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roosterforme · 3 days

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Aim for the Sky Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Somehow the timing was just right, and Bradley's arrival meant he could join you for your appointment. He'd find out if he was having a son or daughter in person, with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget he loved so much.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Bradley," you gasped, head tipped back against the pillar that was pressing into your shoulder. "Your duffle is here. I can see it." Actually, it was just going around and around on the conveyor belt while Bradley sucked gently on your neck and slowly bunched the fabric of your dress in his hand over your bump. And just like that, once again, your focus drifted away from the bag as soon as he spoke.

"I'll get it in a minute," he murmured next to your ear. "I'm a little busy."

You were getting side eye from a woman, and a random man was outright gawking at you, but you didn't really care. The airport was busy, but it wasn't enough to make you pull your fingers from Bradley's soft hair or tell him to stop kissing his way back to your lips. His bristly mustache made you sigh when he reached his destination once again, and you let him taste your tongue before you pulled away slightly.

"Roo. We're kind of on a tight schedule." When he just grunted in response and headed for your lips again, you laughed. "Daddy! Let's go see the Nugget."

He seemed to snap out of it a little bit, the desire in his eyes giving way to excitement. "Right. Let's go. I can taste you everywhere at home later."

When he took you by the hand, you had to dig your heels in. "We need your bag!" you said with a smile. Then he led you in the opposite direction and snatched his massive duffle up like it was nothing and tossed it over his shoulder. You had to hustle along next to him as he exited the airport through the sliding doors and headed for the parking garage. It was like he knew you parked near the spot where he totaled your beloved little Honda when he finally got you pregnant on his birthday. You felt your cheeks grow warm as you recalled the details.

He must have seen his blue Bronco in the last row, because he picked up his pace a little bit more. "I don't think we have time for reunion sex yet," he muttered, glancing at you and letting his gaze dip down your body. "But I'll take care of you later. You got along okay without me?"

You let out a little squeak as he tossed his bag in the back and headed for the passenger side door so he could unlock it for you. "Honestly? I haven't been as insatiable since the first trimester ended," you told him, leaning closer to inhale the scent of his deodorant. "At least... I wasn't until right now."

He pulled you close again and tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Listen, I'm a little keyed up, and I don't think I can be quick. Can you wait until later?"

"Oh, God," you whined, your skin tingling at the thought of how long he might last for you and how good he would feel. "This is just as exciting as when I felt the baby moving on Halloween."

His brown eyes went wide, and his lips parted in surprise. "You felt the Nugget?!" When you nodded, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

You just gaped at him. "Seriously? You had your mouth all over mine! How was I supposed to tell you anything?"

"Shit," he hissed and handed you the keys before his hands settled on your belly, drifting around, trying to feel something. "You drive," he said, slowly guiding you to the other side of the Bronco. "I need to work on feeling a kick."

As he buckled you in behind the wheel, you didn't have the heart to tell him that the baby wasn't even moving around much right now, or that it would probably be weeks before he'd be able to feel anything externally. He was too adorable when he was this excited, and you watched him run around the hood and jump inside like an overgrown golden retriever who had been offered a treat. His eyes were wide as he got himself buckled before placing both hands on your belly.

"Okay. I'm ready to go," he informed you with a nod.

"You sure?" you asked, smirking as you put the key in the ignition. "A minute ago, you looked like you were ready to have parking garage sex again, and now you're all over me and the Nugget."

You shifted into gear, and he whispered, "I'm ready, Baby Girl. I'm so fucking ready to learn what we're having, and if I feel a little kick on the way, it'll be like a cherry on top of the best day."

You paid the parking fee and pulled out onto the main road as you realized you only had about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Morris's office on time. "Don't get your hopes up," you said while Bradley felt you all over. "You probably won't be able to feel anything. It's still early for that."

"Hey, not to be rude, Sweetheart, but I'm actually going to need you to stop talking."

"What?" you asked, so startled you laughed a little bit. "Did you just ask me to be quiet?"

He kissed your cheek while you drove and whispered, "It's just that I can't tell if it's the vibrations from your voice or the baby moving. Please? I love you." Now you were laughing even harder as his big hands moved all around on you. "No, no, that's- see you're actually moving more when you laugh though." He kissed your cheek again as you rolled your eyes and smothered your laughter. "That's better."

When you pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex, your husband's fingers were stroking your belly gently, and when you parked again and looked at him, you saw a few tears in his eyes. "You okay?" you asked softly.

"Yeah. I'm good. Like really fucking good."

--------------------------

Bradley was forever wondering when his luck would run out. His life just seemed too good to be true. He was holding hands with his hot, pregnant wife in the waiting room, just buzzing with excitement. In a few short minutes, he was going to find out if he was having a son or a daughter. He wondered if this was how his dad felt in 1984. He wondered if Nick Bradshaw ever wanted to randomly get on his knees for his wife for no reason.

"They called us," you whispered, kissing his cheek before you stood up. Bradley jumped to his feet as well, so deep in thought, he hadn't heard anything. He'd never admit it to you, but this was probably more exciting than the day the two of you got married.

He pressed his sweaty palm to yours and walked past the reception desk at your side. Three short hallways later, and a nurse led you into a large, dimly lit room with huge computer monitors on one wall. "I'm so fucking excited, I might pass out," he said, voice deep and raspy.

The nurse eyed him cautiously. "Perhaps you should have a seat while Dr. Morris performs the scan?"

He nodded, intercepting the cotton gown before you could take it from her. "That's a great idea. I'll do that."

Once she was gone, Bradley turned to you and started unfolding the gown while you stepped out of your boat shoes. "Are you really going to pass out?" you asked him as you started to pull your sinfully snug dress up your legs.

"Let me do that," he grunted, kneeling on the floor and pushing the fabric up and over your belly. He kissed your tattoo through your underwear, and then he kissed the spot next to your belly button where he always imagined the Nugget was hanging out. "I love you," he whispered before getting to his feet again and pulling the dress up and over your head. You weren't wearing a bra, and your breasts looked so fucking incredible, he wanted them in his mouth.

"You're staring at me," you said, reaching for the gown as you shifted back and forth in place like you were getting cold. "I know I look different. I gained like eight or nine pounds while you were gone once I stopped throwing up all the time."

Bradley let you take the gown from his hands. "Jesus Christ, maybe I really should sit down," he muttered, dragging a chair over next to the table where you'd be sitting in a moment. "And I was just staring at your tits, Baby Girl. You don't look different, you look fucking hot pregnant. God, this is more exciting than when you let me fuck you in the ass."

And that was the exact moment when Dr. Morris entered the room and cleared her throat. "Lieutenant Bradshaw," she said, reaching out to shake his hand as he hovered awkwardly over the chair before standing up again. "It's so nice to have you back with us." You were cradling your head in your hand in embarrassment as he shook hands with your obstetrician.

"Dr. Morris," he murmured. "I only missed the last appointments, because I was deployed. There's nothing else that could have kept me away, I swear."

She laughed and looked between the two of you and said, "Well, we do like a supportive and adventurous partner."

"Roo," you groaned softly as you started to climb up on the table. Bradley turned to help you, and you let him.

"She's a doctor, Sweetheart," he whispered. "She's heard it all."

"That's true," Dr. Morris said as she washed her hands, and you gave Bradley a bland look as you settled back on the table which was bent at an angle that would let you see the monitors. He was so excited, he just kissed your forehead a bunch of times while Dr. Morris asked, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes!" he practically shouted while you responded in a much calmer tone. He eased himself down into the chair and looked up at you as he reached for your hand.

"This is it," you told him with a nervous smile. "Any final guesses?"

He shook his head, his attention drawn to the monitors as they came to life. "I don't care one way or the other. I just want to know everything I can about the Nugget."

Then he took your hand in both of his bigger ones and brought your fingers up to his lips as you said, "Me, too."

Bradley's heart skipped around as Dr. Morris spread the warm gel on your belly, and he had to press his lips together to keep quiet. He'd imagined himself holding a son, and he'd imagined himself holding a daughter. He had thought about names he liked for both. He considered what wild colors he might one day paint the bedroom walls, and he looked forward to it. He thought he'd be good at being a basketball dad or a dance dad or a cheer dad or a soccer dad. And that's why it didn't really matter what Dr. Morris said today. It didn't really matter what his kid was into or not into, because the Nugget was going to be an extension of the two of you. Somehow that equated to perfection in his mind.

"Let's count some little toes," Dr. Morris said, and then Bradley squeezed your hand as two tiny feet appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit," he whispered. There were ten perfect toes on his perfect baby, and he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand as you laughed softly in awe. The Nugget would be smart and confident just like you were. Bradley would get the attic taken care of, and he'd put together the jungle gym. He would do every single thing that needed to be done to make a perfect home for this child. He would take care of you every day right now until he was taking care of both of you.

"Now let's check on the fingers."

Ten tiny fingers, attached to the cutest baby he'd ever seen in his life. Bradley took a deep breath and let his forehead rest against your arm as he tried to get himself under control. "Oh my God," he whispered, knowing he'd be able to count those toes and fingers in person next year. He could tickle them and send piggies to the market. He could kiss them and watch them toddle across the living room floor after Tramp.

"Let's just get a look at the heartbeat and a few other things here." Dr. Morris was taking her time, which Bradley appreciated. He liked a thorough doctor, but the anticipation was killing him.

The heartbeat on the screen had you mesmerized when he looked at your beautiful face, but then you turned to look at him. Once again, he had no idea how he ended up this lucky. "I love you, Roo."

His already blurry vision just got worse as he sucked in a deep breath. "I love you so much."

This time you brought his fingers up to your lips and kissed him as Dr. Morris added a little more gel to your belly and smashed it down with the ultrasound paddle. "Are you sure you want to find out the sex?"

"Yes!" you said, smiling at Bradley like you fucking knew you were his whole world. Like you didn't mind sharing him with the Nugget from now on. "We want to know!"

Bradley watched your face as you watched the monitor. His fingers on your wrist told him your heart was racing just like his was, and you were licking your lips in anticipation. You were perfect. His life was perfect. His baby was going to follow suit, no doubt about that. A smile found its way to his lips, and his shoulders relaxed, knowing that the next words he heard were going to be perfect, too. How could they not be?

"Congratulations. It's a girl."

The feeling inside his body was something he never knew before. He felt as much love as he had when he listened to you read your wedding vows, but this was something more. He was going to have a perfect little girl. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he was going to get to love and take responsibility for raising a daughter.

"Roo!" you sobbed, reaching for him, and then he was on his feet and kissing you.

"A girl," he said even as he mashed his lips to yours. "A daughter."

He wasn't sure if he felt his own tears or yours on his cheeks as you pressed your forehead to his and asked, "Are you happy?"

It took him a few seconds to get control of his voice as he held your face in his hands. "I'm living the life of my dreams."

-------------------------

Bradley had tears in his eyes and ultrasound images clutched to his chest as you led him outside to the Bronco. His free hand was clasped tight with yours, and you'd never seen him look so happy in your life. "A little girl," he said, handing you his keys once again, and you already knew what he was going to do when he buckled you into the driver's seat. "We're having a girl," he whispered, brown eyes wide as he kissed your wedding rings.

You nodded and wiped your thumb along his cheek. "It just makes sense somehow."

"It does," he agreed, kissing your lips before leaning down to kiss your bump through your dress. "I love this Nugget," he whispered. "My daughter."

You whined his name as he said those words, and when he looked up at you, all you could say was, "You're going to be the best Daddy, Roo." You thought about it all the time. The way he'd carry the baby around and read bedtime stories. The way he'd always be patient and sweet. You weren't sure if you'd always imagined a little girl or not, but it made so much sense right now.

"Let's go home," he rasped, kissing his way up from your belly until he got to your tender breasts. Technically you were supposed to work this afternoon, at least that's what you'd told Bickel. As Bradley ran around to the passenger side, you dug your phone out and texted your boss, letting him know that the baby was fine, and you'd see him on Monday.

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked as you tossed your phone aside and started the engine.

"Nothing. Everything is right. I'm taking the rest of the day off so we can spend it together," you replied softly as his hands found their way back to your belly. It had been too many weeks since you'd been touched, and it felt so good, you had to press your lips together to keep from moaning. "I want to spend it with you."

He grunted and kissed the side of your neck as you pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm not letting my girls out of my sight all weekend."

"Bradley," you whined, feeling so much desire for him. The two of you could start talking about nursery decor and girl names and when you wanted to break the news to everyone else. You could do all of those things this weekend now that he was home. But you were also just needy for him.

You made a little noise as you tried your best to go the speed limit, and you knew that your husband knew what you needed. "I'll take care of you, Sweetheart. Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything."

He was tracing hearts along your belly, and you turned to look at his slightly lovesick eyes when you stopped at an intersection. "I know you will." You delighted in the fact that you were having a little girl who would get to share all of his love with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget, and pretty soon she would be showered in it too.

When you pulled into the driveway and parked in the tight spot next to your red Bronco, Bradley eyed the pallets of jungle gym pieces. "I can't fucking wait to build that thing. I've been dreaming about it for so long." Then he was jumping out the door as you shifted into park, and he was around to your side in an instant. "Been dreaming about this day for ages," he whispered as you climbed down and into his arms. His hands found your lower back as he added, "Been thinking about you and the Nugget since I left."

You smiled up at him. "You know what might be fun, Daddy?"

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on yours as he started to lead you up to the porch.

"If you start building the Nugget's playset tomorrow, and you get all sweaty and let me watch," you said, your voice turning into a soft whimper at the end.

Bradley jammed the house key into the lock, and shoved the door open. He hooked one arm around your waist and pulled you inside with him as Tramp started jumping around like a maniac. "Hey, buddy," Bradley told him with a smile. "I missed you, too. But I need some time with my girls first."

"It's okay," you said as you closed the door behind you. "He probably won't calm down until you play with him a little bit."

But Bradley was pushing you back against the door even as Tramp ran around in circles. "Wait right here," he commanded softly, and lust rippled through you at the sight of his pupils blown wide. "Don't move an inch."

You felt like you were barely even breathing as you stood very still and watched Bradley lead Tramp past the piano and out the back sliding glass door. "I promise I'll play with you next. I just desperately need to fuck my wife." Then he made his way back to you, his lips set in a determined smirk, and his movements beyond sexy. "I promised I wouldn't leave you hanging."

You closed your eyes as his palm came to rest on the wooden door just next to your head. His warmth was so close, but he wasn't touching you yet as you whispered, "You always take care of me."

His fingers started to pull up the hem of your dress as he crooned, "Why don't you go ahead and tell me how much you missed me."

You tipped your head back until it met the door, and you kept your eyes squeezed closed as you whined, "Couldn't go another day without you." When his lips met your cleavage, your eyes flew open. His lips grazed your nipple through the thin fabric as he slowly knelt in front of you, and you told him, "Your daughter and I missed you terribly."

When he looked up at your face, he pulled your dress up and said, "I'm so in love with you." He ran his lips along your bare belly. "And you." Then he pressed the bunched up fabric against your ribs, and when he said, "Hold this for me, Baby Girl," you did exactly as you were told.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Fuck," he grunted, rough hands on your thighs as he kissed your belly button. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?" His eyes met yours again. "You asked me if I was happy. I've been happy since I met you. Since you gave me a purpose. Since you let me love you." His hands found the scrap of your white lace underwear and started to pull it down your thighs. "God, I missed this," he murmured, pressing his lips to your pussy as soon as you were free of the lace which slipped all the way down until your panties hit your boat shoes.

"Bradley," you croaked, the second syllable sounding much longer than the first as he licked his way up your slit to the patch of hair that you kept neatly trimmed. He licked along this same path again, this time pressing deeper with his tongue. The third time, he separated you a little more, and then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently. All the while he kept his big hands on the swell of your belly. "I really missed you."

He responded by kissing your dainty rooster tattoo and burying his face in your pussy. Bradley gently nudged your legs further apart so he could taste you everywhere, and each time you started to buck, he pushed your hips back. You were gripping your dress so tight in both hands, you were afraid you might rip the fabric, but he just kept going in a smooth up and down stripe until you could tell you were dripping wet.

"Yeah, you missed me," he grunted, kissing your tattoo one more time. "I can taste how much."

"Roo."

He got to his feet and cupped your pussy below the swell of your belly, circling your opening with the tip of one finger as he leaned in close. "Will you let me take you to bed and show you how much I missed you?"

Your voice shook as he pushed his finger inside you, just a promise of what was to come if you agreed. "Please!"

Barely ten seconds later, you were on your back in bed, your dress pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts and belly to him. Your soaked pussy was already clenching as the cool air hit your skin, and you watched Bradley wrench his shirt off and unzip his pants. But he didn't penetrate you yet. He pushed on the backs of your thighs so your knees got a little closer to your shoulders, and you whimpered his name.

His eyes were a little wild as he said, "Yeah, I'll take care of everything, Sweetheart." Bradley wrapped his hands around your thighs and leaned down to kiss at your furled nipples, his mustache leaving you squirming, searching for release. "Your fucking tits are huge. My God. And so warm."

He nuzzled himself against your breasts which were in fact getting to the point where your bras were fitting a little too tight. He sucked and swiped his tongue along, and you let your fingers sink into his hair as he brought you close with his mouth wrapped around one nipple then the other. "Oh my God," you panted, just spurring him on. Because next, his mouth trailed back down to your belly where he whispered and worshipped you.

"I love my girls," he crooned, spreading your legs open wider as you tugged on his hair to keep yourself grounded. "I love you so much."

"Please," you begged softly, and he finally put that mouth back on your soaking wet core. You were about to come, grinding against his lips and his nose, his name falling from you like a depraved prayer. Eventually he paused before filling you with his cock instead. You cried out as he stretched you fully for the first time in so long, and almost immediately he was fucking you to completion. You came hard, your back arching off the bed as you grabbed at his shoulders, but you knew he wanted his share, too.

Bradley fucked you through your orgasm, lips pressed to your ear so you could hear every word he said and every deep rumble at the back of his throat. "You were made for me, weren't you, Baby Girl? And I was made to worship you."

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By the time Bradley came, he was sweaty and babbling like a lovesick idiot. Everything he cared about most was right there in his arms as you took him deep, always welcoming him into your sweetness. The relief he felt was incredible as he finally rolled onto his back, pulling you a little closer as he went.

"I'm gonna be a girl dad," he said with a smile as he looked at the ceiling through his post orgasm haze. "I can't wait."

The slick friction from his cum teased at his leg hairs as your pussy rested against his thigh, and you snuggled up against his chest. "Me too, Roo. I'm so excited to meet her."

Your fingers teased along his abs, lulling him ever closer to an afternoon nap. He knew that one of you needed to let Tramp back inside, and he was going to have to scrape together something for you to eat soon. But right now, he didn't want to move.

"What happened with your deployment?" you asked softly as he yawned. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now when he knew you were carrying his little girl, but he should have known you'd have questions.

"It fucking sucked. Being away from you gets harder and harder each time now. They kept tacking on more weeks of these random bombing runs, and the weather was miserable. We had to fly in the rain half the time."

He listened to you hum, contemplating what he said. "It was so scary when you got called to action in the middle of talking to me over FaceTime. I couldn't stop crying. And then it was weeks before some random guy in personnel called me to let me know you were on your way home."

It was hard to believe he was on that flight back to San Diego just a few hours ago. "Honestly, in all of the excitement today, that already feels so distant in my mind," he told you, kissing your forehead as he thought about how long he had been away from you. "We didn't really know we were heading home until it was happening. And it was so late here when we got released, they told me they'd have someone reach out so I didn't have to wake you up again. Then there was only one seat left on the first flight home, and once Payback and I were being airlifted to Hong Kong, they told us to decide who was taking that spot. He gave it to me, no questions asked. Told me to get home to you and the Nugget."

You gasped and murmured, "Reuben is the sweetest."

Bradley chuckled as his fingers grazed along the side of your bump. "Yeah, well, you actually owe him three dozen chocolate chip cookies. That was the only stipulation for the deal."

Your laughter made Bradley's smile grow. "Totally worth it. Actually, since you made it home in time for my appointment, I'll make five dozen for him."

"No wonder everyone thinks I'm spoiled," he told you, tugging on you until you were straddling his hips and looking down at him with your hands braced on his chest. "Fuck. Just look at you."

His sticky cum was matted in your pubic hair, and your tits looked delicious. There was no way he'd be able to keep his hands away from you now that he'd seen and felt your little bump in person. His daughter was growing in there. He smiled and ran his palm gently over your skin, stroking you with his thumb as your pretty gaze stayed transfixed on his.

"I'm happy you're home, Roo."

He nodded, eye lids growing heavy from jet lag and the time zones, and he simply didn't argue when you kissed his cheek and said you were going to let Tramp inside and then take a nap with him. Soon enough, Bradley was snuggled up in bed with his head resting next to your belly and your fingers tangled in his hair. Your sweet voice lulled him to sleep for the best afternoon nap of his life.

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This has been a very emotional day for Bradley. He's home with his hot wife, and now he gets to start planning for the arrival of their daughter in a few more months! Thank you so much for reading about the Nugget! More to come soon, including the first wedding anniversary! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 20 hours

Note

Freebee to write whatever you want!

"Harpies," Alfred sniffed, tossing the paper aside with disgust.

Your first public outing with the family had been fine. Successful, honestly in helping to integrate you. The boys had been kind and had seemingly started to understand how to work with and around your little... quirks. But the media had lost their god-forsaken minds.

After nearly a decade of taking male children, taking in a FEMALE child? And her being a little SHY? And COVERED UP on the beach? (In a long-sleeved t-shirt and some capris you found comfortable) For shame. And Bruce to be mindful of her physical boundaries? Of course, he's a secret misogynist. Not just a gentleman and a now experienced foster parent.

"Hn."

Alfred glanced at Bruce and smiled ruefully and patting his shoulder, "Second thoughts?"

"No," Bruce said shaking his head. "I don't think it would be good for her to hot potato her around. And, it's not like we can't handle her but-"

"She is very sweet," Alfred said, pouring him tea deftly. Flipping the Tv on to see what the news was saying about it. Debating a call to the planet. To see if they'd be willing to do something about it.

"But it's just- just-"

"Different," Alfred finished nodding. "Stocking her closet was a nightmare. I don't know what I would have done without Miss Barbara's help."

Bruce smiled a little. "It'll be an adjustment." He sipped his tea and frowned at the morning talk show. Of course they were talking about you. How sickly and shy you were. Timidly participating. Sometimes holding Dick's hand, sometimes Bruce's. Sometimes playing little games with Tim. Covered up compared to the rest of them in swim trunks with their shirts off. The three of them rough housing and playing in the water while you sat in the shade and watched.

It did look odd from the outside. But- you were content. Participating how you were comfortable. On the way home you fell asleep with your head on Dick's shoulder and he carried you inside while Bruce carried Tim. It was a good day. "Should I have picked a different-"

"I never saw the ocean before."

Your quiet little voice and a persistent uncertain feeling sends them both grabbing for the remote to shut the TV off.

"No?" Bruce asked, pushing out a chair for you.

"Just lakes. But some of those were pretty big. I remember taking a old mail boat once on a tour. They showed us where Al Capone had a house."

He nodded and smiled a little, "So you had a good day?"

You nod and he reaches up very carefully and sweeps hair out of your face, "And you don't think I'm secretly a misogynist?"

"I don't know what that means."

"That I hate women."

"I don't think you hate anyone," you tell him, and now he can feel crackles of confusion leaking your as your forehead crinkles.

Bruce exhales slowly, some of the frustration he felt falling away. "Thank you," he hummed. He didn't know if it was your influence or your words, but he appreciated it. And when little arms looped around his neck and he hugged you back on instinct, he realized that, for all the differences, some things weren't going to change. Kids were kids. And he loved them. And once they were his, they were his.

#jason todd #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #jason todd x reader #science experiment!reverse

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chronically-ghosted · 2 days

Text

vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for. warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

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Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh.

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan.

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.”

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot.

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by.

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off.

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat.

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap.

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble.

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you.

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious.

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did.

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world.

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move.

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest.

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.”

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same.

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again.

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours.

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.”

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched.

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously.

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.”

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.”

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.”

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous.

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red.

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall.

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour.

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut.

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him.

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.”

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while.

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.”

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?”

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror.

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.”

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out.

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.”

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.”

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.”

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire.

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire.

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand.

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence.

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp.

“Regret what?”

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl.

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour.

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.”

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.”

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.”

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence.

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way.

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor.

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him.

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.”

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside.

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured.

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?”

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways.

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks.

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.”

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but.

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops.

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he.

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief.

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude.

“You let another man besides me do this to you?”

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you.

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer.

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple.

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face.

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,”

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples.

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.”

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs.

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes.

“Neptune, I revolve around you.”

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart.

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it.

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out.

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release.

You want to obey his every word.

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit.

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?”

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.”

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain.

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black.

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.”

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him.

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder.

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs.

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.”

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth.

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger.

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off.

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob.

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him.

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock.

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob.

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.”

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,”

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath.

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster.

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.”

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?”

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb.

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening.

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life.

“J-just a little harder, Ez.”

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest.

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!”

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion.

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible.

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full.

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe.

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him.

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain.

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?”

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.”

He smiles, unguarded and open.

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

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witchywithwhiskey · 1 day

Note

andy barber + "you don't need anything, you want it"

optional scenario: assassin/mercenary

undone by a pretty spring sundress

pairing: dilf!andy barber x babysitter!female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, unspecified age gap (but reader is def out of college), thigh riding, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light bdsm, pet names (sweetheart, angel), some bratting, referenced spanking, fluffy ending

word count: 2,100ish

a/n: instead of assassin/mercenary Andy Barber, may i offer you dilf Andy Barber? 🫣 lol let's be honest, Andy is always a dilf 🤭 but i've already done ex's dad Andy and dbf August so i wanted to do a different trope and i've never done a babysitter fic so i gave it a shot!! hope you enjoy, Aspen!!

The sounds of shrieking laughter and childish games filtered into Andy Barber’s kitchen while you stood at the counter, putting together a bouquet of spring flowers that would sit nicely on his dining room table. You’d retreated into the house because you’d needed a break from the party Andy was hosting—the one he’d hired you for the afternoon to help him host.

It was a little outside your normal duties, since you typically worked as Andy’s babysitter, watching his young son on nights the single father had to work late at his law practice. You knew some of the parents in the neighborhood thought you were a little old to be babysitting, given you were old enough to be married and have a family of your own.

But you ignored them because you enjoyed babysitting for Andy. It helped supplement the meager pay you received from your day job, and you liked spending time with Andy’s son Jacob, who was a sweet kid. More than that, though, you found yourself really enjoying spending time with Andy.

And if you weren’t mistaken, Andy liked having you around as well.

In the months that you’d worked for Andy, you’d grown increasingly aware of the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

His crystal blue eyes would drift down to your tits when you were looking something up on your phone. And more than once, you could’ve sworn you felt his gaze on your ass when you’d bent over to pick up some toys on the floor. But each time, when you turned to the older man, he was innocently looking elsewhere.

Altogether, you’d gotten the impression that Andy might want you to be more than his babysitter, but he hadn’t yet acted on the heated looks he gave you. So you may have taken matters into your own hands and worn a skimpy little sundress to the party he was hosting for the neighbors and all their kids. And you were delighted when it had the intended effect.

You hadn’t been in the kitchen for more than a few minutes when Andy cornered you, using the moment when everyone else was distracted by watching the children play a game they’d made up to approach you. His body crowded you into the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him brushing against the swaths of bare skin not covered by your sundress.

“I need to speak to you upstairs,” Andy murmured in your ear. His warm breath ghosted over your cheek and bare shoulder, causing goosebumps to raise all along your arms.

But you stifled the shiver racing down your spine and continued fluffing the flowers in the vase in front of you, pretending you didn’t notice the demanding edge of Andy’s voice or the way he crowded into you. After all, he’d waited months to approach you, and you decided you wanted to have a little fun with him before you gave in to the tension crackling between the two of you.

“You don’t need anything, you want it,” you responded cheekily, your tone light and playful. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling Jacob, Mr. Barber?” You tossed your head to the side and gave the older man a sly smile over your shoulder.

Andy’s expression darkened, his soft mouth pulling down in a frown that was framed perfectly by his neatly trimmed beard. He looked particularly delicious in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans—though you also appreciated all the suits he wore for his job as a lawyer. You’d spent many a night imagining Andy undressing you entirely while he stayed all buttoned up in one of his suits, making you hump the bulge in his slacks…

Andy’s big hand wrapping around your upper arm brought you back from your distracted thoughts.

“I assure you, sweetheart, what I’m feeling is a need—not a want,” Andy growled, dragging you away from the counter and forcing you to abandon your bouquet. You didn’t protest, though, as he led you toward the stairs and up to the second floor of his suburban Massachusetts home.

Andy had only just pulled you into his bedroom and closed the door when he spun you around and crowded into you until your back hit the door. Then, with a muttered curse, Andy ducked down and captured your lips with his own, kissing you so passionately, your head spun.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back just as fervently, your mouth parting and allowing his tongue to twine with yours. He groaned into your lips as he tasted you, the deep sound of his pleasure making you hot all over, wetness gathering between your thighs while your mouths slid together. You squirmed against Andy’s hard body, pressing your softness against him as your body yearned for friction.

Andy shoved one of his legs between yours, his big hands gripping your hips tightly and shifting you so that your pussy rubbed against his thigh. You wrenched your mouth from his with a sharp gasp, your body rocking against his as pleasure shot through you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes. Andy watched you with hooded eyes as you humped against him, hands sliding down your sides.

“Wish I could watch you ride my thigh all afternoon, angel, but I need to be inside you,” Andy groaned, reaching beneath your dress and hooking his fingers in your panties, moving you back to pull them down your trembling legs. You let out a little whine at the loss of friction against your pussy, but Andy only hushed you. “Shh, I know sweetheart, you’re needy too, aren’t ya? Need daddy to fuck you, huh?”

Your head fell back against the door with a thunk and you let out a breathy, surprised, “Daddy,” tasting the way the word sounded on your tongue and enjoying it far too much.

“That’s it, angel, call me daddy,” Andy murmured fervently before capturing your lips in another kiss. You could feel his hands working his jeans open and pulling out his cock, but you couldn’t move your arms from around his shoulders; you were pretty sure if you did, you’d collapse to his feet. “Christ, I knew ya would be perfect—been wanting this for so long, but that pretty spring sundress of yours was my undoing.”

A pleased smirk curled the edges of your mouth at Andy’s confession, and you decided you’d tell him later that had been your intention with wearing it. For the moment, though, you simply leaned up to whisper some teasing words in Andy’s ear. “If you need me so bad, then take me, daddy.”

Andy hooked an arm around your waist and spun you again, walking you back to his bed and easing you down onto the plush softness of his blankets while his hips settled between your thighs. His cock rested against your bare pussy, making you moan with desire.

“Gonna have to make this quick, sweetheart,” Andy murmured as he brushed kisses to your jaw and cheeks, his hips grinding his length against your soaked folds, getting himself drenched in your arousal. “But next time I’ll fuck you soft and slow like you deserve, alright?”

“OK, daddy,” you said on a moan, tilting your hips to grind your bare pussy against his cock. Andy buried a grunt in your neck and reached between your bodies, adjusting his cock until the tip pressed against your entrance.

Then, all at at once, Andy pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of his thick, hard cock stretching out your tight, warm pussy. It was better than you ever imagined, having him inside you, your body taking his entire length and joining you to him in the most intimate way.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you murmured breathily, your mind spinning with pleasure. You cupped Andy’s face in your hands, your nails raking through his beard gently, as you stared up at him. You hoped every bit of the pleasure you felt was clear on your face, so he could see how good he made you feel.

Andy seemed to, his smile filled with affection and arousal of his own. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to your lips, teasing you with the flick of his tongue before pulling away and catching your eye.

“Ready, angel?”

“Yes, daddy,” you answered sweetly, more ready for him than he could even know.

Then Andy took what he needed, and gave you what you needed, too. He fucked you hard and fast, pumping his thick cock into your tight channel with a ruthlessness you’d only ever glimpsed when he’d take work calls at home. He was brutal, and you wanted to scream your pleasure, but Andy’s hand covered your mouth, keeping you from being overheard by all the neighbors crowded in the backyard.

When he seemed to be getting close, Andy reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight little circles until you shattered apart around him. You came so hard, you bit down on the flesh of his palm to keep yourself quiet.

Andy didn’t seem to mind, grunting through the sting of your teeth and the delicious clench of your pussy, fucking you harder until he pressed deep and came inside you. You shivered when you felt his load leak out around his cock, in awe when you realized just how much come he must’ve pumped you full of that it was overflowing.

As you caught your breath, Andy peppered your face with light kisses, praising you. “Such a good girl, sweetheart, so fucking good for daddy.” He kissed the apple of your cheek, his beard tickling you and making you giggle softly. “Now, I need you to keep my come safe inside you for the rest of the afternoon, can you do that, angel?” Andy asked, catching your eye and giving you a serious look. His hand pressed against your lower belly, making your pussy flutter while butterflies took flight in your chest.

It was on the tip of your tongue to simply say yes, but a delightful thought took hold of your mind and you found your lips forming the same words they had earlier in Andy’s kitchen. “You don’t need anything, daddy, you want it,” you said, giggling when Andy’s face turned stormy.

“You’re lucky we have to get back to our guests, angel,” Andy growled pressing his forehead to yours while he glared at you, though there wasn’t much anger to his gaze—only desperate arousal. “Otherwise I’d put you over my knee and show you what I do when you’re a bratty bad girl.”

You were helpless to your body’s reaction to his words, your cunt clenching hard around Andy’s cock and making him chuckle. “I need it, daddy,” you cried, hands fisting in his t-shirt and trying to hold him close.

But Andy was already moving away, pulling out and stuffing his cock back in his pants. You watched him with a pout while he grinned down at you. When his appearance was presentable enough, Andy hauled you up from the bed and smoothed your dress down over your curves, fixing it for you.

“Be a good girl and help me get through the rest of this party and we can have some fun later,” Andy promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he caught your mouth in one last deliciously sinful kiss.

You returned to the party with Andy, finishing your bouquet of spring flowers and putting it out on the table. Then, you helped him wrangle the kids and their parents for dessert, everyone enjoying the beautiful spring evening.

If anyone from the neighborhood noticed that, after you returned, Andy treated you more like his partner than his babysitter, they didn’t say anything. (In fact, in the weeks and months that followed, when it became clear the two of you were together, each of your neighbors would try to take credit for setting the two of you up.) When everyone left, they thanked you just as much as Andy for hosting the wonderful party.

Once everyone was gone and you’d helped Andy put Jacob to bed, he delivered on his promise of rewarding you for your good behavior. Later that night when you told him you’d worn your skimpy little outfit just to see if he’d finally make a move on you, Andy chuckled and murmured that he’d forgive your naughty trick just that once. Then, he made sure to show you just how undone he was by your pretty spring sundress.

#witchywithwhiskey's springtime fun #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x you #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork #buckets-and-trees

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cyberneticfallout · 2 days

Text

Chapter One: Filly

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: You, a seasoned bounty hunter, team up with a gruff ghoul to capture a high-value target. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Bounty hunting is no walk in the park, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Your body aches as you trudge through the settlement known as Filly. Pushy vendors eagerly try to sell you their wares, with one particularly persistent one urging you to spend your hard-earned caps on dog meat. Politely declining their offers, you navigate your way through the bustling street towards the more reputable shops and services.

Having visited Filly a few times before, you recognize familiar faces among the locals. You exchange a silent greeting with the local repair girl and spot Ma June preparing to open her shop for the day, making a mental note to stop by later. As you approach a semi-functional Nuka Cola machine, you catch sight of a man seated in a chair. He's dressed like an outlaw from the Wild West, giving off an air of danger. His gaze locks with yours as you pass by.

A ghoul.

You've had mostly positive experiences with ghouls in the wasteland, but this one seems different. There's something about him that sets off alarm bells in your head. Feeling bold, you approach him after grabbing an unbearably warm Nuka Cola.

"Hey," you stand in front of him and take a sip. "I don't personally have a problem with ghouls, but the folk around here aren't too fond of them."

Smirking, he looks up at you, his sunken eyes and lack of nose more pronounced in the sunlight. Most people find ghouls unsettling, but you've grown accustomed to their appearance after years of interacting with them.

"That may be true," he drawls. "but I ain't here to make friends."

You offer him a sip of your drink, he stares at you in confusion. Taking it as a rejection, you finish the rest and toss the bottle aside.

"You look like you're either playing cowboy or you're a bounty hunter," you remark.

"What's your guess?" he snarls.

Leaning towards him, you place your hands on the arms of his chair. "I'm guessing you're here looking for a specific doctor."

"You're pretty bold for getting so close to a ghoul, smoothskin."

"And you're pretty bold for assuming I've never been closer." A small smile creeps onto your face as he looks at you curiously.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again. Until then..." Stepping back, you give him a casual salute and walk away.

The presence of the ghoul gives you the feeling that shit is about to go down so you decide to hang around on the outskirts of Filly. Leaning against a tree just outside the bustling street of vendors, you can hear the sound of raised voices and the unmistakable echoes of gunfire coming from the center of town.

"Called it," you mutter under your breath. There's no need to dive headfirst into the chaos when you can simply wait it out and observe the aftermath. Given the hefty reward on the line for this particular doctor, it's unlikely that he'll be an easy target. If he's anything like the other high-value bounties you've pursued in the past, he'll find a way to slip away, and you'll have to track him down.

Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, ensuring that your rifle and pistol are in proper working order. As you inspect your weapons, the air is suddenly filled with distorted screams, "No, no, no!" Looking up, you witness a spectacle that catches you off guard. A suit of Power Armor is soaring uncontrollably through the sky above you. Could it be the Brotherhood of Steel? This bounty just keeps getting crazier.

The Power Armor veers off in the opposite direction, leaving you to wonder what in the wasteland is going on. With the chaotic gunfight seemingly subsiding, you make your way back towards the town center. It appears that the flying garbage can and ghoul have caused quite the commotion, scattering the combatants and bringing an end to the firefight.

As you draw closer to the scene, the absurdity of the situation becomes even more apparent. Bodies, torn apart and scattered haphazardly, litter the ground. The locals, seizing the opportunity, have already begun looting them. You catch sight of the ghoul making his way towards a path that leads out of town. Without a moment's hesitation, you decide to follow him.

Quickening your pace, you navigate through the debris and bodies, doing your best to avoid the looters who pay you no mind. The ghoul moves quickly with a dog by his side, his sunken eyes focused on his route to the wastes.

As you approach the outskirts of town, the ghoul glances back, acknowledging your pursuit. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he comes to a halt and turns to face you.

"I ain't accepting companions," he declares, a note of irritation in his voice.

"That's too bad," you reply with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of him. Your attention is drawn to the dog standing beside him, looking up at you with a wagging tail. A warm feeling washes over you - you've always had a soft spot for dogs.

Kneeling down, you scratch behind the dog's ears and ask, "What's her name?"

"I don't fuckin' know," the ghoul snaps back.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and confusion on your face. "Did you hit your head back there? How do you not know your dog's name?"

The ghoul rolls his eyes slightly, clearly exasperated. "She ain't my dog. She was with the doctor. Along with some vault dweller."

A surge of curiosity courses through you at the mention of the doctor and the vault dweller. This situation just keeps getting more intriguing. You stand up, still keeping an eye on the ghoul.

“A vault dweller?”

He begins to draw his gun and points it at you, “Give me a reason not to shoot your ass. You’re startin’ to annoy me.”

“Calm down, beef jerky.” Taking a step back, you maintain a calm demeanor. “I think we can help each other out.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun tightens, but he hesitates, seemingly intrigued by your proposition. "I don't need help.”

“Oh but yes, you do.” You pull out a small vial filled with amber liquid, capturing his attention. “This dog will do a great job tracking its owner but I’ll do an even better job of making sure you don’t go feral. No offense but you seem pretty old - even for a ghoul.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun loosens, and he seems to consider your words. After a moment, he reluctantly lowers his weapon. "Fine," he grumbles. "But don't think I owe you anything."

You nod with a small smile, "Fair enough."

#okay I mean it when I say this is a SLOW BURN #As much as I want them to just get down and dirty right away... I'm pacing myself lmao #I hope it's okay since I haven't written much since 2019 #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout #smoothie and the ghoul

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archangeldyke-all · 2 days

Note

sucking plug!Sevika’s dick (real or fake i ain’t complaining) in the car after we smoked together… sighhhhhhh i’ll do anything for her

sameeee

men and minors dni

the music is turned down low, the car is filled with smoke and the soft light of dusk. sevika's sitting back in her reclined driver's seat, giggling at some dumb joke she'd made, and her shirt's ridden up a bit, revealing a strip of her waist.

she looks delicious.

you take the final drag off the joint, then toss it out the cracked window beside you before turning your body and attention toward your girlfriend. "we got any more deliveries tonight?" you ask, innocently reaching over the center console to grab her hand. she smirks at you, turning in her seat to face you.

"don't think so." she says. "why?"

you shrug, drawing circles on her hand. "i don't wanna distract you if we've got somewhere to be." you say. sevika grins.

"how're you gonna distract me?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. you snort, and sevika grins, then pats her lap. you scramble over the center console but surprise her when you don't get in her lap, but sink to the floor between her legs instead. her eyes bulge out of her head and she gasps. "fuck, really?!" she asks, straightening up in her seat and whipping her head around to look out the windows.

there's nothing to be seen-- you're the only car in the whole lot, hidden behind your favorite little tree-- but it's cute how paranoid she is anyways. you giggle, pressing a kiss to her sweat-pant covered thigh and waiting for her to settle back down. "all clear out there, honey?" you tease.

she huffs, flicks your forehead fondly. "you're such a slut when you're high." she says, grinning. you bite her thigh and she giggles, and you grin when you speak.

"oh, it'll be a quick chill smoke sesh babe." you imitate sevika from earlier in the night. she giggles, and you tug at her waistband, getting a glimpse of her cock. "then you show up fuckin' hard packing. and somehow i'm the slut?" you ask.

sevika just giggles and shrugs. "maybe i just know you well enough to know you get needy when you're high." she suggests, bending down to kiss your lips. "maybe i know how much you like havin' my cock in your mouth."

you shiver, and sevika smirks against you before leaning back in her chair. you quickly pull her dick out out of her pants, and both of you moan as it flops out.

she's wearing both of your favorite dick-- she likes it because it's so lifelike, you like it because it stretches you no matter where she's putting it. in your cunt, in your mouth, even your hand can't reach its base all the way.

you don't waste time before ducking down and spitting on her dick, pumping it a few times.

you've been dating for almost a year, and by far one of your favorite things you'vee discovered about her in that year is that she gets off on you touching her straps just as much as you touching her cunt. if not more.

when you touch her cunt, she's all moans and stuttered half sentences. but when it's her cock-- she's still got the clarity of mind to spew filthy shit to you. like now.

"fuck-- fuckin' love your mouth on me honey." she whines as you start bobbing your mouth up and down the first few inches of her cock. "yeah, baby, get it all nice 'n messy for me." she groans as your drool starts escaping your lips, coating the remainder of her cock you've yet to fit in your throat.

you'll get there.

for now, you focus on steadily stroking her base, bobbing your head at the tip, making a sufficiently drooly mess of her. sevika loves messes. which is a good thing, because her sweat pants-- bunched around the base of her dick-- are growing damp with a puddle of your spit.

"i love you so much, baby, shit, look at you go-- fuckin' me so well."

"mmhngg" you grunt around her. she groans.

"yeah honey, take it." fuck, her words do something to you. you sink down a few more inches, almost reaching her base, choking and sputtering. she growls, reaching up to press you down the final few inches, your nose pressed against her pelvis as you gag around her. "there you go-- that's it baby, fuck!"

sevika pulls you off and you gasp, she shoves her tongue in your mouth before you can even clean up the drool on your chin. you hum against her.

"you're so fuckin' hot." she whispers against your lips. you giggle, reaching between the two of you to continue jerking her off as she rambles against your lips. "y' look so pretty-- your eyes all pink and cryin' as you choke on my cock-- fuck, look at the pretty stain you left on my dick." she mutters, gesturing down at the pretty ring of pink lipgloss at the base of her dick. you giggle.

"'s on your lips too, y'know." you say. she grins.

"and my cheeks?" she asks. you pull away enough to inspect her, and burst into laughter when you find you've stained her entire face with your bright lipstick.

"yep." you assure. "didn't miss a spot." you promise. she grins.

"good." she shifts her hips a bit, and you giggle, knowing what she wants but wanting to hear her ask for it. "take your shirt off." she demands. you snort.

"you first." her shirt's in the backseat before you can finish your sentence. you giggle, and then raise your arms, letting her strip you. she sighs when your tits are free, reaching forward to give them each a nice squeeze before sitting back in her chair.

"alright. back to it." she says, smacking her thighs. you giggle.

"no please?"

sevika rolls her eyes, then grunts. "please."

you grin, then duck forward and take her down all in one go. sevika gasps, her hips jolting in the chair, and you choke around her cock for a second as she tries to get her humping under control.

"i'm-- you're so-- fuck you feel so fuckin' good." she whines. you moan as you start bobbing your head again, one of sevika's hands holding your hair out of your face, the other holding the 'oh shit' bar on the roof.

you reach one of your hands up to press just underneath the strap, right against her cunt through her sweats as you continue to bob your head on her cock. she whimpers, "oh!" and her hand comes flying down for her to bite her knuckles as she starts to cum. "mmmbaby!" she squeals, thrusting her hips up and choking you just a little more as she cums.

you pull off with a gasp, spit soaking your neck and chin, tears running down your cheeks as you try to catch your breath. sevika's giggling and grinning at you, reaching up to help you wipe the mess on your face clean. "good?" you ask, kissing her palm. she bursts into another round of giggles at this.

"come up here." she hooks her arms under your armpits and pulls you up into your lap, nuzzling against your face. "i love you." she mumbles. you kiss her temple.

"love you too. is my makeup a mess?"

"you cried some of your eyelashes off." sevika giggles. you groan, and she gently pinches your ass. "now... you want me to fuck you in the backseat or take you home and fuck you in bed?" she asks. you giggle and consider your options.

"if we go home, we can take those fuckin'... arousal edibles you were talking about earlier." you whisper. sevika grins, then launches forward to kiss you so suddenly your back hits the horn.

you both jump as the car lets out a 'beep!' in the abandoned lot. then, you both burst into giggles. "you're so fuckin' smart and so fuckin' hot-- how'd i get so lucky?" she asks you as you crawl into the passenger seat.

"well-- you lemme smoke a whole lotta weed for free, that was a pretty good start." you joke as she starts the car. she snorts, and you reach over, tucking her hair behind her ear. "also... y'know. you're gorgeous." you say, shrugging. sevika grins, stops the car in the middle of the abandoned lot, and darts over the center console to kiss you. you hum against her lips, then smack her shoulder. "c'mon drive! you need to get me home."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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pr-incey · 3 days

Text

For a while—after being exposed to the antiship movement, because goodness knows I didn't care about this when I was younger—I wondered *why* fiction and reality were so different in my head. Why I could happily see things depicted in fiction that would make me sick to my stomach or upset me to tears just from thinking of it happening in real life. I couldn't come up with a reason for this for a while, which caused me distressed and made me worried that I might secretly be a terrible person after all.

But I've done some thinking and I've figured it out. Or, rather, I've returned to the mindset that came so easy to me in the past and probably did to a lot of people before the well was poisoned.

When I see a fictional character, I don't see a person. I don't see a person like *me*, anyway. I see a person within that piece of fiction's universe; a plane of existence that is wholly different from my own. Lines and colour, words on a page, virtual drawings being played sequentially at a speed that simulates movement. Sure, the written passage, 'He had eyes, ears and a mouth' is a representation of what *I* am, and what other people around me are, but it is fundamentally a plane of existence that is *alien* to me.

An alien is something that is decidedly not human. I feel empathy for other humans because I can relate to them. I have no desire to hurt them because I either know what it is like to be hurt in that way, or I can imagine what it would be like. I know the harm it would do to them, which illicits a reaction of disgust and apprehension in me. 'That's terrible,' I think, which simply kills any desire to cause any harm to a real person or do any disgusting actions.

This is why predators are such terrible people. They are fully aware of the harm their actions will cause and then go ahead with them anyway.

But with a fictional character, it's different in these ways:

1. First of all, we have to remember that they AREN'T human and so whatever I feel towards them cannot accurately mirror whatever I feel towards real flesh and blood individuals. They're projections of humanity from OTHER people in whatever medium they choose, but fictional characters are—and I cannot stress this enough—NOT HUMAN. If I pull off the head of a Barbie doll, does that mean I have the desire to behead someone in real life? Does it mean that I MUST have the urge to behead someone in real life, because a barbie doll is a 'representation' of a person? Your answer, I'm hoping, is no. Because Barbie is not human.

2. And because fictional characters are not human, I don't have empathy for them. Not REAL empathy, anyway, the type that stops the desire to cause harm. When I 'violate' a fictional character, it illicits at most only superficial disgust because I know that character will not live with the lasting consequences of my actions. They're a projection, a facsimile.

So that might bring you to another question, 'Even if they're not real, why would you WANT to do that to them, anyway?'

That I can't answer. The human brain is weird. Sometimes, people have dark urges. If a kid tosses their Barbie onto the ground and seems to take pleasure in it falling, can that accurately say they want to push a real person onto the ground? If someone seems to enjoy a violent video game like GTA where they can run people over and shoot them to their heart's content, is that a surefire way to know that they want to do those things to real people? I wouldn't say it is. Would you?

The final thing to remember is that it's not completely black and white. A serial killer might have been 'inspired' by a violent horror story, whereas the actual author of that story is a nice, well-adjusted individual. People with the desire to hurt actual humans might make do with projections, but it does not change the fact that they actually want to HARM people. The fiction didn't make them want to do that. They already did, and probably would have even if they didn't discover said fiction. And horrible people CAN make their own 'projections'.

Generally though I believe it is obvious when someone is just playing with dolls, and when someone is exhibiting an actual desire to hurt somebody.

#proship safe #proshippers please interact #proship #profic #just thinking

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jinxedmuse · 17 hours

Text

best friend - lee sohee, 이소희

in which: your best friend sohee offers a "no strings attached" relief from the stress of your relationship but finds himself falling in too deep.

an: don't know if you guys have listened to sohee's playlist but he has a lot of romantic songs on there, mainly best friends to lovers centric or heartbroken ones and it made me want him even more..

warnings: cheating, accidental overstimulation, rough sub!sohee, multiple orgasms, lots of whining and begging from sohee, lowk manipulative, degradation, pet names, oral, sohee is older than reader by like 4 months, reader's bf is eunseok...

playlist: sex eden, get up newjeans, like you do joji, to. ex taeyeon, i feel it coming wknd

wc: 2.1k... been going feral over sohee the last couple of days, had to get it out my system, consider this my comeback?

movie nights at your place on friday were a mandatory tradition you've had with your best friend, lee sohee for over five years.

this year, due to a recent (almost a year) addition to your life (a boyfriend) the sense of freedom that came with this night significantly decreased. what was supposed to be a night to catch up with your best friend, free of stress from external sources had turned into check-ins with your boyfriend every hour or so and an uncomfortable amount of distance between you and sohee, physically as well.

this wasn't necessarily because your boyfriend saw sohee as a threat, i mean, he looked like a mini duck you win at a fair or something. sohee is shy but humorous, mischievous but respectful. yet your boyfriend always felt like something was (in his words) "off" about how sohee always stuck at your side sometimes s little too literally and close for comfort.

you dismissed it, insisting your close relationship had stemmed from a bond built off being relentlessly teased together since high school. that, "sohee isn't like that. we're just best friends is all. trust me" you'd say, fully believing yourself as well, because how could your relationship ever change after 5 years?

easy.

you were currently sending your boyfriend his 3rd "update" within the past hour. you hear a loud sigh coming from sohee's side of the couch. you finish sending your text before looking up.

"i know, i know. sorry, you know how he is, just overprotective is all" you say in defense, already knowing what your best friend was about to complain about.

sohee doesn't face you, instead, laser-focused on the movie you both were barely even watching. trying to ignore the heavy change in dynamic ever since you got into a relationship.

"i know" he starts whining, twisting the hem of the throw cover that was over his lower half, a heavy feeling in his heart. "it's just that we hardly get to hang out together as it is, and when we do you're glued to your phone."

you weighed on his words while looking at him. his voice was soft and shaky but showed no signs of tears in his eyes. his beauty marks scattered all around his face, some trailing in his collarbones and ears. fueled by a sudden pang of guilt you toss your phone onto the table in front of you and crawl over to shoes side of the couch. earning a sly smile from the smaller-framed boy.

"this close? how scandalous" he jokes, opening up the throw cover so you can get underneath it with him. safe distance, of course. you sling an arm around him immediately earning a groaned laugh as he tries to push you off. you tussle his hair until his grip gurns into more of a pained restrict with one hand and he lands you onto your back.

sohee is now on top of you, both his legs at each of your sides, his necklace, part of the set the two of you had although you haven't been wearing yours recently hanging in front of your face. his oversized shit that was a little too big for him leaving a gap between the collar and his neck, chest slightly exposes.

you were too engulfed in his scent, clean laundry, one you've always found comforting, to realize he was full-on staring at your lips. a hard-on slowly forming and straining against his cargo pants.

"why do you keep forgetting i'm older than you, huh?" he teases. the truth is sohee is older than you by 4 months. however, when you first met (since you were already in the same grade) you were so adamant about dropping honorifics. insisting that technically you were "same-age friends."

once you realize he's staring at your lips your mouth suddenly goes dry, and you push out a forced laugh. trying to ignore the heat coming from between your legs, suddenly realizing how heavy he feels on top of you. You couldn't bring yourself to push sohee off despite how wrong it was. this was still innocent, right?

"i didn't forget," you say, your own eyes now stuck on his pink lips "i just don't care." you tease back, trying to overturn the situation but his grip remains steady, not letting you get up. just feeble squirms now and then.

do you not see me as a man? he asked, it was a whimper the way it came out so whiny. you giggle at this, not taking the boy on top of you seriously.

he tilts his head, sizing you up and down. eyes stopping right at your boobs, your nipples hard and visible through your thin shirt. he shifts his weight so that now he's sitting directly on top of you. his bulge that was now rock hard right over your heat. "don't you want things to go back to the way they were?" he asked innocently.

you feel like a spell had been cast on you, his slight pressure on your cunt caused it to flex around nothing, aching to be touched but you couldn't do that to your boyfriend. you shake your head in disagreement. "what do you mean sohee, and why are you still on me idiot" you ask jokingly, trying to lighten the tension in the room now. the movie was long forgotten.

"oh cmon' he starts again, "don't you ever get bored of" he gets interrupted by your phone ringing, a special tone you had set for only your boyfriend. it was starting to piss sohee off.

why was his precious time with you always getting interrupted by your insolent waste of a boyfriend? "of that" he grunted out, dipping so that his member was now grinding down on you. you hold back your moans, throwing your head back. ashamed at the amount of pleasure you felt.

this isn't right, you tried to reason with yourself. you have a boyfriend, sohee is your best friend, but fuck, does it feel good the way he was messily rutting himself against you. practically dry humpin' you.

"sohee." you managed to choke out through moans "this isn't right" you object, fighting your hands from going up and pulling him closer to you.

"it's not cheating if you don't do anything back, just let me make you feel good please, huh princess? don't you remember how good i was? don't you want to know how much i improved" he asks, leaving slopping kisses down your neck, his slim hands roaming all over your body, tugging at your clothes.

he was currently referring to back what happened on a hot summer day during freshmen year up in your old tree house that barely fit the growing bodies of two best friends. you can still remember how hot it was, sweat sticking to your bodies before you had even started anything.

your frames uncomfortable in the one-size-too-small tree house, it was awkward, but it felt so sexy back then, and yet as soon as he was done, the reality of what you had done hit you and you couldn't look at each other for a week once school started.

once you got over it, you vowed to never do something as reckless to your friendship as that again.

2 years later during senior year, you fucked. you were each other's first, and you both wanted to "get it out the way" as college was right at your doorsteps. the nerve-wracking idea of losing it to some stranger didn't make sense, right? i mean what better way to lose it than in the back of your first car, during the first snow of winter, with your best friend, for your first time?

you had both pushed it aside. vowing it was just to not be behind your college peers and to never speak of it again. not wanting to add to the statics of why "men and women can't be friends", whatever that meant. sohee entered and left a few relationships after that. always breaking them off because he got bored after a certain point. he was single right now, opposite to you who was in a relationship.

this was wrong. every fiber of your being knew it was wrong but it was the first time you and sohee were alone together in a while. His eyes were full of lust, everything about him currently oozed sex appeal and you wanted him badly. there was no denying that with the way your cunt kept clamming around nothing, begging for attention.

sohee takes one of his hands and brings it down to your cunt, the heat he feels coming from it is almost instant. "look at you, acting like you don’t want it but you’re so fucking turned on right now" he says as he rubs his hand onto your clothed cunt.

you bite your lip, holding back a moan at his vulgar words. "it's a normal bodily reaction if you’re practically humping me, i have a boyfriend." you beg, eyes leading yet your body betraying you every time he gently rubs your pussy.

"who do love more?" he asks getting closer, “my boyfriend" you pathetically strain out at a last attempt to redeem yourself for doing this. he licks your ear lov slowly, biting the too which earns a moan from you before trailing back down to your neck with small wet pecks. his hand was still on your cunt and you were now grinding onto it.

"who makes you feel better huh? me?" he asks when he gets to your breast, he removes his hand from your cunt earning a desperate mewl from you, immediately missing his touch on you.

"look at you, rutting your desperate little pussy to get some relief from your best friend, but you expect me to believe you love your boyfriend? huh, whore?" he growls in between sloppy kisses and sucks to your nipple, twisting them every time you shook your head to try and tried to deny his (very true) allegations.

he watches as your back arches from the sofa a bit, his aching cock begging to be freed but he isn't satisfied yet. he takes the other hand that was holding both of yours up and brings it down to your cunt, slipping into your extremely short shorts and going over your delicate panties

you were already wet, his fingers slipping against your puffy lips way too easily. “look at you~~~~" he says in a mocking tone, "all wet for me, baby? beg and i’ll make you feel good" he taunts unto your ear. you nod your head immediately "please sohee, f-fuck i need you to touch me"

"i’m sorry slut, what was that?"

you chase his fingers, eyes teary at his teasing "please, hee fuck me" you cry in desperation, nails digging into his shirt, pulling him closer.

at this point, you were too horny to care about how desperate you seemed, becoming an incoherent mess full of whining and begging.

sohee falls completely apart, drooling at your blubbering mess, he likes two of his slim digits, pointer, and middle finger, and thrust them into your throbbing cunt, curling them slightly,

your back arches almost completely off the couch, both your hands gripping his forearms in pure bliss, eyes shut in concentration on how good it all feels.

his slim digits entering and exiting you with such precision and a bit of roughness, curling up in all the right spots had you panting excessively, beads of sweat already forming on your forehead.

the faster and harsher he went, occasionally bringing his yup to play with your budded clit, you clam harder around him. suffocating his fingers, they dragged out of you in a way that made you see stars when you were dizzy.

"fuck-fuck, hee i think, nghnnn, i'm about to, fuck, come" you wring it, spit at the side of your mouth from it being slack open as you moaned underneath him, chest heaving up and down

your pathetic state doesn't take away from sohee's own though; he's as much of a whining, moaning mess as you are. his head all foggy from how pretty you looked underneath him, sweat coating your soft skin as your puffy lips were wrapped around his fingers. his member was practically budging out of his pants, beads forming on his forehead in concentration but last minute he got an idea.

he pulls out his fingers with a swiftness that makes you practically cry. your eyes snap open, a pout as you look at him. confused at this sudden action. "let me stuff myself inside you and then taste your cum, huh? what do you think about that princess~~" he asks in his usual teasing voice. moments like this when he was giving you brain fog you remembered he was your best friend.

but that didn't matter right now, you needed to be fucked dumb. so you just nod your head like a pathetic bitch in heat and he smiles, quickly unzipping his pants and pulling down his boxers.

his dick is now free and you almost faint at the sight. he was clean-shaven, with balls the perfect size for you to cup in your hand. he wasn't huge or even too thick but he was long, long, and veiny, his dick was a light hue of pink while his tip was beaming red. streams of pre cum endlessly flowing out. you moaned at the sight, looking at it with begging eyes.

he's satisfied with your reaction, knowing you hadn't seen it since that night two years ago during senior year in the back seat of your car. he suddenly felt like he was on top of the world, an ego boost surging through him as he watched how you looked at his member longingly.

he gives his dick a few pumps over your cunt, his cum leaking onto you, "you want me to stuff you baby? all bare while you have a man waiting for your call?"

his questions bring heat to your cheeks, God you were such an asshole for this but you needed sohee so desperately you felt like you were going to cry if you didn't have him inside you. you watch the way his cum leaks into you as he's pumping himself above you and you find yourself subconsciously bringing up your lower body so your cunt could meet up.

he pushes you back down, a smirk on his face

"be patient, it's the least a whore could do" with one last painful squeeze he takes both your legs and put them onto his shoulders, he aligns himself with your core and spit on his hand, slapping your cunt one last time before inserting his tip into.

you let out an animalistic mewl at how much pleasure that simple act gave you but you barely have any time to adjust yourself before he slams himself fully into you

you try to pull back away, but the pressure was too much, you looked down and felt like you could see his cock slamming in and out of you. it was so slim and long that it hit all the right places on the first try. your chest was heaving up and down the same way it did after you ran a marathon or chased after your bus. the amount of pleasure you were experiencing was driving you crazy, he pulled you back in by your waist, eyebrows furrowed.

you felt so full like you were about to pee. "I can't; fuck i'm-close can't take it" you cry out trying out again to back up but he takes both his hands and cozily and pushes himself deeper into you, he hit the spot that makes you cum and as if on the command you do exactly that. a mix of squirting and creamy come going all over his balls and coating his base, even getting on his toned stomach. fuck he was in love

the sight of you coming and moaning all because of him has him doing the same, he holds your waist in position and cums in you, not pulling out until you were full of every last drop of his seed. you felt yourself practically getting filled up as if you had just eaten. the feeling was pure ecstasy, your boyfriend always pulled out even when you begged.

you stare at each other for a moment, what was once lust got replaced by something else which stirred a desire in the pits of your stomach. you get interrupted by the rining if that special tone once more, you start to reach f for it but sohee grabs your hand and slams it down next to you.

"don't," he says sternly. it was supposed to sound like a command but it almost sounded like he was begging, pleading for your attention to stay on him. you nodded with starry eyes, still coming down from the incredible high he had just given you.

he crouches down and you sit up halfway on your elbows sorta confused, suddenly he pulls your in and hurridly barries his face into your cunt. it started a lot romantic as if he were making out with your cunt. delicate kisses to your inter thigh, slower pulling on your lips, and tender licks on your clit. you sigh in bliss, but you lose your balance when he strikes his tongue into your core, a finger at your clit playing with it in a circular motion that has you moaning profanities.

his tongue would occasionally go flat to slurp up the combination of both your juices, your cum mixed was now coated on his tongue and around his offy pink lips, he ate you out like he was a starved animal. his grip on your hip grew firmer the more you moaned his name. his dick was now slightly hard again and he found himself pathetically rutting against the couch as he ate you out to offer himself some form of relief.

you come again, this time in his mouth and he doesn't waste a second licking up all your wetness, moaning at how good you taste, drowning you in praises for coming for him twice. your leg was shaking, toes curled at the overstimulation when suddenly siri starts reading out loud a recent message sent 1 minute ago:

"eunseokie says: 'why haven't you been answering? i'm outside, i'm coming up now.' one minute ago. Would you like to reply?"

"NO", you yell out in a rush, sitting up and suddenly too aware of your current state sohee lifts his head, he sees the look on your face and knows his fun with you is over.

sohee purposely drags his tongue out of you at a slow, painful pace that ears one last moan out from you before he sits up, throwing his head back onto the couch while pulling up his boxers and pants, stuffing his still aching cos into them.

you get off the couch and look around for your panties but they are still in sohee's pants, you bend down and reach for them from his pocket but even with his eyes closed he gets a grip on your wrist and shakes his head. "don't even bother"

you let out an exasperated huff, legs still far too weak to be arguing right now. you calculated in your head and realized your boyfriend, eunseok should be coming up in approximately two minutes. you take a crumbled-up napkin from your table and use it to wipe anything off yourself before moving sohee out of the way you were down the couch before tossing it in the bin.

you then grab the throw blanket you were wearing and throw it into the washer, tossing in a random detergent before starting it.

"c'mon, sohee don't do this to me you have to go before he gets her-" your sentence is cut off by the sound of keys jiggling.

sohee gets up, and he looks at you in a way that makes your heart hurt. he runs a hand through his hair before he leans in to kiss you, catching you completely off guard. you don't let yourself enjoy the kiss, backing up before wiping your lips with the back of your hand, eyes almost popping out of your sockets.

you hear the door open and sohee smirks, smiling as he makes his way to the from. you follow loosely behind him.

sohee and eunseok met right at the door as sohee was bending down to finish tying up his shoes.

"ah, hyung nice to see you again," sohee says as he pulls together his most polite smile, even sticking out his hand for a handshake. eunseok looks down at it and shakes it, giving a curt smile as he enters.

"are we close enough for you to call me hyung" he asked, you'd be lying if you said he didn't look good. jet black hair parted to the side, a cocky and passive-aggressive smile plastered on his face. sohee noticed the way you looked at eunseok and felt bitterness grow in his heart, and that was the one thing he had never been.

you clear your throat and approach your boyfriend, slightly limping before wrapping your arms around his neck, eunseok drops sohee's hands and pulls you into an embrace by your waist. it hurts slightly because sohee was just gripping them but you plaster your fake smile, holding back a whimper of pain. sohee looks at you both before he heads out the door.

with you still at his side, eunseok holds the door handle, watching the younger boy in front of him with daggers.

"ah, there's something on your lip, over here" eunseok points out to the younger boy, pointing a finger to his top lip to point out where the "thing" is.

soheee brings his finger up to where it is and looks at his hand after, it was your wetness, still on his face, in front of your fucking boyfriend. you mentally face-palm yourself and pray to the universe your boyfriend is too fired to guess what that is.

sohee drags it into his mouth, strategically sucking on his finger with an innocent smile. "thanks hyung, reader gave me a nice, warm, toaster struddle earlier. i'm a bit of a messy eater tho" he says with a slightly narcissistic laugh as he shoves his hands into his pocket, you can see in one pocket he's fumbling with something, your panties to be exact.

yeah, time to wrap this up, you thought to yourself before tugging in eunseok's long-sleeved leather jacket, you pulled him back before giving sohee a curt nod and apologetic smile that only the two of you knew.

sohee's heart felt heavy, and you couldn't put it into words but yours did too. he gave a nod back as if all was fine as if he understood but you could tell by the look on his face that his heart was breaking right in front of you and you were the cause, you slowly shut the door but your boyfriend locks it before you could even register the situation you almost got caught in and the heavy feeling in your chest.

eunseok pulls you away from the door, sighing as he walks and leads you to your living room, the living room where you just came twice.

you look up once you hear eunseok cough a bit and let go of your hand, plopping down on your couch.

"by the way, why is the washing machine on so late?'

an: hey! muse here, how'd you enjoy this short nonsense i whipped up after almost 6 months(?) of ghosting you all, haha.. but really, if i told you guys everything that happened to me since what i last dropped, you wouldn't even believe me. i'm still quite busy but i missed you guys, and i missed writing. i'm not going to make any promises on how frequently i'll update but for now, fuck it, why not say i'm back lol. i hope you guys enjoyed :)

#Spotify #jinxedmuse #Kpop smut #smut #riize #riize x reader #riize scenarios #riize imagines #lee sohee #riize sohee #riize drabbles #sohee #riize writers #riize smut #riize sohee smut

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hauntedhikingsociety · 2 years

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so sick of people calling something they don’t like ‘inaccessible’ say you don’t like it and go.

yeah this is about star wars aftermath because my brother and everyone else on reddit seems to think ‘inaccessible’ is an appropriate word to describe the writing style. sure the style is literary and grandiose, it’s not for everyone, but it’s Not inaccessible.

and this is provably true for me because i teach english and i’ve used the books in lessons a lot over the past few months. i’ve actually had students, students whose level of english is really not that great, tell me that they find this easier to read than other (pretty mainstream) books we’ve done in class. they’re written in a literary style which makes it easy to use them to teach how things like building tension and metaphor work, but they’re modern enough that the vocabulary isn’t too daunting and the subject matter is interesting to teenagers who would rather be anywhere than school right now.

also, i enjoy them. which is equally important. not least because i have attention issues, if i can make it through three books it can’t be that bad

so yeah everyone on reddit can fuck off just say you don’t like it. it won’t make you invalid if you can’t pull a long word out of your ass.

#don't wanna add this in the main body and detract from my point but #people also seem to think the writing improved between book 1 and 2 #i didn't notice a significant difference. the content is what changed #like do you all hate book 1 because it didn't have your favourite blorbos in it?#book 1 is my favourite actually #the writing style focuses in on small moments and character feelings #that's what makes it great #sorry you didn't want to read about norra having ptsd for two pages some of us have taste #this isn't totally serious but i want people to stop saying it's inaccessible especially if you're neurotypical #it's not a word for you to toss around when you don't like something #star wars aftermath

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medicinemane · 9 months

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Flies are overwhelming me and making me lose my shit

One flew into the fridge while I was getting something out, wouldn't leave, so that fucking sucks that there's gonna be a dead fly to find in there next time it's getting cleaned (covered the little bit of uncovered food)

Then there's one fucking in here, been landing on my screen, and then just dive bombed my arm and fucking feeling it touch me...

If you haven't seen that one picture from when I was cleaning out the trailer I don't think you get why flies upset me so much, why they set me off and I can't fucking deal with them. Even if you have seen it, then you should realize that that's an echo of the past in that picture, and that I was fucking living with those flies while growing up

I want to exterminate every last fucking fly, you just don't get how much they bother me, how much they upset me

Update from while I was writing the tags: that's right, fucking die you stupid shit; you land on the floor and don't move when I come over to you slowly and you fucking die and never bother me again

#I don't toss around the word trigger cause fuck if I know what counts and doesn't and it doesn't really matter #but this likely rises to that level #I can not emphasize enough that once you've fucking lived in a place where you find out that when there's enough flies they act like smoke #it fucking breaks something in you for good and you can't deal with them anymore; can't fucking take them #it's why I fucking tend to keep thumb capping glass bottles or tend to keep the cap on #I literally used to have to or my drink would fill with flies; there's no exaggeration here either; I fucking wish there was #do you fucking understand the horrible footprints they leave behind once there's enough of them?#like have you seen the terrible black spots they'll leave behind?#the way they'd come out of the drain #the way that they were so omnipresent that I'd start to get a psychosomatic feeling like they were squirming in my throat #even though I was pretty sure I hadn't swallowed any #the fucking filth my mom kept me in and the flies the flies the flies the flies #that's why I've had to leave restaurants before because of them; take my food to go #I hope none of you had to live what I'm talking about... but I do wish I could show you for just one day so you'd get it #that's why I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate them #just stay the fuck outside and I'll ignore you; and even in my house I often try to make peace #but... fuck them; they all should die; ecosystems be damned #you know what? I literally like mosquitoes far far far far far better and will go to bat for them #understand that I hate flies so much that I like things that drink my blood and make me itch so much more than I do flies

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1-ker0sene-1 · 3 months

Text

Poly 141 x Reader

Home is where you are

"What ye think she made this time?"

Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.

"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."

Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.

"She should be sleeping.."

Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.

"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."

His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.

Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.

"Steaks."

He mutters.

"Hm?"

Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.

"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."

They all salivate at the damn thought.

"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"

Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.

It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.

"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.

The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.

Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.

".. Hey lass.."

He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.

You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.

"Hey soldier-"

You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."

He whispers. You return with one of your own.

"I know baby.. I missed you too.."

You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.

"This bloke botherin' you love?"

You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.

"There you are Kyle.."

You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.

"Always here."

He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.

"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"

You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.

Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.

"Oh Si.."

He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.

"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."

You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.

Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.

"I know doll.. I know."

He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.

"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."

You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.

"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"

You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.

"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."

Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.

He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.

You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.

"Everyone's alright?"

You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.

"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."

You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.

"And you?"

"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."

John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.

"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."

You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.

"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."

You mumble against him.

You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.

"We need you darlin'. "

"Our boys and I need you bad.."

#disabled reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #poly 141 x reader #taskforce 141 x reader #simon ghost x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #captain john price x reader

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prokopetz · 29 days

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In recent posts I've complained that a lot of tabletop RPGs which toss around the term "fiction first" don't actually understand what it means, and I've been asked to expand on that complaint. So:

In my experience, there are two ways that game texts which want to position themselves as "fiction first" trip themselves up, one obvious and one subtle.

The first and more obvious pitfall is treating "fiction first" as an abstract ideology. They're using "fiction first" as a synonym for "story over rules" in a way that calls back to the role-playing-versus-roll-playing discourse of the early 2000s. The trouble is, now as then, nobody can usefully explain what "story over rules" actually entails. At best, they land on a definition of "fiction first" that talks about the GM's right to ignore the rules to better serve the story, which is no kind of definition at all – it's just putting a funny hat on the Rule Zero fallacy and trying to pass it off as some sort of totalising ideology of play.

A more useful way of defining "fiction first" play is to think of it not in terms of whether you engage with the rules at all, but in terms of when they're invoked: specifically, as a question of order of operations.

Suppose, for example, that you're playing Dungeons & Dragons, and you pick up the dice and say "I attack the dragon". Some critics would claim that no actual narrative has been established – that this is simply a bare invocation of game mechanics – but in fact we can infer a great deal: your character is going to approach the dragon, navigating any inclement terrain which lies between them, and attempt to kill the dragon using the weapon they're holding in their hand. The rules are so tightly bound to a particular set of narrative circumstances that simply invoking those rules lets us work backwards to determine what the context and stakes must be for that invocation of the rules to be sensical; this, broadly speaking, is what "rules first" looks like.

Conversely, let's say that your game of Dungeons & Dragons has confronted you with a pit blocking your path, and you want to make an Athletics check to cross it. At this point the GM is probably going to stop you and say, hold up, tell us what that looks like. Are you trying to jump across it? Are you trying to climb down one wall of the pit and up the other? Are you trying to tie a rope to the halfling and toss them to the other side? In other words, before you can pick up the dice, you need to have a little sidebar with the GM to hash out what the narrative context is, and to negotiate what can be achieved and what's at stake if you mess it up; this, broadly, is what "fiction first" looks like.

At this point I know some people are thinking "wait, hold on – both of those examples were from Dungeons & Dragons; are you saying that Dungeons & Dragons is both a rules-first game and a fiction-first game?" And yeah, I am. That's the second, more subtle place where game texts that talk about "fiction first" go astray: they talk about it as though being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which is inherent to game systems as a whole.

This is not in fact true: being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which describes particular invocations of the rules. In practice, only very simple games spend all of their time in one mode or the other; most will switch back and forth at need. Generally, most "traditional" RPGs (i.e., the direct descendants of Dungeons & Dragons and its various imitators) tend to operate in rules-first mode in combat and fiction-first mode out of it, though this is a simplification – when and how such mode-switching occurs can be quite complex.

Like any other design pattern, "fiction first" mechanics are a tool that's well suited for some jobs, and ill suited for others. Sometimes your rules are fine-grained enough that having an explicit negotiation and stakes-setting phase would just be adding extra steps. Sometimes you're using the outputs of the rules a narrative prompt, and having to pin the context down ahead of time would defeat the purpose. Fortunately, you don't have to commit yourself to one approach or the other; as long as your text is clear about how you're assuming a given set of rules toys will be used, you can switch modes as need dictates. However, you're not going to be capable of that kind of transparency if you're thinking in terms of "this a Fiction First™ game".

(Incidentally, this is why it can be hard to talk about "fiction first" with OSR fans if you're being dogmatic about fiction-first framing being an immutable feature of particular games. Since traditional RPGs tend to observe the above-described rules-first-in-combat, fiction-first-out-of-combat division, and OSR games tend to treat actually getting into a fight as a strategic failure state, a lot of OSR games spend most of their time in fiction-first mode. If you go up to an OSR fan and insist that D&D-style games can never be fiction-first, then attempt to define "fiction first" for them and proceed to describe how they usually play, they'll quite justifiably conclude that you have your head up your ass!)

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #game design #fiction first #violence mention #death mention #swearing

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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Desert Dust | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a small-town waitress in a highway town in Arizona with a standard, safe life. You never really thought you needed more -- until you met Joel Miller. Warnings: Joel is a consent king in this one. No age gap mentioned (make it your own). Self-deprecation. Toxic coworkers. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Objectification of Joel by readers coworker. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). References to shitty past hookups. Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Size kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy. W/C: ~8K. Sorrrrrrry, not sorry? A/N: Hi, hello. It's been a hot minute since I've been here! I took a hiatus for the past few months because life was, well, life and I was busy getting married. Happy to be back. This one was inspired by a drive through the Arizona desert. Special thanks to @syd-djarin for being a slut with me on this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications | Read Joel's POV

Humans rely on cooperation, communication, and mutual aid for survival and well-being. Without that, it’s like being cast adrift in a hostile sea without the safety net of community and companionship.

You know this.

And so that’s why you stay, that’s why you’ve always stayed.

Even if most of your days feel lonely, at least you have the comfort of predictability.

++++

"I’m goin' on my break, Tracy," you call out, tossing the words casually over your shoulder as you grab your hoodie and a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from behind the counter. Sometimes you think the only reason you still have the damn vice is for the excuse to step out of the suffocating walls of the grease-drenched building they call a restaurant.

Tracy responds with a touch too much of feigned enthusiasm, pouring a steady stream of black liquid into the mug of the customer sitting in the booth before her.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you slip out the restaurant's back door, the hinges creaking softly in protest as you step into the crisp Arizona air. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty ground as you light up your cigarette, the flame dancing in the breeze.

As you inhale deeply, the familiar taste of tobacco fills your lungs, calming your nerves and grounding you in the present moment. Leaning against the weathered brick wall, your thoughts drift as wisps of smoke curl lazily into the sky.

In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of laughter and chatter drifting from inside, a comforting reminder of the community that surrounds you. Here, amidst the tumbleweeds and endless blue skies, is a place you’ve called home since you ran away from yours at sixteen. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something is always better than nothing, right? People know you by name when you go to the grocery store, and know your order at the only coffee shop in town – big-city girls don’t get that.

As you take one last drag from your cigarette, you try to summon feelings of gratitude for what you do have, but as the smoke dissipates into the desert air, a lingering sense of restlessness gnaws at the edges of your mind.

It's only when you stamp out the cigarette in the dirt below, watching the embers fade into darkness, that you dare to entertain the notion that perhaps you could have more.

++++

You step back into the restaurant, and your eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights above, a stark contrast from the natural light of the sun. Carefully tucking your hoodie away and readjusting your apron strings, you prepare to dive back into work.

As you glance around, you notice Tracy frantically pacing back and forth behind the bar, her demeanor tinged with a hint of frazzled energy. It's not the busiest you've ever been, but for her, every customer that walks through the door feels like a tidal wave of chaos – especially when it’s just you two on the floor.

With a sympathetic smile, you nod in understanding as she thrusts a stack of menus into your hands, followed by a piping hot coffee pot. "Be a doll and go take table three’s order, will ya?" she says, her voice tinged with urgency. Before you can even acknowledge her request, she’s off, stacking her forearms with plates, yelling that she’ll be right there honey to the patrons by the door.

You make your way over to the table, weaving through the maze of booths and tables with practiced ease. As you approach, you notice a lone figure sitting hunched over in a worn leather jacket, eyes fixed on the menu in front of him. He sits up to full height and adjusts himself in the booth, eyes still on the sticky plastic in front of him, giving you a full view of his side profile.

Fuck – he’s gorgeous. Handsome in a way that unmoors you.

Rugged, weathered charm exudes from him. He turns to look at you and oh. His salt-and-pepper curls frame a face weathered by sun and wind, a beard streaked with grey adding an air of distinguished maturity. His eyes are soft and brown, enveloped by small creases in the corners.

Your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, and with the coffee pot in hand, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach, settling there like a stack of pancakes eaten way too fast.

Clearing your throat, you offer him a tentative smile. Get a grip – he’s just another customer, you silently plead with yourself.

"Hi," you say, your voice a little softer than usual. "Can I get you something to drink?"

As his eyes meet yours, a brief but intense connection crackles between you. There's something in his gaze, a depth that you can't quite decipher, leaving his thoughts shrouded in mystery. His face remains stony, and unreadable, like the weathered cliffs that dot the desert landscape.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you follow his eyes drifting down your chest, lingering for a moment on the nametag pinned to the worn cotton of your uniform. Heat rises to your cheeks under his scrutiny. You wish you would have opted for your cleaner uniform this morning. You’ve never been one to care too much about your looks, mostly because nobody looks at you, not really. All catcalls from drunk men in bars and the occasional flirty customer. But you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the attention he’s giving.

His eyes finally settle on the coffee pot in your hand, a subtle shift in focus that breaks the spell of tension between you. "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, his voice honey-thick, low, and raspy like the rumble of distant thunder.

You nod silently, the words caught in your throat as you turn to pour him a steaming cup of coffee.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper, letting the corners of your lips turn up into a small, cordial, smile.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

Walking away, you can’t help but notice the feeling of the weight of his gaze lingering on you long after you do.

He sits in silence, nursing his coffee with a quiet intensity that commands attention. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the room, drawing the gaze of both patrons and staff alike. You steal glances at him between customers and try not to read into the fact that his eyes are usually on you by the time you find him. He’s not staring – he couldn’t be – why would he be? You shove the thought down and focus on your tasks at hand, him calling you sweetheart playing like a broken record in your mind, over and over.

Tracy, usually bustling about with the frenetic energy of a hummingbird, is unusually attentive to him. She stops by his table more often than necessary, refilling his cup with a gentle touch and addressing him with a warmth you've rarely seen her reserve for anyone else. You swear you even saw her push her tits up behind the wall before going out to him – but you can’t blame her, you’d probably do the same if you had as much to work with as she does.

As you work behind the bar counter, wiping down tables and clearing plates, Tracy tries to engage you in conversation about the mysterious stranger. "Been a long time since we've had a man like that in here," she says, a hint of gossip in her voice, wrapped pretty in a bow of objectification. She reminds you of a praying mantis, attempting to draw in her prey before she eats him.

"Yeah," you murmur, not quite wanting to talk about him, especially not with her.

Excusing yourself, you slip into the bathroom, the wooden door offering a momentary respite. Leaning against the slightly sticky surface, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But despite your efforts, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but feel the twisty weird tug that pools in your lower belly, and the uptick in your heart rate. You attempt to fix your hair and pinch your cheeks to add some volume to your face. You slip on a touch of chapstick and assess yourself. This is so fucking stupid. He’s a customer. Just a customer. You’re just bored, horny, and alone.

But maybe he is, too?

No. Stop.

After a moment, you emerge from the bathroom, only to find his table empty, a worn $20 bill – more than enough to cover his check – left behind as a silent farewell. Your heart sinks at the realization that he's gone, slipping away like a ghost in the night. Shit.

You didn't even catch his name, and now he's just another fleeting memory, a stranger passing through your life like a whisper in the wind. And though you try to convince yourself that it doesn't matter, that you'll forget about him by morning.

But when dawn breaks the next day, he’s the first thought that crosses your mind.

++++

The days turn into weeks, each blending seamlessly into the next in the endless cycle of small-town life. But amidst the monotony of routine, there's a flicker of anticipation that ignites in your chest every time you step foot into the restaurant – the hope that he might, too.

Stupid, silly little small-town girl.

You’re in the middle of bussing a rather messy table, throwing empty plates and glasses into a bucket after the lunch rush when the sound of bells above the door and heavy boot steps echoes through the restaurant. Not looking up from the table, you yell out take a seat wherever you want, throwing the final pieces of flatware into the bin. Raising it to your hip, your attention finally snaps to the customer and fuck –

You freeze there.

His hand lifts in a simple greeting.

His presence is a magnetic force that shifts the air in the room. Clad in the same worn leather jacket and a dark tee, he exudes a silent, sturdy confidence. You know nothing about him, but you feel like you’d trust him with your life.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say, trying to hide your smile, your excitement.

He’s a customer. Not a bored and horny customer. Just a customer.

As he settles into the booth next to the window, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. You greet him again with a smile, your voice warm with genuine affection, and he nods in return, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary.

But before you can exchange more than a few words, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. She's quick to bring him a menu, bring him a coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming.

You watch from afar, a pang of frustration chewing at the edges of your composure like a moth to cloth in an old closet. It's as if Tracy has staked her claim on him, leaving little room for anyone else to form a connection. And yet, despite her best efforts, you can still feel the weight of his attention on you, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this silent dance of whatever the fuck this is.

You think that maybe it’s all in your head – maybe he is into Tracy, and you’re confusing his affection for something it’s not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Lord knows you’re no stranger to having one too many vodka sodas and pining after the affection of the first person who looks at you, crying in the passenger seat of a truck of some guy who gave you attention hours before.

Lord know how many nights you check your phone every three seconds just to be disappointed. Too busy begging for the love of someone who doesn’t want you, and never will. Yet you’re just so hopeful. Hopeful that one day it might not feel this way, hopeful that someone will want you back.

You wonder if you want so desperately to be seen, that you’d twisted every lingering glance, smile, and hello, for something it’s not.

When you enter the dining room, your heart once again sinks when you notice him rising from his booth, getting ready to leave. His eyes catch yours and you give him a small wave goodbye. He holds yours while he tucks something under his coffee cup, giving you a nod, letting you know that he wants you to pick it up. His face is unreadable when he eventually walks out.

Walking over to the table, you notice cash tucked neatly under an empty coffee mug. But you notice something else, too. A worn business card for Joel Miller, CEO of Miller Brothers Contracting. It’s a simple card, just his name and an email on the front. But when you turn it over, you’re surprised to find a phone number scribbled on the back.

Maybe it’s not all in your head. ++++

Later that night, standing in the dark alley of the restaurant, the cement damp from the afternoon rain, Tracy's words hang heavy in the air like a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. You listen in silence as she talks about him, her tone laced with a confidence that borders on arrogance.

"I think I'm gonna ask him to get a drink," she says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I think he's into me. I mean, come on, who else stops in and only orders coffee, and leaves a tip like he does? Even caught him looking at my ass once."

Her words cut through the stillness of the desert night, harsh and abrasive in contrast to the quiet solitude that surrounds you. Tracy has always been one to flaunt her looks, to revel in the attention of men like Joel who pass through the diner's doors. There aren’t many.

But as you listen to her speak, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a silent warning that this pursuit of Joel may lead to heartbreak for one or both of you. You've seen the way he looks at you, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one else is watching. You slip your hand into the apron and thumb over the paper of his business card.

You want to warn her, to tell her to tread carefully, but the words catch in your throat like smoke caught in a breeze. Instead, you offer her a weak smile, masking the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

"Yeah, Tracy," you say, your voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. "Go for it. You deserve someone who appreciates you."

But as she stubs out her cigarette and heads back into the restaurant you can't help but smirk knowing he gave his card to you.

It’s finally your turn to be wanted.

But you don’t call, or text him. You want to, you do, but you don’t know what to say, or where to begin. You’re so out of practice when it’s something that matters. It’s easier to pretend he still wants you if you don’t break the illusion—or that’s the lie you tell yourself, anyway.

++++

Some weeks later, you find yourself alone in the empty restaurant – Tracy having called out for the night. It’s slow. Way too slow. The late hour weighs heavy on your shoulders. George, the cook, went home almost an hour ago. You work to check off the tasks on your list before you leave for the night, and eventually accomplish everything except filling the salt shakers.

You could have sworn you turned off the neon open sign and locked the doors until the familiar sound of bells chimes through the empty restaurant.

“We’re closed,” you yell out, twisting the final cap on the last salt shaker.

Your eyes flicker up to find a large man stumbling through the door, his presence heavy with the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarettes. He doesn’t look so good, his skin is pale and damp, eyes glassed over.

You rise from your booth, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your mind as you approach him. Despite your better judgment, you tell him to take in any booth of his choice, while you head behind the bar to grab him a glass of water. When you set it down in front of him, he bristles at your gesture, his words slurred and tinged with aggression at the fact that you brought him fucking water. Your patience wears thin as he rebuffs your offer, his tone sharp and abrasive.

"Just trying to help you out here" you snap, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. You’re not sure where the irritation is coming from, but it feels right – natural – a built-in defense mechanism. But instead of backing down, he responds with a menacing snarl, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist in a bruising hold. Panic surges through you as you try to pull away, his grip tightening with each futile attempt.

"Let me go," you plead, the fear evident in your voice as he rises from the booth and crowds you against a nearby table, condiments spilling over the edge of the table. His hands move to grip your upper arms with a forceful intensity. You stumble slightly, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket, your head turned to the side to avoid having to look at him. “I’ll tell you what, you little bitch –”

You feel the rapid beat of your pulse, the thrum of blood in your veins. You struggle against the man. Your inner voice screams danger, but just as you feel the panic rising in your chest, the familiar sound of chimes rings through your ears. Within seconds, a new figure looms into view, his broad frame casting a shadow over the scene unfolding before you – to you. With a swift movement, he pulls the man off of you, his voice a growl of warning as he asserts his dominance.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” Joel says, voice low and threatening.

It's him.

Relief floods through you at the sight of him, a silent thank you echoing in your mind as he stands between you and the aggressor. And as he faces off with the man, his protective stance speaks volumes. Your mind goes a little fuzzy from the adrenaline as you watch the man struggle in his grasp, followed by a slur of cuss words, ultimately ending in Joel punching him in the face, the harsh sound of bone to face.

It shouldn’t turn you on, the violence of it all, but it sort of does. The outward display in your defense appeals to the primitive, underived part of your brain, the way a knight would defend a maiden’s honor.

He drags the man out of the establishment, and you hear him tell him to get the fuck out and never come back.

He locks the door and turns to face you. Your arms come up to grab yourself in an instinctual hug, your body is a little shaky from the interaction. Without saying anything, he walks over to you, bringing both of his hands to the sides of your arms – the same place where the man had grabbed you – but his touch feels different. Gentle, reassuring, safe.

“You alright?” he says, a deep crease between his brow as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern.

“I’m alright – tha,” your words break a little, and you start to feel hot tears cling to your lashline, “thank you,” you manage to blurt out, avoiding looking at him in the eyes, not wanting him to see yours all teary.

He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You bring your hand to meet his on your cheek and notice a sticky sensation under your palm. You grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Jesus, if his hand looks like this, what must that guy’s face look like?

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. "It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he reassures, but you can tell he's probably lying.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Interlacing your fingers with his on his left hand, you guide him through the restaurant.

Navigating through the kitchen, smelling of oil and french fries, you caution him to watch his step on the freshly mopped yet always greasy floors.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. Joel leans against the desk, quietly observing you. "Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

He stands silently, watching as you work to open the kit, his eyes fixed on you, particularly when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth. "This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care.

“You can make it up to me later,” he whispers. His tone, the intention behind his words sends an exciting zap down your spine. There’s shared silence. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, that same feeling of raw want, painted with uncertainty, settles in your stomach.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, and you flick your eyes up to meet his for a moment before lowering them back down his hand. You let out a soft mhmm in response, knowing his question before he’s even asked it.

“Why didn’t you call?”

The boldness of his question stops you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. You lean in close enough to catch the scent of him – cedarwood and fresh cotton, the earthy scent of desert dust clinging to his clothes.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished.

You stand before him, looking at his chest and the bare skin on his neck that’s dotted with freckles, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Have you always been this self-deprecating?

His hands float up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze fixed on a button on his shirt in front of you.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The bandaged hand trails up over the side of your body, and his fingers land under your chin, his thumb tilting you up to look at him. You’re sure you must look like a mess, eyes tired from a long shift, mascara smudged from your tears. How pathetic you must look. The pad of his thumb caresses over your lips and you hold your breath.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. His thumb is still on your lower lip.

“Ki–” Before you can continue, his hand drops, and his lips crash into yours and he groans. He wants to rip you open, eat you raw, to devour every inch of you. You’ve had plenty of kisses, but none like this – none full of such heat, a fiery intensity, a need. He wants you. Joel wants you.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and you let out a little whimper. The sweet sound goes straight to his already hardening cock. He holds you tighter to his chest, thick and capable hands on your hips as he dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as a man his size can. He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Your breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your jaw, eliciting a soft moan from you. And oh – he likes that.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, his voice a little wrecked already and he’s barely touched you.

His hand trails up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra you’ve had for far too long. You would be embarrassed about him seeing it if you weren’t so aroused, drunk on his touch. You continue to let out little moans as he kisses your neck, and thumbs at your nipple beneath the fabric.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest.

His words melt into you like butter, making you feel all soft and weak-limbed, fuzzy in a way that’s new to you.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. The words come naturally for a girl who never really had more than a one-night stand or some shitty fuck from a guy who drank too much whiskey – his dick half-hard, promising he’ll rock your world.

That does it for him.

Joel’s cock is rock hard, with an almost painful stiffness. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat.

But as much as he needs that right now, he knows he has an obligation. To make you feel good. To make you feel good about yourself in every way.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. If you weren’t so hazy you might’ve made a joke about him only having one good hand at the moment. He would chuckle at that, you briefly think, before his husky voice speaks again.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. You’ve never been asked that, most of the other men we’re quick just to take your clothes off. Too sloppy, too eager – careless. You’re starting to realize how hot consent is.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, all while Joel unbuttons your skirt. You wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. As a reflex, you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body, wishing you could blend into the wallpaper.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Goosebumps collect like pebbles on your skin from the cool air, and your nipples harden from the significance of the moment.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he assures you. You believe him.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. You can’t control the deep hum that escapes from your throat. Joel smirks at the sound, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. You have of course played with your nipples when you touched yourself, but you’ve never had a man pay so much attention to them, to be gentle and firm at the same time.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, whispering sweet praises as he does. You drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls that gather on the back of his head as he works his way down to the band of your panties. Much like your bra, you’d wish you opted for a cuter pair of underwear. Not like you own any anyway, but something tells you he could give two shits about that right now.

On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. He looks up at you with a softness you’ve never seen in a man, his pupils so dark they edge out most of the brown, his hooded eyes are almost a plea for you to let him continue.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, already hooking his thumbs in the band of them, awaiting your permission.

You pause with your mouth agape a bit, not quite sure what to say. Every fiber of your being wants you to say yes, yes, yes. But you’re nervous – you haven’t shaved, and you remember Tracy saying something about men not liking hair on women, especially not on their pussy — a man won’t even eat you out if you’ve not been properly groomed.

What if you taste weird? What if he doesn’t like it? You’ve only been eaten out once if you can even classify it as such, and he was down there for maybe two seconds before he was rising and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, claiming whatever you’re wet enough before shoving his rather average cock into your pussy, paying no mind to you or your pleasure.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away, trying to give Joel an out.

His prominent nose presses into your mound and he moans, moans, at your smell.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, the truth behind his voice evident in his tone. His cock twitches against the confines of his jeans.

He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame, he thinks.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. You’re determined to not let the negative thoughts swirling in your head win.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. You let out a soft little sound at the feeling of his lips on your skin. He looks up at you once again, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, before once again returning his attention to your cunt.

He gets bold with his kisses, and once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. You look down at him with lusty doe eyes and bite your lower lip in anticipation, still a little nervous. He looks at you and gently nudges the nip in, he holds it there for a brief second, before fully thrusting it up into your core, holding your gaze as he enters you. You gasp.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, his lips sealed around your puffy clit. His large finger pumps in and out of you as his tongue flicks and swirls where you need him the most.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s so precise, so overwhelming, so fucking good.

Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and the world goes a little fuzzy at the edges of your vision. You’ve had an orgasm before, you think, but you don’t remember it feeling like this.

You moan as he sets a relentless pace with his mouth and fingers, slowly tightening the coil inside of you in a way you’ve never felt before. Time slows for a brief moment and your vision goes white, little specks of light dancing behind your eyelids, heat rushing up to your chest and cheeks.

Until –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. And when he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to his full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until his lips find yours. You taste yourself on them, feel the wetness in his beard. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan. It’s so hot to taste yourself on him, dizzying that he’s not wiping it away. He wants you. Joel wants you.

The daze of your release wears off, hurling you back down to earth. Joel kept his promise, he did show you what you’re worthy of. No more mediocre, subpar sex for you. You are worthy of that. Deserve that and more. It’d be rude of you not to return the favor.

On jelly-like legs, you begin to kneel before him, wanting nothing more than to be a practitioner of pleasure, to elicit another good girl from him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask, feeling a sting of rejection.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

You bring your palm to cup him through his jeans and he groans, your hands trace over the thick shape. He’s big. You watch as his jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. You can’t help but feel excited when you feel a damp spot on his jeans, the place where his pre-come has gathered.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says with intensity, an urgency in his voice. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop.

Truly seeing him, the sight of his heavy cock in all its glory, makes your mouth water a little.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. You think you might actually feel him there when he’s inside you at this rate.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. You get the memo. He lifts you and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk behind you, your damp skin sticking to the mess of customer receipts and supply lists underneath you. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s music to his fucking ears.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do. He juts his head down and spits onto it, using his fist to work it onto himself. You hold your legs open in a V, bracing yourself with your arms behind you. Your ass hangs slightly off the edge of the desk, just enough for him to have full access and view of your glistening slit.

He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. Your heart throbs in your chest, and your eyes flicker closed.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod.

You can tell he’s holding back, not wanting to hurt you. And while you may be out of practice, you know your body was made for this. You feel so full, so content, you just want to feel all of him. After he’s confident you’re ready, he pushes his hips forward once again, fully burying himself deep inside of you.

Your pussy walls clench against him, and your jaw goes slack. You were right, you do feel him in your tummy. He’s so fucking big, but god, it feels good. It’s like he’s stuffing and filling all of the lonely spaces that have been hiding inside of you for so long. Like he was made for you.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. You can tell he wants to fuck you harder, deeper. You can tell that he’s waiting for you to take it there, to give him that permission.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand at your hip flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk, your bare breasts flesh against the cool wood, your hips perfectly positioned at the edge, bent over and waiting to once again be stuffed.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. Something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” you say, breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Good girl. Pretty. Come for him.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, your mind hazy and filled with nothing but the thought of the way he fills you just right.

His movements begin to slow. You can tell he’s close.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you rasp, beg.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come.

He holds you there, both of your breaths coming a little ragged, his body shaking and jolting a little. You feel him pulse inside of you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this content, utterly blissed out from the feeling of him – all of him – deep inside of you.

When he pulls out, you let out a small moan, a little sad your pussy has nothing to clench around anymore. He tells you to stay there for a second before he returns with a handful of paper towels from the kitchen to help clean you up.

He kisses you again. It’s different this time, not as intense as the first few, but just as hot, just as passionate. The same pull you felt the moment he first entered the restaurant.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, the dim glow of the fire illuminates your features.

“Too long,” you mumble, taking a big drag. Now you get why in movies after a really good sex scene the characters always want a cigarette. You watch as he lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” You don’t want him to leave.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke dancing in the air around him.

Your stomach twists a bit at the thought. Don’t go.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours.

He gives you a subtle wink. You smile.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him, taking in the crisp desert air, enjoying being next to him.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. You accept.

But this time when you stamp out the cigarette, watching the embers fade into darkness, you fully entertain the notion that not only could you have more.

You will.

Especially if Joel has anything to say about it.

END

Or if you want, you can read Joel’s POV here.

Tagging some moots cuz I'm sure Tumblr will probably fuck my engagement on this one since I haven't posted in forever :/ If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @hellishjoel @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy

ily.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic

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