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gracieheartspedro · 6 months

Text

Who We Are

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller

description: when your father falls ill, his patrol partner and best friend, joel miller finds a way to aid in his recovery. but this solution is complicated and requires you to take on a week-long hunt for supplies and resources. being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in evenutally.

word count: 17k words. this one is a LONG ONE. get a snack.

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, illness that requires medical intervention, blood, guns, killing of infected, forced proximity, joel is kinda pervy?, talks of loss of family members, joel lies about his past, oral (f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, creampie, after care.

author's note: ... hi folks! this one is a long one, so like I said, grab a snack and get comfy! I was going to make this multiple parts but I'm eager and unhinged. to be honest, this story is better as one big one shot anyway. I had a very intense time editing so I know I probably missed some things. I may write little branch off stories if you guys enjoy it enough. anyway, enjoy! <3 lemme know what you think!

“Didn’t know you were workin’ tonight, darlin’,” Your father’s Southern drawl brings you out of your daze. You had been cleaning glasses for the last hour and a half. Surprisingly, the Tipsy Bison wasn’t busy on a Wednesday night. You had been keeping busy by cleaning and serving two visitors.

You look up, noticing your father and his patrol partner wander into the bar. They find a seat at the bar, right in front of you as you dry some whiskey glasses.

“I work every night this week, Pops,” You mutter, turning back to the liquor bottles to grab his favorite bourbon. You knew exactly what he came here for. He wanted to pester you on your shift and watch you write under his partner’s gaze. He thought your little crush was entertaining. You have made comments to your dad in the past about how you thought Joel was nice to look at and your Dad would just laugh. He would jokingly wiggle his finger at you and tell you to find someone your age.

Little do you and your father know, Joel feels similarly about you. The first moment he saw you, he thought about how if he was a young buck, he’d lock you down as soon as he could. The age held him back initially, never even entertaining your subtle glances or welcoming smiles. Then when he realized who your father was, he immediately shut down all thoughts like that in his head. You were strictly off-limits.

“Well good, keeps you busy.”

You did not enjoy the idea of working every weeknight with a bunch of drunks, but this job was a bit better than constantly shoveling horse shit. Instead, you got to mingle with the locals. Maybe find yourself a man, since you were in your early thirties and unmarried.

Joel loved coming to the Bison when you were here. It meant he got to drink a whiskey neat and watch you twirl and rush around the bar. Tonight was slower, though, so he got the privilege of speaking with you, which was rare.

You pour your Dad his bourbon, finally glancing up at his partner who’s practically ogling at you. You made a conscious effort to avoid his piercing brown eyes.

Joel Miller was a dream boat, god damn. Every time he glanced in your direction, you would freeze up and stutter out a very jumbled “hello”. He was quite guarded, never much to talk. When he did finally speak, you found yourself reeling over his deep voice.

“Whatcha want, Mr. Miller?”

His lips twinged, his eyes flicking up to yours. He loves hearing you say that, he thinks to himself. You hand off the bourbon to your Dad, waiting for a response.

“Whatever he’s having is fine, sweetheart,” He says plainly, nodding toward the half-empty bottle. Your knees could buckle at the nickname, but you keep your composure. You can’t crumble that easily.

You three slide into a conversation about their patrolling, what they found that day, and the game plan for tomorrow. You make a sly comment about how they needed to find some meaning in life other than patrol. Your dad laughs, and Joel just stares blankly at you. You instantly want to take back the comment and never speak again, ever. Instead, you just continue drying the glasses you just washed.

When your dad finished his bourbon, you noticed his expression change from relaxed to pained.

“You okay there?” You ask, grabbing his glass and placing it in the sink below the counter. He rubs his chest, letting out a deep guttural cough. Joel looks perplexed while you get closer and notice the blood splattering into your dad’s palm.

“It’s nothing, just a cough,” He manages to say, his voice hoarse. You scan his face, knowing immediately that he’s lying.

“Bullshit, you’re coughing up blood,” You reach towards some towels, tossing them on the counter in front of him, “You should probably go get checked out, Dad.”

Joel quips, “Yeah, don’t need you getting sick when we are out tomorrow. Why don’t you stop by the infirmary before you go home?”

Your Dad just shakes his head, “You two are being dramatic. It’s nothing, I promise.”

Your Dad was known for downplaying his pain and sicknesses. You remember being a little girl traveling with him across the country and every time he got hurt, he’d just suck it up. He shattered his left pinky years ago and he resolved to just chop it off. So that’s what he did. He was lucky it never got infected. But he was known just to blow off all his ailments, reminding you he’s beat all the other odds.

So instead of fighting with him, you just nod all the while, stealing a long glance at Joel. He’s finishing his drink and you can’t help but watch his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and you fixate on it for a bit too long.

You’re brought out of the trance when he slams the glass down, his dark brown eyes drooping. Joel always looked tired, but you knew after the day they had, he was actually tired.

You had a couple more hours at the Bison before you had to close up, so you bid them a farewell, reminding your Dad that you’d be home before he stumbles off to bed. He never slept much, he would just read in the living room until you got home usually.

Joel waves you a farewell, thanking you quietly for the drink.

“Don’t be a stranger,” You say as he turns his back to you to head for the door. He turns a bit, giving you a slight smirk as he reaches for the door.

You spend the rest of your shift daydreaming about what it’d be like to be with a man. You spent most of your time in Jackson without giving much of the men your age a thought. More than half were taken, anyway. While you let your mind wander, you realize your imagination is placing Joel in the spot of all the made-up situations with this said man.

You lock the bar door behind you, tugging on it to ensure it’s snug in the latch. The air was shifting, the cool warm summer turning into a slightly chilly fall. You wore a long sleeve today, luckily, or else you’d be shivering on your way home. The walk home wasn’t a long one.

When you reach your front door, you realize the living room light is on. Dad’s awake.

But as you reach to turn the knob, you hear ghastly breathing from the other side. When you swing the door open, you see your Dad in his recliner, his hand over his chest. He’s dry heaving, trying to get out a cough.

“Hey, hey,” You quickly race to his side, “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

He breathes in deeply, “I just can’t seem to catch my breath. Something isn’t right.”

You have never seen him so panicked. You nod, understanding that your next step is to get him to the infirmary. He should have gone on his way home. You didn’t know if anyone would be there and you surely didn’t know if they would be able to treat his symptoms.

“Are you in pain?” You ask, grabbing under his arms to lift him out of his chair. He’s wobbly, so you keep your hand under his armpit and use your other free arm to balance him. He shakes his head.

“Just weak.”

Your heart sinks. Never in your life has your father admitted to feeling weak or sick. It was like as soon as he got home, his body just gave out. You help him into his shoes and start your trek back towards the middle of town. You wish you didn’t have to walk him so far because it felt like with every 5 feet, his lungs were giving out and sending him into a coughing fit. You probably woke the entire town trudging him through the streets. When you get to the front step of the infirmary, you knock as loud as you can. Usually, they had an overnight shift nurse helping, having them watch over whoever was dragged there during the day. Dispensing medicine if need be. You knew a couple of the nurses, most of them your age or a bit older.

When a familiar face opens the door, you feel a sense of relief.

“Hey Sidney,” You greet her, sort of pushing your Dad into the room, still keeping your hands wrapped around his center, “Something’s wrong with Pops.”

She reaches out to help you with him, “Oh no, what’s going on?”

“Can hardly breathe,” Is all he can muster out. You look at Sidney, concern spread across your face. She nods, knowingly.

Sidney was one of the nurses you trusted the most. She gave you stitches when you sliced your hand open on a glass bottle a couple of weeks ago. She was patient and gentle, always checking to see if you were doing alright as she sewed your skin together. She’s a former Firefly, probably in her 40s. She got trained by some doctors years ago so she knew a decent amount about all sorts of medical treatment.

She takes hold of the situation completely, grabbing your Dad and walking him to a free bed near the door. She gets him to lie down and she starts scrambling for some supplies to do a quick once over of him. He looks pale and for some reason, very small, in the hospital bed.

“It’s gonna be alright,” You say, poking his arm. You say it for him, but you mainly say it for yourself. He closes his eyes and nods.

“Always is, kiddo.”

The news was not ideal. After observation and some tests, Sidney decided your father probably has pneumonia. The problem was, that Jackson was low on antibiotics and they would have to decide if your Dad’s case was urgent enough to give him some.

It pissed you off, but you had to hold back your anger. This situation was out of Sidney’s control, but you knew exactly who to raise your voice to. Sadly, the city council was asleep in their beds, as it was 4 a.m. Sidney reassured you that she would ensure your father was looked after until the morning when they could discuss with everyone if it would be okay to give him some of the highly sought-after antibiotics.

But for now, you should get some rest.

Your father fussed at you while he was in and out of sleep, telling you that you needed to go home and sleep. Your body was plagued with exhaustion and your brain was hardly functioning. You would need to plead a good case, so even a couple of hours of sleep would do you good. You ask if you could occupy a bed nearby and Sidney agrees with a sympathetic smile. You curl up, trying to clear your brain of your racing thoughts.

You can’t lose your father, he’s all you have.

You need to remind the council of all your father does.

You need him to get better.

You need him.

“We only have 4 vials of antibiotics,” Maria states, trying not to look you in the eyes. She feels horrible, but she knows deep down the rest of the council will probably reject your father using any. It was going to be a tough decision like this that made most of the people in the council think they were playing God, but it was real life. Would they give your 60-something-year-old father antibiotics for pneumonia or give it to a young child suffering from an infection? They had to think ahead and supplies were scarce.

You cross your arms, waiting for the next shoe to drop. “And?”

Tommy stands up, knowing you will not like the next sentence. He practically guards Maria with his broad frame. He resembled Joel, with his dark hair and stern eyes. His were a bit softer.

“We are low on resources, hun. We need to think ahead and ensure that the pros outweigh the cons of giving him one of those vials. You understand?”

“Why was this not a thought in the summer? When it was a good time to go seek some out? I just don’t under-”

“We had that sickness going around over the summer. Lots of people getting fevers. Before we knew it, Dr. Peters realized we were low. I had intentions to get out and try to find more, and trade with some people, but we just haven’t discussed it all yet. There’s a process. It was in the works.”

Your blood is boiling and your patience running out. Each second of arguing was another second your Dad could be closer to death.

“Well, it’s a shitty fuckin’ process. Where can I go to get more, then? Is there another community we can trade with? A hospital we can scavenge? You guys can’t expect me to sit around and wait for him to get worse.”

Maria looks to Tommy, trying to wrack her brain for a response. Tommy’s lip twitches, knowing exactly what to say. He did not want you to do it, but he knew how you were. You’d do anything for your family.

“There’s a hospital in Salt Lake that I’ve heard is practically untouched. Fireflies used to reside there and do tests. They probably left behind some supplies.”

You narrow your eyes, “Salt Lake? Isn’t that a whole week away?”

You start to pace the room, trying to console yourself. You can’t just leave for that long and assume that everyone will take care of your Dad. Tommy places his hands on his hips, trying to figure out a resolution. He liked your Dad, always going to him if he needed help around the commune. Your Dad is always one to offer a helping hand and give solid advice. He didn’t want to watch him die, either.

“How about this,” Tommy huffs, “How about we give him one of our vials and you and Joel head out to Salt Lake to scavenge that hospital? If we are right in our assumptions, there’s probably a lot of resources there. And Joel’s been there before.”

“Why are you roping Joel into this?” You press, crossing your arms.

“Joel knows where to go. He can get you there in one piece.”

“Where am I going,” Joel’s presence takes you by surprise. You turn back at the front door of the infirmary, seeing Joel’s disheveled hair sticking up in every direction. He had red cheeks, probably from the jog he did to get there. As soon as he heard about your father, he booked it from the stables to his side.

Tommy shoots Joel a knowing look, “You and her are gonna go back to Salt Lake. You think they have antibiotics at that hospital you took Ellie to?”

Joel’s visceral reaction sends you. His heart practically stopped when Tommy brought up the hospital.

You start to sweat when he does, realizing you would have to travel that far with Joel Miller.

He swallows, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Probably. Why can’t ya just give him what we have?”

Maria shakes her head at his response, “We have a long winter ahead of us, Joel. We have four vials left. This saves us from a council meeting where they shoot down everything. They won’t approve it. If I reassure them that you are going to get some more, they won’t mind if we give him one.”

He huffs, scratching his chin in contemplation. You knew this would not be ideal for him, but you’re willing to do anything, even if you had to do it alone. The four of you stand in silence while Joel wracks his brain for an excuse to say no. None comes to him.

It’s not that he did not want to help you, he just does not want to relive some trauma with you by his side. He would have to swallow back all his emotions, all the while you would be posted up right next to him. He does not want you to see him falter under pressure.

“She can’t go alone, Joel,” Tommy quips, gesturing towards you. You were shaking, your body reacting before your brain even could. Your nerves were shot.

He shakes his head, “And if they don’t have the supplies?”

You didn’t even think that far.

“They will,” Tommy says, matter-of-factly, “It’s our best bet. The Fireflies disbanded, there has to be stuff left behind.”

You don’t know how Tommy knows all this, but he must have good sources to know all these things. Joel nods at him, accepting his response. He looks back at you, trying to figure out how you feel about the proposition by reading your face.

“Does that work for you?” His deep voice isn’t meant to be intimidating, but you flinch anyway at the question.

“I don’t have much of a choice. My Dad needs the medicine. If you guys think we can make it there and back in one piece, I’ll do it.”

“We will leave tomorrow morning. In the meantime,” Joel waves over Sidney, who’s still sitting by your sleeping and dazed father, “Give him one of those vials.”

Joel sacrificing his time and effort for your father was unfathomable to you. Sure, Joel was a great friend of your Dad’s, but he truly didn’t owe you two anything. It made you enamored with him even more.

As the day shifted into the evening, you sat by your Dad’s bed and waited for the antibiotics to kick in. His body needed rest, you knew that much because he slept more than he probably ever had in his lifetime.

He was sweating out a fever, so every so often you’d pat his head with a cold rag. He would mumble a quiet “thank you” and then return to snoring. As the sun sets, you welcome Sidney back for her night shift. She checked your Dad’s vitals, telling you his lungs are already sounding a bit better. You stretch and yawn, cracking every bone in your body while you do. You were stuck in the same position for so long, elbows on your knees, your chin propped up by your hands.

You had a long trip ahead of you, and you couldn’t lie, you were scared half to death. You did not want to come back and find your father dead. You were also terrified about going back outside of Jackson. You spent most of your last 20 years living in the wild and shitty QZ’s. You were always on edge out there, and then you found Jackson. Ever since then, life has been a little more hopeful. You were able to form relationships and have some simple enjoyment, after all this time.

Your Dad finally wakes up when you start stirring more. His one eye opens first which makes you crack a smile.

“Mornin’ Pops,” You joke, grabbing his warm hand, “That antibiotic should start working soon. You’ll be better in no time.”

“Yeah,” He croaks, “But I heard you’re going somewhere.”

You bite your lip, afraid to stress him out. You knew he would worry about you, he always did.

“Yeah, me and Joel are going to get more supplies. Nothing too drastic,” You lie, brushing your thumb over his scarred knuckles, “You trust Joel enough to take care of me?”

It was the first time he laughed in the last 24 hours, “Course he will. He knows how much you mean to me. If he fucks up, he will get a load of me, that’s for sure.”

His voice was reassuring to hear, especially since he’s joking with you.

“Okay, I believe you,” You mutter, “We leave tomorrow morning, so I need you to be good and get all the rest you can. I want you up and moving when I get back, you hear me?”

“Roger that, kiddo.”

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Your tone is sarcastic and Joel can tell. You did not expect to be stuck with Joel Miller alone for a week, especially outside the walls.

He clears his throat as he finishes packing up his horse.

“Mornin’,” He grumbles, patting his horse’s mane, “Let’s get you all set up. You’ll be takin’ your Dad’s horse, Ranger. He is already saddled up, just need to get your stuff on there.”

Luckily, you packed light. You brought a couple of changes of clothes, some food, some camping gear, and of course, your gun.

Joel helps you tie down your bag and ensures all the straps he just put on are tight enough for you. You just watch him, enjoying how just takes control of the situation. He had the father instinct, always making sure everything would be safe and secure for the girls he loved. Or liked. Whatever.

You thank him, grabbing onto the saddle and flinging yourself up onto the horse. Ranger was truly your favorite horse in all of Jackson. He was the best behaved and the biggest. His mane was long and black and he loved to be brushed. You spent a lot of evenings riding him for fun, just enjoying his company.

Joel gets on his horse, adjusting how he sits before he takes the reigns and guides you towards the main gates of Jackson.

“You still sure you’re ready for a run like this?”

He’s giving you a chance to back out. But this was now an obligation. If you didn’t do this, you would indebted to everyone. You would be the person to blame if someone’s loved one died. Not really, but you felt that guilt.

“Readier than I’ll ever be, Joel.”

“How is Ellie doing?”

You were burning to make conversation. You needed to rid your mind of all the anxiety surrounding your own life. Joel was too quiet, it made you feel queasy. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts. You were about 20 miles outside of Jackson, the sun was coming up through the foliage.

He inhales sharply, “She’s a teenage girl. She’s grumpy.”

You grip onto the reigns of your horse, your body swaying back and forth with the trot.

“I remember being that young and being constantly annoyed by my Dad’s nagging,” You chuckle, remembering the days of angst, “Are you annoying her, Joel?”

Joel scrunches his face at such allegations. If anything, Ellie was annoying him.

“Course I’m not! Just… want to make sure she’s doing good. Which she is. Everyone tells me ‘bout how helpful she is.”

You think back to the last interaction you had with Ellie. She had been helping out at the stables when you were in charge of feeding and cleaning the horses before you got the job at the Tipsy Bison. Ellie wanted to know everything you knew, pestering you with silly questions like what their names were and why they were named what they were.

“She’s very helpful,” You acknowledge, thinking about how enthusiastic she always was about learning, “You raised her right.”

He huffs, “Was hardly me. She’s just smart and raised herself.”

You did not quite understand the history between Joel and Ellie, but you knew Joel was not her biological father. You had no clue how they found each other or when. But you could see the love Joel had for Ellie. You remember him lighting up when he explained to you and your dad how she was the best shot amongst the recruits.

Joel will probably never indulge you in the specifics of his relationship with Ellie, simply because it’s complicated. He never felt the need to explain himself to anyone but Tommy.

“You had a hand in some of it, Joel. Give yourself a little credit.”

But Joel was never good at that. He was hard on himself, weary to accredit any of Ellie’s behavior to himself.

The rest of the ride was occupied with the sound of leaves rustling. Joel spots a fallen tree that he says would be a good eating spot. You agree, hopping down off your horse with ease. You tie his reins up on a nearby branch and start digging through your saddle bag for the apple you packed for yourself. You were sick with unease all day. With everything going on in your life, the last thing on your mind was hunger. Plus, you were alone with a man that you had to put all your trust in.

You pop a squat on the chipping bark and get out your pocket knife to start cutting the red fruit. Joel gets out a bag of jerky from his pack and finds a spot next to you. He looks over at you, perplexed at your food choice.

“Just some fruit?” Joel interrogates, instantly knowing your hunger cannot be satiated by apples. No one can be satisfied with only fruit.

Your stomach churns at your first bite, “Just not that hungry.”

That’s all the explanation he needs. You watch as he starts to munch on his bagged meat, cringing at the sound of his mouth. You try to block it out, but it’s eating away at your brain. You hated the sound of chewing, it was such a stupid pet peeve, but you couldn’t help yourself. Joel is oblivious, probably not even hearing how loud he’s being. You smack his arm out of instinct, something you did to your dad when he was being too obnoxious.

He looks down at you with furrowed brows and annoyed eyes.

“You’re eating too loud,” You say, wanting to smack yourself at how stupid it sounds out loud.

He looks away, completely flabbergasted at the reaction. “Eating too loud? Really?”

You feel embarrassed for letting your brain get the best of you. So you just cut more of your apple off and slowly crunch on it. You try your best not to hyper-fixate on your chewing. When you’re in a trance, lost in your thoughts, Joel nudges you back. He’s getting you back, now.

“Now you’re chewing too loud,” He jokes, popping another piece of his jerky in his mouth, “Should probably keep it down. So loud you may attract some infected.”

You can’t help but smile at his stupid rebuttal. You give him props for making you feel less foolish.

“Sorry,” you mumble, eating another slice intentionally loud, “Can’t help myself. They are just so crunchy.”

You hear him giggle, his smile easing your churning stomach.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll forgive you this one time.”

You knew the ride to this hospital would be long, but you didn’t realize how barren the landscape would be. You also didn’t realize how bad your ass would hurt. You and Joel finally pull off into some woods when the sun starts to set. Joel acts like he knows exactly how to navigate the woods, guiding his horse deeper and deeper. In between some large trees, you spot a lake.

“Wanna go swimming?” You question after hours of no conversation. He glances back at you with a sly smirk on his face. When you look to your right, you notice a small path. Joel clicks his tongue for his horse to follow it. You two trot through the leaves, before coming upon a small decrepted cabin.

“This is us,” He states as he halts his horse.

He had secretly always pictured taking you out here. He could not help but insert you into his small fantasies. Some nights he would imagine what it would be like to have you stick by his side forever. He always felt guilty afterward.

You look at the building in wonder, completely speechless. You assumed you would be camping on the forest floor, not in an intimate cabin by a lake. You swing your leg over and slide off your saddle. Joel starts to tie up his horse nearby and you follow suit. You continue to look at the cabin, curious as to who kept up with it. It looked well maintained, besides some cobwebs at the peak of the roof.

“Is this yours?”

He shakes his head, “No. Technically Tommy’s. He goes this way to get to another settlement about 50 miles south. He found this place on a whim and cleaned it up.”

You look around the area, seeing there’s even a fire pit right by the water. It had chairs and stones to outline the charred wood. You could not help but imagine what this place was before Tommy found it. How many fun nights were probably spent here by the original owner? If you had no one to go back to, you would just live here. But the more you think about that scenario, you think about how lonely you would probably get. Maybe if you had someone to stay with you.

You finally look back at Joel. He’s standing on the stone path with his eyes locked on you. You get self-conscious for a moment, realizing he probably noticed how entranced you were with the surroundings.

That’s exactly what he was thinking, too. How beautiful you stood in the shadows of the trees, your eyes curiously glancing around like a kid in a candy shop. You had him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it.

“You good if we stay here overnight? Get back on the road tomorrow?”

How could you ever say no to an offer like that?

You nod, swallowing back your insecurity, “Yeah, for sure.”

Joel could build a good fire. Watching him gather all the wood and place them into a perfect formation. As soon as he lights it, it builds and builds. When the warmth envelopes you, you start to finally feel at ease. Joel sits down with a stick, nudging the fire every so often.

He felt guilty. He felt like he was betraying your father, a man who was trusting him with his daughter. He should not be imagining how a little life in the woods would look like with you. He should not be picturing how beautiful you would look underneath him. He should not be having these devious thoughts about you. His eyes are trained on the flames as they build, trying to push those daydreams away.

When his sleeve lifts as he toys with the charred wood, you notice the watch on his wrist. It looks ancient, the face of it shattered. You don’t realize you’re staring at it until he snatches his hand away from your view.

“Sorry,” You retract, sitting further into the chair, “Your watch is broken.”

He places the stick next to his foot, finally out of his head for a moment, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

You were so stupid. You know not to pry further, knowing there’s probably a story and you don’t feel like you’re at a stage with Joel Miller to dive deeper. He notices how small you making yourself, and it makes him feel bad. He never wants to make you insecure.

“Your necklace,” He starts, trying to place your mind somewhere else. It was a feature on your body that he noticed ages ago, but he never tried to beg the question, so this seemed like a great time to move the subject along. “Is it a moon?”

You reach up to your throat, feeling for the necklace you never took off. It feels like he almost wants to see if you will spill your story first. He is bad at reading women, sometimes. Most of the time.

“Yeah, it was my sister’s.”

He feels stupid, instantaneously. As soon as those words fell from your lips, he put his face in his hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Your feelings towards what happened 20 years ago were drastically different than how you feel now. You could still feel the horror and the pain you felt, but it wasn’t so gut-wrenching anymore. It honestly doesn’t even feel like it happened to you.

You drop the crescent moon charm from your hands, “No, it’s okay. She died on outbreak day. She was a bit older than me, her name was Reagan.”

He looks up at you and just nods, taking in the information. You don’t know if it’s a gesture for you to continue to talk, but you take it as just that.

“Her and my mom were at one of her soccer games when all hell broke loose. From what I heard, she was bit by one of her teammates and when me and my Dad were packing up our things to get out of there, I grabbed some of her stuff. A necklace, a sweatshirt, and her favorite pair of sneakers. I don’t know why. But yeah, this necklace is the only thing that survived 20 years. Sweatshirt got too small, shoes got too torn up.”

You don’t even notice the tears pricking in your eyes until you blink. You don’t even remember what she looks like, her face is kind of jumbled in your memory. You remember her hair though, long and brown and super curly. Joel just listens, his eyes trained on your hands as you nervously rub them together. When you peer up at him, you see the mutual pain written on his face.

He thinks to his beautiful Sarah. His eyes fall to his broken watch. The pain is still very palpable.

“‘m glad we have somethin’ from our people. Somethin’ to remember them by, ya’ know?”

You scan his broken watch and nod timidly. “Yeah, something to remember them by.”

You stand up after eating some more food you packed, ensuring you’re somewhat nourished before you go to sleep. Joel stares at the fire, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He knows he has to sleep, but he knows you need it more. He’s willing to give up his hours for yours.

“You want me to do first watch?” You quiz, hoping to get the answer no. Instead, he just shrugs. You cross your arms, a cool shiver going down your back as you step away from the fire.

“I’ll start first,” He mumbles, grabbing his poking stick, “There’s a bed in there all ready for you. Get some rest, we got a long day tomorrow.”

You respond with a slight wag of your head, “Okay, goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and head towards the front door of the cabin. You creak the door open. It’s pitch black so you step back onto the small porch to grab the lantern Joel lit a while ago. You slowly creep through the one-room cabin, placing the lantern on the small table by the door. It lit up most of the room so you got a great look at the wooden framed bed, waiting for you to lay upon it.

You feel a pang of guilt making Joel sit outside to guard you as you slept. You knew you needed rest. You also knew it would start getting colder and colder and that fire would die eventually.

Joel could handle himself, after all. You would just have to push your worry aside. When you curl up onto the hard mattress, you think back to the last time you were left to trust another man to look after you as you slept. It was a traumatizing night, so instead of worrying yourself, you close your eyes and remind yourself that Joel is safe. Dad trusts Joel. Joel is a good man.

Sleep eventually takes over, your soft snores rattling off the wooden walls.

After a couple of hours, the shivering takes over Joel’s body, so he creeps into the cabin. The lantern is dimmer, slowly running out of fuel. He shakes his head, smiling to himself at your disregard for resources. He walks over to the small wood-burning oven, opening the door to it as quietly as he can. You don’t even stir. You’re a deep sleeper, he would remember.

He starts a fire with the old coals, warming up the small space. Once he stands up from his squat, he hisses at the crack of his knees. He glances over at you, making sure he did not wake you. Nothing.

You were a peaceful sleeper, your mouth slightly ajar. To Joel, you were always so beautiful. Not even just your looks, but your kind and reserved nature. You always gave him a delighted smile when he looked your way. You were dedicated to always being there for your father, which would always melt his cold heart. He would always watch you with a careful eye, praying that you would somehow get older or him, younger. He hated himself for admiring you so often, especially since he respected your father so much. But you were right there.

He sat himself in the old recliner chair near the door, peaking out the window every so often. He would always find himself training his eyes back on you, watching your chest rise and fall slowly.

It takes everything in him not to curl up next to you.

The second day starts off a bit rough.

When you wake up in the early morning hours, you take notice of a sleeping Joel in the corner of the room. You spring up, loudly rattling the bed frame. It sends Joel jumping out of his skin, his eyes flying open to look at you.

You are panting like you just ran a mile.

“Jesus Christ, girl,” He barks, his tone tired but also vicious, “Thought someone had you at gunpoint.”

“You were sleeping!”

“Shit, yeah I was, wasn’t I?” His tone is more relaxed, sort of annoyed. He rubs his eyes, glancing outside. Your horses were still there and it doesn’t seem like you guys have been ransacked.

You clench your fists, “You’re lucky we didn’t get shot in our sleep or something.”

He rolls his eyes, slowly rising from the chair he took over, “That’s a little dramatic, sweetheart. We are fine.”

After that comment, you did not want to talk to Joel Miller.

You also start to question if you can trust him. He should’ve woken you up to take charge of the watch, but instead, he ignorantly fell asleep and risked your life.

When you pack up to leave, he realizes how rattled you are. He wants to apologize, but he’s too stubborn to do so. You were being dramatic. But he shouldn’t have said that. He should’ve kept that comment to himself. He was never really good at holding his tongue, always saying the first thing on his mind.

When the sun sets on the second day, Joel promises you two should be in Salt Lake the next afternoon. The whole day pretty much consisted of you two bickering about state capitals. He swears the capital of Pennsylvania is Philadelphia.

“It’s not, it’s Harrisburg,” You would say.

You also talked about times before the Infection. He mentions his daughter, Sarah, telling you about how she used to play soccer and she loved going to the Texas State Fair. It makes your heart happy to hear him light up about her, but it makes you want to cry hearing a father talk about his dead child. You can’t imagine that type of pain, and you hope you never do. He doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly baring his soul to you, but he starts to feel like his walls are falling away and he’s comfortable around you.

He tells you about how he plays the guitar, which you lock onto quickly.

“You’ll have to show me how good you are,” You smile, imagining Joel Miller strumming along to some folksy song you request. He can only imagine what type of music you would want to hear from him.

“When we get home,” He mutters, “I'll give you a performance.”

“I cannot wait.”

The conversation with you was easy. You could get anything out of him, pretty much. You were a lot like your father, but softer. He enjoyed your company a bit more. Your laugh was infectious and you were a lot easier on the eyes, of course. When you two stop for a break, he watches as you look for four-leaf clovers on the forest floor. When you find one, you pick it up and bring it over to his hunched-down frame.

“My mom used to say they were for love and luck,” You explain, “Think you need it for both.”

He knew you were joking by the way you giggle and return to your spot on the ground. He just shakes his head and sticks the clover in his jacket pocket.

He was dreading being back in Salt Lake. He doesn’t want to relive that day when Ellie was practically ripped from him. It sent him spiraling just thinking about all the outcomes that could’ve transpired that day.

He contemplates telling you for a few brief seconds.

He wouldn’t have much to lose, especially now that everything is said and done. But then fear takes over and he wonders, would you judge him for it?

He imagines how you would react. How your nose would probably scrunch up, how your disposition towards him would soon contort into horror. You would probably call him a monster. You would probably never look at him the same way, with that beautiful smile and attentive gaze.

“You okay, Joel?”

You two were positioned on the edge of some woods off a dirt road. Joel didn’t want to attract anyone with fire, so you two decided you would just camp on the ground near the highway you would end up following to get into the city.

“‘M all good,” He practically whispers, “Just tired. You mind gettin’ first watch?”

You just silently nod, watching him rise from his spot and move over to the sleeping bags you two had set up when you arrived. You watch as he awkwardly wiggles his large frame into a small sack. It makes you giggle a bit. He positions himself with his back to you, his front facing into the woods. He can’t spend his time staring at you like he would like to, he needs to sleep.

You realize he has a leaf stuck on the back of his head. You couldn’t help yourself, it was going to bother you for as long as you were awake. You stand up and slowly creep up to him.

You squat down and pluck the leaf out of his thick curls. His head snatches back at you, knitting his brows together in confusion.

Secretly deep down, you just wanted to find a reason to touch him.

“Can I help you?”

You give him a shit-eating grin, “Yeah, you just got leaves in your hair. It was going to bother me if I didn’t get it out. You’re very, very welcome.”

He rolls his eyes, “Can I sleep now?”

“Don’t know, I’m already getting bored without you glaring at me.”

You were now on a mission to annoy him, he guesses.

Without thinking, he responds with a comment that would stick with you all night.

“Yeah, you like it when I look at you, don’t ya?”

The homestretch was only about another 20 miles. You and Joel had made good time, only taking about three days to get to the hospital. After the subtle flirting with Joel the night before, you got a little more ambitious with your advances.

Before you two took off to get to your destination, you asked Joel if you could change your clothes. You had mud all over your jeans and your shirt was reeking of body odor. The natural deodorants that were handmade in Jackson only did so much.

“Yeah, make it quick,” He orders, pointing to a more private area of the camp, “There’s some bushes over there.”

“I’m not getting dressed in a bush, Joel. Just look away,” You test, already shrugging off your flannel. He notices your bold move, instantly peeling his eyes away from your direction. This can not be happening to him right now.

“What the hell,” He murmurs, his hands propped up on his hips, “You’re doin’ this on purpose.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Doing what on purpose?”

“Testin’ me. Me and my patience.”

You throw your shirt over your head and grab one of your spare ones from your pack, “Well, if it’s a test, you’re passing with flying colors, Miller.”

He glances back at you without even really thinking, spotting you in your bra with a shirt covering your eyes. It’s almost like when you tell a child not to press a button, and it makes them want to do it even more.

He wanted to keep looking.

“Fuck,” He says under his breath, trying to push those types of thoughts out of his mind.

You shimmy off your pants, folding them as soon as you get them off your legs. You needed a shower so bad, you felt so filthy.

“You think we could stop back at the cabin on the way home? I want to bathe.”

Thinking about you naked and taking a bath made his dick hard.

“Yes,” He manages to say, “Hurry up, please!”

You grin at his frustration, “Fine, fine. I’m almost done.”

You and Joel trot along an abandoned highway, cars littering every lane. It was nothing new to you. You have seen plenty of cities in your lifetime. Each time was a bit different, but for the most part, they were all the same. Riddled with infected and bombed to shit.

You think back to when Tommy said Joel had been here before. Your mind starts to wonder, and being that you still had a couple of hours before you got to see the actual hospital, you decide to speak up and ask.

“When was the last time you were here?”

He thinks for a second. He was waiting for these questions.

“Over a year ago.”

You shake your head, “Was there a reason?”

You had no business prying into Joel’s life, but you felt like after spending days with him, there was some kinship. Maybe even a friendship.

“Ellie’s mom was a Firefly. They had a base camp out here,” He explains, but would he go further? Would he spill all the beans?

It’s technically not his story to tell. But then again, Ellie didn’t even have the truth, so it was a story only he knew.

You wait before responding, “Did you find her?”

“Who?”

“Ellie’s mom,” You press, glancing around some cars. You are trying to act like you didn’t care, but you could tell from the moment you entered the outskirts of the city, Joel was plagued with the weight of the atmosphere. His shoulders got heavier, his eyebrows further knitted together. He was tense.

“No, she’s dead. So I brought her home,” He says, half-bending the truth. He’s lying, but not really. Ellie’s mom was dead but that was never the reason they came out here. He just wants to say it, but his chest feels like a weight is pushing down, almost cracking his ribs. He swallowed the guilt.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

You didn’t have much else to say, letting the silence eat away at the prickle of your arm hairs as they stood up. You try to relax, but now that you are in the city, it feels real. You traveled all this way for medication so Jackson would not shun you. It sounded kind of stupid, coming all this way in hopes of a stocked Firefly hospital.

You also traveled all this way with Joel Miller. You managed to speak to him without tripping over every word and poking fun at him. You watched him sleep at night, looking so peaceful in the woods surrounding him. You try to think about the last time you saw him smile. You saw him differently, now. He came all this way to help you and your dad. He is risking a lot, disregarding his duties back home, just so he can be with you and protect you.

You ponder if things will be different when you get home. Maybe he would talk to you more when he came to the Tipsy Bison. Maybe he would wave back at you when you saw him around town.

You secretly hoped being next to him for so long would change your relationship with him.

Joel starts to ride next to you, studying your face as you stare forward.

“What are you thinkin’ bout so hard over there?” He poses, watching your face twist when he speaks up.

You lick your lips, “Thinking about what it’s gonna be like when I get home.”

“What do ya’ mean?”

You halt your horse to look over at him. He does the same.

“We came all this way and I am scared when we get back, you won’t want to talk to me anymore.”

He shakes his head, a slight chuckle escaping his lips, “Kiddo, your dad’s my patrol partner. ‘Course, I’ll still talk to you. You’re always around.”

The nickname makes you cringe. You don’t want to be a kid to him.

“Right, of course.”

When you get to the edge of the city, Joel starts explaining the game plan. How you will get to the hospital, do your sweep as quick as you can, and don’t meander around. He also explains how the exit plan is to drop everything, no matter what, and return to the horses. You see someone? Run.

You want to say you know how to handle yourself, but you resist and just nod in understanding.

To your surprise, you two do not run into any hoards. You turn a corner and spot a couple of infected twitching near an old school, and you two carefully back up and go up another block to avoid them altogether. You two don’t say anything to each other as you spot the hospital in the distance. Joel just points forward, having you trot at his side.

You pull out your gun when you start to hear some clicking nearby. Joel gestures to you to be quiet and continues to the front of the hospital. You two ride your horses to the ambulance drop-off, parking them there. When you jump down, you start to grab your pack so you can fill it with whatever supplies you find. Joel does the same, throwing his leather backpack over his shoulder. You check the magazine of your gun and take off the safety.

“Okay, we stay close to each other,” He explains in a hushed tone, “Grab whatever you think we need.”

You wiggle your head in agreement. He raises his rifle as you two enter the side door. The hospital is quiet besides the wind blowing through some shattered windows. You click on your flashlight that is attached to your backpack, making sure it’s pointed forward. The main corridor leads you down to some triage rooms and nurse's stations. Joel gestures to you to check out some triage rooms. You find some bandages and some tongue presses. You grab the entire box of bandages and stuff them in your bag. When you return to the hall, Joel is stuffing some of his finds in his pack.

“No meds yet,” He grumbles. You two press forward, keeping your steps silent. You find some lab rooms off the main hallway and you two scope out each room carefully, your guns still drawn and at the ready. You find more items; some gloves, masks, and some scissors. You pick them up, stuffing them in your back.

You hear movement from behind you and quickly spin. It’s just Joel, holding a couple of vials of medication. You rush towards him, using your light to see what the vials read.

levofloxacin

amoxicillin

“Jackpot,” You murmur, “Any more?”

He grabs a baggie sitting on a table nearby, “Not that I saw.”

You continue searching, not finding much of anything in the drawers. A lot of the stuff is picked through.

You point to a central staircase, “Wanna go up?”

“Yeah, right behind you.”

Joel was reeling, spotting some areas where blood was splattered across the walls as he walked through the hospital. It was terrifying to put himself back in this exact spot. It felt like a fever dream. Now he had you with him, another person he cared too much about to admit to anybody, let alone himself. He cared about you in a whole different way than he cared about Ellie.

You trail up the stairs, finding some old labs and nurse's stations. All were picked through. You couldn’t help but notice the blood all over the floor in some areas. You try to figure out what could have transpired here, but you don’t even try to beg the question to Joel. With the look on his face, you are afraid to say much of anything.

Something bad happened here and he was a witness to it.

It made you want to hurry up and spare his feelings. Instead of taking careful and methodical steps, you run room to room searching drawers and counters for anything of value. You find some alcohol swabs, safety pins, and some wrist splints. When you get to the last room in the hallway you’re in, you hit the jackpot. It’s a cabinet with some vials.

You start to quietly read them off to Joel who’s standing on the threshold of the room.

“Grab them all,” He says, pulling his pack off his shoulder so you can put some into his, “We can find use for ‘em.”

You also find some sutures and unopened syringes. You wish you could get down on your knees and thank whatever god is up there for blessing you with everything. You don’t believe in that though, so instead you excitingly grab Joel’s arm and shake it.

“Let’s get this all home,” You smile, pressing your fingers harder into his bicep, “Maybe celebrate with something strong from the bar.”

Then you hear it.

Click. Click. Click.

Joel grabs your arm back, shoving you behind him. He slings his pack over his shoulder and you do the same. You never had many issues with killing infected, but you did not know what you were dealing with. It was dark and all too quiet for too long. Joel creeps forward, his gun drawn forward to peek out the door. When you do the same, he tucks you back behind him.

Lining the hallway is about 3 clickers. Your stomach drops as they slowly make their way to the sounds you two made seconds ago. Joel glances back at you, his face very serious and stern.

You can read the look on his face and being that you dealt with these fuckers before, you know that you need to be silent. He looks back down the hall, spotting an exit in a staircase that’s slightly blocked by one of the clickers. He waves you along as he slowly tiptoes down the hallway. You get closer and closer to the first clicker and your gun is trained right at them as you keep your distance. You can tell by the clothing that it was a woman at one time, the infection growing out of every crevice of her body.

She clicks and clicks, but does not attack you. You and Joel continue, not making a sound as you shuffle past the next one. But once you get close to the one closest to the door, something snaps and it’s like they all realize exactly all at once. One squeals and the others follow suit. Joel yells for you to run, but you don’t budge, emptying your gun into the closest one. It crumbles to the ground. With that one down, Joel grips your wrist tightly and flings you towards the door. You two rush out as Joel lights up the hallway with gunfire.

You now know that you’re attracting every infected in a mile radius so time is of the essence. You practically fall down the stairs trying to get to the bottom. Joel does not like how fast you moving, pressing you to run faster. You two sprint down the hallway as two runners come full speed at you from an opposing hallway. You try to shoot but your gun is empty. You scream for Joel to do something and he puts them down expertly. He’s spot on even with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. You find the door you came in from and quickly make your way to Ranger. He seems sort of spooked so you try to gingerly climb up him, grabbing his reigns from the pole you tied him to. Joel is quick to mount his horse. He pulls his horse back, guiding it to head back the way you guys came.

You follow suit, hearing stirring from all around you as your hair whips in the wind. You are not worrying about the noise you two are making now, galloping down the once-busy streets of Salt Lake City.

“Don’t stop til’ I say so!” Joel calls out. You can hardly hear with your heartbeat in your ears and the wind against your ear drum.

You get to the edge of the city after about 20 minutes of dodging left-behind cars and random barriers. You get to the point where the foliage takes over and the infected taper off. You don’t realize it until you start slowing down and your heart gets back to its normal pace, you’re freezing.

You yell out for Joel, who’s still going quite fast. He halts completely, letting you catch up with his step.

“We have to stop, I’m freezing.”

You weren’t wearing all your layers and you knew it would be detrimental if you didn’t stop to wrap up before you two continued your journey. Joel nods, trotting off the main part of the road into some woods.

When you get off your horse, you can feel Joel’s eyes lock onto your vibrating body.

“Jesus, girl,” He dismounts, wrapping his reigns around a nearby branch, “The wind do you that much damage?”

You can’t help but laugh as you rifle through your pack to find your extra layers. You can remember packing two thermals, but with the way you’re shaking, you can’t even grip onto the clothes to move them around to search. You don’t even realize Joel has come to your side, you only notice when he nudges your side with his three fingers. You move out of his way so he can look, but you can’t help but feel the warmth his gentle touch gives you on your hip.

He pulls out a thermal, handing it out to you.

“Just put it over your other long sleeve,” He instructs, digging for another layer for you. You take his advice and throw it over your head. When your head pops through the neck hole, you spot him smirking at you.

“If you don’t warm up soon, I may have to share my body heat so we can get back on the road,” Joel jokes, watching you pull your hair out of the back of your long sleeve. You didn’t hate the sound of that, truthfully.

“Guess I will try my best not to warm up then.”

He shakes his head, grabbing onto your other thermal, “You can’t say stuff like that to me, darling.”

“Why not?”

Joel has slipped up a couple of times already, he wasn’t planning on giving in. But the teasing was fun and light-hearted. He knew in his heart it was not going to turn into anything.

Right?

“Because I don’t think it’s a very good idea for us to talk like that to one another,” He explains, stepping back as you add the other shirt onto your already warming body, “May lead us somewhere we can’t come back from.”

You swallow, “Maybe I’d like that.”

It takes you a day and a half to get back to the cabin. Joel promised that you two could spend a whole day there if need be. You two were physically and mentally exhausted. The horses needed rest too, you could tell Ranger was beat.

When you arrive on the property, Joel makes sure to scope out a radius before you two settle in. Ever since the sly passes you made at him, he’s been more quiet. You can tell he’s deep in thought. Maybe it wasn’t about you, but he had something on his mind.

You use the fire stove to warm up some water from the lake to give yourself a quick “bath”. You just used an old rag and some bar soap to scrub your limbs, trying to get off all the caked-on dirt. Joel stayed outside by the fire, cooking up some squirrels he was able to trap. You stood in your undergarments, lathering your skin, watching him from the window as he poked at the fire.

You felt a bit better once you were clean. The growl in your stomach was dull and kind of painful. You needed to eat, so you got your dirty clothes back on and headed outside to prop yourself up next to Joel.

When you open the cabin door, his head snaps over to you.

“Howdy, cowboy,” You gleam, walking down to the stump next to him. You couldn’t help but flirt now. It was funny to watch him squirm, the glint in his eyes not hard to notice.

“You all clean?”

You nod, giving him a cheeky smile. “Yeah, now you go get yourself all cleaned up.”

He grabs his stick poker, “Don’t got any soap.”

“Use mine.”

Joel stops his motion immediately to train his eyes back on you. “You want me to smell like you?”

“Well, I smell delicious, so why not?”

He scans your body with his eyes, “Cause if we get home and your Dad smells your soap on me, he’ll put it bullet between my eyes.”

You know he’s being dramatic, finding any excuse to opt out of using the soap you just used on your body.

“So, what you’re saying is,” You clear your throat before continuing, “If my dad wasn’t your friend, you’d lather yourself with my soap?”

He contemplates for a moment, “Yeah, and other things.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. Joel can not help but smirk at your reaction. He was playing with fire, literally and figuratively. The tension between you two was so heavy, that you do not think you could even take a deep breath in.

He stands up from his spot next to you. “Why don’t ya eat, sweet thing? I have to clean myself up, I guess.”

Joel can not do this.

You were his friend’s daughter. Sure you were grown, beautiful, strong-willed, and everything he could want and more but he could not take advantage of you. The only way he felt this way right now was because tensions were so high back in Salt Lake. You two have spent a lot of time together, the hormones… what the fuck is he thinking?

You sit by the fire, your stomach doing back flips as you think about Joel in the cabin, by himself, practically half naked.

Why were you doing this to yourself?

Your heart is racing faster than it ever has. No clicker, no stranger, nothing has made you this nervous. Your hand reaches for the door handle, but before you can turn it, Joel rips open the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You stand there, dumbfounded. “I-I don’t know.”

He’s standing over you, his chest rising faster the more you keep your eyes trained on him. He has a green flannel on, the top couple of buttons undone. You lift your hand to touch the skin peeking through, but he stops your movements before you can make contact. You note the scent of wood burning in the cabin and it’s a lot warmer than you left it. Joel must have started the stove again.

“We can’t.”

You shake your head, “No, we can’t, can we?”

You two know better. You know better. You know better.

You are breathing in each other’s spaces. You don’t even want to look him in the eyes. His arm snakes around your midsection, pulling you forward into the cabin. At that moment, you knew that you two didn’t know any better.

It’s almost like you two silently made the decision.

“We can’t tell anyone about this, sweet girl,” He whispers, his hands still firmly on your back. You could not resist this temptation anymore. He was right in front of you, wanting you just as badly as you wanted him.

Your eyes glance up at his dark sultry gaze, “It’s our little secret.”

His hand reaches up, gracing your chin with his touch. When he dips down to meet your height, you finally get bold and extend your hand up and around his neck. Your lips connect and you feel like a million little butterflies explode in your stomach. You had never desired a kiss from anyone as much as you did with Joel.

He’s eager and impatient, though. He’s not as soft as you imagined for a man who hardly spoke. He just wants to feel you everywhere, all at once. His mouth melts into yours, his tongue exploring every inch of yours. He’s moving you around the room, stumbling over furniture and shoes as he backs you into the large wooden bed frame.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” He mumbles into your lips as soon as he lifts you up onto the mattress. It catches you by surprise, mainly because you never expected him to manhandle you in this way. He’s hungry for every inch of you. After all these months of secretly pining for him and him not giving you any positive response, you never anticipated something like this happening. Especially at a time like this.

“Joel,” You whine, pulling him down on top of you as you fall back into the flannel blankets, “I need you everywhere.”

He grins peppering kisses down your neck, “Don’t worry, I will treat you so fuckin’ good. Been wantin’ you for so long.”

It was so filthy and hot. Your dad’s patrol partner, his best friend. Keen to make you feel good? And wanting it for a while? You must be imagining his words because you can’t even comprehend the situation.

But it’s true. Joel’s secretly been watching you when you’re not looking. When you sling drinks on Friday nights, he watches you from a booth in the corner. Tommy’s caught him a couple of times, smacking him and reminding him that you were off limits. When you came to his house with extra pot pie or soup, he would watch you walk away from his house from his living room window.

This taboo yearning kept him up at night. But now, he has you alone and he needs a taste.

He pulls back to look at your face, “Are you sure you want me?”

You can’t help but giggle a bit.

“Joel, I’ve been wanting you for longer than I would like to admit,” You purse your lips as you bring your hand up to trace his collarbone, “Think about you all the time.”

It was the truth. Your mind was taken up but all his little sly comments. The way he would drop anything to help you or your dad. His beautiful brown eyes didn’t help one bit either.

“My god, girl…Gonna have me cumming in my jeans like a teenager.”

He returns to laying kisses all along your body. It started with wet kisses down your neck, only for it to trail right where your shirt begins, right below your collarbones. You push him back for a moment, taking your shirt off over your head. He watched you carefully, ensuring there was no hesitancy with your actions. He wanted to be absolutely positive that this is what you wanted.

As soon as you reach for the clasp of your bra, Joel grabs your arms away.

“Let me,” He mumbles, letting his fingers trace along the seam of the black fabric before using his right hand to undo the back. With him this close to you again, you inhale sharply, catching the scent of your soap.

“See you took up my offer,” You tease, letting your bra fall down your shoulders, “Did you get clean just for this, Miller?”

He catches a glimpse of you under the bra and his mind goes blank. You notice his change in disposition and decide it’s best to discard every other article of clothing completely. You struggle to get your jeans off, so he helps by practically ripping them off your legs. He can’t help but spot the soak undies attached to your jeans. When you are bare under him, he gawks at you for a moment.

“A beautiful woman like you,” He shakes his head, biting his lip. He unbuckles his pants before he stands and shoves them down his legs. While he’s making an effort to get as naked as you, you start unbuttoning his flannel. He watches you take your time, thumbing each button slowly. He tilts your head back up, his eyes leering at you for a moment. “And you want someone like me?”

You know he’s probably in his own head, so you feel the need to prove to him, that yes this is what I want.

You grab onto his neck and pull him back down into a passionate kiss. When you notice him give in, you use all your might to push him sideways and onto his back next to you. You mount his lap immediately, holding him down with your body weight. Your soaked slit trudges over his large hard-on while you dip your head to capture his lips. You feel his hands trail up the sides of your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He finds your boobs, palming them with his warm calloused hands. You were extra sensitive so as soon as his fingers find your nipples, you’re moaning into his mouth.

When your hips jet forward, his tip slides between your pussy lips. The sensation sends him into overdrive, his grip on your waist getting tighter. He’s so fucking big.

“No foreplay, you just wanna grind your pussy right onto my cock?” His question sends shockwaves through your body and you raise your hips up off his crotch. You kneel over him, anticipating to rotate your pelvis back onto him, but he has other ideas.

Because Joel has been thinking about what you taste like for too long. He can’t just fuck you. He lays back, all the while, dragging you up to his chest so your pussy is hovering over his pursed lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

You feel his hot breath huff onto your slick center, “I’m gonna devour this beautiful pussy, first. Need to get you warmed up.”

Without any warning, he wraps his arms around your thighs and pushes your center closer to his outstretched tongue. You gasp when he starts to run his tongue up and down your slit. You can’t help but settle around his face, your knees feeling like they may already give out.

You’ve never sat on someone’s face and watched them eat you out like a starved man. But Joel is precise with his motions, his mouth wrapping around your clit. When he starts to suck, the suction noise makes you whimper and shake. You have only ever cum by your own hand, so when the familiar heat rises in your stomach, you know instantly this is going to be the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Joel is a very easy man to please. He thoroughly enjoys watching women crumble above him, their orgasms surging through their bodies while his tongue is pressed into them. But with you, he wants to drudge it out of you over and over again. You’re so magnetic on top of him, your head thrown back in pleasure. Your hands rest on your shoulders as you grind down on him, your peak teetering the edge. He shimmies his hand in between your thighs and begins to use his fingers in you, just to drive you crazier. He’s fucking up into you with his pointer and middle fingers, managing to latch onto your clit while he does.

When you tumble into bliss, Joel moans into you, egging on your spasms. You lurch forward, dragging your center off his drenched lips. Your legs are limp as you try to crawl up the bed. Joel rolls over, creeping up the bed with you. You lay on your back, propping yourself up onto some of the pillows.

“Do you need a break?” He asks, his hands feeling up your bare, still kind of shaking, thighs. You shake your head “yes” and breathe out loudly. Your body is covered in a light sheen, the sweat pooling around your hairline. Joel lets you take a moment, making sure you are completely ready for him.

When you finally meet his eyes, your stomach fills with butterflies. He’s admiring you from his position, his eyes not finding yours until he’s done checking out your bare chest. You giggle, tugging on his wrists. He takes up your advances, positioning himself above you. He’s caging you in with his tanned strong arms, only allowing you to really move your upper body. You tangle your hands through his messy dark peppered curls, which makes him sigh. He secretly loved it when women felt through his hair.

“Fuck me,” He groans as he reaches down between you, grabbing ahold of his hard member. You watch as he drags it through your heat, gathering all your wetness before teasing your entrance.

“Joel, please.”

He smirks, pushing in just his tip, “Please what, baby girl? You want me to give you all of it?”

You are already overstimulated after your last orgasm and you are a bit nervous to imagine what all of it is. You nod, though, because the stretch is already so delicious.

“Please, Joel, please. I need it,” You whine, knowing how desperate you sound. It’s music to Joel’s ears.

“Shh, baby,” He eases in further, “I told you I’m gonna treat you real good. Gonna treat this pussy, so fuckin’ good.”

When he’s fully sheathed in you, your nails are digging into his shoulders. When he eases back to pull out some to ensure you can take it, you’re a moaning mess. It only eggs him on, feeling how slick you are and how tight you are around him.

“That’s right baby, take all of me,” He says as he lifts himself off you. You have nothing to grip onto now, except the sheets that line the queen-sized bed. Joel wants to watch himself slip out of you and go back into you with ease. You love the friction, but you know you need more.

You don’t know how, but it’s like he reads your mind. He starts to increase his pace, holding onto the back of your thighs as he drills into you. The curvature of his dick hits exactly where no man could ever reach.

“Oh my god, fuck Joel! Fuck!”

Your words only encourage him to go harder and faster.

“Keep screamin’ my name, baby doll.”

The sweat is dripping down his face with how much effort he’s putting into fucking you. You’re floored at how quickly your orgasm builds again, the sounds of him plowing into you alone sends you into overdrive.

As soon as you start to vibrate under him, Joel takes that as a great time to start thumbing at your clit. You feel every one of your nerve endings burning with such rapture, that you can’t even say anything. You’re just howling, no coherent words even coming out. Your vision goes white.

The scene is something out of the old pornos Joel used to watch. You’re writhing under him, the orgasm practically sending you cross-eyed. You reach up to anchor yourself down and the only thing you can find to grab is Joel’s forearm.

“Yes, Joel!”

His hips continue to snap into yours as you squeeze his cock with your gyrating hips. He’s fucking you through it, watching your face contort. Your grip on his arm hurts, but he does not care. It’s unbelievably hot to watch the girl he has adored from afar cumming around him. Over and over.

The scene is enough to have him chasing down his own high. The feeling of your cunt gripping onto him so tight, while his name is chanted from your lips, the cum practically shoots out of him before he has time to grab his shaft and pull out. He does not empty himself in you though, quickly prying himself out of your weeping hole and spilling out the rest onto your stomach.

“Shit.”

You don’t even realize what happened, not caring about really anything except for how wonderful and high you feel. Joel tumbles onto his side, half of his body resting on yours. His mouth is close to your ear so he whispers it to you, his voice shaky.

“I came inside you.”

You lick your lips, trying to regain some saliva in your mouth, “I do not care, Joel.”

He does not prefer that answer, but he accepts it for the time being. You could not feel your face at the moment, you did not have time to worry yourself over Joel cumming inside you. It was not the first time someone did that.

Joel rolls off the bed, his legs feeling wobbly with his first steps. He’s still half hard and stumbling over to the bowl of water he just used to clean off himself. He grabs a clean rag and soaks it in the soapy water. The least he could do was clean up his mess.

You watch him trudge over to you, the cum still pooled on your stomach and a bit in your belly button.

Joel places the warm towel on your lower tummy, wiping up his mess.

“Thanks,” You manage to say, your post-orgasm haze wearing off a bit. Now you’re just cold and exhausted. You shiver as soon as he removes the towel from your buzzing body. He notes it immediately and grabs the blanket that had been kicked to the floor. He lays it over you, making sure your full nude body is covered by the chilly air.

“I need to go take a leak, I’ll be right back.”

You try to stay awake. But as soon as he gets some clothes on and heads outside to relieve himself, you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the rustling woods that surround the cabin.

When you slowly open your eyes, you instantly notice how dry your mouth is. The itchy fabric of the blanket is tickling your bare limbs as you shift. Joel’s not beside you.

You sit up, glancing around the cabin. His stuff is still here, but he is not. You keep the scratchy blanket wrapped around you as you plant your bare feet on the wooden floor. As soon as you take your first step forward towards the front door, it slowly swings open.

Joel stands there, fully clothed, cheeks reddened from the cold outdoors.

“Mornin’,” He says with a sleepy voice, “Got up early to get the horses fed and saddled up.”

All you remember is him going to pee outside last night, right before you fell asleep. “Did you ever come to bed last night?”

“Yeah, only got a couple of hours of sleep. You took up most of the bed.”

You clear your throat, becoming hyper-aware suddenly that you are very naked under the blanket. Joel tries not to notice your natural sensuality when you wake up. Sleepy eyes, swollen lips, slightly tangled hair. Even if last night never happened, he would be completely enamored by you.

“Oh, okay,” You mutter, trying to act natural about the fact that you slept with Joel fucking Miller last night. “We all set then?”

He shuts the front door, cutting off any more cold from slipping in. You watch him slowly start to invade your space. He feels pulled towards you, the gravity overcoming every sense he has. He needs to be close to you, touching you, feeling you.

“Yeah, we are all set.”

Chills run down your spine when his cold hand reaches out and grazes your cheek. You flick your eyelashes towards him, not knowing what to say next. He dips down to your height, kissing your lips carefully. He is nervous you will back away from him, but you don’t. You lean forward into him, the weight of your entire body pressing into him.

He is the first to pull away, but you swear you could be latched onto him forever. His big brown eyes are lasered in on your eager lips, but in the back of his mind, he knows that you two need to get back home soon. He promised Tommy four days, nothing more. And you needed to get home to your Dad. Fuck. Your Dad. His fuckin’ friend.

“We have to get home,” Is all he says.

And then he’s gone. It’s like he blipped out of the room. You blink and the door slams and you are alone again.

You stumble out of the cabin with your backpack on, your eyes adjusting to the sunshine between the falling away leaves. Winter creeps in so quickly in Wyoming, you think to yourself.

Joel is already posted up on his horse, waiting for you to hurry along and join him. You pet Ranger for a moment before you hop up onto his back. He can’t help but realize how perfect you seemed in the sunlight. Your face hasn’t aged with time like his. It makes sense because you’re so much younger than him. You’ve lived a very full and traumatic life, sure, but you still had a lot more energy to live. He couldn’t picture that you’d want to spend the rest of it with an older guy with maybe 20 more years left in him if you’re lucky.

The thoughts start to eat away at him as you two make your way through the forest.

You assume he’s just tired from not getting a lot of sleep, so you just keep your lips sealed until you make it to the main trail back home.

“So, when we get home,” You break the quietness with your open-ended statement. Joel doesn’t know what you’re insinuating, so he just keeps his head forward. “What happens, then?”

He pulls back his horse's reins to position himself looking directly at you.

“What do you mean?”

You look at him suspiciously, “Do we tell people?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Joel thinks.

“Tell them what?”

He has to be messing, right? You think.

But no, he’s deadly serious.

“About us,” You remark as Ranger trots a bit closer to Joel. He shakes his head and your heart sinks. He can’t do this, not after you two slept together.

“There is no us,” He grumbles, unable to look you in the eyes anymore, “We can’t do that. You’re too young.”

If you weren’t on a horse, you would’ve already smacked him. “What the hell, Joel? What if you get in my pants and make me feel special and now we are nothing? Because I’m a little bit younger than you?”

“No, it’s not like that-”

“Well, it seems like it is like that,” You bite the inside of your cheeks, holding back every instinct to burst into tears, “Fuckin’ asshole. I should’ve known better.”

When the walls of Jackson come into your line of sight, you could cry with excitement. Your hands were shaking, not only from the cold but the nerves. You had been silent the entire ride back. Your only desire was to get home to your Dad and ignore Joel Miller for the rest of your life.

You can only hope and pray that your father is on the mend. To keep on track and not let panic take over, you’ve tried to put your mind on other things this whole trip. Most of those things you wish you’d forgotten, already.

The doors open when you two get close. When the crack is big enough to see through, you spot some familiar faces waiting for you. Tommy, Maria, and even your father. He’s standing up straight, wrapped in layers of jackets and blankets. You tap Ranger with your foot, getting him to speed up. When you reach about 30 feet away, you practically fall off him to get your arms around your father.

A sense of relief floods your body. A tidal wave of happiness and solace. He’s okay. He’s alive.

When his scent reaches your nose, it triggers your tear ducts. After years of never having to really worry about him, knowing he can handle himself, you have felt this constant state of uneasiness the last week.

“My baby is back,” He grumbles into your hair, his arms locking around you, “I knew I could trust that Joel.”

You don’t have time to feel guilt over your actions, you’re just so happy he’s upright. You also don’t want to hear his God-forsaken name from your own Dad. When you pull back to inspect his face, you note the tiredness in his eyes. He looks better, but not his normal. You grab each end of the blanket that’s slowly slipping off his shoulders and bundle him tighter.

“Let’s get you back in the warm, how ‘bout it?”

You glance back at Joel who just nods, knowingly. You remember that you still have your backpack on, so before you stroll away, you shimmy out of it. Tommy watches you carefully as you hand it off to Joel.

“Get those meds to the infirmary,” You whisper to no one in particular. Joel studies your face, waiting for you to say something else. You do not. As he grabs your pack, you feel like Maria and Tommy are gawking at you two. Like they know something was left unsaid.

You two move differently around each other. When you shift one direction, Joel follows suit.

Joel feels like every eye in Jackson is on him. Tommy’s being the most piercing, watching him like a hawk as he grabs his horse and guides him towards the stables. While you stroll away with Maria and your father, Joel and Tommy bring the horses and supplies to the stables.

As you walk, you listen to Maria explain your father’s steady recovery. She mentions how Ellie has been keeping a careful eye on him. After she heard you and Joel were going to be gone together, she asked Maria if she could help him somehow. Once your dad got well enough to walk, she got him settled in your house. She’d go over there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, just to help. It makes your heart swell when you hear your dad say how kind and generous she was, just like you.

Joel starts to unpack your bags from your horse first when he gets the horses parked.

“Somethin’ happen out there?” Tommy presses, noticing how odd you and Joel moved in front of him, “With her?”

“No, nothin’,” He lies, placing your bags on a table near Ranger. When he lifted the first duffle bag, he got a whiff of you and it made his stomach sink. “We just had a rough spot in the hospital. Clickers and shit. Nothin’ too crazy-”

“Joel, I know when you’re lyin’ to me,” His eyes are shooting daggers now. Joel was too old to be pestered by his little brother. He groans in annoyance but Tommy does not give up, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothin’, Tommy.”

“Bullshit,” He grumbles, grabbing one of your bags, “Want me to ask her?”

“You won’t get anythin’ out of her. She’s mad at me, okay? She is pissed I won’t…”

He feels humiliated, his stomach twisting into knots. He would never intentionally hurt you. He just put his foot in his mouth when he realized how much your actions would change everything for him. He could not just be someone you slept with. He could not just leave it.

“You won’t what, Joel?”

He bites his lip, not wanting to say it out loud.

“I won’t let her ruin her life for me.”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrow, not completely understanding what he’s droning on about.

“What?”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Joel wasn’t anticipating a shake-down when he got home. You two really didn’t help with those looks splattered across your faces when you rolled into Jackson.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Joel shakes his head, peeling his eyes away from Tommy. Joel knew nothing could get past him, so he is practically surrendering. Tommy knew then.

“You dumbass,” He whispers, getting closer to Joel, “You slept with her when her daddy is your patrol partner? After I told you to stay away?”

Joel clenches his teeth, “I don’t need this right now. I’m gettin’ these meds to the infirmary and then I’m takin’ her stuff to her.”

“Joel-”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, Tommy. I ain’t doin’ this.”

Your Dad has a nice setup, thanks to Ellie. She has transformed the downstairs guest room into a wonderful stay, with tons of pillows and bedside service. When you get inside the house, Ellie is there. She stands in the corner of the living room, timidly, as you guide your dad back to his warm bed. Maria and her wait for you to handle getting him back to his bedroom. Even though his recovery has been a steady incline, he’s very weak and exhausted all the time. It’s his body’s reaction to fighting a rough illness, but he made sure to reassure you that Sidney told him it’ll be a couple of weeks before he’s 100% back to normal.

You get him back in bed, his eyes already drooping to find slumber again. You manage to get his shoes off and help him under his covers. Once his head hits the pillow, you stand by the bed for a minute to ensure he’s actually sleeping. You slip out of the room, and the sudden rush of comfort of being home takes over your senses. To hear the crackling of the fireplace, and the smell of your homemade candles. While you enjoyed every moment spent with Joel, there’s nothing like home.

For a second there, you thought you had that same feeling being next to him in bed. But maybe you were wrong.

You walk out to where Maria and Ellie stand. They are mumbling to each other while you kick off your boots by the door.

“Hey, Ellie,” You catch her attention, her freckled face down turning with concern. You smile, trying to ease her, “Thank you for all you’ve done here. I am glad he had someone like you looking after him.”

She nods, her lips twitching, “It’s no problem at all. I know how much you two mean to Joel and I just wanted to do what I could.”

Hearing his name sinks your heart, “We owe ya one.”

Because you did. No matter what would eventually transpire between you and Joel, you owe him your father’s life. His idea saved him. With how sick he was, Joel’s quick plan was enough to bring him home. Then for Ellie to spend her days looking after him while you two were gone? You were forever indebted to them. Sadly.

“Well, we should leave you to get settled. Let us know if you need anything at all,” Maria gestures to Ellie towards the front door. Their footsteps trail around you, heading to your front door. Before Ellie can reach for the handle, there’s a knock. You nod your head, letting her know it’s okay to open it.

Joel stands there, your bags in his hands.

You honestly just left your belongings for him to deal with. Joel looks down at Ellie, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. She’s not as impressed, initially.

“Hey kiddo,” Joel acknowledges, before spotting Maria, “Mrs. Miller.”

“We were just heading out,” Maria says, pushing the door wider so she and Ellie can slip by his large frame, “Give the girl her things and let her settle back into her life, huh?”

Joel was already annoyed at the narrowed eyes and judgemental jabs. It’s like everyone somehow knew he fucked up.

You two watch Maria and Ellie leave, their breaths forming clouds in the cold sharp air. Jackson’s weather changed overnight, you think, remembering how it was more tolerable before you left.

“Can I come in?” Joel ponders, still holding your backpack and duffle.

It was cold and while you wanted to slam the door on him, you know you can’t. You move away from the threshold, gesturing for him to come in. His footfalls are heavy and drawn out. You shut the door, waving him towards the living room so your voices don’t carry down the hallway to your father’s newly set up bedroom.

He places your bags on the couch before he stretches his shoulders in discomfort. Your stuff was not that heavy, but Joel could not help but try to draw your attention. He glances around your living room, taking in some of the artwork and photos that line the walls. Some are old photos of you and your father, in which you don’t really resemble him at all.

“Back to how things were, huh?” You remark, bitterly. You wanted to attack him with every mean thing plaguing your mind, but you don’t. You were tired from all the travels but you were also tired of the idea of fighting for someone who does not care to fight for you back. You had done that for years with pointless boys.

The whole walk to your house, Joel’s thoughts were moving a million miles a minute. He did not want you to live your life resenting him. He cared for you deeply, but he did not want you to miss out on all the wonders of life. Joel could not give you kids. He could not give you 40 more years of happiness. He would be an elderly man before you could even reach menopause. He does not want you to regret things when you’re old and gray.

“I don’t want that. You know damn well I don’t want that.”

You could scream. But you stay even, not giving in to the temptation to just rip him a new one.

“I don’t know what you want, Joel. One minute you’re kissin’ me and begging to be with me, the next you’re telling me you can’t be with me because I’m too young.”

“Baby-”

“No! Don’t you dare? You had no intention of making this a thing, yet you played into it and got exactly what you wanted. I’m just another notch for you, ain’t I?”

Your hands are clenched, waiting for his delayed response. You are embarrassed and humiliated that you were delusional enough to let Joel toy with every one of your emotions.

“You know that ain’t true, girl. I just don’t want you to live your life regretting that I was a part of it, okay? You want to spend your days with an old man who can’t give you everything you want? ’m not good for you.”

He can’t let you make this mistake.

But you’re not easing up.

“What do you think I want? Kids? A simple life? A picket fence? Joel those are things I wanted when I was living in a world that didn’t have a brain-eating infection that’d turn people into zombies,” You’re huffing and puffing, trying to understand why he thinks he can tell you what you need and want.

“I spent years of my life wishing I could get those things, but I gave up a long ass time ago. I don’t want those things nearly as much as I want you. I fuckin’ want you, okay?”

You realize you’re not being quiet and your Dad could probably hear every word falling from your lips. He can hear you desperately plead with Joel Miller to be with you.

Joel is shocked you’re laying all this out. He can’t believe his ears when you say you want him. A man like him being wanted is quite unbelievable, especially by a woman like you.

You could hear a pin drop with how silent your house is. You fold your arms, trying not to give into the nausea you feel from spilling your soul to him.

“I just…” He fidgets with his hands for a minute before those puppy eyes glance up at you, “I don’t want to ruin your life.”

You step closer to him, your face inches away from him. You train your eyes on his mouth, unsure how to respond to such blasphemy.

“I have spent so many days thinking about what it’d be like to live in a world where the Joel Miller would even glance in my direction. I imagined what it’d be like to kiss him,” You’re whispering now, making sure this revelation is for his ears only, “I imagined what it’d be like to have a man who’d treat me well and look… Exactly like you. I have dreamed of you.”

Joel would have never guessed such a statement fall from your lips.

You breathe out, relieved it’s finally off your chest.

“I just don’t want to leave ya worse than I found ya,” His softness instantly makes you crumble into his arms. He holds you tight, before pulling away to search your face. You teeter forward on your toes, pressing a firm but attentive kiss to his lips.

When you draw back, “I’m not givin’ you up, Joel.”

The tension is shattered when you hear your Dad yell your name from down the hallway. You snap out of your trance of staring at Joel’s beautiful lips and dart toward the voice.

“Yeah?”

You open the door and see him, his eyes wide open and focused on the door.

“Who you talking to out there? Is that Joel?”

Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of every word you just said, scared half to death that your Dad would get out of bed and beat some sense into you. Joel follows you down the dimly lit hallway, but you don’t even hear him, too rattled by your father’s question.

“Yes, it’s me,” Joel speaks up, coming forward to meet your Dad’s confused expression, “How you feelin’, man?”

“I’m feelin’ like I’m hearing some odd things from down the hall. You two fighting?” His voice is breaking a bit.

The silence after he asks the question is deafening. You glance over to Joel whose mouth is slightly ajar, unable to move with an answer. You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you could disappear into the wall nearby.

Joel cannot lie to his friend. He certainly would never do it with you right beside him.

“Yeah, you uh, heard us?” He barely manages.

“Yeah, I sure as hell heard my daughter beggin’ you to take her on, is that true?”

“Dad-“

“My daughter wants to date a man that’s 10 years younger than her own father? Kind of twisted.” He snaps, shoving the blankets off his legs. “But, I am gonna be honest… I expected this.”

You can hardly breathe with the tension in the air.

“Sorry?”

Joel’s tone is dry, and he’s unable to fully form a coherent thought.

Your dad coughs before he starts, “Well, I could tell by the way you looked at her that you had a thing for her, Miller. Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to entertain it.”

“Dad, he’s not dum-“

“And I thought you’d get over this little schoolgirl crush, but I was mistaken, I guess.”

You were used to your Dad’s sarcasm and upfront jabs. You spent a lifetime throwing them back at him, but this time you had nothing to say. You watch as he settles back from obnoxiously tearing off his blankets.

You fiddle with your fingers, trying not to show your internal anxiety-riddled monologue. He thought you’d get over your crush. He always noticed how Joel looked at you. How did he look at you? How did you never notice?

Joel is spiraling, reverting to his original conclusions. He knew this was a horrible idea. He should have never stepped over the line. He’s a horrible man. You don’t deserve someone as awful as him.

He smacks his lips, making you and Joel come back down to Earth and out of your heads.

“Whatever is happenin’ between you two, I probably will never fully understand it. But you are adults, you do whatever makes you happy,” He says with both hands up in surrender, “I am too old to bother with my daughter’s love life. She’s a big girl, I trust her. But Miller, if you hurt her-“

“I’m a dead man.”

Your father laughs which in turn makes you smile crookedly.

“Just one thing,” He points to you, “I don't want to hear or see anythin’-”

You nod, cutting him off immediately, “Deal.”

Joel catches your eye when he smiles in your peripheral vision. You look over at him, a grin plastered to your face.

You can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.

And Joel can’t believe your father somewhat agreed to let it happen. He was sure he would have a gun in his face before he could even mutter a word. But instead, your Dad is receptive to him being with you, which is all you can ask for.

“Well, get along now, I wanna get back to sleep. You two were keepin’ me up,” Your dad grumbles, readjusting his frail frame to get comfortable in bed. You just nod, pointing at the door for Joel to exit. You follow suit, closing the door behind you tightly, making sure it clicks. Joel stands in the darkness of the hallway, waiting. He is in disbelief.

You just take one of his hands and bring it to your lips, softly pressing a kiss into his knuckles.

“Let’s go get cleaned up and take a nap,” You murmur, walking him to the end of the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. He accepts the offer, trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

You were not sure where this was all going to end up. Neither of you did. But you could not wait to carve the way with him, bringing every last one of your daydreams to life.

THE END

or is it? I have started writing snippets to go along with this story- if you want more, here's the link:

No One Fucks With My Baby

#joel miller fic #joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel last of us smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #post outbreak joel #dbf joel #dbf joel miller #gracieheartspedro #fic: who we are

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 8 months

Text

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

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ladythornofrivia · 2 months

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Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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crypticminx · 4 months

Note

hello! could I request Felix and reader leaving together at an Oxford party and their night? THANK YOU<3 could be smut or fluff whatever you prefer

Hello lovely!! Here you go!!! Hope you enjoy xx 🩷

AN: smutttt, Dom!felix, small breeding kink, daddy kink and little bit of flufff <3 P in V, unprotected sex xoxo

Oxford parties.

Drunk people scattered around like zombies, making complete utter fools of themselves on the dance floor as loud hip music blared through the drums of each speaker. Copious amounts of strong liquor was always passed around and one could only hope they didn't get sick from sharing the mouth stained bottles.

Trashy to say the least—but classy in each partygoers pumped heart.

Felix Catton was known for always being in attendance at such parties and stemmed to be the heart throbbing crowd pleaser—that is for all the enraged horny females.

Practically throwing their limp, alcohol filled bodies at him, Felix wasn’t known to be a rejecting heartbreaker, but curiosity always got the best of him, leaving himself to never turn down a good night. Even if that meant following those girls back to their messy dorms.

However, All good things must come to an end, and what—or for a better word, who was finally good for Felix was none other than the most gorgeous girl on campus: Y/N Y/L.

Cuffed, taken, bagged; Felix could proudly admit for once, with a cheery smile, that he was in an amazing relationship.

So when Y/N and Felix started to arrive at every annual party, dashing hand in hand, they received the usual jealous stares from snotty singles and the more pleased ones from their tight knit group of friends.

This night was no different from the same, besides the new arcade fire song that was blasting on repeat. Although parties were a fun festivity to end off a tiresome week of studies, Y/N didn’t find the vibe as enjoyable as previous events.

Standing in the corner holding a red solo cup that was filled with more juice than vodka, Y/N kept to herself for the most part and only encouraged herself to drink by taking a few ditzy shots with Oliver while her beloved Felix was challenged to a silly game of beer pong.

Typical, she thought

Gulping the rest of her drink, Y/N tried her best to look for Felix and while she did so, she gave herself the time to elaborate a good excuse on why they should ditch the party.

The atmosphere was sweaty, humid, and a small stench of some lightweights nasty vomit sprouted it’s aroma from the bathroom. If that wasn’t a good wake up call, what was?

Lost in the haze of people who were doing some new stupid dance trend, Y/N groaned as she felt herself bumping into someone. Nearly spilling her drink, she managed to stop herself before becoming the embarrassment of the night.

She was too full of mental exhaustion—rather more frustrated to even look at up at the soul she collided into.

“Hey,” she knew that voice anywhere and instantly felt relief.

“Jeez fel,” she called him by his proufound nickname she granted him when they first started dating, “I’ve been looking for you like a mad man!”

He chuckled and wrapped a lose arm around her shoulder. Y/N’s eyes fluttered with awe as he did just so and she quickly wondered how in the midst of the grossness around them, Felix could still manage to look so perfect.

Ugh, just a quick glance at her man and she could feel herself growing internally hungry.

Dressed in a loose throw over that appeared to have not a single alcohol stain and his hair—heavens his hair, not one strand of his neat chestnut locks was out of place. He always kept his composure, at least that was one thing different about him and his inseparable sister, Venetia.

“So, ‘m thinking,” he began as he pulled Y/N closer into his chest, the smell of his lovely cologne filling her nose with its radiant clove scent.

“Oh, so you managed to actually use your brain tonight?” Y/N interrupted him, earning a swift tap on her button nose as he goofishly grinned at her.

“Quiet you,” he cooed before leaning closer to her frame, “wanna get out of here?

Her eyes widened in delight as she felt Felix slyly move his needy hands down to the hem of her plaid skirt. A slight clench of his hands that grabbed her bottom made her want to run as fast and far away into privacy with her loving man.

“I thought you’d never ask, love,” grinning like her face had no end, Felix offered his girlfriend his hand as they were about to politely escort themselves out of the way and into the young night.

That was until-

“Oi,” a voice chirped from behind them, causing the couple to swing back as a natural reaction, “and just where do you think you two lovebirds are going?” Oliver entered his way into the picture, something he managed to always do.

“Ollie,” Felix deviously beamed, “I have things to do.”

Felix could be such a smug little asshole.

“More like a special someone to do,” Oliver winked and lifted his cup in Y/N direction, earning an annoyed look of disapproval.

Oliver was just as much as an asshole, but that’s why him and Felix hit it so well.

“Catch you in a bit,” it was more of a statement as opposed to a question, but Oliver knew what the couple was up to.

Oliver knew better than to ever insult Y/N, but the more time Felix included her in things, she developed a strong bond with his pals, but Oliver had slithered his way with getting to know her the most.

He was welcoming, kind and graciously humble, unlike some of the many pricks that marked their way in Oxford, not caring who they belittled or how they did it.

“Whatever you say Mrs. Catton,” she playfully flipped Oliver off as he shook his head with a small chuckle, turning his back away from Y/N and Felix and into the crowd of people.

——————————————————-

“Felix!” Y/N giggled before she fell to the ground, laughing all the way down as she felt long, uncomfortable pieces of grass embrace her body. It was almost a tickling sensation.

“Shhhh,” Felix cupped his hand over her lipstick stained mouth, feeling her warm breath on his palm as it seemed nearly impossible for her to stop herself, “I don’t want to cause a scene my darling.”

With all her might, she moved Felix’s hand away from her face and contently sighed, “oh, but you always do, my love.”

“Feisty now?” He cocked an eyebrow down to where she layed like an angel in the field, waiting for him to avenge her with his sweet love.

“For you, always.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at the thought of getting to put it in his sweet girl, tension rising within him to get the job done right, but to also make it lasting and worthwhile.

There was nothing more he loved than making her release herself in waves of pure ecstasy that came with her angelic moans of delight.

Throwing his shirt off somewhere in a small bush behind him, his graceful fingers took absolutely no time in undoing Y/N’s silk, button down and uncuffing her bra.

He was marveled at the sight before him and without any hesitation, he leaned down and began to mark her smooth skin with aggressive kisses that were filled with passion.

Y/N being half naked and about to do it in a forest; it seemed like something from a cheesy movie.

Doing the deed at a house party was cliche and reminded Felix of his past more than he liked to remember and doing it on one of the various campus balconies was adventurous—but a total letdown once it started to rain over Felix and Y/N.

However, now felt like the right time.

“Love,” Y/N gently spoke in between long kisses from Felix, “are you gonna take off my skirt?”

Y/N startled in place as Felix almost ripped off all of her bottoms, fearing he had broke one her favourite skirts he had purchased for her.

Fully naked, Y/N felt an immediate sensation of heat rush over her body and instantly forgot about all the outdoor surroundings as Felix yanked off his belt and threw away his jeans and boxers into mid air.

It was just her, Felix, and all the nights starry glory that was upon them.

“Fuck,” he moaned as he hands fondled her breasts, hard nipples graced the tips of his palms, “you’re beautiful.”

It might’ve been too dark for Felix to see it, but Y/N still managed to blush every time he complimented her—which was practically every heartfelt second they spent together .

“Fel,” she started to beg, “I need you.”

He eagerly placed himself back on top of her, leaving his hard cock to graze the outside of her already soaked cunt. In any regular situation, he would’ve been thrusting with all his might, but tonight he was feeling different.

“Not until you say my name, darling,” he demanded.

“Please daddy.” Y/N squeaked, panting for him to enter himself inside of her.

“That’s my good girl,” he smirked in delight, pushing himself with ease as his rock solid cock glided into Y/N.

“Mmm,” she tried to fight back a moan, but it was no use. She needed him more than ever.

She felt her legs twitch as they melted into bliss as Felix steadily did what he does best; fucking her.

“Baby,” he groaned as he maneuvered himself to grab her soft hair as he dove into her neck for more kisses, “you always get so damn wet for me.”

Y/N moved closer to his frame as his hands tugged her head to his face, his cock continuing to puncture her in all the right ways.

He violated her mouth as his tongue swirled in fast pace with hers, Y/N having to breakaway from his kiss just to catch her breath.

“Oh Felix—daddy,” she bit her lip, feeling himself plunge harder into her as she mistakenly called him by his name, “I want to cum.”

“Not yet darling, let me feel you more.”

Y/N toes curled as he let out a loud groan of pleasure, looking down at her flushed face, he was so proud to call her his girl.

“Mmm sweetheart,” he panted in between breaths, “aren’t you tired of Oxford.”

Oxford? Why the hell was be going on about school during intercourse?

“N-Not really,” she squeaked in response.

“Well baby,” he lingered his way back to her face, planting sloppy kisses as he felt her nails scratch deep into his lean back, “when can I take you out of here and make you my pretty little wife?

Y/N hummed in response, closing her eyes as they relaxed into bliss, “you plan on knocking me up too, yeah?”

Felix couldn’t tell if she was being serious—what is said during sex is not always reality, but just the mild thought of him getting the chance to plant his seed in his beloved made him turn ravenous.

He would do anything for Y/N, but if he could keep her away from any thirsty Oxford boys and make her his wife and potential mother of his children, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Jesus,” he croaked, already feeling himself starting to lose his pace due to his cock becoming seconds away from releasing into her. “You have no idea, my baby.”

“Daddy—“ Y/N shouted through the bushes of the forest garden, “come with me.”

And like the perfect scene from a porno film, the couple came in unison, wordlessly twinkling at each other with a strong glimmer of love in each one of their eyes.

Y/N let herself be free and rolled her head back, enjoying the climax of her orgasm, feeling more than satisfied with Felix’s overwhelming stimulation of an erotic performance.

She sighed, “I love you.”

Felix, already trying to find her clothes so she wouldn’t freeze in the cool night. “I’m serious, y’know.”

“About marriage or…”

“All of it, my darling,” he gently patted Y/N’s head of messy hair due to their rough embrace.

“But right now?” Y/N sounded hesitant, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t up for it.

“Whenever,” he sat down to her side, passing her ruffled clothing, before leaning to kiss her gracefully on the cheek. “I’d wait an entire lifetime for you, angel.”

Y/N knew the time wasn’t right, they had their whole lives ahead of them, but then again, she could always stop taking her birth control and see what fate would have in store for them.

Though—for now at least, she felt at ease and more than happy to have another memorable shared night with her lover.

#felix catton smut #jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #felix catton fanfic

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moralesispunk · 2 months

Text

john price x wife x simon riley started something like this... (all links to John x reader x Simon here)

warnings: mdni below, Price with a cuckolding and housewife (if you look closely) kink, masterbation, p in v sex

After a mission that had John away for over a month, you wanted nothing more than to have your husband back in your arms. On the day he was meant to return you had started on dinner, had been walking around the house in only your lacy underwear and apron as a surprise for him, had been thinking of everything you wanted him to do to you... and that's when the call came.

One of his team, Simon, didn't have anywhere to go. An issue with the flat he had been renting and no places he could see that were ready to rent on his return home had John offering him your spare room.

"I'm sorry, darling, I know-"

"No, no, it's okay. You're a good man, you know that?" He just huffed down the line so you lowered your voice and added. "We can just see how good I am at keeping quiet for you, sir."

And fuck, if that didn't have Price speeding home all the quicker.

By the time the front door was opening you had pulled on a tshirt and jeans, had still been waiting at the door for your man. Regardless of the company, he hadn't thought twice about pulling you into his arms, letting you pepper his face with kisses as you told him how much you missed him.

That is until a voice cleared in the doorway.

Behind John stood a man who was bigger than any you had seen before, a man who's face was still covered in a mask with a skull on it and his broad shoulders holding a duffle bag that looked empty for holding all his worldly possessions. A scarred hand reached up and pulled the mask off, revealing the light blonde hair, hazel eyes, and some stubble. A handsome, albeit intimidating, man you had met here and there over the years.

Your husband turned you in his arms, holding you by the waist as you smiled up at Simon.

"That's shit about the flat, Simon," you said and he just grunted. "I have dinner on, should be ready in fifteen if you're both hungry?"

"Starvin'." John leaned over your shoulder and kissed your cheek. "Let me get Simon set up in the spare room and I'll be back."

So Price did. He left you with a pat on the ass that had you laughing and Simon's jaw clenching, following Price upstairs and to a neat spare room, waiting there until he was shouted for dinner because he couldn't bare spending more time with you than he has to.

It was sick how much he had leered after his Captain's wife. Fucking sick. How every time he had met you over the years it was an effort not to stare at how beautiful you were, how your laugh was the most perfect thing he had ever heard. how the way you said his name was enough to get him hard.

Price saw the way Simon kept look to you at dinner, the way his eyes flicked down to the black lace that was showing through your t-shirt before clearing his throat and shuffling in his chair. How he would look at you when you were looking at Price and yet look down at his plate when your attention turned to Simon.

And he saw the way you - his perfect, little wife - looked at Simon over the next few weeks, becoming closer and closer with the man until some nights you were sitting by his side on the sofa and your knees touching his thigh.

Simon, fuck Simon couldn't help himself. The first night he heard your breathy moans through the wall, as if you were biting on your lip to keep it down, he was frozen. He held his breath the entire time, only breathing again when he heard your final contented sigh. The second time he found his hand over his boxers, palming himself until he he came without even wrapping his hand around himself. Every time after that he gave up trying to stop himself, hand wrapped around his cock and squeezing his eyes closed as if he could imagine the faces you made when you came.

But Price knew. He heard when Simon had let a moan of your name slip out one time, Price's back against the headboard that bordered your bedroom and the spare room. Your husband had looked at you to see if you had heard but your focus was on him, nails digging into his chest as you rocked your hips.

The next morning, Price paid extra attention to you both. The way Simon's eyes lingered on the hem of your sleep shorts that left little to the imagination. The way your eyes trailed down Simon's body when he reached his hands over his head in a yawn and his t-shirt lifted. The lingering glances and the way you held onto John's hand just that bit tighter as if you were trying to reassure yourself.

He seen it all and he knew he was about to have some fun with it.

#someone scream about this with me #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #john price x you #simon riley x y/n #john price x y/n

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heavenlyvision · 25 days

Text

NSFW THOUGHTS ON THE LIN KUEI TRIO pairing: Bi-Han/reader | Kuai Liang/reader | Tomas Vrbada/reader wc: 1.2k warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus, hickeys, biting, minor dacryphilia, fingering, mentions of minor burns, panty sniffing, panty stealing, minor cum play, afab!reader, no pronouns used !! a/n; okie i wanted to try something a little different and decided to share some smutty thoughts i have on the lin kuei trio, i just think they're neat! i'm also feeling a particular way right now, nobody contact me <3 (kidding) MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

BI-HAN ---------------

⟢ Bi-Han likes fucking you from behind, he loves being able to see all of how you take him, he enjoys the needy way you rut back into him, the desperate grinding and wiggling you do to try and gain more pleasure has an amused smile plastering itself on his face ⟢ he has greedy eyes, he’d eye fuck you as soon as you walked into a room and he’s not any better in the bedroom, always wanting to see everything he can from whatever position he’s got you in ⟢ If he has you facing him while balls deep, he’s making you keep eye contact, he wants to see the fucked out look in your eyes as he takes you how he likes ⟢ depending on the day he’d either fuck you nice and slow, pulling you apart meticulously, wanting to see the whole process of how you go weak for him, loving how you completely melt for him ⟢ OR he’s fucking you hard and fast, jackhammering into you, only goal making you cum and making you cum quick, he’s not in the mood to play, he just wants you cumming as many times as he can get you to ⟢ his hands are always on you, holding onto something, though he likes holding your hips the most, he has good leverage to manhandle you like that ⟢ he’s a bit of a freak with his words and he knows it, at first he was just blunt and observant but when he saw how viscerally you reacted to him, he started doing it purposefully, saying things just to embarrass you and feel how your cunt clamps down tight on him ⟢ “so wet, can you hear that? Filthy thing.” ⟢ he’d fuck you faster just to make the sound of your devastatingly wet pussy louder, wanting to have you crying from how good it feels and from how ashamed it makes you ⟢ he likes when you feel red, raw and exposed, the way you’re so pliable and ruined after he’s finished with you never fails to fill him with a sick kind of pride the he relishes in ⟢ when he’s finished with you, you always walk away marked up, wherever he can reach, his teeth marks and hickeys are left in very visible and not so visible places and he will continue to do this, the joy he gets from seeing you walk around with his mark on you is immense

KUAI LIANG ---------------

⟢ i’ve made this clear before but Kuai Liang is a thigh man!!!!! He LOVES your thighs, he especially loves when you’re on top, he can grip and pull at your thighs while you ride him and that drives him feral, sometimes he worries about finishing too quickly when you’re sat on him, his mind reeling with how soft and warm you are ⟢ he’d swear he’s seen heaven when he’s convinced you to sit on his face the first time, he’d stay there until he died if you let him ⟢ marks are often found on your thighs, he digs his teeth into them, the plushness of your thighs bring out a primal urge in him to mark you up, make you his ⟢ circling back – he loves when you ride him, he’d enjoy the way you control the pace and he’d let you have that control but he’d also thrust up into you every now and again just to throw you off and make your expression stupid ⟢ he loves teasing you, loves making you look dumb for him, his favourite pastime is fucking you until you’re drooling for him, he’d wipe it clean for you and chuckle like he has no idea why you’re reacting like that, like he didn’t just fuck you so insanely well that you can’t even think straight ⟢ Kuai also likes taking you from behind, loving the way your thighs move and ass shakes as he pounds into you, he’d grip you tight, wanting you to stay completely still, he’s fucking you how you need, all you need to do is stay still for him ⟢ his hands would wander over you frequently, always drawing back to your thighs and your cunt at the apex of them, his fingers playing with your pussy over your clothes, he’d tease you immensely before slipping his fingers in and under your panties ⟢ he’d play with you, just wanting to work you up, he loves how desperate you get for him, he loves the unshed tears in your eyes and the way you beg for it when he doesn’t let you cum, his cock is never harder than when he’s making you beg for him ⟢ he’d play it cool but his body temperature would be through the roof and his thoughts would be overwhelmed with thoughts of your tight cunt wrapped around him ⟢ you walk away with light burns on your person almost 90% of the time because of how worked up he gets for you

TOMAS ---------------

⟢ Tomas is an incredibly giving partner, your pleasure is his pleasure, and that’s almost quite literally, he loves giving you head, he’d tongue you over your panties just because he can’t be bothered to take them off and needs his mouth on you now ⟢ he’s 100% sniffing you over your panties too, his nose pressing into you and inhaling deeply, he’s not ashamed over this, not when you’re so warm and so close and smell so good ⟢ he would eventually rip them from you, getting sick of not being able to taste you properly, he’d hold you open too, if he weren’t so pussy drunk maybe he’d feel bad about your embarrassment but when he’s got his tongue inside you, he suddenly doesn’t care ⟢ he’d pocket your underwear, what if you go away or he’s home alone? he’s keeping them so he can use them later, he’d have a shy smile on his face about it but that’s mostly for your sake, he doesn’t feel shame over how much he loves your cunt ⟢ he likes fucking in missionary, he likes to see your face, he likes being able to see how much you’re enjoying it, how much pleasure he’s giving you, the more frequent your moans and the more pinched your brows are, tell him how well he’s doing and that gets him off more than the actual sex ⟢ he loves kissing you during, he has his mouth on you, any part of you really, just wanting to cover you in kisses and tell you how beautiful you look, he praises you so much, so often in bed, he wants to make sure you never forget how good you look when he’s fucking you right ⟢ he enjoys when you praise him too, his dick would twitch and he’d borderline whimper when you tell him how good he’s making you feel, he’d worry about cumming too soon just from you telling him how pretty he is and how well he fucks you ⟢ he has cum prematurely one time but that didn’t mean he was done, there’s no way he’s walking away from sex with you when you’ve not cum ⟢ he’d have finished inside you so suddenly and quickly from everything about you, he’d feel so guilty but he’d make up for it by finger fucking you, making a mess of all his cum that’s leaking from you ⟢ cumming in you just to finger it back inside your tight pussy would become more frequent for him after that, he loves playing with your cunt and he especially loves making you take his cum again

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hyunfilms · 7 months

Text

connected (hhj) | one shot.

—summary: a night alone at the bar leads you to a beautiful man named hyunjin.

—pairing: hwang hyunjin x f. reader

—genre: (18+) strangers to lovers | fluff, smut

—word count: 5.6k

—content/warnings: love at first sight kinda thing? soulmates if you really squint, was kinda inspired reading yung pueblo's poem (his poem isnt available anymore rip), cussing, model/artist hyunjin, oc and hyunjin are completely enamored by each other & hyunjin got googly eyes hehe, he is very sweet and a gentleman though, alcohol consumption, intoxication, kisses/making out, protected sex, praising, oral (f. receiving), fingering, sprinkle of spit play, ass-smacking, breast play, sprinkle of choking, missionary, doggy style 🤓 woof, multiple orgasms (like 2 lol), after care and cuddles, lightly edited so i apologize if i miss anything!!, very self-indulgent and just something i needed to write out 😭

—ON ROTATION: fwm - tone stith / for us - v

Sleepless nights.

It’s another one of those sleepless nights— for him, for her, for many people, for you.

Your business trip to Paris was coming to an end tonight; an early AM flight scheduled in the morning to bring you back to your beautiful, but also mundane life in California. Although grateful for the opportunity to travel here and explore for a week and a half, you were ready to get back to the familiar. The familiar places, the familiar faces, familiar routine. You sigh at the thought, finishing up your cocktail at the bar while scrolling through social media.

“Another one, miss?” The bartender comes to you with a small smile on his face.

“Please. Thank you.” You nod and reciprocate the smile, eyes now glancing around the room as you feel the alcohol slowly running through your veins. The bar was beautifully decorated in dark, elegant decor, lights dimmed throughout the entire room. Luckily for you, your hotel room was only a few floors up— making it incredibly easy for you to enjoy yourself and let loose; something you haven’t been able to do while being bombarded with coworkers and a tight agenda.

Your eyes fall onto the couple just a table or two away. They’re enjoying their drinks, though their eyes say they’re bored and over each other with the way they can’t keep eye contact for longer than 2 seconds. Then, your eyes fall onto the lady in the far corner who is typing furiously away on her phone. Your eyes shift to the gentleman all the way down on the other end of the bar, repeatedly looking down at his watch before bringing the phone to his ear for the umpteenth time; probably waiting on a date that never showed up when they said they would.

“Whiskey on the rocks, please?” Your eyes now fall onto the tall, attractive man that slides into the empty seat next to you— setting his bag onto the surface before letting out a heavy sigh. He’s in a black sweater, slacks and black chelsea boots, and you can’t help but notice how everything sits on his figure so, so perfectly. Hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, a few bangs framing the sides of his face; freshly shaved undercut. His tongue quickly swipes the surface of his pink, plump lips before he thanks the bartender and sips on his drink— you’re sure you’ve never seen anybody so perfectly sculpted.

Was this a cruel joke?

“Your cocktail, miss.” You thank the bartender again before shyly sipping on your second glass of the night, trying to keep to your own space.

“Sorry, hope someone wasn’t sitting here already.” He suddenly says, making you turn towards him. There’s really no one else around but you two; perhaps, another individual a few seats down, and that gentleman at the end still waiting on his date.

“Oh, um. No.” You give him a toothless smile. “You’re good.”

“Cool.” Is all he says before chugging the whiskey in his glass, asking for another round. “It’s been a long night. Wanna take a shot with me?” He turns to you again, licking his lips yet again. “No pressure.” You keep your eyes on him as you think about your next move. He is an attractive man, a harmless one at that.

It’s your last night in Paris, what do you have to lose?

“Sure.” You shrug. “Why not?”

“Nice to know you’re down.” He laughs a bit before calling the bartender and asking for two shots. “What’s your poison?”

“Tequila.” He pokes his bottom lip out before nodding in agreement.

“Two shots of tequila it is, then.”

“Didn’t you just down some whiskey? That’s a little dangerous.” He laughs before turning in his seat to face you.

“Don’t worry about me sweetheart, I’m staying here.” Crazy, you think. Out of all the times to bump into someone who is also staying at this hotel. “What about you?”

“I’m here, too.” You sip on your drink some more.

“Then we’ll enjoy it.” He flashes his pearly whites when he smiles. “Hyunjin.” He holds out his hand.

“Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” He caresses the surface of your hand with his thumb just as the bartender comes back with two shot glasses filled to the brim with tequila. The bartender points to your cocktail with a smirk.

“Need a refill to wash down the tequila, or do you need something else?”

“I should be good. Thanks.” He winks before tending to the others down the line.

“So, Y/N. Where are you from?”

“California. What about you?”

“Seoul.”

“Nice. One of my friends moved there recently.” You quickly think about Lola, hoping she’s doing okay. Mental note to send her a message on Kakao later. “What brings you here?”

“Mm, probably the same reason as you.” Hyunjin smirks.

“Work?” He nods.

“See. Already have something in common.” You chuckle a bit, biting onto your bottom lip. “How long are you here for?”

“I’ve been here for close to two weeks. I’m heading back tomorrow morning.”

“Shame.” He does a slight head tilt. “We probably could have had fun exploring together.” You cock an eyebrow up before letting out a giggle.

“You think I’d be fun to explore with? A stranger?” Hyunjin grabs his shot glass while gently pushing yours over to you.

“I mean, you were down to take a shot with me. Why wouldn’t you be?” He raises his shot glass. “Cheers, Y/N.” You take your shot glass and tap it against his, the both of you taking the shot to the neck. Hyunjin makes a face [that probably mirrors yours right now] before sipping on a soda as chase. You squint your eyes as the burn lingers down your throat, immediately reaching for your cocktail to chase the rest down— which is definitely not the best choice of action here.

But, you’re enjoying the night. The last night.

With a beautiful, beautiful man next to you.

“Atta girl.” He laughs.

“Haven’t done that in awhile.”

“Feels kinda liberating in a sense, hm?” He teases. “Since I’m working with a deadline here, let’s get another round going while you tell me about yourself.”

“Another?”

“Last. Promise.” He winks.

“Hm.” You hum. “What can I tell you?” You ask, even though you mainly mean that question for yourself. What can you tell Hyunjin that is enough, and not too much?

“Why someone like you doesn’t have anyone by your side tonight?” He shrugs. “Or, anything. Everything, really. That works, too.” Hyunjin runs his finger along his bottom lip.

“Someone like me? Are you always this forward?” You tilt your head, already starting to feel the shot and cocktail. You like the way his eyes are glued on you, you like the way he says your name. You like the way he’s being forward, you like the way he looks tonight. You like him, you take interest in him.

He is exciting.

“No, but it’s the deadline.” He reminds you, making you snort.

“Well. It’s because I just don’t have anyone by my side in general.” You answer his question with a chuckle. “Just a 24 year old in tech, visiting their Paris office for another project.” You swirl the stirrer in your cocktail. “What about you? What brings you here?”

“Just a 23 year old dabbling in some art stuff. Some Fashion stuff.” He laughs, red tint coloring the surface of his cheeks just as the bartender brings another round of tequila shots. “Nothing too fancy.”

‘It sounds fancy.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He answers with another one of his cryptic responses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ready for round two?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” You mock him and he laughs, passing your shot glass.

“Cute.” He taps his shot glass against yours, giving you a nod of acknowledgment before you two are repeating the process— knocking the shot back, relieving the burn with some sort of chase, giggling at how quick the alcohol is hitting you both. You are drunk, and you should’ve eaten a bit more before this. Fuck. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“If you couldn’t tell already, I think you’re really, really pretty.”

“Is that so?” He nods cutely, and it makes you laugh.

“Mhm. So I mean it when I say I wanna know all about you.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” He shakes his head.

“Nah.” He smiles, bottom lip in between his teeth as he eyes your features. “So, what is Y/N all about?” He sits back a bit while his gaze lingers on you, your eyes. The tip of your nose. Your lips. Your long, beautiful lashes.

He is paying attention to every word that slips from your lips, watching your hand gestures as you quickly explain your family dynamics and how you’ve grown up in a quiet household— always remaining quiet, shy and kept to yourself even until this day. You tell him about your friends back home, how you love to stay at home and be a homebody, how you occasionally find the energy to haul yourself out for long, but fun nights with your girls. You also [drunkenly] stumble upon the topic of exes, which you don’t normally open up about right away. But you’re a few shots in, and it doesn’t help that Hyunjin is actually showing interest in you.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, and he doesn’t plan to.

“Yeah, we’re not really friends or anything like that anymore.” You blabber on. “He blocked me everywhere. Which, you know—” You hiccup, a bit more drunk than you were 5 minutes ago. “I kinda don’t care because he shouldn’t be asking to look through my phone every time I go out. I fucking left after that. No sir, not me. No thanks.” Hyunjin laughs, endeared by how quick you’ve opened up to him. He appreciates it, and he does enjoy the way you talk about life; even if you may view it as simple, quiet.

“You’re right for having left him.” Hyunjin leans forward a bit. “It’s not fair, especially when you’ve never given him a reason to distrust you. You deserve better than that.”

“You think so?” You chuckle.

“Mhm.”

“Sorry, I totally went off and probably told you a lot more than you should know at this point.” He shakes his head. “What about you, Hyunjin?”

“No, I like hearing you talk. You’re very cute.” He laughs. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Really? I think you are.” You rest your chin on the palm of your hand.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “I just paint. A lot. I do some photoshoots. That’s all.”

“So are you like .. an artist, or something? A model?” He shrugs.

“I’m just Hyunjin.” He smiles. “But, I guess so? You can say that. I don’t have lots of friends, people oddly find me intimidating but I don’t care much to fix that either. I do stick to a few of them, we hang out often. I haven’t dated in awhile either, wasn’t really a priority for me.”

“Why did your last relationship end?” You internally curse yourself for fixing on that one detail out of everything else he’s mentioned. But, he doesn’t seem to mind. Spoiler: he doesn’t.

“Just didn’t click well like we thought we would.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiles.

“Don’t be. I like where I’m at.”

“That’s all that matters, right?”

“Yeah. Especially right now.” You cock a brow up, head tilting to the side again.

“Right now?”

“Mhm, with you. A few shots and drinks down, pondering on life. My kinda evening. Makes me not regret a thing about coming here.”

“You’re funny.”

“And you’re pretty.” He licks his bottom lip and bites onto it. His hand is only a few inches away from yours, pinky dying to reach out and pull your hand into his— wanting to playfully lace his fingers with yours. He’s not sure what it is, but he was drawn to you from the very moment he stepped into the bar. He smiled a bit to himself when he saw you people-watching, keeping to yourself as you sipped your drink and continued to scroll through your phone. You were totally oblivious to him from the beginning, and that was okay. Hyunjin wanted to quietly slip himself into the equation and find more subtle ways to talk to you, get to know you.

And he doesn’t regret a fucking thing.

He might be drunk, but he means it. He hasn’t ever felt this comfortable with a stranger, someone he met not too long ago. And that says a lot for him; it says a lot about you, your character. Meanwhile, you don’t think you’ll ever understand how someone like Hyunjin decided to waltz in and take this seat next to you at the time that he did. You’ll never understand the timing of everything, how the universe works and why it had to be a beautiful man like Hyunjin who found you first. But, you also don’t regret a damn thing, and you’re glad you decided to head to the bar tonight— especially alone.

When you meet Hyunjin’s eyes, it’s obvious that he’s feeling something— but that’s not the problem, no. You’re dying to find out what it means for the both of you tonight, how he plans to show you. Because you know he will, and that’s where the problem lies. What happens after that? When you both go along your merry ways?

“You know.. I think I’m just gonna call it a night soon.” You want to find out, but you don’t know if it’ll be good for you.

“Yeah?” You stand but find yourself stumbling on your own feet, letting out a laugh when you try to grab your things and keep yourself together. “Woah, pretty lady.” Hyunjin laughs with you. “How about I walk you to your room?” You pause. Fuck it.

“Okay, yeah. That’d be nice.”

“Alright, let me just pay for our tab—” He gives the bartender a look and gestures to close out the tab, his card already in his hand.

“What, no! Hyunjin.” You wrestle with your own wallet. “Let me pay for my own drinks.”

“Nah, I got you. On me.” He smiles sweetly. “Please.” You let out a sigh and surrender, letting him pay for the drinks before he stands and slips his card back into his wallet.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. For being good company.” He gives you a toothless smile. “So, where to?”

“10th floor?”

“After you.” He bids the bartender one last farewell before following you out of the bar and out into the hotel lobby. His eyes can’t help but linger down your figure; eyeing that tight, itty bitty off-the-shoulder dress and the way it hugs your curves, black over-the-knee boots hugging your legs nicely.

Ain’t no way you were just planning on sitting at the bar looking that fine.

“Hyunjin?” You call for him as you both stand in front of the elevator doors, and he’s snapped out of his thoughts. “You don’t actually have to walk me. I can make it in one piece.” You giggle.

“Leave you alone while drunk? I don’t think so.” He chuckles.

“Hm.” You hum, eyes fixed on the elevator doors in front of you. Hyunjin stands right behind you— inches away, just close enough to feel the heat radiate from his body. When the elevator dings, Hyunjin gently presses his hand against the small of your back; pushing you forward into the elevator. The touch itself brings tingles down your spine, enough where it has you struggling to keep your composure. You lean against the back railing, while Hyunjin stands next to you— hand resting on the rail as he faces your direction. Your eyes meet his, and you feel yourself get weak in the knees;

So weak that your phone slips out of your hands, making a loud thud against the floor.

“Oops, shit.” You mutter.

“I got it.” Hyunjin laughs, bending down to grab your phone. You can’t help but watch his every move closely, watching as he bends down, large hand grabbing at your phone. He’s way too close to your legs at one point, and your mind wanders to what it would be like if he were in between— “Think that belongs to you, miss.” He teases, standing tall as he hands you your phone. “You sure you’re good?”

“I am.” Except, not. Because the elevator is ten times hotter than it was earlier, and it seems to be taking its sweet ol’ time getting to your floor. The tension is unreal.

“What’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Mmm, I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” You pause as you look at him.

“I mean, has anyone ever told you how attractive you are?” You blurt out, alcohol definitely giving you that liquid courage to say anything and everything that’s currently running through your mind. “You just.. look like that.” He laughs.

“I could say the same for you, pretty. Trust me.” He leans forward towards your ear a bit, his scent lingering and trapping you in. “You wanna know something else?”

“Hm?”

“You make it very hard to not wanna kiss you.” He pulls back a bit to read your expression— almost like he’s giving you leverage to take it and run with it, or leave it. Everything in your court.

So, you choose.

And you choose by gently grabbing at his sweater, planting your lips on his for that first, initial kiss. His lips are soft and pillowy, just like you imagined. You only pull away a few inches, eyes darting from Hyunjin’s eyes, to his lips, back up to his eyes. He chases after your lips within the next minute, hand coming up to cup you by the neck; thumb caressing your cheek. At this point, you’re stuck to Hyunjin— lips seemingly not wanting to part from his. And you’re loving every bit of it so, so much.

You’re loving every bit of it so much that you don’t even care when the elevator takes a stop, doors sliding open for the man who was patiently waiting on the other side. He eyes the both of you before keeping his distance, positioning himself closer to the doors while scrolling through his phone. Hyunjin lets out a soft sigh in between kisses, completely wrapped up in your scent, your touch— you.

You’ve barely met, but right now, it feels like the world is at a stop; like it’s just you and Hyunjin at this moment in time. You’ll never understand it.

“Fuck.” He whispers against your lips before moving near your ear. “You’re driving me crazy.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek before navigating back down to your lips. His other hand comes to your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze before his finger teases the edge of your dress— Hyunjin keeping the kiss alive with your hands still gripping at his sweater. His hand travels around to give your ass a quick squeeze before pressing you flush against him; to be close to him, to feel him.

And god, do you feel him.

He takes this moment to tug on your bottom lip, making you let out a sigh. The man who stepped into the elevator is now a long-gone thought, no longer caring about his presence or the fact that he’s a mere couple of steps away from you two. But finally, the elevator dings again and flashes a bright ‘10’ on the screen. Hyunjin quickly pulls away to check the current floor before slipping his hand into yours and leading the way out of the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the both of you erupt in a fit of giggles while leading the way down the hallway to your room. As you fiddle with your bag and try to fish for your hotel keycard, Hyunjin plants feathery kisses along your neck, down to your shoulder— his fingers still teasing the edge of your dress.

“Finally.” You pout, making Hyunjin laugh before placing another kiss near your jaw. As soon as you step inside the room, you toss your bag aside and wrap your arms around Hyunjin’s neck, legs around his waist. He carries you deeper into the room, setting you down on the edge of the bed to continue kissing you. In between kisses, he works his way with your boots; gently sliding the zipper down before tossing one boot off to the side, then the next.

“This dress.” He gently pushes you down on the bed before peppering kisses along your thighs. “So perfect on you.” He nibbles on your inner thighs, then soothes the surface with his lips. “Can’t believe no one was trying to snatch you up.”

“Maybe it’s just meant to be, hm?” You tease with a playful tone. Hyunjin pauses and looks at you, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips before he comes down and presses another sweet kiss to your lips.

“Maybe I’m just lucky after all.” You feel his hand fiddling with the edge of your dress again, slowly dipping further. “You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can totally—” A kiss. “Just hang out and talk more—” Another kiss.

“Hanging out and talking more—” Kiss. “Sounds good to me.”

“Mhm.” He pulls away and looks at you, really looks at you, before brushing the hair away from your face. “I mean it. I don’t normally do things like this. I just— I don’t know.” He chuckles a bit. “I’ve been drawn to you since I walked into that bar.” It’s your turn to look at him, really look at him, and you do nothing but pull him back to your lips.

“Please keep going.” Is all you manage to say. Because you are also drawn to him, and you’ll never understand it.

But right now, you don’t want to try and understand it. You just want to take this moment for what it is, for everything that it is.

The intensity grows during the heated kiss, and Hyunjin is back to slotting himself in between your thighs, dress now pushed up.

“Can I?” He asks, and you nod— giving him full permission to remove your panties and toss them off to the side; feet propped up on the bed to give Hyunjin the best view. He doesn’t waste any time before he’s running his thumb down your slit, sliding two fingers in just to get a feel for you. He bites onto his bottom lip, reveling in the soft moans you’re letting out. “So wet for me.” He says before licking a stripe upwards, feeling your legs slightly jolt at the sensation. “Gonna take care of you.” He reassures you by running a hand up your thigh and gently squeezing it. He laps at your folds, sucking gently at the sensitive nub before repeating his motions and pumping his digits into you at a set pace.

“My god.” You whimper, hands resting on Hyunjin’s head. A gasp falls from your slips when Hyunjin removes his fingers and spits on your pussy, tongue spreading your wetness all over. You continue to grind against his mouth, picking up the pace when you feel yourself reaching your peak. The way he was taking care of you was heaven sent; incredibly heaven sent that with just another roll or two, Hyunjin manages to push you over the edge. “Oh— yes!” You blurt out as you come undone, your entire body going limp while catching stars.

Hyunjin soothes you through small pecks on your thighs, through gentle squeezes of the hips. He stands and hovers over you, giving you a taste of yourself when he leans in for a kiss— holding the kiss there momentarily. When you part, he watches as you take his hand, tongue circling around the two fingers that were just inside of you. He swears he almost loses himself at that moment, but he manages to keep himself together. Hyunjin moves you up on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable in between the tiny kisses he plants all over your body.

Chest.

Hands, fingers.

Collarbone, neck.

Lips.

He’s stripping you of your dress, just as you help him out of his sweater, his slacks. His eyes widen when he pops off your strapless bra, letting out a shaky breath before taking a nipple into his mouth— tongue working in circular motions and pulling back with a pop. You arch your back slightly and let out a moan, Hyunjin taking this opportunity to move onto the next bud and repeating the motion on it. You tease at the waistband of his boxers before he wrestles himself out of them; dick painfully hard and springing free. He lets out a moan when he feels your hand wrap around his member, pumping him a few times and watching the pre-cum leak from his tip.

“Need you.” He breathily moans. “Need you now, pretty.”

“Here.” You pause, grabbing the single condom from your bag on the nightstand. Hyunjin leans back on his ankles, laughing at the box you’ve handed over.

“So, why do you have this?” He smirks as he rips the condom open and begins to slide it down his length.

“Quit. My bestfriend shoved it in my bag as a ‘just in case.’”

“Tell them I said thank you.” You giggle.

“Shut up.” Hyunjin bites his lip before diving in for another kiss. Even as he breaks the kiss, his lips continue to graze yours as he lines himself up at your entrance— eyes glued to yours as he slips himself in slowly. He watches your eyes roll back and shut close, back arching; a silent moan leaving your lips. He continues to push, and push, until he bottoms out and lets out a shaky breath; giving himself a moment to adjust and keep his composure.

God, you feel good around him.

“Fuuuuck.” He moans. “Feels too good. So perfect.” He begins to slowly pick up the pace, hearing your slickness make those noises beneath him that drive him insane. You grip onto his chiseled biceps, pretty white polished nails digging into the surface of his skin. At this point, Hyunjin has found the perfect rhythm— sinking into you every thrust, feeling every inch, every delicate point that he can touch.

Deeply.

“Hyunjin, god. Please.” You whine and beg continuously, calling his name as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. The only sounds in the room are the sounds of skin against skin, wet kisses being exchanged in between and your names bouncing off of the walls.

“I got you.” Hyunjin feels you squeezing him, and it’s taking everything within him not to burst. He takes a hand to your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze, watching your tits bounce with every thrust he gives.

And he gives it all.

He sits back for a moment when he sees you starting to move your hips and ride against his movements. Another moan slips from his lips when he watches you roll your hips and work him from beneath, hissing when you speed it up.

“Such a good girl.” He says. Your moans become a little sharper, a little louder, Hyunjin now taking his thumb to your clit to relieve some of the tension. You begin to whimper, your nails digging a little deeper, and Hyunjin can feel your walls starting to cave. He continues his work on your clit before he's back to fucking you senselessly into the mattress.

“Right there— Hyunjin—” Your words are broken as you try to chase your high. “Close—”

“That’s it, pretty.” He says, praising you and egging you to tip over the edge. It takes a few more before Hyunjin sees your face contort in pleasure, back arching just as you tremble underneath him. “Shit, that’s it.” He repeats, feeling your walls pulse against him. He feels himself getting close to his own climax, so he quickly pulls out and has you flip over— face down, ass up. He wastes no time slipping himself back in, continuing at the pace he was just at even though you were still trying to recover from your last orgasm. Though a bit sensitive, the pleasure rebuilds quickly, and you’re back to begging Hyunjin to go harder.

Faster.

Which, he gladly does. He gives your ass a good smack, leaving his print while letting out a groan and gripping your hips. He calls your name, praising you for how good you’ve been to him tonight and how lucky he is.

“Y/N, fuck— gonna cum.” He breathes out, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he feels his coil threatening to snap. Sooner or later, a beautiful, melodic moan slips from his lips, his hands digging crescents into your hips as he falls onto you and fills up the condom. “You okay, pretty?” He presses a soft kiss on your back, your right shoulder.

“Mhm.” He removes himself from you, the both of you letting out soft sighs at the feeling. Hyunjin tosses the condom in the trash before racing off to the bathroom.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He says as he grabs for one of your wipes sitting in the bathroom, cleaning you up before himself. You shyly head to the bathroom to finish up and change into something more comfortable— slipping into the covers while Hyunjin throws on his boxers. You’re not really sure what’s next, and to be honest, you’re a little unsure of how to navigate this whole one-night-stand thing.

Because of course you’ll have to. You leave tomorrow. This is the first and last time you’ll see Hyunjin.

It makes you a bit sad, for whatever reason.

“I-I hope you know you aren’t obligated to stay, I know you must wanna go back to your room—” He laughs a bit and turns to you.

“How about I stay until you fall asleep, hm? That sound okay with you?” Yes, yes it does. You want him here, and you want to cherish every last bit of this tender, intimate moment that you’ve shared with someone you connected with hours ago.

“Okay.” He slips himself in, comfortable in his boxer briefs and nothing else. You find this to be the cherry on top; the way Hyunjin pulls you in and allows you to lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat beneath you, the way he lazily throws an arm over you but keeps you close, the way that he just lets you be.

Hyunjin is connected to you. He is drawn to you.

The combination of the alcohol and exhaustion is now pushing you to fall asleep quickly in Hyunjin’s arms. He manages to close his eyes, afraid to move you or wake you— wanting you to get the best sleep possible before your flight tomorrow. You’ll never understand this. But tonight, you won’t try to. Because you’ll take this for what it is, for everything that it is.

You are connected to Hyunjin. You are drawn to him.

Hyunjin wakes up and finds your side of the bed cold, empty. Which tugs a bit on his heart, but he knew this is what it would come to— being it was your last night, and the two of you lived on opposite ends of the world. He honestly didn’t mean to stay last night, but he couldn’t help himself after seeing how peacefully you were sleeping. He’s not sure he understands it well enough, but he still feels drawn to you; even now, as you board your plane and take your seat in business class. He finds a tiny note on the nightstand with your name and number, and he smiles to himself— making sure to keep the note safe.

Hyunjin keeps the note safe for awhile. Safe to the point where he doesn’t do much with it besides look at the number every now and then before tucking it back into his wallet. He can’t find the courage to text you, call you, because he’s not sure what is left of you two after that night. What would he do from Seoul? What would you do from California?

It’s unfortunate, and Hyunjin really hates it. He’s not sure when he’ll use this. And of course, over time, you’ve wondered what you did, or why Hyunjin didn’t make use of your number. Though, part of you understood where he was coming from. So, you eventually learn to let it be.

Maybe there wasn’t a use for it, for all of this.

Maybe it was supposed to be a one-night thing, a memorable, one-night thing. A one-night thing that you keep for the memories, a one-night thing that you keep close to your heart– Hyunjin.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Hyunjin keeps the note safe for a while. Safe to the point where he doesn’t do much with it besides look at the number every now and then before tucking it back into his wallet.

Until months later, Hyunjin finds himself thinking about your note just as he steps onto the concrete floor and takes in the fresh air—

Eyes shifting to the California sunrise ahead of him.

—perm taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @asjkdk

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tallulah477 · 6 months

Text

Won't Let Anyone Take You From Me

Kinktober Day 23: Biting

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, P in V, Biting with the intention of leaving marks or bruises, Angst, Possessive language/behavior, Desperate ‘you can’t die, I won’t allow it’ sex, Dom reader, Slightly submissive Neteyam, Neteyam gets shot but he’s okay, Mentions of blood, Mentions of reader going on a killing spree, Mentions of war, Mentions of death (not main characters - a person directly next to the reader gets killed), Creampie

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Neteyam gets hurt during a raid and you’re having a hard time handling it. You remind him that he’s yours and that nothing, not even death, is allowed to take him from you.

Neteyam won’t look at you. But you can’t take your eyes off him.

He wades through the water, just a little ways away from you, letting it ripple around him and lap at his skin. You watch as he cups some water in his hands and uses it to scrub at the blood and grime still on his upper body. You hear him grunt quietly in pain as the movement stretches the wound on his arm and your heart hurts to hear it, but you still don’t move.

He continues like this for a few more minutes, trying to clean himself of the battle’s reminders. Reminders of the things he’s had to do, the lives he’s had to take to protect his people, the people he’s lost - the memories and fears he keeps that find their way back to him at night as he sleeps.

You know him too well. You can practically hear his thoughts before he even thinks them. And he knows that, so he doesn’t have to say anything - and neither do you.

But your eyes don’t stray from him. They stay firmly on his back, watching as his muscles move underneath his skin. Watching as his tail hangs low underneath the water, and how his braids fall across his shoulders, still neat and held together just like you braided them this morning despite the rough action of battle.

You know he can feel your eyes on him, and he gives up on pretending he doesn’t with a deep sigh.

“Just say what you have to say,” he demands, not even turning around.

The silence stretches on, the only sound coming from the small nearby waterfall as it trickles into the bathing spring. With a heavy breath, you move forward, wading through the water until you're right behind him. Your hand finds a place at the area between his neck and shoulder, gripping it carefully but firmly as you press along his back. Your other hand cups the water and uses it to wash away the dust and dried blood on his back. You try to be gentle, to be considerate at the fact that he’s hurt. That he’s your mate and it’s not his fault. But the anger and frustration that flow through you is hard to ignore, and you find yourself having to stop and calm yourself down multiple times when your cleaning and rinsing turns into scrubbing, as if you could scrub away the harsh reality of your lives from his very skin.

“Y/n,” he tries again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t speak,” You say through gritted teeth. Despite him not looking at you, you know he can hear the way your voice trembles. “Please, Neteyam. Just...just don’t say anything,”

The raids are getting harder and harder to come out of with no casualties.

The RDA is, unfortunately, a formidable enemy and they learn quickly from their mistakes, taking their losses in stride and coming back each time, worse and more of a pain to take out. Like cockroaches, Jake says - whatever that means.

The Omatikaya take losses now, more and more each battle, and there’s barely time to mourn for the dead before the War Party needs to be sent out again in hopes of preventing the Sky Demons from getting more of their supplies and getting stronger.

Just this morning, another train was sent to Bridgehead, filled with enough ammunition and explosives to destroy half of Pandora. The War Party was ready, descending on the train with military precision. Jake Sully is nothing if not a Great War leader and battle strategist.

But the Sky Demons were also ready, metal ikrans guarding the train as it flew through the jungle, and they were quick to attack at the first sight of an Omatikayan warrior dressed in war paint.

Your ikran’s large heart pounded in time with yours as you soared over the battle ground. Her wings hugged close to her body as you dove down, one of the enemy's metal machines in your sights as you notched and pulled an arrow tight. It cut through the air with precision, bursting through the protective glass shield and hitting the human directly in the chest before he could even register you coming at him. The human’s body slumped in his seat, the machine dropping towards the ground without the Sky Demon to fly it, and smashed against the forest floor in an explosion of fire and debris.

You drop more humans than you can count. Each raid only increases the number of lives you’ve taken although you’ll never know for sure what that number is anymore.

But it seems like for every one that you kill, one of your own is plummeting to their death, bodies littered with demon made bullets that shouldn’t even exist on your planet.

The warrior flying next to you was another victim. The bullets fly at top speed, multiple rounds tearing into both him and his ikran in seconds, and they were both gone and with Eywa before they even start to fall. You were quick to avenge them with a sharp war cry and a well aimed arrow.

And then, as if that wasn’t scarring enough to witness, you saw it happen with your own eyes. Neteyam, your Neteyam, getting hit with a bullet and you swear, in that moment, you watched it go directly through his chest.

The sob that rips out of your throat is so uncharacteristic for you that Neteyam freezes. You feel him tense under your hold and you know he doesn’t know what to do when you press your face against his back and completely break down.

In all the years you’ve known each other, you’ve always been his rock. When he was struggling with trying to corral his siblings and taking the blame for their mess ups, you were there to be his ear for his rants. When he felt undeserving of the future Olo’eyktan title, feeling like he would only disappoint his father and the rest of the clan, you were there to knock some sense into him. When he finally confessed his feelings for you, voice shaking and nervous to tell you he wanted to be more than friends but determined to do it anyway, he told you the only thing that gave him the confidence to say the words was you - that you were his safe place and that he would be honored to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

You weren’t the type to let your emotions take a hold of you. You felt them and processed them but it was always with the knowledge that you knew yourself and would always do what was best for you. You always had a plan, always thought logically. You were a fixer.

But you don’t know how to fix this.

Neteyam turns around and cups your cheek with his good hand, mindful to not move his injured arm too much.

“I’m okay,” he says, catching your eyes and gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Do you hear me, y/n? I’m okay,”

He’s staring at you with those gorgeous eyes, eyes that you might have never been able to see again had the bullet actually hit him in the chest instead of his bicep. Just a few more inches to the left and it would have been game over for him, and you both know it.

You reach up and cradle his face with both of your hands, leaning your forehead against his, needing to be closer, needing to breathe his air. Anything to help remind yourself that he’s still here.

“I’m alive,” he whispers. He knows how badly you need to hear him say it. “I’m here. Here with you. Always.”

“You better be,” You whisper back, and press your lips to his.

Your lips move together carefully at first, just a slow glide against each other as you both try to calm the nervous energy still running through your veins. He’s here, you try to remind yourself. Here, alive, and with you right now. His mouth against your own is real, the taste of him on your tongue as you run it along his bottom lip isn’t something your brain can replicate this perfect. The feeling of his hand clutching the back of your neck and keeping you close to him is supposed to be grounding - but it’s not. It's not close enough. And it only serves to make you more desperate.

You press your mouth harder against his, hands leaving his cheeks so your arms can wind around his neck, holding him against you. He grunts appreciatively, hands gripping at your waist and sliding down to cup the curves of your ass. You press your body against his tightly, one of your legs lifting up to curl around his calf. Heat courses through your body the more he touches you, his hardening cock pressing between both of your bodies and you need him inside of you, need him so bad, need to be as close to him as you can possibly be.

He seems to agree, kissing you passionately as he palms at your ass and thighs. He adjusts his grip on you, panting into your mouth as his hands splay on the backs of your thighs. He tries to lift you up and your legs just barely make it around his waist before he’s dropping you back down with a pained grunt.

The sound cuts through your desirous haze and you immediately back up to inspect the damage. The thick bandage wrapped around his arm is still white, no signs of blood seeping through which means he didn’t rip open his stitches.

“I’m fine--”

“Damn it, Teyam!” You hiss angrily, smacking his good shoulder. “Why did you have to go and get hurt?”

He knows you're not saying that just for his wound unintentionally cockblocking you. He’s your mate, your person - neither of you ever want to see the other hurt. He knows how stressed you are, how terrified you were today for him. Which is probably why he chooses that moment to make the world's most unhelpful joke.

“I mean, the most important part of me isn’t hurt?”

You scoff and cross your arms across your chest, looking away from him. Then you immediately look back.

...Okay, maybe it helped a little.

“Get on the bank, Neteyam,”

Neteyam grins at you, goofy and smug, like he knows he’s getting something that he shouldn’t. “Yes, ma’am,”

He steps out onto the shore and settles down there, body mostly out of the water with only the gentle ripples lapping at his legs. He lounges there like a cat, stretched out along the bank, good arm raised above his head showing off his toned and muscled body as if he were trying to tempt you into touching him.

He doesn’t have to work very hard to do it, and you’re on him in a second, straddling his waist and kissing him until you're both breathless. His cock slides between your wet folds and you rock against it, letting the thick mushroom tip of it rub against your clit with each pass. His hands reach up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements. Hands, as in both of them, and you growl against his lips, grabbing the wrist of his injured arm and pressing it into the ground next to you.

“Your arm doesn’t move,” You demand. “Got it?”

Neteyam whines, pupils wide with desire. “Yes. I got it. Y/n, please,”

His cock throbs against you as you lift yourself up, angling your hips so the head nudges against your entrance before lowering yourself onto him roughly. You intended to go slow, but you can’t. Your body and mind are screaming at you to take him, claim him as hard and fast as you can because it’s by the sheer grace of Eywa that he’s even still here right now. The stretch is glorious, the dull pain a perfect reminder that it's him stretching you open. No one else could ever fill you up as good as he can.

He curses as your tight heat envelopes his length, good hand clenching tightly at your hip to keep himself from moving. You’re both too worked up, minds too filled up with intense want and the horrible feeling of desperation. You both aren’t going to last very long.

So you ride him, hard.

Your hand grips under his jaw, tilting his head up and nibbling on his neck as he groans underneath you. Your hips set a rough pace, bouncing in his lap relentlessly and feeling as he tries to match you, hips snapping into you with reckless abandon.

Your lips find the space between his neck and shoulder. You tongue the spot, loving the way his taste explodes on your tastebuds, before biting down, canines bearing down on the skin and leaving twin drops of blood in their wake. If you were going to have to see blood on him, you were going to be the one who put it there.

“F-fuck! Y/n,” he whimpers, but his head falls back to give you more space.

When you're satisfied with your mark, your lips trail over his collarbone and down his chest before your teeth bite down again onto the skin just next to his nipple.

He groans, arching into your teeth, and this time when you let go, leaving behind a bright purple mark, his eyes are dazed and just a bit teary.

And the look makes you so desperate.

“You’re fucking mine,” You growl, lips brushing against his. “All mine. No one else gets to lay a hand on you, sexual or not. Got it?” Your fingers gently graze the bandage covering his bullet wound. “No one else gets to leave marks on you but me.”

Your words send a flash of heat through both of you, making your movements even more frantic. The possessiveness is hot, it always has been - you both have always made it clear that you belong to each other and no one else. But this time it’s also so so so real.

Your desperation at almost seeing him die today is real.

Your horrified screech at seeing him get hit and then his ikran taking a nosedive immediately after was real.

Your loud war cry and the renewed need to kill, maime, absolutely fucking obliterate every single enemy from the RDA who set foot on your planet after you watched him get control and level out his flight was real.

And he’s real. Still right here in front of you, panting and moaning and groaning out your name as you clench around his cock. He’s alive.

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine,” You say again, just to make sure he completely understands. “You’re not allowed to die. Ever. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he grunts, eyes wild. His injured arm shifts as he tries to grip your waist, but you grab it again, holding it against the ground.

“Yes, what, Neteyam?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you!” He says through gritted teeth.

Your head drops again, teeth scraping along his chest and down his ribs, biting mark after possessive mark all over his body. Neteyam leans into the pain, pleasure coursing through him at the thought of your marks and how they’re going to adorn his body for weeks. How they’re going to hurt so good when his cummerbund presses into the bruises, reminding him of you and your love for him. He’ll display your work for all to see and wear your marks proudly.

His good arm reaches out, fingers carding through your wet hair before grabbing a fist full of your braids and pulling you off of your most recent mark on his sternum. His hips continue to snap up into you and your clit drags along his pubic bone with each thrust. Your stomach tightens as he pulls you close, the coil in your belly threatening to snap as he rubs his cheek against yours, spreading his scent on you and marking you as his.

“I fucking love you,” he moans, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “Love you so much.”

The words are what do it for you, and you cum around Neteyam’s cock, hole clenching and spasming around his thick length as you cry out into his neck. You can feel him pulse inside of you a moment before you feel him cum too, burying his face in your hair as he shoots his release inside of you, coating your walls in white.

You collapse against each other, both physically and emotionally exhausted. He’s still inside you as you lay there, cuddling up against each other and trying to catch your breath.

“I love you,” You whisper, nudging your nose gently against his.

Your hand spreads out over his heart, the stabilizing heartbeat grounding you and finally allowing you to feel some peace.

The silence stretches on until you’ve both caught your breath and you’re trying to think of something to say, anything that will make things feel like they can go back to before Neteyam got hurt. Neteyam beats you to it.

“Same goes for you, too, you know,” He says, voice low. “You can’t die either. I can’t live without you. There’d be no point to a life without you in it.”

You want to tell him not to talk like that. That should anything ever happen to you, he should go on and live a happy life surrounded by the people that care about him. But you can’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not when you’re in the same exact position as him.

Because what’s the point of doing anything anymore if you can’t come home to Neteyam’s stupid adorable grin every evening.

You look up at him, amber eyes meeting in the slowly darkening Pandora forest.

“Then we’re both just gonna have to not die then,”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #taliewrites

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444rockstargf · 7 days

Note

poookieee!! as much as i love me some subby spence.. im dying for soft!dom spence ><

maybe a little prof-teacher taboo something if you’re feeling nasty 😩

i love a challenge!

"pick me up after school, you can be my baby." | spencer reid

ridin'. - lana del rey

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden

college student!female!reader x professor!spencer

word count: 1.0k

contents: y/n is a legal adult, teacher/student dynamic, unprotected p in v, public sex, creampie

you had been taking an unsolicited slumber in the middle of your biology class with mr reid.

the last period of the day when all the irrelevant tangents he went on would enter through one ear and come right out the other. so really, it wasn’t your fault that you just couldn’t keep your attention on him, regardless of his meek elegance and gentle composure. you had fallen asleep to his soft tone of voice, confident that he wouldn’t catch you as he rambled on. which was why you were completely baffled as to how he had you bent over his desk as he scolded you, your plaid skirt on the ground, hugging your ankles.

you had to admit, the tension between you two was palpable. with such a small age gap, it was hard to not fall for a teacher who had such a close resemblance to a greek god. as good as he was at keeping up his professional demeanor, you constantly caught him stealing occasional glances at you as you walked away from him or popping up in your physical education class, catching you in your shorts and tank top as a thin layer of sweat shone off your body. it was the way things had always been.

he tsked, one of his ringed hands having a tight grip on your bare hip. “snoozing during my class? i expected much more from you.” your cheek pressed against the cool oakwood of his neat, organized desk. you would’ve cringed at how cliche this scene was if it wasn’t what you had been thirsting for all along. you pouted, squirming as he used his other hand to keep your hands behind your back. “i-i didn’t mean to, mr reid. i swear..!”

as you moved, your hips pushed into his ever so slightly. he grinned a little, pulling his glasses away from his eyes and carefully placing them on top of his hair to hold back a few stray strands of hair. “i bet you say that to all the teachers, my dear…” your knees shook as his voice dropped an octave. you still had your panties on, which were soaking wet from the heat of the atmosphere.

he swallowed audibly hard, his breath growing shakier by the second as the awkward side of his personality began to flicker through. “y-you’re a very beautiful girl, y’know that..?” your cheeks heated up as he slowly began to trail his thumb up and down your clothed slit, a throbbing sensation growing in his concealed, starched uniform pants.

you whimpered quietly, your hot breath condensing onto the polished wood. he brought his lips to your ear, whispering in a tone that rang through your mind. “i ought to teach you a lesson for being such a bad girl in my class today…” he slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a square-shaped, golden package. a condom. you didn’t think guys like him would carry them around on the fly.

he moved his hand to the button and zipper of his pants, undoing them both swiftly. he tore open the condom pack with his teeth, baring pearly white canines. a white droplet began to seep through the thin fabric of his briefs, revealing his arousal. his thumbs kept a good rhythm on your soaking cunt, starting to slip underneath your panties as he whipped out his cock and rolled the condom onto himself with a deep groan.

your body trembled as the wait became agonizing. you felt so open, so exposed to him. his hands groped and caressed the most intimate parts of you as he lined himself up with your pulsing hole. you desperately moved your hips back, making him chuckle. “someone’s eager, huh?” he gripped his cock with a shaky hand, talking to you as he began to push himself into you. “well i could never deprive my favourite student of something she wants so badly…”

your hands ball into fists as he entered you, inch by inch as he stretched you out until you were full to the brim. you yelped, making him shove two fingers into your mouth to shut you up. your jaw closed around him, drool cascading onto the desk as he started to fuck you. he started slow and steady, his rhythm matching the one of a brand-new metronome.

you moaned and whimpered, your insides struggling to adjust to his size. but surely, he talked you through the overwhelming pleasure. “there you go… just like that..” his voice was low and breathing, your ass bouncing each time he pounded into you. the room filled with lewd noises quickly and you thanked the heavens that the classroom door was locked.

his balls slapped against your puffy clit as he picked up the pace, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your soft flesh. tears filled your eyes as the overstimulation became mind-boggling. a mess of wetness and precum dripped down your inner thighs. you felt his thick girth twitch inside of you, his breathing getting louder with each thrust.

“s-such a good girl… takin’ me so well…” his words were slurred and melted into each other like ice cream. groans and whimpers echoed through the room, crescendoing until they reached a loud climax. your teacher tossed his head back as his balls tightened up and sent hot ropes of cum shooting into your guts.

your cunt swelled as he filled you with his seed, your whole body going heavy as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. you bit your lip, hard enough to draw blood. you gasped as he pulled himself out of you, feeling empty by the lack of him inside you. he flipped you around, awkwardly taking you into his arms and kissing you deeply on the lips, his jaw clenching as he tasted you. the heat between your legs grew to an unbearable state and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him back until he pulled away, cheeks stained with pink.

he cleared his throat, crouching down to help you pick up your skirt. he lifted you off the desk, helping you put it on. he even took the extra step of grabbing you a handkerchief and dabbing away at the sticky mess on your thighs. as he finished, he looked at you and nodded with approval. “you’d better get going. i’ve assigned three chapters that must be read for our class discussion tomorrow.” you groaned, picking up your bookbag and slinging it over your shoulder. he chuckled, kissing you on the cheek and bringing his lips to your ear. “until next time, my dear.”

author's note: stream karma by jojo siwa

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l0ngschl0ngking · 1 year

Text

Apology won’t cut it

Tim Rockford x f!reader

summary: Tim forgot about your anniversary…how can he make things right?

warnings: SMUT (oral -f!receiving, vaginal fingering, somnophilia -with estabilished consent, reader and Tim talked about it before-, unprotected p in v, reader “hangs” onto those shoulder holsters while Tim fucks her, creampie,(1) spitting on pussy, praise kink, biting), talks of infidelity, cursing, mentions of food, mentions of reader being pregnant, fluff -it’s me…so :)

word count: 4.3K (how that happened? - i don’t know either)

A/N: Tim is hot and I have things for detectives/agents with shoulder holsters (*cough, cough* Seeley Booth)

You met Tim a few years back through your friend. Normal Sunday brunch turned into you confiding to her – telling her that you worry that your husband might be cheating. The past few months he was spending more and more time in his office – the fact that you saw his new personal assistant a few months back who was much younger and prettier than you didn't help.

Susan, your friend, tried to soothe your worries but when you started being a babbling and a sobbing mess – you've spend most of your life with your husband and the thought of him cheating on you cut your heart deeper than you thought it would – she sighed and withdrawn something from her purse. A small plain business card layed between her neat fingers.

She passed it to you with a few tissues as well and when you finally wiped all of your tears away, you looked at what was written on it – both of your eyebrows raising in a question.

“It's a private investigator. I hired him when I had a suspicion that Richard might be cheating on me as well. Turned out he was just working extra shifts so he could buy me an engagement ring.” She grinned at the memory and you looked at her finger – the diamond ring he bought her shining in the daylight sun. You offered her a little smile – happy for her. Richard was a nice guy – sweet and genuine and you didn't know how she could think he was cheating on her – he kissed the ground she walked on. “But really, he is great, sweetie. A little pricey but he does his job well. It doesn't hurt that he is easy on the eyes too.” She winked while you bit your lip in contemplation.

A few days pass since your Sunday brunch and you think about calling the number numerous times – then telling yourself that you shouldn't doubt your husband's loyalty. Though when he left this morning without even kissing you on the head as he normally would – not even sparing you a little glance, you were more certain than ever – you were going to find out what was going on once and for all. Even if it should break your heart.

When the other voice on the other line says “hello?” you get nervous. You are really doing this.

“Hello, uhm – I, ugh- I’d received your business card from a friend and would like to hire your services. Are you busy or-?” Smooth. Real smooth.

“No, not really,” he chuckles - the cigar he was smoking dangling from his lips, “would you like to meet at yours or at my office?” His voice was a little gruff but very soothing at the same time. You try to imagine what he looks like – didn't sound like a young man, maybe someone close to your age range – not that you were old or something.

You quickly scribbled the address where he worked as you found it more appropriate that you rather meet him at his office than if he should invade your own home.

When you arrive at the address he gave you, you found yourself in front of a small brick building – the doors are pretty mahogany color but creaky and when you enter it looks bigger than on the outside. Various small offices with different names on glass windowed doors surround you and you look for his business card in your purse – forgetting his name.

Tim Rockford – it says on the card and you squint your eyes when you see doors with the same name on it far back. You stride with confident steps towards it even when you are not feeling that way at all. You knock – one time, two times and the third time a small gruff “come in” can be heard from the other side of the door.

When you step in the first thing that hits you is the cigar smoke and you cough a little – you hate smoking. Then you finally see the man in question. He looks a little older - the bags under his eyes make him seem that. He quickly stands up from his leather chair that creaks and offers you a small smile which you uncertainly return. He is handsome in a ruggish way. His hair is short and has a few silver strands mixed in there as well, and his beard is patchy – that is something very endearing about the fact. His shoulders are broad and you think he should buy a bigger shirt as this one is straining against his frame – not that you mind that much.

He quickly puts out the cigar when he sees your nose wrinkling at the smell – observant as well. Not bad. He reaches his hand out to you and you take it – his grip is strong but not in an unpleasant way and his palms are a little sweaty. He clears his throat and offers you his name which you do the same in return. He sits down and gestures to the older-looking armchair sitting opposite him. It's comfier than it looks.

“So, what brings you here, m’am?” You scrunch your nose for a second – not feeling that old but don't say a thing about it. Right, let's cut right to the chase.

“I-I think my husband might be cheating on me and I'd like for you to find out if that's true.” He doesn't look at you weirdly or anything – as you thought he would. He just nods his head and asks your husband's name which you provide.

“That's all I really need. I will find out all of the other information myself and will call you if I will find some clues. Sounds good to you, m’am?” You nod and give him your phone number – the phone you called him from being the house landline.

A few weeks pass, Tim calls you often or you go to his office – recently you started inviting him to your house as you started feeling more comfortable around him – all of the clues hint that your husband is really cheating on you and he tries to make you feel better about it – cracking jokes here and there and you appreciate it even though it doesn't seem all that professional.

Today he brings a folder with him. The yellow one you often see in some kind of crime film that holds photos of the victim – and when he enters he throws you a sad smile. You know what it means but you try to not think about it. You offer him tea and he hastily accepts – he knows that you already know. In the past few weeks, he got to know you and he noticed that you try to occupy yourself with other things when you are nervous.

He sits on your leather couch – you bought it last week – and he watches you make the tea in your smaller kitchen. When you sit down next to him you put the cups of tea on the glass table. He passes you the folder and when you open it a few tears flow freely from your eyes. You were expecting it. You really were but it still hurts. You feel sick as you throw the folder next to the cups – not really in the mood to look at the pictures of your husband sticking his tongue into someone else's throat. Tim lands his hand on your shoulder – trying to comfort you. That's when you throw yourself at him, hugging him close to you and he doesn't reciprocate the hug for a while – it's not professional at all and he shouldn't but when you sob into his work shirt his heart breaks and pulls you closer to him. Slowly stroking your back and kissing the top of your head gently.

You stay like that for a while – him rocking you while stroking your back and telling you “what an idiot your husband is for treating you so poorly” as you try to compose yourself. And when you do- you pull away a little – looking into his eyes, maping out his face with your eyes. He's handsome – you noticed the first time you've seen him but after each time you've spent together you started appreciating his ruggish handsomeness more and more. You'd never admit it but you've touched yourself at the thought of him a few times – feeling guilty afterward not knowing if your husband was cheating on you. You felt like you were the one cheating after every time you got yourself off at the thought of Tim between your thighs.

“Kiss me.” You whisper as you look at him and he shakes his head – feeling like he would take advantage if he did.

“No, you're in a bad mental state right now and you don't know what you are saying, sweetie.” The nickname of endearment falling from his lips is first and you shake your head in protest – pulling yourself on top of his lap and he doesn't have the strength to stop you as this is something he wanted for a long time too – you were not only a client to him. Not for a long time, anyways. You were smart and funny, and beautiful and he liked you a lot. Even if he really shouldn't feel this way.

“I wanted this for a long time, Tim. Please, just kiss me, will you?” You don't have to tell him thrice, he surges forward to meet your wanting lips and grabs your hips and you start grinding down on him. You moan when you feel him harden under you and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours – it's frantic and passionate and you feel him everywhere at once. His hands are pulling your tank top off and he cups your tits when they come into the view – pulling away from the kiss. He starts kissing your cleavage, his hands trying to quickly unclasps the bra if that piece of clothing offended him and you on the other hand try to unbutton his shirt. Getting impatient you huff and he notices – he always does with everything. He slows the pace down and unbuttons the shirt himself while getting distracted multiple times – you're kissing his neck and he moans when he feels you nip at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

When the shirt is finally off you immediately start paying attention to the newfound flesh – kissing and licking a path across his shoulders that you oh, love some much and dragging your tongue lower – circling his nipple with it. He groans and throws his head back – the vein on his neck popping with the movement and you bite him there, soothing it with your tongue. He grinds against your mound and if you keep going he will for sure cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. He pushes against your shoulders softly and you start to protest but he shuts you up with his mouth once again. It's slower and more sensual – his tongue fighting with yours lazily and unhurriedly. He finally unclasps your bra – his greedy eyes taking you in. Palming them in his hands it's your turn to moan and he grins – his thumbs stroking the sensitive nipples. He brings his head to take one into his mouth and you can't do anything else than writhe on him – your hands are in his hair and you massage his scalp. He groans against your bud while the other hand strokes your other tit and you feel like you've gone to heaven and back. You didn't feel this good since – well actually never.

When he is happy with his work – the bitemarks on your tits will leave nasty bruises for a few days for sure – he slowly puts you on the leather couch. You are sweaty and it sticks to your skin but you don't care – not when Tim is trying to get rid of your shorts. You don't wear anything underneath and you swear you can see his eyes goes entirely black – his pupils blown wide and his breathing quick. He lowers himself onto his tummy and you are confused for a second before you realize what he is doing. You try to protest that he doesn't have to but he just “shhh” you. His mouth is on your inner thighs in no time and his beard causes a delicious burn on them. He is slow with it – trying to enjoy every second of it but you are impatient. You tug on his hair and growl – slapping one side of your inner thigh mumbling a quiet “impatient girl” before he licks into you without a warning.

You cry out – your head thrown back and your back arched, the hands that are in his hair grip him tighter and he moans into your cunt with an unspoken agreement for you to keep doing that. Not many men went down on you – certainly not your husband – but Tim looks like he is enjoying this more than you if it is possible. His nose bumps into your clit with every lick – you feel yourself squeezing around his tongue. One of his hands makes its way to your open mouth and he sticks two fingers into it – coating them in your saliva. Pulling them back out he creates a path with them from your mouth to your neck, then under your neck, on your tits, down your tummy and then pressing two of them against your pussy – exchanging his tongue with his fingers while he sucks your clit into his mouth and it doesn't take long before you are cuming, after all, it has been too long since anyone made it seem like their life goal was to make you cum – the moans and cries of his name echoe throughout the living room with the wet sounds of your pussy squeezing his fingers while he fucks you through the aftershocks of it all.

When he finally stops – you have to push his mouth away from you feeling overstimulated – he just grins against you and sits up – balancing himself on his heels while he cleans his fingers humming at your tangy taste on them. You are exhausted and your lashes flutter against your cheeks but you can hear the clang of his belt and his words echoing in your ears: “ We're not done in the slightest, baby.”

You try to wait for him. You do. But your eyes feel heavy – you already ate the dinner you made for the two of you – Tims's favorite meal – lasagna. You put the rest of it along with the portion into the fridge – scribbling a quick note that if he feels hungry the leftovers are in the fridge. You look at the time: 23:03. And that's when your phone dings.

Hi, baby. Don't wait for me, I am still at the office working on that crazy grandma case . Love you, xoxo

You sigh in defeat. No apology, no nothing. You expected it, to be completely honest. He was so wrapped up in this new case he sometimes forgot what his name was. But you felt that he was married to work and not to you – not that you two were married but you get the drill. You understood it, he worked hard for the position he now has and you too are a workaholic yourself – the money you won at the court after the divorce was put into opening your little bakery. But to forget about your 5-year-old anniversary? That seemed over the top. You don’t bother answering him – putting your phone away you put the dirty dishes in the sink – you will wash them tomorrow morning. Keeping his favorite wine on the table in case he will want it when he comes home, you grab the little envelope.

“Seems like it's just me and you again, little bean.” You smile sadly while you caress your stomach – Tim didn't know yet but you hoped you would tell him tonight. Guess not.

As you make your way into the bedroom you lock the door and turn off all the lights. Brushing your teeth and hoping in the shower for a quick wash you think about if you should have kept the envelope on the table – no, you will tell him tomorrow after you won't be mad at him anymore. After drying yourself you tuck yourself in and put the envelope into the drawer on your bedside table. Sleep consumes you quickly – you've felt exhausted for the past couple of days.

Tim comes home long past after midnight. He's exhausted and he just wants to plop on the bed next to you. He puts the keys onto the kitchen counter and wonders in the kitchen – the kitchen lits up when he puts on the flashlight in his camera – you like to sleep with the bedroom doors open and usually wake up if he turns on the lights. He furrows his brows when he sees the wine on the table – the single rose in a small vase in the center of it. He stalks towards it and sees that it's his favorite. And then he sees the dirty dishes and the small note on the fridge – dread takes over him when he sees the date on the calendar and he lowly curses at himself.

He forgot your fucking anniversary. What a fucking moron he is. He ventures into the bedroom to see if you are already asleep – if not he will apologize profusely even when he knows apology won't cut it this time. When he sees you fast asleep he sighs and slowly creeps into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The weight of what had done – or more so what he didn't – creeps on him and he decides that he will cook you breakfast tomorrow and take you out somewhere nice – maybe even finally do the thing he'd been dreading to do for over a half a year now. When he is finished brushing his teeth he returns to the bedroom to put his guns away. You are sleeping peacefully even when he turns on the light on his bedside table.

You look so pretty in the dim light. Your hair is sprawled on your pillow and it's too warm in here for you to be covered – he can see your legs and the curve of your ass. He licks his lips and he is not so tired anymore. An idea pops into his head – you've talked about it before but never really tried it – maybe it would be one of the many steps of his apology.

He rolls up his sleeves and slowly makes his way onto your side of the bed. You are a pretty light sleeper and he thinks if you will wake up right in the start or if he can indulge a little. He kicks the covers that surround you and touches your ankle – the touch is light and gentle. His fingers slowly make their way up your thigh stopping on your hip and you jerk a little - you turn onto your back the flimsy tank top you changed into riding higher. Tim grins, slowly sinking onto the mattress. He kisses one of your knees and then the other. Slowly making his way up – he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and slowly tugs – seeing that you have nothing underneath. He always loved that about you. He caresses your thighs and kisses the inner side of both of them – trying if you will wake up he pokes his tongue out but you just mumble something so he keeps up his advances. Creating a path to your core he softly inhales and opens your folds with his thumbs as kisses your clit – you jerk a little but he hooks his palms under your hips to keep you still. His nose bumps against your clit with the first swipe of his tongue and he groans at your taste that he knows oh, so well. His tongue lazily licks into you and he is in no rush – enjoying the slow pace he slowly grinds his pants-clad hips against the mattress. It's not enough but he doesn't mind. Sneaking one of his hands away from underneath your hips he pushes one of his fingers in – you are soaked even though he barely touched you and he loves the fact that you are always so ready for him. You mewl softly and start to stir but he stops when your breathing gets even again he pushes two fingers inside of you.

The only sounds that can be heard are his harsh takes of breath and the wet suck of your pussy taking his fingers in – his mouth is now more relentless and so are his hips as he humps the mattress. His fingers curl and he tries to find the spot that makes you make such a pretty noise for him and when your breath hitches he knows he found it. He kisses your clit and starts setting a quicker phase. The tip of his tongue now flicks against your clit quickly. He can feel you start squeezing him and he moans when he feels your hands tug on his hair – the quiet “Tim” from your lips effortlessly. He mumbles a quick “good morning” even though it's not even 3 am yet.

You are right on the edge and when he adds a third finger it's all over for you. Your back arches and you cry out – his plush lips kiss your clit to work you through it and when he finally stops he pushes his cock out of his pants – stroking his dick with the hand that was in you just a few seconds ago. You are still sleepy and try to get a sense of what is happening but before you can think about it Tim is kissing you and notching the weeping head of his cock against your entrance.

“Can I fuck you, baby? Can I fuck you silly?” You nod and he enters you with one quick swift of his hips – you can feel his balls against your ass and he tries to push even deeper. It's too much for your sleep-tired brain and you need to hold onto something – so you grab his shoulder holsters – they are cold and feel smooth against your palms and when you look up at Tim he snarls. “Yeah, hold onto me, baby.” And then he is pounding into you. The head of him pushes against your g-spot and he angles his hips just right. You can feel every ridge and vein of him and you feel him pulse in you – knowing that he won't last long. He grabs one of your ankles and puts it on his shoulder – you always said to him that shoulders like that were made for leg rest. With this new angle, he feels even deeper and you close your eyes – it feels so fucking good, his pubic hair is scraping against your clit and the gentles with hich he kisses your ankle while mumbling how “good of a girl you are for him” makes your heart ache with love for him.

He can feel you starting to squeeze around him and he bends so he can spit onto your pussy – it makes you cry out when you feel the wet press of his fingers on your clit. His are relentless and the sweat rolling off his forehead is making its way down his neck – his vein on it is popped and you'd like to bite it. The slap of his balls is lewd and the way he says your name – ordering you to be “good girl and cum for me” is making your head dizzy. It just two or so more thrusts before you are clamping down on his length and he moans – grabbing him by the neck you kiss him and start sucking on his neck – right under the himge of his jaw– and then he is cuming too – his forehead pressed up against yours. His hips try to push the cum deep inside of you and when he stops he falls next to your side, bringing you closer to him and caressing your spine.

“You think it worked this time?” You are still hazy from the orgasm, listening to his heartbeat slowing down and you just hum in question so he repeats it for you – you don't think about it too much and reach for your nightstand drawer putting the envelope you hid there into his hands.

He opens it reluctantly and when he sees what's in there he can't contain his smiles and the few happy tears that spring out of his eyes.

“You serious? We're going to have a baby?” He laughs with joy and you caress his cheek – kissing the patch on his beard and then soothing it with your thumb

“Serious as I can be, babe. We're going to be parents.” you grin and he kisses you – smiling into the kiss and he thinks about the box in his suit jacket that has a small and elegant diamond ring in it.

He will propose to you tomorrow, take you out on a picnic or something. Yeah, he will do that.

#pedro pascal ff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford smut #tim rockford merge mansion #merge mansion

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eyesxxyou · 10 months

Text

that's what they all say pt.3 (finale)

↳ ❝ [dbf!miguel o'hara x black!reader] ¡! ❞

rating. m

word count. 5k

synopsis. you wish your father would stop making you be near miguel but when you arrive at his house to drop something off, you meet the most important person in his life

you and miguel finally get together

warnings. p in v sex, unprotected sex (stay responsible), creampie, breeding/pregnancy kink, oral (f receiving), Miguel's ready to wife you up, sweet little Gabriella, Miguel being so father, Lyla's here! I also changed it so that Miguel's ex-wife is dead instead of them being divorced because I could. Let me know if I missed anything!

tags: @ihateuguys @chshiresins @futuristicpandakid

part 1 | part 2

It’s been all of a week since the gala and you were right, things with you and Nathan didn’t work out. You had broken up with him the very next night and of course, it didn’t feel good but you thought it better to end it now before he thought things were getting serious. Then the slew of curses came from him ranging broadly from calling you a “fucking bitch” to telling you that “you’re not even that pretty anyway”. All the usual bullshit.

It was no chip off your shoulder all in all.

It has, however, been growing more and more difficult to be around your father. You’ve fucked Miguel twice now and he was absolutely none the wiser. Someone so technically smart but when it comes to everything else he was completely unaware. All the while, he spoke more and more fondly of his friend. “Miguel” this, “Miguel” that, “that man is a genius!”

‘Yeah, so smart I bet his head game is insane”, you think to yourself, hating yourself for it. But you smile all the same at yourself because it’s a joke for you and only you.

Don’t get yourself wrong though, you are on no good terms with Miguel despite the angry sex you two had in the bathroom of the gala. When you left him in the bathroom, you went to sit back down with your father and Nathan just as dinner was being served. Miguel didn’t return until maybe 10 minutes later, a thin sheet of sweat on his neck, his hair haphazardly restyled, and his once neat bowtie a bit uneven. There was no way he could come back to the party the way you left him, still hard and aching.

He ended up jerking himself off, his cock still slick with your essence. Was it shameful? Yes, utterly embarrassing too. His hand gripped the counter so hard, his hand stroking his length fast and hard with his eyes closed, trying to imagine you right there with him. God, your smell was still on his fingers and it was driving him crazy.

You didn’t spare him a single look the rest of the night and it drove him absolutely mad. You knew it too. That’s why you did it.

Anyways, spending your day running errands and doing chores for your father was not how you’d like to be spending a day off from your demanding job but you knew if you weren’t there to take care of him, he’d be wasting away in his own filth because he cares only about his career. You’ve been cleaning up the small amount of clutter he had around when he comes out with a metal box.

"I need you to take this to Miguel for me."

You immediately retract at the idea. "And why can't you do it? I'm already cleaning your house. Why don't you have a robot maid to do this anyway?" You know he's just too caught up in his own thing to do such a thing. You think you might gift him one to save yourself the energy.

"One, because I'm working on something incredibly important right now and I'm wasting precious time just by talking to you right now. Two, why would I do that when I have you?" He cracks a joke that doesn't even begin to bring a smile to your face but he brushes off your downer mood. "Look, Miguel and I are working on DNA splicing and he needs this sample ASAP. It's very important he gets it. I need you to take it because I don't trust anyone else with it."

You look at the box, your lip curling with the beginnings of a "no" but you know better than that. "I don't even know where he lives."

"Already sent you his address."

You try to find another way to avoid him. "Can I just leave it on his doorstep?" And the disappointment is palpable as your father shakes his head. "Nope, needs to be taken directly from your hands into his." His eyes narrow as you sigh. "Why are you so reluctant to go? You've never had a problem with Miguel before. You two are always messing around."

'Oh you wouldn't know the half of it, dad.'

"It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all. I'll take it to him." It would be quick, in and out, you'd barely exchange a word, so much as a glance.

Saying that you'll take it and actually taking it were two entirely different beasts. The first thing you thought standing outside of his house was that his home was distinctly him, overly geometric, sharp edges and corners but with a surprising amount of large windows, all tinted with reflective sheeting making it impossible to see inside. What if he already saw you? What if he was standing there, looking out of one of those windows at you standing at the end of his driveway? The thought terrified you.

You approached the front door and jammed your finger at the doorbell. Oddly enough, there was no chime. To your surprise, a small hologram of a woman appeared in front of you. She wore a large, white, fur coat and pink, heart-shaped glasses. Her smile was broad. “And who are you?”

“Y/N. I’m here to drop something off to Miguel.”

“Ohhh so you’re Y/N!” She suddenly appeared on top of the box, sitting with her legs crossed in front of you. “Oh you have put Miguel through it. I’ve never seen him so stressed over one person. How’d you do it?” You never expected Miguel’s virtual assistant to be so forward.

“I-”

And then the front door swung open and the hologram glitched away. You expected to see Miguel’s towering frame in the door but it’s not there; instead, your eyes catch sight of a little girl maybe 9 or 10 years old looking up at you with big, brown eyes. It’s absolutely unmistakable that she is Miguel’s daughter. She looks just like him. “Who are you?” Her voice is sweet and small, timid even.

You smiled softly and knelt down in front of her, setting the box down beside you. “I’m Y/N, a friend of your dad’s.” You offer out a hand to her and she takes it, shaking firmly. “I’m Gabriella everyone calls me Gabi though.” She came out of her shell so quickly, smiling just like her dad. It warmed your heart.

“Lyla, I told you not to let Gabi open the door.” You could hear Miguel’s voice approaching from around the corner. He was in a black shirt that hugged him in all the right places and gray sweatpants hanging just at his hips. He was rubbing a towelette down his face, wiping off messily done makeup undoubtedly done by the unstable hands of his daughter.

Miguel saw you and paused for a moment. “Y/N?” He began to wipe his face harder. “Gabi, mija. You need to get ready. Your friend will be here soon.” He had a few remnants of glitter in the corners of his eyes that he missed and his lips were still slightly stained cherry red. Gabriella turned to her father. “I already got all my things together, Papa.”

“Do you have all of your soccer stuff together?” He asks and she nods vigorously. “Knee pads?” Again she nods. “Shin guards?” Gabriella wraps her arm around his leg. “Papa, I have everything. You already checked my bag twice.” Miguel sighed and gently patted her head. He looked to you again as you grabbed the handles to the sealed metal box and stood once more.

“I’m just here to drop this off.” You place the box inside beside his door, too uncomfortable to dare yourself to take a step inside. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Hold on.” Miguel was quick to say. He had you here, at his house, for the first time ever. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes are soft, a bit pleading.

You look at Gabriella and think about how you don’t want to start anything in front of his daughter. You hesitate, chew softly on your lip. “Yeah, sure.” You come inside, pick up the box so you can hand it off to him.

You don’t like being so close to him. You hate the way his fingers graze yours has he takes the box from you. “Thanks,” he mutters, setting the box down on his coffee table. He tapped the table and it lit up with a screen. “Lyla, make sure this box remains secure until I pick it up again.” The holographic woman from before showed up like she was laying on top of the table. “Got it, Miguel and Gabi’s friend is pulling up.” She points to the door before disappearing again.

Gabriella grins and runs off to go get her things so she can go and for the first time, you and Miguel are alone again. You don’t look at each other, both trying to find something to say in the moment. All you really wanted to do was leave. You felt like you were intruding on something deeply personal. You’re in his home. His daughter is here. This is his whole life right here.

“Is it always this chaotic here?” Your voice breaks the silence. You feel like it’s too loud. Why are your ears ringing?

A small smile creeps onto Miguel’s lips. “No, not usually. Gabi’s just excited to go to her friend’s house.” His smile faded softly and cleared his throat. He turned his whole body to you, broad shoulders sloping to a small waist. God, you loved his body. “Y/N-”

“Papa, I’m ready!” Gabriella came bouncing downstairs with her duffle bag, ready to run off with her friend. She runs to her father and he catches her, lifting her with an exaggerated groan. “Oh, you’re getting so big, mija. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.” You doubt that much, with how large he was. He could probably pick you up as you were now.

You see how gentle he is with her, how soft his voice is, how he holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Are you still coming to my soccer game tomorrow?” Gabriella asks him, her lips forming into a small pout as her hands grasp at his shirt. Miguel’s eyes softened. “Of course, mi amor. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Your heart warmed as he peppered kisses across her face and she let out a series of squeals and giggles. As much as you told yourself you hated him, he was a wonderful father and it was clear he adored his daughter. What a lovely little girl too.

He set her down and Gabriella looked up at you. “It was nice meeting you!” God, she was adorable. You smiled at her with a small hint of maternal kindness. “It was nice meeting you too, Gabi.”

She runs off out the door and Miguel follows her, seeing her off out the door before closing it. He sighed softly and looked back at you as you gaze around at his house. It’s decorated with a lot of pictures of him and Gabriella but none with a wife or girlfriend. Is that why he and your father are such good friends? Single fathers in their own ways whether it was by divorce or death. You’re too scared to touch anything, not knowing what’s a screen or not or what might activate Lyla.

“I think we need to talk about things.” Miguel begins with hesitation laced up in his voice, not knowing if this would spark an argument between the two of you. You squirm in your own skin. “I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve finally decided where you stand but I know where I do.” You know the truth. The slightest push to sway you and you might come back around. You wanted him badly every single time you saw him. You always wanted his lips on yours, wanted his hands on your waist.

“I made my decision.”

You raise a brow at him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest as if to protect yourself from him. “Oh? And what is that?”

Miguel bites the inside of his cheek, his teeth clawing at the soft flesh. “I want you.” It took very little thought to come to that conclusion after the gala. He looked up at you while you were riding him and only thought that he wanted your face to be the first he sees when he wakes up and when he goes to sleep at night. He likes the way you feel in his hold, how you smell, how, for the first time since his fiance's death giving birth to Gabi, he thinks he could be happy with someone.

You hum like you’re not impressed. You tell yourself that you’re not going to give in so easily, he has to try harder than just that. You keep your back turned to him, not hearing how he approached so quickly and quietly. “Mía Carina, please.” His hand is suddenly on your waist, his fingers dipping into your flesh as he pulls you towards him

“What do you want me to say, Miguel? You want me to just fall into you and tell you I want you too?” You turn to look up at him and find that he’s much closer than you expected. “It’s going to take a lot more than just that.” You can see the way his mind whirls on his face as he thinks of what to do to get you to understand just how much he wants you and everything that comes with you.

You don’t expect him to get down on his knees in front of you, his hands on your hips as he pulls you close and presses his face into your stomach. “You don’t understand, mía carina. I want you. I want you and all the consequences that come along with it. Fuck– let your dad hate me, I don’t care. Please, Y/N. God, you don’t even know.” His voice strains as he looks up at you. He can see that he’s getting to you. The confliction on your face gives you away.

“You told me I was too young.” All you can think about is that first night. The idea of the two of you being together did seem a bit ludicrous but the way things fell apart that night.

“Baby-” Miguel’s hands gripped tighter. “What was I supposed to say? I’m in my 40s now. I have a daughter and you’re just beginning your life. I didn’t want you to be stuck with me and all these responsibilities.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide, Miguel.”

He kisses along the waistline of your pants. The softness of his lips grazing your hips sends a shiver skidding down the length of your spine. “You’re right and I’m sorry, muñeca.” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you.” His hands trace along the slopes of your body, the dips and curves that he so badly wants to commit to memory. “Lemme make it up to you, my pretty girl.”

He wraps your arms around your thighs and stands up, tossing you over his shoulder with ease. You squeal with surprise. “Miguel, what are you doing?” You hit his back but it has little to no effect on him.

“I told you, I’m gonna make it up to you.” He began to carry up upstairs to what you could only assume was his bedroom. You figured there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation at this point and that you might as well enjoy the ride and the amazing view of his ass.

He took you into his room and laid you down rather gently on his neatly made bed. Miguel stood above you with his hips between your legs. You made a motion to sit up but he shook his head with a disapproving click of his tongue. “No, you don’t do a thing. You’ll be a real muñeca now, won’t you?” His fingers play with the button on your jeans before undoing the fixture.

Miguel took his sweet time getting your clothes off, starting with your shoes and socks then continuing with your pants. He kissed your pelvis as he removed your underwear, this time keeping it intact. His kisses are wet, gentle, and teasing as he maintains eye contact all the way through. He leaves marks where his lips meet your skin, littering you with blossoming red marks all across your stomachHe takes your shirt next and finally your bra, leaving you completely bare before him.

Miguel’s large hands come to fondle your breasts, squeezing and manipulating the soft, malleable flesh against his warm palms. He thinks about how nice you’d look with swollen, tender breasts ready to feed his child. God, now he was thinking about impregnating you. Making his family all the bigger.

You’re so soft, every part of you drives him up the wall. He nudged the bulge of his cock against your core, feening to be inside you. “So pretty.” He murmured. “Mi linda muñeca. So beautiful.” Miguel trailed his fingertips along your body, between your breasts, down your diaphragm and naval and smiled at the way your body reacted so violently to his touch. He got on his knees at the end of his bed, placing either of your legs over your shoulders. You tremble as his large, calloused hands gripped and massaged the soft flesh of your thighs.

Miguel began his descent with a few kisses at your knees, slowly trailing his lips across the sensitive, supple flesh of your inner thighs. His breath is hot and each exhale builds an anticipation that begins to grow unbearable.

"Miguel please." You whine, desperate to know all he can do with that tongue of his. His teasing was killing you slowly and softly, the more torturous way to go. And how can he refuse you when you sound so pretty like that for him? He nipped at your thighs a little more, growing closer and closer to your wanting cunt growing wetter for him by the moment.

Finally, he kissed the slickened lips of your pussy. A sloppy, wet kiss with his tongue circling your swollen clit. Miguel spat on your pussy and watched it pool at your entrance. He put his fingers in the mess of it, humming softly as he eased his middle finger into your wanton hole. You whine again, buckling your hips down because his pace is excruciatingly slow.

Miguel placed his hand on your pelvis to keep you still. “Be patient for me. Can you do that for me, mía carina?” He fucks his middle finger into you a couple times before pushing his index finger in with it. His digits were long and thick, pushing and curling and massaging your silky walls in search of that soft spot that could have you crumbling in seconds.

His tongue was on your rosebud again, lips latched and suckling while his tongue flicked against the little bundle of nerves. Miguel kept his eyes on you, watching the way your face contorted. Your brows pinched with concentration and your lips parted to let a few strangled moans escape. Your fingers were in his hair, grasping at his soft curls. “Just like that– God…oh fuck, Miguel!” His fingers were pumping in and out fast and hard. Your heels dug into his back and your toes curled with pleasure.

It was almost pathetic how easily he could coax an orgasm out of you. The right stroke of his fingers and swirl of his tongue and he had you seeing stars and left your ears ringing. The building of a climax in the pit of your stomach bubbled like boiling water. You let your eyes close, squeezed them shut to concentrate on that feeling, help build it into something more and let it come to complete fruition.

“Go ahead and cum for me, muñeca. Can you do that just for me?” The low rumble of his voice against your aching cunt was enough to do just that. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him close. Miguel slips his fingers from your, replacing it with his tongue while his arched nose continues to rub your clit. He liked the taste of you on his tongue, liked bringing you so much pleasure that your muscles spasmed and seized uncontrollably. His fingers massaged your thighs and hips. “Good girl. Mi buena chica.”

Miguel kissed your thighs again, his teeth grazing across your skin as your legs trembled. He was hard now—harder than before at least. His lips were slick with the very thing he hopes no one else in the world will ever get the chance to taste. He stood against, looked down at your little fucked out frame with tenderness. God, he loved you.

“Can you sit up for me, mi alma?” He asks you. You loved how gentle he was being with you and wanted to please him, so you fought against the aftershock of your orgasm and sat up in front of him. Your face was just against his pelvis with the obvious tint in his pants brushing his lips. You grabbed his hips and looked up at him. The valley of his abs and all those muscles.

“You’re such a good daddy, Miguel.” You murmur, kissing the swell while your hands slipped beneath his shirt to caress his muscles. “How sweet you were with Gabriella. I love a man that’s good with children.”

“Oh really?” Miguel bent down at the waist to kiss you, purring softly against your plush lips. “Funny, I was just thinking about how nice and pretty you’d look pregnant and in my bed.” You moaned softly against his lips, your hand stroking the back of his neck. “Miguel.” His large hands were on your breasts again.

“You want to help me make another baby? Make me a daddy again?” His tongue was against yours. “I wanna make you a mommy. WIll you let me do that?” He wanted to cum deep inside you, press his hand against the exterior of your womb and know that his child was growing in there. It might just be a nice little fantasy, hormones running high, but it turned him on. It turned you on too. Birth control in these times meant you couldn’t get pregnant unless you intentionally stopped taking it. No risks involved.

“Yes, please.” You pushed Miguel back so you could stand up. The height difference was much the same but now you were at least at his chest. You looked up at him with wide, pretty eyes and offered him the same human kindness he offered you by removing his clothes. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and helped him take it off before doing the same with his sweatpants and underwear. You realize that for the first time, you two are completely naked in front of each other, bare and vulnerable.

Miguel kissed you again because he simply couldn’t help it. He kissed you because even though it hurt his back to keep bending down like this, he loved kissing you so much that it didn’t matter. He picked you up with ease and walked around the side of the bed to place you further up on it. He climbed up on top of you, caressed the side of your body as he grabbed a pillow.

"How do you want it?" He asked, liking to give you a choice in the matter. You looked at the pillow he was grasping and took it from him. Miguel watched as you lied on your stomach and quickly caught on when you placed the pillow beneath your hips to elevate them. He liked the way you thought.

Miguel mounted the back of your thighs, wrapping his hand around the veiny length of his cock while his other hand pulled your hips up a bit more to expose your tight, wet, little pussy. He tapped the head against your entrance before easing himself in just enough that he no longer needed his hand to guide. He leaned over you, pushing deeper until his hips met your ass flush and everything that made the two of you two separate beings disappeared.

You turned to look back at him from your position and hooked your arm over his shoulder and around his neck to pull him close. His hands were on either side of your body, supporting the both of you. Miguel kissed you and at the same time thrusted his hips sharply into you. “You’ll make such a great mom, mía carina. I’ll put a baby nice and deep in you and we’ll be a happy family.” He rocked his hips, pulling back until just the tip remained positioned against your wonton pussy before sinking back into his own personal heaven.

Miguel wasn’t fucking you. It wasn’t fast or rough or fueled by blatant, blinded lust. His pace was slow and steady, quite nice actually. Each thrust drew a placid moan from your lips or a whimper of Miguel’s name against his tongue. Thai kind of sex was the baby-making kind of sex. You never had it but you knew it all the same, you could feel it. This was the kind of sex that made his daughter.

“You’ll be such a good mom to Gabriella.” He kissed your cheek, tracing his lips across the curve of your jaw. He hoped saying something like that wouldn’t scare you away because he wanted you to be a part of his family. Gabriella never met her mother, grew up without any semblance of a mother figure at all. At first, it was just because he was heartbroken, freshly widowed, and now with a daughter. Then after a couple years when he thought he might finally be able to get back out there, the occasional date here but no one was allowed to meet his daughter. He didn’t want anyone who wasn’t going to be a lasting part of his life make an impression on her, get her mind going. He was afraid her real mother might be replaced, that Gabriella might be mistaken. So he made sure she knew who her mother was, showed her pictures of her, told her stories, etc.

It’s only been in recent years that Miguel has realized that Gabriella still needed a maternal figure in her life. And trying to find someone willing to step up and raise a kid that isn’t theirs is hard to imagine, no less you, a girl in her 20s with no children of her own and a whole life ahead of her. He wasn’t trying to tie you down like that.

You moan softly, loving the way his body pressed against yours. Your skin stuck to his with the thin layer of sweat that seemed to try and bound you two together. You loved how full you elt, his cock plunging in and out at you in firm, timed strokes. The two of you so desperately clung on to each other like someone was trying to pull you two away from each other.

The way you felt with Miguel was electric, like nothing you ever felt before and you thought that this might actually be love. This could be love right here and that terrified you and excited you. Because you were so in love that you were perfectly happy with the idea of being a close part of his personal life, eventually coming to help parent his daughter at your age.

“I’m close, my love.” Miguel was beginning to lose all sense of self. His breathing began to pick up as his hips buckled a bit faster. “Gonna cum in your pretty little pussy, claim it all as mine.” He sat up finally and suddenly you felt a bit cold without his body on yours. His large hands grasped your hips to keep you still and watched as his cock sank deep into you. God, the way your walls stretched to contain him, gripped him like no other.

You knew he was just on the edge when his hips began to slow into spaced, yet harsh thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– God.” He choked as his abdomen tightened and he pressed his narrow hips as hard as he could against your ass, pressing himself as deep as he could inside you.

You moan at the feeling of his hot cum filling you, painting your walls in nice, thick spurts. Miguel lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut as you rock back and forth on his dick, milking him for all he had to offer you. There was so much that it began to leak at the corners, creating a milky white ring right at your entrance.

Miguel left you slowly, not truly wanting to leave the soft warmth of your body. Cum immediately began to surface and dribble down the front of your lips. It was quite the sight, such a beautiful one. He just had to take a moment to admire his work.

“You havin’ fun back there?” You ask after a beat of silence. You turn around beneath Miguel and sit up just enough to kiss his chest before he bends down to meet you halfway. His hands come to find purchase on your jaw, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheekbones. Your smile into the kiss before laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

You stifle your laughter as you pull away from him and lay back down on top of his bedsheets. “My dad is so gonna kill you.” You look up at Miguel as he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He came and laid down beside you, wrapping a arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Let’s not tell him just yet. I have to figure out the best way to explain it.”

You roll over and murmur into his lightly hair-covered chest. “I don’t think there’s any good way to explain this to him. Might as well rip the bandaid off while he’s not expecting it.”

“That might be the right move.”

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