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joelscurls · 5 months

Text

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it, never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core.

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can.

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel.

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more.

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has.

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine.

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.”

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.”

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do.

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it.

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you.

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length.

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay.

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.”

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket.

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink.

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale.

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers.

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week.

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context.

You shake your head, no.

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort.

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!”

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch.

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through.

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket.

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder.

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late.

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb.

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest.

“Why didn’t you say no?”

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor.

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin.

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway.

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern.

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all.

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait.

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life.

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand.

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved.

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up.

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb.

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers.

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday.

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer.

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side.

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down.

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs.

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now.

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?”

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.”

“Why not?”

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?”

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat.

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw.

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep.

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths.

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs.

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches.

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.”

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist.

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life.

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop.

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel.

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning.

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

#joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction

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grumpypixistix · 5 months

Text

The lab assistant

Scientist!Miguel O’Hara x Shy!Reader

Warnings- Face sitting, slight corruption kink, slightly perverted!Miguel (if you squint), co-workers being dickheads, semi-public sex (let me know if I missed anything! )

MINORS DNI 18+

You had been working at Alchemax for a few months now. A few of your colleagues were generous enough to introduce you to the workplace and the other workers, but there was one person you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.

Miguel O’Hara.

When you first introduced yourself to him, he had already taken a liking to you. Something about how shy yet sweet you were made his pulse quicken and his cheeks burn. The way you smiled at him as you tried to introduce yourself, nervous about your first day at Alchemax. But you quickly felt at home when Miguel began to bond with you by taking over your “tour” of the place, making great conversation. Soon enough, your shell had cracked and you started talking about your personal interests, how you got hired, etc.

About a week after that day, he went home and couldn’t stop thinking about you for some reason. He didn’t know what to make of it, thinking it wasn’t too serious.

But then you started appearing in his dreams.

Miguel would dream about leaving marks everywhere on your body to claim you as his, fucking every ounce of innocence out of you.

And when he would wake up in a cold sweat, his cock was nearly on the verge of exploding, precum dripping everywhere. He felt guilty about it afterwards, it was just wrong for him to think about his colleague like that.

But you plagued his mind consistently. The dreams slowly turned into daily thoughts that he finally caved into, fisting his cock at least four times a day to the thought of your body. But you had no clue what he was doing after he got off of work. You just assumed that he only saw you as a co-worker and nothing else, maybe even a good friend.

But God, were you so far off from the truth.

As you entered the building for another shift of the week, your boss had approached you with some new information.

“I’m really sorry this is a last minute notice, but I need you to stay a little later. I tried to get some other people to stay instead, but all of them couldn’t do it… but on the bright side, Miguel volunteered to stay, so you won’t be completely alone.”

Great, just what you needed. A longer shift after your horrible week.

Even though some of your colleagues were nice to you, there was a group that wasn’t as generous as them. Some of them claimed that you were too clumsy or stupid to be an assistant, others claimed you were like a lost dog or a prude. Whatever they said, you tried not to pay attention to it too much. But there were days where it would get to you, and this week happened to have a bunch of those days.

You just nodded at your boss and shot him the best smile you could muster up.

“Alright then, that shouldn’t be a problem, sir” You said in a friendly tone.

“At least Miguel will be here with me… maybe I can talk to him, get my stress out” You thought to yourself as you walked off to start your shift.

When you walked into the lab and took your coat off of the hanger, you could hear some voices from the other side of the room.

“Oh great, look who’s here.”

“God, I don’t even know why she’s still here. She should’ve been fired months ago, she doesn’t even know what she’s doing.”

“I’m surprised Miguel even hangs out with her, she’s such a prude.”

“Hell, you should’ve seen the look on her face yesterday. She practically bursted into tears when we called her useless.”

The other comments stung a little, but what got you the most was the part about Miguel. Sure, you had developed a small crush on him, but that had nothing to do with your guy’s friendship. The fact that the other colleagues had judged your bond just to get a laugh hurt you more than you felt it should’ve.

God forbid if they ever found out about your feelings for Miguel… you couldn’t help but become paranoid over the idea.

As you tried to ignore the group across the room and focus on your tasks, it seemed that one of them had read your mind and called you over.

Shit.

“Hey, newbie! Come over here real quick, we gotta ask you somethin“ One of your colleagues called out.

Your heart pounded hard inside your chest, quietly gulping before walking over to the group with a small sigh.

“What do you need?” You asked gently, silently praying it was something work-related and not just making fun of you again.

Some of the others chuckled and chattered a little bit before falling quiet.

“Sooo, you’re friends with Miguel, right?” The female colleague from before asked.

Your palms began to grow sweaty as sirens went off in your mind, biting your cheek before answering.

“Yeah, why?” You raised your brow at your co-worker.

Your co-worker slowly smiled. Oh no.

“Well, we were just thinking… with the way you act around him and all… you definitely have a thing for him, don’t you?”

Your whole chest sunk to your stomach, wishing this was just some horrible dream and that you would wake up soon. Trying to play it off, your eyes widened at the question and you shook your head vigorously.

“What?? No, he’s just my friend-“

“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you have a thing for him” She cuts off coldly.

Some of the others snickered quietly, making your throat close up as you tried to hold your emotions back. Your face contorted into confusion at the strange question, the others taking notice of it.

“Oh my god, she’s clueless” One of the colleagues muttered with a small chuckle.

Your co-worker lets out a small laugh as she noticed your face, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

“Here, let me dumb it down for you: do you ever fantasize about having sex with Miguel?”

Your whole face flushed bright red as it clicked into your head, slowly shaking your head.

“N- No… that’s… that’s wrong” You stuttered, looking at your co-worker.

She stares at you with a raised brow, not believing you at all.

“Okay, sure… but you still like him, right? Being a prude and all, surely you at least have a crush on him.”

“Please, don’t call me that-“

“Or what? Huh? You gonna run off to your little boyfriend and cry in his arms? I’m sure he’ll baby you, he does every time he sees you” She hisses.

The feeling in your throat grew even stronger, your eyes slowly beginning to water. But you didn’t want to prove her theory, so you just stood there silently, not knowing what else to say. As the silence grew more, some of the colleagues just laughed.

“Wow… you really are stupid, aren’t you?”

“Who’s stupid?” A voice emerges from the entrance of the room, making everyone fall silent.

It was Miguel, standing with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed. The group of colleagues weren’t laughing or smiling anymore- instead, they actually looked nervous. The female coworker looked over at you for a quick moment before flashing a smile at Miguel.

“Oh, nothing! It was just something we were talking about from yesterday. Right, hon?” The co-worker said in an overly sweet tone, forcing herself to smile at you.

You froze, not wanting anymore conflict with the group, so you just went along with it. You quietly nodded your head and looked over at Miguel, giving your best smile.

“Mhm, it was just stuff from yesterday” You mustered up as your voice shook a little.

Miguel didn’t buy it at all, seeing how your eyes glistened, tears threatening to leave them at any second. He shot your co-worker a glare before looking back at you, a sigh leaving his lips.

“Ah, alright then… do you have the paperwork from last week? I just wanna make sure everything is right” Miguel spoke to you, his face softening a little.

You quickly nodded and walked away from the group to your clipboard that was in one of the desk drawers, skimming through the pile of papers to look for the documents. The group just watched as you eventually found the papers Miguel was referring to, handing them to him. He took out his glasses from his coat pocket and put them on, reading the sheet of paper. After a few moments of silence, Miguel took off his glasses and looked over at you, handing the paper back.

“This is perfect. Thank you, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen paperwork better than this and I’ve worked here longer than anyone else has” Miguel praised, a gentle smile formed on his lips.

“Thank you, Miguel. That means a lot to me” You hummed in appreciation, returning the smile.

The praise alone made you forget about the whole situation from earlier, but the smile comforted you even more. Your cheeks burned up as you felt your whole body tingle, a small smile creeping up your lips. The feeling Miguel made you have was insatiable, you just couldn’t get enough of it. You wanted more of him, to have his lips on yours…

You almost forgot that there were other people in the room. Almost.

The sound of low muttering made your head turn towards the group, the co-worker giving you a dirty look before the group parted separate ways. You set the paper on the table and Miguel leans down to whisper in your ear.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

Your head spun when you felt his warm breath tickle your skin, almost not realizing what he just said. When you finally processed it, you looked at Miguel and nodded a little. For once, you were actually kind of glad your boss made you work later.

After hours of working and following Miguel around for assistance (as he asked for your presence), it was time for the others to go home. Usually, you would be getting off at this time, but since you had to stay later, that meant you would have to pick up dinner on your way back home. You didn’t really mind since it would save you time and energy to make food at home.

Plus you didn’t mind since it meant you could spend more time with Miguel.

Speaking of which, you couldn’t help but notice something was a little off with him. You assumed it was because of what happened earlier, because he seemed a little more tense than normal. But after everyone had left, he looked over at you, glad that the two of you were finally alone. You were finishing out today’s paperwork, slouching over the desk as you tried to fight off your tiredness. Miguel walked over to you and gently took the pen out of your hand, turning your chair around to face him.

“Everyone left, it’s just us. Now… about what happened earlier…” Miguel started, bending down to your height, “Tell me. What exactly did they say to you?”

Your face burned up a little as his face was inches away from yours, struggling to find your words. He just stared at you, waiting for an answer. But after a few moments of silence, his face softened and he let out a small breath, resting his large hand on your thigh.

“I won’t say a word to anyone, I promise. I just want to know what’s wrong… when I got here, you were on the verge of tears” Miguel spoke softly.

The feeling of his hand on your thigh made your chest flutter and your stomach turn, trying to keep your composure as much as you could. He was only just trying to comfort you… right?

“They… they were asking me questions…” You began, still debating whether or not you should leave out a few details.

Miguel hummed a little as he listened to you, his other hand now on your other thigh as he gently caressed your skin. Your stomach felt fuzzy and warm, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Questions about what? C’mon hermosa, you can tell me” He coos, tucking a small strand of hair out of your face.

You swallowed hard and bit your lip hard before answering hesitantly.

“They were… questions a- about you.”

Miguel stopped and looked at you, gently grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

“What did they ask about me?”

You stared up at him for a few moments and finally spoke again.

“They… they were asking if… I liked you” You whispered quietly.

That caught Miguel off-guard.

His eyes widened at you just the slightest, analyzing your face to see if you were messing with him. Once he noticed your flushed cheeks and nervous look, he knew you weren’t joking. After a moment of tense silence, Miguel licked his lips and started talking.

“…Do you?” Miguel asked lowly, looking down at your lips and up at your eyes.

His question had you in a slight panic, weighing out the odds. If you told him how you felt, it would either change your entire friendship or you would be stuck working alone for the rest of your time at Alchemax. Either one of those options sounded horrible, but if you didn’t tell him now, you were certain the group from earlier would do it eventually. Your heart raced so quick, Miguel swore he could hear it clearly. A shaky sigh left your lips and you nodded at him.

“Yeah… I do” You mumbled, scared that he would react negatively.

But instead, Miguel just chuckled softly and smiled at you, his hand cupping your face and his thumb dragging down your bottom lip.

“That’s good to know… because I’ve also liked you for quite some time now” Miguel responded, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Your eyes widened at his response, a look of hope on your face as you slowly smiled.

“Really?” You squeaked.

Miguel chuckled again and nodded at you, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

“Of course I do… how could I not?” He whispered, his face slowly inching closer to yours.

Your face flushed all the way to your ears, finding yourself drifting towards him. Closer, closer and closer until you finally feel his warm lips on yours. It felt like hundreds of fireworks were exploding in your chest, slowly wrapping your arms around him and holding Miguel close. You were almost afraid to let go, and he seemed to notice this. Miguel gently moved his hands down to your waist, pulling you up out of the chair and into his arms. The more you kissed him, the harder it became for Miguel to keep his composure. He wanted to take things slow with you, not wanting to scare you away. But God, was it a challenge for him to just keep his hands on your hips.

After a little bit, Miguel finally broke the kiss to catch his breath, already panting softly. He looked at you and let out a groan that awoken something inside you.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” Miguel huffed quietly, his thumbs barely peeking up the hem of your shirt and rubbing the bare skin of your stomach.

You just stared up at him, your mind still foggy from the kiss you two had shared moments ago. You shook your head with a quiet “No…”

Miguel sighed and looked down at your chest, his cock twitching inside his pants. He didn’t even bother hiding his erection anymore, moving your hips against his to show you the effect you had on him. You let out a gasp at the strange feeling, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your whole body felt hot now.

“I can’t help it… you’re just so fucking sweet… you haunt me in my dreams, I swear to god. Every night when I go to bed, all I can dream about is you and that fucking body of yours… all just for me.”

Your eyes widened at his words, not expecting him to say those kind of things to you. Normally, you’d be freaked out or even scared… but something about the way Miguel looked at you made you feel different. You weren’t sure if it was from the kiss earlier or your feelings for him in general, but you felt… ready in a sense. When Miguel saw your eyes widen at his words, his face dropped as he suddenly became worried.

“…Was that too much?” Miguel whispered gently, his brows furrowed together.

You slowly shook your head and placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“No… I- If anything, I… I sometimes have dreams about you, too…” You admitted with a quiet tone, looking away.

Miguel nearly went off the rails when you told him that, his pants feeling tighter around his dick. He moved you closer to him once more, moving your hair to the side.

“Mierda… Tell me about your dreams…” Miguel mumbled against you, pressing slow kisses to your cheek and down your neck.

Your thighs pressed together as a wet patch formed in your panties, your stomach flipping as you felt his lips against your skin. A shaky breath left your mouth, nearly moaning from how good it felt to have Miguel treat you this way. It was definitely wrong, but it felt so right. If anyone else had stayed with you two during the late shift and caught you like this, you’d be fired on the spot.

But nobody else was here. Just the two of you.

“S- sometimes I dream about you k- kissing me like this… and even…” Your voice faltered as you quickly grew shy again, biting down on your lip.

Miguel kissed and nipped at your neck, leaving little marks on your skin.

“Go on, Cariño…”

You swallowed before speaking again, letting a soft moan slip out.

“Even… touching me…”

Miguel moaned at that, causing your head to spin even more. You felt so hot that you swore you were going to pass out, but luckily you didn’t. He moved up to place a firm kiss on your lips, pulling away to look at you.

“Have I done anything more than just touching you in your dreams?” Miguel muttered lowly, his lips wet and raw.

You thought for a second before slowly shaking your head with a small breath.

“I always woke up before… before I could find out…” You answered Miguel.

Miguel frowned at that, looking at the marks on your neck before making direct eye contact with you. He sighed and shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Well… do you wanna know what I’d do to you in my dreams?”

You nodded at him, genuinely curious as to what he dreamed about when you weren’t there with him. His forehead pressed against yours as his lips were centimeters away from your lips, his hands trailing from your waist down to your ass.

“In my dreams… I’d have you sit on my face and I’d make you cum over and over again until your legs give out..”

The image Miguel just gave you nearly made you collapse. You felt weak to your knees, a gentle whine escaping your lips. Miguel squeezed your thighs and kissed you once more, his hands moving up to the hem of your shirt. He parted from you to look at your face.

“Can I?” Miguel asked, wanting to make sure you were okay with this before he went any farther.

You looked at him for a few moments before making a decision, whispering out a small “Yes” to him. He took that as his green light and gently took your coat off first before moving to your shirt. He rolled the material up your body and over your head, helping you take your shirt off. Once you were topless in front of him, Miguel’s eyes scanned your chest. He muttered something quietly in Spanish before letting out a breathy sigh.

“Have I ever told you just how beautiful you are?” He coos softly.

Your face burned up as you felt vulnerable in front of him, but when Miguel spoke, you slowly started to become more comfortable. A bashful expression appeared on your face as you just shook your head.

“Not entirely…”

Miguel hummed gently as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, reaching towards your back to unclip your bra.

“Well… I think you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met… every time I see you, it’s always hard for me to look away. Shit, baby, it’s even hard for me to look away in my dreams. I wouldn’t give it up for any other view… you’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart” Miguel spoke in between kisses to your face and lips while gently kneading your exposed breasts.

You couldn’t help but moan at his words mixed with his touch, kissing him back each time he placed a kiss onto your soft lips. Miguel couldn’t get enough of the sweet sounds you made, craving even more from you. His hands moved down to unbutton your pants, taking off every last piece of clothing on your body before leaving you completely naked in front of him. Miguel’s breath hitched as he looked at your body.

It was even better than he imagined in his dreams.

Miguel placed small kisses down your neck and collarbone until he made it to your breasts, gently kissing and sucking one while his hand toyed with the other. The sensation made you moan a little louder, biting down on your lip to contain yourself. Miguel seemed to take notice of this and removed his mouth from your nipple.

“You don’t have to be quiet, muñeca… it’s just us. I wanna hear your pretty moans.. god, I’ve been dreaming about this for so long…”

As soon as he said that, his hands gripped your hips and he stared at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. Suddenly, he placed you on top of him as he laid down on the large table in the room. You could feel the tent in his pants right against your wet pussy, a low whine leaving your lips which caused Miguel to groan softly.

“Want you to sit on my face, querida… please…” Miguel begged softly, his hands still on your hips.

You let out a whimper at his request, reluctantly moving so your hips were directly above his face. You were hovering over him, not knowing what else to do. Miguel let out a quiet sigh, not wanting to wait any longer. He wanted to taste you… he had to taste you.

“You’re hovering, sweetheart. Lower your hips for me, ‘kay?” Miguel instructed, looking up at you from between your legs.

You looked down at him, slightly embarrassed from the position you were in. Regardless of how shy you became, you obeyed Miguel anyways, slowly lowering your hips a little.

“Is this g-“ Before you could even get your question out, Miguel’s mouth immediately attached to your clit.

You let out a loud gasp and moaned, Miguel’s tongue exploring your folds and licking up your juices. He let out a low growl that sent vibrations through your body, making you squirm and cry out.

“Joder, nena, sabes tan dulce… todo para mi~” Miguel moaned, his head moving up more to lick and suck on your clit again.

You whimpered as he sucked on your clit again, afraid that you would crush him if you moved your hips any lower. Miguel’s hands moved up to your ass and groped it tightly, his tongue poking your hole and sliding inside of you. The warm and wet feeling made your hands slam down on the table, trying not to drop your hips directly onto his face. Small pants left your mouth as his tongue fucked your hole and his nose brushed up against your sensitive clit, moaning as you kept your eyes shut tightly.

That’s when you felt Miguel’s hands grip your hips and his tongue slips out of your pussy, making you whine in response. You gasp as he pulls your hips down with such force, your eyes widening as you look down at him.

“Ay, Cariño, what did I tell you ‘bout the hovering? Stop hovering and sit on my face” Miguel scolded, spanking your ass as he goes back to licking and sucking your poor abused clit.

You cried out as you felt a new wave of pleasure form inside you, sobbing as he hit all of your spots with his mouth.

“Miguel~! Mig-“ You gasped, pulling his hair with one hand as the other stayed on the table for support.

But Miguel could care less if you suffocated him. Hell, he wanted you to. The sound of his name coming from your lips nearly made him cum in his pants right then and there. Every pretty noise that came out of your mouth was better than his dreams alone, not wanting you to stop. Miguel kissed and teased your clit more, savoring your taste as much as possible. His breath grew heavier and heavier as sweat trickled down his temples, burying his face in your pussy.

Miguel’s mouth left your clit with a small ‘pop’ as he re-entered his tongue inside your soaked hole, making you rut your hips against his face. The way his nose bumped your clit and his warm tongue stuffed inside you made your eyes roll back, your legs twitching already.

“God, don’t stop~ please don’t stop, Miggy~ feels s’good~” You begged pathetically, your shy demeanor now leaving your body.

Miguel moaned against you and spanked your ass hard once more, his fingers digging into your thighs. His own hips twitched against nothing as he listened to your pleads and moans, fucking you with his tongue relentlessly. With the way you begged so nicely for him to keep going, Miguel swore he could feel his precum seeping through his boxers and pants. How could he refuse you?

“Miguel-! I- I think I’m-“ You tried to warn him that you were close, your legs nearly giving out on you.

If it weren’t for Miguel’s large hands holding your hips up, you definitely would’ve collapsed on his face. But you were so desperate to cum, continuing to grind on his face as he licked a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. He caught his breath and looked up at you for a moment, his eyes dark and full of arousal.

“Go ahead, princesa… cum for me” Miguel moaned, going back to sucking your clit.

With just those words alone, the coil inside your stomach broke. You cried out loudly as you came, chanting his name over and over again. Your legs shook and you nearly collapsed onto him, Miguel catching you just in time. He licked up every drop of your release, making sure to not let it go to waste. You whimpered as he continued to lick your sensitive pussy, becoming overstimulated from his tongue. Your hands pressed down onto the table to hold yourself up, catching your breath as you carefully crawled off of his face.

As you sat down on the table next to Miguel, he sat up straight and faced you, panting heavily. Your eyes widened as you saw his chin was soaked from your juices, a dark blush forming across your cheeks. Miguel noticed your face as he finally caught his breath, a small laugh leaving his lips.

“How do you feel?” Miguel asked, licking his lips and wiping his chin off with his coat sleeve.

A soft breath left your mouth as you looked at him, a sheepish smile forming on your face, “I feel… I feel like that was the best thing I’ve ever experienced..”

Miguel chuckled and leaned over to you, placing a tender kiss to your lips. You melted against him and returned the kiss, slowly pulling away to look at him.

“I’m glad I could make you feel like that… say, uh… our shift actually ended like… 10 minutes ago” Miguel spoke as he checked his watch.

Your eyes widened as you looked around for your discarded clothes, Miguel quickly grabbing them before you could get off of the table.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I got it. Just sit for a little bit, catch your breath” He mumbled, putting your clothes back on for you.

Your chest fluttered as he did so, smiling at him in a loving way. Miguel noticed this and chuckled as he helped you put your panties back on.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing… I was just wondering.. do you wanna stay the night at my place?” You offered, moving your hips a little as Miguel clothed you.

Miguel grinned widely at the offer, placing a peck to your forehead and nodding.

“Of course, I’d like that… I’ll buy dinner for us on the way there. My treat for this” Miguel hummed, putting your shirt on and placing soft kisses to your knuckles.

Your smile widened as he said that, pulling him in for a kiss. Miguel wrapped his arms around you as he kissed you back, his forehead pressed against yours as you two pulled away. He helped you off of the table and the both of you made your way out of the building, holding your hand and rubbing his thumb across your skin.

“Oh, by the way… I heard everything that happened with your co-workers. I was listening the whole time” Miguel admitted, looking over at you.

Your head whipped over to him, a surprised expression on your face. “You were-??”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I actually got promoted as a manager a few weeks ago, so…”

Your eyes widened as a small gasp left your lips. “Wait, so that means-“

“That means you won’t be having to deal with them for much longer. I know those assholes have been messing with you since you got here… plus, everything they said about you is wrong. You’re the best worker this place has to offer and those dickheads have been here longer than you have” Miguel responded to you, placing a kiss to your temple.

A grin formed on your lips as joy filled your chest, squeezing Miguel’s hand.

“Thank you, Miguel… that means everything to me.”

“Of course. I gotta make sure my girl is okay.”

You let out a laugh as he said that, placing a soft kiss on his cheek as you walked with him down the street.

“So, is that your way of saying I’m your girlfriend now?” You chuckled.

“Only if you want to be” Miguel answered with a smirk.

You gently smacked his shoulder with your other hand and scoffed playfully, earning a laugh from him.

“Of course I do, Miguel.”

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

#atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #miguel x reader #atsv #miguel smut #miguel o’hara x reader #Miguel O’Hara #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut

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yawnderu · 2 months

Text

cr: @ave661

Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.

Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.

It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.

Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.

Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.

“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.

“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.

“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.

The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.

“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.

“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.

It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.

“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.

To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.

You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.

She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.

“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.

“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.

“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.

“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.

“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.

“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.

Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Dad!Ghost Masterlist

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sukunasteeth · 2 months

Text

Marks

Sukuna doesn't understand the hold you have on him.

He's never particularly been a people person. In fact, people annoyed him. This has held true ever since he was a child with his twin brother, Yuji. That is, until Yuji brought you home one fateful day in middle school, claiming to have met a new friend.

You, with your sweet little smile, and your boundlessly generous heart. You with your giggle that chimes through his darkened soul like a golden bell. With the innocent rosy lips that he'd dreamed of having his first kiss with until high school, when it finally came to fruition. You had been irrevocably his ever since then, and it had been almost seven years.

So why does it still feel like you're the one with all the power here?

Why does it feel like you could create a monster out of him if you truly wanted to? Why does it feel like he's constantly at your beck and call? Why are you the one person on this green earth that reduces him to the feeling of an emotion as pathetic as helplessness?

"'Kuna...hurts..."

He'll admit, he takes it out on you.

Like now, when you're lying naked beneath him (his favorite spot to have you in) and begging him to take it easy on you. He's got you covered in sweat, exerting you to your ultimate limit. He loved to see you train until failure, after all. Adored the way your legs quivered when he relentlessly made you keep riding him, despite your exhaustion. Cooed at the way you begged him to be gentle, even though he knows you prefer it rough. You were quick to submit when he had you behind closed doors, despite how independent you appeared outside of them. Sukuna knew you better. Knew how much you loved following his direction. Receiving his praise.

You were lucky you were such a good girl.

Sukuna was torturing you now already, and you hadn't even disobeyed him. He can't imagine what he would do if you were unruly. Actually, he can. And the thought has him salivating even more as he sucks relentlessly at the nape of your neck. You're covered in marks from his teeth or the raw scrape of his tongue. Your throat has been tormented by his worship to the extent that he's even broken skin in the spots where he can feel your pulse beneath his lips.

Even Sukuna has to admit that you didn't deserve this abuse. You hadn't done a thing out of line, besides selfishly tearing the heart out of his chest for good. It was yours now.

The thought makes him growl against you.

God, you weren't even trying.

Your victory over him was so effortless.

It pissed him off.

He doesn't realize that he's bitten you particularly hard until you're suddenly recoiling away, burrowing yourself into his pillows with a small yelp. Your hand has sprung up to press your palm over Sukuna's mouth in some weak attempt at getting him to stop. Your other hand holds your throat as you purse your lips at him, which have also seen a good amount of Sukuna's biting that day.

You looked good in his teeth marks, what can he say?

"Are you mad or something?" You're blinking up at him like a confused little deer. Sukuna can't help that it makes him hungry. You were a perfect prey to him and he would be chasing you to the end of this lifetime. He could tell solely in the way that your stupid little nickname for him makes his heartstrings snap.

He takes a frustrated breath through his nose over your hand, nipping at your fingers over his mouth like a muzzled dog. Before you can pull them away, he's grasping your wrist tightly, his unforgiving grip a warning in itself. Easily, he pins it to the side of your head, rendering you halfway useless.

"Don't interrupt." He murmurs, his gaze burning into yours.

A helpless sob escapes you, but otherwise you stop trying to squirm away from him. You allow the onslaught to continue without a peep, bracing yourself each and every time a new hickey is being bruised into your skin. He doesn't offer you any words in terms of praise, but his grip on your wrist eventually loosens a bit. He never fully lets you go, though.

While he appreciates your cooperation, you eventually go almost too quiet and Sukuna thinks for a moment that maybe he's pushed you too far. He pulls away from your neck to look at you, finding your pink little face screwed up in an intense mixture of pleasure and agony. He feels a content smile spread across his face but it's cut short when his eyes hone in on your lips, which you're currently biting hard enough to draw blood from.

His free hand reaches up and grasps your chin, pressing his thumb below your bottom lip and forcing you to relinquish it. You blink slowly, your logical brain having exhausted itself up until this point. You easily let him pry your teeth apart, panting in his grasp.

"Mouth. Open." He commands.

You squirm in your overwhelming frustration, whining. "It hurts, 'Kuna!"

Sukuna hums in a mock sympathy, watching you suffer with a satisfied grin. You would have these marks for weeks. There were so many now, some more intense than others, and he wasn't even close to being done with you.

"You're being cruel." You accuse, watching your own hardship twinkle back at you in the reflection of his eyes. Your pout is purple and bruised from your attempts to keep quiet. Sukuna leans in closer and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, as soft as the brush of a feather.

What was cruel was the fact that you had broken down everything Sukuna had ever known about himself. His strength was putty at your feet. His hatred for the world was a joke in your presence. His pride, a mere memory at the touch of your fingertips against his soul.

"You think this is cruel?" He whispers, mocking you. His voice is the taunt of a devilish trickster. "I think I've been going too easy on you. Allow me to rectify that."

There really is no curse more cruel than love.

#jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk smut #fluff and smut #I love a good mark #especially a bite mark oof #smut #barely smut really #my writing #jjk x reader

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sickeninglyshoujo · 3 months

Text

a/n: i saw the renders (you know the ones) and became feral with need for dad!ghost, other cod dads coming soon, sorry to my friends for being forced to read me word vomit this in chat over four hours. ao3 link coming soon warnings: pregnancy talk word count: 1.8k

Simon doesn’t like when the baby wears the skulls but you do because it reminds you of him

When he grew up he equated the skull mask to terror, the baby only has positive thoughts about it and gets excited seeing it yelling out “daddy!” if she sees the motif in public, mortifying Simon and delighting you. Onlookers growing even more concerned when you coo back, “Yes, that is daddy!” pointing to the Halloween display of a grim reaper statue.

I can tell you that Simon is a master at baby rearing

Simon would absolutely carry the baby under his arm like a football once her neck is strong enough even if you don’t like it because it’s more comfortable like that

It’s second nature to him somehow

Even when you’re stressed about the baby and can’t get her to stop crying somehow Simon just comes over and says the one thing you haven’t tried because he can differentiate between her cries

You were afraid about introducing the baby to Riley, but Simon wasn’t. “They live in the same flipping house, he has t’ get used to her!”

“But not when she’s newborn! Let her get a little bigger first!”

“No better time than now! She’ll never be afraid of him then and he’ll protect her!”

“They call them malingators for a reason!”

“Riley is a well-trained retired soldier. He’s not going to hurt the baby.”

The first meeting had Simon holding the baby in his arms and stooping down to Riley’s level, Riley nosing at the baby’s sock-covered feet hanging from Simon’s arms, sniffing excitedly. You stood above Simon, wringing your hands together, ready to jump in between the two at a moment's notice.

“This is your baby sister, Riley,” Simon instructed the dog whose ears moved, listening to his master’s voice, “She’s your new assignment, boy.”

“Bloodthirsty, isn’ he?” Simon asked you with a grin as the dog yawned and stayed calmly seated, beginning to lick at the baby's booties.

“Shut it, Si.”

Riley is the baby’s shadow. If she so much as sniffles he’s darting across the house trying to find out what’s wrong. It’s like Simon’s watching over her even when on missions

Simon hates that the dog is named Riley because he thinks it’s stupid and is constantly begging to rename the dog. You refuse because you like the constant reminder of your husband. It doesn't matter that he shares the family name.

When you first bring the baby home from the hospital Simon is in constant awe at how tiny she is. Like a little doll he keeps telling you to the point he sounds like a broken record

Simon constantly worried about baby being cold 2k24 and always has a blankie in the diaper bag or draped over the baby carrier.

After missions he would look for you first when he came home before stripping off the dirt and grime of missions and now it’s the baby. He used to think you were his reason to keep trying to save the world and now it’s her. It only stings a little but that is soothed when you see the awe in his face when she coos at him from her crib

It isn’t long before Simon is trying to get you to agree to try for another “Jus’ one more love,” he'll mutter into your neck after the baby is put down for the night and you two have retired to your bedroom only to be batted away weakly

“Oh no, Si! No more babies and no more sex! Not if you’re going to talk like that!”

“But yer such a good mum. We should have a houseful.”

Simon would petition you to quit your job because it’s bad enough the baby has to deal with him being gone on missions they shouldn’t have their mum gone too

“I make more ‘an enough for you to stay home with her!”

“The money isn’t the point, Si,” You coo at the baby on your lap, “I don’t need to be a housewife and I like working!”

You giggle whenever the other 141 men are over because they will carry the diaper bag slung over their shoulder and completely at odds with their uniforms.

It heats your cheeks to watch your burley husband in full military uniform when you greet him on base, bouncing your baby on his hips, playfully pulling her hands away when she gets too close to a switch or something she shouldn't touch, particularly when other women notice him too

It would swell your chest with pride when you and Si were out with the baby and he’d get longing looks from women when he was doing dadly things like pushing the stroller or rifling through the diaper bag for her bottle or burp cloth.

“You have to have seen the way women look at you when you’re carrying the baby.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’re practically tormenting them, Si! And me too! You’re all big and tough! You’re in uniform or in a compression shirt and then you’re holding onto her in just your arm while she can’t even wrap a hand around one of your fingers!”

Simon doesn’t understand your point, “I’m tormenting you?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, “I like watching you be a dad to our daughter.”

The baby has essentially four dads as all of 141 takes care of the baby when they come to visit on leave

You worry about them spoiling her, “She’ll get too used to being held Si!”

“Then damn well let ‘er!”

“What about when they leave!”

“You think they’re leaving?! Soaps brought a bloody duffel!”

Because when you have the baby Captain Price, Soap, and Gaz are all going to visit. Moving into your cramped guest room for easily the first month after the baby’s born, Gaz and Soap fighting over who gets the futon and who has to share the bed with the Captain.

They need to see the baby!

They never thought Si would settle down but that was before you and your endless patience with the grumpy military man set in his ways.

You didn’t miss when Price clapped him on the shoulder after Simon showed off the baby for the first time, “You did well, Son.”

“Thank god she got the missus’ looks!” Soap crowed, “I was worried she’d get L.t.’s ugly mug!”

“I was hoping she would Johnny,” you peer down at the baby in Simon’s arms and trace a finger down her cheek, “She did get his eyes though. You know those were the first thing I noticed when we started talking, Si? How sad your eyes were.”

“Don’ have “sad eyes”.”

“I thought you did. And you were wearing that silly skull balaclava too, so I couldn’t very well fall in love with your chiseled jaw or the cute scar on your lip,” Soap and Gaz howled in laughter, missing the dirty looks from Ghost (You did too, eyes entirely on your daughter swaddled in a soft terry blanket in her father’s arms)

“Hey L.t. let me give you a few more scars for the missus to kiss!” Gaz ribbed

You never minded patching Simon up after missions. It gave you an excuse to ogle your husband in detail. Even before you were married, he’d tried to wave you off when you’d dab at the blood encrusted cuts and then flush when after taking care of the ones on his arms, much less when he stretched and took off his shirt for you to do the ones on his chest too. Thankfully he didn’t notice your brain shorting as you forgot how to breathe when you saw how heavily muscled and tattooed he was, culminating in an audible gasp as your eyes took in his happy trail and Adonis belt.

“You ok?”

“Y-yeah just banged my foot on the tub.”

He’d later recount this to Soap who nearly banged his head on the wall at how dense Ghost was being

“An’ you wen’ home after that!”

“Yes Johnny, I had PT the next morning and had to ship out that night.”

He let out a string of curses, “The lass likes you and probably was hoping you’d stay the night wi’ her!”

“MacTavish,” Simon warned.

“She let you take off your clothes in her bathroom and then cleaned you up! Lasses don’t do that for cheeky cunts they don’ like!”

You miss him when he’s on missions of course, but it’s easier once you have Riley and then the baby. It’s like you have piece’s of him with you

Si is a beige mom but instead of beige it’s gray. You try and explain the importance of the bright colors in developing the baby’s eyesight but Si just mutters something about no baby of his is going to look like a muppet

Riley used to sleep at the foot of your bed but now he sleeps by the crib. You don’t know when he learned how to work door knobs but it happened somewhere between the third trimester and birth. Now you have to coax him into your room if you miss Si and want to cuddle Riley

You’ve given up on trying to keep Riley out of the nursery and instead just tut when you find dog hairs on the baby.

Riley is the ever-patient soldier with the baby, letting her pull on his tail and ears, tugging on (and sometimes removing) his fur, all while happily wagging his tail at being used as a jungle gym

When the baby starts toddling and skins her knees, Si can’t help but scoop her up before the first tear leaves her eye “Si you’re spoiling her!” “She hurt herself, I can’ just let her cry” “She hadn't even cried yet!” “She was abou’ to”

Simon is an over attentive dad because he doesn’t want his baby to suffer the same way he did

Si rolls his eyes whenever you tell him not to throw the baby in the air because he’ll drop her but he knows his reflexes are superhuman and he’d catch her

SI doesn’t baby talk and will discuss the finer parts of gun mechanics and maintenance with your infant as she gums on a teether.

When she’s older, Si buys her a pellet gun for Christmas and hides it from you until unwrapped on Christmas morning

By the time it’s in her hands you know you’ve lost

He ignores your dirty glance that says “We’ll talk about this later”

As she grows up she starts talking about joining the SAS like her daddy and you’re filled with fear while Si encourages it. Starts taking her training with him much to your horror, first on short jogs around the neighborhood, then to the gym proper to teach her how to throw a punch. She quickly becomes the star of the base, with all the men calling her “Recruit”

“Nothing dangerous yet Si I mean it!”

“She asks for it!”

“She is a child and you are her father! You’re supposed to be the voice of reason!”

“The voice of reason says she might as well be trained right if she wants it!”

a/n: likes/reblogs/comments appreciated please talk to me about dad!ghost i cant contain myself

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #grave writes

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daycourtofficial · 3 months

Text

Empty Bed Blues

Summary: based on this request - you and Azriel have a spat and he can’t sleep without you. So he takes things into his own hands.

Divider by cafekitsune

“Do we have to go to this stupid dinner?”

Azriel had nuzzled his face into your neck, attempting to keep you in his arms. You stood from the bath, reaching for a towel.

“Yes, we do.”

“But m’tired.”

You run your fingers through his wet hair, his sounds of contentment permeating the silence.

You two were staying in the House of Wind for the evening, anticipating debauchery. You were planning to drink to your heart’s content and you hated winnowing and flying when you were drunk. The last time you flew while extremely drunk, you made him stop so you could throw up in the bushes of a few Velaris storefronts. You sent copious gifts the next morning in apology, but you still felt incredibly bad about it.

“And whose fault is that?”

Azriel had been working like a dog all day, having left your home before the sun rose. His grip tightens on the tub, a pause before he says, “Rhys’s.”

You laugh, “you’re the one who left at the ass crack of dawn to go work when you knew we were going to see everyone tonight.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the porcelain. “Why can’t we stay here? We know exactly what’s going to happen. Cassian’s going to make a crude joke to you to get me riled up, Mor’s going to drink and talk about who she saw the past week, and Amren’s going to sit in the corner and make me uncomfortable.”

You move closer to him, looking at him incredulously, “Wow, do you even like your family?”

“No,” he replies, his lips in a pout. “But I like you.”

You laugh at his attempts to keep you here and his blatant lie about not liking his family. However, you’d been looking forward to this dinner all week and you wouldn’t let a pouty mate keep you from it.

“Baby, I love you, and I’d do anything for you,” his eyes light up at your praise of him, “except miss out on this dinner.”

He deflates, sighing. “I’ve been gone all week and you’d rather see my family?”

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your agitation to a minimum. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing them all week - you’ve been off on a mission, and I’ve been in Summer all week for Rhys. I’m just excited to let my hair down.”

His jaw ticks, “I just wanted to rest tonight.”

You blow out a breath, “you’re the one who decided to work all day after being gone all week.”

You can feel his annoyance down the bond, and you push some of your own back at him. You two stare each other down, withering gazes trying to get the other to back down. You clutch your towel closer to yourself, walking away calling over your shoulder, “well then, you can get some rest up here, alone.”

You retreat down the stairs, having dinner with your family. You refused to see your mate after your argument this afternoon. You had been looking forward to seeing everyone all week, and yet it wasn’t the same with the seat next to you empty.

Nesta had walked past you as you had exited your room, so you’re sure she had heard your argument based on the look she gave you. You’re also sure she told Cassian, who spent the evening trying to keep you in good spirits.

You appreciated his efforts, and you loved your family, but it truly wasn’t the same without your mate next to you.

Upstairs Azriel huffed, turning once again in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing felt right. The comforting weight of you was nowhere to be found, leaving him in a sleepless fit. He swears he can hear your laughter from downstairs where you’re talking with his family at a dinner he elected not to attend because he was being stubborn and just wanted his stubborn, beautiful mate to lay in bed with him.

He runs his hands down his face, remembering the years where he could sleep wherever necessary. His romanticized version of those years doesn’t last long, as he also remembers how little he slept, weeks where his time spent asleep tallied in the single digits.

Your presence has made it nearly impossible for him to sleep without you nearby, but it also makes him actually sleep. The once permanent purple and blue bags under his eyes have slowly disappeared thanks to you.

Your presence is a luxury he’s been afforded, and damn it all, he’s going to indulge. Azriel gets out of bed, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He moves with speed, determination moving his feet through the halls and down the stairs. He reaches the entrance to the living room, his family lounging across various sofas and couches. His eyes find yours immediately, your lips parting in surprise. You’re standing next to Cassian and Nesta, looking at something in Nesta’s hands.

He stalks over to you, not letting you get a word in before ducking down and lifting you over his shoulder.

“Hello?” You call out, hands gripping onto his hips to stabilize yourself. You can hear Cassian whistle while Nesta mumbles, “dumb brutish male,” after you. He carries you up the stairs, the sounds of your family’s snickering dying down the further you go.

He doesn’t speak as you wind down the hall, or as he opens the door, or as he sets you down on the bed. He’s silent as he lays back down, and you start to ask what this is all about when he reaches a hand out, wrapping around your bicep. He pulls you towards him, settling you on top of his chest.

He sighs contentedly, finally opening his eyes and looking at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, and his eyes start drooping, his body finally able to relax.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile on your face as you ask, “and why’s that?”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. “Needed you,” he breathes into your neck, nuzzling you with his nose. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You’re spoiled,” you tell him, hands grazing over his cheeks.

He pretends to bite one of your fingers without opening his eyes. “I’m a male who knows what he wants.”

“Can I at least change into a nightgown?”

“If you can do it without getting out of my arms, yes.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #woof woof johnny #woof woof au

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ozzgin · 5 months

Note

Sorry to bother you, but the bodyguard post you did was just 🤤🥰😍 and I can't stop thinking about it day later

Have you ever seen Oshi no Ko? I'd love to see Bodyguard react to someone trying to do something similar as what happened to Ai.

Fans get wind their beloved idol might have feeling for her staff, so a crazed fan tracks down her private address. He plans to get revenge for "His idol cheating on him" but doesn't know there is a guard dog inside ready to bite any threat to his precious charge.

Sorry to keep ragging on about the topic, I just adore you work enough that it lives in my head rent free.

Happy holidays

-🌟

I sadly haven't seen Oshi no Ko, but your description sounds very interesting. Thank you for the idea! I've combined it with your previous suggestion, I think they work together really well. Happy Holidays to you, too! :)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (II)

Your new manager has sent you home for the holidays after persistent rumors surrounding you and your bodyguard. And, as luck would have it, the fan responsible for the accusations successfully sneaks his way in. Sadly for him, you’ve never left the watchful gaze of your loyal, mean dog.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence, threats, mentions of stalking

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Enjoy your holidays!"

The driver cheerfully bids you goodbye and speeds away, leaving you behind the imposing gate. You drag your luggage inside and nonchalantly toss it with an annoyed huff.

What now? You're all alone in a hollow mansion.

Early December you begun receiving worrying letters from a fan, making wild claims about you and your bodyguard. Naturally, you laughed it off. Your bodyguard found them equally amusing. So much, that he'd ask you to read them out loud as you rode him. "I w-won't stand for it. You know we ha-ave something special going on, (Y/N)-chan." You barely managed to form coherent sentences, feverishly clinging to the large man underneath you. "You heard the guy. Better be on your best behavior", he'd add with a chuckle, wiping the drool from your mouth.

The new manager, however, wasn't as relaxed about it. He couldn't risk tarnishing the reputation of his beloved cash cow, so he suggested you take a break from personal assistants until the rumors tone down. If you remained within your expensively secured house, you wouldn't need any guarding. So, he caringly prescribed a dose of homely isolation for the upcoming holidays.

"Don't be so dramatic", he said, "Jesus spent 40 days in the desert by himself. And he didn't have your indoor cinema or jacuzzi bathtub."

"Yeah, but he had the Devil to tempt him. Where's my bad guy?" You whined as a retort.

You let out another groan and throw yourself on the couch, fiddling with the remote. Kind of them to decorate everything for Christmas, you think as you eye the gigantic kitsch of a tree slapped in the middle of the living room.

Fuck. What an absolute waste of time. All because of one crazy fan. You almost wish he'd show his stupid face so your bodyguard could pummel it to bits and crumbles. You wonder what he's doing by himself. Is he going to be assigned to another idol? Probably not, two weeks is too short of a time for anything. You check your phone.

Suddenly, the screen lights up. A text notification.

"Bored?"

Heh. It's almost as if he can read your mind. You smile to yourself and type your response, stretching onto the sofa. Your little back and forth messaging goes on until you look up and notice the room has gotten darker. Already evening. You can hear your stomach growl, so you get up and drag your feet towards the kitchen, searching for takeaway fliers. If you're going to be under house arrest, the least you can afford is junk food.

Once you place your decadent order, you hop onto the counter and idly dangle your legs in anticipation. Your favorite off-duty guard dog has abruptly told you he needs to go and is now offline. "Something came up". What could possibly require his immediate attention? A mistress? You giggle at the idea. In all your time spent together, you haven't seen him glance at a single woman. If he must, he will engage with other people using one-word replies, visibly uninterested. You never considered him much of a talker, but his behavior with anyone else, in comparison, is downright hostile.

There's a rustling sound and you jolt. Was the food delivered already? It hasn't been that long. You jump off the marble countertop and freeze in place once you see the man standing in the doorway. His face is concealed with a medical mask and he's audibly panting, the hot air fogging up his glasses. You notice the knife in his hand.

"How rude of you to cheat on me so shamelessly, (Y/N) dear."

Huh? Your eyes widen in realization. Was this the crazed fan bombarding you with threatening letters? Your features twist in utter disgust, still transfixed on the weapon within his grip.

This little shit. Not only does he break into your home, but he decides to intimidate you with a department store kitchen utensil. Is that all you're worth? Is that any way to greet one of the top idols in this country?

You angrily pull the nearby drawer open and grab a long, sharp blade. The man tenses up and steps forward, but you stop him in his tracks, throwing the item at his feet. He stares at you, bewildered.

"It's a Yoshihiro Sashimi knife. More than your monthly income, most likely." You state as you leer down at him, grimace plastered on your face. "Pick it up like the animal you are."

He cannot move. Is this his beloved (Y/N)? Her pretty, innocent smile and sparkling eyes have been replaced by this hateful scowl. He feels like a cockroach about to be stepped on, a mere vermin invading her personal space. This can't be right. It's him that should be upset, he's the betrayed party. When has she gotten so...Ah. This must be the work of that bodyguard. He's always known. The way he looks at her, with a predatory glint as if marking his territory. He should've noticed earlier. Poor, sweet (Y/N), at the hands of a brute. Tears form in his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak up, but a burning blow assaults his back and everything goes black.

Your bodyguard casually walks in and lifts the intruder up by the nape of his neck.

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

You blush and wipe your eyelashes dramatically, releasing a gentle sob from your puckered lips.

"Touch? He almost killed me! I was so scared...I thought I was done for."

He frowns at your words.

"I'll take care of it."

You can feel the familiar knot forming in your stomach. As he drags the body out of the kitchen, you follow behind enthusiastically.

"Do it in the living room!" You almost squeal.

"Are you sure? It will get messy. I'm not letting this one walk out." He warns you with a worried expression.

"Yes, yes!" you nod, all bubbly. "Right here, next to the Christmas tree."

Once the gory spectacle is over, the bodyguard sprawls onto the sofa, exhausted. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. You are about to join him, when a thought crosses your mind.

"Now that I think about it, how did you know I was about to be attacked? That was some really extraordinary timing."

Out of reflex, he palms his pocket to check if his phone is still within his possession. Thankfully he hasn't left it in plain sight. You squint suspiciously.

"Are you spying on me or something?"

He remains quiet for a few moments and eventually lowers his head apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

"Forgive me, Miss."

When he glances up again, your small figure is looming over him.

"Wow, what a pervert you are." You push his chin up with your dainty fingers. "How will you make it up to me for such nasty habit~?"

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Good boy."

#female reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc

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