming sting in your throat.

“Just because you’ve been cheated on before doesn’t mean that it's going to happen again.” your cheeks felt wet. Were you crying?

“I don't think you’re going to cheat on me” you whisper, arms wrapping around yourself in a bad attempt at trying to calm yourself down.

Jack stands still, staring at you with glaring eyes.

“I just want… I want…” you can't even finish your sentence. You didn’t know what you wanted. You just felt so bad about yourself.

Jack stares, nodding his head in exasperation as he watches you cry. “Yeah, well, when you figure that out call me”

“Jack please,” you call to him through tears, following him down your hallway as you watch him walk away.

You never called.

⋆ ★

A month went by, and you felt the breakup in every aspect of your life. Work reminded you of that first day with Jack. Your apartment reminded you of all the times he would walk you home… you missed him.

“We’re going out tonight! Enough being sad” your coworker, Claudia, exclaimed as she walked into your apartment. She was holding a saks bag, no doubt filled to the brim with outfit options for the night ahead.

“I’m not feeling it” you mumble, eyes immediately finding focus on your tv screen.

“It's been a month yn.. If you don't go out now, you're never going to” Claudia's voice is soft. She sets the bag of clothes beside you on the couch, and she silent starts showing you your options.

“That ones cute” your voice is muffled but Claudia hears you anyway.

“Perfect!” She smiles, setting your choice to the side and pulling out a plastic bag full of accessories.

You felt ridiculous. You were wearing heels much too small, and your dress was way too tight. The drinks though… definitely hit the spot. And after a while, you didn’t think of Jack at all.

“I’m having so much fun!” your words were slurred as you slung one of your arms around Claudia's shoulder. She smiled happily at you, tipsily swaying your hips so you were both dancing to the beat of the music that was blasting throughout the club.

“Is that…?” Claudia starts but then abruptly stops, almost as if she had seen a ghost.

“Is that what!” you shout cheerfully, spinning yourself and Claudia around so that you could see what she saw.

“Y/n don't!” Claudia tries to reposition you but it is too late.

In the middle of the dance floor stood Jack Hughes, your Jack Hughes, and some girl that looked oddly familiar. As if sensing your gaze, the girl turned. It was the girl from instagram.

“I’m going to be sick!” you moaned, hand covering your mouth as Claudia quickly rushes you outside of the club. Luckily, the two of you make it outside rather quickly, and then you're heaving onto the streets of New York.

“I am so sorry! I had no idea that he’d be here!” Claudia speaks apologetically, holding your hair out of your face as you continue dry heaving.

“He's with.. Oh my god” you emptied out what must've been everything in your stomach. “Claudia, he's with her!” you cried, drunkenly leaning into your friends side. Claudia grabbed hold of you, walking you down the street so that the two of you could hail a cab. “I know, i’m so sorry”

Once you were situated in the cab, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You pictured the look on Jack’s face when he saw you. Surprise, then shock, was it regret next? You weren’t sure. Then you imagined the girl he was with. Pretty, and perfect, and you wanted to cry all over again.

“I'm blocking him!” you slurred, pulling out your phone and heading straight to your contacts. Claudia nodded along, concern etched in every feature on her face.

Your hand hovers over the block button. “No! I’m deleting him! He's done. I don't ever want to talk to him again!” you cry, ignoring the cab driver's face as he looks on in disapproval.

“Do what will make you feel better hun,” Claudia speaks to you softly, giving you the courage to block and delete Jack from your phone and life.

⋆ ★

After that night, you were steadily getting sick. You thought nothing of it at first, chalking up all your symptoms to stress and your recent breakup. It wasn’t until you checked your email that your world stopped spinning.

Amazon: Upcoming Delivery

Hi Yn Ln,

This confirms your purchase from Tampax

Your visa has not been charged yet - we’ll email you when it has been charged.

Thank you for using Amazon Pay.

Your phone fell to the ground with a large thud, and you ran to your kitchen to check your calendar. You flipped through the pages, looking for the little red dots that signified the days that you had gotten your period. You flipped through the months.

February

January

December

You couldn’t think as you stuffed your feet into your ugg boots. You put your jacket on while you half-ran down the stairs, and if it weren’t for the man on the 3rd floor grabbing your arm to steady you, you would've crashed down the remaining flights.

Your nearest bodega was only one block away, and when you got there a minute later, panting and trying to catch your breath, reality had finally set in.

Your breathing was laboured and loud as you came to a stop in front of the pregnancy tests. How was this your life?

You bought one of every kind, and you tried to ignore the burning gaze of the cashier who rang all your items through.

“That’ll be $65.24”

It seemed like less than a minute later you were back in your apartment. All of your surroundings blur into nothingness as you pull the tests out of your coat jacket.

You stumble into your bathroom, slam the door shut behind you, and peel off your leggings.

You decide to take all the tests at once, leaving only two for backups in case you did something wrong. The last test shook violently in your hand, and only then did you realize that you were crying.

Positive

Pregnant

Two lines

⋆ ★

The first thing you had done when you found out you were pregnant last night was block Jack Hughes. He was the only person you had slept with in the past 3 months, and in your frustration you blamed him. Your relationship was over with, he had moved on, and now you were pregnant? Life was cruel.

After a long debate, a night full of crying, and an afternoon of rest and relaxation… you decided it was best that you told Jack about the pregnancy.

You type in Jack's contact: a nickname, two white hearts and a sword emoji that represented something you couldn’t quite recall in your panic induced state. When his nickname showed no results, you hit the backspace button and typed in his full name, which you assumed you might have switched to when you saw him out with another girl.

No result.

You dropped your phone into the sink with a loud clatter.

fuck.

That night's events replayed in your mind like a bad film. You had blocked and deleted Jack's contact.

You wipe the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand, breathing in deeply as you reach into the sink and pick up your phone. Everythings fine… you have him on instagram. You can just message him there.

jackhughes

unblock

Life truly was cruel, you thought, sobs racking your body as you let yourself slide onto your bathroom floor.

You unblocked Jack, only to find that his follow was removed.

It's fine… you reassured yourself as you hit the unblock button and started drafting your message. He’ll see it. He has too.

⋆ ★

You checked to see if he had seen the dm the next evening, and to your surprise, you were blocked.

Tears immediately started blurring your vision and you couldn't help but cry out in pain.

What the fuck were you going to do.

part two

#journalist au!#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes fic #trevor zegras x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic

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littledemondani · 7 months

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, mentions of oral (f receiving), love bites, pet names (baby, sweetheart, my girl), squirting, fwb to lovers

wc: 0.9k

a/n: this is not edited so if there's mistakes, deal with it. not sure how i feel about this one but i couldn't not post for y'all.

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

“eddie,” you moan breathlessly, squirming a little as his thumb rubs tight circles on your puffy, sensitive clit. “s’too much…”

eddie hums in acknowledgment against the crook of your neck, though he doesn’t make an effort to slow his movements down. he continues to nibble and suck at your exposed skin, occasionally peppering gentle kisses here and there.

from the moment you walked through his apartment door he was on you, not even giving you time to hang up your jacket and keys.

in the entirety of yours and eddie’s…little arrangement…he had never shown this type of needy affection towards you. he never kissed you, never held your hand, or called you endearing pet names. it was strictly sex. no strings attached and non exclusive.

he kissed you with urgency, his hands roaming all over your body and pulling you as close to him as he could get you. his actions made your head spin with a million questions, but they were all pushed to the back the second his hand cupped your pussy underneath your dress.

eddie made you cum several times after that. on his cock, on his tongue, on his fingers. he couldn’t get enough of you. completely drunk on watching you fall apart for him again and again.

“it’s too much?” he asks as he gently eases two fingers inside of your cunt.

you moan softly, gently tugging on the base of his hair. he chuckles, slightly lifting himself up on his forearm to get a better look at you.

his eyes stay glued to you as he pumps his fingers into you. your lips are parted, eyelids fluttering, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, hickeys littered all across your neck and chest. every inch of you was marked by him in some way and it made his cock twitch against your thigh.

“come on, baby,” he whispers, giving you a crooked smile. “you can give me one more.”

he quickens the pace of his fingers and your back arches off of the mattress. everything feels intense, like you’re hyper aware of all the sensations in your body. it hurts but fuck does it feel so incredibly good at the same time. his thumb finds your clit again and the contact has you moaning out in relief.

“i-i d-don’t know if i —fuck!—if i can,” you mewl.

“of course you can, sweetheart,” he says between sucking fresh hickeys onto the column of your throat.

eddie is the only one who can play your body like this. who can bring you to your limit and push you over the edge repeatedly. he’s the only one who you would let do whatever he wanted to you if he asked. you try to hide your budding feelings for him away, but with the how he’s been with you all night, so tentative to you in ways he hadn’t been before, you’re finding it to be nearly impossible.

you reach your hand to cup eddie’s face, your own eyes staring deep into his. like you’re trying to search for something deep within his chocolate eyes. and you’re pleasantly surprised when you find him searching yours right back. then his lips are on yours, completely stealing the air right from your lungs.

your second kiss of the night is nothing short of feral. you both claw at each other, needing to be utterly consumed by the other. eddie’s fingertips graze against your sweet spot and you moan into the kiss. he rubs the small patch over and over until you’re practically shaking beneath him.

he finally breaks the kiss only to nibble and suck another love bite onto your heated skin.

“you look so fucking beautiful like this,” he says breathlessly. “covered in the hickeys i made. mine, mine, mine.”

your head is spinning in a lust filled haze that you can’t even form a coherent sentence. you’re babbling some nonsense mixed with ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘please’.

“aww, my baby’s so fucked out,” he says in a mocking tone. “can’t even fucking talk right.”

“mhm,” you mewl, nodding as you do. “eds…”

“cum for me,” he demands. “you can do it, baby. come on.”

eddie pulls his fingers from your cunt and rubs fast circles against your clit. he adds a bit of pressure, just enough to send your orgasm barreling right through you.

you cum hard with a loud cry of his name, squirting over his hand and soaking the sheets below you. you can’t think, your vision whitens and your hearing goes slightly fuzzy. all you can feel is the blissful pleasure that’s overtaken you.

“oh fuck, baby, that’s it. mmm—fuck you’re such a good girl. my good girl. shit!” eddie groans, continuing to rub your puffy clit through your high.

it takes you a good minute or so to come down from your high, and when you do, you push eddie’s hand off your pussy, the sensation having felt painful and really sensitive.

the two of you stay there, chests heaving as you glance at each other.

“yours, huh?” you question. you’re not sure why you even brought that up, but you can always blame it on your post orgasm state.

eddie suddenly turns red. unsure of how to answer that. he hadn’t even realized what he was saying. completely caught up in the moment and how fucking horny he was. he tries to rack his brain for an explanation, but you cut him off before he can even find one.

“omg relax, munson,” you say teasingly, biting down on your lower lip. “i know it was only your horny brain talking.”

he plays it off well but your words kinda hurt him. it wasn’t just his horny brain talking because he was wrapped up in you. it’s because he wants you.

#eddie munson #modern fboy!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 4 months

Text

Wake Up Call

Summary: Even while she sleeps Natasha proves to be too much for you to resist

Warnings: smut (somno with previous consent given, marking, fingering, squirting)

Authors note: this was supposed to be more of a neutral R and Nat, but it quickly turned into dom R and subby Nat lol. My apologies

Word count: 1608 Nat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Your eyes open slowly to find your room gently illuminated by the early morning light. Natashas back is still pressed against your front, and from this angle her red locks almost appear as if they were ablaze in the sunlight. You reach out to brush a few strands away from her neck before leaning in to press a kiss against her soft skin there. You let your lips linger a bit longer than necessary before pulling away to study her, hoping that this is one of the rare times that she isn't awake before you are.

Satisfied that she's still in a rather deep sleep, you scoot impossibly closer, making sure that now there's not even an inch of space between you both before moving your leg that slotted between hers. Your thigh comes to rest against the warmth of her cunt, and you smile at yourself when you realize that she had opted out of wearing her sleep shorts tonight. This leaves her in only her underwear and an old baggy t-shirt of yours, inadvertently making this all too easy for you.

You then move your hands under the hem of her sleep shirt, and across the taut muscles of her abdomen before letting them move further up her chest to grope at her tits. You softly squeeze them, letting your thumbs run over her now hardened nipples as you begin to place kisses against the column of her neck. Even in slumber she presses her chest forward, seeking more from you

Unable to resist her any longer, you release one of her breasts and slide your hand down the curves of her body until you reach her waistband. You dip your fingers underneath the fabric and over her mound of red curls until you reach her clit. You move your fingers a bit lower to find a wetness already pooling there, you collect a bit before moving back to her bundle of nerves. Softly, you begin rubbing it, pulling a whimper from her as your other hand tugs at her nipple.

Reveling in your ability to have her react in such a manner even while she sleeps, you continue, pressing down even firmer against her clit as you continue your movements. Her hips jump, and to your delight she begins to grind down against your thigh, subconsciously chasing her pleasure.

“Such a needy little thing” you whisper, though she's not awake to hear it, “I love it”

She whimpers again, and you find yourself no longer caring if you woke her. You need to have her coming undone in your arms, and you need to see and hear every reaction from her as you do so. So, you bite at the underside of her jaw while becoming almost harsh with your touches, giving her a reason to rouse. Your efforts pay of, and she shifts around before coming to fully

“Y/n?” she confusedly calls out, attempting to blink away sleep to figure out what's roused her. But then a sense of pleasure registers, along with the feeling of your hands on her body, and she realizes what's happening, “Oh…oh shit”

You chuckle, “You like that, huh?”

“Mhm” she mumbles, letting her head roll back against you.

You take advantage of this new position and immediately start to nip and mark at her exposed neck. This causes her to grind down against you with more urgency, and you can feel the sheer amount of her juices that have now seeped through her underwear and onto your skin.

“God, you're soaked baby” you whisper in her ear, causing her to shiver, “Bet you want filled now, huh?”

She nods almost frantically but that's not enough for you. It never is, and she really should know better by now. And if you weren’t so inclined to have her falling to pieces soon, you'd be teaching her a lesson over this. You’d force her to plead until the point of tears while you simply teased her sopping hole and teased her clit until you were satisfied she had learned. But that will be for another time, for now you'll settle for gentle reprimand.

“You're a big girl Natasha, use your words” you tell her, smirking as you feel a gush against your thigh, “Or have I already fucked them all out of that pretty head of yours”

“M sorry. I can use them” she claims, letting you hear her sleep filled rasp and the way her accent peaks out to wrap around the end of each word

“Yeah? Then do it. Tell me what you want”

“Your fingers, please. I need them” she admits, and as soon as she's finished with her sentence you plunge two of them inside of her, stretching her open in one swift movement, “okh blin!(oh fuck!)”

“That's it, let me hear you baby” you praise, curling your fingers inside her and brushing against her sweet spot

She cries out in pleasure and instinctively reaches back to grab onto you. Her hand finds purchase in your hair and her fingers tighten around your locks as she brings your mouth back to the juncture of her neck. You know what she wants, afterall she loved when you marked her. The possessiveness of it was incredibly hot and she really enjoyed being able to see them for days, which you admit was incredibly hot for you as well. But you don’t want to make things too easy for her

“Y/n…” she whimpers, lightly digging her fingernails into your scalp, “I…I need you- ”

You tear a moan from her as you unexpectedly pick up the pace of your thrusts, effectively interrupting her begging in order to tease her even more, “Not enough for you hm? So greedy”

Before she can even correct you, you're pushing a third finger into her dripping cunt. And though her hole opens up to accommodate you, it's not an entirely pleasant feeling, “Too much!”

“Shh. You can handle it” you tell her, doubling down on your thumbs' efforts to stimulate her clit while slowing down your thrusts in order to distract her from the pain until it turns into pleasure.

Her body soon relaxes against you again, letting you know she's adjusted and is ready to continue. Without missing a beat you you return to your previous pace, causing her walls to clamp down around your fingers even tighter than before as she quickly approaches her climax

“Taking me so well. Your pussys practically swallowing my whole hand, thats so fuckin hot” you praise, earning another gush of her arousal down your palm, “And you love being all stretched open, don’t you baby?”

“Yes!” she responds, pushing her hips down to meet your thrusts, “Feels so good, please don’t stop! I’m so close, please!”

You hum in agreement before returning your mouth to the column of her neck to finally give her more hickies. Her legs begin to shake as her walls spasm around you, and with a final curl of your fingers, you have her losing all control.

“O Bozhe!(oh god!) Y/n!” she shouts, cumming so hard she ends up squirting all over you and the bedsheets

You continue to gently fuck her through her aftershocks until she whimpers, and not wanting to overstimulate her you gently pull out. She whines at the loss, but you do your best to calm her, “Good girl Tasha, you did so well baby”

She does her best to turn in your hold, and once she's face to face with you she's quickly leaning in. Finally able to kiss her properly you waste no time shoving your tongue into her mouth, something she eagerly allows as she sucks on the muscle. But she's too out of breath to make out for long, so you let her pull away, albeit reluctantly.

Content now, she nuzzles into your embrace and you do your best to help soothe her by running your hands up and down her back. After some time you can feel her panting breaths start to become more steady and she moves her face ever so slightly enough that you can tell she's going to say something

“I’m sorry I made a mess”

You can hear the embarrassment in her tone, and squeeze her tighter, “It’s ok baby, you never have to apologize for letting yourself feel good. Besides, it's laundry day so it's an easy clean up. Speaking of, why don’t we get you cleaned up now”

“Okay” she agrees, pausing only to look up at you, “Will you join me?”

You can’t help but smile, “Of course”

You eventually both get up, and you help her walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom. Seeing at how she was so unsteady, you opt for drawing a bath for the two of you instead of a shower. Once you have the water at the desired temperature you help her take off what little clothing she’d had on, letting you marvel at the hickies all over her neck. She blushes a bit at the extra attention, which you find adorable

“Don’t get all shy on me now” you tease earning a playful smack on your arm

“Shut up and help me in the tub”

You laugh but do just that, helping her get into the bubble filled water before getting in yourself and settling behind her. She leans back against you and intertwines her fingers with yours as you wrap an arm around her waist, “I love you”

“I love you too”

She smiles before leaning in, pressing her mouth against you ear before whispering, “Be ready for tonight, I’m returning the favor”

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#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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