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whatsnewalycat · 3 days

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 days

Note

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.”

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown.

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better.

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her.

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted.

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum?

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise.

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.”

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear.

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?”

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits.

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.”

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks.

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.”

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.”

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.”

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment.

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

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euthymiya · 3 days

Text

TWENTY DEGREES — VERITAS RATIO

contains: female reader, reader sits on dr ratios lap, established relationship, spoilers for dr ratio character story iii, reverse comfort, soft dr ratio, lots of banter, this is a public threat to the aeon nous: acknowledge my man before we have issues. thank you!!!

veritas has been silent. there’s a letter on his desk when you come in, one that’s a bit crumpled at the corner as though it were clutched tightly in a fist. and veritas—well, veritas has been silent since you walked in.

“hello, love,” you murmur, coming behind him to gently knead at his shoulders. they seem tense—perhaps a bit extra stiff at your touch. you frown as you murmur, “bad day? have your students been giving you trouble?”

he’s quiet for a long moment. enough that you wonder if he’ll respond at all, until a sigh breaks the silence. “there’s been an invitation,” he murmurs, slowly reaching for the letter and handing it to you.

against the signs, the rigid the posture and heavy silence, the suffocating tenseness and lifelessness of the room, you seem to brighten. to have hope. veritas is a genius—a genius that is renowned far and wide among the cosmos, and should be recognized as such. an invitation surely means he’s been recognized by nous.

it’s what you—it’s what he’s been waiting on for so long. despite the signs that should tell you no, everything about veritas and his brilliance allows you to hope yes.

perhaps that’s why it’s all the more crushing when you notice the words interastral peace corporation at the top of the paper.

“the ipc?” you ask carefully, skimming the invite, “the intelligentsia guild. i see.”

“well, do say something,” he laughs, self-deprecating and bitter as he sets his pen down. “it’s not what you were expecting, i suppose?”

“oh, veritas,” you say softly, pulling his chair from his desk and letting yourself sit on his lap. he’s silent—as silent as when you walked in, as silent as someone who harbors the crushing weight of defeat, as silent as someone who has no hope left for goals—no, dreams that are just a fingertip’s bit out of distance.

“it is an opportunity worth taking, i suppose,” he gives you a tight, barely visible smile, “if by now i have not caught nous’s gaze, then it is safe to assume that i never will at any point. it’s alright, darling.”

veritas, despite all he is, is your lover first. before he allows himself to be a genius or doctor or professor, he makes sure to love you before all. you think it’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to love him yourself—but sometimes, you wish he didn’t love you so much. not enough to plaster on a fake smile and even faker words so as not to worry you, even as his every aspiration falls through the slips of his fingers like drops of water he’ll never be able to grip onto.

“it is alright,” you nod, “but not because the intelligentsia guild is all you’ll amount to—i know what you’re thinking, veritas,” you say sternly, poking his forehead. he frowns at the sudden gesture, only to stiffen momentarily as your hands gently cup his cheeks. “it’s alright because you have shown enough people that you are worthy of any acknowledgment from nous. many men have been bestowed upon such a gaze for far less—it’s okay, veritas, and it’s okay because it is simply that your talents are meant to align with a path that doesn’t follow nous. and i am proud of you regardless of that path.”

he lets out a soft, amused huff at that through his nose, closing his eyes as he hums, “such careful words. am i that delicate? it is alright to deem a failure as just that—a failure.”

“you are not a failure, veritas,” you scold firmly, “not to me or anyone who’s seen an ounce of your achievements. for such a smart man, you really can say such silly things.”

“i wasn’t referring to myself,” his lips tug upwards a bit more, eyeing you fondly, “but it is a rather…comforting feeling to know you think so passionately of my previous achievements. i only meant a failed attempt is still a failed attempt despite the other successes, i’m afraid. it seems i’m destined for failure at receiving such an acknowledgment—but the intelligentsia guild is better than nothing.”

“is a genius only a genius if an aeon says so?” you ask softly, pecking the corner of his lips.

“of course not,” he answers instantly.

“then you believe yourself to be one, no?”

“of course, darling,” he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest, “just not a genius worthy of higher praise, perhaps.”

“does the gaze of nous mean more to you than mine?” you ask with a kiss to his cheek.

he looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “such odd questions run through that head of yours,” he murmurs.

“answer the question, veritas. would the praise of nous mean more to you than mine?”

“of course not,” he indulges you, rolling his eyes as he raises a questioning brow at you.

“well then,” you grin cheekily, “it seems you’ve already gathered the highest of praise in the cosmos.”

“and who’s would that be?” he snorts, humoring you.

“mine,” you pout, “you already have my praise, you fool.”

“and it is the highest praise of the cosmos,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss you softly, sighing against your mouth as you fingers weave into the waves of his hair, stroking the dark locks and trailing to the nape of his neck.

“i’ll tell you until you believe it,” you murmur against his lips, kissing them briefly between the words, “that you’re not a failure.”

“how can i be? when i have such brilliance in my arms,” he murmurs, letting out a soft sigh in content as your nails gently scratch over his scalp soothingly.

“surely i can’t be at the top of the list of your achievements,” you roll your eyes, “you have eight phd’s, for crying out loud.”

“you sell yourself short, darling,” he chuckles, “even a man with twenty degrees still couldn’t hope to understand your many…eccentricities.”

“veritas!” you huff, slapping his arm, making him chuckle.

veritas, before he is a genius, before he is a man who aspires to claim the highest of achievements a scholar can hope achieve and join the ranks of genius society, is your lover first. there is little to be disappointed in when even despite every failed attempt, you still cozy yourself into his arms, covering him in your warmth and sheltering him in your touch, safely kept away from all the self destructive thoughts.

“now, now,” he grins teasingly, “i only meant you’re worth more than twenty degrees. it’s a compliment.”

“don’t think you can sweet talk me, you treacherous man,” you sulk, “i am the greatest gift any man could hope to receive.”

“as much as it pains me to agree with you, i’m afraid you’re right.” he shakes his head, the beginnings of a smile forcing along the edges of his lips as he looks at you with something crossed between wonder and affection.

“i’m proud of you, veritas,” you remind him one more time, softly, “not simply because i love you. because you impress me every day, in ways no one manages to.”

“is that so?” he tilts his jaw, letting you kiss the angle of it sweetly.

“yes,” you whisper in between feather-light kisses.

“then that is enough,” he closes his eyes.

nous when i catch you nous. when i catch you nous. when. i. catch. you. nous. 🔪

#writing tag #veritas x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio x reader #veritas x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #dr ratio x you #veritas fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #dr ratio fluff

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rreids · 2 days

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Hey love I have an ask bc I’ve been feeling super depressed lately and I haven’t wanted to get out of bed lol can you do a one shot when spencer leaves for the week on a case and comes home to the house a mess and the reader laying in bed crying and he makes her shower and eat and cuddles her

oh my love <3 i hope you are feeling a little better. please make yourself a nice warm drink and try to spend some time outside or doing something outside of bed, even if it's just five minutes <3 it's worth it, i promise — someone who also bed rots often

LITTLE BY LITTLE • S. REID X READER

hurt/comfort; reader in a depressive episode; mentions of emotional eating and food; perfect bf spencer; nonsexual nudity and intimacy; kisses; pet names; fluff; ~1k

Spencer being gone was normal, a common occurrence. You didn’t normally struggle when he was gone, but with a mix of bad days at work and him being gone, you could barely bring yourself to eat.

You liked to keep the house clean while he was gone so he’d have one less stressful thing to come back to. This time, it was a mess, clothes and food packaging left around. You’d raided the sweets stash, and made a mental note to replace his chocolate bars before he realized.

“Honey?” Spencer’s voice calls, and you blink away the sting of tears. You weren’t hydrated enough for more to roll down your cheeks, but you didn’t want to worry him. With a swipe of your (his) sweater sleeve, you work on rubbing away tear stains as he comes into the bedroom, tilting his head at the wrappers and mess on the nightstand. “You okay?”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. “You’re home early,”

“It ended well,” he tells you, gathering the trash left sitting. He doesn’t even comment that his nice chocolate bars were clearly eaten. “How long have you been like this?”

“Few days, maybe?”

“Why didn’t you call?” He sighs. He sounds exasperated, but you know he’s not upset at you as he rubs a soothing hand over your cheek and lets you lean into him.

“I didn’t wanna worry you,” you mumble, voice muffled into his palm. You press a kiss to it, smiling softly when his fingers twitch at the ticklish sensation. “‘S okay.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, you know he disagrees. “Find some nice pajamas for me, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He comes back after throwing out the trash. “I put some water on. Tea or hot cocoa?”

“Tea,” you mumble, rubbing your throat.

“With honey. Don’t even try to tell me not to add it.” Spencer grabs the pajamas you scrounged up. “I’ll fluff these in the dryer, too. C’mon, gorgeous,”

He helps you stand and lets you curl into his side as he walks you into the bathroom and helps you undress, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he tugs the sweater off. You shiver at how cold the air is, and he reaches behind you to turn the water on and let it start to warm.

Spencer carefully brushes your hair out of your face with his fingers, frowning when you pull away a little. He doesn’t comment on it, just studying your face with his intent stare.

“Stop looking at me,” you mumble.

“Just trying to see if you’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, ghosting a kiss over your cheek. “You’ll tell me about it after. Do you want me to help you wash up?”

You pause. “Dunno.”

Spencer chuckles. “Ok, well, I’m gonna go start fluffing your clothes and put water in the kettle. Let me know when I get back?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as his movement creates a draft.

When he peeks back in, you’re staring at the water.

“You have to get in, honey,” he reminds you, voice sweet. It makes you feel like crying.

“I know. I think I’m okay.”

Spencer pauses as his mind processes what you’re responding to. “Okay. Take as long as you need. I’ll be waiting in the living room,”

The water is nice — heated exactly where you like it to be —, and you take much longer than normal letting it run over corded muscles and wash away your sadness as you get clean. It’s nice, and you know you’ll feel better when you get out. Part of you hates that, because it just makes another thing Spencer is right about (and he’s always right about things, so you pride yourself on the times you beat him).

When you finally step out and towel dry, you find your warm clothes on the counter. He must’ve brought them in while you were distracted.

Finally dressed in clean clothes, you drop the dirty ones in the hamper and pad out to the living room.

Spencer is in comfortable clothes — a Washington DC hoodie, sweatpants, fluffy and mismatched socks — and his hair is no longer styled. That’s the first thing you notice. Then you notice the tea, the bowl of perfectly cut-up fruit, and the spread of cheese, crackers, and lunch meat.

“Figured you wouldn’t want a full meal,” he tells you, patting his thigh. You walk over and settle on him gently, squeaking in surprise when he pulls you into him more tightly and presses kisses on your face until you squirm from the contact, giggling. “C’mon, open,”

He taps the strawberry piece to your lips and you roll your eyes as you eat it.

“I love you, you know that?”

“‘Course I do, Spence,” you tell him, voice soft and scratchy.

“Then tell me. Please? Me not knowing you’re upset hurts more than being unable to be here for you. I can at least call you and leave voicemails or talk you through stuff.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping. “But you’re busy and dealing with hard stuff already.”

“And I will always choose to deal,” he says the word like it’s poisonous, “with what you are struggling with first. I signed up to be your number one supporter. Always,”

He hands you your tea and waits for you to finish drinking before he takes it and sets it back down. He holds your hands, rubbing his thumb over the back.

“Okay? Tell me.”

“Okay.”

Spencer smiles and relaxes, kissing you more gently. “Now eat up, sweetheart. It’s all for you.”

You whine at that, and he cuts you off with a stern look.

“My chocolate bars are not proper sustenance for an adult of your—”

“Spencer.” You mumble, picking up a grape. “Shut up. I’ll eat.”

He smiles, pleased, and leans his head on your shoulder. It should be weird, him watching you eat, but it fills you with warmth and happiness as he traces aimless shapes on your thigh and makes sure you’re okay.

title is bc: little by little you will be okay. i know you will. we all will be.

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #requested

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hotpinkstars · 3 days

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ESPRESSO - aventurine x reader

- "now he's thinkin' bout me, everynight, oh, is it that sweet? i guess so." or, how does aventurine do when he's in love?

- GUYS GUYS QUEEN SABRINA DROPPED A SINGLE i've been listening to this for days and i needed to write about it sooooooooooo yeah! anyways i'll get to writing probably a few requests tomorrow and wednesday (expect 4-5 posts between those days to make up for my absence) and yeahhhhhh enjoy!!

- aventurine might be a little ooc, mentions of his trauma (so penacony main quest spoilers), reader confesses at the end. wc 1067

Aventurine doesn’t know what to do when he first figures out that the feeling in his chest whenever he saw you was because he liked you. He probably tried to deny it, until Topaz caught him blushing like crazy after you walked away from the conversation you two had just finished. (Even then, she had to tell him, and then he spent a long time thinking that possibility through. She might have been right).

You plague his visions. Why does he always want something to do with you? Why does he always want to be in your space, but also never wants to see you again? You’ve noticed his weird behavior, considering you were one of the first people he’s ever genuinely called a friend, but didn’t really think too far into it.

Though, it didn’t stop you from paying more attention to it, that's for a fact. Sometimes you’d pay more attention to his body movements around you, the way he speaks, his etiquette, etc. You and Topaz communicate through it, and it’s a little bit different from his conversations with her.

You know he can be cocky. Like, very cocky. You know he’s not too afraid to talk back, to challenge someone to a gamble (spoiler he wins), and to be reckless. Though, you also know about his backstory. So you can kind of understand where he’s coming from.

He’s been pretty open with you about all of the things he’s endured. You know his real name, he’s described how his family has looked, and he’s described his years he endured slavery and what his home planet was like. You know about the Men in Black and the Katicans. And you know how traumatized he is.

Now, you’ve known him for a long, long time before this. You welcomed him into the IPC when Jade first announced his arrival, and you kind of showed him the ropes. He thought you seemed kind, so he stayed in contact with you.

You’ve watched him change, all of his progress through life, the hard times and the good times, and so much more. And that's what gets him the most, he thinks.

He never realized how much he trusted you until he realized he liked you. You know every single thing about this man, which was the reason why he was rather… nervous when he’d have to communicate with you face to face. He did a good job at keeping up his front he uses to talk to people, but you sensed a slight form of stress underneath all the layers he put up to look tough.

He lays awake, thinking about you. You’ve made part of his mind your home, and it’s the part he comes back to over and over again. You replay in his mind like a good song that he can’t get enough of- on, and on, and on, and on.

He does like to bring you little trinkets he finds pretty when he goes out in public to do some shopping. Considering how wealthy he is, he could probably afford to buy out the whole store, so if you even mention something you like to him, he’s on his way to find it for you. He likes to think of it as he’s buying your kindness, but you think something completely different. You enjoy his sudden gift giving, not just because of your gain, but because he thought about you enough to do such a thing. It always makes you slightly blush before laughing while opening the box presented in front of you. He thinks that's the most precious part about your time spent together; all of the opportunities he gets to listen to your gorgeous laughter and see your flawless smile. Topaz, pinch the man, he’s in his own personal dreampool.

Oh, how bad he wants to confess to you, but he’s really afraid of rejection. He fears losing you entirely, fears that you won’t look at him like you always do if he asked if you two could be a thing. He fears you’d think he was odd for wanting you to himself, and that you’d slowly back away until you refuse to even look at his broken, battered form any longer. The thought makes a shiver crawl up his back. He can’t lose you too.

All this man asks is to find a way to remove you from his head. You’re absolutely tormenting him! Notice how he’s been lacking on his work lately, always caught in a daze when he’s sitting down at his desk? That’s you he’s daydreaming about. He’s no good with his emotions. He knows how to hide sadness, fear, and anger, but he’s never been in this boat before. Love is a whole new concept to him.

“Aventurine, you’ve been out of it lately. Tell me, is something the matter?” You barge through the blonde's office, not even bothering to knock. You know you don’t have to, he’s never doing anything so significant in that tiny space that it needs to be kept private.

“What are you saying? Nothings up with me,” he drops his pen in the small plaster pen cup you bought for him. “Work has been tiring lately. Nothing to stress over.”

You plop into the chair in front of his desk, resting your arms on the top and putting your head in between your palms.

“I can tell when you lie. Tell the truth.”

He looks away. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t get you out of his brain, and that you’re the only thing he can focus on? That’ll scare you off for sure!

“Aventurine?? You there?” you wave a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze once more. “You know, you don’t have to lie. I already know what you’re thinking.”

His eyes slightly widen, just enough for you to notice. You giggle very lightly before continuing on with your sentence. “You have a little crush, don’t you? Don’t worry, I like you back. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He doesn’t know if he wants to faint or make out with you right now. “So that makes us…?”

“I don’t know. We could remain friends, we could be boyfriend girlfriend, whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Well, he believes he already knows the answer he’s choosing.

#aventurine #kakavasha #aventurine x reader #kakavasha x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #star rail #star rail x reader

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lavenderstobins · 3 days

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It's the third day in a row that Wayne Munson has seen the girl in the diner.

Usually, he doesn't pay attention to new faces. He's been frequenting the diner for some years now and there's often ones he doesn't recognise: people passing through Hawkins, visiting family, etc.

The girl has caught his attention, though. She's sitting tucked into the far corner of the diner, a glass of water in front of her and nothing else. She's wearing the same t-shirt and flannel shirt she'd been wearing yesterday, and the day before, he's pretty sure. She didn't order any food yesterday; she hasn't ordered any food today.

Bev likes to joke he has a sense for kids who need help. Says there's an alarm in his head that makes him worry himself sick whenever there's a waif in need.

She's sitting next to him now, one eyebrow raised. He sighs. Waif in need alarm, indeed.

"What's the deal with the kid?" he murmurs, nodding subtly in the girl's direction.

Bev shrugs. "Beats me. That's Robert's girl, that's all I know."

He frowns. "Robert?"

"Nurse. Took good care of me when my knee went bad." She takes a swig of coffee, her eyes going sad. "Died, oh, maybe eight months back."

Wayne looks back at the girl. She's staring down at her half-empty glass of water. Tucked under the table there's a bulky-looking backpack.

"She got family?"

"Just her mother, far as I know. Met her a couple of times, too. 'Nother nurse. Seems nice enough."

"Hmph." Wayne turns back to his coffee. Ain't his business, he tells himself firmly. He should focus on his lunch.

When he gets up to pay, he glances once more in the girl's direction. He'll give it a couple of days, he decides. If she's still here then, still in the same clothes, he'll see if she's alright.

—

Wayne doesn't even last the day.

He's on his way home from work when he sees movement in a phonebox on the side of the road. The road's empty aside from him, and it's raining, and the sky's getting dark, so it immediately strikes him as odd. When he sees it's the teenage girl from earlier, he nearly crashes his truck with how hard he hits the brakes.

She's huddled down in the phonebox, clasping the backpack he'd noticed. She looks sodden. It had been raining heavier earlier; from the looks of it, she'd been caught in it. Her hair's plastered to her face and she's shivering.

He's winding down his window before his brain's even caught up to the movement. He's actually not sure how to go about it, very conscious of the fact that it's just the two of them out here and she's a teenage girl while he's an old man.

Feeling very much like he's approaching a wild animal, he clears his throat. "You okay, miss?"

The girl jumps, her head jerking up. She looks at him with wild eyes, wide and afraid. She reminds him of Eddie the day he showed up on his doorstep, timid and small.

"I'm f—fine." Her teeth chatter as she speaks. Where is this girl's mother? Where are her guardians?

"You need to call someone? I got a couple o'quarters, I think."

She shakes her head. Wayne frowns. Something ain't sitting right with him.

"You waiting on your ma?"

To his horror, her face crumples, and she buries her face in her arms. He's out of the truck like a shot, rushing over to find her shoulders heaving.

"Now, now—" He's panicking, admittedly. She can't be much younger than Eddie is.

"She—She—" the girl sobs. "She kicked me out and I—I don't have anywhere to go and it's so cold and wet and—and—"

A bout of rage washes over him. He pushes it down, tugging his jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. It doesn't have a hood, but it's dry. Christ, she must be soaked to the bone.

"Listen," Wayne starts, hesitating almost immediately. It's an insane suggestion from a strange man; he doesn't want to scare her off, but he doesn't want her spending the night in this phonebox, either. "I got a kid about your age. My Eddie. You come to mine and we can get you sorted out, okay? Or—Or I can find you a motel room, or something."

Sniffling, the girl looks up at him, wrapping herself up in his jacket. "Is that... is that okay?"

His heart breaks. "Yeah. Yeah, 'course."

She stands, wobbly, still clutching her backpack. She's soaked through like he'd thought, and she shivers once she's in the front seat. He's quick to turn the heating up, starting the truck again, and for a moment he's furious: her immediate agreement, the lack of hesitation about getting into a vehicle with a strange man, makes him boil with hatred towards this girl's mother.

The journey's quiet and, thankfully, not too long. Wayne ushers her into the trailer, already preparing to make a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Eddie's out at Jeff's for band practice, so he says, but Wayne knows him well enough to know he'll come home stinking of weed.

The girl stands awkwardly in the living room, still shivering. It occurs to him, suddenly, that he doesn't even know her name.

Still. An issue for later. He focuses on the hot chocolate. Once it's ready, he hands it over to her, and doesn't miss how eagerly she accepts it.

Only then does he broach the subject. "What's your name, miss?"

She's quiet a moment, cradling the mug in her hands. "It's Robin. Uh, Robin, sir."

"None of that 'sir' business," he says gruffly. "Name's Wayne. Eddie'll be home later but you can have his bed if you need a place to stay for the night."

This might be the most he's spoken in years, trying desperately to come across as reassuring. It breaks his heart how trusting she's being, though.

"Thank you." Robin goes quiet, her fingers curling around the handle of the mug. "I, um, I can pay you back for the ride—"

He waves a hand, frowning. "None of that. I'd like to think if it were my Ed in your shoes, someone would be there for him like this."

She manages a small smile. She's still in her soaking clothes. He hustles over to Eddie's room, raiding the drawers for whatever looks most comfortable. Eddie won't complain, he knows.

Robin gratefully accepts the clothes. He goes back into Eddie's room to give her privacy, unsure exactly how long to wait. There's that stereotype that women take forever to change, right? It must hold some truth.

He gives it an hour, just to be safe. When he emerges, he finds that she's curled up on the couch, out like a light. His jacket's pulled up to her chin like a blanket.

Waif in need alarm. He sighs. Bev's right after all. He won't be surprised if this situation resolves with him having another kid in his care.

Well, Eddie always wanted a sister, anyway.

#wayne adopts robin au #stranger things #wayne munson #robin buckley #eddie munson #my writing #st ficlet #st fic #this ran away from me so unbelievably badly #my wips

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k0juki · 2 days

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omg hi!

Can I request a Kimi one-shot where the reader isn't Finnish or northern in the slightest (I was thinking about Mediterranean, like Italian or something like that) and she feels bad that whenever she's around, her bf and all his mates and family speak English so she can understand what they're saying. So one day she decides to learn Finnish on her own withouth telling anyone and fast forward to a year or so, she's gotten to a pretty good level although the language is completely different from her own and one day she surprises Kimi by speaking to him in Finnish while they're cuddling. I wanna see what he does to that lol.

Sorry if it's too long!! Thanks for reading all of this!!! 💝

Hey @cliosunshine!! Thank you for request!!🩷

Kimi Räikkönen x fem!reader

A/N: And for everyone that are still waiting for their request, I'm trying to make them ASAP, because I was ill and I couldn't do them, but now I'm on it!

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors!

Warnings: translated Finnish! mention of y/n and fluff.

Words: 373

---

The warmth of the warm sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom where Kimi and the Y/n lay together in a cozy embrace. Kimi's steady breathing filled the air, his arm draped protectively over her as they basked in a rare moment of quiet.

For months now, Y/n had been secretly teaching herself Finnish, determined to bridge the gap that had always stood between her and Kimi's world. She always felt a bit aside because of their language barrier, but she was determined to change that.

She had spent countless hours pouring over textbooks, wrestling with the unfamiliar sounds and structures of the language, all without a word to anyone. But today was different. Today, she was ready to reveal her secret. "Kimi," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "I have something to tell you."

His blue eyes, usually so calm and unreadable, blinked in surprise. "What is it?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep. Taking a deep breath, Y/n summoned her courage. "I've been learning Finnish for some time now," she confessed, her heart pounding in her chest. Kimi's brow furrowed in confusion. "Finnish?" he repeated, clearly taken aback.

"Yeah.." that nervous feeling could be heard in her voice and she knew that. "I wanted to surprise you, so I've been studying, every day, in secret." There was a beat of silence as Kimi processed her words, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Se on erittäin söpöä sinulta" Kimi slowly said, to know, she could understand every single word. /That's very sweet of you/

"You didn't have to do that, you know?"

"I know but I wanted" Y/n could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in her chest. She had been so nervous, unsure of how he would react, but now, seeing the genuine happiness in his eyes, she knew it had been worth it.

Kimi's gaze softened, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "Ja nyt voit" he replied, his voice filled with a quiet awe. /And now you can/

---

Picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

Requests are open!

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shnarky-blogs · 2 days

Note

RAAAAHH I LOVE THE SICK MAN!!

can we have more of him? :>

your writing is so scrumptious btw!!! ate it up so quickk

of course darling anon!^^

ᵗᵒᵗˢᵘᵐᵒᵗᵒ ʸᵘᵘˢʰⁱ ˣ ᶠᵗᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Summary: Just you and Yuushi having a normal fucking session and him just trying to knock you up with his seed. ₜₕᵢₛ ₘₐₙ ᵢₛ 𝒸ᵣₐᵥᵢₙ𝓰 ₐ 𝒸ₕᵢₗ𝒹

You and Yuushi met while he was trying to get some relief in some strip club, his eyes landed on you and and he couldnt help but feel something tingling in his stomach when he gazes unto your form.

Never in his life he had met someone so handsome like the man he had before him. The first time you guys fucked was the best thing he had felt in ages, but after that he needed to pay. So while still in bed with Yuushi, you were whining and crying- shaking his shoulders roughly telling him to pay you now!! but all he did was let out some hums and shrug you off after that, not even glancing at you.

So, you eventually gave up and left his apartment with annoyance in your puffy red face after crying out to him to pay you.

"I am totally never gonna see that man again.."

You grumbled to yourself but, ironically you met him again in that very strip club you guys met a month ago, you were still pissed off about him but when he offered you to fuck again.. oh! the memories of having a dick so big like his shoved in you again was a dream come true!!! but you are not gonna let this man have fun with you without paying you! its so so unfair...

but eventually gave in though... you can't say no to a cock that good. some a year had passed and both of you developed something like a romantic relationship.. it was kinda ironic of you hating that man before but now loving him with your body and soul now.

despite him being lazy most of the time he tries pushing himself to get a job again.

sometimes he thinks of having a baby with you.. the thought of you having your belly filled and bulging with his kids inside, it was so cute just imagining it.

Now youre beneath him, his cock railing in and out your sobbing pussy while he praises you.

"Good boy sweetheart.. youre so cute.."

He whispered in your ear softly, his tip hitting your cervix making you mewl out his name.

youve been fucked by him many times now but with a condom, but now he was really going to finally cum inside you! even with tha single thought he couldnt help but slam harder and harder- gripping your waist in a bruising point.

"Fuck.. i wanna have a child so bad.. will you give one for me pretty boy?"

You just absentmindedly nodded as he piston his hips forward to meet your ass.

"You're so cute.. such a good boy f'me"

He smiled lovingly, taking your hand and locking fingers with you.

Your squeals and moans made him go nearer to his climax, your wet cunt clenched around him as his tip kissed your cervix

Finally he came inside you filling your womb up, you went limp under him and you were so so full of his warm cum.

"You did so well for me sweet boy... I can't wait for my kids.."

#x bottom male reader #ftm reader #sub male reader #x ftm reader #bottom male reader #male x ftm reader #cod x male reader #yuushi x male reader #totsumoto yuushi x male reader

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lovesphases · 18 hours

Note

Could you write something where reader is best friends with Sarah and has had a crush on rafe for a long time. There’s some situation like going on vacation with the Cameron family and John b joins so the reader has to share a bed with rafe. He wakes up at night bc reader is having a wet dream, cuddled up next to/on him, grinding against his thigh. He gets really turned on and starts touching her & she wakes up. Maybe he teases her a bit like asking if she had a good dream, pointing out how wet she got his thigh and then they have sex. Reader is a bit embarrassed and shy about it. - 🧚🏻‍♂️

i love the way your brain works. also sorry i got a bit carried away.

MDNI 18+

going on a yearly vacation with the cameron’s is not something new to you. you’d always share a room with sarah, staying up late the room filled with your giggles and hushed whispers. this time would be different though. sarah’s new boyfriend, john b would be tagging along. the new addition causing sleeping arrangements to be changed.

“what do you mean i have to share a room with rafe?” you stare at sarah, eyes nearly popping out of your head.

“it’ll be fine. rafe can just sleep on the floor!”

“no fucking way! i’m not sleeping in the same room as him!”

“pleaseeee? for me?” she clasps her hands together, giving you that look that makes you crumble everytime.

“jesus christ. fine. just this once. you owe me though.” you huff out. she lets out a loud squeal

“ohmygosh thank you so much! i definitely owe you big time!” you roll your eyes.

“yeah whatever. you’re lucky i love you.”

"i am not sleeping on the fucking floor" rafe snaps at you. irritated with the situation and ready to go to bed.

"fine i'll go find somewhere else to sleep then." you huff out crossing your arms. you begin to head towards the door when rafe calls out.

"jesus kid. this bed is big enough for the both of us to sleep and keep a good distance away from each other. what do you think m' gonna do?"

"i dunno. maybe suffocate me in my sleep or something." he lets out a laugh, he can't help but find your dramatics funny.

"just get in the fucking bed"

"fine. but keep your hands to yourself. i swear to god" you poke at him

"got it." he raises his hands in defense.

its 3 am when rafe wakes up to you practically laying on top of him, grinding on his thigh. he rubs his eyes, making sure he's awake and that this is really happening. you let out a quiet whimper as your brows furrow together. he stares down at you, a smirk forming on his face.

he allows his fingers to find your core, softly grazing over your cunt. he can feel the fabric that does little to cover you slowly becoming soaked. this pushes him over the edge as he moves ur panties to the side, slowly dragging his fingers through your folds catching on your clit. you let out a moan as your eyes begin to flutter open.

"rafe? what are you doing?"

"what am i doing? you were the one who woke me up, humping my leg like a bitch in heat. you're a cock hungry whore even when you're asleep.” you let out another moan, his fingers still rubbing at your clit.

"if you don't want this then tell me to stop." your hips begin to buck up involuntary. heat rises to your cheeks, thanking god that its dark and he can't see just how embarrassed you are. but with the pressure he's applying to your needy clit all rational thoughts leave your brain. your senses completely filled with rafe.

"rafe. please just fuck me. need it so bad." you let out a desperate whine, his teasing increasing your arousal, though still not enough.

"yeah that's what i thought." he shoves two thick fingers inside of you without any warning. causing you to take a sharp breath in. his fingers massage that spongy part that makes your head fuzzy and your eyes roll back. the band in your tummy tightening with each stroke of his fingers.

"you gonna cum?" you nod your head vigorously as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

"yeah? what happened to you wanting me to keep my hands to myself? over here makin' a mess all over my fingers."

"please rafe im so close. can i please cum? i need it" tears gather at your waterline. the burning in your stomach almost too much to handle.

"fuck. go ahead. cum for me baby. make a fucking mess." his words cause the band to snap, your orgasm washing over you soaking his hand and the sheets.

"good girl. that's it. let me have it." he helps you ride out your high before pulling his fingers out of your cunt. he brings his fingers to your mouth.

"gotta clean up the mess you made. yeah?"

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron prompt #drew starkey smut #drew starkey #⋆.˚ asks ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚#rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine

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writersdrug · 2 days

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COD men period comfort? 🥺

The way my period started right as I finished this... also, I have Endometriosis, so I wrote this with the idea that periods are very heavy and painful for the reader, sometimes making them bedridden. Shit's rough 🙃

CoD Headcannons: Comforting You While You're on Your Period

Fluff, slight nsfw, mentions of cramps and blood, mentions of fingerings, no "period? What's that?" behavior, these men are all educated, mentions of food anxiety, female anatomy

Captain John Price

If this was a competition, Price would be the winner. He doesn't need to look at your tracker app to know it's around the corner, he recognizes the signs immediately. As soon as you begin to dissociate for more than a minute or two, accompanied by your grumbles of how you've been craving junk food lately, he knows it's coming.

He's very intuitive when it comes to your needs. He knows you'll want to call out of work the first few days, so he does it for you. That way, you won't be stressing over it the night before. He plugs in your heating pad (leaving the setting on off, for now), so it's ready when you need it. He fills your water bottle with cold water, he fills the nightstand drawer with iron and protein laden snacks, and he puts a fresh box of your preferred pain medication in there as well. The bathroom is stocked with pads/tampons, and he even makes sure that the remote to the telly is on the nightstand.

He forces you to stretch every morning. It's the one time he ignores your protests and drags you out of bed, insisting you would feel much better - and he was right every time. He'd have you sit with your feet pointed forwards, bending your back until you could touch your toes.

"Gonna join me, John?"

"Psh, you know I'd snap like a twig, love."

Then he'd have you on your hands and knees, kneeling beside you and slowly guiding you to stretch your arms and arch your back, keeping your bum in the air (let's be honest, he doesn't kneel behind you for this because he'd be keeping you in that position for a different reason). He'd have a hand on your lower back, whispering small praises as you groaned from the relief. Once you were in that position, convincing you to get up was another hassle.

He understands that you can have mood swings - he always reminds you that communication is best, and even if you aren't sure what you want, you should still talk to him. Let him know if you're feeling too overstimulated, if his presence is a bit too overbearing in that moment, or if you want him there - whether that's sitting in a chair next to the bath while you take a soak, his hand running over your hair, or if he's cradling you in bed, hands gently massaging your abdomen/lower back.

You feel a bit silly, sometimes - being treated like a porcelain doll. As you promised him you would, you communicate with John that you feel bad that he's pampering you so much, and that you can't exactly return the favour at the moment. He'd listen, never shushing you or interrupting you, and at the end of your venting, he'd assure you that not only is this his obligation as your partner, but it's also something he enjoys doing - looking after you when you need it most.

As for making it up? "We'll explore what options there are when you're feeling up t' it" (He's talking about ovulation week).

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You tell Gaz when your period is coming. He's not as intuitive as Price, but he appreciates that you let him know, and he helps you plan for the next few days. You go shopping together, stocking up on snacks, meds, and Liquid IV (Gaz had originally introduced you to it, and now it's an essential when you're on your period).

He once bought you a period massager that you found online. You thought it was the best invention ever, with both a massage and a heat setting, but it never could compare to Gaz's hands. You eventually ended up putting it on a shelf in the closet after telling him through tears, all while he massaged your stomach, that it felt like you were replacing him, and you hated it. You wanted to throw the damn thing away, but he convinced you that you might change your mind later.

Gaz treats this time of the month like it's the most normal thing in the world. Of course, he pampers you, giving you cuddles when you want them and helping you through the emotional shipwreck in your mind, but he knows you don't like feeling like you're helpless. So he does it all in the most nonchalant way possible. He'll play video games with you as the both of you lounge in bed; whenever you want a snack, he grabs one for himself (partially because you mentioned once that you don't like eating by yourself, partially because he's always hungry).

He refers to your period in different ways each time it comes around. "Is it shark week?" "I got you some more tampons, babe, for the ritual." Or, his favorite, when he sees you scowling at your period tracker app: "Ya got mad cow disease again, luv?"

He'll watch true crime with you per your request, but he's not thrilled about it. You've had to correct him multiple times that it's not about the killing, it's about the mystery of solving each murder that intrigues you. More often than not, you'll look up from where you're laying on his chest, and he'll be watching the telly with a grimace.

"What's wrong, Kyle?"

"It was the landlord - guy looks fishy, and his alibi is shit."

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Johnny understands what a period is - he's a smart man. However, when it comes to your cravings and raging emotions, he's like a devil on your shoulder. If you thought you were impulsive during this time of the month, he only adds fuel to the fire.

He comes back after a trip to the grocery store, announcing that he purchased everything you need for the next few days. The "everything" in question? Crisps, wine, and candy (your favorite candy, sure, but not much chocolate). You don't have the heart to tell him that, while you enjoy all the snacks and alcohol he bought, it's not necessarily the best food for your period - although, the part of your brain that was craving it was thanking him over and over.

You would be lying on top of him on the sofa, the telly playing a show that had been neglected by the both of you. He'd be rubbing your lower back with one hand and massaging your scalp with the other, listening to you as you tearfully explained how much you missed your childhood family dog, a husky named Janet.

"- and she was so cuddly and protective- *sniff*- and she- did I tell you, she used to howl when I cried, like- like she was crying with me? God, I miss her-"

"Sweetheart, why don' we just get ye a pup, eh? A husky, just like Janet, and ye can both howl together whenever ye feel like it."

"No- *sniff*- no, Johnny, we shouldn't-"

"Why not? It'll keep ye company when ah'm away. Ah've always wanted a pup myself, y'know."

It really didn't take much more convincing than that. The next day, Johnny was walking into the flat, holding a husky pup cradled in one arm, and a bag of dog toys and food in the other. You had already forgotten his suggestion to get the dog, and would have scolded him for being so impulsive, but the cuteness aggression had already set in. You squealed and ran over to Johnny, crying happy tears between peppering his face with kisses and cooing at the puppy. He had the proudest smile on his face, seeing how much happier you looked compared to the day before.

Oh, and if you tell this man your breasts are sore? He's running across the room, fast enough to break the sound barrier, to offer you a helping hand (or two).

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has to remind himself that, when you're on your period, you don't always think logically. He's extremely patient with you, but he isn't the best with words. Or, rather, he isn't well-versed in the backwards rationality that comes with your period.

"Simon, can we get Chinese?"

"Sure, luvie, if you want it."

"Will you eat some?"

"Honestly, 'm not really hungry. But we can get what you want."

"... no, I'm ok. Nevermind."

"Wha'? Why not?"

"I don't need it."

Simon still doesn't understand why you won't eat without him, but he knows not to question it. He does, however, order your favorite takeout anyways, and he'll feed it to you if you still insist that you don't want it. He may steal a bite or two if you let him.

Like every good partner, he understands what a period is, and he understands the pain and frustration it causes you. He's still never entirely sure of how to help you, and he often doubts that he's being helpful at all. But that's where his military experience came in clutch: you tell him what to do, and he does it. You want to cuddle? "Scoot over f' me, luv." You want time alone? No worries, he can do some of his own work, just shout if you need him. You're running low on tampons and medication? He'll drop whatever he's doing and run to the corner store for it.

Massage KING, and he doesn't even know it. He huffs and says you're just trying to flatter him when you tell him how good at it he is. He treats you like you're in a spa, too: he dims the lights, he makes you wear an eye mask, he'll turn on the fan because he knows you love the white noise... he'll kneel behind you as you lay on your stomach, and this man will deliver the most tender, slow, and soothing massage of your life. His hands are already so huge and warm, and he somehow flawlessly works you into a drooling puddle each time.

He can't lie: seeing you there, passed out and snoring, no longer complaining about your aches and pains, fills him with just as much pride as it does relief. He's happy you're feeling well enough to rest, and that he's the one to get you there. He'll slowly get up, covering your lower back with the heating blanket, before leaving to replenish your thermos with tea.

König

Whenever you mention that your period is coming soon, he always panics a little. König is a strong soldier, not bothered or phased by much. But when it comes to you, he hates knowing that you're in pain, and that he can't do anything to fix it (despite how often you assure him that he's helping).

This man goes all out. He fills the fridge with healthy, colorful fruits and vegetables, meat, and a pitcher of your favorite drink. He has your heating pad ready to go by your bedside, along with two thermoses, one of hot tea and one of ice-cold water. He sets up a small tray in the bathroom with tampons, pads, fresh underwear, and even a few pairs of shorts. He has a fan in the corner of the room, pointed at the bed and ready to go if you need it. He even takes off work for a few days - he refuses to leave your side when you're in pain.

Like Ghost, he likes being told what to do. If you ask him to turn on the fan, to turn off the lights, or to refill your thermos, he's up and doing it before you can finish your sentence. He hangs on your every word like it might be your last (you'd think with how he acts while you're on your period, you might be dying). He snuggles you every second you're in bed, and despite it being a bit warm, you don't mind the constant affection.

He cooks for you no less than twice daily, and this man can COOK. In no way, shape, or form does König skimp on seasonings and portion sizes when it comes to you. He carries you to the kitchen and sits you on the counter so he can keep an eye on you while he prepares you a hearty, nutritious meal (he needs to make sure you're eating well, schatz, but he'll let you scrounge for lunch, if that's what you really want). Sits with you at the dining table and holds your hand while the both of you eat, listening to you talk. If neither of you have anything to say, or if you're dissociating, he'll just sit and enjoy the silence with you, occasionally brushing your hair from your face and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

Sometimes, he'll do some of his work in bed with you, if he absolutely can't put it off any longer. You were once snuggled up to him, half asleep in the crook of his arm as he typed away on his laptop. He would occasionally rub his large hand over your lower stomach if he heard you groaning in pain from your cramps.

"Schnuki?"

"Mm?"

"Do you want me to finger you?"

That just about made you bolt upright like a rocket. "What?!"

He pointed to his screen. "Everyone says it makes you feel better, no?"

"König, um..." You didn't hate the idea, but didn't he? "I thought you were working?"

"C'mon, liebe-" he closed his computer and put it on the nightstand, rolling on top of you. "Relax for me, I'll make you feel good..."

Please just let this man take care of you and tell him he's doing a good job, it's all he wants.

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hugsandharrystyles · 2 days

Text

The Chase

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with you (or your pussy).

Harry Styles would not stop following you.

You both had hooked up at a frat party two weeks ago in a dingy bathroom, and ever since, he's been searching for you everywhere.

Somehow, he's outside of all your classes, waiting for you so that he could try and woo you. His persuasions were overlooked because you were not in the mood for anything any college frat boy was trying to pull.

You had only come to this party because your friend had dragged you along with the promise of alcohol.

You seriously needed to get wasted and perhaps make out with a cute boy, but it was proving hard to do because of the chase you were involved in. As soon as you had walked in the door, you were on the run from Harry.

Right now, you were in the crowded kitchen, the room was glowing red from the solo cups taped on the lights, and it was definitely setting the mood for the horny college students.

You were filling your cup when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist in a secure hold.

"Baby, please," You heard begging in your ear, and then his crotch was grinding into your ass.

"Harry-" You begin, but you were cut off by the rolling of his hips again. "You realize how pathetic you are?" You said while laughing. He whined in your ear and squeezed you harder.

"Stop running from me," He counters. "Just come with me outside for bit, hm?" He asks.

"Harry-"

"Please," He begs.

"Fine," You huff and grab his hand to start walking outside. Harry has a shy, yet smug smile on his face as you drag him out of the house. People look and furrow their eyebrows at the two of you, but Harry does not care. He's whipped, and he knows it.

"Over here," He says and points to a lounge chair close to the bonfire. There's a decent amount of people around but not nearly as bad as inside. He sits down first and drags you to sit on his lap.

"Harry- Jesus," You sigh and adjust yourself. He buries his face in your neck and inhales you in.

"I've missed you," He breathes.

"Harry, we had one mediocre hook-up in a trashy frat bathroom," You remind him.

"Mediocre?!" That had gotten his attention. He adjusts you to where he can see your face better. "That was the best sex of my life," He tells you.

"Well, that's sad," You inform him, and he has to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"What in the hell are you talking about? I made you cum," He reminds you, but your face sours. "Didn't I?" You shake your head and suppress the smile that wants to appear on your face from this boy getting humbled. "But- But you told me you came," He questions you.

"Yeah, so I could get out of there," You couldn't hold back the small chuckle that escapes you that time. "Harry, don't get me wrong, you aren't bad and definitely are the biggest I've ever been with, but maybe you need to work on your stamina," You explain and run your fingers through his hair because of his pitiful face.

"Well, it's not my fault you have this magical pussy!" He says a bit too loud. Some people look over with incredulous looks on their faces, and you punch his shoulder. "Couldn't help it when you're so wet, tight, and fucking warm- Oh, God," He groans as if remembering. His nose is back in your neck and arms around your body, squeezing once again. "Smell so good and so soft too," He says as he squeezes the extra plush on your body, something you're usually insecure about but feel super confident with the way this boy is drooling for you.

"You've gone mad," You resort to.

"I don't care," He rebuts. You roll your eyes and pat his back.

"Ay, Styles! Look at you fuckin' whipped," You hear one of his annoying frat brothers call out to the two of you.

"And fucking what about it?" He snaps back, and you see the arrogant meathead cower down in his seat.

"Harry, maybe we should-"

"Go to my room, so I can actually take care of you?" He offers.

"I'll give you one more shot," You sigh, and his head perks up like he didn't expect you to say that.

"Actually?" He says and is about to jump to his feet.

"My clock is ticking," You sigh, and suddenly, you're being thrown over his shoulder, and he's running into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. Hoots, hollers, and whistles are thrown to both of you, but neither of you are paying attention to it. You're immediately thrown on the bed when you get into his room. Harry had locked the door, so no one will be interrupting the two of you.

"I'm going to eat you out," he says breathlessly. "Should punish me for how rude I was to you last time. Didn't eat you out or make you cum- fuck, I'm sorry," He pants and rips your skirt and shoes off your body. His mouth is about to press against your puffy pussy through your underwear when you stop him.

"Wait," you say and hold his hair to stop him.

"What?" He whines and dramatically drops his face into the bed.

"You're right," you tell him and yank on his hair to get his attention.

"About what, baby?" He whines in impatience.

"You should be punished," You agree and sit up, pulling your body away from him. His jaw drops and his face is like you've just stabbed him.

"Are you- are you serious?" He asks and starts to inch his way closer to you.

"I mean, you're the one who said it. I'll be nice and still have sex with you, but I have one rule," you tell him and press your foot against his chest to keep him away.

"Anything. Anything at all- I swear," He assures you, and you smile.

"You're not allowed to touch me," you say, and he scoffs.

"You can't be serious," He pants.

"It's this or nothing," you say and start to get up from the bed.

"No, no, please, I'll do it. I'll do it," He promises.

"You're pathetic," you laugh, and he glares at you. "Wipe that look off your face," You scold him, voice surprisingly dominating, and he immediately does. It's hilarious the power you seem to have over this arrogant frat boy. "Sit against the headboard," you tell him, and he doesn't think twice before doing what you say. You get up and start rummaging through his closet.

"What- what are you doing?" He asks, trying to stay still in his spot, but his curiosity is getting the best of him. Once you have what you were looking for, you turn and approach him, your hands hiding the object behind your back.

"Get up," You command, and he jumps off the bed. "Take your clothes off," you say further. He rips everything off besides his boxers. "I didn't say stop, big boy," you tell him, and he blushes. He sheepishly pulls down his underwear and fights the urge to cover himself. Your smirk deepens as you gaze over his body. "On the bed," You command, and as he leans himself against the headboard, you rid yourself of the rest of your own clothes. Harry's eyes cloud over as his eyes take you in. You're truly the most enthralling woman he's ever met.

"Thank you," He whispers as you straddle his lap, his hands gently rest on your plushy thighs. You almost feel bad for what you are about to do, but your horniness brings you out of it.

"Very sweet," you say and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He moans lightly and tries to turn his head to fully capture your lips, but you move away at the perfect time. You take his hands in yours and tie them together with the tie you found in his closet. His eyes widen and his cheeks flush even deeper. "This okay?" You ask and run your fingers through his hair.

"Y-Yes. Never done something like this before, but it's v-very okay," He assures you and tips his head back when you start kissing at the skin on his neck. His hands that are tied together twitch on his stomach and reach to where his dick lays, playing with himself for some much-needed stimulation. His moans get louder, and he feels cum drip from his thick pink tip.

"The fuck are you doing?" You suddenly ask, straightening yourself in time to see Harry playing with himself.

"I'm- I'm sorry. It's just- I'm really fucking horny, and it hurts," He tries to explain but you roll your eyes and scoff.

"You know, this is why I haven't let you fuck me again. Fuckin' selfish," You mock, and he shakes his head.

"No- No, I'm not. Please," He whines, his hand straining against the tie. "Don't go, please," He begs. You stare down at him intensely, and he has no choice but to cower under your glare. Out of nowhere, you suddenly drop yourself down onto his length, rubbing and sliding against where it lays against his stomach. "Oh!" He gasps as he feels your hot wet pussy slide over him.

"I'm going to take what I want from you," You decide and place your hands against his chest to get a better form. Your tight hole begins to catch itself on his tip when you push down on him, and you see Harry biting his lip so hard you think it might bleed. You continue sliding your pussy over him until his dick is twitching and leaking with cum.

"You got to stop if you don't want me to cum," he says, his voice strained and tight.

"You need to work on your stamina," you remind him and grab his cock, positioning him with your tight entrance.

"Oh, God- Oh, God," He chants as you slide his tip in. His hips stagger, making him slide in a bit deeper, so you press on his stomach to keep him down.

"Easy," You command, and he looks as if he could cry. You fuck yourself on the tip of his cock, getting your entrance to spread, but he's just so fucking big. You look down at him, and he has that same fucked out expression on his face. "Don't you fucking dare," you say and begin to insert more of him into you.

"Then fucking stop!" He whines. He almost cries when he feels your fingers squish into his cheeks, making him look into your eyes.

"You're not making the fucking rules here, frat boy. I told you if I was going to do this again, it was going to be by my terms, not yours, so shut the fuck up and stay still," You command, and you see tears gather in his eyes. You roll your eyes and slide down on him even further, about halfway in now. He chokes on a sob of pleasure and strains his fists in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he says before you feel his hips buck up into yours and his heavy load spurting into your pussy. The sensation almost makes you cum, but you push it away so you can see his pretty face as he orgasms. His body is trembling, and it feels like his high lasts forever. He feels you untie his wrists, and he subconsciously flexes them out of their stiff position. His breathing is rapid as he comes down, and a smile is graced across his lips until he feels you start bouncing on his sensitive cock again. "Oh, fuck! What are you doing-"

"I didn't come, asshole," You spit and grind yourself on his hardening dick.

"I'm too s-sensitive," He slurs, his hips tensing away and his hands coming up to grab your plushy hips. His mouth his dropped, and his head falls back. "I might be in love with you," He gasps, and you laugh.

"Shut up," You giggle, but you are cut off when his hips thrust up into you and his fingers come down to play with your clit. "Fuck, your dick is too good," You moan and don't have time to react before you're shoved onto your back, Harry above you. His hands push your thighs to your chest, and his hips piston into your squelching cunt. "Oh!" You gasp and suddenly feel your own orgasm starting to arrive.

"Cum for me, please cum on my dick," He begs and brings one hand to your mouth to pry it open before spitting directly into your mouth. "Swallow," He whispers. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he pounds into your pussy like an animal.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," You almost scream and start to shake.

"I'm filling your pussy again," Harry moans and grounds himself into you, basically sitting on you and filling you with all of his fat cock. Your hand instinctually reaches out and pushes at his toned stomach, but the weight of him, and the feeling of him deep inside your body only makes your orgasm so much better.

"So deep," You whisper and squirm.

"Take it, take it," he almost begs as he cums, his own orgasm shooting inside of you and sticking you two together. You're both shaking at the intensity of your orgasms.

Sounds of panting fill the room as you both settle. Harry flops down onto your chest, and you reach around to rub at his back, very well-aware of his half-hard dick still deep inside you.

"You're hard already?" You ask.

"Wanna go again?"

#harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harrystyles #one direction #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot

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