#both trail and saddle just look. so fucking good

[ferberus-skull]

okay guys hiiii which secondary is better?

#gremlin blabs #my dragon #scry #both trail and saddle just look. so fucking good #i cannot decide for the life of me #i like saddle bc the markings complement the markings of tide #but trail has very matchy colors especially on the fin... thingies. idk what they're called abgjfkld

[familyvideostevie]

time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve. 

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure. 

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

__

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened. 

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease. 

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself. 

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. 

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

__

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says. 

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make. 

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do. 

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[corazondebeskar-reads]

no quiet on this earth

Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 10 - killing in self defense | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 2.8k

summary: You and Joel run into hunters on patrol.

-- I'm a fucking menace, and this is Joel & reader from "you know you never stood a chance" (spoiler warning). BUT this can be read as a standalone. I just can't seem to help myself/let them go.

warnings: established relationship, jackson, patrol partners, hunters, Joel and reader both kill hunters, canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, oral (m receiving), p in v unprotected, creampie, feelings, guilt/trauma, trauma response, a little hurt and a LOT of comfort, Joel takes care of you, one (1) ass slap, pussy/clit spanking

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They had been waiting for you. Not the biggest group of hunters that’s come ‘round, but there hadn’t been any signs. It was supposed to be an easy half-day route. 

It was also your first patrol with Joel. 

You’re already off to a rough morning. He’s settled back into Out There Joel, gruff and tense, and you’re already feeling useless again even though you know you can handle it now. 

You’re on horseback, you with a gentle brown mare that you’re a little irritated about. Penny is notoriously slow and usually used to teach people to ride. Tommy taught you to ride ages ago, but Joel fucking insisted. 

“Ain’t havin’ you have to deal with a spooked horse our first time out.”

“Our first time. I’ve been out loads of times,” you grumbled. He leveled you with a look so stern that you rolled your eyes. 

“Don’t start with your smart mouth,” he said. “Only way this works is—“

“If I do what I’m told. I got it. Same shit, different place.” 

To say you’re pissed would be an understatement. You thought after all the shit you’ve been through that he’d trust you now. And you’ve gotten quite good with your revolver and halfway decent with the rifle. 

Now, out here on the trail to the safe house, neither of you has said a word. Just like the good old days. Y’know. If they had been good. 

You’re nearly there when they make their move. They don’t have guns, thank fuckin’ god, but there are five of them and two of you. 

It becomes quickly clear that they want the horses. Joel makes quick work of the first hunter that lunges for him. 

One comes at him from each side, and you’re too worried to notice the other two do the same to you. 

One grabs the reins and the other tries to yank you from the saddle. Your boots are stuck, and they don’t seem to particularly care if they break your legs during the extraction. 

You free your feet, boots left behind, and let the brick house of a man pull you down. He doesn’t care much about your landing, so when you hit the ground, you grapple for your revolver. 

His partner yells, and he spins back to you, a huge fist aiming for your face. But it doesn’t connect, because your bullet does first. 

He was close enough that it would have been near impossible to miss, which also meant that his stupid body landed on you, turning your clothes into a sponge for his blood. 

Joel’s rampaged through the others by now and turns to take down the one trying to abscond with your horse. 

But he doesn’t make the shot, because he freezes up when he sees you. 

“Get the fucking horse,” you yell. 

He swears and loads the rifle, one neat bullet into the head of the escaping hunter. He hadn’t fully mounted your mare yet, and his corpse crumples into the soft spring soil. 

Joel whistles and Penny takes her fucking time to come back, giving him a very unimpressed look and shaking her mane. 

He heaves the dead man off you. “Where?” he says sharply, eyes darting all over your body. 

“Nowhere, Joel, I’m fine,” you say. 

He’s already dropping to his knees, hands gripping and patting every inch of you before cradling your face. “You’re sure?”

“I mean, I think so. Unless I’m in shock, but I guess we’ll find out in a little bit.”

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he mutters, doing another check, slower this time and more thorough. 

You let him. You feel kind of funny, dizzy almost, but mostly just… muted. Like the world around you is muffled and you’re suddenly hyper aware of how blood is turning tacky and your jeans are stiffening as it dries. 

“Hey,” he snaps. 

You’re pretty sure that means he was already talking to you, and when you look up and meet his eyes, they abandon their irritation for concern beneath furrowed brows. 

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he says, voice low and slow. It draws out the Texan twang and loops you in. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You did what you had to do, okay?”

“Okay,” you echo, but the word sticks in your throat, tasting of copper. 

“Say it.”

“I did what I had to do.”

You’ve done as he said, but he looks more worried for it. 

“Alright, c’mon. I’m gettin’ you home.”

“But—“

“Rethink that, baby. I ain’t in the mood to argue.”

“But we were supposed to—“

“Yeah, and plans fuckin’ change. We’re going back. Tommy and I can come out and deal with the bodies later.”

He stands and pulls you up, though you follow willingly. You hover where you stand as he pulls a rope from his bag and tethers it to Penny’s lead. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Want you on Oakley with me.”

“I can ride,” you snap. “I’m not fucking hurt.”

“I know,” Joel says. “But you’re gonna ride with me.”

“Don’t start this shit,” you say, mortified when your voice and hands are trembling. “I can handle myself.”

He spins around, fury written in the curl of his lip. “I fuckin’ know that! I don’t give a shit. You’re riding with me, end of fuckin’ discussion.”

You open your mouth, ready to bite back, but he seizes you by the shoulders and shakes you a little. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ get it? It’s not about you,” he snarls. You’re crushed against him before you realize it’s an embrace. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ride up here, so I know you’re okay.” 

“Oh,” you whisper, leaning into him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he says, but the fight is already leaving him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he lets go. “Now get on the damn horse before I put ya there myself.”

You think you deserve credit for only hesitating a little, tempted to see if he really would. But his jaw ticks and you heave yourself up onto Oakley. Joel swings himself behind you, caging you in as he takes the reins. 

“You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he gripes. 

“I learned it by watching you,” you say, voice pitched in mockery of the vague memory. 

But instead of irritation, something akin to relief flashes across his face. “Yeah, s’that right?”

“Uh-huh.” Now that everything has calmed, you’re exhausted. He can tell because of course he can. He knows you too well. 

“C’mon, lean back. I got ya. Not gonna let you fall.”

You don’t sleep, not really, but you fall into something between the light and dark. It’s blissfully absent of reality. You’re only aware of the soft sunshine, the sway of the horse, and Joel. 

Joel, your Joel, is everything right now. All encompassing. You’re surrounded by his warmth and smoky musk, masking the chill and tang of the stains on your skin. 

His heart seems to beat in time with Oakley’s hooves and the steady pace he encourages keeps you lulled in this safest place. 

“Holy shit, what happened?” Carl asks at the gates, almost loud enough to knock you from your peace. 

“Nothin’ too serious, she ain’t hurt,” Joel’s smooth tone settles you back down. “But do me a favor and get the horses back? Send Tommy my way in a while. I’m gonna take her home.”

Home. It sounds so nice. But you’re already there, you want to tell him. There’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here. 

You must actually say it, because he chuckles. “Okay, sweetheart, but I can think of somewhere I’d rather be.”

It hurts a little before he leans in and murmurs in your ear. 

“I’d rather be in a warm bath with ya. That sound better than stayin’ put?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, you’re right. Way better idea.”

He makes good on his promise when you get home. While he draws the water, he peels your ruined clothes off and sits you on the bathroom counter to rinse the blood into the sink. 

You sit very still with your eyes clenched shut as he cleans you. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “First one’s the hardest.”

You can’t quite stopper the whimper. 

“This is part of why I don’t like ya goin’ out there. I can’t protect you from this.” The admission costs him, but he seems to decide it’s worth it when you look up at him. 

The tub isn’t really big enough for both of you, but he makes it work, long sprawling limbs propped up to make room for you against his chest. You lie on your side, both to make more room and to press your ear to his chest and listen to his strong, tender heart. 

He holds you there, hand gentle on your head and the other around your shoulder until neither of you can pretend the water is comfortable still.  More importantly, his cock’s been pressing against you for a little while now, and you’re unable to ignore it anymore.

You roll over on your stomach, legs bent a little funny to fit, but it’s the right angle to press a kiss to the fat mushroom head that you love so much. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need—”

But you just give him a look, because he knows better, he knows you’d never do anything you don’t want to. And he knows how often you crave it, how your throat aches for it.

He raises his hands in surrender. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna stop ya.” 

With the convoluted seating arrangement, you’re able to swallow down his length, working your throat open in the way you’ve grown to know well. It’s a lot at once, but the way he groans is worth the effort. 

You choke and gag a little, but neither of you are really bothered by it. Quite the opposite. And you’re grateful for the way the thoughts you don’t want to face are knocked from your brain each time he ruts deeper. 

Too soon, though, he’s pulling you off, spit thick with precum stringing between him and your lips as you whine.

“C’mon, let’s get out. I gotta have more of you.”

You don’t dry off quite as much as you’d like, but you’re probably going to need to change the sheets anyway. He can’t be bothered to let you towel off properly, picking you up and setting you on the bed before crawling over your body.

He kisses you, ferocious but hesitant, and you trail your hands up his arms, basking in the way he encompasses you for the second time today. His soft, powerful body leaves no wiggle room, practically pinning you down with his bulk. 

Except he’s holding himself up, tense. And the gentleness of his tongue and distinct lack of nipping teeth in his kiss is grating. 

You turn your head to break apart. “Stop acting like I’m gonna fall apart.” 

“I—”

“Oh, don’t even. It’s like you think I’m going to break if you touch me.”

“I didn’t want to make it feel like…”

“I know,” you say, softer. “But I want to feel you, Joel. I don’t want to feel the ghost of it… him. Please.” 

“You wanna feel me, sweetheart? Want me to be a little rough with ya?” 

“Unless you’re too tired. S’it past your bedtime, old man?” 

He doesn’t fall for the taunt, but he pretends to, and you’re deeply grateful as he snarls and bites at your breast before licking and sucking at your nipple, taking it between his teeth and shaking a little. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, hand tangling into his hair. He wears it a little shaggier these days, and you find you like it long. A lot. 

“Think you can take it just like this?” he says around your other nipple. The hand that isn’t holding him up has reached down to his cock, rubbing it against your clit until you squirm, and then dragging it down your slit. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. I think you can take it.”

He doesn’t wait any longer than the first little nod of your head before he flicks his hips, parting you, forcing your body to make room for him. It takes a second thrust to push all the way in, and you cry out as he stuffs you full. 

It hurts so good. It’s just the edge you need to feel awake again. The world is no less fuzzy but the haze is pleasurable and electric instead of the numb fog that refused to dissipate. 

“That’s my girl,” he says. 

It floods you with warmth. You think maybe the sappiness is leaking through, that he can see how stupidly in love you feel. 

Or, you know, it’s actually leaking, since you’re apparently fucking crying. You can’t really begrudge yourself for it. It’s been a hell of a day. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, the gentleness of his voice playing second to the harsh slap of his hips and the tight pinch of his fingers on your breasts. “Let it out, sweetheart. Let me help you.” 

His pace, somehow, intensifies, the brutal snap of his cock blunt against the softest parts of you. He pushes your legs to your chest so he can shove his way in deeper, and smacks a harsh hand against your ass from his new vantage point. 

He grips your hip with one hand and lets up on your tits, only to show no mercy to your clit. He skips over the gentle circles and soft strokes, instead pinching and tugging. He wrenches two orgasms from you before he eases off. 

“Hold your pussy open for me,” he grunts.

You look at him with wide eyes. How can he still be finding ways to shock you with depravity? The two of you have to have fucked every which way, and yet. You slide a hand down but he shakes his head.

“Both of ‘em, baby. Nice and wide.” 

Your cheeks are burning as he lifts up onto his knees, pushing your legs apart to watch as you spread your lips wide. For a moment, he’s mesmerized by the push and pull of his cock splitting you apart and the way it comes out a little slicker each time. 

“Look at that,” he says, a smug smirk spreading. “Fuckin’ creamin’ all over me, sweetheart. Now hold still.”

Before you really process the order, still dying from how hot his filthy words are, he slaps your clit. You jerk and let go, crying out more in surprise than pain.

“Put your fuckin’ hands back,” he says, and you obey. 

Your whole body is on fire, maybe. He brings his hand down sharply again and again, making you hold yourself spread wide for him to use as he pleases. 

It doesn’t really surprise either of you when you come. He finally knocks your hands away from your cunt and leans back down over you, hips stammering sloppily. 

“Can I—” he chokes out, and you’re nodding so hard it shakes your brain around. He digs his fingers into your hips. “C’mon, sweetheart, one more. Gimmie one more while I fill you up.”

He goes to reach for your clit, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as he starts twitching and pulsing inside you, you come, eyes rolling back and fingernails digging into his biceps. 

When you’ve both settled, there’s something bright in his eyes, something wild and dangerous. He sinks his teeth into your collarbone and doesn’t pull out. His softening cock isn’t much smaller than it is erect, and he stays buried deep in you, eyes trailing over your face. 

“What?” you say softly.

“I thought… thought I fuckin’ lost you today.” His voice is gruff but tight.

“You didn’t, Joel. M’right here.”

He kisses you, and it’s not gentle exactly, not like earlier, but it’s tender and demanding. His hands grip you and roam, not pursuing pleasure but just to have his fill of you, to feel your body warm and alive beneath him. 

When he breaks away from your swollen lips, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “You did good. I don’t like it, but you did good. I’m not gonna ask you not to go out again, but—”

“I’m gonna ask Tommy if I can have a break,” you say, pursing your lips. “I’m not a coward, but I don’t know if I can do that again.” You’re burning again, but this time with shame.

“No one expects you to. It doesn’t mean you’re a coward. You’re tough, sweetheart. But y’ain’t a killer.”

“I am, though,” you whisper. 

“Stop. Yes, you killed that man today. But you had to. It was him or you. You’re a survivor. But I’m going to make damn sure you don’t have to be anymore, alright? We’re safe here, now.”

You let out a ragged sigh and try to relax back into the pillow. “Okay,” you agree. You can tell he needs it. How scared he was. 

At least for now, you’ll let him protect you from this.

*title from "Death For My Birthday" by Say Anything

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #fic: you know you never stood a chance #fuck it we'll call this a surprise deleted scene lmao #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday10

[lieutnt]

behind closed doors

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Male Reader Summary: The team wonders if they should be worried about you and Kyle, but they don’t know what happens when the two of you are alone. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Praising, lots of kissing, unprotected anal, orgasms. Tagging since it fits in with a request: @alligatorstomachacid

“Uhhh, Capt’n? Do we need tae break em’ up?” Soap questions, eyeing you and Gaz circling each other like vultures. The two of you have been sparring for a while now, exchanging blows and reprimands steadily.

Price opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a hissed “Oof” after Gaz suddenly lunges, bringing his knee up and connecting with your side with enough force to make you recoil backwards.

Gaz tuts, the noise sounding disapproving to the on-lookers, “You’re still not working on that weak spot.” Already back in position he waits for your counter, a barely contained grin threatening to spread across his face. He’s toying with you, and seems to be enjoying it just a bit too much.

You huff, moving back to steady yourself. Wasting no time you surge forward and plant one hand on his chest as your leg kicks the back of his, knocking him off balance and pushing him to the ground, quickly clambering on to plant your weight on top of him and hold a wrist in each hand. “Looks like you aren’t either, Kyle.”

If he left the two of you to your own devices Price knows you’d spend hours sparring, so he intervenes. “That’s enough you two.” When you and Gaz both look up at him, one brow furrows. “I don’t need you two beating the hell out of each other.”

Reluctantly, you release Gaz and stand back up, offering him a hand. He accepts and you help pull him up, only for Soap to saddle up with a grin. “Looks like you two can get along.”

Price must hear when you open your mouth, about to tell Soap to fuck off, but with a sharp glare he stops you in your tracks. Instead, you shake your head, gathering your bag full of training supplies and slinging it over your shoulder to head towards the showers, not without sticking your middle finger up over your shoulder. 

It must work, because you hear Gaz snort with laughter, followed by a sarcastic “Tha’s not very nice,” from Soap.

* * *

“Fuck,” you groan, voice muffled as you tuck into Kyle’s neck. “You feel so good,” you sigh out, body coming to a grinding halt as you wait, letting Kyle adjust around you. He throws his head back, taking steadying breaths as he gets used to your cock stretching him out.

When he’s finally ready, he makes a noise of discontent, hand cradling the back of your neck to encourage you to come face-to-face with him. You huff a gentle laugh, kissing him on the lips, “Is this better?”

Kyle nods his head when you inch away, stomping down the whine that was bubbling as you move your head back. “Yeah, wanted to see your face.” 

A shiver rocks through his body when you trail your hands so gently across his skin. “Am I ok to move?” you question, cock begging for relief.

“Please,” Kyle begs, arms coming up to link around your neck as you slowly start rocking your hips, soft groans pouring from you both as you easily fall into a rhythm. He nudges your nose with his every time he wants a kiss, basking in the closeness, and he just about melts when one gentle hand comes up to cup his face, thumb brushing against the scar on his cheek.

“You’re taking me so well,” you purr, rolling your hips into his tight heat, hands dropping to hold onto his hips. His legs tighten around your waist, encouraging you to keep going as he rocks with you, pushing back against you so you’re intertwined, moving as one.

Moans fill the air, Kyle’s cock hard and dripping against his stomach. When you move one hand to grasp his shaft and begin stroking he gasps and arches into your touch, pleading, “Go- go faster.” 

Even if it was supposed to be slow and sensual you can’t say no to him, nodding your head. “Anything you want.” Gradually you pick up speed, the increased pace sending blooms of pleasure through your body. Kyle is close too, his toes beginning to curl behind you as with the new pace you jab, jab, jab at his prostate, the combined sensations hurtling him rapidly towards new heights.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I’m so close,” he babbles, head rolling back against the pillows as his hands grip onto your biceps. 

“Are you gonna cum for me?” You ask, Kyle vigorously nodding his head in response.

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna-” he cuts himself off with a sharp intake as your thumb brushes over his slit, his cock twitching in response before he’s moaning, cock pulsing in your hand as he shoots his orgasm over his chest, ropes splashing against the skin, his hole clenching around you in time with the ripples of pleasure spreading throughout his body.

Keeping up your thrusts you praise him through his orgasm, “That’s it, did so well for me Kyle.” His eyes are glossy, dazedly sliding shut when the overwhelming urge to kiss him wins, your mouth capturing his own.

Kyle whines when you pull away to focus on driving your hips forwards, your own orgasm creeping closer and closer, “I know, I’m close,” you plead, brain too fogged to apologise for the overstimulation you’re putting him through.

He can tell when you’re about to snap, your thrusts losing their pattern. “Inside,” he demands just in time. With a few, final jerks of your hips, you’re unloading inside, cum stuffing him full.

Your arms weaken, losing their strength as you collapse against him, Kyle whispering words you can’t hear into your temple as your heart pounds in your ears with the intensity of your orgasm. 

As the rest of your senses trickle back to you you’re aware of Kyle holding you, a hand stroking up and down your spine while the other combs through your hair. When you muster the strength to move your head he’s smiling down at you, eyes shining with adoration. You lazily smile back, pushing yourself up enough just so that you can place a chaste kiss against his lips, one that he immediately tries to continue.

“Hi,” he laughs, now that you’re finally back in the room.

“Hi,” you beam back, a warm feeling settling in your chest. With an exhausted sigh Kyle lets his head fall back against the pillows, eyes closing for a moment. “Hey,” you start, only continuing once Kyle is looking at you again, “Love you.”

It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but by Kyle’s reaction it feels as if it is. He breaks out into a wide grin, springing forward so he can rest his forehead against yours. “You soppy bastard,” he chuckles, “I love you too.”

* * *

Still shaking away the drowsiness of sleep, the noises that accompany Kyle’s movements capture your attention, your eyes turning to hungrily sweep across him as he stretches out the ache from his muscles while sitting on the edge of the bed. When he turns and catches you watching he rolls his eyes, lying back down on his stomach to hover over you and press a quick kiss to your lips before speaking. “Were you watching me?”

You shift an arm so you can slowly draw a thumb down his spine. “Mhm, how could I not?” Leaning in you capture his mouth with yours, starting a lazy kiss that lasts for a few moments before breaking apart to rest forehead against forehead. “You got me good yesterday,” you breathe, the memory of the swift knee Kyle had lodged into your side suddenly popping into your mind.

He laughs, sitting up and shuffling over until he’s straddling your hips, your hands automatically drifting down to rest on his waist. “You got your revenge,” he quips back - barely five seconds later, you had pinned him underneath you. 

The mood swiftly changes when you begin to tease your fingers across his skin, dipping down to draw them along his thighs. “I wasn’t too rough was I?” He nods his head, leaning down to peck your lips.

“Yeah, and you still have some making up to do.” His eyes shine with mischief, mouth morphing into a playful grin.

“Oh? How should I do that?” You question, fingers making their way back up his thighs and around his waist to take an ass cheek in each hand, gently kneading the skin. Kyle hums in satisfaction, only to yell in surprise when you flip the two of you over, once again pinning him under your weight. Leaning down you bring him into a hungry kiss, breaking apart to move to his jaw, his neck, and start teasing down his chest. “Will this work?”

He inhales a sharp breath, hand cupping the back of your head as you suck on his chest, “It’s a start.”

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #call of duty #top male reader #elijahs oneshots #lieutnts writings #male reader #top reader

[ficfanatictrf]

A Small Surprise

Riding your bike to and from your destinations has always been a joy for you. Not only did it allow you to explore more of the city that you lived in, but it was good exercise and feeling the wind rushing by was always one of the highlights of your day. 

Since you and Viktor had gotten together a few months back, many parts of both your lives had changed. One of which, after working with the inventor to create a new frame that wouldn’t be off balance, you now had a bike with a saddle seat on the back. You made sure that it had been something soft, comfortable to sit on for a period of time. All for one very important reason, the very reason you were now racing across town at this very moment. 

You were late, fuck you were late. 

You had sworn to the man that you would be there at 4 bells, and already you were closer to 5 than the 4 that you had promised. 

Skidding to a stop in front of the building he had given a lecture in, you could already feel your heart hammering. Not just from the exertion that you had put on yourself, but because you didn’t see a sign of the man. 

However, that fear was quickly dispersed and you saw the very mess of brown hair coming around the building. As soon as he saw you; his eyes lit up, pace quickening, smile as blinding as ever. 

As he approached you could see that he was not only having his satchel that you knew carried the materials he wanted with him for his lecture, but also something else was in his hand. 

“Ah, there you are, lyubov. I was beginning to worry you had gotten lost.” For someone that had been left waiting on someone for almost 45 minutes, there was no sign of irritation. Not that you expected it from him, but the fact that he wasn’t upset only made your heart melt. 

“I’m so sorry, I lost track of time and then one of the roads was blocked off for…something” You sighed, trying to eye what he was holding so closely to his chest. “What have you got there?” 

Golden eyes flicked down to the rather large wooden object in his hand before darting off to the side, clearing his throat as he shifted from side to side. 

“If I recall correctly, you had expressed interest in, well…” He trailed off, frowning as he felt like he wasn’t explaining this correctly. 

“My lecture went well, audience participation was higher than average and disturbances weren’t an issue-” Ah, his nervous rambling. You had told him that you loved hearing about his day and so he would try to give you details whenever he could, the desire to tell you everything play by play now beginning most of your conversations. 

“With things going smoothly, I was able to conclude about 3 minutes early. Since this is on the opposite side of the city, I would hardly ever have the chance to explore this side- not that I would need to as it is mostly frivolous shops. However, I spotted something that you had mentioned in the past wanting to hear…” 

Finally, he held out the object in his hand, the action being a little slow and timid as he was second guessing buying it. As your eyes followed his movements, you couldn’t help the soft gasp of excitement before you squealed. 

Weeks ago when the two of you had been cuddling in bed, both softly whispering to each other as you waited for sleep to take you. You had been learning more about his childhood, about the things he had liked and disliked, little memories that he could recall. As only a passing thought, your mind being completely overtaken by how comfortable and warm you felt, you had spoken only a single sentence about how you wished you could have been able to hear the music his mother had played to him as a child. 

He had spoken about a weird mix of wood and metal. Promising that the device always created such an entrancing sound. Array mbira.

Turning the item around, you were perplexed as it was exactly as he described. The metal was oddly bent up, looking like it would be easy to poke yourself by accident on it as opposed to making a beautiful sound. 

“I had thought it would be bigger” You teased, only earning you a scoff and a pout before he moved to sit on the back of your bike like he had many times before. It had been specifically designed for his height, allowing him to easily sit without it being uncomfortable. 

“If you are disappointed I can just not play it for you” You could hear the smirk in his voice, knowing he bested you as you hastily turned, shaking your head no in earnest. 

“No no, come on, I want to hear it” 

The man hummed in faux thought, his hand even coming up to hold his chin, adding to this little charade. 

“I suppose I could barter one performance. For a ride home, perhaps?” With a soft chuckle, he dropped the little joke between the two of you, humming in a soft delight as you kicked off, the wind soon whipping through his hair. 

.

.

That night, you sat and stared in amazement as his spindly fingers flicked at the metal like an expert, producing a sound you had never quite heard before having been raised in Piltover. It was awe inspiring and as he finished one piece he knew for the fifth time that night, he couldn’t help but relish as you asked him to play it once more, how could he deny you this simple thing.

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

Authors Note: Thank you to the people who helped me figure out what item I would use, this idea hit me as I road my bike all over campus today and for the life of me I could not come up with something that I felt worked well enough.

Also, the song I imagined him play was Howl's Moving Castle - Merry go round of Life (linked below)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksaQO1tjqOI&t=41s

The artist from the video in their description wrote the quote below that I think works for so many relationships and I believe works so well for anyone that love Viktor as well.

"I couldn't quite understand howl and sophie's love when I was a kid, but now I seem to understand a little bit, that one loves someone for their beauty, ageing, past and present, and is brave enough to give love and grow together."

#arcane viktor #ficfanatic #ficfanatictrf #reader insert #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane

[wandaluvstacos]

THE ONLY SECONDS THAT MATTER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE IS UP!

Genre: Contemporary Romance Rating: 18+

Includes: Extensive horse nerdery + cowboys, mxm romance (1 trans + 1 cis), some discussion child abuse, some instances of trans/homophobia (it is rural Oklahoma, y'all), depression, occasional sex scene (but it’s a slow burn for sure)

Victor Ortiz-Bennett had some reservations about moving to Oklahoma, but his late aunt willed him a 70-acre horse farm, and he decides to fulfill his dream of running and operating his own training facility. Victor’s been around the reining horse show circuit for a while, and he’s ready to settle down, travel less, and spend more time with the horses he loves and away from the people he can do without. That is, until he picks up a horse at an auction with a bucking problem he can’t fix, and he has to take her to the one guy who can ride anything– Johnny Stearns, a retired professional rodeo rider.

Johnny Stearns is loud, chatty, eccentric, and fears nothing, exactly Victor’s opposite. However, Victor finds himself sinking into an odd friendship with this new foul-mouthed cowboy without a filter, diving deeper into the mess that is Johnny’s life until there’s no way to extract himself from it. Johnny may talk a tough game, but there’s more to him than he’ll let most people see. Victor knows getting in too deep will mean a rough ride, but if there’s anything Johnny’s taught him, it’s how to stay in the saddle.

Excerpt:

“I still gotta live in this goddamn house.” Johnny glanced around the living room with wild eyes. “This house where my dad beat me in every room but the one I currently sleep in.” His voice broke toward the end and he took a moment to compose himself, swiping a hand under his nose. “I think he’s the devil inside me. The only way I keep him quiet is by drinkin’.”

“Your father was an abusive asshole. Sell the house and live the life he would have hated. Make him spin in his damn grave.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“Is this easier?” Victor snapped. “Is losing yourself in booze and trash while the people you love abandon you easy?”

“Of course it’s not! But fuck, it’s all I know. I know how to survive with barely nothin’ and that’s it. You wouldn’t get it. You grew up with money and parents who loved you.”

“I don’t have to understand this to be against it. I—I care about you, Johnny. More than I should. More you than you deserve, maybe. I don’t want anyone I care about to live like this, and I don’t want to see them the way I saw you last night.”

Johnny shrunk backward, slightly hunched. “I don’t deserve that consideration. I know that. I’m a real piece of shit sometimes.”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for yourself. I want you to feel like you deserve better. Better than Daisy, better than being cheated on. I want you try to be someone who doesn’t just—” Victor considered his words, but pushed ahead anyway “—someone who doesn’t break my damn heart all the time.”

Johnny’s face twisted with hurt before he looked away, then down at his feet. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, but for once he had nothing to say.

“You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met,” Victor continued, “so if I didn’t care about you, I would have been gone months ago. Even with your flaws, you’ve got a big heart that’s always in the right place, and that’s not an easy find. I mean Christ, my own mother had a worse reaction to me coming out than you did. I didn’t talk to her for months.”

“Vic, I…” Johnny began, then trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I talk a lot but I ain’t very good at talkin’ ‘bout my feelin’s and all that… so maybe I won’t say this right, but half the reason I tried as hard as I did to get sober is cuz your reaction to the state of my house felt like a real kick in the nuts. I didn’t want Sarah or my sister knowin’, but to be honest, I’d already disappointed them both a thousand times over. But you still held me in high regard, and I hated that I fucked that up. I hated that you had to see my life for what it was. This feels like that again, ‘cept now I’m worried you’ll leave me once and for all and I’ll have no one. I want to fight, but most of my fightin’ spirit’s gone.”

“I don’t want you to fight. That’s your dad talking. Not everything has to be a damn fight. I want you to give up, actually. I want you to stop being so damn proud because it’s killing you. You’re trying to be this person you aren’t.”

#The Only Seconds that Matter #my writing #patreon #update #excerpt #original fiction

[dapandapod]

Beloved

So! This was the last of the prompts for @thepassifloradiscord Fluff Bingo Card nr 3, this time for Getting engaged!

Written around midnight and posted as soon as I woke up, so sorry if my spelling and grammar is a little funky but I'm running out of time xD Please enjoy our boys! <3

On Ao3 here

Witchers don’t get nervous, Geralt tells himself, fiddling with the flower Jaskier gave him, absolutely feeling nervous. The day had been perfect, just the two of them on the road, but Jaskier was… different. 

Good different, but a way that made him ache with anticipation. The bard is planning something, Geralt can tell. It’s in the way he keeps smiling secretly to himself, keeps checking his pockets, the way he gave Geralt a flower and kissed his cheek, like he gave him his entire heart to hold- yes, Geralt is a little nervous.

He feels like he is being courted. Wooed. And it's working, despite already being thoroughly lost on the man. Every time Jaskier reaches for him, it's like when he first finally acknowledged this thing he was feeling for Jaskier, and let himself respond to it.

Roach is pulling at the reins next to him, finding him an absolute bore when he doesn't let her graze by the road side. Technically, they are on their way somewhere, but there is also absolutely no hurry.

  He walks next to her, and when she realizes Geralt will not give in, she sighs. Big heavy sigh. She hangs out too much with the bard.

"So dramatic." He tells her with a smile, and she agrees, letting her ears droop and drags her legs behind her.

"What did I do?" Jaskier asks from in front of them, turning to look at Geralt. Fuck he is so beautiful.

"Wasn't talking to you." Geralt tells him, and pats his dramatic mare on the neck, only to see his dramatic bard fake swooning.

"Oh, no, he loves me less than his horse! Oh woe me!"

There is only one reply to that, so Geralt hums and rolls his eyes. This is not a discussion he will have with both of them present, or things are going to go sideways really quick.

There is a set up resting spot by the side of the road, a few travelers there already, but Jaskier frowns at them and shakes his head and leads them on. He doesn't say why, but the way he takes hold of Geralt's hand, their fingers laced together, palm pressed against palm, it doesn't matter. 

All is well as long as Jaskier holds his hand.

Yes, Geralt is a sap. He can admit it in the safety of his own mind. No witches here to read it anyway.

They walk until Jaskier seems to find what they are looking for. A small, overgrown trail takes them to an old burnt out house. The only remenants of what once were is the cornerstones and the wild but beautiful garden.

Jaskier smiles and leads them towards a big old apple tree. Before Geralt lets him unpack Roach however, there are some things to confirm. Like the witcher he is, Geralt walks around the house, flower behind his ear and ready to draw his sword should his medallion make the smallest vibration. But it seems clear. Just the singing birds and the whooshing of leaves.

"Finished?" Jaskier asks, hands at his sides. Geralt nods. "You don't remember clearing out this area only two springs ago?"

....Did he? Maybe he did.

"You got 20 Orens and a gwent card." Jaskier reminds him, and oh yes, alright, Geralt remembers. He got an excellent archer card from that one, that he traded with Lambert as soon as he met him.

"Now come join me. Oh, and maybe take off Roach's saddle, we're going to be here for a while."

"We are?" Geralt asks with an amused smirk.

"Oh yes." Jaskier agrees and looks away with a blush, touching his pocket again. It makes Geralt curious out of his mind, but he won't ask.

Together they set up the tent and a picnic blanket Jaskier somehow smuggled into their packs. The wine had been saving is also brought up, and from his own bag, Jaskier produces a kind of cookie with jam and some honey for the stale bread Geralt picks up from one of the saddle bags.

It's early summer still, too early still for the heat to become troublesome, but late enough for flowers to spring forth everywhere and the apple tree to bloom. They eat their make shift dinner in relative silence, which is unusual for Jaskier, but he looks lost in thought. Geralt doesn't push, just enjoys listening to Roach snorting, the birds singing, the gentle humming of Jaskier as he absently chews on a piece of bread.

When Jaskier attempts to chew on the cork from the wine bottle, Geralt intercepts his hand, grabbing his wrist.

"Alright. Spit it out."

Jaskier tenses up, his every feature reads how nervous he suddenly is.

"What?"

"You almost ate a cork. What is distracting you this much?"

Only now does Jaskier notice that it indeed is a cork in his hand, and he lets it go with a frown.

"I... Hmm." Jaskier says, and that infuriating blush is back again, and he can't seem to meet Geralt's eyes. "I have a surprise for you?" Jaskier dives towards his bag again, digging until he can find a little wooden box with some fabric sticking out.

When he opens it and shows it to Geralt, the witcher can't help but gasp.

"Grapes? This time a year?"

"You have no idea how much I paid for these." Jaskier agrees. "Come. Put your head in my lap."

Jaskier leans back on the apple tree, Geralt resting his head on Jaskier's thighs. It is comfortable. Familiar. Every now and then, Jaskier pops a grape into his mouth, plays with his hair, and then finally picks up a poetry book and reads it out loud.

It is a love poem, of course. They have been, for the past weeks. Jaskier's free hand is resting on Geralt's chest, fingers tracing the worn fabric of his tunic.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks after a while, and Geralt realizes he has closed his eyes.

"Hmm?" He doesn't open them. Too comfortable.

"There is... I have something I want to ask you."

The bard's hand is still on his chest now, the book put down and the grapes gone. It's just them, and the way that Jaskier is looking down at him.

"Ugh, no, this is such a weird angle, sorry, here."

Jaskier helps him sit up, making room for him to lean against the tree. Their knees knock together and Jaskier takes a hold of his hand again.

"You know I am a viscount, right?" Geralt nods. "It doesn't mean much in the end, but it does make loving me a little more... serious."

"I know this. I still want you." Geralt reassures him, tightening his grip. "If you'll have me."

"My sister is married now, and she has taken over our estate. I am a man free to love again." Jaskier says shakily, before letting his free hand slide into his pocket and dig out a little pouch. "Which brings me to this."

Oh. Wait. Hang on.

"I love you, Geralt, you must know." Their eyes finally meet, and they turn to face each other properly. "You make each day worth waking to, each step worth taking if it is by your side."

Geralt's heart is doing something weird, it is beating hard as if he is in a fight, his hand suddenly feels damp against Jaskier's, and witchers are not supposed to be nervous, but things are about to irrevocably change.

"Geralt of Rivia, you are the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me. I have nothing to offer you but my hand, but if you would take it, you would make me the happiest man in the world."

For a long moment, Geralt doesn't know what to say. He looks at Jaskier's hopeful eyes, his hands growing even more clammy.

"What?" He manages finally, and Jaskier chuckles.

"Guess you haven't been proposed to too often." He jokes, and oh, it is really happening. "Geralt. Will you marry me? I have talked to my sister's adviser and he says that-"

"I will. I do. I-" Geralt interrupts. He doesn't know what to say, what to do, his hands are shaking with some kind of adrenaline, worse than that first time he pushed himself into kissing Jaskier. The bard's hands comes up to hold his face, to cradle his jaw, and their foreheads press together.

"You want to?" Jaskier breathes, smile spreading on his lips.

"I want nothing else. Anything that will tie me to you. Everything." Geralt whispers, closing his eyes when Jaskier is kissing him, soft, happy pecks that makes him laugh.

"So not marrying me for my title then?" Jaskier jokes.

"Fuck your title." Geralt growls, leaning in to kiss him again and Jaskier chuckles.

"I got you a ring..." Jaskier says finally, leaning back, a blush climbing from his ear to his chest. He fiddles with the little pouch, untying it and revealing a golden ring on a chain. "Figured you are not a ring person, but I wanted you to have this."

"Help me put it on?" Geralt asks, turning his back and lifting up his hair so that Jaskier can reach. His warm arms are around him, reaching around, and then he feels him fiddle with the clasp at his neck.

The chain is a little shorter than the one for his medallion, but not by much. It hangs over his heart, and Geralt presses his hand to it, Jaskier's arms wrapping around his waist as he leans against his back.

"I love you, witcher mine." Jaskier whispers.

"I love you, poet of my heart." Geralt whispers back.

Alright, maybe he is a sap outside his head sometimes too. It is worth it however, when Jaskier holds him closer and kisses him behind his ear.

"I was so nervous you wouldn't want this." Jaskier admits after a while.

"I'm a greedy man, Julek." Geralt murmurs back. "Everything you offer, I will accept. Always."

"Help me put on my ring too?" Jaskier says shakily, letting go of Geralt only so he can turn back and bring out the other ring that was in the pouch. More finger sized this time, with more elven inscriptions.

Geralt holds Jaskier's hand in both of his, slowly putting the ring on his ring finger.  When he is done, he presses feather light kisses to each of Jaskier's fingertips.

They sit on their blanket for a long time. Until the light fades, they feed each other what is left of the sweets, until hands start to wander and it is time to go inside the tent and touch, feel, love each other in every way they can.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, Jaskier's ring clad hand resting over Geralt's heart, next to a ring with elven script, just one word.

Beloved.

#geraskier #established relationship #getting engaged #fluff #geralt x jaskier #the passiflora discord #roach my beloved #dapanda writes #the witcher #picnic #part elf jaskier #because i say so

[outlaw-livin]

Hunting Partners: Part one.

Part two.

“Well look…Morgan’s getting ready to leave again.”

Karen’s voice broke Mercy out of her washing board induced hypnosis, she’d been cleaning a practically stubborn blood stain out of her shirt for almost a hour.

“And he ain’t telling Sunshine goodbye?” Tilly responded, Mercy could see her smiling out of the corner of her eye “I wouldn’t stand for that.”

Mercy stood up, letting the shirt fall into the washbowl, as she walked towards Arthur, who was adjusting Midnight’s saddle, she wiped her wet and cold hands on her skirt.

“Heading out?”

“Miss Thomas..” Arthur paused in his work long enough to tip his hat to her “Looking as lovely as ever.”

Mercy smiled, his charming politeness always made her smile, made her feel special.

“Ya can call me Mercy..after all…” 

Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, there wasn’t any polite way to describe just what she and Arthur had been doing in his tent some nights before, so she decided to play coy.

“We have spent a lot of time together, as of late.”

“Indeed we have..”

He chuckled, his smirk barely visible behind his scruffy beard 

“So you're leavin’ without a goodbye?” 

“Going hunting actually..” He placed both his thumbs under his gun belt “As if I’d leave you without sayin’ so.”

She blushed, and decided to stroke the horse's rump. Midnight was a gorgeous black Arabian, with a beautiful temperament, and in truth, Mercy had been green with envy when Arthur rode into camp with it.

“I can come with…I know the forest pretty well, know where all the best game is..”

“Oh yeah..I forgot, before we picked ya up you were always off hunting, single handedly kept the butcher of valentine in business from what I gather.”

“Not quite..”

“If Miss Grimshaw can spare ya, I’d welcome your expertise.” 

Mercy smiled, “I’ll go ask her.”

                                                                      X

Half an hour later, Mercy and Arthur, on Midnight and Lucky, were riding out of camp, while horseshoe overlook was nice, Mercy was going insane being stuck there.

“Can we stop in town on the way? I need to pick up some stuff for Lucky..”

“Of course we can Miss Thomas…anything for you.”

Mercy smiled, then realized that he was being sarcastic

“Oh shut up Morgan…Lucky deserves a treat, he’s been stuck in horseshoe for as long as me and he ain’t used to being cooped up, are ya boy?”

“It's been a month since ya joined us, and your already getting cold feet?” 

“Nah..I’m fine.”

She scratched Lucky behind the ear

“Unless this is your nice way of telling me to fuck off back home.”

“No ones saying that and if I were, I wouldn’t be nice ‘bout it.”

They rode the short distance to Valentine in silence after that, In the mid-morning sun, the trail was gorgeous, all bright colors and gentle winds, Mercy kept glancing at Arthur, who rode so casually on his horse, he must’ve been born on the back of a saddle, he kept his left hand on the reins, his right dangling at his side, Mercy realized after a few moments of observation it was because it made it easier for him to grab his gun.

Was he ever relaxed? Or did he constantly expect an ambush?  

With the prize on top of his handsome head, that was perhaps a healthy outlook to have, maybe it was the only thing that had kept him alive this long.

“You and Dutch…y’all go way back, don’t ya?”

That night in the confines of Arthur’s tent, she’d noticed a old photograph on the wagon next to Arthur’s cot, It looked like a young Arthur, Hosea and Dutch.

“Yeah.”

“And you trust that he actually has some sorta plan and ain’t just…filling dead air?”

“Whadda you sayin’?”

“All I’m saying is that give a man a inch and he’ll take a mile.”

“If you don’t trust Dutch then you might as well leave now.”

“I never said that.” 

“Then what are you sayin’?”

“I was just askin’ if you reckoned he had a plan, and you ain’t answered.”

“I’d follow that man to Hell and back, that good enough?”

“It is.”

The silence returned on the rest of the ride, but now it was as if a layer of ice had formed between them. 

When they arrived at town, he muttered something about the general store and left her at the door of the stables, she sighed and dismounted Lucky.

“See boy..This is why I stick to talking to horses, I suck at people..” 

She bought a bag of sugar cubes and a few apples from the stable boy and then walked over to the general store, Midnight was hitched outside and snickered when she saw Mercy and Lucky.

“At least you like me girl..” She stroked the horse's mane “Maybe you can put in a good word with your Master, eh?”

“That was quick, get what ya wanted?” Arthur’s voice came from the store door 

“Yep.” 

Mercy paused, she wanted to apologize, Arthur hopped down into the mud beside her and reached into his satchel.

“Here..” 

He held out a chocolate bar

“Gotcha this.” He smiled, “A treat after being cooped up for so long.” 

“Thank you..Mr. Morgan..”

She took the candy, she was blushing she knew it.

“Anytime, Miss Thomas.”

#OC: Mercy Thomas #arthur morgan x oc #Red dead redemption fan fic #red dead oc

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’) 

Prompt:  Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.  

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.  

*

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

*

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.  

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[scuttling]

If I Should Linger

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,979 (what is wrong with me??) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Best Friend's Dad Hotch, Confident reader, Flirting, Oral sex, Protected sex, Dirty talk, A little angst with a happy ending Summary: Your best friend stands you up at the bar, but it actually turns into the best night you've had in a long time—maybe the best night of your life. Unfortunately, things don't stay uncomplicated for long... *Requested by @hotforhotchner11 Link to A03 or read below! “I can’t believe you stood me up to have sex with a frat boy,” you hiss into your phone from your seat at the bar. Your best friend Julie—better known as Jay—is on the other end, and she’s completely ruining your plans for the evening at later than the last minute. She’s never on time for anything.

“He’s not a frat boy… yet. He’s rushing.” You pick up your gin and tonic to take a sip, but her comment makes you pause.

“He’s rushing? How old is he?” The breath she blows out before she answers tells you everything you need to know. Goddamn cradle robber.

“Twenty? Or, almost twenty.”

“Oh, you nasty girl. He’s nearly ten years younger than us.” At 28, you literally could not imagine being interested in a 20 year old. Anyone under 25 is practically an infant; what would you talk about?

“The pussy wants what it wants, babe. It’s more fun when they barely know what they’re doing.” Then again, you figure, she isn’t exactly doing much talking.

“That’s gross, Jay.”

“Is it any grosser than your thing for older guys? You’d fuck my dad if I let you anywhere near him, which is exactly why I don’t.”

“I would not fuck your dad—actually, what does he look like?” She groans down the line and you laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m trying to fuck someone’s dad tonight, but not yours.” You hear a choked laugh from beside you and you glance over at, objectively, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen: he’s Black, bald, muscular, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a killer smile, and apparently your thirst for older men amuses him. You smile back. “Jay, I have to go; I’m embarrassing myself in public.”

“Okay, and what else is new? Bye!” When she hangs up, you lock your phone and turn to face the man at the bar.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget people are actually listening in places like these; there’s so much talking it’s all kind of white noise to me.”

“It’s kind of my job to listen to what no one else does, but I forget to turn it off sometimes,” he says, and no, that’s not intriguing or anything. “So you’re into older guys?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you lean in with your chin in your hand, elbow on the bar.

“Almost exclusively. You don’t look old enough to be someone’s dad, but I’d probably make an exception.” He laughs again; he doesn’t have a drink, so maybe he’s waiting for the bartender, but you sip yours.

“I’m flattered, but taken. I have a friend who’s probably your type; he doesn’t do one night stands, though. He doesn’t really do anything. We’re trying to loosen him up.” You hum thoughtfully, take a cursory glance around the room.

“I happen to be great at loosening older men up. Is he here?” He shoots you a smile, looks at you like you kind of amaze him.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you, if you weren’t taken?” He nods a little, like you’ve got a good point, and you both laugh. “Yeah, it’s a double standard. If you can walk up to a woman and ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven, why can’t I walk up to an older man and ask if he believes in love at first sight, or if I should walk by again?”

“That tired line would not work on my friend,” he says, and you grin.

“I think you’d be surprised. But, you know him better, so why don’t you just invite me back to your table, since I got stood up by my friend and I’m all alone, and let me do my thing?” You swirl your straw in your drink, try to look flirty, and he leans in on his elbow like you did before.

“You know what? What the hell. If nothing else, he gets some attention from a pretty girl and maybe it boosts his confidence.” You smile—you like this guy already.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He rolls his eyes, and then the bartender presents him with his drinks. You take two—one is a neat bourbon, that has to belong to the older man friend—and follow him to his table while he just shakes his head.

“Looks like you brought back more than drinks,” a pale woman with dark hair and bangs says with a smile when the two of you approach the table. He hands her one of the beers, takes the cocktail from your hand and gives it to a petite blonde with fair skin.

“Her friend bailed on her and we got talking at the bar, so I invited her to come sit with us.” You introduce yourself to the group, and the friend Derek mentioned might be your type? Egregious understatement.

He’s everything you like in an older man: polite, well-spoken, handsome, clean shaven, with a great head of thick, dark hair—he’s wearing an expensive watch, a goddamn suit, a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, and if Jay were here, you’d be catching her attention and panting like a dog, with your hands up near your face.

To someone without your more refined palate for older gentlemen, he may look like an average white guy in his early fifties, but you have to look down to make sure your panties haven’t dropped involuntarily. Just in case.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask, gesturing to the one next to him, and he shakes his head, pulls it out for you before he sits back down—yes, he stood when you approached the table. Manners, check. You’re trying not to drool.

You smooth out your skirt before you take your seat—you always dress for the man you want to attract, and tonight is no exception, so you’re wearing a black lace dress and nude heels; the dress is fitted, but not clingy, and not too short, and you know the right kind of man will find it appealing. So far, your handsome potential love interest Aaron seems to be looking respectfully; that may change, but you’re happy to see it, for now.

“So Derek mentioned you’re all in the FBI; are you the boss? You look like the boss,” you say with a playful smile, and Aaron looks a little nervous when he nods, makes eye contact.

“Until someone decides to overthrow me,” he jokes, deadpan, and your smile gets brighter. Dry sense of humor, check.

“I’d like to see them try; I definitely sense that you can handle your own.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Derek hiding a smile behind his hand. He knows you’re flirting, even if no one else does, and another reason you hope to take Aaron home is so you can wipe that smile off his face—but mostly because Aaron’s gorgeous, and you know it would be a very good time for the both of you.

“Let’s play darts,” Derek says to the other people at the table—you can’t remember their names at the moment, all your attention focused on Aaron—and they get up and walk over to the board, so it’s just the two of you.

Aaron clears his throat. “Thank you. What do you do for work?”

“I’m in publishing; a copy editor. Mostly Tom Clancy type action novels, and romance novels. Lots of heaving bosoms and cries of overwhelming pleasure, you know?” You take a sip of your drink through the straw, looking over at him as innocently as you can. He’s a little flushed; you’re a huge fan of that look on a man. “Do you ever read romance novels?”

“Uh, no. Not my genre.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you watch his mouth while he does.

“Not mine either. When you edit enough of them, they become wholly unsexy… and they never compare to real life.” You flick your eyes over his body, briefly but not subtly, and he gives you a glance back. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. “So what do you like to read? Wait, may I guess?” you ask, setting a hand on his arm. He nods, and you carry on, leaning just a little closer. “So I’m going to guess you’re a fan of the classics, novels you’ve read a hundred times. I think you would tell me your favorite is To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say, tapping against his sleeve, “and maybe intellectually it is, but you actually feel more when you read Moby Dick. I bet your heart yearns for adventure—not that life as a crime solving FBI agent is boring, but it's all too real. Moby Dick is the perfect blend of adventure and fantasy for a man like you.”

“You’ve known me for all of ten minutes,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug and take a drink.

“True. But am I right? Or close?” He smiles, the first full, unguarded expression he’s given tonight, and you feel awesome for making that happen.

“My favorite book is Moby Dick. I make a point to read it at least twice a year. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You pull back, take your hand off of his arm; you’ve laid the groundwork for touching, and he’ll have to make a move if he wants more. “People often tell you a lot they don’t intend to, and books are my thing, so it’s easy for me to connect the dots. I recommend books to people as a kind of party trick.” You stir your drink, and he shifts a little, sitting closer.

“Have you disappointed many people with your recommendations?”

“Oh, I make it a personal mission to never leave anyone disappointed,” you say, your voice low and sweet like honey. His eyes move to your mouth. You sweep your tongue over your bottom lip. “Derek said your friends are trying to get you to loosen up; can I ask why?” He flicks his eyes up to yours, frowns a little, like he’s not sure that’s something he’s ready to tell you; ultimately, he just sighs.

“I’ve been divorced for five years, alone for five years. They think it’s time I…” He trails off, shrugs.

“Get back in the saddle?” you offer, and he laughs lightly, agrees. “Is that something you’re interested in? You shouldn’t feel pressured into it if you’re not ready.” You might want to sleep with him so badly it’s sickening, but not at the expense of his well-being.

He exhales deeply and lifts his arm to rest it on the back of your chair; you want to smile, but the conversation doesn’t call for it, so you hold off.

“I think I’m ready, but how do you really know?” You turn toward him a little more, lean against his arm; it feels easy, comfortable, almost like a real date and not you flirting like your life depends on it and hoping to get a bite.

“I think you should wait to meet someone who makes you feel a spark, and then explore it. Maybe it burns hot, but doesn’t last. Maybe it’s a slow burn. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I think when you’re really ready to put yourself out there, you’ll know.” He holds your gaze, wets his lips, takes a breath.

“You’ve been flirting with me.” You do smile a little, then.

“Yes, Aaron, I have.”

“Did Derek put you up to it?”

“Absolutely not.” You touch his arm again, gentle, lean in close. “I’m genuinely interested in you. You’re everything I’m attracted to in a man.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Old and uptight?”

“Older, and kind, and capable of having a conversation about more than just sports and money, and handsome. Very handsome.” You lift your fingers from his arm, brush them through his hair over his temple. “I feel a spark. Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and when you set your hand on the table, he covers it carefully with his. His hand is big, warm, softer than you’d expected, and you’re met with the sudden urge to feel it all over your body. “I feel a spark.”

“Good. Do you want to come home with me tonight? No strings attached—just to get you back in the saddle,” you say with a tilt of your head, and he nods.

“I want to.” You’re certain that the smile that crosses your face is softer, inviting, but you get the feeling he won’t kiss you while his friends could be watching. You’re actually surprised he’s touching you so openly.

“Okay, so why don’t you give me a ride home? I was going to have to call an Uber, since my friend didn’t show up, but you’re a gentleman, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me do that.” He catches on to what you’re saying, the excuse you’re giving him to give his friends, makes a noise of understanding.

“Of course. I wouldn’t rest not knowing you made it home safely.”

“I’m not sure how much rest you’ll be getting tonight,” you murmur, and you rest your free hand on his thigh under the table, squeeze a little. He’s very firm, and you kind of melt. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Aaron. Are you committed to staying here much longer?”

“Not at all. Would you like to leave now?” You hold his gaze for a moment, want to be really sure about this; you’re no expert on body language, but you’ve been here before, and he really does look less tense than when you first showed up, more comfortable and open. All really good signs.

“Yes, please.” He squeezes your hand, then stands, smooths out his jacket, and tells you he’ll be right back while he goes to say goodbye to his friends. You stand too, finish what’s left of your drink, and pull out your phone to text Jay.

Taking home the most incredible man. Guess I don’t need my wingwoman after all.

J: Tell grandpa I said he better treat you right.

Please. He’s not that old. If anything, you can call him daddy. :P

J: You can call him daddy. Have fun ;) The ride to your apartment starts out quiet, but you try to fill it by asking Aaron more about himself. You keep your hands on him while you chat, leaning as close to him as you can while wearing your seatbelt, running your hand up and down his leg, over his arm while he shifts gears. You know it’s turning you on, and you’re fairly certain it’s turning him on as well.

You learn more about his job, that he basically solves crimes by judging people, which is kind of funny; before that, he was a lawyer, which you can definitely see. He has one child, a daughter who’s upset with him because of the divorce (someone’s dad, check), and a brother who lives in New York, no living parents. It’s more information than you usually get out of someone you plan to sleep with, but you really do like him, and since he’s not the one night stand type, you think more conversation is the right way to go.

He asks about you too, about your family and your job and your lame friend who bailed on you, and when he arrives outside your building, parks in the lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean in closer, smoothing a hand over his waist.

“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” you breathe, looking up at him, and he puts his hand on your cheek and you meet for a slow, easy kiss. “Hmm. I knew you’d be good at that.”

“I knew you’d be good at that, too. You have the most beautiful lips.” He brushes his fingers over them, and you take his hand, bring two of them into your mouth to suck softly. His breath hitches, and you feel your panties getting damp. God, he’s gorgeous. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and you slip his fingers out, drop a hand to his lap where he’s—oh, so perfectly hard it’s unreal.

“We could get started out here, have a little adventure,” you say playfully, fully prepared for him to say he’d rather not, but he just licks his lips and looks at you like you’re going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die happily. That’s another look you’re a huge fan of on an older man.

You undo his belt, his button and his zipper, pull his cock out of his pants; he’s of average length, thick, makes your mouth water, and you lean in to use that to your advantage, getting him wet with your saliva and then stroking him in your hand. You look up at his face, and he’s got his eyes closed, head back against the headrest—so fucking sexy. You reach your free hand under his shirt, where he’s hairy, strong, but a little soft, just the way you like it, and he opens his eyes and pulls you close for a kiss that’s a bit harder than the last.

“You’re absolutely perfect,” he sighs against your lips, and you press closer for another kiss. You almost regret the adventure comment now, because you want to undress him, and touch him, feel him all over, but you’ll just have to be patient. (That’s never been your strong suit.)

“Are you kidding? You are… everything. If I could build a dream man, he would literally be a copy of you.” He makes a sharp, self-deprecating sound, and you lean down to get him wetter, move your hand a little faster. “I’m completely serious. I’m a little upset I’ve been going to that bar for so long and our paths never crossed.” One of his hands moves to your hair, and he pulls you close for a kiss; he’s ready to come, you can tell, and you want him to more than anything, so you cover his hand with yours and dip your head, sucking his dick like you’re desperate for it. When it comes to Aaron, you’re kind of desperate for everything.

“Oh, god. That feels so good, baby.” You moan at the pet name—is there anything better in the world than an older man calling you baby? Maybe just Aaron specifically calling you baby—and he tightens his fingers in your hair while you glide over him, tight and wet, until he comes in your mouth.

You swallow it down, pull off breathless, and then swipe your tongue over him so he’s clean enough that you can tuck him back into his pants. You look up at him from his lap, and he’s panting too, rubs his fingers over your lips, your chin, down your throat. You’re desperately horny now, soaking wet, and when you shift to sit up, he catches you for a deep, steamy kiss, and that does nothing to help your situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and ugh, your heart flutters. Seriously, who created this man? He’s incredible. “Now let’s go inside so I can make you come, too.”

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, and you kiss him once more before pulling back and climbing out of the car, straightening yourself up. He does the same, then walks over to you, takes your hand, and follows you into your apartment.

Sex with Aaron is… talk about adventure. He fucks like—well, like he hasn’t done it in over five years. As soon as you get inside the door, he gets on his knees, pulls your panties down, lifts your skirt up, and eats your pussy with such enthusiasm you come with your hands in his hair, rocking against his face, in less than three minutes. Seeing him down on the ground in the full suit, just going to town on you, is not an image you’ll soon forget, that’s for sure.

After that, the two of you stumble to your bedroom, hands all over each other, tugging at zippers and discarding clothes—he has you keep your shoes on, and that makes you feel slutty like a porn star, and super hot—and you kiss, touch, moving your hands all over each other's bodies until he’s hard again. You stay in missionary, and after he slips on a condom from your bedside table, he slides into you, kisses your lips and your neck and your shoulders while he rolls his hips against yours.

It’s slow and sensual at first, and you drag your nails lightly across his back, tilt your head when he nips at your throat.

“Aaron, oh. You feel so good,” you breathe, scraping your fingers through his hair, and his thrusts get a little deeper, his kisses a little rougher.

“You’re incredible. So gorgeous.” He moves a hand to your breast, massages it while your bodies work; you hitch your legs up higher, moan, and pull him closer, your hands on his body, and he fucks into you more frantically, humping against you hard, wildly. You’ve never really gotten fuck you like an animal, but that’s kind of what he’s doing, and you’re into it, clinging to him, pushing into his thrusts like it’s possible to take him deeper than you are now.

God, he’s going to spoil you, ruin you for all other men. You’re going to have your best sex at 28 and then be chasing this feeling the rest of your goddamn life. It’s both amazing and horribly unfair.

“Yes, Aaron, yeah. Fuck me hard, fuck me deep.” He groans, pounds inside you, moves his hand from your breast to the back of your neck and stares down into your eyes while he absolutely destroys you. You come clenching around him, pulling his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder, and his mouth comes crashing down for a kiss while he thrusts through it and then stutters, his orgasm right behind yours.

You sag against the pillow behind your head, and he puts his weight on you, hand still clamped around the nape of your neck, and breathes hot against your throat.

You stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath, and thank fucking god Jay stood you up tonight. Aaron is very sweet, kissing you and holding you, murmuring against your skin, and the two of you go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, and then raid your kitchen for snacks, talking easily and laughing. He doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt, which you’d been a little worried about; in fact, he actually suggests taking your snacks back to bed, jokes about not getting any crumbs on your white sheets. Never one to kick a man out abruptly after sex, and especially not a man like Aaron, you agree, and you end up in bed again, which means…

Another frantically torn condom wrapper later, and you’re on your stomach, your nipples rubbing against the sheets. Aaron’s hands are on your ass while you work yourself on his cock, rolling your body, moaning desperately like you aren’t already two orgasms deep; his dick hits just right, and between that and the nipple stimulation you’re coming fast, bucking hard against him so he’ll follow.

“Fuck, baby, coming already?” He tightens his grip, slams inside you, plants one hand on the bed to change his angle a bit. “Let’s try for another; your body is so perfect, built for sex, built for me.” You groan, roll your eyes back because his dirty talk is hitting the spot, and the two of you fuck together, noisy and eager and hot, until he shudders, squeezes your ass hard and starts to come.

You’re so close, right on the edge, and you sound wild because of it, your moans high, whimpering, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you beg, grinding against him, and he puts both hands hard on your hips, rails you into the bed.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me. Come for me,” he murmurs, and he wraps one hand around the front of your body, rubs your clit, and you climax, squeezing your eyes shut, seeing stars. You moan his name, drop your hand to cover his where it rests against your pussy, and this time when his body drapes across your back like a weighted blanket, you sigh and close your eyes.

He kisses your back and shoulders, runs his big hands over your hips and ass, then slides off and guides you to the edge of the bed, lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. You think absently that you could get used to being treated this well, and you must say it, because he presses a kiss to your lips and whispers, “I will if you let me.”

There’s a little talk in bed, after you’re cleaned up and cozy beneath the comforter, about going on a real date; Aaron seems nervous, like he thinks you won’t go for it, that all you wanted was this night of sex. And yes, while that’s typically your MO, something about Aaron is different. He makes you want more, things like dates and picnics and sweet lovemaking at night and kisses—all the kisses, everywhere, all the time.

You ask him to stay, and he promises he will, and you fall asleep in his arms. It’s the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

You wake up to Aaron’s sleepy, handsome face, and you kiss and smile into each other’s lips, because last night was great, but this is even greater. Your plan is to take a shower together and then go out for breakfast, but there’s a knock at your door just as you’re planning to step in.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” you tell him with a kiss, and you pull on your robe and peer through the peephole, then pull the door open. “Well, well; now you decide to show up.”

Jay steps in with a box of doughnuts and two cups of coffee, looking properly shamed.

“I know, I’m a horrible friend. I broke the slut code: stay slutty, but never at the expense of your best girl.” You crack a smile, because you could never really be mad at her, but especially not after last night. You’re about to say that, but she looks over your shoulder at the clothes still strewn about your living room and grins. “Holy shit. Is your old man still here?”

“He’s not an old man, and yes, he’s in the shower, so shut up.” She shoves the doughnuts and coffee carrier into your hands and brushes past you, toward your bedroom, and you groan. “Jay, no, come on.”

“I just want to get a glimpse of him,” she says, peeking her head into your room. She sees more clothes, and the condom wrappers, looks back at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, someone had a good time last night.”

“Yes, it was fucking incredible. He’s a sex god, I’m not even kidding. He ate my pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in months, then fucked me twice, so hard and sexy, and then he asked me if he could take me on a date, Jay.” You smile wide, can’t help it. “I really like him, so I actually owe you for not coming out last night.” She smiles back, pulls you close for a hug, and you step back with your hands on her shoulders. “So thank you, and thanks for coming to apologize, but can you please leave? I really don’t want to miss out on some potential good morning shower sex.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all from a place of love, and she turns to head out of your room.

“Okay, but only because cockblocking you would mean breaking the slut code again, and I can’t have my membership card revoked. I have a date with the almost frat boy again tonight.” She grins, and you shake your head, pull off your robe when you hear the door shut and head for the shower.

Good morning shower sex has never been so good. One month and twelve dates later, and you’re head over heels for Aaron. He is so sweet, and smart, and secretly funny, the perfect gentleman when you’re in public and an absolute manic in private, and you seriously could not have imagined a more perfect man.

Jay is maybe a little tired of hearing you talk about him.

You’re out for breakfast on a Saturday morning—Aaron is on a case in Indiana, or you’d probably be with him—and she sighs around a bite of french toast.

“I get it, he’s the best lay you’ve ever had in your life. He makes your pussy wet and your heart horny, or whatever. When do I get to meet the old man who’s got you wrapped around his big sexy fingers?”

“He’s supposed to be home tonight, maybe I’ll see if he’s feeling up to drinks?” Sometimes he’s really worn out after these cases, and you don’t blame him, but occasionally they must touch him in a way that makes him want to enjoy life, because you’ve had some nice dates the same day he gets back. You’ll ask, and if he’s not up for it, you’ll reschedule.

“Ooh, yes. I can’t wait to finally get a good look at the hunk who turned my maneater best friend into a monogamous whore.” You gasp, affronted, and she cackles, takes a sip of her iced coffee. Sometimes you can’t even remember why you’re friends—but she never fails to do something completely unexpected and sweet that reminds you eventually. “Hey, maybe now that you’re obsessed with this guy, you can finally meet my dad, since I don’t have to worry about you trying to suck his dick at first sight.”

You know that Jay’s relationship with her dad has been a little rough since her parents split up, and you’ve always thought that maybe you could get her to open up to him, to talk to him, if you could get to know him, but her fears about your taste for older men have always been hilariously real. As if you can’t control yourself; as if you’d ever actually date her dad.

“Well I’ll have to ask my old man; maybe he’s down for a threesome?” It’s her turn to act offended, and you laugh and send Aaron a text about this evening before you forget.

Can’t wait to meet the infamous Jay, he replies, and you won’t lie, you’re feeling really good about your two favorite people finally getting to know each other.

That night, you and Aaron beat Jay to the bar, because of course you do—that bitch is never on time for anything.

You’re feeling cute in a sexy turtleneck dress (the neck of which Aaron tugged down to place a hickey under when you rode him on the couch before coming here) and a set of earrings he bought you—you’re wearing a set of lingerie he bought you, too for later—and he looks gorgeous in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

You can barely keep your hands off of him, squeezing his thigh, kissing his neck; you only give him an inch of space when he gets up to run to the restroom, and even then, the way he smiles and presses his lips to yours before he goes makes you want to cancel drinks and take him home so you can be alone.

But Jay asked to meet him, and you have been a little obsessed lately, so you want to do this and make her happy.

You look down at your phone, ready to hit her with some inflammatory where the fuck are you??? texts, when she drops into the seat Aaron had just vacated, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry. Traffic was really bad, and I got into this huge fight with my mom on the phone...” She pulls off her jacket, drapes it over the back of the seat.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned. The two of them usually get along pretty well.

“Yeah, she’s just pissed because my dad has a new girlfriend—which is stupid, because she’s the one who wanted to divorce him, so why does she care? But anyway, I told her I’d meet her and be nice to her, because it’s important to him, and she expects me to take her side or something. I don’t know. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m out for drinks with you and your old man so I can forget about my problems for a while.” She takes a deep breath for practically the first time since she started talking, then looks around, realizes it’s just the two of you. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

“Restroom,” you say with a smile, but something more must creep onto your face, because she rolls her eyes playfully.

“And you didn’t follow him in there for a little stall action?”

“Ew, no. That’s more your speed than mine; we had sex before we came, anyway, look at this hickey.” You pull the neck of your dress down and she whistles, impressed.

“Congrats on having such good pussy, babe. I know you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, but it looks to me like he’s got it bad for you too.” You grin, instinctively want to gush over him, but you see him walking over out of the corner of your eye, so you hold off.

He’s frowning, though, and you’re not sure why.

“Julie?” Jay whips her head around at the sound of Aaron’s voice, and her eyes get wide.

“Dad? What are you…” You stand up abruptly, looking up at Aaron, and Jay stands too, looking between you, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I… We…” He swallows, looks at you like you’ve both made a terrible mistake. You’re surprised how much that look hurts, but you know you have to take care of Jay before you can feel sorry for yourself.

“Jay, listen to me, okay? I swear to god I didn’t know.” You’re begging, pleading with your eyes, your hands on her shoulders. “I did not know.” She shakes her head like it’s not making sense, but when she lets herself connect the dots, she brings up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulls away from you, looking at you like you punched her in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jay, I didn’t—”

“Julie,” Aaron says, reaching for her, but she steps back, palms up.

“I seriously can’t believe this. You two… After every joke we made about me keeping you away from him?” She looks at you like you betrayed her, and you exhale, shrug sadly.

“It’s not like I went looking for him, Jay. We just… found each other.” You don’t look at Aaron, because if the last month hasn’t meant the same things to him, you’ll have to be okay with that. “I know it’s shocking, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it feels like to find this out, this way.”

“You’re right, you can’t imagine. I just fought with my mom about my dad’s new girlfriend, and it’s-it’s you.” She laughs, humorless.

“You fought with your mom? When?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms, and it’s so clear how much he cares about Jay. Her eyes fly to his.

“On the fucking way here. She told me about your new slut girlfriend, and I was defending you! I told her I’d meet her if you asked me to, that I’d be nice because I know she’s important to you! And it’s you,” she practically spits, turning to you. “Such a whore that you’ll fuck anyone over forty who can still get it up, including my fucking father.” Her tone stings, and people are looking at the three of you, but you take a breath, remind yourself that she’s just angry right now, and she loves you, doesn’t mean that.

“Julie, that's enough. I’m taking you home and we can talk about this there.” Aaron steps past her, picks up her jacket, and glances over at you, but you’re collecting your things and and pulling up a rideshare app to get yourself the fuck out of there.

You head for the bathroom to wait it out until your ride comes, and you definitely don’t cry because the two people who bring you the most happiness in the world are gone and they barely even looked back. It’s five days before Jay shows up at your door with apology doughnuts and a bottle of rosé. You eat and drink and cry on each other, and then laugh at each other, and your heart feels a little healed by the end of it.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore. It’s just… what are the odds, after everything we said, that you would actually hook up with my fucking dad.” You laugh and take the last bite of your doughnut.

“You don’t think I was a little startled by that turn of events? I was as shocked as you. I knew he had a daughter around my age, but that’s not really what we talked about, you know?” She shoves half a doughnut in her mouth and cackles.

“You don’t talk a whole lot, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Didn’t,” you say, and your whole mood shifts. She looks confused. “We didn’t talk a whole lot. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night you found out.” She pulls out her phone, starts texting.

“Okay, I told him I was okay with you guys like, two days ago, so this probably means he’s spiraling. He tends to do that—get in his own head and beat himself up for things that aren’t his fault.” She looks up from her phone, gives you a soft smile. “Will you forgive me if I tell you he’s moping at home right now, and that I know he’ll be happy to see you?” You roll your eyes a little.

“I already forgive you, Jay, but if he hasn’t called me, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he was looking for an out, and I gave him one, or maybe he can’t feel the same way I do because he knows we’re friends.”

“He told my mom about you, remember? He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you, and I don’t think he’d be acting this emo if he didn’t have feelings for you.” She reaches out, covers your hands with hers. “I’m really, really sorry I fucked this up for you guys. Weirdness aside, I know what good people you both are, and I hate that you were happy and I took that from you guys. I’m 100% supportive of you being my future step-mom,” she says with a grin, and you roll your eyes again and give her a hug and then jump up to get a shower.

You’re going to go get your old man.

When you knock on Aaron’s door an hour later, he looks surprised to see you.

“I thought you’d be Julie,” he says softly, and you sigh.

“I know. She sent me. She wants us to get our heads out of our asses, but I told her I don’t know where your head is, because we haven’t spoken.” Seeing him makes you feel a little better, because he does look like he may have been moping the last few days, so that must mean the spark is still there, right? “If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I’ll go; I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend it was just a casual thing, if that’s what you want.” Your heart aches at the thought, but you’d understand, if being his daughter’s best friend is an obstacle he can’t overcome.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says after a long, painfully drawn out moment. “I don’t want you to ever leave. And I could never pretend this was casual.” He steps forward—so handsome in a t-shirt and jeans it makes you long to press kisses all over his face, to hold him and be held by him—and his eyes are trained on yours. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I want to be with you.”

You take a deep, calming breath, exhale and nod. Your hands ache to reach out and touch him.

“I want to be with you, but only if you can promise that if something comes up with Jay—Julie—we can figure it out together. I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt the other night, and while I get that you had to take care of your daughter, and I’m glad you two talked things out, I can’t just be abandoned if things get weird.” You approach him, wrap your arms around him, and sigh. He hugs you so tightly, rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“I promise. I know I could have handled that better, but the situation was just so...”

“I know, that’s okay. Family comes first—but just so you know, she gave me her full support to campaign to become her new step-mom,” you say, pulling back with a teasing smile, and he shakes his head and grins. “So, one last question: Are you ready to get back in the saddle, Aaron?” He leans in and kisses you so hard you’re breathless, weaves his fingers into your hair.

“Sounds like my kind of adventure.” Message sent with high importance: Do not disturb! Your dad’s indecent.

J: Gross. Thanks for the warning, mom.

That’s step-mom, to you. Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #prompt #request

[golbrocklovely]

never needed // colby brock

A/N: so fun fact about this fic is that i came up with it last year back in november. it was around the time me and my ex best friend stopped being friends. i was really in such a rough headspace, and i think the concept shows it. i just finished writing it today and wow... i still feel this way to some extent, but not fully (thank god). also i literally cried while writing it today so there’s that. hope yall enjoy this one. i'm trying to post a bunch of fics since this coming week is my bday (the 14th). no guarantees, but i'm trying my best to put out at least six things. let me know what you think of this one. see yall later :)

prompt: colby has been ghosting you for a while, just when things were starting to get good between you two. after a week of ignoring you, he’s finally ready to talk. || fem!reader x colby brock

trigger warning: angst, cursing, heartache, crying, honestly this one is really sad so sorry about that, happy ending tho

word count: 2331

~~~~~~~

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I groaned to myself, staring at my phone.

Colby was still ignoring me, something I had grown accustomed to this week. He had ghosted my calls and my texts. He turned his read notifications off too, so I had no clue whether or not he had even seen my messages at all.

Everything had been going great between us. We had met a couple years back and hit it off as friends right away. I always thought he was attractive, and our friendship was always really flirty; so much so that fans thought we were together. And then finally, something clicked a couple months back. I wasn't sure if it was the accidental drunken kiss we shared, or just a built up of feelings, but we finally decided that maybe we should test out an actual relationship.

We promised each other we would take it slow, both of us still heartbroken from our previous relationships and our general trust issues. But these past two months, we went into overdrive, actually taking the time to feel each other out as boyfriend and girlfriend.

And for the first time, I felt happy. Genuinely happy.

A week ago, we had even gone on a cute little date, something we had started doing regularly. We were in the middle of our conversation; I remember I laughed hard at something he said. It was loud enough that some of the patrons in the restaurant stared at us. And when he tried to shush me jokingly, a silence had fallen over us.

His face dropped suddenly, he became super serious and quiet, and then he asked if we could go home.

He told me the next day that he thought he got food poisoning and it just hit him in the restaurant. I didn't think anything of it and was fine with going home early.

But now, I wonder if he was lying.

I looked back down at my phone, reading over my messages from the past week to him.

Was I taking this too far? He could have just been busy. I don't wanna come across as clingy.

"Ugh, fuck that." I muttered out loud to myself, rolling out of my bed to get a drink.

I didn't care if I came across as clingy. I had a right to know why he was ignoring me. If it was work related, he would have told me. He had done that in the past before.

This was different, I just knew it.

Tomorrow, I planned to go over and see him. I would have done it tonight, but I knew he wasn't home. He was out with some friends at Saddle Ranch. Like a fan, I had to watch his stories on Insta, since that was the only way I knew where he was.

"Don't expect too much from him." Sam said.

I shook my head at that memory. When we got together, everyone was happy for us. But I could feel a certain tension in the room, a certain caveat that wasn't being mentioned. Later that night, Sam and I were by ourselves, and he asked me if Colby and I had really made our relationship official. I told him we hadn't gone all the way, but that we were taking it one step at a time.

"I'm happy for you guys, really. I just wonder..." His voice trailed off.

I cocked my head. "Wonder what?"

"Look, I love you both, but I don't know if Colby is really ready for a relationship. There's a lot of things he still needs to work through." He stated.

"We're not that serious." I laughed.

"Yeah, yet. If you plan to be, I just don't want you to get your heart broken because he wasn't ready." Sam admitted.

I patted his shoulder lightly, smiling. "Relax, Samuel. Everything will be fine."

"Alright. Just... don't expect too much from him, okay?" He mentioned, his eyes narrowing on mine.

That had been two months ago and... I think I should have heeded his warning.

A loud knock at my front door brought me out of my thoughts, scaring me. I grabbed a knife from my kitchen, striding over to the door. I glance through the peephole to see who was there.

Colby's face stared back.

"Y/N, it's me. Can you open the door?" He called.

I scowled at him through the peephole. "Sorry she's not home right now. Maybe you should try responding to her texts.”

“Look I'm sorry, but that's why I came over. I wanted to talk in person.” He replied.

“Damn, that’s a shame. Too bad she’s not home!” I exclaimed angrily.

“C’mon now, don’t be childish.” He remarked.

I swung the door open, holding back from yelling into my hallway. “Childish?!”

He smirked at me. “I knew that would get you to open the door.”

“You’re not funny.” I deadpanned, glaring at him.

“Can you please let me in? I seriously want to talk.” Colby responded, his eyes landing on mine.

“No, Colby. It’s one o’clock in the morning, I don’t feel like talking, and you’re drunk.” I jeered, resting my hands on my hips.

He scrunched up his face dramatically. “No, I’m not. I only had like two drinks.”

“Oh my mistake. I figured a person that randomly comes over to talk at the ass-crack of night is usually drunk,” I quipped. “Don’t you have better things to do, like be at Saddle Ranch?”

He stepped back, raising an eyebrow. “How’d you know I was at Saddle Ranch?”

I could feel my cheeks heat up. “Because… I watched your stories.”

“Nice to know you pay attention to me,” he uttered under his breath. “Please let me in.”

“No. Fuck off, Colby.” I hissed.

He rolled his eyes at my comment. “If you don’t let me in, I’m just gonna make noise out here in the hallway until you do.”

“Bet.” I huffed.

“What was your favorite movie again… ‘10 Things I Hate About You’?” He questioned, stepping back further into the hallway.

I blinked. “Yeah, so what?”

He looked up at me, giving me a devilish smile. “…You’re just too good to be true.”

My face dropped at his voice. “Colby.”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.” He sang, pointing at me.

“Are you really-” I started.

He cut me off, running his hands down his body. “You’d be like heaven to touch.”

I hushed. “Seriously stop-”

“I wanna hold you so much.” He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself.

I grunted, smacking my hand towards him. “Colby, it’s one in the morn-”

“At long last, love has arrived.” He opened his arms wide.

“Shut the fuck up!” I whisper-shouted.

“And I thank God I'm alive.” Colby praised up towards the ceiling.

I retorted. “You’re fucking embarrass-”

He spun in a circle slowly. “You're just too good to be true.”

“I knew giving you the code to my apartment was a bad idea.” I grumbled.

“Can't take my eyes off of you.” He winked, pointing at me again.

Colby took a big inhale, ready to start singing the music, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him into my apartment.

I slammed my door shut, locking it quickly. “Next time you do something like that, I’m gonna kill you.”

“That’s not very- why do you have a knife?” He motioned toward the knife sitting on my side table.

“What-? Oh, I thought you were an intruder.” I explained.

He lightly smiled, his dimples appearing. “You think an intruder would knock?”

I snapped, annoyed. “Aren’t you here to apologize?”

“Right, right,” he cleared his throat, his demeanor changing. “Y/N, I’m deeply sorry.”

“Sure.” I narrowed my eyes, walking towards my kitchen.

He followed me. “I know what I did was fucked up. I should have responded to you.”

“You completely ignored me for over a week.” I informed him, resting my back against the counter.

He nodded. “I know. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I crossed my arms uncomfortably. “…were you busy?”

“No, not really.” He divulged, dropping his head.

“So, you purposefully ignored my calls and text…” I could feel my hands shake against my arms.

“You make it sound bad-” He mumbled.

“It is that bad.” I emphasized, stopping him. “Colby, you wanna talk about being childish? That shit was childish.”

He agreed. “I know it was.”

“Obviously not since you keep joking about it.” I argued.

“I’m not trying to joke,” he protested, running his hands through his hair. “Do you wanna know the honest to God truth?”

“Of course I do.” I answered, furrowing my eyebrows.

He exhaled, glancing at me. “When we first got together, even though we were taking it slow, I was terrified to date you.”

“Terrified?” I puzzled.

He swallowed hard. “Yes. Scared shitless.”

“Why?” I questioned.

“I thought it was because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But then… at dinner,” his voice lowered, his shoulders dropping. “I realized it was more than that.”

I shook my head, confused. “What are you ta-”

“I’m falling in love with you, Y/N.” He confessed.

His words made me step back, my breath hitching in my throat.

I choked. “What?”

“When you laughed really hard, and did that cute snort thing you do, I remember we looked at each other… and all I saw was you,” his eyes bore into mine, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. “No one else in that restaurant existed. And in that moment, I wanted to tell you I love you.”

I stammered out words, unable to think clearly. “S-so… you-”

“When I felt it, I knew I had to go home. Because I was just so shocked at the feeling. I haven’t felt that way for anyone in a long time.” He sighed exhaustingly, “and… I apologize that I ignored you. Every time I saw your messages, I knew I should have responded. But my body, my mind, wouldn’t let me.”

I frowned. “Because you love me?”

“Because… I’m scared to love you.” He admitted.

A heavy silence fell over the apartment. I shuddered out an exhale, not even noticing I had been holding my breath in for so long. Colby closed his eyes, twisting up his face, and turned his back to me.

“Why are you scared to love me?” I gulped, scared of his answer.

His shoulders tensed as he gripped the counter. “The last time you felt heartbroken… did it leave you feeling empty? Because that’s how I felt… for so long. It’s not even the empty feeling that bothered me. It was the fact that I knew something used to be there… and now it’s gone. I miss who I was before.”

I opened my mouth, but no words escaped.

“I have this deep, guttural feeling that you’re gonna realize I’m not worth loving, and that there is someone else out there that is, and you’re gonna leave me.” His voice trembled as he spoke, “everyone… always leaves me.”

I gasped quietly. “Colby-”

He turned back to me, his face becoming red. “I just feel like no one ever needs me, you know? Like some people only keep me around because they don’t have the heart to just tell me they don’t care anymore. Even Sam has someone else.

I consoled. “That’s not-”

“And I know it’s selfish to want everyone around me to only want me. I don’t really feel that way. I just… don’t feel like anyone really needs me as much as I need them,” his chest quaked as his breathing began to speed up. “And when you realize it too… I don’t think I can live through that fall out again. I don’t think I’m gonna survive it.”

“Wait, Col-” I murmured.

“At that dinner, I had this gut-wrenching anxiety come over me; a voice in my head that said ‘she’s gonna leave you too’ and… I’m just so sorry.” He panted, his eyes welling up.

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, pressing his body into mine as hard as I could. He buried his face into my neck, his body almost going limp against mine.

I couldn’t help my own tears spill as they landed on his shirt. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way before?”

“I was ashamed. I should be stronger than this.” He fumed through his tears.

I rubbed his face lovingly. “Who said that? You are strong. Expressing your emotions is strong.”

He nodded, croaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. How about tonight you stay over, and then in the morning, we’ll talk about this more? Okay?” I suggested, resting my hands on his forearms.

“Yeah.” He whimpered.

I smiled brokenly. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

I lightly grasped Colby’s hand, pulling him slowly into my bedroom. He stumbled along, his head remaining down.

I sat him down on the bed and slid off his jacket, placing it on my dresser. I cupped his face, tracing his jaw with my fingers. His eyes finally landed on mine as I tilted his head up.

I leaned down and kissed his lips, resting my forehead against his.

“I’m not gonna leave you, Colby.” I stated, gazing into his eyes.

He begged in a hushed tone. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t. I promise.” I reassured, kissing his forehead.

I walked over to the other side of my bed and laid down. Colby kicked off his shoes, taking his belt off and pulling his jeans down. After getting undressed, he slid into bed with me, laying his head down softly on my chest. Wrapping his arms around me, he buried his head into my neck again, sighing against my skin. I ran my fingers through his hair, a light hum falling from his lips. I ran my other hand up and down his spine, feeling him shiver under my touch.

“We’ll be okay, Colby.” I whispered.

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock oneshot #colby brock x reader #colby brock one shot #colby brock angst

[pleasantanathema]

Dirty Old Man

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dubcon themes in the beginning (it’s later all consensual), Knifeplay (to remove clothing), Captivity/Kidnapping, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Some Assplay, Gagging (on fingers), Choking, One mention of blood, A little bit of bondage, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Age Gap, Kenny is a dirty old man.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s late, but it’s here! Here’s my part to the Smut Pile’s Western Collab! Please heed the warnings. Kenny is disgusting and I’m disgusting but here we are, fucking Kenny.

           “I told you to stop running away. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of chasin you down.” Kenny spit the words out like poison, crouching in front of you to place the tip-end of his knife against your corseted chest as a warning.

           You attempted a protest, but the makeshift gag made out of a torn piece of your skirts kept you virtually silent. Your wrists were burning, the rope around them scratching against your skin behind your back. The inn he’d taken you to for the night was damp and dirty, the floor you were tossed into reeking of piss and sour bourbon.

           He had come for you again. You’d had some wistful doubt that he wouldn’t, but like always, he’d tracked you down as easily as hunters do footprints in thick snow. He’d followed your trail and bound you with that thick rope of braided hemp he always kept at his side. Evading him was never easy, but you thought you’d gotten away with it this time when you’d found a meager orphanage to cook at. He hated children—you thought he’d never set foot in the place, but reckoning had come for you in the early hours of the morning, with a dark shadow moving in the corner of the kitchens.

           “You never fuckin’ learn. Maybe this time I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

           The sharp point of his blade dug into your clothes, the cutting edge purposefully situated between featherbone channels so it could slice at cotton threads.

          You swore against the cloth in your mouth, your curses soaking into the spit-damp fabric. He hooked a finger under the gag digging into your cheek, pulling at the material with a smirk.

          “Got something to say, kid?”

          Slowly, he pulled the torn cloth from your mouth, your head twisting to shake away strings of drool that had attached to the textile.

          “Maybe I like the chase, Kenny,” you hissed out his name, not bothering with the Mr. Ackerman bullshit you’d called him at home.

          He had once been a rather removed presence in your life; he was just that outlaw in the corner who did the terrible things the rich families in your town had the money but not the gall to do. But now he’d become the bane of your existence, the dark thread that always pulled you back into the oppressive home life you were running from. He never seemed to care. If anything, he seemed to take a sick joy in finding you quicker each time you snuck out and ran in a new, farther direction.

          “So we’re on a first name basis now, huh? Good, cause we’re about to get real intimate.”

          “You could make this real fun and actually untie me.”

          “I’m not untying you, ain’t fucking happening. I didn’t spend weeks tracking down a stupid maiden for her daddy for you to run off into the woods the moment I turn my back to piss.”

          You winced a little at his harsh words, still very aware of the cold steel carefully skating through the middle of your chest. The threads of your corset were popping and curling back toward the bone linings.

          “I’m not some fragile maiden.”

          “I don’t give a fuck what you ain’t, what you are is a big pain in my ass. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, so I’m takin’ what I’m owed.”

          The reality of your situation settled in when you felt cool air sweep across your freshly exposed breasts. Your initial thought was to kick him, but when you felt him dig the blade a little too deep into the clothes at your belly, you hesitated. One wrong move and he could be slicing you open accidentally.

          Your wrists pounded with lack of blood flow as you painstakingly tested the knots for slack again. Of course, there wasn’t any. He’d probably tied up hundreds of unfortunate souls in his miserable lifetime.

          A thrill raced across your skin as you heard the knife clatter into the floor, Kenny peeling away the layers of split clothes on your body like he was prudently opening the petals of a rare flower.

          “Well, well, look at you, kid.”

          Grey eyes swirled with mirth and mischief under the brim of his hat, a wicked smile curling across bearded cheeks.

          You felt vulnerable and far too hot, the heat of embarrassment licking over your chest, up your neck, burning at your ears. Worse, blazing excitement was pooling between your legs, the dull thump of pleasure beginning to pound in your head.

          A calloused hand began to paw at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm.

          “You’re a fucking pervert.”

          “Never said I ain’t.”

          He flicked your nipple with his comment, chuckling as you gasped. The slight twinge of pain sent a jolt of lightning down your spine, making your fingers dig into the thick rope at your wrists and your head tilt back against the wall. Kenny repeated the motion, rubbing his warm thumb over your nipple before flicking it again. You sucked in a quick breath, making your lungs expand and breasts inch closer to his hands.

          “You like that?” He teased, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

          “No.”

          He laughed, “Liar. Your pretty nipples are harder than my cock.”

          Kenny proved his point by cupping both your tits and making you moan, back arching toward him instead of away. Seeing the opportunity, he moved in closer, making the remnants of your skirts bunch around your hips as he pressed himself between your legs. You turned your face away from him when he dipped down to kiss you, making his wet lips and wiry beard press into the curve of your throat.

          He sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, teeth and growls gently scraping against skin.

          “What’s my pa going to think about you taking advantage of me like this?”

          You knew you made a good point—unless Kenny had decided to pack some petticoats and powder into his saddle bags, he couldn’t cover up the carnage he was creating.

          “I’m your daddy for tonight, kid. Maybe if you’re good I won’t even take you home this time.”

          “Really?” You knew your voice portrayed your enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to be free of your family and go make a life of your own.

          Kenny took his time thinking over his response, too busy licking and sucking at the delicate column of your throat. It felt good, too good, even the scratch of his beard had you holding back whimpers. His long fingers were still groping your tits, thumbs rhythmically petting over your peaks.

          You felt like you were engulfed in flames, like the hellfire and brimstone that bible-thumpers warned about were taking over your senses. All because of fucking Kenny Ackerman, the dirtiest old man you’d ever come across.

          Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined something like this before, it was hard not to when most of your time had been spent tied up on a saddle with him. The pervert always had the audacity to have his half-hard erection pressing into your lower back as you shifted on the smelly horse. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel to have him inside of you when the horse’s trot had his cock sliding too perfectly against your ass. You’d spent a few nights imagining how he would manhandle you, rough and impatient, and far more skilled than the boys you’d fooled around with.

          Kenny was a dirty old man, but you had no doubt he could fulfill every naughty fantasy women like you weren’t supposed to dream about.

          You shifted forward a bit, draping your thighs over his so you could get closer, press your aching core against that familiar stiffness in his trousers.

          “I’ll be a good girl, daddy,” you let the name roll off your tongue as you tilted your face down to his, “I promise.”

          You sealed your vow by pressing your mouth to his, a victorious frisson tingling at your nerves when he groaned into your lips. His kiss was rough, one of his hands snaking up to your neck with a vice-like grip to keep you from changing your mind. It made your vision go blurry behind your eyelids, grey spots dancing in the corners of your lashes. He tasted like booze and smoke, remnants of his addictions tainting your tongue. But you kept up with his pace, eager to show him that you would be good, that you wanted this, that you’d let him have you. Even if he did take you back home anyways, at least you’d get a thrilling fuck out of this arrangement.

          “You ain’t never been a good girl,” he rumbled against your lips, “daddy’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

          You gasped when he used his leverage on your neck to push you farther into the creaking boards of the wall. Your wrists were trapped between your back and the floor, going more numb by the second. He caged you in completely, had you sitting in his lap with his cock pressed against your damp drawers and one hand tangling into the mess of your skirts.

          “Women and all their fucking clothes,” he snarled down at your half-dressed body. Your eyes went wide as you noticed him reach back for the discarded blade, his other hand still content to press against the sides of your neck.

          “W-wait, I don’t have anything else to wear!”

          “You ain’t going to be needin’ em anyways, kid.”

          Time slowed down like the creeping slush of molasses as you watched Kenny begin to slice through your dress and petticoat, each tug of his wrist sending cotton fibers spilling into the floor. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading on the back of your neck every time the spine of the knife grazed the freshly exposed skin of your thighs. You struggled against the rope and the hand holding you back when he began to cut through the length of your drawers. The blade was too close to your intimate places, grazing against your sweltering flesh and making you whimper.

          “I ain’t gonna cut you, darlin. As much as I wanna carve my name into your skin, I couldn’t stand hurtin’ you.”

          You swallowed thickly and he must’ve felt it, his thumb petting at your neck like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. He stopped cutting at your clothing, lifting his pointed chin so he could look up into your face. He grinned, soft but still wolfish, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.

          “Gimme a kiss, it’ll make you feel better.”

          You complied, perhaps too happily, slanting your mouth against his and moaning at the rough feel of his black hairs against your cheeks.

          Kenny ripped the rest of the threads from your body with his strong fingers, finishing the work that the knife had started. A weight was lifted off of you when your heavy skirts and the skeleton of your corset finally slipped into the floor to be forgotten. He took particular care in relieving you of your cotton drawers, the shadow of his hat obscuring his face as he marveled at the juncture of your thighs.

          “Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and sloppy just for me.”

          You cried out when he brushed a knuckle between your dripping folds, finger slowly uncurling so it could prod at your tight hole.

          “You always get this wet when you’re around me?”

          “Hard not to when you’re always groping me like some animal.”

          His gaze flickered back up to you, the mixture of a frown and a smirk tugging at his lips. He pressed his palm more firmly against your windpipe, making you choke.

          “Don’t know why I bothered to ungag your smart mouth.”

          “I’ll be goo—” you didn’t have the chance to finish your plea, his long fingers uncurling from your neck only for two of them to abruptly slide past your open lips. Your eyes watered a bit from the thrusting motion of his digits and you could feel your moans vibrate against his skin. He started to push his fingers farther into your mouth, seeing how far he could go before your throat tightened, smirking the whole time. His skin tasted like rawhide and copper, like leather and blood, and you breathlessly traced your tongue along his slim knuckles.

          “Your mouth looks better stuffed,” his other hand resumed teasing your lower lips, “Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

          You almost bit the knuckles in your mouth when he shoved his middle and index fingers into your tight cunt. You muffled out a squeal, eyes rolling shut when a wave of pleasure splashed over your body with the timing of his fingers pushing inside of you. He wasted no time in stretching you, spreading his strong fingers as he withdrew and pressed back inside of you over and over again.

          Your tongue went still and flat in your mouth, spit pooling around slim fingers that still pressed farther back into your throat with every thrust of his hand between your legs. You could practically hear him grinning like a madman with both of his calloused hands pressing into two of your wet holes. You sucked around his fingers when he touched a sensitive, fleshy patch inside of you, fingers curling against your walls and stroking the spot repeatedly.

          Weightless, you felt weightless in Kenny’s lap, like each thrust of his fingers into your mouth and pussy was sending you higher into the clouds. Even your own fingers had gone limp behind you, no longer clinging to their binds.

          “Not bad, kid. How about another?”

          You screamed around his hand when his ring finger stretched your opening wider, your pussy burning from its invasion. He laughed, a sadistic rumble from his chest that vibrated against your tits. At the feel of your cry, he pushed the fingers against your tongue even farther down to the back of your mouth, making you fight your gag reflex and sputter. Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth and you could feel your slick drooling down your thighs and onto his pumping wrist between your legs.

          “Good girl,” he praised, picking up his already merciless pace, “daddy’s got a big cock, need you to be ready for it.”

          Kenny groaned when you nodded your head, eyes fluttering open to catch his gaze. Some twisted pleasure brewed in your lower stomach as you noticed his lopsided grin, pearl white teeth bared over his full lips.

          “I bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum. Think you can? Can you cum from an old man stuffin’ you full of fingers, darlin?”

          You shivered at his words, your thighs shaking as you felt like you were being pulled apart. The three fingers inside of you knew exactly how to make your head go fuzzy and your nerves wild with pleasure, and it only got more intense when his thumb began to circle your already aching clit. You whimpered around his fingers, finding a momentary reprieve when he pulled them from your lips and admired the drool flowing over his knuckles. But he slid them back in after you caught a quick breath, pumping them at the same speed as the fingers buried into your cunt.

          It was like you were brimming and boiling over with the taste and feel of Kenny. Your mind could barely keep up with the shots of ecstasy stemming from your belly, your toes curling against the cold floor, your wrists rubbed raw from rope. Your lower muscles were starting to clench, spasm, shake, and he groaned.

          “Fuck you’re gettin’ tight. But I’ve got one more place to try.”

          Your brows scrunched together when you felt his ring finger slip from your pussy, only to feel his slim pinky finger prod at the tight pucker of your ass.

          “Kemmy, mf, umph,” you struggled to speak with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

          You finally bit against his skin when you felt the length of his smallest finger slither into your ass.

          The new sensation rocked you, had you gasping and leaning forward and gagging on his fingers and cumming all at the same time. You screamed as you felt your asshole tighten around his digit, the pleasure of it sending you raring into bliss at full force like you’d just been slammed into a wall. It felt so fucking good, every hole stuffed with him, every muscle clenching and unclenching as he had the nerve to laugh at how easily you came from feeling a finger in your ass.

          “Heh, seems you like that, don’tcha?” He let you ride out the remnants of your orgasm for a few moments, fingers still and just feeling you contract around him.

          Finally, he worked on setting you free of his hold. He took his time with it, each finger sliding out of you painfully slow like he was slowly uncorking a pent-up bottle of champagne. With your mouth free first, you took your time breathing and gathering your wits, looking down into the floor as shame crept over your body. It was all so nasty and dirty, and when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs, you knew all you wanted was more of it.

          “Fuck,” you breathed, surprised when he lifted your chin and placed a rather chaste kiss against your messy mouth.

          “I take it you’ve never had somethin’ in your ass?”

          “N-no, but it…”

          “Feels good, yeah?”

          You shot him a suspicious look, “How would you know?”

          “I’ve been around, kid.”

          Kenny groaned as he sat back, moving you off his lap.

          “My knees are too fucking old for this. Get on the bed.”

          You didn’t know how you could. Your legs felt like pudding and your hands were completely numb behind your back. Kenny walked to the corner of the small bedroom, pulling his suspenders down so he could toss his shirt into the floor. You struggled to move, eyeing the knife in the floor carefully so you didn’t accidentally cut yourself as you fumbled like a little fawn gaining her legs.

          You enjoyed the feel of standing for a moment, leaning back against the wall in all your sloppy nakedness as you watched Kenny dip his hands into the wash bin.

          This was the last thing you expected when you woke up this morning. You’d been free, ready to get started on a cornbread and bean breakfast, only to be kidnapped before you could even lace up your shoes. Now you were watching Kenny Ackerman get undressed and hang that signature bowler hat on the back of the door.

          He looked better without the hat. In fact, he looked so much better naked.

          He had sun kissed skin on his arms and neck from working in the sun, lean sinews of muscle carved over his chest, his thighs. He was dusted in wiry black hair, like someone had taken ash from a fire and doused him in it. And his cock was hard and proud between his legs, long and curved up toward his stomach. Your ego spiked at the thought that you’d made him that way; you were the reason his swollen head was leaking and twitching.

          “Can I touch you now?”

          “What?” He looked puzzled, running a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. It looked longer than when you last saw him.

          You moved toward him on still shaky legs, making a show of pulling at your hands bound behind your back.

          “Shit, I forgot you were tied up. But you gotta promise me when I cut you loose you ain’t just gonna sprint out that door.”

          “I don’t have any clothes, Kenny.”

          He laughed genuinely at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He’d have to remedy that tomorrow, go out and buy you something to wear so he didn’t parade you around town naked as the day you were born.

          You stayed still as he reached for that big knife of his on the floor, settling up behind you to start gnawing the blade through the thick rope. Your shoulders felt at ease when you felt the slack begin to set into your binds, the last bit of hemp audibly slicing away. You pulled your hands in front of you, immediately rubbing at the raw spots on your wrists. They’d be bruised tomorrow, scab over by the next day.

          Kenny wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands first skimming over your shoulders and upper arms.

          “If you didn’t have such a bad habit of runnin’, I wouldn’t have to do that to you, kid.”

          “You’d run away if you had my life, too.”

          You knew you didn’t need to fill in the blanks for him. He’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of your story.

          “Suppose I would.”

          He kissed your neck as he walked you to the bed, turning you around so he could crawl up the naked expanse of your body as you laid back against the hay stuffed mattress.

          “Someone as pretty as you don’t deserve someone like me chasin’ after you.” But his confession didn’t stop him from settling between your thighs and bending down to suck one of your nipples into his eager mouth. You moaned, elated to have your hands free so you could tangle your fingers into his long hair.

          “I told you,” you gasped when he bit into your skin hard enough to leave marks, “I like the chase.”

          He licked a long, hot stripe between the valley of your breasts before bringing his face back to yours. You kept your hands in his hair as he leaned down to kiss you, all brute force and greedy tongue like you’d gotten used to before. You were just as hungry for him, your body feeling fresh and ripe after your orgasm and ready to be filled again. You bit at his lower lip, smirking when you got a reaction from him. Your tongue began to map the insides of his mouth, letting the taste of him overwhelm you.

          Kenny was impatient, gripping your hips and spreading you apart again.

          “I like you better when you’re submissive.” He murmured into your mouth, skilled fingers spreading your pussy so the fat head of his cock could rub against you.

          “I said I would be a good girl, daddy.”

          His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan, “I can’t fucking handle you calling me that, kid.”

          “Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy going to make you cream early, old man?”

          He slid his cock inside of you rough and fast to shut you up. Your head fell farther back against the pillow as you mewled, his fingers still having not prepared you for the feel of his stretching you open. Your walls were snug against him; you could feel every throbbing vein under his silken skin dragging against your insides as he pulled out and pushed into you slowly.

          Each thrust had euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading across all your extremities. It was like you could suddenly feel everything, the pleasure making the world around you sharpen. Kenny was breathing hotly into your neck, your nipples were painfully hard and sliding against the dark, downy hairs of his chest. Your fingers were coming back to life, your nails scraping against the greyed roots of his hair. Your toes were curling in the air, your thighs and hips burning from bearing the heaviness of Kenny between them. Both your heart and his were beating fast, blood pumping as if in the same drumline together.

          “Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he drawled, “s-so fucking soft, so tight.”

          Little sounds were leaving your parted lips, eyes struggling to stay open as each plunge of Kenny’s cock was engulfing you with ecstasy. He was starting to get a bit punishing with his movements, moving hard and fast inside of you and making you forget yourself. His nails were biting into the fatty flesh of your hips, where half-moon marks would surely adorn your skin in the morning. You’d have hickies on your neck too, especially now as he sunk his teeth into the tender spot where your throat met your shoulder.

          God it felt good to be used, to be wanted. And you knew Kenny wanted you, he’d even said he wanted to carve his name into your skin. Something inside of you told you that he’d want to own you, if you’d let him. You caught a lot of his longing gazes before, whether in the back of the saloon he frequented or the ridiculous dance halls your family drug you to. You’d often wondered if he would fuck you against a wall if you tempted him to, and now you had your long-awaited answer.

          “Oh daddy,” you purred, both purposely and not, little oh’s and mhm’s following behind.

          The name spurred Kenny into a new gait. He shifted back onto his knees swiftly, the same hand from before resuming its chokehold on your neck. You moaned at the familiar contact, the sound trapped behind his spread fingers. He had more power behind his hips from this angle, sending his cock deeper into your depths and into places his long fingers couldn’t reach from before. Your eyes squeezed shut, tiny gasps all that could be formed behind the wall of his hand.

          “Who knew you were such a little slut, darlin. Might keep you around after all.”

          Your tits were bouncing in rhythm with his relentless assault, your hands now fisting into the feather pillow next to your face.

          “F-fucking shit, I—” you were going stupid, is what you were. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your brain felt foggy in your head.

          “You’ve got such a dirty mouth on ya,” Kenny put more pressure behind the fist around your neck, the lack of oxygen making it even harder to think than before, “you really do need a daddy to teach you some, fuck, s-some fucking manners.”

          All you could do was nod, completely lost to the feeling of him encompassing you, filling you.

          His free hand pulled at one of your limp legs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He smothered your skin with wet kisses, nipping at your ankle and chuckling when he felt the bubbled squeal beneath his palm. The hair on his torso tickled the back of your thigh, adding a new layer of sensation that you didn’t think you could handle. It was too much—Kenny was too much, fucking into you like a feral beast that just got his first taste of sweet flesh.

          “You’re never gettin’ away from me again,” he hissed out between gritted teeth, “you’re mine now.”

          You couldn’t think to respond. Kenny unwrapped his hand from your throat, letting that blood flow return to your head.

          “You hear me?”

          You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All you could focus on was the drumming of his cock hitting your insides, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him in.

          The sound of him slapping his hand across your check registered before the pain did. You gasped as your head swung with the force, the side of your face smarting with a throbbing sting.  

          “Say you’re mine, kid.” Seriousness laced his tone, those dangerous, long fingers grasping at your jaw and pulling you to look at him. He leaned forward, curling your leg with him, making you groan at the pleasure and pain mixing as he tested your flexibility. He kept moving inside of you, pace never faltering.

          “Fucking. Say. It.”

          Your heart was racing with adrenaline, a strange concoction of fear and bliss spreading over your consciousness.

          “Y-yours,” you croaked out, wetting your lips with your tongue, “I’m yours, Kenny!”

          You didn’t mean to scream it, but it seemed to please him, that lecherous grin of his spreading over his lips.

          “That’s fucking right. I own this tight, pretty little pussy.”

          He released your jaw only to slap you again, quicker and softer this time, and you moaned the moment he made contact.

          “You like getting slapped around?”

          You turned your face back to him, smirking through the sting, “yes, daddy.”

          The devilishness that swirled in his eyes made your stomach flip. He paused the movements of his hips, letting your cunt flutter and clench at his stilled cock. Your breathing picked up as you registered what was about to happen.

          Kenny hit you with the back of his hand this time, bony knuckles thumping with the quick flick of his wrist. Without his cock moving inside of you, all you could do was bask in the stinging pain left behind on your cheeks. It felt so wrong, but it made the coil in your belly tighten like never before.

          “F-fuck,” you moaned, your balled fists releasing the pillow.

          Without a second thought, you grabbed at his hair, jerking him down to meet your mouth.

          “You better cum inside me after that, daddy, I think I deserve it.”

          “Oh, you deserve it darlin,” he started pumping inside of you again, sending your head flying back and his mouth landing on the pulse of your neck, “gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

          His movements were cruel, fast, cock ramming inside of you so harshly that you felt it all the way in your throat. Your hand slipped from his hair and found purchase on his back, nails scraping against sweaty flesh. You could feel his rough skin splitting, but you didn’t care, all that mattered anymore was the way his cock slid in between your gummy walls, the way he was moaning your name like a fucking prayer against your skin.

          Kenny’s thumb found your clit, swirling quick, brutal circles over your swollen bud. You could feel yourself clench around him, the sharp pleasure almost painful. You were going to explode. You were going to topple over in ecstasy and it was all because of the wickedness of the dirty old man inside of you.

          “K-Kenny, holy f-fucking god, I-I—”

          He must have felt it before you did. Hot ropes of cum were seeping inside of you the moment you hit the high point of orgasm. Your nails slid down the entirety of his back, slim, warm rivulets of blood following in their wake.

          It was like the bliss never ended. You were caught in the waves of it, each one cresting and falling over and over again as you milked his cock dry, slick and cum pooling between your thighs and soaking the linens.

          Your heart was hammering in your chest. Kenny placed a delicate hand between your breasts, like he was trying to slow it down for you. His small act made the world narrow in around you; the remnants of stinging pain and excruciating pleasure still hummed, but you fell into the quiet of just listening to the two of you breath for a few moments.

          Eventually, your toes went numb. You’d fully forgotten the poor leg that had been curled over his shoulder. You shifted to move, and Kenny got the hint, finally pulling his spent cock from inside of you and rolling over on his back.

          “Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, hand reaching over his shoulder as he met the mattress, “you’ve got fucking claws.”

          You had half a mind to apologize, but you didn’t bother, still basking in the afterglow of sex. Your body was tired, wrists still aching, thighs shaking.

          “You alright?” A warm hand found your cheek, even hotter lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss.

          “Mhm, more than alright.”

          “Didn’t know you had that in you, kid.”

          Kenny pulled you into his chest, long arm curling around your back. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns on your hip, and you nearly shuddered as you remembered those were the same movements he’d used to abuse your clit. You curled one of your legs over his, needing to get closer, those pesky after-sex hormones and needs clawing at your instincts.

          It felt oddly like home to be pressed up against him, your face against his chest, one of your hands mimicking his and drawing circling in his damp chest hair. He smelled like home, anyways, like earth and spices.

          “You gonna take me home?”

          He was quiet for a second, pressing his lips into your hairline.

          “Nah, I’ll take you someplace safe. Maybe buy you a fucking train ticket so you can get out of this part of the world.”

          “You sure you don’t want to keep me?”

          “Now don’t fucking tempt me with that, kid.”

          “I wouldn’t mind being yours, you know.”

          “You don’t wanna be mine, even if I make you say that shit when I’m fuckin’ you.”

          You knew he was right, but you didn’t offer him an affirmation.

          Maybe you’d let him fuck you for a few more days before you ventured off on your own, maybe you’d convince him to chase you down a few more times just for the thrill of it. Maybe you’d wrap your fists around his suspenders and convince him to run away with you.

          You did like Kenny, after all. Even if he was such a perverted, disgusting old man.

#kenny ackerman #snk kenny #kenny Ackerman x reader #kenny Ackerman fanfic #aot fanfic #smut pile collab #snk fanfic #attack on titan kenny #aot kenny #kenny x reader #kenny ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #snk

[aiiwa]

KISS FOR ME — YELENA AND PIECK.

— yelena x reader x pieck.

genre: smut, 18+.

warnings: vagina having reader, no pronouns used for reader, scissoring, slight overstimulation, squirting, exhibitionism, yelena calls herself ‘owner’ at the end. if i miss anything please let me know.

word count: 1.6k.

— a/n: first ever fic for aot and it’s brought from me wanting to ✂️ pieck heheheh. be nice to me please 😫🙏🏽. reblogs are always apreciated. thank you to my precious besties @jeanbeaux n @asahiswrld for beta-ing for me <3333.

yelena’s hooded gaze was gluttonous in the way she drank in the sight of her dolls, sitting bare and pretty just for her.

dark eyes burned a trail down your skin. it started from your nape, lingering on the curve of your breasts before sliding down the valley; admiring your tummy, the dip of your waist, the slope of your hips. once her stare settled between the plush of your thighs, your skin lit ablaze, heat shooting straight down to your aching cunt - a silver string of your slick dripping onto the dampened bed sheet.

the corner of her thin lips pull upward in a smirk.

beside you was pieck, who fared no better than you under the power of yelena. you could almost see the small goosebumps prickling her pale skin; the warmth of her small shoulder brushing against yours was familiar and comforting.

“babies.” yelena cooed, calling for you and pieck’s attention. “my pretty babies.”

she makes a show of stripping off her suit jacket, hanging it over the back of the crimson love seat, before haphazardly dropping onto the cushion. spreading her long legs wide, your breath hitches at the way her beige pants tighten around her strong thighs, defining the shape of her taut muscles. everything about her demeanour is calm, casual in the way her fingers undo the first few buttons of her white shirt.

“why don’t you give each other a kiss for me?” the lilt in her tone covers her command as a suggestion. leaning back in her seat, placing her elbows on the armrests, you and pieck react quickly.

turning to face each other, the pink pout of pieck’s lips meet your own eagerly. with your hands on her waist, you pull her flush against you as her own small hand holds the back of your head. you can’t help but moan into her mouth as your tongues brush against each other sensually, hands roaming as pieck sucks on your tongue gently.

the dissatisfied tsk of yelena breaks the spell of your make out.

slightly dazed, you move back from pieck slightly. both of you wearing the same worried look. neither would you two ever want to displease your love.

“yelena…?” you whisper her name out, hesistant.

pieck follows your lead. “is this not what you want?”

“no.” the word alone sends a shiver down your spine. yelena leans back into the chair, stare hard and jaw tilted up. “i want to see those pretty pussies of yours kiss.”

the whimper that escapes pieck is unwillingly loud, coloured with need. your own is caught in your throat, the throbbing of your cunt taking over your mind and body.

a flurry of pets and whines has pieck laying on her back, inky locks spread over the pillow underneath her head, with her thighs parted invitingly. you’re enchanted by the juices leaking from her tight little hole, smeared across her inner thighs and the trimmed stripe of dark curls just above her clit. and when you reach out to brush along her slit, coating the pad of your thumb in her arousal, she’s quick to grab at your wrist.

“don’t tease, y/n.” pieck hisses, pleading eyes looking up at you. “please.”

yelena chuckles lowly from her seat, already enjoying the show. she always loved how desperate the two of would get. especially when things got vocal.

shaking pieck’s lithe fingers from your wrist, you shuffle closer to her; knees dipping into the mattress, as you hold on to her toned leg, sliding your own to the side of her hip - slotting yourself to straddle her almost sideways.

with no hesitation, you lower yourself against her testingly, enticing a harmony of your shared moans.

“f-fuck.” you gasp, throwing your head. pressed against her, the sensation of her warm, wet cunt against your own starts to fog your mind.

“y/n.” pieck’s whines are begging. “move, y/n…your pussy feels so good against mine.”

“listen to her, baby doll.” yelena pipes up, completely relaxed in her seat. “kiss your pussies together even more for me, won’t you?”

the praise from pieck and yelena’s words has you rolling your hips, gliding your pussy over her silky folds, gasping each time your clits catch on to each other’s. it’s extremely lewd, the sloppy sound of your cunts smushed together, slick mixing and dribbling down your thighs. the sensation has you completely intoxicated.

“mmm.” moaning loudly, you caress pieck’s leg in your hold. leaning in slightly to press a gentle kiss to her ankle, you smile against her skin, licking and grazing your teeth along the soft flesh.

“shit-“ she curses, arching into you more. grinding upwards to meet your thrusts.

you feel her hand reach out to touch you, grabbing onto your hips and digging her fingers into you bruisingly - urging you for more.

angling your head back slightly, mid-thrust, you catch a glimpse of yelena’s form. her nails carve crescent moon shapes into the armrest, tell-tale signs of her restraint to not surge towards her two lovers. no matter how much you and pieck would play with each other in front of her, yelena would never yield until the end.

and best of all, she never touched herself. pleasing her was a job left strictly for her precious dolls.

the way you kiss you and pieck’s pussies together in slow, meaningful strokes is dizzying. and it starts to become too much, too soon. with your swollen clit sliding against her mound, and with pieck’s pushed against your soppy slit, edging into the entrance of your tight hole; the two of you become a mess of mewls.

“hnn, y/n.” the way her angel lips moans your name is sinful. “baby please, wanna cum.”

your pants are louder, choking on your moans as you slide yourself over her cunt harder, faster; that you both can’t help but cry out as you reach your peaks.

“oh my, ah, f-fuck-!”

“‘m cumming, y/n, oh-!”

you still on top of pieck, tongue lolled and thighs tensed, your pussy clenching around nothing as you come undone. swearing you can feel the pulsing of pieck’s cunt in time with your own, she squirms underneath you in a fit of pleasure, eyes rolled back as she whines through her orgasm.

“fuck me.” yelena’s voice is muffled by the sound of your own racing heart; but the proud tone in her voice is all you need to turn and face her.

“w-were we…good for you?”

“so good, baby. so fucking perfect.”

sighing contently, you press your forehead to pieck’s leg still in your hold. smiling, your body felt amazing as if you were floating; you don’t even have time to react as pieck flips the two of you over with practiced ease.

“p-pieck-!”

flat on your back, pieck makes fast work pushing your knees against your chest; squeezing the fat of your thighs as she presses the side of her calves to your hips. with your own glistening pussy exposed, pieck saddles on the backs of your thighs, and when she rolls her hips, you jolt as your puffy clits rub against each other.

“fuck, yes-!”

you’re choking on your moans, mouth parted as gasps huff out and drool pools from the corner. you’re absolutely entranced by the way pieck’s full breasts bounce in your face, how her tummy rolls as she ruts into you.

a thin sheen of sweat lays over your heated skin. and when you find your voice, you’re calling out her name over and over like a prayer.

“pieck, pieck, pieck, pieck!”

she consumes every part of your being - yelena’s keen eyes watching blocked from your mind. you even miss the damp patch darkening the crotch of her beige pants.

pieck rocks against you hard, too fast for your sensitive cunt; your bodies tremble as the waves of your orgasm bubbling in your tummy threaten to burst at any moment. it’s when your throbbing clit draws against her dripping entrance once, twice, thrice that you fall apart completely.

your eyes widen, white stars dotting your vision, as your release squirts from your pulsating hole.

“ah, ah, haaa~”

despite the way your mouth jars open in a silent cry, pieck continues to jack rabbit hump your poor pussy. she pants heavy, dark locks stuck to her forehead until she reaches her own high - spraying her own cum all over you.

“ooh, fuck, yes…”

riding out your highs together, you’re lost in the overstimulation; incoherent harmonies of your babbles are the only sound heard in the room. when you finally break apart from each other, pieck falling back across from you, your body trembles from the after effects - your slick drooling from your twitching cunt.

the slow clapping pulls you and pieck from your post-orgasm daze, and through your half-lidded gaze, you watch as yelena stands from her seat and approaches you two.

“such good babies.” the tall woman praises, leaning over your spent bodies. “so messy too, hm?”

a long finger trails down your wet tummy, swirling the mixture of you and pieck’s cum, before moving down to dip into your pussy. the mutual gasp and keen shared between you and pieck, tells you that yelena is doing the same to her.

“i love watching my dolls kiss.” yelena’s finger slowly pumps in and out of you, chuckling lowly as you clamp around the digit desperately. “seeing your cunts kiss and cum all over each other, fuck, it drives me insane.”

hastily, yelena yanks her finger out of you and pieck; the two of you crying out at the lost of contact, blinking up at her.

“shut up.”

harsh silence invades the room. yelena smiles warmly at your obedience, before grabbing at you and pieck’s hands, bringing them to brush over her crotch and grip onto her leather belt.

“now, you’ll be my perfect dolls and make your owner feel good, won’t you?”

AOT NSFW TAG LIST: @babyworld @ebiharachan @itadorey @lavenderpup @peachyaeger @r-raiinah @sanemiya @savantsoulfinder @sunkithbo + form linked on navi to join tag list!

ASKED TO BE TAGGED: @curapiikt @kure-san

© 2021 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

#aot smut #attack on titan smut #yelena smut #pieck smut #yelena x reader #pieck x reader #aot x reader #yelena x reader x pieck #yelena x pieck #hanimehub

[astrohae]

A Dragon’s Greed

pls don’t yell at me about my unfinished series. im trying. take this instead.

dragon king!bakugou X courtesan!reader 

gnc reader as per the usual

Focus. You scold yourself. You're here to entertain, not to wordlessly flirt with the princess's fiance. But what can you say? You've always had a type, and barbarian warlords fell right into your favorite category. The fact that he seemed utterly entranced by you, well that wasn't your fault. Every time you turned your head over your shoulder, you caught his eyes over your half veil and he never looked away, not even for a moment.

The princess didn't seem happy about this, sat next to the king, and huffing when her attempts at catching his attention fell flat. Serves her right for always bullying you and being such a spoiled brat.

Though, to be honest you wouldn't wish marriage to Bakugou Katsuki, the King of Dragons, merciless warlord, upon anyone.

Sure he was attractive and rich, and powerful, but you'd heard horror stories of what he had done on the battlefield.

When Bakugou started looking to new lands to conquer, you country's king had offered up his daughter like a sacrificial lamb to the barbarian in order to forge a treaty and protect his people through political marriage. King Bakugou's sexual conquests were nearly as infamous as his military ones, but he had never married or officially named a consort. The princess would be the first.

The king had sent a huge wedding procession of gifts and treasures to the high court of the Badlands, and along with it the most talented entertainers and artisans they had to offer. As the most talented dancing courtesan in the capital you had no choice but to travel with the caravan, so here you were. Performing a sword dance for a bloodthirsty king who kept looking at you as if you were a meal. It was an ego boost for sure but you were also scared.

When your performance came to a close, you bowed and quickly escaped when the princess had successfully stolen Katsuki's attention. Your face was burning under your veil and you fanned yourself in the cool stone hallway to calm down. You were hoping that the king would forget about you after a few more performers. but you hadn't even been out of the main hall two minutes when a servant came to fetch you.

"His highness requests your presence."

Your blood ran cold and your gulped. Oh gods, you had offended him hadn't you? He was going to kill you, probably behead you right there in the middle of the banquet himself-

You were thinking yourself into a panic when you returned to the banquet hall, eyes downcast now. You bowed, kneeling on the ground and hands clasped in front of your bare midriff.

Faintly you heard a scoff, and then the music stopped. You felt yourself go even more still, eyes darting around to see what happened. Unable to tell, you lifted your head slightly to see the king sauntering his way towards you. He had stepped directly over the table, spilling wine all over the princess in the process.

You quickly bowed your head again and tried not to hyperventilate. You didn't want to pass out now.

Two surprisingly clean leather boots entered your vision and on instinct, you looked up. King Bakugou was even more attractive up close, obviously built for battle with strong chords of muscle littered with scars, a sharp jawline and a head of unruly blonde hair.

"Did I say you could look at me?"

"No, your majesty." you squeak and quickly look back down.

Bakugou crouches to be level with your and grips your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his scarlet gaze.

"Did I say you could look away?" he grumbles this time.

"No, your majesty." You feel conflicted, unsure if he’d be more offended if you averted your eyes or just kept looking at him.

His eyes rake over your body again before coming back to yours.

"What's your name, pretty thing?"

"Y/N. I'm a dancer in my king's court." you answer, praying your voice doesn't sound as shaky as you feel.

He doesn't say anything but lets your chin go and rises to his feet. You rub the bottom half of your face, thinking it might just bruise. Bakugou isn't done with you, though and grabs your wrist, hauling you up from the floor. "What-?" you start to ask but a red-eyed glare has you clamping your mouth shut. The barbarian king drags you with him, right up to the high table. He lifts you over the table as if you weigh nothing, and sits you down on his lap. Right next to the princess. The banquet hall continued to steep in silence until Bakugou looked up.

"Fuck are you all looking at? Get on with the feast!" he yelled, and the music and chatter started back up.

"Your majesty, shouldn't worry with commoners-" she starts and Bakugou growls, actually growls so menacingly, you feel your own blood run cold.

"If I wanted your dumbass fucking opinion, I'd ask for it. Shut the fuck up."

Once he was sure the princess was properly cowed he turned his attention back on you. The arm wrapped around your waist holding you against his was warm against your bare skin.

"Pour me some wine." He commanded and your started before shakily lifting the pitcher and pouring some into his goblet. You hadn't it off to him carefully, and he quickly knocked it back before signaling for you to pour another.

"Most king's with a lick of sense wouldn't let a treasure like you out of their sight, so what are you doing in my court?" Bakugou asks.

"His Majesty decreed that the most talented entertainers accompany Her Highness to Your Majesty's court, for you entertainment and pleasure." you answer, handing off the refilled goblet.

Bakugou snorts at your measured and obviously practiced response. You night have heard him mutter 'toothless old bastard' under his breath, but you can't be sure.

"Give me a strawberry.", he gestures at the plate of fruit no six inches from him and you barely manage not to roll your eyes. Warlord or not, royals will always be royals, you think and pick up one of the berries.

The dragon king open his mouth and allows you to place the fruit on his tongue before biting into it. His ruby red eyes don't leave yours for a second, gripping your wrist when your try to pull away. Some juice trickles down your hand, and without breaking eye contact, Bakugou laves his tongue over your skin licking up the trail of red. He eats the rest of the berry, lips catching on your fingers before the lets your hand go in favor of picking up his wine goblet again.

"My entertainment and pleasure huh? I'm entertained, but I don't know about pleased..." he says, smirking into his goblet.

"Is there anything I can do for Your Majesty?" you manage to ask, brain still reeling from the whole thing with the strawberry.

And you walk right into his trap.

"Yeah, I can think of something..." he starts before leaning closer to you.

His hat breath fans against your neck for a moment, letting your get squirmy and nervous before continuing.

"Fucking you until you cry all that pretty makeup off... Then I'd be real fucking pleased." he says with a predatory smile spreading across his face.

You squeak, face heating under your veil as you try to formulate a response. You have no idea if the princess heard but if she did-

"Y-your majesty, I don't think-" you start but Bakugou cuts you off by grinding his hips up into yours.

"Good thing you don't need to think to take my cock." he muses.

The princess, appears to have reached her limit of watching her fiance flirt with someone else right in front of her.

"Your Majesty! I understand that this is a political marriage but I will not sit here and be humiliated and witch you proposition a commoner in front of me!" she exclaims.

You're a little surprised at her outburst considering the environment, but you guessed everyone had limits.

All chatter and music in the hall ceased for the second time that night. Bakugou pulled his face out of your neck to glare at the princess.

"You can fuck off for all I care. Your side wanted the fucking treaty, I don't have a problem with saddling up and burning your shitty country to the ground tonight." Bakugou stated, his anger growing with each word.

"King Bakugou those words could be taken as an act of war. " the diplomatic envoy from your country, stands and approaches the high table.

"What the- Did you idiots forget where you are? You're in the heart of the Badlands, in the court of Katsuki Bakugo, barbarian warlord and King of Dragons. This is my fucking kingdom and I'll do what I very well fucking please. And if I want to fuck this courtesan on the table right in front of your perfect little princess, I will. " He snarls and all you can do is sit there and pray he doesn't actually follow through on that threat.

Not that you'd hate it, seeing the look on the princess's face as you got fucked by her betrothed. Hah, serves her fucking right for always being such a brat.

"But I'm not a cruel king. I'll marry this one, and you can keep your silly little treaty." Bakugou says and both the diplomat and the princess scoff.

You balk, looking up at King Bakugou in surprise. He's going to what now?

"You can't possible expect the princess to be content with being on the same level as a commoner, even as a consort-" the diplomat starts to protest, which is quickly cut off by Bakugou's harsh laugh.

"You're a country of fucking dumbasses? I'm not marrying your brat of a princess, dump her off on some other poor bastard. I'm marrying Y/N instead of her. They'll be my consort. Won't you, pretty thing?" He says, looking at your for your answer.

"Say yes, treasure. I'm rich as fuck, I could give you anything you want. If I can't buy it I can take it. There's nothing I can't do. You wouldn't lift a fucking finger with me, I can promise that." he boasts to you and you know this.

King Bakugou is an unstoppable force. You had a hard life as a commoner, as a dancer. You weren't a servant but always being at the beck and call of nobility, dancing for them until your feet bled, until you fainted from exhaustion.

You deserved to be greedy, just like the man holding you in his lap.

"Yes, I'll marry you." you answer, and Bakugou smiles wickedly.

Good, he likes greedy. It's one of his favorite traits.

He turns his head back to look at the diplomat and princess from your home country. The diplomat looks like he's sweating buckets and the princess is so angry you think she might start breathing fire.

"So, do we have an agreement? Y/N for your protection?" he asks.

"Y-yes your majesty." the diplomat stutters at the same time the princess protests.

"We do not! How dare you disrespect me so openly, you filthy little wench-" she starts, only to be silenced by the sight of Bakugou pulling his sword. He points the tip at the princess, visibly seething with rage.

"Shut your worthless fucking mouth before I shut it for you." he growls.

Fear takes over the princess' face and she stumbles back behind the diplomat.

"Oi, don't piss on my floor or anything, fucking cowards. Show some respect to my new consort. Bend the knee and I'll forget this transgression." Bakugou orders.

While not officially married  yet, he's bestowed the title of consort upon you and now you outrank the princess. In fact, you outrank nearly everyone here, sans Katsuki, who is your equal. The diplomat and princess wordlessly fall into a bow, and the nobles from both courts follow suit.

"Alright that's enough groveling for now. This banquet is over, I'm retiring to my bed chambers. If you need me, don't." Bakugou gruffs and stands up, once again easily scooping you up into his arms.

"I'm going to rip this pretty little costume to shreds, and pump and heir into you tonight, goddamn it." Bakugou murmurs in your ear as he carries you though out his(your) palace.

"I like this one..." your protest weakly as he kicks a door open, throwing you onto his bed.

He grasps the waistline of your costume, easily ripping the silk to shreds with his bare hands.

"I'm buy you forty just like it, now spread your legs, Consort." he orders, licking his lips.

"I didn't get to finish my meal earlier." He hums and you squeak in anticipation.

"Cute. Let's see how many cute noises you can make, huh?"

@hanji-is-life i hope you enjoy!

#bakugou fanfiction #bakugou kastuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x gnc reader #dragon king bakugou #bakugou imagine

[divinerulerluvr]

Angelic

You and Warren decide to make a sex tape

Pairing - Warren Lipka x fem!reader

Words - 1.8k

Warnings - smut, being filmed, stoned sex, some praising, sir kink, basically just really dirty because yeah, thigh riding

A/N - Honestly, I don't know what to say here so I'll just let you read the smut. Also, why is this gif so hot?

- - -

“God, how much longer for you to set that thing up?”

Warren fumbles with his camera, trying to get it to click into the tripod stand it rested on. “Don’t rush perfection, okay?” he says to you, finally getting it to work. “Aha! Told you i’d get it,” he says triumphantly.

You roll your eyes playfully, looking at the Sony camera he had just gotten. Warren had been really into filmography recently. Ever since he stole the camera, he’d been fucking around with it and filming every single thing.

Warren smiles, walking to where you lay out on the bed after clicking record. “Do I look good? I want my first sex tape to look good,” you ask him.

He stands at the edge of the bed, reaching down and running his hand down your cheek, “You always look good. Especially in that cute red lingerie I bought you,” he says, his horny personality showing through.

“You stole it, baby,” you counter.

He grins, nodding proudly. “Easily,” he brags. You smile, running your hand down his bare chest and torso. You bite your lower lip as your hand reaches the waistband of his sweatpants, the sight of his boxers peeking out from the top of his sweatpants being awfully hot.

A soft sigh falls from your lips as you eye fuck his body. “You have a very nice body,” you compliment, your thighs pushed together. “Well, I’m blocking the camera’s view of you so are you done?” he says, turning to face the camera he stood in front of.

You shrug, smiling widely. He moves out of the camera’s way, running his fingers through his messy hair. He kneels on the end of the bed, leaning forward and looping his fingers under your panties.

Complying, you raise your hips up from the bed to help him get them off. A part of the lingerie was stockings being held up by little red garters with a metal heart on them. Warren liked that. Hence why he stole the lingerie set for you.

Tossing the panties aside, he glances at the camera before looking back at you. “What do you want me to do, Sir?” you ask, adding the name on playfully. You close your legs, looking at Warren from where you lay on the bed.

He grins, actually liking the name. “Touch yourself for me,” he instructs you. You smile, nodding obediently. You trail your hand down your chest, skimming over the lacy bra you wore and down your stomach until you reach between your thighs.

You spread your legs, causing Warren to drool at the sight of your pussy. Your fingers find your clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling.

Warren runs his hand up your leg, watching intently as you pleasure yourself. Your back arches off the bed, your fingers slowly picking up pace as you indulge in how it felt. You roll your head on the pillow and look at the camera, smiling as you see the red blinking light on it.

“You’re gonna… jerk off to this in the future. Am I right?” you comment, your ragged breathing making it difficult to speak. Warren nods, chuckling like a perv. A very, very hot perv, though.

Warren becomes tired of just watching and leans over you, pulling you into his lap. You giggle, your legs saddling his thigh. His hands hold your back, keeping you in place as he kisses you. You impatiently kiss back, turned on by the camera that films the two of you.

You grind your hips down on his thigh, your fingers threading through the shaggy hair that covers the back of his neck. You pull back from the kiss, your head falling back slightly as you continue to ride his thigh.

“You’re so fucking hot, Y/n,” he admires, his hands moving down to your ass and squeezing. You smile, heat rising through your body. “Get that joint,” he instructs.

You lean back, grabbing the joint and the lighter from the nightstand beside you. You place it between your lips, Warren taking the lighter and pressing the flame to the tip. You inhale, your eyes on his as he pulls the lighter back.

Exhaling the smoke deeply, you pass the joint to Warren as you continue to ride his thigh. Your breathing grows heavy as Warren puffs on the joint, blowing a steady stream of smoke into your face. You inhale his smoke, smiling happily as he places the joint back between your lips and allows you to inhale as he keeps it in his hand.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, exhaling your smoke as you moan quietly. “I’m so fucking horny,” you comment. Warren smiles, letting you take another hit from the joint and taking one for himself before he wraps his arms around your back and moves you so you lay on the bed, him over top of you.

Giggling softly, you reach your hand up and push some of his hair from his face. “I really like you,” you say. He smiles, settling comfortably between your open legs. “I really like you, too,” he replies.

He leans back, pulling his sweatpants off as you unclasp your bra and toss it onto the floor. You look at the camera, smiling at it and sticking out your tongue.

“What’re you doing?” he asks as he settles back over top of you. “Smiling to future you who is probably jerking off to this,” you tell him, moving so that you could kiss him. He kisses you back, his clothed boner rubbing against your pussy.

His hands find your breasts, squeezing them in his palm as he always does. You go straight for his boxers, pulling them down. Warren chuckles into the kiss at your eagerness, his hands trailing down your chest and going directly between your thighs.

“Your skin is so soft, angel. I could touch you forever,” he whispers, his lips grazing over yours as he pulls back from the kiss. “I’m fine with that,” you reply, looking into his beautiful eyes.

He quickly locates your clit, your body jolting as he just barely touches you. You moan, your head falling back against the pillow as he spreads your wetness through your pussy. “I knew you’d like being filmed,” he comments slyly.

You smile weakly, whining as he pulls his hand from between your thighs. “Such a needy thing,” he says. You run your hand down his back, only to drag your nails back up to leave a trail of scratches behind.

Your eyes go to between your bodies, focusing on how he pushed slowly into you. You suck in through your teeth, never quite used to the feeling of him filling you up.

He pets your hair, his eyes focused on how beautiful your face looked as you adjusted to his dick. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your walls tightening around his dick. “Relax, baby,” he says softly, feeling your chest heave against his.

Bottoming out in you, he slowly draws his hips back and thrusts into you. Your breath catches, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“God, Warren,” you pant as he picks up a steady rhythm that was both sensual and rough at the same time. He was good at that. You push your hips up against his, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Your chest presses against his, his hand finding its way to your wrists and holding them bound above your head. You moan softly, your noise being cut off as he kisses you again. The kiss was sloppy and slow this time, his tongue exploring your mouth.

His lips trail down to your jawline and starts to make sure to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbone. You moan, a smile on your lips as he fucks you. “Warren…” you pant out, your eyes watering.

“Call me ‘Sir’ again. It’s hot,” he says into your skin.

“Yes sir,” you reply, weaving your fingers through his hair.

Your response lit something in him and he flips the two of you over, laying on his back and keeping himself inside of you as you settle on top of him. Understanding what he wanted you to do, you start rocking your hips back and forth.

His fingers dig into your left hip, his right hand grabbing the joint and inhaling it. You start bouncing up and down on him, your hands placed on his chest for balance.

Your eyes flutter shut, your lip stuck between your teeth as you try and reach your orgasm. “Fuck,” you curse, not sure if you could last longer than two minutes. Warren lays back with a dazed expression, his eyes focused on your tits as they bounce with your movements.

Just on the edge of an orgasm, Warren decides he wants to switch positions and gets you back under him. You giggle softly, laying back on the bed as Warren starts to thrust into you again.

He grabs your hand, placing it on your lower stomach and holding it there. “You feel that?” he asks, referencing how his dick thrusting in and out of you was visible in your lower stomach. You nod, pressing your lips together as you feel your legs quiver.

Using the hand he had placed on top of yours he pushes down just slightly. You exhale shakily, your pussy clenching as he presses onto your lower stomach.

“Sir, I’m so close,” you pant pathetically, writhing on the bed underneath him. “Mm, how can I say no to such a good girl?” he smirks, his tone enough to make you cum already. “You can cum,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear.

His fingers lace with yours as you cum, a suffocated moan leaving your lips. Your hand grips his, your entire body vibrating with pleasure.

Warren soon follows, cumming inside of you as you were in the midst of your high. You shiver, your hand still tightly tangled with his. Warren’s thrusts slow and he soon pulls out. You watch tiredly as he grabs the camera, too drained to even bother.

He pulls your legs back open, the camera pointed directly at your pussy that was filled with his cum. You chuckle, letting him do what he wanted because you knew he wasn’t going to do much with this video.

“All mine. See, I even claimed it,” he comments jokingly, running his fingertip over your hypersensitive clit. Your body jumps and Warren chuckles.

“Stop being stupid and come cuddle with me,” you say, watching as he turns off the camera and sets it on the nightstand. Warren gets into bed finally, pulling you onto his chest. You tangle your leg with his, your fingers lacing with his as your head rests on his chest.

“‘Night,” you say, already half asleep. Warren plays with your hair, his eyes looking at the ceiling. “Goodnight,”

#evan peters #warren lipka #american animals #smut #i really like this #warren lipka x reader #fanfic #blurb