CLOSER TO [　Ｈｅａｖｅｎ　]

power couple

No one knows Sergio’s city name is Vatican except for Raquel and she only ever says it in bed

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

are you jealous?

➸ ask: “Please could we get ‘i'm not jealous. you're just mine’ for Jayce😭” ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! smut, nsfw, pwp, rough sex, dominant!jayce, jealousy, established relationship, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe, thanks for asking!!

Jealousy was a trait that Jayce buried deep within. One that he wasn’t proud of, and he hated every fibre of his being when his mind was filled with thoughts of it. Especially when it came to you.

You were beautiful, a goddess among men. The poor man couldn't watch you waltzing through Piltover without his arm stretching over your shoulders as a silent declaration of “She’s mine.”

Jayce’s frustration often translated into the bedroom, where he could get rid of pent-up anger and stress. You were happily oblivious to it, indulging in any attention you could collect from the man. He was your boyfriend; his attention was the only one you sought.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the door shutting and locking behind you as you entered your home, with Jayce lingering after—another day, another fancy charity event, with the Man of Progress at the centre of attention.

“Oh, gods,” you uttered quietly, lifting a foot behind you to help remove the uncomfortably tall heels one by one. “Remind me never to wear these out again.”

Jayce was oddly silent behind you, only the quiet hum of acknowledgement as he shrugged his coat off and hung it neatly on the rack.

“Hello? Jayce?” Your voice was louder this time, having spun on your heels to wave your hand in front of his face, “Had one too many glasses of wine, did you?”

You were met with a look of discontentment, his brows slightly furrowed together. You blinked, head tilting curiously.

“You had fun talking Salo’s ear off all night, did you?” He huffed; the accusation caused your mouth to drop.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, delicate fingers lifting to your necklace as you began taking your jewelry off. You didn’t have the time for petty arguing as you walked toward your bedroom, eager to undress, “I suppose I had a few good chats with him about the future of Piltover. Why are you so upset? I’m making connections, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” Jayce hurried behind you, footsteps heavy, “I’m just saying that you seemed to like his attention.”

His words were hushed as he spoke, obviously a bit sheepish for saying so. The wine in his stomach had done a great job removing the filter he’d so carefully put up every day.

“I can tell when you’re upset. I’m not an idiot… and quite frankly,” you looked over your shoulder once inside your room, hands behind your back struggling to undo the zipper of your dress, “I don’t appreciate the callous accusation. What’s your point?”

Jayce was quick to help, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lips met with your skin as your shoulders and back became exposed. Stubble tickling you and leaving you a bit breathless.

It was hard to stay upset with him.

“I’m just saying…” his voice wandered as he pressed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and into your ear, “You were all over him.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, hands keeping the dress pressed against your chest so it didn’t fall right to the floor. The kisses left you shivering with each movement—realization hitting when he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Jayce,” you whispered, turning your head to look at him. You stared into his eyes, hazel with golden flakes that sparkled under the right lighting. His rough hands were on your hips, possessive

“Are you jealous?” The words fell from your lips along with a smirk, the question lighting your insides aflame.

“Not jealous,” he growled into your ear, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you back so your ass was pressed against the obvious erection growing beneath his slacks, “you’re just mine.”

Oh, gods. That awoke something in you.

“Ah,” you let out a gentle moan, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his hands groped at you eagerly, practically ripping the dress from your body that you no longer cared about keeping neat as it crumpled to the floor, “So, you don’t like it when other guys talk to me?”

Jayce huffed, lips attacking your neck from behind, unafraid to bite into the skin and suck. A silent reaction that spoke volumes.

His hard cock pressed against your ass again, separated by his slacks and the lace panties you wore that wouldn’t be on your body for much longer. You were suddenly pushed forward against the wall next to you, a gasp escaping your throat as his hands reached around your body from his spot behind you and delved right into your underwear.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice heavy and laced with lust. Two fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit, and it took all your energy to keep your knees from buckling beneath you, “Laughing at his terrible jokes… your fucking hand on his arm.”

A mewl escaped your lips, ass pressing back into him with need as his fingers assaulted your clit and shot an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body. Your hands were pressed against the wall, nails scratching at it.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“You think you can just flirt with anyone you want?” He growled, licking a long stripe up your neck, lips ghosting against your ear and his other hand squeezing painfully tight on your hip, “Tell me.”

“No,” you answered obediently. You had never flirted, or at least intended so, but gods, you’d be damned if this wasn’t turning you on.

His fingers moved easily through your folds, soaking wet as your juices seeped through your underwear. 

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Jayce whispered, lips moving down your shoulder and back as he dropped to his knees behind you. Fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down your body, slowly over the globes of your ass.

“Yes,” you said softly, eager to please.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, hands fondling your ass before giving a hard smack. “I said, tell me.”

You winced in pain, “I’m yours, Jayce. Only yours.”

Jayce had never quite felt this way before, a rush of power and dominance taking over. Knowing very well now that this side of him wouldn’t go unseen again.

His eager eyes watched as his hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight hole and pussy that was so wet it dripped down your thighs. A pitiful mess, clenching around nothing.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, leaning in and licking from your swollen clit to your entrance. He poked and prodded, earning whimpers of pleasure from you that filled his stomach with heat and made his cock twitch in his pants.

He pulled away from your cunt after a minute of devouring you like a starved man, chin wet and glistening as he pushed a slow, deliberate finger inside your pussy, that squeezed impossibly tight around the digit. Having been waiting for any form of stimulation.

“Fuck—“ you choked, face pressed against the wall and ass out.

He then stretched you with two fingers, your tight heat clenching hard around them. Your hips stuttered, knees shaking, and you had to use the strength of your hands pressed to the wall to keep you upright. The wet sounds of your cunt being fingers with no remorse filled the room, mixing with your quiet moans and Jayce’s soft praises.

“So good,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh and under the curve of your ass, “Do you think I should fuck you? Do you deserve it?”

“Yes, please,” you cried, unable to take any more of the teasing as your nails scratched the wall again. His fingers pumping inside you had already made you crawl slowly towards your release, but the absence of stimulation on your clit kept you from falling off, “I deserve it—“

“Prove it,” his voice was heavy, full of lust. He moved slowly to stand behind you, the sound of his belt undoing, making you tighten around the fingers that abused your swollen sex.

You glanced over your shoulder, a pout on your lips as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Jayce, I’m all yours,” you begged, cheeks burning a furious red as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers, “Only yours, I promise.”

“Gods,” he breathed, removing his fingers from your cunt and pushing them between your lips, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You sucked around his fingers, the familiar taste of your juices heavy on your tongue. You moaned loudly around them, face pressing against the wall as he pushed his cock inside your greedy cunt with one sharp thrust. His thick girth stretched you, an amount of fullness that always surprised you, even after countless times of being fucked by him.

He snapped his hips against yours at a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing louder than your mewls.

Jayce lifted a hand into your hair, tugging your head back so he could breathe against your ear, “You take me so well, baby.”

A whine strangled in your throat, a delicious sound that settled a familiar heat in the pit of Jayce’s stomach. He let go of your hair, leaning back so he could focus both hands on your

hips, squeezing so tight that you’d be surprised if your skin didn’t form lingering bruises in its wake.

Your heat enveloped him perfectly, your inner muscles clenching tight around his length with each deep penetration. Enough to rumble a groan from his chest as he focused on fucking you brutally and senselessly, feeding off every cry of pleasure that came from you.

“Cum for me,” his words came heavy from his chest, leaning forward as he greeted your otherwise abandoned clit that was dying for attention with a heavy-handed touch, “Please, baby. I need you to cum.”

Your toes curled against the floor as you felt the tight cord in your abdomen snap, his fingers circling your clit and cock stretching you out, leaving you nothing more than a sex-induced mess. His name rolled off your tongue in repetition, walls tightening hard around his cock as you milked him–desperate for him to fill you.

“Fuck, Jayce–”

“Just like that,” he groaned, eyes watching the way his cock sheathed inside your aching cunt, “fuck, baby, you look so good. You take me so good. So fucking perfect.”

A moan caught in his throat as he leaned forward, teeth and lips pressing against your shoulder. He came hard, hips stuttering and losing his pace as his cock twitched inside you as his climax hit him with unbridled intensity. Jayce’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, grunting heavy sounds against your skin as he slammed into you with one final thrust.

His cock pumped stream after stream of hot cum inside you, your still spasming walls coaxing out every last drop.

“Ah, fuck–” he sputtered, his body nearly going limp as he let go of your hips, muscled arms instead wrapping around your waist, “... I love you.”

The sweetest giggle bubbled up from your chest, turning your head against the wall to meet his gaze, “That was hot,” you murmured, blinking slowly, “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Please, no,” Jayce groaned, chuckling dryly as he buried his face against your neck in coy embarrassment, “I hate it.”

“You’re a dork. I love you, too.” You beamed.

Walter have you made a shield yet? You're gonna wanna make a shield before you go into that cave Walter. Those skeletons are going make easy pickings of you without a shield I've seen it time and time again

oh my god i just had the most amazing thought for a steven grant one shot

so what if you’re a librarian that works at a library near the museum where steven works at and after a particularly hard shift he comes in all needy, so you fuck him in a private room and his whimpers and moans are loud so you’re like “shhh you gotta be quiet my love or im gonna stop” and he’s like “no no please don’t stop ill be quiet just please don’t stop”

IM LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS

Can you write a sequel to the sparring levihan where they actually spar and end up doing the dirty? 🔥🔥💦

Hello!! Long time no see :) This is a sort-of sequel to the sparring fic but I'm afraid there's no sparring, only a heaping helping of frustration and sweet, blissful relief when the tension finally breaks. Anyway they fuck in a tent.

Ever since the sparring incident, Levi had found himself itching to be close to her, restless whenever they were in close proximity. His fingers would twitch at his sides and his eyes would wander helplessly, searching her, examining every inch until he had her form guiltily memorised, but he had always maintained some distance. He had deliberately kept Hange at arm's length, in spite of every screaming, feral instinct that begged for the opposite. His own apparent lack of control unnerved and frustrated him. Levi had been very careful, until now, not to put it to the test.

**

"Absolutely not."

"Oh c'mon Levi, it's one night!"

"No."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'd rather crawl up a titans asshole and die than share a tent with you."

"That's a little hurtful, you know."

"Don't care."

Hange folded her arms and glared over at him. Levi averted his gaze coolly, rolling his eyes sideways to stare at the pasty, shivering recruit beside them, the ripped canvas of their own tent dangling pathetically from their hands. Levi had chewed them out enough already—this situation would have been perfectly avoidable if the idiot had checked their supplies before they set off—and they looked suitably abashed by the entire affair, but Levi curled his lip at them for good measure. They wilted under his gaze.

"Well, tough," Hange said. She turned to the recruit with an appeasing smile and handed over her own pack. "Use this for now. Please don't forget to check the condition of your own equipment in future."

The recruit nodded and snagged Hange's tent, scurrying away with a few fleeting, terrified glances at Levi as they went. Their fear was justified; Levi was feeling a little murderous, watching Hange scoop up his tent and march to a suitable location. He clenched his fists at his side and followed after her.

"Oi. Share with Mike."

Hange snorted. "He barely fits in his own tent."

"Nifa, then. Or Moblit."

Hange looked over her shoulder at him. "That'd be inappropriate."

"And this isn't? Piss off, Four-eyes."

"What's inappropriate? We're equals aren't we, Captain? It's just one night, I'm sure you can manage."

Levi disagreed. Vehemently. But he clamped his mouth shut, and watched Hange with some apprehension as she laid out the canvas and poles for Levi's tent, wishing it were simply an imbalance in status that bothered him so much.

Ever since the sparring incident, Levi had found himself itching to be close to her, restless whenever they were in close proximity. His fingers would twitch at his sides and his eyes would wander helplessly, searching her, examining every inch until he had her form guiltily memorised, but he had always maintained some distance. He had deliberately kept Hange at arm's length, in spite of every screaming, feral instinct that begged for the opposite. His own apparent lack of control unnerved and frustrated him. Levi had been very careful, until now, not to put it to the test.

They set up the tent in very one-sided conversation. Hange chatted endlessly as they worked, and Levi offered her half-assed grunts and monosyllabic responses until she ceased expecting anything from him at all, and talked continuously instead. Levi ground his teeth when her hand brushed his to pass him the hammer, her fingertips rough and warm, electric where they grazed his palm.

They had limited room to manoeuvre, within the tent. Hange laid their mats and blankets inside, and Levi managed to wedge both of their bags down where their feet would go, but the tents weren't designed for two sleepers—they were compact little things, just long enough and narrow enough for one well-built soldier. He eyed the mouth of the tent, and then slid his gaze sideways to where Hange stood, stooped to peer in as well.

"It'll be a squeeze," she said, straightening up. She jammed her hands on her hips and grinned at him. "But we'll manage."

Levi scowled. "Eat shit."

Hange seemed as unbothered as she ever was by his churlish response. She stretched well, her arms reaching high towards the pink sky, as though already preparing for the long, cramped night ahead. Levi followed the line of her body from her feet right up to the tips of her fingers; her long, lithe, lean frame was only accentuated by the belts of her gear, and Levi noticed for the first time how tight they were against her. They pinched into her thigh, the muscle bulging between the thin leather straps. Levi's mouth watered with the unbidden urge to sink his teeth into the firm flesh. He swallowed reflexively, and pulled his gaze away from her legs and up to her face, where, to his mortification, he found Hange watching him with a curious tilt of her head.

"Something wrong?" She asked. Levi curled his lip and turned away quickly to hide his flush, stomping towards the stone pit and throwing a few sticks into it to start a fire.

The evening passed strangely. Time seemed to drag on, caught between pointless conversation, listening to Hange talk animatedly with her squad while his own team listened with rapt attention over their steaming bowls of stew. It was, at the very least, a good excuse to watch her. It wasn't so obvious that he was staring when Hange was the centre of everyone's attention. And then, all too soon, the sun had fallen beyond the horizon and the sky had grown dark, lit by the pale glow of a full moon, and the soldiers were retiring to their own tents.

Hange stayed up to clear the dishes. She had waved away her squads proferred help, but it felt rude to go to bed without her, and so Levi squatted down beside her and wordlessly began rinsing the leftover bowls.

"You don't have to," Hange said, though gave no objection when he fished the bowl from her hand and dipped it into the pail.

"You'd do a shit job on your own," he said gruffly. He ran his thumbs around the inside of the shallow dish, sweeping greasy residue from the polished wood. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hange green. She shifted in her squat, settling by his side and taking the bowl when he held it out for her, running a grotty towel over it. Levi scowled. He wanted to berate her for using the dirty fabric on freshly washed dishes, but then she moved again, and her knee nudged into his own, and all decent thought was wiped abruptly from his mind.

Stupid, how such simple contact unbuckled him so easily. Her knee was warm through the fabric, and pressed more firmly against his own whenever she shifted to pile the bowls into their crate. It took an inordinate amount of concentration for Levi to continue his task; he slowed considerably, taking his time to rinse each dish, focusing intently on the feel of the grain beneath his fingertips, the way carved wood sloped in a low curve and rose again, catching his nail on the thin lip around the rim of the bowl. Anything to keep his mind occupied, to keep his thoughts from straying.

Hange hummed contentedly as she worked. The crackling fire was dimming, embers glowing bright in the darkness, and there was a constant, low hum of chatter as the soldiers readied themselves for bed. In any other circumstance, Levi might have called the atmosphere peaceful.

But the dishes were almost done. The food had been packed and hiked up a height, safe from any scavengers. The tents were set, and the first watch had settled at their posts. There was nothing peaceful at all, about the prospect of what was to come next.

Hange straightened up when the last dish was dried and packed, hefting the crate up into her arms. It must have been heavy, loaded with pots and pans, bowls and utensils, but Hange lifted it with little more than a quiet grunt as the weight settled in her arms. Levi's gaze caught on her hands. Long, thin fingers, rough and dry from manual labour and a chronic lack of self care. Veins webbed from her knuckles to her wrists, over her forearms, disappearing beneath the turned cuffs of her sleeves where she'd rolled them up. She gripped the edge of the box, her knuckles white under the strain.

"Thanks," Hange said. Levi blinked dazedly, and rolled his eyes up to her face. She blew a few loose strands of hair from her eyes and smiled brightly down at him. "I'll put these away and then we can settle for the night."

Levi's stomach knotted. He nodded mutely, straightening up and dusting himself down as Hange loaded the crate onto the cart, securing a tarp over it. Without her cloak, Levi could see the curve of her ass as she bent forward, accentuated by the leather straps curving beneath each cheek. He bit the inside of his mouth and turned away, painfully aware of the growing tightness in his groin.

Hange met him outside the tent. They stared into the mouth of it for a long while, silent. For Levi's part, he was prolonging the inevitable. Spending the night pressed up against Hange in a tiny one man tent was the stuff of his every fantasy; feeling the length of her body flush against his own, long, strong legs tangled with his, hearing her every breath panted in his ear. It was exciting. Tantalising.

It was also his worst fucking nightmare.

The Hange in his fantasies was a very different person to this Hange, who stood at his side, blissfully unaware. For all her smarts, Hange had failed to notice exactly what she did to him. She treated him like she did anybody else, all bright smiles and casual touches, ignorant of all the nights Levi spent with his hand down his pants, fisting his cock to the thought of her.

"Which side do you want?"

Levi rolled his eyes to the side, though he barely dared to look at her. He didn't much care either way. Finding comfort was going to be an impossible task, regardless of which side he slept on.

"Left," he said anyway. Hange nodded, and began toeing off her boots. Levi did the same, setting them just under the canopy in the slim chance it rained, and crawled quietly into the tent, flopping straight onto his side with his face to the canvas. He waited with his breath held for Hange to climb in behind him, but was met instead with the metallic click of buckles outside. Against his better judgement, Levi looked up.

Hange had already unfastened the strap across her chest and detached the back panel of her gear. She deftly unbuckled the belts at her hips and her thighs until they were loose enough, and then she wiggled, shimmying out of the leather harness. Levi choked. He covered the little noise with a gruff, "Oi. The hell are you doing?"

Hange looked up at him. Bent forward the way she was, her hair fell haphazardly about her face, messy and unkempt as ever. She blinked at him through her fringe, and cocked her head.

"Hm? Taking my gear off."

Levi scowled. "I can see that, shit head. Why?"

"...so I can...sleep? Comfortably? Like a normal person?"

She looked down again, stepping neatly out of the leather pooled around her feet. She tucked the straps under the canopy with their boots, and then, to Levi's horror, she unfastened the button on her pants, and pushed those down her legs, too.

"Hange," he hissed, barely averting his gaze. He was thankful for the darkness. The heat in his face was unbearable; the moonlight would hide his blush, at least a little. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's hot," she said. She ducked into the tent, stuffing her discarded pants down by their bags. "I'll sweat if I keep those on."

She was still kneeling in the mouth of the tent. Levi flashed his eyes to her, intent on keeping his gaze up, towards her face, but Hange's fingers were making quick work of her button-down shirt, and the fabric was beginning to splay open, revealing smooth skin, and the wrappings around her breasts.

"For fucks sake," he grumbled. He threw himself back onto his side, scowling at the canvas.

"What?"

"Have some fucking decency," he bit out. To his immense irritation, Hange only laughed.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," she said. Which was true, technically. But Levi had pictured far more than this, far more than she could ever imagine, and the guilt of that sat heavy in his gut.

Levi lay stiffly as Hange finally clambered into the tent. She pulled the flaps closed, knotting the straps together tightly, and then flattened herself out over the mat and let out a long sigh.

"What a day," she mused quietly. Levi felt her shift behind him, and heard her small, strained groan as she stretched. Levi had wedged himself as close to the side of the tent as possible, but he could still feel her, brushing at his back whenever she moved.

He kicked his foot back, finding her calf and shoving her away. "Stick to your own side," he said, nudging her again. Hange kicked him back and she had the audacity, again, to laugh at him.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," she said, and Levi felt her move again. Her finger poked into the middle of his back. "But this tent is a little too small for sides. We'll just have to make do. I should warn you, I'm a hugger."

"Hug me and you're sleeping outside," Levi snapped. Hange snickered.

"You'd make a lady sleep out in the open?"

"Some lady. Stripping in a tent with a man."

Hange snorted, then made a dismissive noise, and Levi could picture her waving him off. "It's just you, so it's fine."

Levi frowned. He wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, and whether he was supposed to be offended by it or not. Either way, it wasn't fine. It was so fucking far from fine.

"I suppose I'm not much of a lady, anyway," Hange said, almost absently. Levi grunted his agreement. If she had expected him to refute her, she didn't sound at all disappointed by his lacklustre response. She laughed quietly, and shifted again. Her body felt hot at his back, too close. "Say, Levi?"

"What."

"Do you like women?"

Levi thought guiltily of Hange and his every sordid fantasy, every wayward thought he'd had about her of late. Did he like women? It was hard to say. Levi had never given it much thought before. He'd had sex, a handful of times, but his experiences had not been limited to women, and none had been borne of any distinct attraction. Before Hange, Levi had never particularly desired any one person.

"None of your business," Levi said, in lieu of a proper answer.

Hange huffed behind him. He could picture that pout of hers, the comical, exaggerated jut of her lip, and quick as a flash it was gone again, replaced by a grin that reflected perfectly in her tone when she said, "I'm curious. For all we've talked, I don't know a whole lot about you."

"Stay curious."

"Gaaah, you're no fun, Levi," she drawled. Levi felt her loom closer behind him. He snatched up one of the blankets lumped beneath them and yanked it free, pulling it over himself. It was a thin barrier, but a barrier nonetheless.

Hange must have taken the hint. She said nothing more, but she tossed and turned for a long while as she tried to get comfortable, sighing and huffing in the heat.

Levi was acutely aware of her presence. It set him on edge, body stiffening every time she so much as twitched behind him. His brain worked in overdrive, listening for every little noise outside the tent, or counting the stitches along a seam in the canvas, anything to avoid thinking about Hange. She was so, agonisingly close, and in the confined space he could smell her, salty and earthy as usual, and he could hear her breathing, settling into a long, slow rhythm as she fell into sleep.

It was too easy to imagine a million different scenarios. How simple it would be to roll over now, cover Hange's half bare body with his own. To nudge her legs apart with his knee and settle into the cradle of her thighs, kiss her lips—softly parted as she sleeps—and rouse her awake. He could so vividly imagine the way she would feel, hot and wet through the thin fabric of her underwear, pliant against the press of his cock as he grinds into her. It would be so easy. Too fucking easy.

He shook the thought from his head, curling his hands into tight fists. He felt too hot, a little dizzy in the cramped space. His cock was hard, and Hange made a soft sound in her sleep, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Levi bit his lip and turned his face into his pillow. Torture. That's what this one; some cruel punishment, and Levi suspected he deserved it, the way he had been thinking about her lately.

He willed himself to calm down, breathing evenly, deeply. His eyes stung, itching with tiredness, but his every muscle was too tense, on edge. And whenever sleep threatened, his mind wandered,  straying dangerously to thoughts of Hange, her bright smile and the lilt of her laughter as Levi pins her down, her wrists clamped above her head in one of his hands. The tent is small and cramped and Hange's breath misted on his face as she giggled, sweet and lilting, breaking into a moan when Levi slid his hand down between them, over her belly, beneath the waistband of her underwear.

He jolted awake again. Cursing quietly, he shifted, adjusting the crotch of his pants to alleviate some of the pressure. Sleep fogged his mind, pulling him under time and time again and teasing him with dream after agonising dream of Hange. Sometimes she was just looking at him, her head cocked in that curious way as she waited for him to speak, to do something. And sometimes her gaze was darker, low and hooded, and her hands and lips met him half way when he moved to her. Sometimes she was already putty in his hands, whining and writhing against the rumpled blankets, and sometimes the tight heat of her was frighteningly real, vice-like around his cock.

He woke again and again, sudden and disoriented. Struggling to shake the pictures from his mind before he tumbled back into sleep.

In the next dream, Hange was pressed snug up against his front. He was molded to the curves and contours of her body, his knees wedged into the crook of her legs, hips flush to her ass, his chest to her back. Her hair tickled his nose, and he tucked his face into the nap of her neck to escape the feathery feeling. She felt so warm against him, and the curve of her ass was soft against his cock. He was sleepy, in this dream, drifting in and out of consciousness, but Hange's body was a constant, pressed tightly back into his front.

She shifted against him, wriggling her hips back, and Levi snaked an arm around her waist to pull her in tighter. His hips pressed forward, slow and lazy; she felt good on his aching cock, deliciously pliant. He let out a breathless moan against her neck, and Hange made a quiet, pleased sound in return.

The pleasure built slowly, this time around. Levi was in no hurry, content to sleepily rut against her. Hange's breathing picked up some, shorter and shallower, broken now and then with tiny, thready moans when Levi ground harder into her. He flattened his palm on her belly—the skin was softer than he'd ever imagined before, smooth and hot, twitching beneath the tickle of his fingertips. A memory swam forward, of Mike, all those months ago, pinching so easily at her side, and he wondered if Mike had ever touched her like this. The thought reared something ugly and possessive in him. His fingers dug into her skin, dragging her back, and his mouth nudged against the skin of her shoulder, teeth scraping there. Hange gasped, but made no move to pull away.

He could taste the sweat on her. Her skin was gritty on his tongue from the dry, dusty air. It should have been unpleasant, maybe, enough to turn him off, but Hange tilted her head against the pillow, exposing more of her neck to him, and Levi obliged helplessly.

"Ah, Levi..." She breathed his name like a prayer, quiet, but it boomed in the cramped tent. Levi's cock jumped, hips flexed. He nipped at her again, revelling in the way his name had sounded, spilling almost silently from her lips.

Everything was so vivid. The way she tasted, the way she felt. Her quick, panted breaths and the quiet little whines that bled through, bitten off to keep quiet—sensible, Levi thought, sucking a bruise into the crook of her neck. They were in a tent, after all. Anyone could hear them.

Except, Hange had never bothered keeping quiet before, in his other dreams. She had been incredibly vocal, whether she was laughing, or moaning, or crooning obscenities in his ear. He had never been able to taste her, either. Never felt each grain of dirt on his tongue.

He blinked groggily.

Moonlight crept through thin spots in the canvas where the seams connected. The spilled like light through a cracked door, slanting into the tent, but Levi's view of it was obscured by a head of messy brown hair.

He blinked again.

Hange—Hange, real and whole, not a dream—was pressed flush to his front, and she was panting breathlessly, her stomach rising and falling sporadically beneath his hand where he held her tight. She squirmed, and Levi bit off a groan. He was hard. Painfully hard, cock wedged against Hange's ass.

"Shit." Levi's voice was thick and hoarse from sleep and arousal. He moved sluggishly, pulling his face away from her neck, the beginnings of shame and disgust roiling in his gut. What had he done? Lost control, is what he'd done, humped his comrade—his superior—like a dirty fucking dog. An animal. "Shit. Fuck. Sorry, Hange—"

He had tried to slide his hand from her waist, but Hange caught him about the wrist and held him tightly. He stilled, frozen. Her grip was firm, but not painful. Levi wouldn't have blamed her for crushing his wrist if she'd wanted to. He deserved that much. But she didn't, just guided his hand back to her belly, and pressed until he splayed his fingers against her again. She wriggled, and Levi muffled a sudden grunt against her back; the move teased his cock mercilessly.

"Sorry," he said again, reflexive. He felt Hange shake her head.

"It's fine. It's—" she moved again, more insistent, this time. Levi's hips curved helplessly forward, seeking pressure, friction, and Hange let out a shuddering breath, pushing back to meet him. She bit back another sound. Levi's fingers curled at the noise, pads pressing into the soft skin of her stomach.

"Fuck," Levi said again. This couldn't be happening, couldn't be real. Only in his wildest fucking fantasies could he have Hange like this. But it was real. The way she rolled her hips back was real, and the soft, barely contained sounds bleeding out of her were real, and the way she gripped his wrist again, pushed his hand down this time, low, lower, until he was cupping her over her underwear—that was so very real.

"Shit, Hange," Levi breathed. He ran his fingers over her. She was wet, drenched through the fabric, heat radiating from her and her hips shuddered when Levi stroked a line over her, breath jumping. She took him by the back of the hand and moved him where she wanted her, applying pressure—just as brazen as he'd imagined her to be. He let her lead him, circling over her clit in a way that made her tremble, body curling in on itself. She whined, turned her face into the pillow to muffle the sound.

Levi curled with her. He bit at her shoulder again, delighting in the way it made her tremble while his fingers worked her over.

He had imagined this more times than he could count. Far more than he'd ever care to admit. The way she would feel, the way she would sound—the way she would look. He couldn't see her like this, with her face buried in her pillow, and he was struck by the sudden urge that he wanted to. Hange might regret this in the morning, she might hate him for it. If she was giving him this one chance, he wanted to make the most of it.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and raised himself up. Hange gave a disappointed whine, turned her face to look at him as he moved over her, hovering.

She blinked tired eyes up at him. She looked just like Hange always looked, sans glasses, with her messy hair and chapped lips and dirt smeared on her skin, but the streak of moonlight cast her in a soft, pale glow, glinting in her eyes and catching on the soft pink of her cheeks. The effect was so jarring it made him pause. He froze staring down at her, until Hange moved to lie on her back, and her hands crept up to his waist, pinching into his shirt.

"Why'd you stop?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper. It's such an innocent question, and Hange said it so simply, as though she were asking for something as innocuous as a massage, like Levi hadn't been dry humping her in his sleep. He dipped low, eyes darting over her face, falling again and again to her lips. Dry, cracked, stupid fucking lips.

Levi moved closer. Hesitated. He gave Hange time to move, if she wanted to, to push him away, but she watched him with that infuriatingly calm gaze, and Levi's composure broke.

He kissed her like he was angry with her. He was, in a way; angry that she had insisted on sharing a tent, angry that she had stripped down to her underwear right next to him, like it was nothing. Like it would have no effect on him. Angry that she looked the way she did, sounded the way she did, angry that he could never quite get her out of his head. Their teeth cracked painfully, but Hange opened her mouth to him readily, her tongue licking quick and sharp behind his teeth, against the roof of his mouth. She kissed him back like she had been starving for it. Levi allowed himself a moment to wonder (hope, maybe) that she had been.

He nudged her legs apart with his knee. She shifted easily, making space for him to settle between her spread thighs, and Levi felt the hitch of her breath when he touched her again, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her underwear this time. He thumbed at her clit, rubbed his fingers over her opening, and Hange canted her hips into him, hissing her yes against his lips.

It's a funny thing, how loud every little thing becomes when quiet is a necessity. Hange's ragged breathing echoed like thunder, every hitch and start painfully audible in the quiet night. The rustle of the sheets and the wet, smacking sound of his fingers fucking into her, sloppy, sucking kisses and Levi's own breath, shaking and dragging rough in his throat, all of it was unbearably loud. He kissed her soundly, swallowing her moans, trying to keep her quiet. The others should be sleeping, and the watch stations were a little way from the campsite; they should be fine, but Levi wasn't willing to take the risk. The last thing he wanted was word of this indiscretion getting around, getting back to Mike or Erwin. Great big bastards with their stupid smug looks. He couldn't stand even the thought of it.

He bit at her bottom lip and Hange whimpered, her hips rolling up into his hand, seeking more from his fingers. He nipped at her again. His cock jumped at the sound she made. He dragged his lips from her mouth to her jaw, scraping his teeth along the sharp line of bone there, and down to her neck, where he sucked the skin up and laved his tongue over it.

He kissed down to her collar, her chest, running his lips over the top of the wrapping there. One of Hange's hands settled on his shoulder, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and the other sunk into the hair atop his head, tugging enough to sting.

He had predicted Hange to be a demanding thing in bed. Still, it surprised him when she began pushing him down, past her chest, her belly, guiding his face between her legs. He stopped there and scowled up at her, waver her hand away from his head where she had been shoving him.

"Brat," he hissed. Hange grinned lazily down at him, evidently proud of herself. Levi was less than gentle when he gripped her hips and hiked her right up the length of her mat, until the top of her head bumped into the canvas, so that he could settle between her legs more comfortably. Maybe, in another circumstance, Levi might have teased her. Drawn this out more. Took his time with her, exploring every inch of skin from ankle to hip with his tongue and lips and teeth, bite marks into the soft, scarred skin. But Hange was persistent, demanding. Her fingers threaded back into his hair as Levi pulled her underwear down and she tugged him in insistently, anging her cunt up to his mouth.

Up close, Levi could smell her; heady, dizzying. He nuzzled his mouth and nose into her, the tip of his tongue drawing a line up the seam of her, circling her clit before he cupped his lips around her, sucking gently. Her hips bucked up and a shaky, unsteady moan bled out of her.

"Shut up," Levi warned, muffled. He slid his hands under her ass, gripping her cheeks and pulling her hips closer to his face.

He made a meal of her, like he had done in every daydream, every fantasy. Lapped at her, sucked at her, drank her down, and Hange writhed and panted just like he'd always thought she would, desperate against him. She had a hand clamped tight over her mouth but it did little to quiet her, and her hitched, stuttered breathing carried loud in the quiet night.

"Shit, Levi," she groaned, strained, when he crooked two fingers into her. "That's—yeah, like—like that, oh fuck."

Levi hummed quietly against her. He could feel her throbbing beneath his lips and tongue, her walls fluttering around his fingers. She breathed quick and harsh, chanting his name in a whisper that grew in pitch, and then she stifled, silent, beautifully taut, before the pressure snapped. She came with a short, sharp cry, too loud, her body shuddering and twitching as Levi worked her through, swallowing the rush of fluid on his tongue.

He pulled away, rubbing his mouth against her thigh to wipe some of the wetness away. "Too fucking loud," he muttered. He nipped at her trembling thigh for good measure before he drew himself up onto his hands and knees, and made his way back up her body.

Even in a situation like this, Hange offered affection easily. She greeted him with a happy, satisfied smile, her arms wrapping loosely around his neck as he crawled his way up to meet her, drawing him in dizzyingly close. She kissed him, just a peck, at first, gentle and bare, but when Levi pulled back, face sour as he said, "that's fucking gross, four-eyes," she laughed lazily and pulled him in again, licking at his messy lips and coaxing him into a something deeper. It should have been disgusting, with the lower half his face wet and slick, but the smell of her was heady in his nose, and Hange made low, quiet noises each time she sucked at his lip, tasting herself, and Levi couldn't really bring himself to mind.

Hange's hands roamed over his shoulders, down his back. She dug her fingers beneath the back plate of his gear and tugged it, huffing into his mouth.

"This is why I don't sleep in gear," she said into his mouth. "I want your shirt off."

Levi pulled back, straddling her hips and sitting up to unfastened the buckle across his chest.

"I don't think this is why," he said. Hange had already unfastened the straps at his hips, and had moved on to the main belt at his waist. He hissed when her knuckles brushed his cock through his pants, hips bucking forward involuntarily.

"Mm, maybe not. But it's a good side effect." Hange splayed her hands over his hips as he pushed the harness back and off. She smoothed her palms down his thighs and up again, content to simply watch rather than help as he unfastened the belts there.

It was awkward, kicking his way out of the leather in the tiny tent. Hange giggled at him the entire time, openly delighted at his struggle, and the smile didn't leave her face even as Levi put on his best scowl.

"Grumpy," she laughed. Her hands reached for his face when he folded back over her, her thumb smoothing the wrinkled skin between his brows. "Careful. If the wind changes you'll get stuck like that."

Levi scowled deeper, defying her pull on his skin, and Hange laughed again—too bright, too loud. He should have shushed her again, but something in her big, open smile, her brazen happiness, stalled him.

She drew him so easily into another kiss. Levi followed her down helplessly, stretching his legs out, nudging his way back between her thighs while her fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. She pushed it back from his shoulders and ran her palms over the exposed skin of his back. He could feel every callus on her palms and fingers, the rough spots catching and scratching. The sensation made his hips twitch, and Hange laughed throatily every time, switching to scrape her nails from his shoulders and down his back. Levi hissed, biting her tongue.

"Sensitive," Hange mused. She soothed him, rubbing her thumbs in small circles while she licked long and slow into his mouth.

Levi had expected fucking Hange to be quick and rough, a desperate release after so much pathetic pining. He hadn't expected anything like this—not the soft touches, or the kisses, or the laughter. Not the way Hange's hands worked his pants open while she sucked on his tongue, pushing his pants and underwear down the length of his legs until she could reach no more. She brought her legs up and used her feet—disgusting—to shimmy them the rest of the way down. Levi kicked them off, and then the pair of them were bare save for Hange's breast wrappings. She seemed in no hurry to take them off. She hadn't sought his touch there, guided neither his hands or his mouth to her chest, but she must have caught him staring for she tilted her head, and looked down at the wrappings herself.

"I can take it off, if you want," she said. Levi's eyes rolled up to her face. For the first time, something uncomfortable reflected there. Something uncertain. Levi leaned down to kiss at the soft spot beneath her jaw.

"It's fine," he said. Hange let out a long sigh—relief, he suspected—and wound her arms around his neck.

It was Hange who moved first, spreading her legs and curling her thighs up against his hips, so that his cock brushed temptingly against her cunt. She nipped at his mouth, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and biting down hard enough to ache.

"What're you waiting for? Fuck me," She muttered, running her tongue over his throbbing lip. Levi growled low in his throat and bit back, teeth gnashing, barely catching her tongue. She yelped and dropped her head to the pillow with an exaggerated pout.

"That wasn't sexy," she said. Levi shifted his weight onto one elbow and slipped the other hand between them. He stared, transfixed, at the way Hange's eyelids fluttered when his knuckles brushed her belly, her hips.

"Wasn't supposed to be," Levi said. "Was supposed to shut you up."

"Mission failed."

"I can fucking hear that."

Hange grinned, and Levi drew his fingers down to the joint of her thigh, gliding over the slick skin. Hange made an airy, breathless sound, when Levi took his cock in hand and pressed it up against her cunt.

Hange wasn't the type to beg. She'd showed him as much, dragging him here and there, taking what she wanted from him without hesitation. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, her eyes screwed shut, and her mouth fell open with a gasped, "please," and Levi didn't have the strength to deny her.

She felt fucking phenomenal. Maybe, if he'd had more control, more discipline, he'd have teased her. Pushed in a little way, let her feel the stretch and withdrew, fucked her with short, shallow, languid strokes until she was crying for more, for him to fill her so deep she could feel it in her gut. He'd have taken his time, savoured every small detail. But he was a desperate man, and he slid into her quickly and all at once, until they were flush together. Hange sucked a few frantic breaths at the intrusion and Levi buried a low moan in the crook of her neck.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. His voice grated in the quiet night, too loud. Hange wheezed in his ear, air shuddering in uneven bursts from her chest. Her nails raked into his skin. He drew his face up slowly, nose brushing along her cheek until he could look at her. She looked back at him through low, hooded eyes, lips wet and open. "You good?"

Hange nodded. She snaked her hands up into his hair and pulled him down, into a kiss far softer than Levi had expected. "Good," she breathed. "Move."

Levi obeyed her without thought or question. Hange breathed ragged and open-mouthed against his lips, quiet, airy moans catching in her throat every time Levi's hips snapped forward. Every tiny sound rang out boldly in the quiet night; Hange's rough, staggered gasps and Levi's own panting breaths, grunts muffled behind clenched teeth; skin on skin, sharp and distinct, growing louder when Hange's blunt nails dug long welts into his back, when her legs curled up around his hips, urging him on. Too damn loud, but it was impossible to care with Hange all but whimpering his name, kissing wet and clumsy at his lips.

Levi had fantasised about this moment more than he'd ever dare to admit, and still, he was woefully unprepared. He had expected her to be rough, demanding, dominating—and perhaps she would be without the dark and the quiet, without the flimsy illusion of privacy the tent afforded them. But she was quiet now, muffling her sounds into deep, dizzying kisses as Levi's thrusts faltered.

"Fuck," Levi hissed, gritting his teeth. "Gonna come."

Hange let out a throaty chuckle, her nails scraping up the back of his neck and into his hair. "Quick."

"Piss off," Levi grumbled. He snaked a hand between them, clumsily pressing against her clit—she aborted her snickering abruptly with a twitch and a throaty, surprised moan, and Levi watched as her eyes squeezed closed, face scrunched and mouth stupidly open. She looked ridiculous. Levi kissed her again.

"Hurry up," he muttered, stroking her faster, fighting to keep the sharp jerk of his hips even. "Come already."

Hange's second orgasm ripped from her more violently than the first. She came with a protracted moan, bordering on a sob, her nails digging painfully into Levi's back.

"Thank fuck," Levi said, voice tight as he gave in to the building tension, fucking into her too quick, too rough, too loud, and barely pulling out in time to spill over her trembling belly.

Levi collapsed beside Hange, laying heavily on his side. She lolled her head over to look at him, an idle grin spreading over her face.

"That wasn't what I was getting at, you know. When I said we should share a tent. Or when I took my clothes off."

"Or when you rubbed yourself all over me while I slept?"

"You started that." Levi huffed quietly, but said nothing in return. Hange sighed and stretched as much as she could in the cramped space. "Not that I minded. I was wondering if you'd ever do more than just look."

Levi shot her a questioning look. "Ah?"

Hange shrugged, rolling onto her side and curling an arm beneath her head. Like this, her knee brushed lightly against Levi's—her skin felt warm and soft as she slipped her legs to tangle effortlessly with his, shuffling closer. Her smile was soft and easy, but there was something mischievous in the pinch of her eyes.

"You're not all that subtle."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Hange said, leaning forward and whispering, conspiratorial, "that maybe you shouldn't stare so much if you don't wanna get caught."

With nothing to say to defend himself, Levi kissed his teeth and knocked his forehead against Hange's a little harder than necessary. He pulled back, and watched with some satisfaction as Hange scowled, rubbing at her aching brow.

"You know, you've got a funny way of showing affection," she said, pouting.

"Who said I'm being affectionate?"

Hange pointedly ignored him. She wiggled impossibly closer instead, and Levi watched her with equal parts interest and trepidation as the smile on her face grew wider, and without warning, she lurched for him, arms squeezing around his waist and hitting him with enough force to knock him onto his back. He gusted out a heavy breath, while Hange wriggled around on top of him, adjusting to get comfortable. Something slimy, wet, and rapidly cooling smeared across his belly as she shifted, and Levi swore quietly.

"Oi," he hissed, knocking a closed fist to the top of Hange's head. "Stop moving. You're making a mess."

Hange only hummed, unbothered, and propped her pointed chin on Levi's chest, looking up at him with a disarming smile.

"Mmm, no, you made a mess. I'm just making it worse."

She shimmied more rapidly, and Levi grimaced, snapping his hands down to her hips to still her. "You're vile. Get up."

"No. I'm pretty comfortable—you're not as bony as you look, Captain."

Levi clicked his tongue. "Move, or I'll move you myself."

Hange squeezed her arms tight around his back and dug her chin into his chest. "Try your best. I'm stronger than I look!"

Levi glared down at her, took in the shine of her eyes in the low, pale light, and the smile stretching her cheeks, and flushed hot at the obscene, unwelcome urge to stretch forward and kiss her. Just kiss her. For no real reason other than she looked...nice, and he wanted to.

Instead, he wound his own arms around Hange's back, and with a heave, he threw both of them sideways, Hange's back hitting the floor with a thump. He used her moment of shock to sit up out of her grip and straddled her hips to keep her pinned, one hand planted squarely on her chest so she couldn't sit up while the other fished around for any discarded fabric that wasn't his own clothes. He scooped up Hange's shirt and wiped at her belly with it, clearing up the mess of sticky, drying come, and then wiped himself down.

Hange let out an indignant squawk. "Is that my shirt?"

"It's not mine," Levi said. Hange opened her mouth to say something else, something loud, probably, given the great lungful of air she sucked in, but before she could yell Levi dropped the soiled fabric over her face, and he watched with his teeth clamped onto the inside of his cheek as she scrambled to pull it off.

"And you said I was vile," she huffed. Hange waved the messy shirt between them. "I have to wear this tomorrow, y'know."

Levi took it and set it to one side, as far away from himself as possible, and looked down at Hange with a half shrug.

"Now it's about as nasty as the rest of you."

"Well now you're just being mean."

Levi shuffled off of her. It was awkward, redressing in the confines of the tent, with Hange snorting whenever he bumped into the canvas. But there was something about the ease with which she sprawled herself over the mat, head pillowed on her arm, eyes glinting as she watched him, that felt oddly nice. Warm, and comfortable.

The feeling was foreign, but not unwelcome. Hange tucked herself in, shimmying her legs beneath one of the thin blankets, yawning widely as she did. The space between them felt oddly cold and empty now, without Hange's body pressed against his own. He shifted a leg until his knee bumped against hers, and Hange winked a sleepy eye open to look at him.

"What happened to staying to your own side?" She murmured.

"Tents too small for sides," he said. Hange grinned lazily, and leaned forward until her forehead brushed against his, tickling at his fringe. Entirely too close, but Levi found he didn't mind all that much.

The quiet and the closeness was relaxing, in a strange way. With his pent up energy expended and Hange's contagious enthusiasm doused by sleep, Levi's earlier tiredness crept back in, and soon enough he felt himself drifting too. He blinked heavily and watched Hange's face, slack as she slept on. Even now, something about her drew him in, though there was a new warmth in his chest now, a tightness that squeezed the air from his lungs.

Slowly, he reached up, and brushed Hange's unruly hair out of her face. She shifted minutely, turning into the touch. Levi stared at her as she settled, tucking her cheek down into the pillow, and a terrible thought occurred to him. And compared to this, wanting Hange in his bed seemed like a very minor issue.

"Ah. Shit."

Liking Hange is a much larger problem.

I know you're here, Marvel, you big fucking nerd. Where's my goddamn Moon Knight season 2?

Steven Grant + tumblr tags

helping hands

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Premise: That’s the thing about Joel — he is desperate for control. You don’t blame him, everyone is nowadays. But there are times, like tonight, that he needs something else.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, handjob, oral sex (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, praise kink, sub!joel, dom!reader

Note: you can't expect to show me a moody, reluctant single dad and not write about him ok. i haven't played tlou, so this is based off the first episode of the show.

You learn early on that overthinking won’t do you any good. There is no place for that in this new world. Everyone and everything has been reduced to a single instinct: survive.

Joel taught you that.

“You wanna survive? Stop thinking. Just go. Or else that shit is gonna swallow you whole.”

Ironically, out of all the things to make you overthink, it’s Joel that makes your head spin. He told you he has no love left in him, that whatever is between the two of you is all physical. You accept it, there is no way to hide the horror etched in his face. You believe him, just not entirely. You still have hope that he has room in his heart. Maybe not for love, but for endearment. It’s not much, but you’ll take it.

Especially if it means having Joel Miller reduced to a moaning mess. 

“You’re doing so well, Joel. Just hold on a little bit longer, okay?” You kiss his temple as he all but bucks into your touch. Your fingers wrap around his hard length, pumping and squeezing gently at the base of his cock until he nods, gasping. 

You’ve been at this for far too long, moonlight traveling through the his shitty apartment above with graceful ease, as if the world hasn’t turned to shit. Joel is usually the one making you beg for release, but how can you deny him when he's like this?

There is a sweet ache between your legs that screams for attention, and surely, had he not been brought to the edge over and over again, he’d fill you with his cock until he you felt him in your throat.

But this isn’t about you. 

This is about him and how he's wrapped up so tightly in his pain and anger that he can barely function. He is a mess of hard knots, so harshly coiled it leaves the rest of him in shreds.

He was so rigid when you stopped by, his jaw clenched so tightly you could taste blood in your kisses, but now those imaginary knots are starting to unravel. With every stroke and squeeze to his cock, he’s unwinding.

You hum sweet praise in his ear when his hand comes to your wrist, trying to hold onto you as his only leverage.

That’s the thing about Joel — he is desperate for control. You don’t blame him, everyone is nowadays. And you’re more than happy to give that to him. It's all for him. He craves control and you're willing to grant him it. But there are times, rare as they are, that he needs something else. You like to think you know him, and that tonight is a sort of attestation of that. It isn’t like every other night. He doesn’t need to bury himself deep into you until all you feel is him.

No, not this time. This time, he needs you to settle him.

You lay beside each other, your lips peppering his cheeks and chin and nose and lips and everywhere with kisses, and Joel looks just about ready to completely unwind. He gasps you name when you rub over the underside of him with a maddeningly slow motion.

“It’s okay, baby,” You assure, your hand sticky as your thumb comes to the tip of his cock where he drips precum. He groans, biting his lip and turning his head so he can hide his face in your neck, muffling his moans. He’s exposed, all the way down to his bones as he twitches in your hold. “I’m here. Let it all out for me, okay? You’re safe. You’re alright.”

The groan that tumbles out of him is louder than before.

“You’re so close, baby,” You press against the the vein on the underside of his cock feeling the way his pulse increases, how he is ready to come undone. He all but thrashes, ready and heated. Your lips tenderly trace the at the underside of his jaw, the skin around your mouth burning from his prickly stubble. 

You’re both sweaty, too warm in the best way possible, making him feel as though he is going to spiral out of his skin. You know because this makes you feel the same way. The control, the trust he puts in you to keep him dancing on the edge of release. Every flutter of his pulse, every sound he makes sends a dull throb of arousal shuddering down your spine until you feel your own heartbeat between your legs.

“Sweetheart,” He breathes out, the syllables stretching in his mouth. He's going to come undone. You can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your hand. You can smell it mixing with the sweet smell of whiskey on his breath. The orgasm building in him is overwhelming, a massive blackhole with him in the center bucking his hips as you move down his shaft.

“Do you want to finish?” You ask, your voice a soothing balm as his hips flex, begging for mercy. You’re strong, stronger than him, and your mind isn’t hazy with overwhelming pleasure like his. You have the leverage. It should unsettle him, shake him enough to have you pinned to the bed.

Yet, he stays in your embrace. He lets you keep him at the edge of release, lets you build his orgasm until his eyes roll back in his head. He isn’t safe in his own hands, his palms stained in blood that never seems to come out, but in yours, he is unwinding. He's okay, or at least as okay as one can feel in this fucked up world.

“Sweetheart! Fuck—” He curses as you make another slide back up to his tip, teasingly pressing your thumb against his slit, thick precum oozing around the pad of your thumb. There is no way he can last; all his nerve endings have bubbled to the surface, every ounce of pleasure has engulfed him.

“Just a little bit longer, I promise,” You pet his hair as you continue stroking his hardness. “Is that okay?”

It takes him a moment to nod, a strangled "yes" caught in his throat when you take your hand away from him. His cock lands back against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking precum. The movement alone is almost enough to make him come, but he holds back. He bites his lip as you push him onto his back.

With a final kiss to his lips, you're moving. Lower and lower. Trailing your lips down his chest and stomach, following the trail of peppered hair on his belly that leads you to his flushed cock. As you smile up at him, he brings his hands to your shoulders.

“You don’t—” He starts, his words harsh and fumbling as you place a delicate kiss to the thick head of his cock.

“I want to.”

“‘M not gonna last.” He's so fucking sensitive you’re sure he's going to lose it any second.

“Don’t want you to last. Just tell me what feels best, okay? Don’t hold back.”

Keeping your eyes locked, you open your mouth, taking him in inch by inch in a sinfully smooth glide. Your thighs rub together, your throbbing intensified, but you’re much more interested in how he arches his back so sharply. How he turns to putty in your hands. It takes Joel no time to start rocking into your mouth, speech fragmented into various commands of what he wants you to do, to take him deeper, to suck harder — and you relax your throat to make space.

Running soothing fingers over his hips, he seems to be at the point of sobbing — “That — fuck — that’s g—good, sweetheart,” — your name a prayer on his tongue, and you grant him mercy.

He doesn’t need you to say he can finish — not with the adoring look in your eyes, and certainly not with the way your throat relaxes to take him all the way down. Joel dissolves into thrusts and useless, barely understood speech until he releases in your mouth. Every breath he takes is a scrap of your name or a ragged pant as the salty taste of him floods your tastebuds.

You stay between his legs, his cock pulsing in your mouth as you gently contract your throat to swallow his release. Truthfully, if you didn’t have his cock in your mouth, you’d have shit-eating grin plastered on your face, even with his come trickling out the corner of your mouth. This isn't the first time you've seen Joel fall apart, but it's always a welcomed image regardless.

You wait until he weakly pushes at your shoulders to move you away, releasing this cock from your mouth in a soft, wet sounding pop, licking the tip for good measure.

When you move your way back up his body, he doesn’t seem to have any strength left, doing little more than whispering your name as you wrap your arms around him. Pulling him close, you ask, “How you feeling? Better?”

“Y—yeah, baby. Good,” He mutters, moving down just enough to rest his head against your chest. "You're a fucking blessing."

He nuzzles between your breasts, letting the salty taste of your skin coat his lips. He finds the strength to wrap his own arms around you, pressing his fingertips lightly into your back as though he never wants to let you go.

You try not to think how you and Joel got to the point. Don't think, just do. It doesn't matter how you ended up here, all that matters is that you're here. That throughout the decay and pain, there is something that matters. It's not love, but something else. Endearment, affection, softness. What matters is the he curled into you and that you're able to take the stress and pain and frustration away from him.

Joel feels good against you, warm and solid.

thank you for reading! this was my first time writing outside of star wars, so i hope you enjoyed! comments, reblogs, and likes are all appreciated 💙