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shujohajohaminnie · 2 months

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Be louder for me

Genre: Smut

Content: 18+ Minors dni

Word Count: 1714

Summary: During a late night at the studio, things get heated, will the rest of the members find out.

A/N: I read through it but there could be a couple of things I missed

Afab!reader, Profanity, Pet names, Raw Sex, Public sex, Cunnilingus

It was late, you were starting to doze off. You were hoping that Chan meant it when he said five minutes. He had already told both Han and Changbin to go back to the dorm, it was extremely late. Even for them. “Channie how much longer” You whined failing to hold your head in your hands. He had practiced his part of the song so many times you couldn’t keep track. “Alright… I’m ready to record now” he nodded with a smile. “How long is that gonna take” You groaned pushing the red button to connect you to the sound booth. “About ten minutes… then we can go home” “Promise?” “No” “Ugh” You placed your head on the table trying to gather the strength. “Okay to record press the green button on the board”.You lifted your head looking at the board in front of you. What Chris failed to mention was just how many green buttons there were on this board. “This one?” “No the one on the top” “This one?” “To the left” “This one?” “Okay down one” “This one?” “Yup that's the one baby” He smiled sending you a thumbs up. How could you stay mad at him, he was just so cute.

“Cut” You pressed the blue button to stop the recording. “Scrap it” he waved off, running his hands over his face. You turned to the computer, taking the clip he just recorded and deleting it. He was frustrated, and rightfully so, this just wasn’t working the way he wanted it to. It was nothing you were doing, but him. He couldn’t hit the note like he thought he could. He was coming in too late and cutting off too early. “Honey you’re tired we should get you to bed” You yawned taking a sip of the energy drink you were sharing with Chan. It wasn’t doing its job, because with every sip you were feeling more and more tired. “I know” he groaned throwing his head back” “Let me try one more time” He groaned rubbing his face awake. You pressed the record button then pressed the voice button. “You want more monster?” “Yeah let me see if it’ll work” You nodded, grabbing the can and walking over to the booth. You opened the door and handed it to Chan. He reached, but not for the beverage. He took your wrist pulling you closer. Planting a kiss on your lips. “Chris” You gasped, you almost dropped the drink. The last time someone spilled anything in the booth you didn’t hear the end of it from-. “Let's put this down… before we get yelled at by Seungmin again” He whispered, taking the can from your hand and placing it on the side table that was in the booth. He turned back to you, placing a hand on your waist and pushing you against the wall. His plush lips placing butterfly kisses on your jawline, and down to your neck.

“Chris… what if someone hears us” “It’s soundproof baby… we could be as loud as we want” He smirked kneeling in front of you. Maybe it was the tiredness talking but you really wanted to test that theory. “What if someone see’s us” “Its four in the morning honey… who in their right minds is going to be here at this time” He was right. You really couldn’t be as loud as you wanted to in your daily lives. No with the boys constantly at the dorm, and your elderly neighbors complaining about everything you did back in your apartment. He pulled both your sweatpants and underwear down slowly. Taking them completely off and helping your leg onto his shoulder. Oh were you excited for him to hear just how good he made you feel. He kissed up your thigh closer and closer to you sopping pussy. How could you not be horny. Producer Chan was your weakness. You loved the way he spoke when he was in producer mode. So professional, so concentrated, so hot. He placed a single kiss on your clit before he began to suck and swirl his tongue around it.

“Oh my-” You moaned, grabbing his hair. Hearing your filthy moans turning him on quicker than anything. He’s been wanting to hear you so badly lately, already getting a little taste after one evening that he got the dorm for himself. He wanted more, he needed more. "That noise...keep making it." He encouraged bringing his fingers to your entrance not wasting any time to sink them into you. “Oh fuck” You moaned loudly throwing your head back against the soundproof wall. “Fuck CHRIS”. You only ever called him Chris on two separate occasions one, when you were angry with him or wanted him to understand how serious you were about a situation. Two, when you both were having sex and he was making you feel really good. You call him Chan and Channie, all day it wasn’t anything special anymore. Someone could say it could be confusing for him when you do it, but it wasn’t because it was all in the way you said it. One way you would say it in a stern serious voice in the other- “Chris” You moaned loudly tightening around his fingers as you felt that all so familiar feeling in your lower stomach.

“You gonna cum baby? You want to cum on daddy’s face?” He groaned roughly on your pussy, you bit you lip and nodded, he couldn’t see you. Not with his head buried into your heat, oh but he knew you. “Use your words my pretty girl” “Yes” You moaned out loudly tugging on his hair to keep him there in between you legs, but really he had no intention of moving. “Yes what… you wanna cum on daddy’s face and fingers” “Yes yes” You whined nodding you head. “Then cum for me… cum for me baby” He says, speeding up the rate in which his fingers dove in and out of your pussy, his tongue swirling around and sucking on your clit faster as well. You moaned loudly arching your back off the wall. Not a second later your were cumming on his fingers and face. “FUCK CHRIS” You scream feeling your legs shake subtly, threatening to give in right undereath you. Chris toke note of this and stood up quickly pulling down his pants and boxers. He pulled you closer and grabbed you by your hips picking you up.

You wrapped your legs around him and kissed his plump lips. “So wet for me baby” He whispered against your lips causing chills to run down your spine. You gasped feeling the tip of his hard cock rub against your clit and entrance. “You ready for me baby?” He whispered against your lips looking into your eyes hungrily. You bit your lip and nodded. “Yes” You whispered looking down. “Good girl” He smirked pushing into you, your mouth dropped open and you threw your head back giving him the opportunity to kiss your neck, and he took it. Placing messy kisses on your neck as you stretched around him. He held you still knowing you needed some time to adjust to him. You always did. You bite your lip out of habit. He shook his head looking at you. “No baby, don’t bite your pretty lips, I want to hear you, wanna hear how good I’m making you feel”

“Chris” You breathe out moving your hips against him. He knew you were ready, so he pulled out slowly and slid back in. “Fuckkkkkkk” He groans his eyes rolling back in pleasure. “You feel so good around me baby. So tight baby”.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. “Fuck Chris feels so good… s-so big” You cry out kissing his neck sucking his soft supple skin. “Marking me baby… want everyone know i’m yours” Chan grunts picking up the pace slamming into you. “Yes” “Yes what baby” “Yes… youre mine” “I’m yours baby… and your mine… my pretty girl” He whispers his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks into you faster and harder, surely leaving marks to remind you of your sinful actions tomorrow.

“Ah oh my God CHRIS” You scream tightening around his cock. He groans leaning his head back. “Fuck princess you gonna cum… you gonna cum for daddy” “Yes” “Cum baby… cum around daddy’s fat cock” “Chris FUCK!”

Han sighed a smile on his face, for the first time in a while he slept really well, and all thanks to Chan releasing him early. As soon as he got back to the dorm he skipped his nighttime routine immediately laying in bed. The second his head hit the pillow he knocked out. He was definitely well-rested. Changbin walked in behind him with two coffees in hand. It was just going to be them too for now. Chan asked them to come in an hour before so they could go over the vocals and see if there was anything that needed adjusting. “Bin look at this” Jisung laughed seeing the length of the audio recorded last night. “He always does that… he always forgets to cut it off” Changbin laughed sitting down next to him. “Let's get just his part and cut the rest yeah?” Han nodded pushing the play button” “Ahh oh my God CHRIS” They both turned to look at each other in shock, it couldn’t be. Oh but it was, an audio recording of the two of you having sex. Having sex in the booth everyone had to use. “Gross” Changbin immediately paused it

“Dude” Han sighed running his hand over his face. “I know were gonna have to move studios again” “Not that… he didn’t record his part… he’s not coming in till later, we’re going to be behind” “That's what your worried about” “Yes… I don’t want to stay late… I value my sleep thank you very much”

#skz fanfic #skz scenarios #skz x you #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz fake texts #stray kids texts #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader

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revehae · 2 months

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tw // noncon. yes its rape dont ask me no stupid fucking questions

yesterday (over a month ago technically) i couldn’t stop thinking about apologetic rapist haechan like ugghhhhhhhhhh

walk with me. this is a man you trust to have in your home, spending time watching movies and playing video games together in between your stressful lives… you’ve confided in each other about all of your problems, big or small, and chat about everything under the sun. you give him advice that he doesn’t listen to, then has the audacity to complain afterwards. he’s got a spare key to your place and you’ve got one to his, and all your boyfriends over the years feel like they have to compete with him, but the thought is ridiculous to you. compete with haechan romantically? it’s laughable. sure the guy has seen you half naked, but it’s not like that, you’re comfortable, you’ve never seen him ogle you or heard him make some unsolicited comment about your body that even strangers have made… why would anyone have to compete with haechan? he’s your best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

you’re not sure how you could’ve been so wrong. the way you see it, the haechan you thought you knew wouldn’t take advantage of how comfortable you feel around him, the fact that you let him share a bed with you every now and then. it’s not necessarily strange for his hands to wander around you, he’s clingy and unconsciously does it in his sleep, but it is strange for them to be so firm at your hips, nails digging into your skin, sounds that aren’t soft snores falling from his whiny lips.

confusion dwindles. betrayal stings your eyes. haechan sees it, too. he lifts his head up, tosses the hair out his face, and meets your eyes. there’s no arrogant shimmer to his eyes or smug smile to his face; the opposite. there’s shame and guilt and sadness, you want to think, and he beats you to a word, uttering, “i’m sorry…”

but he’s not sorry enough to stop. not even when you struggle against him, trying to wrestle your way out of his arms. you and haechan would play fight all the time, but you never realized just how strong he really was until you try to wrestle out of his arms and he pins your arms in place, whispering, “please. i don’t want to hurt you.”

but he would if he felt he had to. you’re in disbelief, the ugliest feeling festering inside your chest as it tightens so hard you can hardly breathe. when you beg him to stop, he says, “i can’t.” because you feel so much better than he’s ever imagined, and he’s imagined it a lot, and he just “can’t resist” himself. his eyes are misty, out of pleasure or out of shame, but either way, he needs to do this. he has to.

he can’t look you in your eyes. he can’t look at your face at all, really. he knows what he’ll see, the tears pouring from your eyes that gleam with a fierce blend of betrayal and despair and ire and disbelief. haechan doesn’t want to see you that way. having to hear your sniffles, knowing it’s all his fault, is bad enough. but in spite of the pangs of guilt that really do tear at his chest, he’s still in the middle of you, holding you in place, using your body for his own relief. so he just keeps his clasp on your hips, squeezing his eyes closed, and mutters, “i’m sorry…,” over and over and over again, hoping it’s enough. hoping that you’ll bring yourself to forgive him.

it’s not like it’s long before it’s over. haechan’s not proud of it but you’re all he’s been able to think about and it’s not like he’s ever hit a pussy raw before, if ever. you feel so filthy when he pulls out of you - his cum gushing out of your hole - and so broken. haechan says he’ll help you clean, but you’re rushing over to the bathroom and locking yourself inside before he has a chance to do anything. he hurriedly pulls on his pants and spends a long ten minutes knocking on the door, trying to get you to open it even after you scream at him to leave you alone, but he can hear the shower running from the other side. and he decides to leave you alone for now.

haechan tries to make it up to you, he really does. he doesn’t want you to hate him. you have to understand. your body was calling to him, enticing him, and he tried so hard but he couldn’t control it anymore. he’s gone when you return from a really, really long shower that you took in hopes of feeling less dirty, but to no avail. every bit of relief you feel at his absence, which isn’t much considering that pieces of him linger everywhere - on your sheets and in your aching bones and everywhere in between - fades when you hear the front door click open and he returns with your favorite takeout in hand. it’s his way of showing you that he’s still your best friend, that he still knows and loves you, that he’s sorry.

you’re not hungry. you have no appetite after that. haechan tries to get you to eat, but the second he comes near you, you flinch away from him. you never thought the day would come, but you are scared of him. he’s not the haechan you thought he was, no matter how hard he tries to convince you that he still is. you beg him to go, to leave you alone, but he doesn’t listen. he never does.

#tw: noncon #lee haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream hard hours

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lovinpelova · 6 months

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found out | j. fleming

summary; y/n uses the wrong word and asks for a definition of said word, when her and jessie give each other a knowing look and are caught the team teases them endlessly.

🎵 the morning - the weeknd

it was no secret that you and jessie had been together for ages. fans realised this when they first stalked your friends socials for pictures of jessie at ucla before finding pictures of you and jessie, way too close to be best friends. they then found pictures of you and her kissing after a couple matches before cracking the code and spreading the news.

now at twenty-five and twenty-four, you'd been together nearly nine years and couldn't be happier. sam joked sometimes that you'd be dead before you got married but you always argued back that you were still fairly young to be fully tied down and weren't going to break up anytime soon- if you were going to break up you'd have done it more than eight years ago.

obviously you and jessie were extremely comfortable with each other in every way possible, loving her for nine years, receiving endless reassurance and adoration meant you trusted each other with everything in yourselves. especially in the bedroom, that's how you got here today.

the canadians lips scattered over your neck hungrily to produce more blood-red love bites wherever she could, her tongue running over your skin like she was a vampire starved for ten years. her left hand pinning your right one above your head with a silk blindfold laced between your fingers and her right hand endlessly moving around your thigh, pulling it to wrap around her waist alongside your other one as she began to roughly grind into you.

"love when you let me do this."

she mumbled against your collarbone, voice slightly tuned out by the string of moans she was pulling from you as your left hand clawed at her bare and muscular back. the canadian groaned in response to your nails digging into her skin and leaving a trail in their wake, flesh turning red raw like your hickeys as you threw your head back and moaned loudly at the way her muscles rippled and flexed under your touch.

"jess..."

you trailed off breathlessly, not knowing what you were calling for her to do as it was all so overwhelming you couldn't even think properly, your brain was short-circuiting and judging by the way jessie chuckled cockily in your face she knew exactly what was happening.

"yeah, baby?"

the midfielder teased, feigning innocence whilst her right hand trailed up your bare torso to massage your breasts just the way she knew you liked- you had been together close to ten years after all, what kind of a girlfriend would she be if she didn't know how to make you fall apart without even fucking you?

"need you."

you babbled mindlessly, the affects of mind-numbing pleasure only jessie could source you with already taking place as you whined and squirmed underneath her muscular body. she'd stopped moving her hips by now and she didn't want you to move yours either, so she took her hand away from your semi-clothed chest and pushed your waist down into the bed beneath you with her biceps bulging from the display of strength.

"need me to do what? where do you need me babygirl?"

you hesitated, knowing she wanted you to be filthy and vulgar with what you said next. as much as you loved jessie when she was like this, you hated extremely explicit dirty talk - only if you were saying it, jessie saying it was beyond nice - it made you feel weird saying things like that out loud.

"c'mon princess, can't make my girl feel good if i don't know what she wants can i?"

"jess- please, need you to fuck me."

"see? that's all i wanted to hear. such a good girl."

the praise made your brain go to mush, the hand that was clawing at her shoulder mindlessly pulling her closer to smash your lips onto hers desperately. whatever you could take from jessie, whatever she would give you, you were taking it. she suggested using the article of silk laced between your hands a couple years back when you decided to start exploring a less vanilla side of your sex life and it's safe to say she loves it.

whether she's blindfolded or using it on you, she adores it. the way it heightens the senses, makes touch and smell and words ten times more intense without a single clue what they're going to do next- that's what jessie loves. the cluelessness to it, the realisation that you don't know what will happen next. it makes the orgasm ten times better, especially if it's sudden.

"you sure you still wanna use this prettygirl?"

jessie mumbled against your lips, moaning into your mouth when you pulled away to bite her lip roughly, letting her know you wanted it hard and you wanted it now. jessie loved fucking you like that, especially when you were blindfolded. the noises you let out were music to her ears but with the way they'd grow impossibly louder out of shock when she'd touch you if you didn't expect it?

god, jessie fucking loved it.

you nodded eagerly with a grin on your face matching hers, letting go of her hand so she could move the silk blindfold to wrap around your eyes. she tapped your temple twice lightly in a silent request you lift your head, humming in approval when you did so and carefully tying a knot around the back.

"that okay? not too tight or too loose?"

"no, it's perfect baby."

you pressed your head back against the pillows, jessie undyingly turned on by the sight beneath her. ever since the first time you'd used a blindfold she could swear she'd never been so turned on in her life before.

the way your breathing hitched with every move she'd make or time she'd touch you, how your hands would tentatively reach out and always land on her muscular arms or toned back to ground yourself, it was nowhere near the way you reacted to her without a blindfold. obviously jessie loves having sex with you no matter what, but there was just something different about it when a blindfold was involved- don't even get her started on how much she loves being blindfolded herself.

the way you straddle her hips and mindlessly grind against her without warning, roughly pushing her head back or to the side so your lips could devour their way along her body, filthy whispers of what you wanted to do to her - or what you wanted her to do to you - making her moan louder than ever as it's all she could focus on. no sight means heightened hearing, so if you're whispering all the ways you've thought about fucking her or being fucked by her? she's a goner.

don't even get her started on the one time you restricted her hands as well. using another piece of silk to tie her wrists together against the bedframe, denying her the right to touch you as you got your own satisfaction and didn't give jessie the pleasure until she begged to touch you. (spoiler warning; when you let her out of those restraints she fucked you dumb.)

"how you feelin' baby?"

she questioned right against your ear, knowing the whispered words affected you from the breath you let out against her neck, feeling her hands wrap your legs around her waist again as she started grinding down into you at the perfect angle. jessie had been with you eight years, nearly nine, she knew exactly how to push your buttons and when to push them. right now, she was putting that to use, turning you on as much as she possibly could so she can give you the worlds best orgasm in a couple moments time.

"so turned on, jess."

you breathed out into her ear, kissing her skin afterwards and pushing your hips up into hers after you'd worked out her rhythm and immediately being rewarded by a delicious friction against your core, the canadian a bit frustrated at the way you just took that from her without asking but letting you off because of the loud moan you let out.

"good, it's gonna be worth it when i fuck you until you can't speak anymore."

--------

it was media day at chelsea, meaning you and jessie were going to be split up for an unnecessary amount of time the next couple hours. sure, you'd have your media buddies you'd been partnered up with but it just wasn't the same as each other, you hated media days.

you'd just finished a game of guess who with guro for the barclayswsl tiktok account and chelseawfc youtube channel, meaning you had a fifteen minute break before you and the norwegian were put back to work with another media team for another social media account. quickly heading to sit beside one of your best friends millie and seeing jessie being guided over with niamh helping her, you went to jump up and hug her before staying put next to your skipper when you saw what she was wearing.

"niamh whys she got a blindfold on?"

millie made a noise of confusion from next to you, the girl you previously addressed stopping her footsteps as jessies mouth fell open slightly from your words.

"that's not a blindfold, it's an eyemask."

millie corrected you, making your competitive nature reveal itself for a moment as you challenged her immediately, your girlfriend listening as she pulled the eyemask down to rest around her neck and niamh watching amusedly.

"what would you define a blindfold as then?"

"like, a bit of material put over your eyes. they're mainly used to kidnap people, you know the usual."

you scoffed at millies joke and turned to look at jessie, the pair of you giving each other one of those looks when you thought you weren't being watched, only realising you were being watched.

"oi! what was that look for?"

millie questioned, niamh racking her brain for any answers whilst millie had a slight idea of what you and jessie just said to each other with your eyes. you shrugged in response, thinking of something sarcastic to say.

"jessie can agree with me when i say blindfolds are subjective to context."

the blonde next to you had her straight face scrunch up in disgust for a second as you grinned cockily at her, turning to your girlfriend as she smiled sheepishly with a massive blush across her cheeks as usual.

"you two disgust me."

"what? what does she mean? what have i missed?"

niamh questioned, genuinely confused by what you'd said and drawing the attention of other teammates. guro shuffled closer, sam came over with jess and lauren arrived at some point too, putting you and jessie on the spot as soon as millie explained it to niamh.

"her and jessie have used a blindfold before."

"okay? why would they do that?"

"no, niamh. they've used a blindfold before."

the defenders expression changed from one of recognition to one of disgust, pretending to throw up as all the other girls started teasing or turning away in shock. you and jessie sat there and took the brunt of it all, knowing there was nothing you could do now that the secret was out. plus, how could you be upset? at least you were still getting some.

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anilovie · 4 months

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Could I request something with a shy! Reader who has a huge crush on Anakin. And every time they see him, they just—run away. Lol.

This drives Anakin up the fucking wall, because he just wants to talk to them and see their sweet face and hear their beautiful voice. He thought their little crush was cute/funny at first, but as time went on, he actually fell harder. 😌💕

Eventually, he corners them and seduces them into looking at him. Like—cups their jaw with his leather glove and presses his thumb against their throat to force their neck back to look at him. 🥵 And then he just DEVOURS them.

I love your writing sm, by the way. 💕

A.N: I loooooved this request. i could write about this for HOURS. lmk if you want more, sweet anon 💖

CW: fluff, lots of fluff, solely fluff, kissing and requited pining with a dash of fluff, gn reader

WC: 1.5k

♡ Let’s be real. Anakin would certainly know you have a crush on him from the moment it forms.

♡ As the ‘Brotherhood’ book insists, Anakin is better at reading peoples emotions through the force than anyone else. So of course he’d be able to pick up on the way your nerves spike whenever he’s near, the rush of elation coming from you when he walks in the room, the stutter of your heart when you lock eyes and he offers a polite nod in greeting.

♡ He can feel how you stare at him from across the room when you think he’s not looking. Can see the goosebumps on your skin when he ‘accidentally’ brushes you. He can tell when you’re even thinking about him just from the way your heartbreak quickens and you begin to fidget with your hands.

♡ He knows everything about what you’re trying to hide from him.

♡ But you have no idea that he returns those feelings.

♡ It only makes your crush on him that much more frustrating. Because he wishes he could just sit you down someplace and talk to you for hours— stare into your eyes and study the way your face moves when you smile, and frown, and laugh, and cry. He wants to know every inch of you, to study all your flaws and perfections, to know everything about you.

♡ More than anything, he wants to just have you already, raw and real and unapologetically you.

♡ But you’re always making excuses to leave him early whenever you’re left alone. Always turn away when you catch him staring. You’re always crossing your arms or pulling your jacket tighter when he’s near, or hiding behind Obi-Wan, or cutting yourself short when you speak. And if he tries to flirt with you, you clam up and practically disappear in a puff of smoke.

♡ One time, he’s almost certain he made you cry. All he said was that you looked pretty, and tapped the bottom of your chin with his finger. That’s it. But your eyes got all wet and your lip started to wobble, and you quickly turned away, muttering some excuse about being late for an appointment.

♡ most infuriatingly, you’ve only been able to make eye contact with him a handful of times; much less hold it. Your pretty eyes turn wide with embarrassment, your nerves go haywire, and you rip your beautiful gaze away far too quickly for his liking.

♡ And force forbid you have to speak to him. Always staring over his shoulder when he talks to you, or at his chest, or his shoes, or your shoes.

♡ If you manage to get a few sentences out without stumbling over your words or cutting yourself short, he is so proud.

♡ If you’d only just look at him, you would see that.

♡ Though you can never seem to form a complete sentence around Anakin, to Ashoka you can’t seem to shut up.

♡ “Kriff, alright! I get it! Enough about my ‘hot master’!”

♡ In all honesty, you think Anakin merely tolerates you. You’re friends, and you work together, so you think he’s obligated to be nice to you.

♡ the only way you can come out of your shell around him at all is when he makes it glaringly, sickeningly obvious that he’s head over heels about you, too.

♡ Sweet smiles, soft touches, and gentle words of praise and adoration. Constant endearment and doting. It’s endless coming from him, earning constant eye-rolls from Ahsoka.

♡ he always lowers his voice so it’s in that soft, raspy register with you. He doesn’t even notice it, but you do. It’s like he’s reserved all of his gentleness just for you.

♡ most days, he has to call your attention to him, otherwise you won’t dare trouble him. For example, you’re hurrying past him in the starfighter bay, heart jumping into your throat as soon as you recognize that curly head of golden hair, when;

“Hey— you just gonna walk right past me?”

You skid to a stop and turn back around, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry… thought you were busy. Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. You never bother me.”

“Oh…” you laugh nervously, clasping your hands in front of you. His attention pins you to the spot, forcing your gaze to your shoes as you awkwardly rock back on your heels. “So, did you… did you need something?”

“Yes, actually,” he gestures with his head behind him, toward his ship. “Come with me?”

Your gut swirls in anticipation for what Anakin could possibly need to be alone with you for. You’re no genius when it comes to spaceships; you can only hope that whatever it is, you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Anakin leads you inside to the control room, and then abruptly stops. He turns to you with his arms crossed, intense stare piercing into your face, and comes right out with it:

“Why won’t you ever look at me?”

Immediately, your face grows warm. He gives you no time to even wrap your brain around the question before adding;

“You’re not scared of me, are you?”

As if to prove him wrong, you flick your eyes up to his face, and then quickly away. “I do look at you.”

“That hardly counts,” He scoffs.

It’s worse. He’s making it so much worse. The small space, the forced proximity, the confrontation— your heart is going haywire in your chest, skin breaking out in a nervous sweat. Your mind goes absolutely blank.

“Am I that hard to look at?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind it.

“No— no, you’re not hard to look at, at all,” you quickly assure. And because your brain has melted, you add, quieter, “that’s sort of the problem.”

He’s silent for a long moment. And when you sneak another glance at him, you see a grin slowly crawling onto his face.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“You think I’m handsome, hm?”

“Just a little,” you mutter, arms crossed defensively. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“No?”

“No.”

You search for the exit, thinking it’s about time you get out of this situation before you quite literally pass out. With every word, Anakin leans closer to you, and your pulse has quickened to the point of dizziness.

“I think you like me,” Anakin’s voice has dropped to a near-whisper, rasping as he leans down close to your face. You’ve shrunk back as far as you can go, almost hitting your head on the control panel above.

You turn your head away, trying to escape him, only to find his arm already braced against the wall by your head, trapping you in.

“Anakin—“

There are so many thoughts flying through your head. This can’t happen— he’s a Jedi— you want him— you can’t breathe— is he getting closer?

“Look at me,” he demands. And it’s like he’s the pied piper: His voice controls you.

Blue.

“There you go,” the corner of his lips tilt up. “Not so hard now, is it?”

“It is hard,” you whisper, eyes welling with overwhelmed tears. “You make me nervous.”

He can feel your fragile will shatter, bringing his other hand to cup your jaw, keeping your head tilted up with leather fingers. Even if you look away, you have no choice but to face him.

“Well, I’m proud of you.” His voice is incredibly soft. It’s not mocking or teasing or anything.

He’s proud of you. Anakin Skywalker is proud of you.

That knowledge coaxes you back to him, slowly, and you see true adoration shining in those glittery, softened eyes. Your shoulders finally relax, shaky breath filling your lungs.

“Please don’t make fun of me,” you beg, giving up on hiding what you truly feel for him. He’s forced it all to light now, anyways. “I know you can’t feel the same. And I’ll keep it to myself. I don’t want to trouble you—“

“Hey, hey,” he cuts you off, hushing softly. “What did I say? You’re never troubling me,” his gaze shifts between both of your eyes, as if unable to decide which to look at. “And who says I can’t feel the same? Who says I can’t feel more?”

Your attention accidentally shifts down to his mouth, and your mind goes absolutely blank again.

“W-what?”

Pretty, plump lips curl into a smile. Mischievous, this time. Knowing.

“What’re thinking about, hm? Tell me, please. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His face draws impossibly nearer, you almost go cross-eyed trying to keep looking at him. His breath tickles your lips, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

“Show me what you’re thinking,” he urges. And with a surge of confidence, fueled by the desire to just take what you’ve wanted for so long now, you lift your chin and close the last remaining centimeters between you.

“Mmm,” he immediately hums, appreciating your eagerness. He smiles against your lips, and it lights your body on fire.

You are kissing Anakin Skywalker.

His lips are just as soft as they look.

You finally know what Anakin tastes like.

These three thoughts are all you can grasp until you pull away too soon, stomach somersaulting from the soft sound your lips make as they break apart. Only he hasn’t had enough. Using the hand on your jaw to keep you still, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, tilting his head to taste you deeper, harder— he lets his tongue swipe your bottom lip, coaxing you open, wanting to know if you taste this good everywhere— only the feeling of his hot tongue on your lip fills your face with unbearable heat, and you pull away from him with a gasp.

“Anakin—“ you whine, bringing your hands up over his to cover your face.

He’s laughing now, ducking his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. If the lighting wasn’t so dim, you could have sworn there was color blooming on his cheeks.

“What? Too much?”

Again, you’re left speechless.

But you’re not stupid. Of all the words he’d just spoken to you, all of the gentle touches and longing looks in the past, of how he’d just kissed you—

“There’s no need to be so shy around me, sweetheart,” he tries to amend. “I adore you. Everything about you,” he shakes his head. “I always have.”

He couldn’t make it more clear. A tiny, hopeful smile eases its way onto your face, but you bashfully push at his chest. “Okay,” you huff. “Just— just let me breathe for a minute, okay?”

He laughs again, but leans back and returns his arms to his sides so you can gulp in a deep breath. Your face is so hot, and your lips are tingling from his phantom touch. And he’s still just staring at you, unblinking.

“Stop looking at me,” you mumble, and he responds by affectionately squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, stealing a quick kiss on your pouted lips before you can complain.

“Never.”

#requests #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin #anakin x reader fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x reader fic #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x reader fic #fluffy anakin #Anakin x gn reader

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stairain · 1 year

Text

Wrong Move You're Dead.

Spencer was never shy about his obsession for you, but you don't know just how far he'd go to prove you belong to him.

Warnings: Switch Spencer, Possessive/Obsessive Spencer, mild mommy kink, knife play (only running against skin and tearing clothing), praise, scent kink, female oral, handcuffs, leg grinding, crying, he cums too quick.

WC: 3.5K

Your chest rose and fell as the cold metal of the chair sent a shiver up your spine. The skin of your wrists were being rubbed raw as the cuffs Spencer had placed on you tightly bound you to the arms of the chair.

Just as you try to escape once more, he walks in. His expression is stoic, and in his hands he holds a knife. The blade glistens in the faint light as he circles you, like a shark to its prey.

He was always one to get possessive whenever anyone talked to you, so it was no surprise that the second he had seen you talking to another man, he dragged you back home and made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

As he walks closer to you, you look up at him with pleading eyes.

"Spencer, baby.. Please let me go."

Your lover shakes his head, almost apologetically. His grip on the knife only tightened as he shook slightly, as if trying to control himself. As he speaks, his voice is shaky and gravelly.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I never would want to hurt you.. but you don't understand. I need to protect you because I care about you. I love you too much to let things get messed up. It's the same reason I can't let you have other friends.”

Spencer turns his back to you and for a short moment you lean your head back against the chair and silently curse.

“If I don't get you to myself.. that could lead to some serious problems. And I’m sure neither of us want that. You understand, right? Right?”

You swallow as he trudges closer to you, he lifts the knife and runs his fingers over the dull edge, as if to frighten you. His voice sounds desperate, almost like he was trying to appeal to that soft spot you have for him.

"Baby I'm serious. Let me go, and put down the knife."

He seems to ignore your words, just slowly walking closer and closer to you. “I will never hurt you. But I will never let you leave me. I would do anything for you, because I love you. I can't live without you. You mean everything to me. You are my life.

He gets a soft look in his eyes and his voice wavers as he speaks, his emotions getting the better of him as tears start to spring in his eyes.

“I would kill for you. If that's not true love, then I don't know what is.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shake your head. It wasn't often he got like this, despite fitting into the role so well. Your breaths come out in shallow huffs as you try to reason with him.

"I won't leave you, Spence. Just–please, let me go and we can talk about this, alright?"

An evil smile spreads across his face and it makes you all the more nervous.

“Oh, trust me. I know you won’t ever leave me. I’ll make sure of it.”

He abruptly points the knife at you, and you shrink into yourself away from the blade. Your fear seems to only drive him on.

“But I need you to swear that you will never be with any other man, ever, as long as you live.”

You feel the tip of the knife press against your jaw, and there's a slight tremble in your skin. You can feel his heaving breathing against your face, and you try your best to look up at him. His curly hair falling in front of his face, the heavy huffs from his mouth making the locks sway between the two of you.

"I–I promise.”

Despite your confession, he doesn't move away from you, in fact, he begins to drag the knife lightly down your jaw, a sadistic smile plastered on his face. The shake in his hands allows for the blade to stagger against your skin. He pushed it gently to the side, so the flat side was flush with your sweaty skin. .

“You understand how important this is, right? If you make one mistake with this, it could ruin everything.”

His grip on the knife tightens, and he’s breathing so heavily that the metal of the knife is starting to fog up.

“You must promise to never, ever, ever think of any other man than me. You may never go out with a male friend. You shouldn’t even have male friends. You may never interact with a male in a way outside of business. I must always come first. Do you understand?”

Turning your head to the side so as to not get cut, he trails the blade against your skin. He's not pressing nearly hard enough to hurt you, but the cold metal against your face has you shuddering under his touch.

"You're my priority always, Spence. You know that." You try your hardest to say your words with a confident tone, but the break in your voice gives away just how terrified you are.

“Say it again. Say it again, baby, please.”

Spencer seems to be enjoying himself, making you feel so much fear. His tone is serious, and he doesn't seem like he'll stop until you tell him what he wants to hear.

“Tell me I'm the only important thing to you, and that I come first no matter what.”

As he speaks, he's slowly running the point of the knife to your chin. His grip on the handle only tightens as he watches with a wicked grin at the way you're trembling.

"Y-You come first no matter what, baby."

But despite the sincerity in your voice, his expression doesn't soften at all. He bites his lip for a moment before moving the tip of the knife to the bottom of your chin and lifting it a bit, so you're forced to look at him.

"I don't believe you." He says, his soft voice dripping with a cold and malicious tone as the look in his eyes darkens. Your heart pounds impossibly faster as he mutters these words to you, and it takes everything in you to not try and break free once more.

“Tell me, again. Tell me I'm more important than everything. No matter what it is, I come first. Nothing and no one will ever take priority over me.”

"You always come first, Spence. No one is as important as you are."

Your voice is uneasy, but he ignores your words. He’s moving the blade down your throat, the slight scratch has your breath hitching. As soon as he reaches the collar of your shirt, he gives you one last look before he's cutting through the fabric, beginning to tear the clothing that covers you. You gasp, and try to move away from him.

"Spence–stop it."

He lets out a slight laugh and drags the edge further down your top, the crude noise of cotton tearing filling your ears.

“It's too late to stop it, my love. It's already been done. Your collar’s already cut up, I can just take it all off and make you sit here with every inch of you exposed. How about that? Does that sound fun to you?”

His voice is borderline primal at this point, shaking with the primitive instinct to mark you as his forever and ever, and to never let you go again. You were completely and utterly his, and he planned on making sure you’d never forget.

You shake your head, but the arousal rushing through your body betrays you. As he drags the knife down your chest, ripping through your shirt inch by inch, you can't help the feeling of how turned on you were.

“Oh, baby.. Looks like I cut your shirt too much, you’re all exposed for me.. How could that be? I'm very, very upset.”

His tone makes it clear that he's being sarcastic. As the remnants of your top fall to the ground, absolutely shredded and torn to pieces from his actions, your skin raises with goosebumps as you're only left in your bra and pants. You look up at him and swallow, knowing better than to reply to him.

“You look so cold. I mean, you might as well not be wearing anything at all at this point. Why don't I just take this off too?”

His tone is taunting as he scrapes the blade against the lacy material of your bra. The both of you can see just how labored your breathing is, meeting the knife halfway in the air with each greedy breath of air you took.

"Spence, please."

Even though your words sound pleading for him to just let you go, you don't tell him to stop. You don't want him to. You rub your thighs together in arousal as he traces the wire of your bra with the knife.

There’s a shameful amount of slick pooling in your panties right now, and you just hoped he’d stop now to spare you from embarrassment when he sees just how much you’ve soaked through your underwear.

Spencer cuts the strap and watches you as it falls to the floor. His eyes never leave you as his hands skillfully make work of stripping your upper half, and your skin runs hot as his gaze doesn’t break, even for a moment. He knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly how to work you.

“God, look at you. This all for me?”

The cocky tone in his voice just spurs you on further, and you shake your head slightly. You had no other choice but to let him do whatever he wanted to you, just the way you liked it.

Once your breasts were left exposed to him, and you were surrounded by shreds of fabric, he backs away from you and drops to his knees. Your eyes follow him, and you subtly press your thighs together in attempt for the littlest bit of friction.

“You know, baby, you're very beautiful. I wouldn't have ever imagined when I met you that I would get someone this beautiful. And not only are you pretty, but you're kind. You're so sweet and caring, and you've helped me through so much.”

Spencer leans forward and presses his cheek into your clothed thigh, taking a deep breath. And as if a shark were to smell fresh blood, his pupils dilated almost immediately upon smelling your arousal and slick through your pants. His mouth parts in a silent moan and a burning hot blush washes over your face at the noise.

“Which is why I love you.. No matter what happens, I will never be able to replace you. I could never replace my dear, sweet girl.”

He takes another deep inhale and you can hear just how much he was filling his lungs with you. His eyes involuntarily roll back into his head and he sighs.

“You smell so fucking good..”

The otherwise forgotten knife lifts in his fist, and he takes the handle between his lips as his now free hands move to unbutton and unzip your pants. You lift your ass a bit to help him pull them off of you, and soon enough the moment you were dreading is face to face with you.

Through the mouthful of the knife, you watch as a cocky smile appears on his face. His eyes flash up to you for a short moment as he pulls your jeans down your calves and discards them. Taking the blade out of his mouth, he licks his lips once before he’s firmly grasping the weapon again.

The sharp tip presses against your hip, just barely above where the dainty straps of your panties laid. Spencer absentmindedly traces your hip bones with the knife.

“You know, maybe I should just keep you here forever.. All spread out for me, have your scent fill the room and make sure no one else gets to see you but me. How’s that sound?”

He gives you those dreaded puppy dog eyes as he desperately waits for your answer. You swallow and shake your head.

“No, baby.”

Spencer’s face falls almost immediately and he drags the knife down the strap, effectively slicing through it without a problem. Your eyes squeeze shut at the abrupt action, and he goes to do the same on the other side of your hip.

��Why?”

Your panties fall off your body with ease, exposing the soaked surface where your drenched cunt sat. You can hear the loud clatter of the blade hitting the ground, and you almost scream in relief.

His cold hands slither up your legs, then spread your thighs open to reveal yourself even more to him. As he parts your legs, the folds of your pussy are coated with slick. Stringy arousal connecting from your cunt and thighs that has him dizzy.

“I’m all you need. I’m all you’ll ever need. You don’t think the same?”

The man leans forward and nudges his nose directly on your clit, making your thighs clench and mouth drop in a soft moan. He breathes in your raw scent and lets out a guttural groan.

He presses a small kiss to your dripping hole before licking his lips and sitting back on his calves. He looks up at you needily, head slightly tilted to the side in confusion.

Your eyes quickly flitter to the discarded knife and you just pray he’ll keep his hands in his lap as they are now. He’s sporting a painful looking bulge. It’s straining against the fabric of his dress pants, begging to be freed and drained.

“Don’t you love me?”

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes wide and waiting. You sigh and extend your leg out so it’s nudging against his erection. His breath hitches at the stimulation, and he can’t help the way his hips hump against you.

“I do love you, baby. But you can’t keep me here forever, you know that.”

Your tone is comforting and warm, trying your best not to upset him now. He doesn’t protest, too engrossed in what little pleasure you’re granting him. He moves his body closer to you once again, your leg still slotted between his thighs as he comes face to face with your cunt.

“Love? Do you think you can let me out of these cuffs?”

Now that he had seemingly calmed down a bit, it was worth a shot to ask. He cranes his neck up a bit to look at you, and looks to the side for a moment as if to contemplate it. With a sigh, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

He’s quick to free you from your binds, hands trembling as he pulls them off of you. His voice is quiet when he decides he wants to speak.

“I’m sorry, mommy..”

You twist your wrists to get the blood flowing back through them, and you shake them out for a quick moment before you reach out to run a hand through his messy hair. You card your fingers through his locks as he looks up at you in apology.

“It’s alright, baby. Just–please listen to me next time, alright?”

The calf he’s nestled upon presses closer to him, and his lips drop in a gentle whimper. Spencer nods and starts to grind himself against you as he leans forward and licks a broad stripe up your cunt.

His hands snake around your thighs to spread them open and hold you down as he begins to licks and suck at your folds and clit. Loud moans soar from you as he tastes everything you have to offer him. He’s letting out small whines, not only from the taste and smell of you, but also from the way he’s getting off by humping at your leg like some pathetic dog.

With each thrust of his hips, he’s rubbing the weeping head of his cock against the rough fabric of his pants that’s stationed right against your leg. He’s already dangerously close, but he wouldn’t stop until he was positive he had drunk up everything you gave him.

His large nose bumps against your sensitive clit, while his long hot tongue slithers into your hole. It scrapes against the insides of your walls, letting you gush on the muscle as it licks over every surface it possibly can.

The hand in his hair twists as your grip tightens, urging him closer to your core, despite being so deep inside of you already. He’s noisily slurping at your sopping cunt, swallowing down each little spurt of slick you offer to him. Incessant moans spill from his mouth, vibrating against your folds as he pushes himself closer and closer over his edge.

“You’re doing such a good job, baby..”

He tries his hardest to hold himself back, but as he relishes in your praise, the push of his hips only speeds up, and the friction is simply too irresistible for him. He lets out a pathetic whimper before his entire body stills for a moment. Shaking his head against your thighs, he whines into your cunt.

“No, no, no.. Fuck–Fuck I-I’m sorry, mommy..”

Spencer’s voice shakes and his eyes involuntarily cross in his skull as his orgasm makes him fill his boxers with his thick warm release. You can feel the warmth of his cum spurting against his garments, and stroke his hair.

“It’s okay baby, It’s okay..”

You try to comfort him in which he just shakes his head. His lower body is twitching unceasingly, and you can feel hot tears spill from his eyes, running down the expanse of your inner thighs.

As he cries into your core, you bite your lip and try to pull him back to comfort him more. But he stays glued to your thighs and cunt as he sniffles and speaks.

“P-Please.. Please let me make it up to you, I’m so sorry.”

You can do nothing but give him a shaky nod, relaxing against the chair as he dives back down and plunges his tongue right back into you. The feeling of him fucking you with his mouth has you keeling over him, hands gripping his thick locks, lifting your ass off the chair to grind against his nose.

His tongue swirls around against your deliciously drenched folds as his lips encompass your pulsing clit. You throw your head back against the top rail of the chair and squeeze your eyes shut. His premature orgasm seemed to only fuel him, wanting to make you cum on his tongue and scream out for him and only him even more than before.

Spencer’s chin is absolutely drenched at this point, you were so wet that it was dripping down his neck and soaking his skin. Through his ministrations to your pussy, you could feel just how desperately he was begging for you to give him what he wanted so badly.

As his tongue pistoned in and out of you like a jackhammer, and with how he relentlessly sucked at your clit, you knew you could only keep your composure for so long. When you look down you almost choke on your moan, he was already staring at you. Wide hazel eyes boring into your figure like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

And you are.

Your gaze never tears from his, your eyes locked in on each other as he shoves you towards your orgasm. Through a broken whimper and slur of praises, you’re bursting in his mouth. Streams of your arousal gush against his tongue, and he’s eager to swallow and drink down everything he can.

Spencer moans and tries his very best to guide you through your release, battling whether or not to gently coax you through your orgasm until you stop shaking, or to greedily suck on your folds until you give him a second helping of your juices.

Thankfully, he doesn’t go for the latter.

Your thighs tremble around where he’s buried between them, and the hand in his hair gripping for dear life slowly loosens as your moans begin to die down. He’s still attached to your clit like a man starved, and after a few minutes of him being latched on, you pull him off of you.

He lets out a small noise of discontentment of being interrupted, and you almost laugh at how positively soaked his face is. His lips glistening and nose shining with your slick, chin almost dripping with your release. Licking over his lips and wiping his mouth, he smiles up at you.

You push the fallen sweat covered hair out of his face as you even out your breathing. And he’s just about on the same boat as you, panting and chest heaving as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“Feel like you’ve proved your point?”

You cradle his jaw in your wavering hands, eyes hooded and mouth dry. Spencer lets out a small huff of a laugh and sighs.

“Not quite yet. Your neck is far too empty for my liking..”

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #sub spencer reid #sub!spencer #sub spencer x reader #sub!spencer reid #soft dom spencer reid #switch spencer reid #switch!spencer #dom!spencer #dom spencer reid x reader

1K notes · View notes

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

fuel to fire

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 8 — The night it finally happens. [“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time now.”] [5.8k]

— Joel Miller x f!Reader — Summary: His brain was cursed by words she read not too long ago, even if it felt like a lifetime already. When you come back to him, Joel's hit with the notion—there was no denying what you were. What you meant to him. — A/n: This is a sequel to imagine being loved by me, but it can be read as a stand-alone. I love my old man and I wanted him to have the end of the book. [shrugs] | 🏷️ Tags: pre-established relationship, roadtrip, sexual tension, making out, some horny thoughts (& promises), a more possessive!Joel than I'm used to; Ellie & Reader bond; pre-smut build up.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | part one ←

ㅤㅤㅤdo you want me on your mind ㅤㅤㅤor do you want me to go on ㅤㅤㅤi might be yours as sure as i can say ㅤㅤㅤbe gone be faraway 🎧

Coincidences were not real.

When the third so-called coincidence happens, saving not only Joel's but also Ellie's life as consequence, he knows something bigger than him is happening.

Of course, his ear is ringing when he realizes that, and he's in shock for the countless moment in his life—frozen and unable to stop the panicking heartbeat rising inside his chest because he almost died, again, and Ellie almost died, again, but something intervened and—

it's you.

Joel's chest expands. It grows what feels like two sizes, and he gasps. Out loud.

The two bandits who only just a minute ago tried robbing him and Ellie are dead on the ground, and yet, all Joel sees is you. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs — his whole chest itches with the despair that the sight of you causes, but what wins is the knot in his throat, the sting in his eyes, the undeniable wave crash of relief over the fact that you're here.

Joel dashes.

He runs to you, his own feet moving before his brain is back to functioning.

Hugging is not something he does.

He's cradled you in his arms before, he has slept in your arms and had you sleeping on his chest, all tangled in his limbs, but hugging is like kissing.

It's intimate. Raw. He avoided it for the longest time, much like he ignores the idea of feeling anything or still being alive.

Still — When his arms wrap around you, they do it tightly.

His scream is kept inside, and Joel only breaks in your shore with how much he feels for the fact that you're here, you're here. He crashes against you, hugs on tight, squeezes, inundating you with his smell of blood and sweat and Joel — he's shaking, but beyond caring. You're here.

If you mind the way he throws himself at you, it's only for a second. There's a moment of delay when Joel's trembling is too much for him to have space to realize how rigid you've turned out of nowhere, and then — it's gone.

The incessant and annoying goddamn ringing from the shots is continuous. His ears register your voice nonetheless.

"I expected a lot more screaming, but... this definitely makes up for the sixteen hours drives."

He feels your arms wrapping sort of weirdly around him.

He recalls there's a gun still in your hand, and that's probably why — Joel knows your finger's off the trigger, and he just wished you'd press your hands on him, gun or no gun. Your hands are stronger than they seem and he's missed them.

Knows you're shaking, too, and not because he feels it, but because he knows you hate fire weapons.

His hands hold onto the back of your head, hips, he grips your arms.

So, not a dream. Or a hallucination.

"You're here," he babbles.

"I'm here," you confirm.

Joel buries his nose in your neck, in your hair, smelling you. He can barely soak up your words and his body is in too much shock to feel the hug that's grounding him, but the more he feels you, the more he's okay.

It's only when Joel hears the sound of his name being screamed that everything slots back into place again with a click.

"Joel!"

Ellie.

He whips around, panic rising again over a new reason.

The wild monologues that start whenever she's around danger go at hundreds of miles per hour. The 'is she okay did she get hit is she hurt are you hurt is everything okay' —

"Are you ok?" he echoes, hands still resting on your shoulders.

Ellie's eyes are on you instead of him.

"Who's this?"

Joel turned his right side to Ellie — the habit of keeping his good ear to you seems to be sewn just as tight as ever in him, and he hears your scoff before your words. "This is so fucking insane."

Ellie looks over to Joel. "Yeah, I'm ok. You know her?" she asks again, all in one breath.

He nods. "I do." His hand squeezes on your shoulder, hyper-aware out of nowhere that he isn't alone anymore on this, and they are still alive. Because of you. He turns to you. "I trust her. This is my —" fuck, he always hated this part. "Uh — we lived together."

"Hi." You offer Ellie your name, plain and simple, then turn your head to Joel. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Ellie's not done with her questions. "If you trust her, why wasn't she with you when you and Tess went to get the battery? Or when you made the deal to take me?"

"Because Tess and I needed her to stay and take care of things 'till we came back," he answers. The implicit 'we never came back' hangs in the air, and Ellie's posture changes.

The only reservations in her shoulders evaporate, and she nods.

That's all she seems to need to accept you — an explanation and the guarantee that you have his trust; Joel's surprised by how fast she is to trust his words. His judge of character, or situations, and not for the first time.

"How did you find us?" Ellie asks, and this time, it's directed at you.

It's Joel who answers, though. "She's one helluva tracker, that's how."

He sees you nodding at Ellie, and wonders if she said something in reply that his ears missed.

Joel's hand touches your face, still in awe. You lean against the touch, but his eyes don't miss it when it happens — the sweep.

"Where's Tess?"

Joel's stomach sinks.

It's been exactly three days since the Hotel incident.

Since Henry and Sam.

Since the taste of mourning, death, tragedy. All of it still lingered in his mouth, clouding his brain, creating tension between him and Ellie. The cycle of life, the fragility of everything and everyone around has made him uncomfortable since the outbreak, and even though all he craved was to offer the girl comfort, Joel was unsure he still knew how to.

Bile still rises high in his throat when you mention her name, and Joel feels for her death.

This time, it's an empathy feel — he feels it for you, and he's surprised when there's a tangible second wave of it; when Joel's eyes find Ellie's, she's looking away from you two.

Grief carries a heavy weight, and it becomes inevitable that it shows in the face.

"Oh," you say.

He doesn't hear it, but he sees your lips forming the word.

Joel hates the world, but he hates how impossible it is that everyone is doomed to living in it. Whether one wants it or not.

Fingers squeeze around his hand, and Joel looks into your eyes waiting for his. "Let's go. You can tell me everything on the way. We're heading to Wyoming, right?"

Ellie's widen at you, and Joel wonders how long it'll take for the hero worship to start.

He had it within two days of meeting you.

"We are," Ellie replies.

"Okay. We should get out of here. Ellie, right?" You let go of Joel to walk in her direction. "You okay, kiddo? Is anything bruised, something we need to look at before we get in the car?"

Ellie's look exchanged with Joel carries an entire conversation, and when she turns back to you, Joel realizes the weight she puts on his words.

"Ah — don't worry about me. I'm kinda — of immune. To the whole thing. It's why the grump over there's risking his neck to take me and everything. So. No need to worry. I'm all good."

You take in her words, look back at Joel in search of confirmation in his features and when you find it, you say it again. "Oh." His approval means things. He realizes that now, right there and then, because of both Ellie and now you.

That's all you need to believe it.

Joel needed a month, denying it to himself over and over until he was blue in the face, Tess was gone, and nothing fucking happened, and all it took was a slight nod from him for you to turn back to her and say,

"Well, immune or not you can still sprain something or get hurt. So — are you hurt? 'Cause we tend to any bruises before we keep going, and we really need to keep going. I'm sure these two idiots weren't alone."

Ellie moves her whole body as if doing a complete scan and nods to you, sharp and more obedient than she usually is with Joel. "I'm okay."

He sees you narrowing your eyes at her. "Ok. I'll believe you know yourself well enough to let us know if you need anything." With a tilt of your neck, you ask. "How old are you?"

"I'm fourteen. How old are you?"

"Oh, way older than fourteen."

"Really?! You look kinda young." Ellie grabs her backpack from the floor and swings it on her back, and you share a look with Joel before answering.

"Ah, I know. Looks can be deceiving, though. I was your age when the outbreak happened," you share.

Ellie gasps. "No way."

"Yes, way." You chuckle. "C'mon, old man. We need to get going. These roads are really dangerous."

It's horrendous how much can happen in such a short span of time.

Joel updates you on everything on the first night you three camp together.

Despite your numerous trips of over ten hours to catch up to them, you're the one behind wheels. It makes it easier to avoid Ellie's first-moment curiosity, to keep up a good path since Joel's eyes can focus on tiny details much better than yours, and you two need to go only a few hours away to know you've built up enough space between anyone who might've seen and wished to follow you guys and the impossibility of being found.

Setting camp mid-woods is easy. The kid — Ellie, fourteen, loud-mouthed, persistent, a volcano waiting to erupt — is good at following instructions, and she's been under Joel's systematic thumb long enough to know a lot without even needing a nudge.

By the time nightfalls arrive, Ellie's eyes are drooping.

You're re-organizing the supplies and only listening to her and Joel's short back-and-forth. It's entertaining, as much as it pokes at your curiosity.

He seems — comfortable.

In his own way.

He answers her, checks up on her, scoffs at her terrible attempts at conversation sometimes.

"Are you gonna finally sleep today?" she asks once her body's tucked inside the sleeping cot.

"She's here," he nudges his chin towards you. "So — yeah."

That means he's been up for some reason. Probably has something to do with the mess you found in their trail. With the tension that's so obvious in the air. That fragile and thin layer of something unsaid — something big and sad that happened and dented the air around them. You'll find out soon enough.

"Good." Ellie gets a little more comfortable inside it. "You're a little annoying without your beauty sleep."

You snort at it — it's too hard not to.

Joel gives you a pointed look, and you still notice the little aura of pride inside Ellie's bag.

It takes an hour before you're finished organizing things to your liking.

The tidying up was a way to placate you. Being in Joel's presence again sent you into disarray, even if you'd been searching for longer than a week already.

When he seems to deem the silence good enough — or maybe it's Ellie's deep quietude and lack of movement — Joel speaks up.

"How long did you drive? And how often?"

You turn to him, securing the trigger on your gun. "Longer than ten hours. A few days."

"The car?"

You roll your eyes. "You really think that gorgeous blue pick-up's the only car Frank's fixed over the past decade?"

Joel only nods. "How bad was it? Our trail?"

At that, you pause. Take a moment to respond, swallowing down the knot of guilt and bitterness you convince yourself is inexistent. "Bad." Just like Joel ignores the idea of feelings and living, you ignore the bile in your throat due to death. Horrors. Things you do or see. "Really bad, Joel."

He sighs and looks down at his lap, slowly. "Fuck," he mutters. "Fucking hell."

"Yeah."

"How worried should I be?"

"Not that worried. Whoever was in charge seems to be gone — the group's a bit of a wreck and whoever sent those few guys to find you will have a lot of other priorities besides a man and a kid they never met, I think."

He takes a while to nod at that, reading between your lines for the first time since the re-encounter.

I took care of it.

No one was coming after him, or the kid. Not now, not ever.

Not as long as you breathed and had a saying in it,

Joel opens his mouth and closes it. He looks away from you to say, "I've been trying my best, but — it's fucking hard."

"Of course it is." And of course this mountain of a man would be blaming himself. "I wouldn't have been able to find you two without it, if I'm being honest, but — there were more people coming after you two than I anticipated. You both and a Sam and Henry?"

Joel's head snaps up, and there it is.

The reason behind that thick and slimy feeling around him and Ellie — the veil of something you were absent to witness but still could smell in the air.

"What happened?" you ask.

Joel looks over at Ellie's sleeping cot, sighing once more. "You wanna know just about them or... can I go from the start?"

"That'd be nice."

"Alright." So he starts from the top. From the day he and Tess left for the batteries and came back with a mission that was supposed to have them only for a few days, but instead, took her away from this Earth and pulled him miles away from the QZ and everything he knew for years.

Joel tells you everything, and while he speaks, all you can think of is how good he looks. How you can breathe now that he's here, and you hold onto that because if you think of the rest, you'll crumble. Like always.

Tess.

No— Joel tells you about their visit to Bill and Frank. You focus on that.

"There was one for me, too," you whisper.

Joel's moved to the same tree you're sitting under, finding comfort by your side. "One what?"

"A letter."

His shoulders stiffen. "Oh. That — makes sense. Frank really liked ya."

"I didn't read yours. Don't worry," you knew him well enough to know he liked his privacy.

Joel snickers. "Nothing in there you wouldn't know. Bill was a grump, they were happy in the end, and he told me I could get anything I wanted from the house to help keep my — mine happy."

"Damn. Being married kinda merges you, huh?"

"What d'you mean?"

"They sound kinda the same. Bill and Frank — or at least, their letters did. Frank told me that amidst all the disarray there's still a chance for luck, I should lean on my gut more 'cause it's always right, and I could get whatever I wanted."

Joel hums. "That's nice."

"Yeah. I, uh—I buried them." You hate how your eyes sting at the memory. You can feel Joel's eyes on you, so you turn to him. "They — from blood to earth. They deserve a full cycle."

The way he stares at you makes you wish you could read minds. Inside, your chest tightens with each detail you take note of him. The cuts and bruises do nothing to deter his beauty away.

Joel has that look of sharp edges and impenetrable walls, but his eyes are his doom — yours can barely look away from them all the time.

They carry everything.

The guilt, the missing, the hopes he wished to bury so many feet under, the uncertainty and fear that no one can escape.

You sit right next to him and listen to all of it, and when he's done, you wished you had the excuse to hug him again.

You wished you felt confident enough in what existed between you two before he left so that you could lean over and kiss him.

Offer him comfort.

All you can offer is, "Thanks." He's told you everything. He's tired. The bags under his eyes are deep. You wished you could run your fingers through his hair until he was fast asleep, like you did a few lucky times. "Get some rest. I'll sleep in the car tomorrow. 'm keeping watch."

Joel's out within two minutes of laying down.

Even though he secured his body on top of his right side, in ten minutes he rotates, turning his body to you.

You keep watch with a smile on your face.

Women are... tricky.

Joel feels a little lost at first, and then it just amplifies.

When he wakes up, he can smell the food you've cooked already. You and Ellie are sitting side by side, talking — he breathes in deep and focuses his ear.

"...remember all that well, but it's not good when you do, too. I remember everything, and what good does it do?" you're saying.

Ellie's eating, slower than most times. "That makes sense. What was your favorite place to eat?"

"KFC. Fuck, I loved those wings so much."

Curiosities about the past she never got to witness. You were a much better source of information than him and he's happy Ellie's asking you. This way, she can get more than a few grumbled answers. He tunes out, and decides he can snooze for a few more minutes.

In the next two days, he's granted by the weirdness of what it's like to be outnumbered:

When you're in the car sleeping, Ellie asks about you.

Her first question, obviously, is: "So — I'm confused. I thought you and Tess were together? But now — I kinda think it's you and her? Oh my god, were you three a thing? Is that something adults do? Is it, like, allowed?"

Joel grips the wheel a little tighter and pushes down the desire to tell her to be quieter, damn it. "She's a light sleeper."

"Gotcha. Keep my voice down." In a lower tone, she repeats herself. "Was she your girlfriend?"

"No." Joel stayed out of the illusion one could have partners in this world.

"So it was you and Tess?"

"Also no."

"Dude, you can't lie on both fronts."

"Why does it matter?" he asks.

Ellie shrugs, shoving her face between both front seats. "It doesn't, not really—"

"Please, sit properly."

"—but like, curiosity might and definitely will kill me if you don't answer," she sits back, at least.

Joel sighs. Looks ahead of the road and remembers the smell of pages mixed with the innate scent of you. "We... were close."

"You and who?"

"First Tess. Didn't really work. But —," Joel points at you. "We did."

Ellie gasps, out loud. Joel has to suppress a stupid grin that wants to come out — he knows she's watching him from the rear mirror.

"You are so grumpy, how the hell did you get with her?"

All he does is shrug his shoulders.

Ellie sits in silence for a few seconds. "Why didn't you kiss her? When you saw her?"

Because I never wanted to do something so badly. I was terrified. I was never terrified before both of you showed me I still have reasons to.

He shrugs his shoulders again, and avoids looking to his side.

The sight of your neck always lured you in — drove him crazy.

Seeing it and missing how it smells is the last thing he needs.

Joel needs focus.

Too bad all he wants is to listen to you read.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ㅤㅤ →ㅤㅤ →

His brain was cursed by words she read not too long ago, even if it felt like a lifetime already. When you come back to him, Joel's hit with the notion—there was no denying what you were.

Girlfriend was such a silly word.

It sticks to his head when Ellie uses it, and he has to look away from your knowing eyes for the next two days to come.

Girlfriend is stupid. Neither you nor Tess were ever his girlfriend.

Tess was a partner. She was a friend, she was like family.

You... you were solace. Peace, and light.

There was no denying what you meant to him.

The words you read to him that never left his head are what he last thinks of before he falls asleep.

"Oh, the dead past that survives in me and that has never been anywhere but in me! The flowers from the garden of the little country house that never existed except in me! The pine grove, orchards and vegetable plots of the farm that was only a dream of mine! My imaginary excursions, my outings in a countryside that never existed!"

There are a few days ahead left of driving before you three can say you're close to your destination, and Joel cracks on a cold night.

After Ellie sleeps and you two clean up the weapons you found on the abandoned warehouse, he turns to you.

"Did you bring The Book of Disquiet?"

Your eyes widen at the question, brows going up in surprise.

"You want me to read to you?"

So she brought it. Joel smiles despite himself. "All I've had these past days were horrible puns. I could use a good readin'."

"You laugh at her horrible puns," you argue, and the smile's growing on your face too.

"So do you," he accuses.

"Yeah," you admit. "She might need to work on her delivery still, but some of them are quite good."

The book comes out from the confines of your backpack, and Joel wished he still saw that glint in your eyes when he was close by.

Flames dance in your eyes when he whispered too close to your ear before — that fire; he misses it like a lost limb. It could heat him better than whiskey, and he hasn't seen it since you arrived.

Still — your voice is good enough for him.

Even if Joel sleeps with the ache in chest; the itch to touch, to feel, to possess. He drifts close enough to feel your body heat, and lets the words brought to life by you to lull him into a deep rest.

The Book of Disquiet ends, and you brought no others.

That means listening to more of Ellie's joke book. Telling Joel the short tales you have engraved in your memory. The jokes always come in a good time — you see in Joel a light coming on again when she draws the line for the first pun, and you imagine it must've been a while since he last heard it; Ellie tells only 'the best ones' as she likes to call, and some of them are actually worth it.

Hearing Joel laugh is a gift.

Nothing's ever just good. The cold arrives and with it comes real, pressing worries for your every day trip that go beyond the people and the clickers and, well, staying alive — things like the road, freezing to death, hypothermia.

Despite having all those things running daily marathons in your mind, most of your thoughts are interrupted with musings about is how fine Joel is. How warm he looks.

How warm you know he is.

The memory's not enough. In dreams, you're consumed by them. Joel licks the nape of your neck in your kitchen, presses you against tables, whispers filthy things in the middle of packed corridors; Joel in your dreams is the man you simultaneously wanted to run away from and make a nest of his lap at the same time.

Now, he's... different.

Ellie brings out in him the parts that you never got to meet.

You want to devour them.

Taste them at the tip of your tongue.

Joel's a father. It should be the furthest thing from hot, it should be anything other than attractive, but it is.

His stern looks at Ellie and the twists and turns in the road the lead him to being in charge, bossing the two of you around — every time you see the ghost of a man who once existed, all the instances where you catch a glimpse of Sarah's dad, you want to jump him.

It's ridiculous.

Two days after he asks you to read again, you crack.

It's nighttime and you've stopped at an abandoned barn to camp for the night. Hide from the cold. Rest, eat the canned food you found, rest.

All you can think about is him.

Your brain is a looping of JoelJoelJoelJoel, and even when you try to tear your eyes away, the magnetism of his presence pull them back.

You're trapped, and it takes only a few slips for him to notice.

Wind is howling outside, and Joel thought he'd be out from the ache in his bones.

Instead, he's trapped.

The camping was set up inside yet another barn, and the only light came from the lamp sitting between him and you. Joel shared his thermos bottle of whiskey and coffee with back and forth, focusing on how the temperature rose in his chest.

He is so focused that when he notices, it's too late.

Your eyes.

Burning with enough flames to light a whole coast on fire — your eyes are trapped in his hands, following each inch of their movement as he fiddled with the coin, or moved the bottle from hand to hand.

You used to do that a lot.

It was the first thing he noticed about your attraction — Joel could deny the flirty remarks and the way he was the only fortunate bastard to get a smile out of you all he wanted, he could bitch about how it was far from his fault that he was the only guy decent enough for you to like among his group of friends back then, but the staring—no.

The staring closed the deal for him.

He caught it when he was playing the guitar, back then.

Now, you just seemed lost in a trance, and so, Joel was trapped.

Once again, like fly caught in a web, he was glued to you.

"Thought they'd lost their effect on you." The words drift with the wind, carrying his low voice.

When your eyes snap up, finding his, he knows you understood. There's another glance where you seem to shiver under your coat, and Joel swallows thickly. Memories flood his eyes, nose, tastebud.

'Like — fuck, your fingers feel so good, Joel, fuck!'

'So thick inside me — ohmygod. Please—yeah, around my neck, like that—'

'I can't shut up you know I can't fuckin' shut up, your dick's fuckin' perfect—gimme your fingers, please.'

"Don't think that's possible," you finally answer.

Joel dares to take another look. You're looking at every inch of him apart from his eyes, and it pains him. Before he left, Joel had his body wrapped around you tighter than your coat is right now, and there's distance between you now that he has no clue where it came from.

He nods. "Sure is." Moving them to look at their back and palm, he shrugs. "They're just — hands."

"They're one of my favorite parts about you, and you know that."

The words do something to him. They sink a hook in deep, deep waters. "There's a list?" He asks. His voice comes out all small and surprised.

You chuckle. "I mean..." you trail off, looking to the distance, then inside to where Ellie's asleep. "It's you. 'Course there is."

His brows furrow.

"There it is." Damn it, he thinks. "The permanent scowl."

Joel forces himself to breathe, relax. The ghost of your fingertip pressing on the part between his eyebrows, smoothing out the skin is what gets him to crack. To step out of the trap and into something more familiar.

He misses you, and pretending he can escape the reality that people start to matter whether he wants to or not is not happening, the same way that pretending he stopped feeling things never stood in the way of him going to your door at late hours of the night in search for your body heat and your mouth to kiss — not for distraction, or comfort, or release, but because he could think of nothing else.

Joel liked to touch you because ever since he did it, doing it again popped into his mind as often as the sun rose in the sky.

He gets up from his wobbly, weak chair, and takes a seat on the hard floor, grunting with the effort.

Fuck his age.

He sighs, and decides to just throw it out there.

He looks up until he finds your eyes, no matter if you'll look into his soul or not. "I'm sorry I've been distant. I can't — " no, not can't, "I don't want to even start thinking about what that one over there's doin' to my head," he points with a finger to the inside of the barn, "and when you arrived it just made it all so — fuckin'," he stops again, grunting with his lack of eloquence. "It's all so much bigger, y'know? With you here, I just—I'm never not scared now."

"Even when you're sleeping?"

Joel laughs, humorless. "When I sleep I either dream of Ellie gettin' shot 'cause I missed that day, or you gettin' bit 'cause you tried savin' one of us, so no, baby. Not even when I'm sleepin'."

"Joel."

"C'mere?" he asks. He pats his knees, and when you follow the gesture, Joel's knocked in his chest by the speed with which you get down from your chair and join him on the floor, straddling his lap in a second.

Everything becomes so much warmer.

Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. Your heels entangle together on his back, and Joel's never been more comfortable. Your weight brings him that — silence, and warm, liquid peace. He rests his head against your chest, feeling you wrap around him just as tight. Hugging him, rubbing your cheeks on his hair, and his face.

You two must look like a stupid sight — squeezing each other and acting almost like animals marking territory, but the permission for intimacy is too inviting. Too earnest, too needed.

It's only when you two sync up your breathing that you calm down.

Joel pulls back to look at your face, but you've buried your face in his neck.

"Baby," he calls.

"Shhh." You kiss his neck, humming in pure delight. Joel feels nothing other than solace. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time now.”

"Have you?"

"Yeah." Your squeeze around his middle says the words are true. "I—I really missed you."

He's unable to say the exact words, but — "Me too." He feels the tickling of your sharp intake of breath, and Joel plants a kiss on the part that he can reach — your temple, cheeks, the corner of your mouth. "'m sorry this is so dangerous."

"Don't be. I'm happy at least I'm here. 's less dangerous with someone else to help."

Only my heart suffers more. "Guess so." Joel's hand squeezes at your sides. "When we get to Wyoming, we can rest there for a few days before we head back to the QZ."

"I'd like that. I need that," you add with a laugh.

"Yeah." Joel cups your face in his hands, thinking all sorts of unholy things. "We can have some privacy there," his voice drops at the idea of it, and so do your eyes to his lips. Joel smiles.

"Yeah?" Your mind is exactly where his is. Joel feels it in the heat rising in your body. "I really miss that."

He gets close enough so that his face is brushing yours; the tip of his nose bumps on yours, then traces your cheeks. "You do, baby?"

"So much."

God, Joel missed the sound of you begging. The last time he was in a community living with you, he was young and stupid. He hated how young you were, how determined you posed and how slick your looks felt. He hated the way he was definitely not the only man interested.

He recalls all the other people who he let talk to you, and his grip around you tightens. "We haven't been back there in a while." Joel licks your earlobe, warranting a whimper. "I ain't gonna let those idiots hit on you anymore, you realize that, right?"

"Why no?" you taunt.

Joel growls deep in his throat, and grinds his pelvis against yours just for the effect — the gasp, and the air leaving your lungs. "Mine." All his. "That's why."

Instead of answering, you crash your lips against his in a starving way.

Joel barely has time to react, but when he comes to himself, responding is even better.

He kisses you for god knows how long.

Until his lips are red, swollen, spit-slick. Until he can feel the heat radiating from between your thighs, feel the slow and subconscious movement of your hips on his. Until you're whining, biting at his lips, opening up for him so good and pliant that it drives him a bit bad.

He kisses until there's no air in his lungs, and then he gets it all back by breathing on your neck, sucking bruises into it and licking them better.

It's only when all the missing is out of both of your systems that the kisses slow down.

They slow, but never stop. Joel makes out with you to make up for what it must be years without a single kiss.

The more he gets intimate with your sounds and the way you can melt and fit against him, the more Joel understands he's addicted, and now nothing will ever get this away from him.

He'd kill for a single kiss of yours.

A look. A smile.

Joel would kill for you, but more than that, and even more dangerous — it seems he's willing to live, too. For you. No matter the odds, or the ways this could go. He lets you cup his face into your hands, pepper kisses all over it, and whisper how happy you are to be here with him, all while thinking:

i'll live for her. i'll do anything, but most of all, i'll live.

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 💖

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back. Just saying hehe.

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cybersunnie · 3 days

Text

18+ / MDNI cock warming; f!reader (wc 992) with PATRICK ZWEIG

There was a story about the tortoise and the hare, and Patrick Zweig was the hare.

Slow and steady wasn't exactly his style.

He was quick and impulsive. Careless and arrogant. Annoyingly—or admirably?—persistent like the suffocating heat on a hot summer day. If you spared one glance at Patrick, you'd think he was nothing but smug. And he was well aware of all of this, too. He just never cared much about what other people thought of him, to begin with.

But Patrick loved a challenge, and he sure liked taking his sweet time with you. Or, more accurately, he enjoyed making you squirm.

He'd have his cock stuffed inside your cunt, and tease you with lingering touches and chaste kisses until you caved in and begged him to fuck you. With Patrick, it was all fire and the wrong kind of love. But sometimes, when he felt a little nicer, he just wanted to be close to you, to become one with you, heartbeats linked and breathing the same breath.

And with how poorly he had been doing in his last few matches, he needed that semblance of human connection he had lost years ago.

The night was young, but Patrick was eager to have you. His hungry kisses left your lips raw, and his mouth traveled south and started to nip at your jaw, his nose digging into your cheek. Everything he did was to distract you. Distract you from the burning sensation you felt as his cock stretched you out.

"There you go, atta girl."

Patrick kept a firm grip on your hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there to soothe your nerves. You always got so flustered whenever you tried to take him. And that was because you felt all of him. The tuft of hair on his pubic bone, the veins on his cock. You'd whine, tell him that it was too much, that he was too big, as if your pussy wasn't made for him.

He liked it, though.

Because in the end, you looked so pretty, sitting on his fat cock.

You heard him groan, low and guttural, and his large hands snaked up to your ribs, stopping just beneath your breasts. His touch was electrifying—everything about him was—and it sent a slight buzz through your body. And the sight of him alone wasn't helping. Patrick's wild hair and deep green eyes and that fucking smirk he never went without. But as much as you wanted to move, you couldn't. He wouldn't allow it. Not yet.

"Fuck, look at you." Patrick slid a hand further up to cup your breast, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding heart. "I could stare at you for hours."

You raised a brow. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be doing."

"No, no," he said softly, his gaze darting over your face while he let his other hand wander, fingers tracing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But it's tempting."

Patrick watched you roll your eyes, and he chuckled, grasping your hips once again and squeezing. He wished he could just keep his cock inside you all night, your cunt keeping it warm and wet and snug. But you were always too fussy to stay still for long. He supposed that was his fault—he did like spoiling you, after all.

"I have an idea."

Ideas and Patrick Zweig didn't mix well. You learned that early on when you first met him. And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the playful mischief within, you knew you were in for a treat whether you liked it or not.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue, so he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear and voice velvety, "We should do this in front of a mirror next time."

Or maybe ideas and Patrick Zweig did mix well.

Your mind started to reel, imagination running wild. But Patrick painted the picture for you like it was something he had been thinking about for a while.

"You'd have no choice but to look at yourself—to look at just how fucking pretty you are when you're like this," Patrick whispered, his voice beginning to get lost in the heat and longing. "I'd keep your legs spread nice and wide so that you can see how my dick looks stuffed inside your sweet pussy." You squirmed, but his grip tightened around your hips. A silent warning to stay still. "Maybe you'd finally understand why I do this to you every time."

He pulled away from your ear, a hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek, his touch soft despite his calloused palm. All you could do was stare at him with a tight chest. "I care about you, you know," he laughed as if to hide the sincerity behind his words. "I'm not just trying to get a quick fuck. I wanna take my time, stay close to you longer."

For once, his name tasted sweet on your tongue. "Patrick."

It was a prayer disguised as a whisper, a plea for his words to be true. And he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he uttered your name back. If this was the wrong kind of love, why did it feel so right? Why did he feel so right?

You tried to swallow down your pride. "Please."

"Please, what?" Patrick asked, but he knew what you wanted. He was connected to you. Your thoughts were his, too. "C'mon, use your words, baby."

But you couldn't bring yourself to say more, to accept defeat. You pulled your lips taut.

"No? Nothing?" He tilted his head, and his signature smirk was back. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."

And while Patrick was much like the hare, he knew he needed to take it slow and steady when it came to you. You would surrender to him sooner or later. You always did.

author's note: i have very mixed feelings abt this 😄 ANYWHO i will gladly give patrick everything he needs which is a shower and a bed

UNEDITED — 05.14.2024

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #challengers #challengers smut #josh o'connor #✶ — sunnie writes challengers!#✶ — patrick zweig

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

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Am obsessed with the double trouble au with 2 readers and 2 königs <3 <3 It got me thinking, how do you think younger reader would interact with recruit könig? I feel like she'd honestly be terrified of him at first; he'd seem borderline psychotic (because he's practically drooling over her, always lingering around her and she might not be used to that kind of attention) but she might grow into liking him more once she discovers that she's into his annoying (maybe cocky?) antics.

CW: dubcon groping, dubcon kissing, dubcon everything

Hell yes she’s terrified.

This guy stalks her on social media, gropes her thigh under the table when they're out to eat, tries to move himself on top of her in the car when he leans to kiss her good night. Tells her the sweetest things before plunging his tongue in her mouth, one time he even flattens the passenger seat from under her so that she’s basically trapped.

Luckily he stops when she puts her hands over his chest and pushes him away: the drooly makeout session was getting out of hand, she sort of likes this crazy guy but she doesn’t want their first time to be in a car. Even if the said car is a nice black Hummer :(

He laughs when she escapes the vehicle – his little heartthrob is playing hard to get and it only makes König spiral further in love. He has an odd way of showing it though: sends her breathy voice messages in the middle of the night, so creepy, and one time she even hears a soft, slick sound in the background – is he fapping over there??

Young recruit König could be mistaken for a sadist but he really is just trying to make reader feel appreciated. Like… 24/7 appreciated… Fucked raw appreciated… Crying tears from overstimulation appreciated…

To König, love is not love if your partner isn’t shaking all over after you’re done with them and so the sex is bound to be a bit intimidating too, especially if reader is not that experienced. Poor young thing will be in constant fight or flight mode with him, and because König does the fighting, what else is left for her but to run? He always catches her though, and it takes months before she understands he’s not going to actually *hurt* her. Besides, König only enjoys her tears if they’re born from multiple orgasms.

If she’s crying because she’s scared, recruit König will become confused and oddly caring. So caring that she has to fawn or fake dead next because even this young man’s attempts to be nurturing feel like suffocation…

He asks, what’s wrong, did he hurt you, Liebe? There’s no need to be scared, little mitten. Shit, was he playing too rough…? Ah, you poor thing. Here, let him kiss it better…

…And before you know it, you’re squirming again, trying to get away from his mouth because there’s too much stimulation. König won’t let you go, hell no, you sound too cute when you’re squirming. Are you even trying to wriggle away or against him?

Then there comes the beautiful day when König is so tired from work he can’t even bother to chase her around the house and she’s like...

Do you even love me anymore?!

#wonder what colonel König and our other reader are doing in the meantime #just mowing the lawn outside? tending the garden and letting kids play? lol #maybe they don’t live in a commune but still! it would be fun <3 #double trouble au #I have to confess some of young recruit bled into stalker!König #they’re both such feral dogs ^^

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st4rbwrry · 1 year

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mocha ima need those audios u think eren sounds like 👀🤭

ALL MINE ☆ eren yeager.

☆. warnings: fem!reader, nsfw audios + vids, black coded, lowercase intended, headcannons, degradation, praise, dirty talk, impact play, pet names, p in v, minors aren’t welcomed!

☆. mocha’s note: babyyyy do i have some audios for you. i’ve been wanting to do this for a while. jus thinkin’ about how he sounds makes me dizzy. so here’s some different scenarios to go with them! some of them are pxrn vids too! <3 also any audio where he says ‘mommy’ replace that shit with mamas or even mami fuck it lmao.

there’s different ranges to how i think eren sounds. three, in fact. firstly, there’s his dominant, demanding range where he keeps you in whatever positions he’s feeling like at the moment, never allowing you do what you want because only things he allows are better. pining you down by your neck with his big hand in missionary while he strokes his dick to pound into your tight pussy, trying his best not to whine or bottom out. praising you in your ear as he lays all of his weight on your back, holding you close to him while grinding into you, telling you that ‘pussy too good to me, mamas.’ with a growl in his deep voice.

or when he’s giving you backshots but he’s holding you off the bed by pulling your arms back and your head is hanging low. he’s hissing, grunting, his eyes will roll back and he’ll toss his head to the side to watch how your pussy creams all over his dick with disbelief, becoming even more aroused than he was before. he doesn’t understand how you make that possible. eyes squinting with strands of his hair sticking to his dampened forehead, bun loosening from your frantic tugs. the clash of his hips to your ass becomes sloppier, harder at that. and it’s too much for you to take, whining and trying your best to squirm away, only to have him tsk and release one of your arms just so he can spank your pretty ass. ‘nah, you know better. don’t run away from me. be a good girl.’

secondly, his whiny, needy range. when your dropping your ass down crouched above him to ride his dick, he loses it completely. eren can never help but mold the flesh of your ass in his wide palms and drag you down with more force. whimpering underneath you the faster or even slower you fuck him. either rhythm has the man writhing and choking on his moans. pretty brown hair long around his face as his emerald eyes fixate on your face watching his. his eyebrows are frowning, his pouty bubblegum lips are separated as he gasps and tells you to ‘mm, shit. fuckin’ me s’good baby.’ then when you drop your body entirely on him from tiredness, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face there, he takes the initiative and lifts his hips to desperately fuck up into you. your cunt milks him for everything’s he’s got, and the feeling is so damn good he can’t help but tell you he loves you. tell you that ‘you’re all mine. this pussy mine. your heart is mine. say that shit to me, baby.’

and last but not least, his i don’t give a fuck range. when he’s too horny to talk, to care, if he’s mad, upset, or high, y’all just got into an argument or you made him jealous and he just really needs to feel a a sense of relief? oh, best believe he’s beating that shit raw. off the bone. what brent say? you come over here i’ll knock yo pussy out the damn frame? yeah. cause that’s how eren fucks you. rough, aggressive, choking you so you can’t do a thing but moan and claw at his stomach as he folds your knees to your ears and fucks you deep. his eyes are darker, that gorgeous shade of green no longer there. his chain is swinging in your face as he grunts in the air. his touch on your skin is sweltering, your inner thighs burning from how long he’s had you this way. he’d put his thumb in your mouth and make you suck on it while you cry about how good it hurts. or he slap his hand over your mouth and curse in your face while his eyes scroll back.

your poor little cunt is sore and puffy from the nonstop abuse. and it’s crazy how hard he fucks you because even if he’s treating you like a slut, he’s telling you a mixture of opposites. he’s the type to be like ‘such a pretty fuckin’ slut takin’ my dick like this. bet nobody else can fuck you this good, huh? n you better not fuckin’ let ‘em. i’ll kill him. swear to god i will, jus’ for you princess.’ and he’s constantly rambling because when you make him feel this fucking good he can’t SHUT. UP. he gets really cocky too, starts mocking you, will definitely degrade and praise at the same time. ‘look pretty as shit, mamas. don’t you? i’m sorry baby, daddy can’t help it. gotta fuck you like this real good. awe, it’s too much? yeah? you can take it, though. keep taking it. fuck my dick back. swallow that shit mhm. make it wetter.’ NSNSNSNSNDNDNNSNS AHHHHHHHH he’s such a shit talker bro. and he’ll laugh in your face, spit in your mouth, kiss you so sensually it don’t make senseeeee. gives immense aftercare. i love himmmm my man my man. <3

#☆. hellavile.#eren x black y/n #eren smut #eren x fem!reader #eren x you #eren x black reader smut #snk smut #snk eren #eren yeager x black reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x you #☆. eren

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kcrossvine-art · 9 months

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Heya folks! Its been a bit, food insecurity is a bitch, but today on the quest of cooking our way through Lord of the Rings we're gonna be making a dish exclusively mentioned in the 2007 MMO-

We will be making a Rohan Pasty!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Rohans Pasty?” YOU MIGHT ASKBasics. Meat n potatoes of your meat-in-dough food. .

All-purpose flour

Salt

Baking powder

Vegetable oil

Olive oil

Ground beef

Garlic salt

Ground cumin

Chili powder

Dried oregano

Waxy potato

Garlic

White onion

Egg

"A delicious local pastry filled with beef and potatoes."- LOTRO Rohan is a kingdom of humans in middle-earth, and the description point towards a cornish pasty (yes, pasty not pastry). Oddly enough the image is more of an empanada but you win some you lose some. This heritage informs much of the shape and ingredients of this dish, however we're opting to cook most of the ingredients before adding them in, contrary to going in raw as a cornish pasty calls for. I chose to deviate here because cooking beforehand allows more seasoning to be crammed in. The english hate seasoning.

AND, “what does a Rohans Pasty taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Tastes like the best pot pie youve had, less soggy

Excellent for an after-rugby/martial arts/soccer dinner

The potatoes are foundational

Despite needing the least work

Pasta salad (cucumber, olives, pepperocini) would pair well as a side

And would also pair well with beer

This meal bears the gold star sticker of not having any major issues! Hooray! Maybe its increased comfortability in the kitchen, or maybe its because of how very simple this one is. Chopped roasted bell pepper might be good in the filling in the future.

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Get the dough ready ahead of time- its mentioned in the recipe below but i also wanted to say a foreword here that it needs to sit in the fridge for a few hours. Just so ya dont get everything out and realise itd take too long for dinner tonight. Speaking of dough, i feel like it could have more flavor added to it. Its bland and although its not part of the tradition of the meal its based off of, cornish meat pasty, it might be nice to add some spices like cumin or black pepper to the flour.

The meal reheats perfect- wrap in papertowl and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds per pasty.

When picking your potatoes make sure theyre "new" potatoes (baby ones) or whichever potato with the least amount of starch you can get. Its important for it to cook inside the pasty that it not have too much lest it get Mushy Bad.

Another thing about its real-life inspo; Cornish pastys were workers food, stuff you could carry into the mines, stuff thatd reheat well. You could hold the crust with your dirty hands and throw it away once you ate the rest. I always feel partial to these foods. Although I'd still eat the dirty crust.

This recipe earns a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Dough Ingredients:

370g all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

74g vegetable oil

240g warm water

Filling Ingredients:

2 tablespoons(ish) olive oil

1 pound ground beef

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Garlic salt to taste

Ground cumin to taste

Chili powder to taste

Dried oregano to taste

5 cloves garlic, minced

1 white onion, diced

Method:

Combine flour, salt and baking powder.

Add oil and water into mixer with dough hook running at medium speed. Mix for 1 minute, stopping several times to scrape the sides of the bowl.

When mixture comes together and begins to form a ball, decrease mixing speed to low. Continue to mix just until dough is smooth.

Take the dough ball, safely wrap it, and transfer to fridge. Let sit for at minimum 2 hours.

For the meat, get a large skillet, and add some olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and garlic salt, cook until the beef is cooked completely.

Drain the beef and set aside.

In the same pan, add the garlic, onions, cumin, chili powder, oregano, and salt.

Cook until the onions are softened but not brown, 10 to 15 minutes. Re-add the beef and cook over low heat for about 5 more minutes.

Back to the dough, transfer dough from fridge to well-floured work surface. Roll into log and divide into 10 equal portions.

Preheat oven to 350f.

Form each piece into a ball and flatten each with a rolling pin.

Add a layer of diced potatos down the middle of the pastys. Add the meat filling to each. Fold the sides of the dough up to seal on top in the middle.

Gently turn the pasty on its side and crimp the edge, alternating a braid pattern. Use knife to cut an "X" shaped slit in the top. Repeat for each pasty.

Place the pastys on a greased baking sheet. Lightly coat each pasty with an eggwash using a basting brush.

Cook for about 50 minutes, or until golden brown, and let cool!

#cross cooks lotr #lotro #the hobbit #lord of the rings #food recipe

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the-modern-typewriter · 7 months

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Hello, love your work so much!! Could you do one where the antagonist has betrayed the protagonist (their lover) and their friends but instead of handing protag off to whoever like the friends, they’ve been allowed to keep them to do whatever because they’re very very off the rails obsessed with them and very possessive of them too? Sorry if it’s specific and thank you!! Have a lovely day :)

"You can't be angry with me forever, love," the antagonist said, from the doorway. "Would you rather have been taken away with them?"

The protagonist said nothing. They seethed with everything they wanted to scream, with the accusations ready to be hurled like missiles to end the world. Too much.

"I told you I'd protect you," the antagonist continued. "That I'd always protect you."

"This is protection?" It spat out before the protagonist could stop it. They gave the chain around their ankle a rough shake.

"From yourself."

The protagonist barked a bitter laugh. They clamped their jaw shut again.

"From the world," the antagonist continued. They moved further into the room. "There are many people out there who would hurt you, take you away from me."

"Seems like a blessing to be taken away from you!"

"You don't mean that."

"Oh, I do. Come closer and I'll show you just how sincere I am."

The antagonist stopped just out of arm's reach.

It reminded the protagonist of the handover. Their friends bundled bound and thrashing into the backs of vans, still reeling from the anti-magic pulse and the betrayal of it all, until the protagonist was the only one left.

The governor had turned towards them, had started to move forward with all of his goons, before he'd seen the look on the antagonist's face and the way their body wrapped around the protagonist. Gravital orbit. A warped black hole of a love.

"Try," the antagonist had said, almost pleasantly. Almost.

The governor had not tried.

The governor had flinched.

"I understand that you feel betrayed now, you loved your friends," the antagonist pressed. "You're good like that. But you'll come to see that separation from them was for the best."

The protagonist squeezed their eyes shut and wished they could block the poisonous words so easily.

How could they have been so wrong about their lover?

"They were a bad influence," the antagonist said.

"You mean they weren't you."

The antagonist paused.

When the protagonist looked at them again, the antagonist's head had tilted, curiously. They didn't seem offended.

Bile burned in the protagonist's throat at the truth of it. "They're not a bad influence, they never were, you just don't want me to have anyone who isn't you. I was getting too into the resistance. Too into something that wasn't you. You, you, you!"

A mask had fallen away from the antagonist's face. They'd always been attentive, but the betrayal had stripped the lies of normality away. There was only obsession left in their eyes. Raw and burning. A supernova of love, taking out everything in its path.

The protagonist swallowed and faltered. For the first time, fear crept past the fury, cold and slithering.

"And now," the antagonist closed the gap between them, "I'm all you have." They captured the protagonist's face in their hands, anticipating the protagonist's attempt to lunge in one devastating move. They leaned down, looming, to press a claiming kiss to the protagonist's mouth. "I win."

It was like being winded. Like being stabbed. Like being run through entirely. The protagonist made a soft, pained sound.

The antagonist smiled, thumb caressing their cheek. "Love hurts."

"I don't love you. I will never love you after what you did."

"You will."

"If you truly loved me, you wouldn't do this. If you truly loved me-"

"-I said you can't be angry," the antagonist said, after a beat, "but honestly I don't really mind. It just felt like something I should say." Their whole posture relaxed, alarmingly away from whatever front of concern and regret they had been putting up. "Your anger is mine too. So is your hate. So is everything you are. It's interesting seeing this side of you."

The protagonist stared up at them.

"That is true love," the antagonist said. "I love everything about you. I will take it all for my own. To have, to hold and cherish, until death do us part."

"You're crazy," the protagonist whispered.

"Crazy in love."

The antagonist leaned down and kissed them again soundly.

They really wished they'd been handed over with their friends.

#hero x villain #antagonist x protagonist #writing #toxic relationships #story #ficlet #antagonist #protagonist #villainous characters #villain #obsessive love

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ghouljams · 9 months

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Alright!! Here's the end of the first act of the Medieval AU, in which I hit poor reader with a stick multiple times and Knight!Ghost makes it better.

TW: this handles some stuff around sexual assault/sexual trauma, virginity politics, and period typical misogyny

You’ve always thought of sex as something that will be forced on you. Dreading your marriage night has become the norm for you. Even before Ghost came into your life. Though after his entrance it came to mean so much more than just an unpleasant night. It’s losing Ghost, losing the spare hope that somehow you could be his. Because you think if it was with him it might be nice. The way he touches you, the way he takes care of you, he’s kind, terribly so. He’s good to you, he’d be good to you.

Ghost presses his lips against yours, gentle pressure you instantly crave more of. He turns your head to kiss your cheek, your jaw, to press his nose against your pulse and breathe you in. His fingers in your hair direct you as he likes, and you’re more than willing to let him. Your eyes are heavy, everything wonderfully soft and ever so slightly out of focus. You run your hands over his bare shoulders, feel the firm muscle, trail them up to feel his jaw as he kisses your neck.

“You’re beautiful,” He whispers to you, his voice low in your ear. Your stomach clenches, your skin prickling with heat. Ghost’s hands are so gentle with you, exploratory as they run down your sides and up your stomach. His lips follow them over your chest, making you squirm and press into his touch.

“My lady,” He presses his words into your skin. His, you think, just his for as long as he’ll have you. No one matters like him, no one holds you like him, keeps you like him. You want him to keep you. You want to be his, greedily, you want him to be yours too. It’s not a quality you’re supposed to have. You aren’t supposed to want like this.

You aren’t supposed to dig your fingers into his shoulders, not supposed to let your legs fall open when he nudges his knee between them. “Just like that Princess,” He tells you, his voice raspy in a way that makes heat bloom over your cheeks, “spread your legs so everyone can see what a selfish little whore you are.”

Your head is jerked to look at the crowd of shadows gathered around you, their eyes so wide and watchful you don’t know how you didn’t feel them raking over your exposed skin before. You feel panic well in your chest, grabbing the sheets quickly to try and cover yourself. You scramble away from Ghost and he lets you, hardly bothered by your rapid breaths or the tears quickly gathering in your eyes.

“They already think you’re ruined,” He doesn’t sound like Ghost, voice cruel and taunting, “All because you value a knight over the only thing you’re good for.” His eyes aren’t Ghost’s, the shifting and changing shape and color, his face flickering through your previous suitors. “He won’t want you anyway once you’re sold, he doesn’t even want you now,” His hand grabs your cheeks between rough fingers and you push at his face- their many faces- you don’t like this, you don’t like this, you don’t- “Are you really so stupid as to think he’d protect you from your husband. This is your duty princess, and his is not to interfere.” Their hands push between your legs.

Your sobs shake you awake, heaving, trembling things. You scorn propriety and wail. Let the whole castle hear you, you don’t care. You’re a horrible princess, a terrible, selfish, greedy thing that hardly deserves the title. You know all of this, and yet you still sob because you want Ghost. You want your knight, you want the man that’s slowly leading you to ruin. The man that’s planted an altar of thorns around your heart and laid his kindness upon it like a lamb to slaughter. You want him to hold you and tell you it was all lies. That he wants you like you want him.

You sob, feel the fat tears roll down your cheeks and fall on your blankets. You sob, feel it scratch your throat raw, your chest barely expanding enough to compensate for the despair that rattles out of you. One of your nightly guards comes into the room to check on you and you scream at him. Force the sound out of you like a banshee until it rips your vocal cords. You hope it shreds them.

What a picture you’d make then.

What a picture you must make now.

The guard leaves in a hurry, apparently having deemed you safe from external threats, but mad enough not to stick around. It feels good to scream. You do it again, and again, curling in on yourself as you clutch your pain to your chest. The world can fall away like this, leave you to your self infliction. Who cares. It’s all bullshit anyway.

"How long has she been like this?" The voice is furious, unfamiliar. You’ve never heard anyone that mad in your life. You can barely hear the reply over your hiccuping sobs. You don’t want people in your room, you don’t want them to see you like this. Not when you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. Some part of you is still clinging to decorum even now. How well trained you are.

“Get out!” You shout, reach behind you to grab a pillow to throw blindly at the intruder.

Big warm hands grab you and pull you from your misery, wild brown eyes dart over you searching for injury. Ghost pushes your hair from your face, and you scream at him the same as you screamed at your night guard.

He’s not wearing his mask, in the back of your mind you wonder if he came here like that. He pulls you against his chest, presses your face to his shoulder to stifle your screaming. His frame curls over you, shielding you from the world you were trying to drown out. You can feel the rapid expanding and contracting of his chest, his breath quick, as he drops his head to your shoulder. You wonder if he ran here.

“I’m sorry I was late,” He tells you, and you fall apart again.

The way you shake and curl up in his arms, guarding yourself against whatever hurts you, breaks his heart. His poor love. Ghost wraps his arm more tightly around your shoulders, holds the back of your head as he turns to kiss your temple. “You’re alright,” He whispers, “I have you, you’re safe.” Your sobs feel like a full body effort. Each one wracks your chest and forces the air from your lungs. He can feel your tears soaking through his shirt. God, you- you’re safe. You’re safe.

He repeats it to himself, presses his lips to your cheek, your shoulder, keeps you held as tightly as he dares. He’d seen the maids running from your room for the court physician, and assumed the worst. Assumed you’d been screaming due to some grave injury, that he’d find you bloody, and- But these were just tears, anyone should have been able to help you through your tears. How long had you been screaming alone? How long had you been left to deal with your pain while others whispered about sedation?

Ghost feels his anger bubbling again, feels the hot licks of fury against his ribs as your sobs settle into gentle hiccups. You don’t need his anger right now, but it will come. Later. Now he does his best to keep his voice from shaking, to keep it gentle for you.

“Tell me what happened.” So that he can take his revenge on whatever hurt you.

Your breath shudders. “You let them touch me,” you sob, your hands desperate where they hold onto his shirt. Ghost’s heart stops, he feels his grip on you tighten more than wills it.

“Never,” He growls, forcing himself to look at the remaining staff in your room, “No one is coming near you.” It’s a threat, he means it as a threat. He’s never felt more dangerous than he does in this moment. Never felt more sure of his own deadly precision. At least your court lady is smart enough to usher the rest of the nervous onlookers out of the room. “Who touched you?” He watches the door shut tight, tries to keep the anger out of his voice. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to touch what was his?

“I-” You hesitate as Ghost slides his thumb against your tear stained cheek, “I want to be selfish.” Your poor hoarse voice, he’s almost willing to let you change the subject when you sound like that. Screamed yourself raw, and they all let you.

“Who touched you princess?” He asks again.

“No one,” Your voice raises and breaks without your willing it to.

“No one,” Ghost repeats, feeling his shoulders drop with relief.

“What would you do if they did?” You ask him, and he knows exactly what he’d do, “Nothing.” Ghost stills. “You’ll throw me to my wedding night the same as the rest. Give me up as is your duty and ask me to forget every time you’ve touched me. How can you ask me to forget that, when every time I touch you I ache for the next time you’ll let me close? How can you hold me like this before you throw me to the wolves?”

Blood rushes in Ghost’s ears, his breaths short as he listens to you swallow your heart. No. He’s not so noble as to give you up like that. He imagines it, how chivalrous he’ll be letting you go. But he knows. He’s not a noble man, not kind, not half as honorable as he pretends to be. He can’t leave you in anyone else’s hands. No one else can have you, no one deserves you. Not when they’ll let you scream yourself hoarse. Not when their first thought is to sedate you in your grief. No. He knows.

He’d kill your husband before he ever reached your wedding bed.

He tips your head back and kisses you. You all but melt against him, your soft lips wet with your tears, sweet and salty. And warm. You’re so warm. How could he ever delude himself into thinking he could give you up? You’re right. You slide your lips against his with a sigh, and all he can do is ache for the next gentle kiss you give him.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #knight!ghost #princess!reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #medieval au #when you only hear about how awful sex is and how it's your duty to give it up #you tend to develop some complicated feelings about it #I was explaining this whole chapter to my therapist and she was like #woah and people like when you write this?#no but it's cathartic for me so I'm writing it anyway

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