#tw somnophilia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 2 months

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psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

#same universe as 'wish you were here' - if you want #joel miller #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tw somnophilia #tw dubcon

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 month

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Just a Taste | Johnny "Soap" McTavish x Reader

Follow up to Boyfriend!Soap drabble. Summary: You've given Johnny permission to fuck you while you sleep. He needs a little encouragement. Warnings: Somnophilia, consensual somno, pussy eating, dirty talk, PiV (unprotected, wrap it up folks). Wordcount: 1.8k [AO3]

CoD/141 Masterlist Main Masterlist

Johnny can’t sleep.

Ever since you told him he could fuck you while you slept, it’s been on his mind every time the two of you go to bed. But every time he tries to muster the courage to do it, he chickens out. It’s like an itch at the back of his brain, taunting him mercilessly.

He rolls over, looking at you as you sleep with your back to him, stark naked with the covers loosely draped around your middle. He watches you for a few minutes, trying to ignore the way his dick twitches when you let out a soft whine in your sleep as you stretch.

“Depraved cunt,” Soap groans, reprimanding himself as he wraps his thick fingers around his shaft.

He lets out a pained moan as he pumps his length at a leisurely pace. His fingers are coated in precome already and he blushes at the realisation of how keyed up he is.

“You’re a fuckin’ siren, temptin’ me with that kinky little idea,” he breathes into the space between you as he picks up the pace, breath coming in ragged bursts as he tries not to jostle the bed too hard.

“Just wanna stuff my cock in yer slick little hole,” he groans a little louder this time as he feels his stomach flutter with his impending release.

He’s about to whisper more filth when you move suddenly.

Soap watches in awe as you roll onto your back, tits jiggling in the moonlight that spills in from the window. He tries to stop the inevitable, gripping the base of his cock as a sweet, soft sigh slips from your lips.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he rolls onto his back, exploding over his abdomen as he comes hard. His balls tighten as hot ropes of come splatter across his skin, his chest heaving as he sees stars. He huffs despondently as he feels his come cooling uncomfortably on his belly as you let out a soft snore.

He laughs to himself as he tries to muster the energy to get up and clean himself off.

“Temptress,” he growls under his breath as you sleep seemingly oblivious next to him.

~*~

You sigh as you hear the faucet running in your en-suite. You were certain Soap would do it this time. Ever since you told him he could fuck you while you slept you’ve been desperate for him to just do it already.

But there’s something painfully sweet at the way Soap is struggling to take the plunge and just use you. Last night you slept in just a pretty pair of pink cotton panties. He’d gotten as far as grinding against your ass before ducking out to wank in the bathroom.

Tonight, you thought sleeping nude would have tipped him over the edge. If anything, he seemed even more hesitant to touch you. You need to get creative.

~*~

Every day since, you’d put on a show for him. When you came home you had stripped bare, before putting on one of his old ratty t shirts and nothing else. Every other movement meant Soap had a front row seat to your ass, or your bare pussy, or sometimes a combination of both.

The worst part: You wouldn’t let him touch you.

Tonight, you had been sprawled out on the sofa, legs spread as you had your head in his lap as you watched TV. He’d tried to subtly cop a feel, his dick achingly hard as he trailed his fingertips up the inside of your thigh.

“Not feeling it babe,” you had whined, batting his hand away just as he reached the apex of your thighs.

“Hen, come on,” he had groaned, looking down at you with a pained look on his face. He had felt the damp evidence of your arousal, you made sure of it before batting his hand away.

“Going to go to bed,” you had yawned dramatically before sauntering off to bed, making sure to raise your arms up in an exaggerated stretch, baring your ass to him before disappearing into the bedroom.

Now, Soap is curled around you, dick pressed against the valley of your ass as you rock backwards on it, seemingly fast asleep. You’re still in his t-shirt, and he knows he won’t be able to hold back tonight. He can smell himself on you as he buries his nose just behind your ear.

“Hen?”

You grunt noncommittally as you feign sleep, wriggling away from him a little before turning on your front, purposefully riding your shirt up to expose your ass and lower back.

You hear him exhale heavily behind you and you panic, worried he’s about to give up and either wank alone or just go to sleep. You make a split-second decision and hitch one of your knees up, gasping sleepily as you feel cool air hit your cunt.

“Fuck it,” you hear him growl and you have to stop yourself from reacting as you feel the mattress dip behind you as he repositions, “Goin’ to hell for his.”

You feel him gently, gingerly, drag his calloused fingertips along your skin. They catch and drag over the backs of your heels, scraping up and over the meat of your calves. You can’t help but shudder as they weave over the tender skin on the back of your knees.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this, can’t help myself,” Johnny groans low as you feel his broad palms press into the backs of your thighs, spreading them out to expose your dripping cunt to him. You bite your lip, desperate to keep up the act of being sound asleep as his thumbs push your pillowy cheeks apart.

“Look at that bonnie little cunt,” he whispers, and you clench, unable to stop yourself reacting to his slurred praise, “Just a taste, that’s all I need.”

You tremble in anticipation as you feel his broad form settle between your spread legs, hot breath fanning against your thighs as he inches his mouth closer to your dripping folds.

Johnny’s tongue swirls around your entrance; the blunt tip teasing and cruel in the way he presses hard enough to make you clench, but not deep enough to breach your hole.

“Like fuckin’ honey,” Johnny groans as he continues to tease you, lapping up your slick as he settles further into the apex of your thighs, “Still asleep hen?”

You bite your lip as you shudder, trying to stay as still as you can as you feel him kiss your folds gently. His soft lips and tender tongue devour your slick cunt as he takes a heady inhale of your cunt.

“Wonder if I can make you come like this lass? Yeah, I bet I can.”

You try not to squirm as you feel his tongue flick over your clit. It’s probing, teasing, torture as he sucks it between his lips. The wet push and pull of his mouth on your sensitive bud is almost too much as you let a soft moan slip from your lips as you try and muffle it in the pillow beneath you.

“Yeah, you like that?” Johnny mumbles against your cunt as he brings two fingers up to your core, “Dirty lass,” he huffs as he pushes them deep inside you. You whimper as you feel the spill of arousal flood through you. You can’t hold back with the way Johnny is pumping his thick fingers inside you, suckling at your clit, and groaning deep as he ruts into the mattress below him.

“There you go, good lass,” he growls as he rakes his teeth over your swollen clit, pushing you over the edge, “Come for me hen.”

And you do.

Your whole body quakes with ripples of pleasure as you clamp down on Johnny’s fingers. Your teeth sink into the pillowcase as you stifle the scream that bubbles in your throat.

“Such a nasty girl,” Johnny groans as he eases his fingers out, “Be a shame not to fuck your desperate little cunt right now.”

You try not to squeal in anticipation at his admission. You’re so ready for this, so desperate for him to use you.

“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to sound sleepy as you squirm beneath him, and you feel him freeze behind you. You smirk to yourself as you wriggle beneath him, your knees pulling up under you as you bare yourself to him, silently begging him to fuck you.

“Sure you’re not awake lass?” He chuckles, already lining his weeping tip against your core. You feel the way his tip stretches you out instantly and you’re gushing for it. You offer him a soft “hmpf” in response that only compels Soap to press his thick cock deep inside you. You cry out at the stretch and there’s no concealing the fact you’re awake any longer.

“There she is,” Johnny growls as he slides his hands over your ass cheeks, landing on your hips as he pulls you back onto his thick length, “Knew you weren’t asleep.”

“Johnny,” you whine as he spears you from behind as he snaps his hips forward, “Jus’ wanted you to have fun, use me.”

“I know hen,” he rasps through gritted teeth, “Fucking idiot I am, next time I’ll fuck you stupid, wake you up as I split you on my cock.”

“Fuck yes,” you whine as he fucks down into you hard and fast, punching the air from your lungs as you look over your shoulder.

“Gonna come in this tight little cunt lass,” Johnny wheezes as you feel his brutal pace stutter as he reaches his climax.

“Fuck me Johnny, fuck me!” You scream as your orgasm hits you like a truck. You cry out as you come hard around his cock, clenching hard as you fall limp into the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck!” Johnny exhales with a low grunt as he empties his balls, coating your insides as he continues to rut into your sopping cunt as he fills you with his spend.

Your cunt clamps down on him as you milk him dry and it seems like a lifetime before both of your trembling, overstimulated bodies still.

“Fuckin’ bewitched me lass, that was somethin’ else,” Johnny wheezes as he falls forward, lips pressed against the back of your neck as he slides his softening cock out of you.

“Glad you liked it,” you huff as you feel his weight bear down on you as you fall forward, letting his broad form press you down into the mattress.

“Fuckin’ loved it,” he says with a huff as he nips at the column of your neck.

You lie there for some time, sleep pulling at your eyelids as you try and fight off the allure of sexually sated contentment.

“C’mon Johnny, let’s get showered and head to bed,” you say wearily as you let his large form smother you from behind.

“Aye, lass,” he breathes against your cooling skin, “After you.”

CoD/141 MasterlistMain Masterlist

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garoujo · 2 years

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THEY WAKE UP FROM A WET DREAM — GENSHIN IMPACT

feat : diluc, childe, itto, kazuha + xiao

ღ warnings — f!reader, somnophilia (off screen consent given), thigh jobs, you wake up, pussy jobs, pussy eating, dry humping.

ღ note — this idea literally came to me while i was showering and i had to jump out to write it down sob but these read kinda rushed so m sorry i hope u guys enjoy anyway >~<

・✶ ｡ﾟ DILUC RAGNVINDR

diluc couldn’t help that you were the only thing on his mind most of the time, even when he’s hazy and drowsy with the remnants of sleep he can’t deny the the way his cock twitches in his boxers. even in his dreams you look so pretty beneath him and when he feels your skin graze against his own when he rolls over, he can’t resist his sudden craving when he wakes with a groan.

“how am i supposed to resist.” diluc groans, his fingers gentle when they smooth underneath the fabric of your shirt to pull you closer to his chest — he could still move you so easily, even when your body was thick with sleep, you were always so pliant for him. so he pulls you close, close enough for him to be able to roll his hips into yours—just enough for his clothed cock to graze along the dips and curves of your skin until he’s biting back a growl and burying himself in the crook of your neck. the way diluc is moving against you is almost mindless, rocking you back and forth along the length of him and the front of his boxers are already damp, stained with precum and if he wasn’t so lost in pleasure he’d be embarrassed at how little composure he has when it comes to you. but then you swirl your hips lewdly, turning to him with drowsy eyes and he feels like he can barely think—the humiliation of being caught rutting into you like a dog only making the coil in his stomach twist tighter and he squeezes your hips, grunting when a mewl falls from your lips as you rock yourself back and forth along the intense, sensitive nerves of his cock. “you’re intoxicating, sweetheart. i’m s-sorry for disturbing you—g-god.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ TARTAGLIA / CHILDE

maybe it’s the dreamy sounds you make when you’re lying next to him that had his mind drifting to you, even when sleep is thick in his bones he can hear your sweet whines—feel the way your fingertips would curl in his hair and pull when he drinks in everything you give him, so when he wakes up he can’t help but have an insatiable thirst.

your limbs are heavy when childe shifts your thigh over his shoulder, you’re still lost in sleep but he almost growls when he dips his tongue past your folds—still finding you wet when he cuts up past the clit to circle the bud before pulling away with a pop. “you’re no better than me, sweet girl.” he groans, lips curling with a soft delight before he’s dipping his head towards you once more, a dreamy laugh falling over your glistening pussy before he’s sliding his tongue around your lips feverishly, drinking in everything you give him as he curls it against your clit—sucking and flicking at the bud until you’re wet enough for him to push two fingers inside of you without much resistance. maybe that’s what wakes you, your fingers immediately finding their place to twist in childe’s hair and it only spurs on his movements, lewdly slurping and smacking at the slick his fingers push back out with every twist of his wrist and he feels dizzy—with how his hips are instinctively moving and rutting against the mattress, taking in any sort of friction he can get against his leaking, sensitive cock as he loses himself in you.

・✶ ｡ﾟARATAKI ITTO

itto was insatiable at the best of times, even in his dreams he could still feel the way your walls would twitch around his cock—remembering the stretch of your pussy, squeezing tighter for every inch he sinks in and it makes him dizzy when he wakes up in a sweat, feeling the throb of his thick cock behind the fabric of his boxers, it’s only made him greedy for the real thing.

itto’s lips part to groan when he finally sinks into you, ragged and hungry and the ache that was throbbing through his fat cock finally eases when your walls squeeze around him. even in your sleep your thighs still twitch when he pushes into you, filling you up so well—he doesn’t even need to try to graze past your sweet spots because the thickness of his heavy cock made it so easy. his hands squeeze at your hips, panting and hungry as his huge body leans over you while he tries to bury his needy whines into your skin, but you’re walls are flexing around him the deeper he goes and he’s nibbling along your jawline until he’s bottoming out with a hiss. “damn, baby. what the hell are you doing to me.” his eyes are hazy, still dark with lust when itto pulls his hips back to begin a steady but heavy pace, the needy hug of your walls rewarding each crushing thrust with a twitch around his cock that has him moaning lowly, loud squelching noises growing louder as a faint moan leaves your lips—but he’s too lost in you to notice. “itto?” you gasp, the force of his hips picking up at the sound of your voice until it’s a little faster, rougher and you’re extra sensitive with sleep. “y-yeah, babe? did you sleep good—fuck!”

・✶ ｡ﾟKAEDEHARA KAZUHA

maybe it was the way you melted into him while he slept that had him mindless, drowsy and needy—his mind felt full with thoughts of your glistening folds, the feeling of your slick and the way it always made his cock glisten whenever he would draw his hips back, but now his brain won’t let him sleep until he sees it again, his eyes fluttering open when a low whine falls from his lips and he’s wrapped in you.

your pussy feels like honey when kazuha allows his cock to graze along your slick folds, he’s messily pulled your thin panties to the side—dipping over your body to bury his face into the crook of your neck while he ruts helplessly against you. you feel so warm and he earns a soft sigh from your pliant body when the head of his pretty cock catches under the hood of your clit, the feeling of your thighs twitching against his palm making him whine as he inhales the familiar, sweet scent of you. “i’ll n-never get enough of you.” kazuha whispers, rolling his hips back into yours and he gasps softly when his cock catches on your hole—teasing him with your warm walls, the way they flex and squeeze around the sensitive veins when he would first sink in and he feels dizzy, breathless almost at the memory. but he was fine with this right now, he’d much rather control himself for when you wake up—so he can see the pretty expressions your face makes as you grab at him, so when he feels you shuffle underneath him with a grumble, he grunts because that might just be sooner than he thought.

・✶ ｡ﾟXIAO

xiao can almost feel it, almost. the needy push and pull of your pussy, the way your nails feel when they’re scratching lines along his skin and the dizzy spin in his mind when your walls twitch around him. so maybe it’s the way your thigh accidentally graze along his sensitive shaft while you sleep that pulls him back—makes him snap awake from his lewd dream of you, back to reality with a thin sheen of sweat along his skin and precum gathering at the head of his hard cock.

xiao squeezes his eyes closed when he rolls his hips forward, his skin feels sticky and he’s still hazy with sleep but when he feels your thighs instinctively squeeze around his cock—where it’s nestled between your skin, he still needs to bite back a pleasured hiss, burying it in your skin as he presses kiss along the dip of your shoulder. he just didn’t want to wake you, not for his own selfish reasons but the throb in his abdomen wasn’t something he could easily ignore, so now his fingers are gripping almost painfully at your hips and he’s rutting into the space between your thighs, needy whimpers falling from his lips everytime he pulls back—precum coating your skin with every thrust, the mess between your thighs only making the back and forth of his cock even smoother. “you make me s-so weak.” xiao hisses, pressing his chest closer against your back and he feels himself grow warmer when he suddenly feels your hand rest over his—a groggy, barely audible sigh of his name falling from your lips that makes his pace stutter, but you push back into him and he can’t find it in himself to stop, your thighs like silk around him. “i—i didn’t mean to wake you, ugh—i couldn’t s-stop.”

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onismdaydream · 1 month

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gojo + somnophilia..

satoru is damn near insatiable. the need to be next to you, bodies pressed together until he loses track of where his body ends and yours begins, drives him towards you constantly. sometimes it's as simple as wrapping his long arms around your waist and holding you close, his face perfectly slotting between your neck and shoulder. other times he craves a bit more, wanting nothing more than feeling your wet heat sucking his cock in further and further.

this ache for you is constant. the type that can become all consuming and eat him alive if he doesn't get his fix of you. satoru is a fucking addict — each sweet moan he coaxes out of you and every taste of your sweat slicked skin is another hit.

he comes home to his apartment after a mission, mind set on falling into his bed and pulling you close until sleep took over, your familiar warmth and perfume always able to soothe him. but when he opens the bedroom door, slowly as it had a tendency to creak, that pulsing desire begins to rush through his veins.

you weren't covered like you usually are. instead, the sheet is pushed to the side, your legs exposed and tempting as your sleep shorts rose up. the delicious curve of your ass makes satoru lick his lips, the need for his hands to touch your soft body overtaking him.

he stays quiet, his footsteps light as he walks to the bed, stripping off his clothing. the mattress dips slightly with his weight, making you stir slightly, though shushed whispers and satoru's gentle touch lull you back to sleep.

even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop himself from running his large hands across your body. the two of you had discussed this before and he knows that you don't mind him indulging like this. his fingers flex over your breasts, massaging the fat and slowly rolling your nipples between his digits. a soft sigh leaving your lips encourages him to continue.

one of his hands slides down to your covered cunt, ghosting over your panties before he kneads your doughy thigh. you felt so soft, so warm. every little thing about you made satoru even more obsessed, right down to the way you seem to arch back into his touches.

a part of him wants to draw this out, to take his time and be able to touch you the way he craves. but the other, more incessant part, urges him to devour.

and satoru has never been a patient man.

#this idea brought to you by the fact that i am super sleepy and want to wake up to gojo fucking me LMAOO #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #perce.doc #| ☆ | — jjkai #tw somnophilia

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hitomisuzuya · 3 months

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HI OMG

I FOUND YOUR BLOG AND LOVE IT SO MUCH. I THINK YOUVE SEE ME LIKE A LOT OF YOUR POSTS. YOH BLOG GAVE ME WILL TO LIVE AND HOPE IN WRITTERS.

Anyways uhmmmm

Somnophillia with Scara please? Fem reader, obviously.

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Consensual Somnophilia. Cunnilingus. Pussy drunk!Scara.

Hello dear❤️ Thank you so much for you kind words. I am glad my writing can help you out🥺

It was incredibly hard for Scaramouche to sleep, and even harder for him to ignore the aching throb in his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut. You'd been shifting in your sleep all night, soft, sleepy sighs sounding from you as your ass brushed against his cock.

He barely had time to grind back against your ass in attempt to soothe the growing lust you were unintentionally fueling when you rolled over onto your back. The blanket has fallen askew over your body, making groan quietly as he feasted his eyes on your naked and vulnerable state.

Scaramouche was always one to take advantage of the permissions you'd given him.

Sitting up, he gently took the blanket off your body, reaching down to part your folds and drag his fingers between them.

All that sighing and soft moaning in your sleep, feeling how wet you are, were you dreaming about him?

Bringing his finger to his lips, he licked your slick from his finger before he moved between your legs, gently pushing them apart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, groaning softly into your cunt the moment his tongue connected with it.

His hands found your hips, caressingly them as he swirled his tongue around your clit. A soft, sleepy mewl keen from you, your body subconsciously reacting to him as you moved your hips slightly into his mouth.

Scaramouche rutted his cock against the mattress, sweeping his tongue of you as he soaked in the taste of you on his tongue. It prodded and lapped at now drooling hole, wondering if you were dreaming about him tongue fucking you while you slept.

He ate you out with his whole mouth, licking as deeply as he could, his cock threatening to spurt cum onto the mattress. He held your cunt against his mouth, languidly lapping at your pussy like a starved dog.

You twitched in pleasure in your sleep. Scaramouche felt his ego boost, knowing he was that skilled with his tongue, reducing you to a wet mess on while you slept, your walls quivering and clenching around it.

Scaramouche latched his lips around your clit. He was drunk on the taste you, slurping and sucking as quietly as he could. He vibrated muffled moans on your clit, prodding and swirling his tongue.

Just how hard would you cum in your sleep? He licked between your walls again, groaning as he sought to find that out.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #tw somnophilia #scaramouche #scaramouch smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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murdrdocs · 9 months

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TW SOMNOPHILIA 18+

so like, telling Ethan that you’re his, no matter what, and you always will be, and at first he just takes it as a love confession. which, it is. but you meant so much more in those words. you try to tell him, really putting an emphasis on certain words (”i’m yours, e. i mean it) and he’s just not getting it so you flat out tell him that you’re into somnophilia and if he ever wants you, he can have you, even when you’re exhausted and weighed down from the strenuous life you live. it takes him some time to even consider indulging, but he comes to your apartment one night, and you’ve just put away your work and tucked yourself in after a long day of reading and rereading notes. you feel the comforter slip off your shoulders and you’re quick to try and replace it but then you hear him.

“it’s me, baby.” and when you scoot over to make room for him his heart swells to twice its size because if you’ve had a rough day, his was miles worse. so he smiles gently and caresses your cheek that isn’t against the pillow, prompting you to snuggle into it and peel your eyes open.

“are you getting in, e?” you ask, your voice already raspy and for a second, he regrets what he was thinking. he considers slipping his clothes off and wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his head in your chest, the place where he’s the most comfortable, until he falls asleep. but he knows he won’t be able to even truly consider sleeping until he’s satisfied.

he blinks, and you’re out again, rolling to your back in search of another comfortable position.

you roll to your back, your arms slipping from under the covers to wrap around ethan’s neck and pull him into a slow, lazy, sloppy kiss.

it’s quick that the covers are pulled down and his jeans are lowered to the halfway point on his thighs. you’re slipping in and out, to and fro, small grumbles of “’m so tired, e,” spewing from your lips.

“i know, baby. i know,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “you want me to stop? you know the word.”

#idk if i ever posted this #but i just found it ???#need fr #tw somnophilia #tw somno #ethansworld!#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #celeste writes scream #ethan landry

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yanmuffins · 22 days

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SAFETY IN IGNORANCE.

Yandere! Prince! Gojo X fem! Isekai! Maid! Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve been transmigrated to the world of an otome game, taking the place of one of Prince Satoru's personal attendants, a measly side character with no name or relevance to the story.

As it turns out, life in the castle isn't so bad, and the certainty of food and shelter is welcome when finding a way home isn't ever guaranteed. Besides, your boss isn't as insufferable as you thought he would be. It could be worse. Isn't it nice, knowing you're safe?

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words (😮)

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONCON (no intercourse), somnophilia, mentions of past s/a, mild yandere behavior (if you squint?), mild derealization, AU setting.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please be aware my writing is quite rusty!! this is the first piece of writing that i finish IN YEARS and it's a fucking jjk darkfic. sigh. writing smutty scenes is also so awkward lmao, forgive me if it sucks severely. at least i hope you enjoy this little fucked up fic in have cooked up. it's hot and ready to be consumed! (๑>؂•̀๑)

-> MINORS DNI !

“TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE is a visual novel that takes place in a fantastical setting, where you can find your happily ever after with the character of your choice.”

It's been years – in this world, at least – but you still remember every word skimmed with dry, irritated eyes, as you stared at a bright screen, surrounded by the darkness of your own bedroom. It was another restless night among many, spent watching YouTube videos and reading pirated manga in questionable website, sipping on valerian tea.

So, like any other night, your adblocker dutifully served its purpose, shielding your browser from annoying, abusive, virulent ads.

Except for one.

“Enter the enchanting world of TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE through SARA, a kind-hearted peasant, as she meets all sorts of swoon-worthy suitors!”

You should have closed the page, sketchy as it was, but it had piqued your interest. It was a Friday night. You were sleepless. It was past midnight, tossing and turning in bed had done little to welcome slumber. Your home was tidy and organized from insomniac hours from nights before. You were bored.

“Play with a cast of handsome men, make the right choices and uncover exciting secret routes...”

Nothing about the web design told you the game was anything but a harmless dating simulator for an adult audience. Maybe it was the pastel color-scheme, with soft pinks, yellows, blues, purples and greens, or the elegant cursive font and colorful flowers adorning the page. In fact, other than the initial synopsis, there wasn't much to look at. No content warnings, nothing about the capture targets or the heroine you were supposed to be playing as, not even the usual information on how many endings or CGs you could get.

At the bottom of the page, “ENTER.” and “LEAVE?” buttons waited for a decision.

Maybe... you could give it a try? Hopefully it would entertain you until your eyelids finally grew heavy, allowing you to drift off before sunshine seeped through your window signaling dawn had arrived.

You clicked “ENTER.”.

... And here you are now, mending Prince Satoru's shirt before another hunting trip.

It's been ten years since you've come to this world. Your own body replaced that of a nameless background character with no narrative purpose, allowing you to exist as yourself in this entirely alien reality. You're not sure how much time has passed in your original world, whether you've been dead for a decade or simply unconscious for a couple of minutes, and you haven't gotten any closer to finding out.

You sigh, weary, looking down at the flax linen shirt laid over your lap, needle in hand. Simple, at first glance, a bit worn, but a nice piece of garment not everyone could afford to have in their wardrobe. One of its puffed sleeves now torn at the shoulder lining, an unfortunate result of it being caught by a tree branch during horse-riding. Nothing you couldn’t fix, however, skilled as you’d become over the years.

Ten years in this world.

Ten years working as Prince Satoru’s personal maid.

You got rewarded for that.

The luxurious pearl necklace that became a part of your distinguished blue uniform, accompanied by a gold pendant encrusted with gemstones shaped like the Gojo’s family crest. It was an honor given to faithful, dutiful servants to the crown, closest to the royal family.

Satoru and you were both eighteen when you’d first presented yourself as his new personal maid. This body, undoubtedly yours, seemed to have aged down a few years, most likely to match the age of your predecessor. They had, apparently, been working hard to better their lot in life, aiming for an often-vacant position at the prince’s small circle of personal attendants. You inherited the skills they’d nurtured, bettering them along the years, allowing you to secure your spot as long as you have.

That, and Prince Satoru Gojo’s character trivia really came in handy an absurd number of times.

There were worse fates out there, especially for a transmigrated person like you. Sure, maybe life as a privileged noblewoman would have been ideal, even more useful in searching for a way home, but being a personal servant to Prince Satoru, as… Eccentric as he was, gave you advantages compared to other peasants, even other castle servants. Plenty of food, fine fabrics, individual accommodations, not having to exhaust yourself scrubbing floors all day or sweating by the heat of the kitchen fires – besides, the Gojo heir wasn’t quite as terrible a boss once you got used to him.

You remember finding his route in-game quite boring, full of cliché tropes and little to no conflict. He was also kind of an overbearing asshole the entire time, unlikability salvaged only by his elven good looks.

But nothing could have prepared you to the otherworldly beauty he posed standing right in front of you, in the flesh, for the first time, glacial orbs eyeing you up and down. You admitted to yourself – although begrudgingly, as he was your least favorite character among the ones you’d played – that Satoru Gojo was as handsome as they come and had every right to be smug about it.

Smiling to yourself, you put aside the needle and thread to hold up the shirt with one hand, gently tracing over the repaired sleeve with the other. You tug at it to test its resistance, nodding absentmindedly when its stays in place. It’s good as new, just in time for his hunting trip. You get up, taking a moment to adjust your skirts and straighten your white linen apron and coif, neatly folding the shirt and draping it over your arm. According to your pocket watch, his attendants should be waking him up at any minute now.

You grab the doorknob, wondering when you’d become so accustomed to this life.

And then you’re heading towards the prince’s chambers.

Gojo’s head snaps in your direction as soon as he hears the door creak open, a lazy smile gracing his features. You bow to him, respectfully averting your eyes as an attendant removes his undertunic to reveal his naked form.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

He doesn’t regard you immediately, arms raised as William, one of his attendants, quickly fetches the shirt from your arm and slips it over his head. It’s a morning ritual familiar to you by now, efficient movements shared between all three blue-clad servants in the room to make sure the prince will be properly dressed for his daily affairs.

Kai, your other colleague, hands you a black leather surcoat. It’s undoubtedly fit for royalty, handcrafted by the best tailor in the land; buttons of silver, western dragons embroidered on each side of its chest, facing each other, with gold thread some miller’s daughter had spun from straw – or so you’d heard. You feel his gaze upon you as you button up the overgarment, knowing exactly what he expects.

Gojo steps back when you’re done, doing a slow spin to show off his outfit.

“What flattery does this little doll have for me today?” He asks, “Do I look dashing?”

“Yes, my lord Prince, as always.” You respond, with a courtly nod of your head.

“What about my hair?”

“Soft like the finest silk in the land, fairer than the first snow of the season, Your Highness.”

“What about my lips?”

“Tender and pink like a freshly bloomed petunias in springtime, Your Highness.”

“And my eyes? And my eyes?” Gojo goads you on, a boyish excitement to his voice, his face coming a bit too close for comfort as if pleading to look up at him.

Playfully, your eyes meet his, granting his unspoken wish, holding his gaze for nothing more than a few seconds, a simpering smile as you speak.

“So strikingly blue it would put a midday sky in a summer’s day to shame, Your Highness.”

He releases an exaggerated sigh before grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks – his touchiness hardly phased you anymore; harmless, albeit pestering –, head slightly cocked to the side and a pout on his lips.

“You tease.”

Kai, newer to the group, shoots an alarmed look towards William, who merely shrugs him off.

And just as quickly he releases you, storming out the door as you and your colleagues follow after him, hurrying along the hallway steps behind him like ducklings after their mother.

Gojo Satoru is exactly seven minutes late to meet his guests. Not his servant’s fault at all, of that, you are sure. You had checked your pocket watch while walking through the castle hallways, confirming he would be on time to meet his guests at the open area of the stables – that was, of course, before all the meaningless detours he took along the way. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose.

William had his weaponry arranged, waiting at the hands of a servant, while Kai had personally spoken to the Marshal to have his Highness’ horse ready, both having woken up earlier than usual to make the proper arrangements.

Naturally, they would follow him to the hunting trip, as part of his entourage, while you stayed behind and made sure all was perfect for their return.

Your arrangements included waking up as early as the kitchen staff, the sun barely peeking through the horizon, to revise the ingredients you’d requested in advance with the head cook, so a kitchen maid could go and fetch them from the forest or the market. You’d love to be able to traverse the markets or the woods freely, exploring, meeting new people, finding out new things about this world that could potentially lead to a way home — but alas, being a personal attendant to the prince meant tasks such as picking herbs at the woods or buying strawberries from a merchant were, per your colleague’s words, below you.

It's a nice day out. A faint breeze caresses your skin, cool enough to be refreshing, and the skies are clear and blue with not a cloud to be seen. The autumn sun shines gently upon the earth, sparing of its overbearing heat. Your presence isn’t exactly necessary, but Gojo has made a habit of you seeing him off and you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be outside.

“Fashionably late as always, Satoru.” His grace, Geto Suguru, is the first one to speak up.

A swoon-worthy duke, with a storyline much too… disconcerting… for your taste. Though the number of times you’d spoken to Geto could be counted on your fingers, being in his presence still put you on edge. Not that he had ever done anything to you, but you’d accidentally met his eyes countless times, caught him staring at you with a gaze so invasive it made you feel like a criminal awaiting judgement.

“Late? Treason. A prince is always on time, Suguru.” Gojo replies with a nonchalant shrug, “You were the ones here early!”

Awaiting his arrival were a group of familiar young men. Most you had seen in-game through the extensive selection of capture targets, coming to meet them in-person over the years due to their ties with the prince. You had played some of their routes, but with the exception of Megumi – Gojo’s protégé – you hadn’t a reason to talk to them, merely exchanging a word or two or none at all when in their presence.

“Finally.”

Nanami Kento looks mildly inconvenienced as he speaks, tone flat, arms crossed over his broad chest and a visible scowl creasing his features. He was a retired knight, born a peasant, presently a Baron; a personal favorite of yours. You couldn’t help but steal a glance or two whenever he was around. You remember kicking your feet up in the air during his playthrough. Sometimes you still do.

Next to him stood Prince Yuji Itadori, too entertained by his own horse as he fed him a carrot. You have faint memories of playing his route, although you don’t remember finishing it. He was a sweetheart, from what you knew, periodically visiting from a neighboring kingdom to learn from Nanami and Satoru and cultivate friendly diplomatic relations. You’d cracked your head trying to recollect bits and pieces of his story, unsuccessfully. You had a pesky feeling it was relevant.

Fushiguro Megumi was last. Broody lost prince, currently hidden under Prince Satoru’s protection – you hadn’t played his route, but he was a constant side character in Gojo’s. He was still a child when you met him, shortly after Gojo brought him into the castle.

When Megumi notices you, there’s a smile; faint, barely noticeable, and he waves. You respond with a brief curtsy.

“Can we go?” Yuji protests, interrupting some petty squabble between Satoru and Suguru, “I hear there’s a huge wild boar running around causing ruckus around the village, I want to catch it!”

Mounted on his white steed, Gojo is a cliché as old as time; a trotting reminder of your being in a world that isn't your own. The anodyne sight of him looking down on you, pink lips softly curving upwards to gift you a kind smile as the sun shines from behind him is almost identical to one of the game’s CG’S. It shouldn’t – you’ve grown used to him, to living inside this game, material as your own world – but for a moment, and just a moment, the sight of a whimsical prince on a white horse wiggles an uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling of surrealness, unreality into your mind, making your stomach churn.

You ignore it. Mentally sweep it under the carpet of your subconscious. This is nothing new. You can spiral into an existential crisis over the absurd condition of your circumstances later, when you’re lying sleepless in bed staring at the ceiling.

You’ve run out valerian root, anyway.

“I am obliged to be away for an entire day!” He whines, words punctuated by dramatic sullenness to his body language.

You step closer to him, taking a respectful bow before offering him a pair of neatly-wrapped sunglasses, which he takes – a distinctive feature of his character.

“So, you must, Your Highness. Go, and may the mother of good luck be with you.”

Satoru extends an arm toward you, presenting his hand. You kiss it – your own lips touching soft, pristine skin; a needed reminded he was a person, made of flesh that could be touched and not pixels limited to a screen.

From your peripheral, Kai elbows William as discreetly as he can.

You return to the prince’s sleeping quarters immediately after their departure. Overseeing the chambermaids, you watch them change the bedding for a fresh set, correcting the pair on your favored arrangement of pillows, fussing as they dust around the priceless ornaments around the chamber, amiably warning them to be careful.

When they’re done, you move onwards to the kitchen.

There are people watching you as you march through the hallways. Spying little peepers full of envy or admiration, or both, and you know what they’re looking at – the telltale blue fabric of your dress, a color so inaccessible to many, and the necklace you bear from years of service. Despite your own wishes, it makes you an intimidating figure, as if you’re an extension of royalty. Being a personal attendant to the prince meant upholding that image, keeping yourself unapproachable, discouraged from socializing and making merry with anyone but servants considered to be on your level.

Still, you greet the kitchen staff with a smile, trying to be as cordial as you possibly can. You know all of them by name, from the head cook to the scullery maid, all exceptionally busy for tonight’s private feast. It’s not your job to review the selection of dishes to be served, but you do so anyway, even if superficially, reminding them to provide a non-alcoholic beverage for the prince. Attentively, you listen to the head cook as he showcases the ingredients for the pastries you requested, assuring of their quality.

It's a bit of a hollow feeling when you leave the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, knowing the rest of your day will be spent alone. Without Gojo, there’s nothing much to do. Without William and Kai, your social circle has been just about reduced to zero.

But you do know where you’ll be spending all of those long, unending hours.

Being a personal servant to Prince Satoru gave you advantages. Privileges, if you will.

When he asked you what you would like for your latest birthday, you made quite a bold request. It’s the newest addition to the key bunch hanging from your waist – full, unbridled access to the royal library. The thought of having an entire day to search through never-ending shelves, making notes and finding books that could possibly lead to finding a way home cheers you up a bit.

“Are you fornicating with the prince?”

You nearly choke on your drink when the question abruptly comes out of Kai’s mouth, unable to speak from the utter shock. William is at his side, chewing on a chicken leg, and can only stare wide-eyed at his colleague’s bluntness. It’s been a while since the hunting party returned, clear blue skies fading into shades of orange adorned by heavy, rumbling clouds. Outside, tree branches sway to the force of the wind, preparing to welcome a starless night of rain and cold. Gathered at the table on Prince Satoru’s solar room, the three of you were having dinner to replenish your energy before the feast while Gojo entertained his guests.

It was usually a casual moment to decompress. Not tonight, Kai had decided.

“What– No!” You retort, scandalized, “What could have given you that impression?!”

“What hasn’t given me that impression, you mean.”

“Kai–” William tries to interject, but you’re quicker to rejoinder.

“I am not… fornicating with anyone, especially not prince Satoru. There’s nothing like that between us. That’s… How he is. You’re just not used to him yet.”

“But–”

“I think we’re better off cutting this topic of conversation here.” William interrupts, slightest bit of panic in his voice, eager to deflect conflict, “I know you’re still adapting to your new position, Kai, and that’s why I’m sure (Y/N) will be kind enough to let this slide.”

William looks at you expectantly, almost pleading, and you scoff before crossing your arms over your chest. The mere notion seems ridiculous – you, doing the deed of darkness with one of the game’s capture targets, destined to fall in love with the heroine regardless of whether she decided to pursue him or not? It would be a disaster waiting to happen. You were nothing if not a professional, serving your boss to the best of your power, and all of Satoru’s affections stemmed from his own outlandish personality. That was all. Your dynamic could be less than orthodox, but it was platonic in its nature.

“Come now, we can’t afford not to get along. Kai, apologize to (Y/N). I have worked alongside her for ten long years, and if she says she’s not engaging in improper acts with the prince, then she’s not.”

Kai silently looks between the both of you, finally letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s a reasonable question, seeing you two…” He insists, shifting uncomfortably on his seat, “But I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, I guess. No one has ever insinuated that before.”

“Not to your face, doll.” Kai shrugs, nonchalant.

You want to snap back at him, but in comes the realization that he’s not wrong. Perhaps it was living within your bubble, mostly limited to your coworkers and your boss, had made you clueless to people outside and what gossip ran about you. William and Benji, Kai’s predecessor, had accompanied you in serving Gojo for a decade; neither of them would ever dare question your relationship with the prince or the harmless liberties involved; they were accustomed to it. And, well, you were accustomed to the point you thought everyone else saw it as you did: normal. The sudden realization that not all would find Prince Satoru’s affections towards you something ordinary was a staggering concept in your mind – but it was so simple. So obvious.

Then again, it never occurred you to ask…

“Do you think it’s weird, William? Be honest.”

“I have no opinion of anything, ever.” William stated, crossing over his heart with his right hand, “But now that you mention it, Benji did confide in me, shortly before he was relieved from service. Said something about ‘inappropriate displays of affection towards a heedless maiden’, I believe?”

“Oh. Benji never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t. Between you and me, he had a soft spot for you, so I do believe that statement was a little biased.”

On your face, an expression of utter confusion. You never noticed any signs of Benji liking you romantically, but then again, you apparently don’t notice much around you. The chicken seems to have lost its taste when you bite into it, mind too preoccupied with the conversation you just had. Not that there’s any use reminiscing about Benji – the man having been released from service only a month prior, after prince Satoru arranged him a marriage to a marquis’ daughter.

Now that you think of it, he didn’t seem too pleased about the match. Or about leaving.

The stone-walled bathroom smelled of fresh flowers and citrus. Sliced oranges and grapefruits, calendulas, sunflowers, rose petals, mint leaves, forget-me-nots, floating in the steaming hot water that filled the circular, wooden bathtub. Night has long since arrived, and even with the shutters of the only window in the room closed you can still hear the heavy rain pouring against glass and the rattling of wood caused by unrelenting wind.

Despite that, the candles illuminating the room, as well as the small fire burning underneath a boiling pot of water, kept the room pleasantly warm.

On the other side of the door, William and Kai undress the prince. All had retired to their respective bedchambers by now, and it’s not long before the pair of attendants are dismissed for the night. Gojo is already disrobing by the time he enters the bathroom, excitedly blabbering about the hunting trip as he plops the velvet garment onto your waiting hands, stepping into the warm embrace of the thoughtfully drawn bath. Suddenly, the ceiling becomes particularly interesting.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“… Not that I’m complaining about tonight’s banquet, though. I’m just a bit disappointed, you know? All the fuss people were making over a silly boar, and it made a passable meal at best…”

You hang the robe. From a tray placed beside the fireplace you select a pink macaron, feeding it to him before you start to work a soapy sponge along his skin. It had been a deeply embarrassing experience at first, aiding him in his baths; with time, however, like many other things, it had faded into normalcy. Nothing but work, is what you tell yourself when you elevate one of his sinewy legs with your hand, sponge inching closer and closer to his groin. You steal a quick glance at him, half-listening to his words, seeing Gojo laid back, unashamed by your ministrations, playing with the petals of a soggy sunflower.

“Ah– Megumi! His aim is getting better. He’s gotten really good at shooting with a bow and arrow…”

You wash the soap off your hands when you’re finished with his body. You feed him a small tart, topped with vanilla cream, strawberries, and blueberries. Still, he prattles on, words muffled by his munching,

“… mmph… And Suguru is still being weird about that wife of his… Something-something ‘she’s different from before’ and refused to elaborate…”

He quiets down a bit once you retrieve a warm compress, placing it over his eyes, fingers moving to either side of his temples to massage them with gentle circular motions. He relishes a bit on the relief it brings after a day straining his eyes. As he relaxes further under your touch, you let your mind wander, recounting the frustratingly slow progress with your research.

Even with access to the great royal library, the sheer number of books on varying topics was discouraging enough to tempt an emotional breakdown. You scoured through shelves, gathering a collection of sorcerer biographies, spell books, history books, encyclopedias – anything that could hold the subtlest bit of information regarding transmigration. And still… Nothing. Your eyes still felt a bit dry, a lingering headache from reading within the ill-illuminated library. All you had at this point were your own theories – and that wasn’t saying much.

If only you could leave the castle for a bit. A frightening thought, of course, as you could count on a single hand the number of times you had seen the world beyond the castle walls, never straying too far from the place you now called home. All of those occasions you had been following Prince Satoru on some of his trips, mostly diplomatic, with no freedom to walk around and talk to people as you pleased.

Perhaps a vacation was all you needed. Your “parents” lived not too far, if you remembered correctly, on one of the neighboring villages subservient to the Gojo crown. A favored place for merchants to gather, fairly populated, maybe if you tried investigating–

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N)??” Gojo’s fingers are snapping in front of your face, his eyes still covered by the compress, “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Your Highness. I think my mind just wandered for a bit…” You apologize, hurriedly forgoing his temples in favor of washing his hair, “What was it?”

He remains oddly silent as you pick up a smaller bucket of ambient-temperature water, delicately wetting his hair. You weren’t giving mere empty flattery earlier in the day; running your hands through his hair truly felt like touching the finest of silk.

“You know…” He starts, “I notice your mind tends to wander a lot, especially these days...”

There’s an edge to his tone, one you rarely hear him use.

“Your eyes seem to wander an awful lot, too, lately.”

Another pause. There's no silence in the room, just an uncomfortable absence of words; You hear the fire crackling. You hear the water boiling and bubbling, thinking for a moment you should check the temperature of his bath to see if it needs to be warmed. You hear the muffled sound of rain against glass. You hear wooden shutters rattling. There's a strange shift about the air, and you're confused, unsure of what he could mean.

He answers your unspoken question before the words have a chance to leave your mouth.

“I saw you stealing those little glances at Nanami.”

You stand, bucket in hands, mouth agape – embarrassment. The heat of complete embarrassment that overtakes you feels like cold water poured down on your body. Your hands feel a little weak as you quickly try to regain your composure, looking away from Gojo despite knowing his eyes aren’t on you.

Fiddling with the hem of your apron, you try to find your words.

“When… When did you–” You stammer, “How…”

“Ah-ha! So, you plead guilty. That’s soooo shameless, flower.”

The familiar playfulness in his tone brings back a bit of confidence. Still, there’s something about it you can’t quite place; for a moment, you think there’s a bark to it, bitterness. Perhaps it’s something unpleasant about his day that he’s hung up about, increased by you not listening to him. He’s just teasing, you conclude, trying to vent whatever annoyance peeved him by picking on you.

You massage Prince Satoru’s scalp with shampoo – or the closest thing they had to it, in this world – hoping to placate his abrupt change in mood. Maybe you’ll hand-feed him another macaron.

“I was just… Looking.” You offer, cautiously, unsure if any explanation would make it better or worse for yourself, “There’s no harm in looking. Lord Nanami was admirable as a knight, and he’s handsome…”

Worse, if the crease between his eyebrows is anything to go by.

“… But not nearly as handsome as you, my prince.”

That seems to appease Gojo who, with a petty harrumph, relaxed into your touch again. Appealing to his ego always seemed to get you out of trouble. You’d never thought to be grateful for his petulant grouching, but it's music to your ears compared to the spitefulness from a few moments ago.

“I just find it vexing. Why would you ever bat those little eyelashes at Nanamin when you have the Morgan le Fay of men right in front of you to admire?”

“There’s no need for jealousy, Your Highness.”

You were just a humble fangirl admiring your bias, after all. You weren’t made of stone.

“At the stables. During the banquet. Would you like to have a portrait of Nanamin, so you can gawk at him when he’s not here, too?”

You rinse his scalp, running your hands through locks of his hair.

“I am so very sorry, my prince. Speaking of... Uh... Speaking of banquets! I hear there will be a ball."

It's a poor attempt to change the subject, and you can only give Satoru a sheepish, almost apologetic smile when he raises one side of the compress to acknowledge it as such, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

There will be a ball. In a month, to be exact. You know that not just from the growing agitation within the castle, or the coming and going of unfamiliar faces hired for temporary work, but because you had been counting the days for this very event ever since you realized this was the ball that kickstarts the main story, taking place towards the end of the prologue. It meant the heroine would finally show up.

You're not sure what it will mean for you.

“Sure, a ball...” He says, “My old folks said they would invite all the eligible maidens across the land because they want me to find a wife.”

“I'm sure you’re not too psyched about this...”

Prince Satoru vehemently nods in agreement.

“... But who knows? Give it a chance, you might just meet the love of your life there.”

“Pfft– Right, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“And why not?

“Well, what if I already met the love of my life?”

Then that would be some pretty weird timing, Your Highness. Prince Satoru wasn’t supposed to meet the heroine until a few days before the ball takes place, in a beautiful clearing out in the countryside, where they’ll share a lovely meet-cute after he nearly tramples her with his horse.

“Alright…” You spouted, unsure, “Why not bring her to the ball, Your Highness?”

“She’ll be there.”

His rosy lips curve into a conspiratory smirk, mostly to himself, blissfully unaware of the can of worms he just opened inside your mind. Had he already met the heroine? But it was way too early! It couldn’t be– or could it? You’ll have to check the makeshift calendar on your notebook. The timeline you wrote down, as well. There has to be some sort of plot hole you’re missing, or maybe the events have been thrown out of place for some reason.

“But you’re right, maybe a ball won’t be so bad. They said any eligible maiden across the land, rich or poor, of high or low birth. It’s an opportunity!” He announced, the last word said with enough enthusiasm to make you jump.

Once again, you don’t have the time to ask what he means– or to avert your gaze as he abruptly steps out of the bath, getting an eyeful of his bare ass against your will. You pat him dry with a towel as he helps himself to the tray of tarts and macarons. He extends both arms when he’s done so you can slip on the velvet, deep blue robe back on his body. Another towel is wrapped around his head.

The robe keeps him warm as he sits on a chair, waiting for you to come and finalize his night routine. You stay behind in the bathroom, emptying the bathtub, turning out the fire, disposing of the unused boiling water since Prince Satoru had decided to cut his bath short tonight.

When you close the door behind you, the smell of flowers and citrus is still in the air, stuck to his skin. You hum a tune as you brush his hair, its strands like gossamer, offering no resistance to the bristles.

“(Y/N).”

Gojo lifts up his head, not a hint of playfulness in his face or his tone.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

And yet his eyes are soft as they burn into yours, as if thinking, evaluating.

“Who, in this land, is the fairest of all?”

Every time he asks you this, you wonder if there was some dialogue you missed in the game. Nevertheless, the blatant reference makes you want to laugh; with him, though, the answer is always the same. There is no one to overshadow his beauty, objective, obfuscating, infuriatingly incontestable, and he knows that– you know that.

“You alone, my prince, are the fairest of all.”

If you were anyone else, you’d swoon at the smile he graces you with.

“By the way, I have something for you.”

There is a small box on the table he’s seated by, simple, with a golden latch, inconspicuous enough to only catch your attention when Gojo slides it closer, opening it to reveal an assortment of herbs tied together with a string.

“Since you ran out of valerian root…”

There wasn’t a single herb you could recognize, at least not with the dim candlelight. Despite this, you were pretty certain there was no valerian in that box.

“How did you know, Your Highness?”

“Those eyebags under your eyes, I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” He says, matter-of-factly, “Some old hag passed by the hunting lodge today, selling all sorts of things. Said this was a potent mixture of herbs for those with sleeping problems. It’s all safe, I’ve had the royal apothecary check it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, retrieving the box and holding against your chest. You hope it knocks you right out. Heavens know you need it, after today.

“This is so generous, Your Highness… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need.”

He latches the box closed.

“Just have a deep, dreamless sleep for me.”

It was the very witching time of night, and the castle lay silent. Darkness reigned in its corridors, desolate and cold, broken only by flashes of lighting tearing through stygian skies.

Take pity, take pity on one who is sick of love.

Fire dances at the top of a candle, threatening to vanish at any moment, as one living soul treads through slate flooring, airy footsteps growing closer to your chamber door.

Satoru feels guilt twisting inside his stomach, that nauseating feeling of contrition before consummation. It doesn’t stop him, it never did – he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin, but at least he knows he isn’t fully without a conscience. And yet, what is the point of guilt, overridden by excitement, conquered by overwhelming love, as he turns the key to your bedchamber, to defile you once again?

Defile, Satoru thinks to himself, is such an ugly word.

Your door doesn’t creak when opened. A simple spell to ward off prying ears, lest he has to replace another servant; Satoru had come to learn how thin those walls could be, sensitized to the littlest of noises in the dead of night.

He locks the door behind him, placing the candlestick holder on your bedside table.

There’s not much to see in the darkness, except for your pliable, sleeping form. You don’t feel the weight of your mattress shifting, so deep in slumber, as Satoru sits by the edge of your bed with the familiarity of a husband; and he likes to pretend, too, that these late-night rendezvous have an amorous twist to them. Isn’t it romantic, to be visited by a paramour so secretive you’re neither awake nor aware to receive?

What is he, if not a dedicated, twitterpated, infatuated princely lover sneaking through the hallways of his own castle to meet his beautiful dove, his golden trinket, his falcon’s eye–

But he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

Satoru knows there’s nothing appealing about exploiting your vulnerabilities. If you were to ever find out, if you were to open your little eyes at this very second to see him stripping of his undertunic, the lovely relationship you’d built would crumble in a matter of seconds. It would break his heart into a million pieces, to see the horrified look of realization upon your face. And he feels the burning of guilt at the back of his mind, easy to dismiss, as his hands roam your body, past your clocked stockings of cotton and up your white shift.

He would hate to hurt you.

Which is why you’ll never find out. Your relationship can bloom into something far more precious that way, and soon he won’t need these nightly visits for fulfill the base needs you ignite in him. He often dreams of your wedding night, with you awake, receptive to his embrace, and then he’ll finally cross the one line he hasn’t dared to trespass all these years.

The shift is carefully slipped off your body. His cock is dribbling with pre-cum, twitching at the sight of your hardening nipples. He bedews one digit with his saliva as he lays by your side, spreading your legs just enough to slip one hand between to stroke your clit, peppering your breast and neck with kisses, nibbles, and nips.

Your body is more than accustomed to his touch by now – and for a moment, he wonders if you’ll be confused on your wedding night when, just like now, your folds grow wet with so little stimulation. Soon he hears the change in your breathing as it becomes heavier, increasingly ragged, little whines starting to come out of your lips.

Still, you don’t wake.

Not even as he slides a finger inside your soaked entrance.

It’s tight, temptingly tight, torturingly tight, but Satoru has enough self-control not to push himself through your folds. Not tonight. He can wait, he will wait until, eventually, you’ll be awake and willing to take his cock. He takes comfort knowing that day is not too far.

Satoru sits between your legs to rub his cock as he fingers you, biting his lip as not to let a wanton groan out.

"Fuck..."

It's not very regal to swear. He's never done so in front of you.

His voice is already strained, not above a whisper, when he sits up, settling between your legs to rub his cock with one of your limp hands. There are two fingers inside you now, Satoru biting his lip as to repress a moan stuck in his throat. He hates having to keep quiet, but the walls are thin, and it would be a lot more trouble than it's worth to deal with nosy neighbors.

Satoru isn't alarmed when you stir, eyebrows knitted slightly as he kneaded your clit with his thumb. It's not a sign you're waking up.

His fingers are coated in viscid, clear juices, thrusting in and out of your pussy with practiced ease. He can barely keep them inside when you tighten up, little tremors running through your body as you cum with a strangled whimper.

Satoru forgoes your hand in favor of positioning himself on between your folds, using your wetness to rub his length along your pussy, prodding at your clit with each upward motion. He’s lying atop you now, muscled chest glued to yours, gently suckling on your neck and muffling his low, guttural groans on your skin. His hips move at a controlled pace, refraining himself from how rough he wants to be with you – he’s still hung up about Nanami, after all –, feeling his own orgasm approach.

Your bed doesn’t creak, either.

He thinks of finally being enveloped by your insides, how your velvety walls would choke his cock when he made you cum. How your lips would touch his and you’d kiss, really kiss, how your body would respond to his touch when awake. What faces would you make for him? Would you look away, embarrassed, throw your arms around him and hold him tightly to you? He was dying to see you, to fill your womb as he looked deep into your open eyes.

Satoru Gojo isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

He’s delusional to a fault. And as much as he feels bad for you, for his horrible acts of debauchery against your unresponsive body – and all other perversions along the way – there’s hardly any guilt when he grips his cock with a tight fist, tugging at his length as spurts of pearly-white cum land on your bare stomach. His chest heaves, breath labored, half-lidded blue eyes staring at his handiwork with a dopey smile on his face.

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by thunder rumbling so deeply across the earth he swears he feels the walls shake. Candlelight flickers.

He cleans you up, not a trace of arousal to be found when he’s done, shift slipped back onto your body. For a moment, he sits at the edge of your bed again, leaning back on his arms. How he would love to wake up with you between his arms – but alas, you’d be much alarmed to see him by your side when morning comes.

He dresses himself, not before placing a chaste kiss goodnight on your forehead.

A ball, he ponders, that ought to be fun.

And as he leaves, candlestick holder in hand, locking the door behind him, there’s no guilt badgering his mind – only dresses. A selection of skirts and frills fluttering about, an appointment with the best seamstress in the kingdom; Satoru wonders which design he’ll choose for you to wear at the ball, smiling smugly to himself as he skips down the hallway, back to his chambers.

You wake with a startle, groggy, disoriented.

Resting in its usual spot at your bedside table, your trusty pocket watch indicates you’ve woken up a little over fifteen minutes later than you’re supposed to – Not too bad of a delay, which eases your initial panic. You’ll have to hurry up a bit when getting ready, but at least you won’t be late for work.

The herbs have worked a little too well, you conclude – gifted you dreamless sleep, devoid of interruptions, knocking you out barely an hour after drinking the tea you brewed. Although you had yet to fully wake up, there was newfound motivation to get on with your day after a much-needed good night’s sleep.

You make a mental note to properly thank Prince Satoru again. It was unexpectedly considerate of him to notice.

A shiver runs down your body as fresh air enters through your bedchamber window, caressing your face with its gelid touch. You see movement downstairs, servants and knights who have begun their day earlier than you. Beyond castle walls you saw the city, merchants coming and going through dirt roads among trees painted in breathtaking yellows, oranges and reds, its fallen leaves scattered over green grass. In the distance, you see neighboring villages, castles so far, they nearly faded into the horizon. The sun is out again, blue skies adorned by white, fluffy clouds.

The faint, comforting smell of freshly baked bread hits your nostrils.

You should get ready– you don’t want to be late, of course. But there is time for a quick look in the mirror, to check if your exhaustion-induced eyebags have been minimized, even if ever-so-slightly. It’s only then that you notice, attention diverted from the area around your eyes, three small, faint red spots on your neck and collarbone.

You touch them, briefly wondering where they could possibly have come from; but you don’t have the time to dwell on it for more than a few seconds, your neck will be covered anyway. One last look at the mysterious marks and you shrug, brushing them off. It’s nothing to worry about, anyway.

Must have been a bedbug.

#tw noncon #tw somno #tw somnophilia #tw yandere #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojo x you #yandere jjk x reader #cw yandere #dark fic

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l1tw1ck · 1 year

Note

FTM Akutagawa Ryunosuke with 8 and 9 maybe?

Curiosity

bottom!ftm akutagawa x top!masc reader

↳ [Event] | AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con Somnophilia, Stepcest, Oral Sex, Fingering, Riding, Squirting

Akutagawa came into your room for a purely innocent reason. He just wanted to borrow a colored pen. He assumed you’d be awake since it's the middle of the day but when he saw you asleep on your bed with a boner, the original plan was thrown out the window. He can't help himself but be curious, he’s always wanted to know what a dick looked like in real life. You probably won't even notice if he just takes a quick peak.

He pulls down your boxers and looks at your hard length in awe. He wants that inside him. He looks at you, who seems to be fast asleep, then back at your cock. He can't leave now, not when he's already seen how big you are. You would do a much better job than all his dildos. He gets onto the bed and slots himself in between your legs. He wraps his lips around your cock and starts to suck you off. He wants to know what cum tastes like. He takes off his shorts and underwear, freeing his wet cunt from the stuffiness of his clothing. He brings his hand over to his pussy and fingers himself as he gives you a blowjob. He bobs his head up and down, taking the low groans you’re making as evidence that he's doing well. His moans vibrate along your shaft as he speeds up his movements.

Akutagawa can feel your cock twitching in his mouth and he's pretty sure that's a good sign. He keeps going and moments later you're spilling your cum down his throat. He loves how you taste. He’s thankful that you haven't woken up, he hasn't gotten to the good part yet.

Akutagawa lines up his hole with your cock and sinks down onto it. He bites his lip and throws his head back. Just having you enter him is almost enough to make him come. He looks down and whines, blushing from the sight of you fully inside him. He wastes zero time and starts riding you. He doesn't even care that you might wake up from how fast he's moving, he doesn't have the self restraint to go slow. He moans shamelessly as he fucks himself on his step brother's cock, he knows this entire situation wrong but that only makes it better. He’s lucky the two of you are the only ones home. He bounces on your length like there's no tomorrow. He rubs his clit in circles as he moves, bringing himself closer and closer to his orgasm. “Ah-” He squirts and his eyes widen in surprise. He’s never done that before.

You start to wake up, shocked at the sight before you. “Akutagawa?”

#wicks🕯shorts #top male reader #male reader #bsd x male reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x male reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #akutagawa smut #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x male reader #sub akutagawa #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #🕯️akutagawa #🕯️bsd #wicks🕯️events

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toxicanonymity · 9 months

Text

midnight blow

3.3k / slasher!Joel x f!reader | slasher masterlist

beautiful slasher!Joel art by @bonezone44 💙

joel master / SLASHER JOEL MASTER

Can read alone w/ recap below.

RECAP (midnight tow): You were DTF with your tow truck driver Joel, then you offended him and he almost killed you just because. You fucked for your life and promised him a bj. Now instead of strangling you and shredding your car, Joel is taking you home--just for the night, he claims.

SUMMARY: Joel takes you back to his camper and you suck him off, then go to bed with him where you find a way to take control of the whole situation and make your getaway.

WARNINGS: I8 plus, spanking, hair pulling, oral m receiving, ball sucking, face fcking, degradation, somnophilia, dubcon unsafe P in V, creampie, riding, jacking off, implicit threat of violence, the tables turn, joel is a serial killer. NO Y/N.

dividers by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Joel drives the tow truck deep into his sprawling, dilapidated property. You’re straddling him the whole time, with his cum trickling out of you and onto his coveralls. He opens the window and you enjoy the breeze. Your dress is pressed up against his dirty white tshirt. Your head is over his shoulder facing the back of the truck. You said you wanted to suck his cock, and you guess that’s what you’re going to do. Yeah, you’re letting him take you to a second location, but it feels like an improvement after having a ligature around your neck thirty minutes ago. You’re going to have to suck it so good he falls into a coma so you can make your escape.

By the time the tow truck rolls to a stop, Joel is getting hard again beneath you, and his hips are moving, grinding into you. He cuts off the engine and puts his hands on your thighs. You pull your head back to look at him. A toothpick rests between his teeth. He grabs it out of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger and says, “you’re a damn good time, sugar. Lucky for you,” before throwing it out the window and returning both hands to your thighs.

His hands slide to your ass, his hips lift into you again, and he says “Mmm.” He tilts his head back against the headrest, falls into a trance and brings his fingers to your cheek. He thumbs your bottom lip and you let your jaw fall open. He wets his lips and murmurs, “you look thirsty, sweetheart. C’mon.”

Joel pulls the handle of the truck door and pushes it open for you. You’ve learned your lesson, and when you climb down, you stand there obediently. It’s still dark out, and you’re parked right at the treeline in front of a small camper. There are party lights strung outside the camper and a blue volvo parked next to it. It’s impossible to tell how dense the woods are or how far the trees go back.

Joel hops down from the tow truck and mumbles, “good girl. smart, too. nowhere to run.” He gestures toward the camper and you obediently walk in front of him. As soon as you’re in front of him, he slaps your ass and says “Ouch!” for you.

When you get to the door, he reaches around you to open it. It isn’t locked. You go inside and to the right where there’s a kitchen area. You stand awkwardly with your arms crossed and look toward him. There’s a sad old sofa with a folding tray in front of it and the cardboard from a Hunger Man meal. The windows are tilted open, and the camper smells faintly of sweat and cigarettes.

As soon as he gets inside, he reaches over his shoulders to pull his dirty t-shirt off over his back and discards it. Then he looks down at the crotch of his jumpsuit and slowly rubs the sticky dark blotch that rests over his hardening cock. “Now look at this mess you made. Must’a stretched you out good.” He looks at you and his face hardens as he tells you, “Sit down,” and points at the sofa. You sit on the old sofa, grateful to be alive, and he disappears into the restroom. There’s a tv across from the sofa.

The water turns on and off a few times, and when he comes back, he’s in dark blue joggers with no shirt. His torso is solid, tan, with only a little chest hair and a happy trail. He’s built, with a little bit of a belly. His arms are hulking. He goes to the refrigerator, pulls out a five pack of beer, and un-rings two of them. He hands one to you as he sits down. He wants to hang out.

He asks you what kind of tv you like. You say reality tv, the first thing that comes to mind.

“No shit,” he nods with a contemplative frown. You sit there and drink your beer, pretending to watch a kitchenware infomercial he seems genuinely fixated on. When your beer’s empty, you put it on the tv dinner stand next to his can and look at him. You’ll never have more liquid courage, so you might as well make a move.

You scoot toward him and put your hand on his closest knee then drag your fingers up his thigh.

He tears his eyes away from the tv and whispers darkly. “There’s my sex kitten."

You massage his inner thigh, getting closer and closer to his cock, watching the bulge in his joggers grow. Then you run your hand over it.

You press your palm into his hard manhood, sliding over the fabric, only moving an inch in either direction as you apply pressure. Then you cradle it with your fingers.

His breath deepens. “Oh you’re purrin’ for it, aren’t ya, kitty.”

You nod.

He drags the TV dinner table out of the way without standing up. “On your knees.”

You get on the floor between his legs and he watches with a scowl as you continue massaging him. The flickering blue light of the tv illuminates him. Your knuckles dig into his lower belly as you hook the fingers of each hand into his waistband.

You pull his cock out, then he holds it by the base.

With his other hand, he reaches between the couch cushion and armrest and fondles a black plastic object. When he sees you eyeing it, he pulls it up out of the couch and a blade emerges. A large knife. He takes his hand away from his shaft and presses the point of the knife into one of his fingertips, admiring the blade as your hands wrap around his cock.

You get up on your knees and lower your head into his lap. When you inhale, his musk sends a pang between your legs. You quickly suck his tip into your mouth. He continues to admire the blade, now just inches from your head. You suck him thirstily, making good on your claim that you really wanted his cock in your mouth. He sighs as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. He sits back and holds the knife on the armrest. You take his length down your throat. His girth is challenging. Your jaw quickly begins to get sore. You bob your head, slurping and sucking hard with your lips curled over your teeth.

He puts one hand on your head and with the other he fidgets with the knife on the arm of the chair. He moans and you glance up to see his head resting back against the cushion with his eyes closed.

You take the opportunity to glance around to see what you could use for your escape or self-defense. You rotate your knees and change angles so you can better survey the RV for a flashlight or weapon.

He grabs you by the hair and makes you look up at him. “What the hell are you doin’?” He pulls your head off his cock.

You shake your head, “nothing, just curious.”

“Well, get curious about my balls.” He pulls the waistband under his balls and glares at you.

“oh my god,” you whisper with your eyes wide, admiring his cock and balls together.

He nods slowly. You cradle his balls in one hand and take his cock all the way into your mouth with the other, getting it wet for your hand. Then you slowly stroke his shaft while turning your mouth’s attention to his balls. You lick up the seam of his scrotum and he shudders. “Fuck, woman.”

You swirl your tongue around one ball before taking it into your mouth. It really is a mouthful. You suck his ball and stroke his cock and glance up to see his stomach rising and falling, nudging your pinky. He groans as you suck. You give the other one some attention. He shifts under you and you glance at his cock to see precum leaking from his tip.

You try taking both into your mouth at the same time, but it’s too much. He laughs at you. Then you start sucking again and his face darkens. You trail your tongue down and tease his taint. His balls tighten. You lick where they meet his cock, then drag your tongue all the way up to the head and take him into your mouth again. He pulls your head down on his cock again and again. “Fuck, yeah, fuck, oh god” then he twitches between your lips. He slams your head down with his tip at the back of your throat and breathes, “Oh fuck you, kitten,” before exploding into your throat with a groan.

You choke on his cum, but he doesn't let you take your head off his cock yet. Your eyes water and he shakes his head at you, then closes his eyes, emptying the last of his load.

Finally, he releases your head and you let him out of your mouth.

You cough and cough, then you thank him. He stares at you. “For letting me suck your cock,” you clarify. One side of his mouth curls upward and he looks at you darkly.

He tucks himself back into his pants, then holds the knife in his hand and touches the point to a finger, admiring it again. You’re still collecting yourself when he furrows his brow and says, “I dunno if I’m gonna need this. What do you think?”

You shake your head no.

He looks at you skeptically. “long as you're here, you gimme what I want, when I want it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But-” He wraps his fingers around the handle.

You continue, “but what about when I want it?”

His face softens in amusement. “Oh-ho-ho, you really are a slut, aren’t ya?”

---

Joel puts the knife down, stands up, and stretches his arms behind his back. His bulge presses out against his joggers as his broad chest juts into the air. His triceps flex behind him. Then he stretches an arm over his head and you get a whiff of his sweat.

“Clothes off," he commands.

You remove your dress and he motions for you to go in front of him. "Shower."

It's a tiny bathroom. He makes you sit on the shower floor while he cleans himself. You hug your knees and watch the gray water go down the drain as he washes away the day. You look up at his hulking quads as he lathers his pubic hair with a bar of soap. He grumbles, "whole bar just to get the whore off me." He puts the soap in the hanging shower caddy.

After showering, Joel dries off then makes you use the same towel. You’re about to put your dress back on when he says, “you’re in luck. just did laundry.” He hands you a light blue laundry bag half-full of clean but wrinkled clothes. You rifle through it and your stomach turns. There are women’s clothes mixed in with his. Different sizes, some of them ripped and stained. You freeze and stare at a crop top with a short cut on the breast and a brown stain around it.

Joel loses patience and asks, “God damn, is it that hard?” He snatches the bag from you. He takes out a heather gray t-shirt and shoves it up against your chest. It has a zombie in sneakers and says The Running Dead 5k. “Heh,” Joel laughs when you hold it out to look at it. There's an open gash down one side of the chest and a brown stain around the collar. When you put it on, your nipple peeks through the gash.

"Shorts?" You ask.

He shakes his head no, then begins to walk back across the camper and picks up his knife from the sofa. "Bed," he says and nods toward it. His bed is notched into the wall at the end of the camper. He follows you to it then grips the back of your neck, still holding the knife with the same hand so the plastic digs into your neck.

He lifts the mattress and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm not gonna have to use these, am I?" He chains one of the cuffs to a metal lamp that’s screwed to the wall right above the headboard. He leaves the other cuff dangling open. He lets go of your neck to swat the dangling cuff with the point of the knife, then wedges the knife between the mattress and the headboard and abruptly grabs you by the neck again.

He bends you over the bed, pulls his hand back, and slaps your bare ass so hard it’s sure to leave a handprint. "Asked you a question.”

“No, I’m gonna stay right here. You don’t need those.”

“Don't try anything," he warns. Then he pulls his hand back again and slaps you harder on the same cheek. Your ass tingles then it fades to numb. He lowers his voice. "Or you're not gettin’ home tomorrow."

"Okay," you whimper.

"Good girl." He lets you go with a shove and you land face-down on his blue flannel sheets.

“Shit, I’m bein’ selfish, right? Not returnin' the favor?”

He makes you get in bed first so he's blocking you in.

“Maybe I’ll give it to ya in your sleep,” he says. “Bet ya’d like that."

You nod.

"Yeah, there’s my sex kitten. Bet ya can’t get enough'a this.” He lewdly grabs the bulge in his joggers before getting into bed behind you.

While you’re sleeping, Joel slips his hand between your legs. He feels how wet you are and whispers to himself, “oh get the fuck over here” as he gently rolls you onto your back.

He spreads your thighs and gets between them, He feels your cunt again and breathes, “fuck me, sweetheart.” The next thing you feel is his stomach against yours, then his tip at your entrance. You’re disoriented, still not really awake as he shoves himself into you. You sigh but your eyes stay closed. He pulls back then slams into you and bottoms out. It feels like a vivid dream. He grunts and pants as he pounds you. He must have been at it for a while already because his sweat is dripping onto you. Your mouth falls open with a moan and a salty drop lands right on your tongue. You open your eyes with a sigh.

“Fuck yeah, harder," you pant.

He tries his best but he’s already fucking you as hard as he can, and he’s nearly spent.

“Let me ride you,” you beg. “Wanna ride this big cock again. Swallow it whole with my cunt”

He slows his hips. “God damn you got a mouth on you.”

“Please.”

“Whatever,” he sighs as he pulls out of you and lays down on his back. He holds his cock at the base as you straddle him and align yourself over it. His eyes fixate on your nipple poking out of the shirt.

You take his tip slowly, then abruptly sink down onto him. “Ohhh, Joel,” you sigh.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he mutters, still catching his breath.

You ride him vocally, and put your hands above his shoulders. His hands are planted on your hips. When you come, you fold your body forward, discreetly grabbing the knife as you groan in pleasure.

“Come inside me,” you breathe, and begin rolling your hips again. “Fill me up.”

“Oh, fuck,” he pants and pinches his eyes shut. Then he pulses inside you and groans as he comes. You bring the knife to your thigh, then get off his cock.

“No,” he sighs. Then you take his cock in your hand and press the flat of the blade against his pubic hair. “What the fuck!” he gasps. “Hold on, hold on,” he begs.You press the edge of the knife against the base of his shaft. “Look, I’m sorry about the wire and all that.”

“Prove it,” you say. “How do I know you’re not gonna kill me?”

“Cause you’re a damn good fuck.”

“Cuff yourself.” You nod toward the handcuffs dangling from the lamp. He hesitates and you tighten your grip on the knife. “Don’t think I won’t. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Okay, okay.” To your astonishment, he actually cuffs himself to the lamp.

Mercifully, you take the knife away from his cock. “Where are your keys? The keys to the volvo.”

“On the hook in the kitchen.”

You grab the keys and come back. “Ya know, you’re not a bad fuck yourself. Maybe I should stick around.”

Instead of leaving, you go to the sofa and turn the tv back on. Something possesses you to clean his camper for him. You can’t stand to be around the mess, and enjoy exerting control over the environment. Like you’re wrecking his vibe and leaving your lasting touch. You spend an hour cleaning, then come back to the bed where he’s dozing off. You wake him up with a palm on his cock.

You pull his joggers all the way off. “C’mon now, kitten” he whines. Then you straddle him with your naked heat against his semi-hard manhood. He sighs and starts getting harder right away.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he sighs as you grind against him. “You’re nasty, aren’t ya.”

You nod. He uses his free hand to guide your hips. You make room for your hand and cup his balls. “Tank empty or got a little more?”

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs then looks you up and down. “Reckon I’ve always got more.”

You hover right over his cock and he starts trying to thrust up high enough to fuck you. You let his tip graze you a few times, then decisively sink onto him with a moan and he shudders. You move yourself up and down his cock, lean forward and grind against his pubic bone. “I didn’t think you’d really cuff yourself,” you say. “What are you gonna do if I let you go?”

“Give you a ride home,” he pants under you.

“Hah!” you keep riding him.

“Really.” He begins to grunts as you fuck him.

“Why don’t I believe you?” You slow your hips. You lift yourself up and start to let his cock out of you.

“No,” he groans. “Kitten, wait.”

You sink back down and take his free hand in yours, putting it between your legs. “Make me come.” You sit mostly still on his cock as he works his thumb on your clit until you see stars, strangling him with your walls.

When you’re finished coming, you push yourself off him and he groans at the loss. He begins to jack himself off desperately as he watches you get a pair of shorts out of the laundry bag and put them on.

"Oh bad girl," he shakes his head slowly as he keeps fisting himself. "baaaaad girl."

You leave him naked from the waist down, chained to the lamp with his cock in his hand.

“Told ya it was dangerous out here, sweetheart,” he shouts as the door slams behind you. Then you hear him finish loudly as you unlock the Volvo and get in.

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There will be another part but not right away. Follow for lore and more meanwhile.

Thank you so much for reading and an additional thank you to those who engage out here!! 🖤🖤 It really helps and makes me feel good. It's especially helpful bc i get labeled.

I will go back through my requests including slasher when I can.

There are more dark joels on my joel master list. you can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications for fic alerts.

to @jazziepascal, diehard slasher!joel fan, don't worry he's not done

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot

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#joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #serial killer!joel miller #slasher!joel miller #tw dubcon #tw somnophilia #joel miller smut #content label #slasher!joel #slasher!joel ☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️

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sluttywoozi · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 22: Somnophilia + Wooyoung

For 😎

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.1k | Pairing: jwy x f!reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: non-consensual somnophilia (it’s been discussed but they didn’t decide to do it this night), themes of non consent, bratty sub!wooyoung, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie, talk of punishment

Wooyoung knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, okay? Sure, you’ve talked about this before, but you definitely didn’t discuss it being tonight.

But you’re right here. Right here in bed, back to his chest in your microscopic pajamas, sound asleep.

And where is he?

He’s here in bed, in his boxers, right next to you and wide awake and hard, so hard, he could cry. So hard, he could cut glass. So hard, he could slip a hand into your shorts, stretch you just enough, and sink inside.

Which is exactly what he does.

He pets at your entrance with his fingers, your pussy still wet from when he ate you out before bed, and slides first one then two fingers inside. He doesn’t linger, just holds you open for his cock and slowly pushes in.

The heat of your cunt is scalding, nearly as hot as the pits of hell that will surely swallow him up as soon as he’s done with you. Or the magma of your rage when you discover he’s used you like this, taken you without permission, without earning it first.

Either, both, are worth it to feel this, you. To feel your pussy wrapped around him, and your warmth radiating into him, and your heart beating against his. Yours is slow, sedate, calm compared to the way his is racing, pounding, galloping in his chest.

It always feels like this when you let him inside of you, but it’s more intense now that you didn’t quite let him. He doesn’t know if he should attempt to move at all, used to you telling him what to do in these situations, so he just stays still, lets his cock throb and leak within your plush walls.

You feel good enough that he might not need to move to get there, might be able to let the searing, soaking luxury of your pussy carry him over the edge, though he really shouldn’t cum inside you.

Wooyoung wants to, though. Like, he really wants to. You only let him when he’s been a good boy and he’s being the very opposite right now, but it feels like the perfect end to this bout of sinning.

He can clean you up after, suck the cum out of your cunt with his mouth and wipe you down with a washcloth, and you might not even know.

He thinks he doesn’t really care if you do, though.

Even the thought of the punishment he’d get for this has him feeling hot, has his dick twitching inside you, has him struggling not to pull back and shove his hips into yours.

That would definitely wake you up, and he’s getting so close, too close for this to end now. He can feel precum seeping out of his aching cock, feel it mixing with your building wetness, and he just knows he’s only seconds away from breaking.

You start to clench around him in your sleep and he decides far too late that he just can’t cum inside you. He starts to pull back, but suddenly your hand is on his hip, your nails digging in and holding him to you.

“Where’re you going?” You mumble, a grouchy tinge to your drowsy voice. “If you’re gonna break the rules, you could at least make me cum too.”

You let go of his hip and reach for his hand, dragging it between your legs and tapping his fingers to signal him. Wooyoung rushes to find your clit, his fingertips rubbing sloppy, slick circles into the swollen little nub as his dick jerks inside you.

“Gonna cum, baby? It’ll be your last for the next week after this. You were too desperate, too needy to wait for me, huh?” You murmur as he whines into your ear, your walls clenching and squeezing around him. “Couldn’t even wake me up, such a bad boy. My little brat.”

Fuck, Wooyoung loves when you talk to him like this. It always pushes him closer, makes him flush from head to toe, makes him feel hot and loved and embarrassed and wanted.

He loves to be your bad boy, your little brat, loves to act out just so you’ll put him in his place. Every punishment earned is more than worth it, and even acts as an incentive sometimes.

Now, it might be what sends him over the edge.

He knows you mean it, knows you won’t be letting him cum all week, and also knows you’ll be using him in the meantime, so he’ll have to endure the bliss of your pussy while holding back his own.

Just the thought of you taking your pleasure while giving him everything and nothing makes him groan, makes the heat in his belly spool into a burning coil of desire, and when you shiver and start to cum around him, he knows it’s the end.

His head spins, his vision blurs, and all he can do is hold onto you and let your pussy unravel him as he comes apart. He buries his face in your neck, whimpering and trembling as his cock jerks and jolts against your walls, flooding you with hot, sticky cum.

He lays there, pressed up against you and fighting to catch his breath, until you start to squirm against him. He knows you don’t like to go too long without cleaning up after sex so he pulls away, slowly withdrawing his sensitive, half hard cock from you and rolling off the bed to jog to the bathroom on shaky knees.

He dampens a washcloth and returns as quickly as he can, scrambling to take care of you now that he’s not blinded by need. You roll onto your back and he wipes you down gently, murmuring words of gratitude and apology and hoping the rules are the only thing he broke tonight.

You must be able to sense the turn his mood has taken, your face softening and your arms opening to him. He falls into you, burrowing in your arms and curling his legs up against you, his arm slung over your waist and his fingers clutching your sleep shirt.

“Did I hurt you? Are you mad at me?” He asks in a small voice, fearful of the answer.

“You didn’t hurt me, Woo, and I’m not mad. We talked about trying this, remember?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t decide on tonight.”

“Which is what the punishment is for, baby boy.”

He hides his relieved smile in your chest, nuzzling into your warmth before heaving a great sigh and letting his eyes fall shut. He mumbles an, “I love you,” and the last thing he hears as his brain powers down and his body goes limp is your sweet voice telling him you love him back.

Kinktober Masterlist

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eddiesxangel · 6 months

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Bestfriend!eddie who sneaks into your room at night to “cuddle”. Bestfriend!eddie who sneaks into your room only to find you sleeping leg hiked up as your ass is poking out of your sheets. Bestfriend!eddie who can help but stare as your lacy cheeky panties are practically being eaten by your ass. Bestfriend!eddie who climbs into bed with a raging boner. Bestfriend!eddie who can’t help but rub his cock on your bare ass cheeks. Bestfriend!eddie pushing the boundaries only to hear you let a moan slip. Bestfriend!eddie dry humping you until his cums in his pants and you’re still sound asleep

I g2g 🫠😵‍💫😪

#perv!eddie munson #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #tw somnophilia

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scara-meow-che · 1 year

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then they were roommates ┃ sweet deception with thoma

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader with no set of pronouns, roommate! thoma, use of sedatives, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it!), pervert! thoma, noncon, he takes pics of you, male masturbation, pervert and a bit ooc thoma ♥︎

AN. another reposted work. i promise that i'd be posting new ones soon <3 just a little more from my part on actually editing the drafts that i have here but anyway, enjoy our ooc pervert, roomie thoma!

thoma is the sweetest roommate you’d ever ask for!

besides the fact that he constantly reminds you of the tasks you have absentmindedly forgotten or prepares breakfast in the morning, he also helps you with your projects whenever he has some time to spare.

you also want to take note of the tea he always makes!

“hey thoma! you haven’t told me what brand this tea is.”

the weekend had just arrived and you were left sprawled in the comforts of your blankets while watching another rom-com with thoma. he was laid adjacent to your side, the two loveseats occupied by your tired bodies.

“silly, how many times do i need to tell you that i handmade this! you can help me pick up the ingredients tomorrow morning if you want,” thoma offers with a smile. he can see how you immediately perked up in interest, nodding your head in agreement. “well, just make sure that you sleep early now since i often leave around 5.”

and he hears you grunt afterward.

“come on now, you wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this, yeah?” he encourages you, standing up from his seat. he eyes you, taking a huge sip of your tea before dropping down the cup on the nearby table. he shudders, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips before he reaches out both his hands to help you stand up.

as you do, you can feel your body slipping into a relaxed state, almost stumbling and falling back into the seat. but thoma was fast and had an arm wrapped around your body, gently cradling you in his warmth.

“easy now,” he mumbles. it felt quite nice to be wrapped in his embrace as the nature of his being caring seeps through while he guides you to your room. “getting sleepy now, aren’t you?”

you hummed, feeling the softness of your blanket caressing your skin as thoma gently lays you down on your bed. as each second passes by, you find your eyes can barely keep themselves open. and before you were consumed by sleep, you can hear the faint whisper from your roommate, a sweet smile etched on his face.

“sweet dreams f/n.”

it was truly sweet, thoma had always been like this every day and you barely notice the patterns. he is someone so kind, dependable, selfless, and caring so you trust him. there’s never a reason to doubt him, not when he had you gullible just as he wanted to.

don’t get him wrong but thoma genuinely cares for you. he likes you, a lot. but the intensity of his emotions quickly becomes too much for him to handle. you were so pretty, so perfect in his eyes that he can’t help but give you what he thinks you’d want, what you’d like, what you’d find worthy of your affection.

but he thinks that fucking you when you’re asleep is something you wouldn’t approve of.

when he sees the steady motion of your chest, lungs pumping air in and out of your relaxed and vulnerable state, he’s quick to adjust your body, letting you lie flat on your back and your legs pressed on each side. you’ve always looked beautiful to him, no matter what you wear, no matter how unkempt your hair was.

and he finds you most beautiful spread out like this for him to take. an angel you are in his eyes.

he groans when he feels his cock ache inside his tight pants. you’re just that perfect, fuck, he’s so damn lucky that he’s the one who gets to share this apartment space with you and not just a random bastard who wouldn’t treat you like he does.

he just hope you wouldn’t find out the debauched person he can be.

thoma wants to put all the blame on you. you should be held accountable for how adorable you are, and how your beaming eyes always had him hooked whenever you tell him what happened in uni. you should know that he’s utterly smitten from how much you cling to him, trusting him to the point where you don’t even notice that the tea he makes was the very reason why he had you pressed down like this.

of course, he wouldn’t dare hurt you. he’s not an asshole who just takes advantage of you like this and ends up hurting you in any way or form. thoma would spend the time preparing you, holding you, and pleasing you before he could even please himself.

as he had your legs spread open, he would gently remove your pants, revealing you in your underwear. he finds it cute how you wear this particular pair every weekend, the soft pastel red cotton undies he always love!

then he would notice how you’d shiver, feeling the cold gust of wind welcoming your flushed skin. thoma would cover you up with the blanket he made for you, smiling as he remembers how you were elated to receive this from him.

as he provides you a source of warmth, he would continue and leave kisses on your thighs, his large hands pressing down to spread your legs wider. he dares not leave any hickeys, as much as his mind tells him to mark you already. he can do that later when you’re finally sober enough to know what the hell he’s doing.

after leaving feather-like kisses on both your thighs, thoma would press two of his fingers between your clothed cunt, sliding up and down your slit. he can hear the gentle hums of satisfaction escaping your lips.

“even when you’re in deep sleep, you’ve always loved being pleasured like this, huh?” he whispers, putting in some pressure that the tip of his finger glides down your clit. “we wouldn’t want to mess this though,” he adds before he hooks two of his fingers to the band of your underwear and slowly pulls it off your body.

with your lower half exposed for his eyes to feast on, thoma almost came at the sight of your cunt slightly shimmering from your slick. he curses under his breath, impatient because he just wants to shove his cock but had put an immense focus so to mentally stops himself.

before he even loses control, he moves his head down and has his lips close in your cunt. he hums, satisfied, tasting you as his tongue laps up and down your clit. he can finally taste you, so sweet against the sensitive flesh of his mouth. you were addicting, thoma can’t help but give your pussy lips a kiss before he had his whole mouth sucking on your poor cunt.

he felt your thighs occassionally close back from the sensation, your eyebrows furrowing that your sleep-induced state tries to focus on the pleasurable feeling you’re receiving between your legs.

“you’re so damn cute,” thoma mutters before he goes back on assaulting your sensitive clit. he wants to hear you moan, to hear you whimper about how good he’s treating you, how good he was on eating you out, on pleasing you but that can wait.

after flicking his tongue on your sensitive nub, he had two fingers slowly pumping in and out of your hole. you were so wet, so ready for him to take but he wants to make you cum first. thoma goes back on sucking on your clit as his fingers smoothly go in and out of your hole, adjusting it to reach the most sensitive spot inside that he knew by heart. you were so warm, so tight around two of his digits.

the pleasure he gets from fucking you like this had him rutting his hips down the bed, cock itching to shove itself inside your warmth and have your tight walls snuggle it closer. his pants' already ruined from his pre. he groans as he does so, eyes peering up to witness how your back softly arched from the vibrations he had let go on your clit. thoma can feel how close you are, your warm walls sucking him in with fervor.

“that’s it f/n. go on, cum for me,” he says even if you won’t even hear him or know that it was him pleasuring you like this. your walls clamped on his fingers, your hole gushing out so much slick as thoma didn’t stop sliding his digits in and out to ride your high.

your body was still shaking a bit from the aftermath of your orgasm when thoma swiftly moved up and pulled his hard and aching cock out of his already-ruined pants. he hissed as the warmth of his hands made contact with his skin, quickly rubbing the bulbous head on your cunt to relieve himself from the pain.

“‘want you so badly, f/n, just let me—” slowly, he pushes himself inside your walls, grunting at the sudden tightness engulfing him. he eyes your body, those emerald hues watching every twitch of your eyebrow and how your chest lets go of a shaky breath as he finally pushes all the way in. “fuck, you feel so good around me.”

thoma’s head was spinning at the view he’s getting of you even more when he looks down to where you’re both connected. his long girth feels just perfect to be inside you, smoothly sliding in and out. hell, he wanted to roughly bend you in half and shove himself as deep as he could but you might wake up. he doesn’t want that but fuck, you’re making it so hard for him.

in seconds, he rocks his hips against your body, his thighs softly smacking against your butt as he slowly ruts himself in your core. thoma bites down on his lips, focusing on being gentle while getting the most out of your cunt. he closes his eyes, savoring how your walls sucks him in, tightening every time he bottoms out. he was so big yet he had managed to have you adjust to his size perfectly, molding you to have his cock alone.

he was close, the pleasure so intense on bis lower half he had somehow let go of his focus and started a rather quick pace in fucking you. he hears you whimpering, his mind thinking that you’re awake and was ushering him to go faster, that you’re close too, that you want him to make a mess out of you.

“anything for you, f/n. fuck, i’d do anything for you,” he utters with a moan, sweat glistening on his forehead, his balls slapping oh so loudly against your thighs covered with your slick. and he pulls out, groaning as his cold hands started to jerk on his sensitive cock before he lets out his thick cum just right outside your hole.

thoma could barely keep in his moans, shivering at how he coats your pussy lips with his load that you looked so damn messy but fuck, you’re just so beautiful in his eyes.

“i love you,” he whispers but gained back his focus in seconds when he hears you humming. his eyes darted back to your face only to see that you’re still fast asleep.

thoma sighs, shaking his head, and went back down to look at your cum-stained cunt. he could just jerk again at the sight but doesn’t want to wake you sooner than he’d think he might. but, before he puts your legs back down and it let relax, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly took pictures of your body, more on how he ruined you below, angling it where he can see how he had claimed you to be his.

with this sweet smile on his face, he bends down and slowly left a kiss on your forehead.

“sweet dreams, angel. i hope that we can spend more time soon.”

#⇲ full streams #nsfw.txt #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #thoma smut #thoma x reader smut #drugging tw #tw drugging #noncon tw #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #somnophilia tw

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