#but no! the specific ones I liked are UNAVAILABLE here!

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #black writers #wwe #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

[greaseonmymouth]

Tea drinkers in the UK:

where do you get your tea that isn’t a supermarket? I’ve been importing my tea because I can’t stand British flavour profiles & black tea but my supplier no longer ships to the UK.

I like:

Roiboos blends with spices and/or fruit

Fruity green/white tea

Current faves include

Roiboos & bilberry

Roiboos & cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, ginger, vanilla

Roiboos & elderberry

Green tea & yuzu & ginger

White tea & blackcurrant

White tea & pear, apple

HELP IM DESPERATE I can only keep drinking twinings green tea & lemon for so long

#I spent so LONG in the biggest Tesco near me yesterday staring at the tea shelves and finding mainly black tea #and some truly atrocious choices from tetley and twinings for their green tea ranges #there was one single box of plain roiboos available #hilarious thing is I used to drink mainly clipper infusions back home and since it’s a British company I thought I could just continue #but no! the specific ones I liked are UNAVAILABLE here! #I KNEW I should’ve picked up a box or two when I was home over the holidays #they have a roiboos one that has cinnamon and liquorice root in it and it’s not even listed on the UK website #urghegrhrhe #please there must be a tea shop in London that overcharges but is capable of putting together something like the above #it can’t possibly cost more than it costs me to import Scandinavian tea

[mrfoox]

God i... I think i prepare to be tired the day after an offical meeting but each time I literally cant get out of bed after and im like damn what

#miranda talking shit #Yeah. Second time now this happened... One hour meeting of talking about my work capabilities and future #That'll leave me drained off all energy and life the day after.... #I can handle an visit to the doctor or such but specifically this makes me so mentally drained its hilarious #Mom is coming over to see me today too and i feel bad for... Having my place messy and just being here dead #Hello mama sorry i have nothing to offer but thanks for coming by #People are worrying about me again and messaging me but im like.... Zzzs #I am sorry i know youre just concerned with me and thats nice but i am mentally unavailable ill call you back tomorrow

[wheresarizona]

but I would die for you in secret

Part 2

summary: The relationship you have with Joel Miller is less complicated now that he’s going to tell Ellie that you’ve been secretly seeing each other for months. You thought their discussion would go well, but when you get home from work to a note on your front door from Joel that reads, ‘Come over, we need to talk,’ it has you immediately thinking the worst—up until he answers his door in nothing but a towel and drags you inside to fuck your brains out for the first time in his bed.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, explicit smut, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), Possessive Joel Miller, Dominant Joel Miller, Joel Miller has a big dick, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating (he tells you to choke on it (in a good way)), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk (so much), spit mention, biting, spanking, whatever the kink is where you’re turned on by good dads, Joel in just a towel, pregnancy discussion, fluff, the last 3k words in Ellie’s pov (truly delightful), Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, Joel giving Ellie shit, Ellie and Joel having the best discussions, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 11.1k+

a/n: Yes, I did make my own gif because I was too lazy to try and hunt for it. I really, really wanted to write about what happened after the last chapter, and here we are. I think this will be the last one. Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The sun hadn’t risen when Joel Miller left your bed this morning.

That's how it usually was, him coming and going in the dark so no one sees him leave his house to come to yours across the street—the nights you spend together are bathed in secrecy, the two of you inhabiting your own little world, confined to the space of your home.

Why the sneaking around?

He didn’t want his daughter, Ellie, to know of his relationship with you. Over the many months you’ve been together, he’s let you in on much of what she had gone through before they got to Jackson. You understood that he’s all she has, and he’s worried that if he started openly dating, she’d think she isn’t as important to him as before or feel like Joel’s abandoning her. That’s the main reason he didn't want her to know, but with how often he brings up you being so much younger than him, and all the times he’s said you should be with someone your own age, you felt that he’s also ashamed of how old you are.

At least, that’s what you thought until the night before when he revealed his feelings for you and told you he wasn’t ashamed of you or the large gap in your ages.

When this all began, Joel was clear that all he could give you was his body—he was emotionally unavailable because he was too focused on taking care of Ellie.

Amazing sex with no strings attached? You were okay with that.

Except it wasn’t something casual, and there were strings attached.

You don’t just occasionally hook up with Joel; no, he’s at your place most nights and some days without his daughter knowing. You also can’t go out with anyone else, not that you want to—he doesn’t share or like when other men are interested in you. You aren’t any better, hating when women flirt with him, especially his next-door neighbor Sandra, who refuses to acknowledge he doesn’t want her.

Why does she, specifically, annoy you so much?

Not only does she shamelessly flirt with Joel any chance she gets, but she also touches him, her hand always ending up on his arm that he shrugs off, making him growl at her not to touch him. Does she listen? No, she still does it every time she runs into him, and it pisses you off that she doesn’t respect his boundaries. Plus, there was an incident a couple of months after he moved to Jackson where she got him over to her house under the false pretense of needing something fixed and then basically jumped him—she kissed him without his permission and came onto him, which he was not into and had him leaving immediately. He can’t stand her, and he’s been very firm with her that he’s not interested. If what she does to Joel isn’t bad enough, she creeps the fuck out of Ellie, and that pisses you off even more. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved the kid from talking to her; the look on Ellie’s face that screams she wants to be anywhere other than with Sandra makes your hackles rise, and a need comes over you to get the girl out of there as quickly as possible.

Has anything ever happened between Joel and Sandra to make her delusional enough to think if she keeps harassing him and his daughter, he’ll eventually want to be with her?

From what you understand, Tommy and Maria tried to set them up when he first arrived, but he declined; it truly was a case of right place, wrong time. He was polite when he rejected her and explained that his daughter needed him and that he had zero interest in starting a relationship with someone. Back then, he was completely occupied with taking care of Ellie, and dating was out of the question; it didn’t even cross his mind or was something he wanted. He was content with his fresh start in Jackson, alone with his kid to help her heal.

Why did Joel accept your advances the first time you met?

Right place, right time.

Once you moved to town, the father and daughter were settled to the point that Ellie was doing great in adjusting to life in Wyoming, and Joel felt he could finally do something for himself; you were tempting enough that he wanted to be selfish. He liked that you didn’t reek of desperation or made him feel pressured, neither of you doing anything that made the other uncomfortable. Obviously, there was a mutual attraction between you two, and the flirting went both ways; his head was already leaning toward yours when you went in for the first kiss, which he happily reciprocated.

What it came down to was he trusted you, and you were willing to do things on his terms.

And, of course, as it usually happens, feelings did develop—as his kid got better and more comfortable with living in Jackson, Joel opened up to you little by little, offering a tiny bit more of himself with each passing day and your relationship became confusing; it wasn’t only sex anymore; hasn’t been just that for a while, and it took you both over eight months to admit you’re in love, and for Joel to decide it’s time to tell Ellie, so he could actually be with you out in the open.

So, he left your bed before the sun had risen in order to be home before she woke up—that way, she wouldn’t be confused by his absence. He also planned on talking to her about what was going on between you two.

There’s this ritual he does before he leaves each morning that you’ve chalked up to him being from a different time and big on manners; your two previous sexual partners were closer to your age and nowhere near as courteous as him.

The slightest sounds will wake you, a side effect of surviving, and the moment the mattress springs squeak as he gets up, hours before you need to, your consciousness is coming back to you to assess if there’s any danger. Your ears perk at the rustle of him dressing in the dark, and you’ve learned not to spook when the blankets are pulled up to cover your bare body that gets tucked in. The kiss pressed to your hair always makes you smile at the sweetness, and you expect the whispered goodbye he says before he goes.

This morning, you didn’t expect the added ‘Love you’ at the end, which had your eyes opening and hand shooting out from under the covers to grab his, tugging him toward you. He knew what you wanted, chuckling as he leaned down to kiss your lips. You told him you loved him, too, when he straightened and started to leave, and he stopped at the doorway to get one last look at you under the dim light filtering through the gaps in your curtains from the street lamp outside, then headed home.

It’s safe to say your morning started off pretty great, and even though you didn’t see Joel after he left, the rest of your day wasn’t half bad either; it took a little turn when you got back to your house after working your job teaching at the school to a note from him on your door that read:

Come over

We need to talk

A romantic partner saying you needed to talk was never good, and worry knotted up in your belly like a ball, thinking things with Ellie didn’t go well when he told her about your relationship, and now he’s going to break up with you.

The first time you stopped by his place, you’d made the mistake of knocking; he was home alone and hadn’t known you were at the door until you rang the doorbell. It was adorable how he’d been a little embarrassed he didn’t hear you and pointed at his right ear to explain he had hearing loss. From then on, you always made sure to ring the doorbell, and you did so again, standing on his porch in the freezing cold with your winter coat on and worrying your lip between your teeth.

There’s the faint sound of him yelling from inside, “One minute!” thinking he’s upstairs, which is confirmed when you hear his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. The deadbolt clicks as it’s unlocked, and the door is cracked open; Joel’s face appears, the rest of his body hidden.

He looks relieved to see you, and that’s a good sign. “Thank Christ, it’s you,” he says, opening the door some more to take your hand pulling you inside. The front door gets slammed shut, and your back is suddenly pressed against it, a surprised sound leaving your throat when his mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard.

This is an even better sign that everything is okay.

He’s never kissed you in his house before.

One of his big palms cradles your face, the other locking the deadbolt beside you before it glides up your jacket-covered front to squeeze your breast. Your lips part to allow his tongue to delve inside and tangle with your own, looping your arms around his neck automatically. This kiss has your brain fritzing out, unable to think about anything except how he’s claimed you with his lips and tongue so fiercely and possessively while his large body cages you in. It’s embarrassing how long it takes a coherent thought to come through, and when it does, you’re lightly pushing at his chest, the surprise of bare skin under your hand causing you to break your mouth away to look at his body immediately.

A disappointed noise comes from him, and your eyes go wide at what you see.

“You’re naked,” you whisper.

His hand lightly holds your throat as he starts kissing along your jaw. “I’m not naked—I’m wearin’ a towel.”

That’s true. The faded blue towel is wrapped tightly around his waist, stopping just before it reaches his knees. His upper body is entirely bare, with pink and silvery scars etched all over his skin. No matter how many times you see him naked, you’re always so surprised by his broadness—it’s not a trick of his clothing or lighting that makes him appear big; he is that big.

“Still pretty naked.” You remember the thought you had. “Is Ellie home?”

“No,” he says into your skin. “She’s with Cat—” Her best friend. “—and they’re meetin’ us for dinner later.” His mouth is at your ear, feeling his hot breath, and shivering when he rasps into it, “Now, stop worryin’ about her, and let me take you up to my room so I can finally fuck you in my bed—I’ve been dyin’ to break it in with you.”

The proposition makes your cunt clench, and you’re interested in seeing his bedroom—he’s never invited you upstairs.

“Is this why you really wanted me to come over, to christen your bed?”

He pulls back to meet your gaze. “Didn’t want to scandalize the neighbors by puttin’ it in writin’, but yes.” His eyes darken as he slowly unzips your coat. “You comin’ up with me?” His voice deepens, nudging his nose against yours. “Since you’re my guest, we’ll do whatever you want.”

Joel always considers what you want, but he also seems instinctively aware of what you need—that’s the great thing about being with someone so much older and experienced; he knows how to play your body and make you feel so good that you’re happy to go along for the incredible ride.

With him saying you’ll do whatever you want, he’s letting you call the shots.

Your eyebrow raises. “Anything?”

“Within reason.” He kisses your chin, your skin tingling under his lips.

“Is there anything we did last night that’s not within reason…?”

The previous night, you weren’t expecting to see Joel because he’d been taking care of a sick Ellie for the prior few days. When he arrived at your place unannounced, he found you trying to make yourself come on your fingers and ordered you to finish as he jerked off, watching you. Then he fucked your brains out until your limbs were jelly and surprised you by asking if he could come inside you—something he avoided in the past and had only accidentally happened a handful of times.

His head moves to look you in the eyes.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s all within reason.”

That sentence excites you. “Let’s go,” you say quickly. He chuckles and helps you remove your jacket, hanging it on the nearby coat rack, which only has a few other items.

He grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs, the third step from the top creaking loudly under each of your weights.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting his bedroom to be like, but when you walk into it, you take a moment glancing around at everything; there’s his queen-sized bed that’s neatly made, he’s got a record player over in the corner with a stack of vinyl records next to it, a couple of landscape paintings of pastures decorate his walls, there’s a walk-in closet not even close to full of clothes, his own private bathroom, and on top of his dresser is a few framed photos—one of Ellie playing guitar, beside that, Joel and her standing next to each other laughing. The third has you walking over to pick it up.

“Joel?”

He’s shut the door, and his bare feet pad across the floor, moving toward you.

“Yeah?”

“If you didn’t want Ellie to know about us, why do you have a picture of me and her in your room?”

It was taken at the town party celebrating the harvest and shows Ellie sitting beside you at a table, leaning into you with her head against your shoulder as you both smile at the camera.

“She doesn’t come in here.”

He’s next to you, and you look over at him.

“But what if she had?”

“Wouldn’t have mattered.” He shrugs and takes the photo from you, setting it back down in its spot.

You turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest, and his eyes lock onto your bosom.

“What do you mean it wouldn’t have mattered?”

It takes him too long to answer, and you realize he’s distracted, so you wave your hand in front of his face. “Focus, Joel.” His gaze goes to yours.

“What?”

“What do you mean it wouldn’t have mattered if Ellie saw the picture?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t have mattered; it wouldn’t have revealed anythin’ she didn’t already know.”

“How long?”

His face pinches in confusion. “Huh?”

“How long has she known about us?”

His hands sit on his hips, and his weight goes to one side, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“I don’t want you gettin’ mad at me when I tell you ‘cause I had no idea she was aware; if I’d known, it would’ve been made clear long ago to everyone you’re mine. Understood?”

It’s said with such conviction it leaves zero doubt that it’s the truth, and it feels like your skin is vibrating at the fact he’s really going to make sure all of Jackson knows that you’re together now.

You smile. “God, that’s hot—yes, I understand.”

“Good—she clocked us pretty much from the beginnin’.”

“Of course she did,” you reply. “I had a feeling she’s known for a while, but since the beginning? I am both impressed and very annoyed. Why didn’t she tell you she knew?”

He grimaces. “She thought it was a subject we avoided...” He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I guess I’m cagey when Tess comes up, mostly ‘cause I don’t even know what that relationship was, and since I never said anythin’ about you, she figured we don’t talk about our romantic partners.”

Your eyes round. “Our? Is Ellie dating someone?”

His hand lowers, and he smiles, nodding. “She said I could tell you—Ellie’s way better at the secret girlfriend stuff than I am.”

“Cat?”

His eyebrows dip down. “How’d you know?”

“Ellie looks at Cat the same way you look at me.”

A long sigh leaves him. “So, it’s true.” He sounds defeated, his shoulders slumping.

“What’s true?”

“When she was pointin’ out how obvious we’ve been, she gave me shit for starin’ at you with, she called ‘em ‘googly eyes,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

You snort and step into his space, wrapping your arms around his neck, Joel’s hands holding your hips.

“It’s this way you look at me, and I couldn’t quite figure out what it was until you told me you loved me last night, and I realized it’s love; devotion—your eyes show the truth of what you’re feeling, and good news, babe.”

“What’s that?”

“You can give her shit for having googly eyes like her father.”

That seems to cheer him up, and honestly, it’s cute.

“She’s gonna hate knowin’ that—I can’t wait to tell her.”

You giggle. “So, Ellie’s really okay with us?”

“She is.” He nods.

“Good—this might sound weird.” You can’t look at him as you say this and focus on a patch of freckles on his shoulder, heat creeping up your neck. “But, um, you being a great dad and loving your kids so much—” He’s told you about Sarah. “—really does it for me. There’s something about it that’s incredibly attractive.”

“Yeah?” He ducks his head to press his lips over your pulse point, peppering kisses up your neck; his hand slides down between your legs where your warmth is felt through your jeans, rubbing over your sex. It makes you gulp, excitement sparking in your tummy.

“Yes.”

His mouth reaches your ear, tugging the lobe lightly between his teeth. His warm breath fans against your skin when he hovers his lips to whisper, “I think I know why.“

Your heartbeat thuds in your chest and pulses in your core to the same beat, feeling your need for him drip into your panties.

“W-why?”

He speaks in a huskier tone, “You know that havin’ my babies means they’d get a good father, and you have nothin’ to worry about when I fill your perfect little pussy with my come.”

Pleasure cuts through you sharp as a knife, and you moan.

“Yeah, I know you like it—is that what you want tonight, sweetheart? Want me to stuff you full?”

What he’s saying is making your skin so hot that your clothes are stifling, and you want him more than anything; you need him to ease the ache in your center.

“God, yes.”

“Then I’ll give it to you.”

You’re wondering what’s changed that suddenly has him unbothered about the possibility of getting you pregnant when he actively tried to prevent it previously—something you’ll have to inquire about later because it seems Joel’s had enough talking as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and he pulls your body flush against his.

It’s consuming and exhilarating.

No one has ever made you feel the way he does—the all-encompassing fiery passion that has arousal burning like an inferno in your belly, needing him so badly you think you might die if you don’t feel him inside you.

Wouldn’t that be a way to go? Dying of desperation from not getting Joel Miller’s dick—sounds kind of nice compared to the alternatives in today’s world.

You’ve also never been with someone his age.

There was this girl a little older than you that you met on your travels—you don’t find very many friendly people out in the wilds, and she joined you for maybe a week before she headed west toward Seattle. She told you one evening, as you sat by a fire under the stars together, that hands down, the best sex she ever had was with an older guy who was in his early thirties when the outbreak happened. She went on about how generous he was in actually making her come and that he knew exactly what to do; the entire experience was apparently life-changing. She swore she’d never get with anyone younger again, and you were intrigued.

When you asked her if it was weird fucking a guy old enough to be her father, she gave you a funny look, and you’ll never forget what she said:

“Ain’t nothing weird about two consenting adults having a good time.”

She had a point.

When Joel showed up at your door looking so incredibly handsome soon after you moved to Jackson, the conversation with that girl came to mind, and you decided to see if she was right, and dear god, this man in his late fifties has ruined you for anyone else—he was the first person to go down on you, he was the first person other than yourself to get you off, he was the first person to come inside you; the last one was an accident and it shocked you how much the risk turned you on.

You can’t imagine being with anyone else after him.

The kissing heats up, practically all tongues at this point, Joel’s straining cock beneath the towel pressing against you, and it’s always incredibly sexy the way he knows just what you need without you having to say a word—in less than a minute, he's stripped you of all your clothes, and has you on your back in the middle of his mattress, Joel on his knees between your spread legs, and leaning down, with your pebbled nipple sucked between his lips.

He has both of your breasts in his hands while he laves at one and then the other, the nibble of his teeth on the sensitive buds causing your pussy to weep for him, your fingers clutched in his damp, grey hair.

"Oh my god, Joel," you moan.

He loves worshipping your tits, and if you let him, he’ll play with them for hours; the problem is today, you’re on a time crunch since you have dinner plans, and you want a chance to make him feel good, too.

Your hands tug on his messy waves to get his attention, saying, "Let me suck your dick."

His head lifts, and you're met with dark eyes, his lips shiny with spit. The cool air hitting your wet skin causes goosebumps to rise.

"You want my dick in your mouth?" he asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.” He grunts as he pushes himself up to kneel. He’s still wearing the towel, which is tenting in the front.

You eagerly sit up and get on your knees, shuffling toward him, and when you’re close enough, he can’t seem to help himself, his palms holding your face as he passionately kisses you. Your hands snake between your bodies to unwrap the towel around his waist, tossing it to the side without a care, and you wrap your fingers around his length that’s hard as steel and velvety smooth, feeling hot to the touch.

He nips at your bottom lip when he ends the kiss, and without another word, you’re moving back enough to get on all fours, holding your weight on one arm while your other hand grips around the base of him, and then he’s in your mouth—his girth has you opening as wide as you can, your lips stretching to their limit. He’s heavy on your tongue, taking more and more of him as you bob your head.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Fuckin’ love that mouth of yours.”

Saliva is dribbling down his shaft, lubricating every stroke of your palm over what can’t fit in your mouth, his large hand guiding your head up and down his dick.

“Spit on it,” he commands. You hover your lips over him, gathering saliva on your tongue, and looking up at him through your lashes as you let it drip onto the tip of him—his pupils are blown so wide, there’s hardly any brown remaining, a gorgeous pink flush crawling up his chest and neck to paint his stubbled cheeks.

He’s watching you, his chest rumbling when you take him back into your mouth and fondle his sack in your palm.

When you first met, you were pretty inexperienced when it came to sex—you’d only slept with two men, and it hadn’t been very pleasurable on either occasion. Then Joel came along and showed you how good it could be and let you experiment to figure out what you did and didn’t enjoy. He also walked you through what he liked, which is why you know how he’s going to respond as you suck him off and gently tug on his balls. “Fuucckk,” he says in a drawn-out moan, and it has electricity dancing down your spine that you’re making him feel so good.

You go back to jerking him, your hand moving easily, twisting on the upstroke along his spit-slick cock, while bobbing your head, feeling him slide along the broad flat of your tongue to hit the back of your throat—you’re making appreciative noises that vibrate against his skin, loving him in your mouth, and how vocal he is in his enjoyment, Joel groaning, his breaths getting heavier, and slowly thrusting his hips.

You come off of him, licking a stripe from root to tip, tracing a bulging vein with your tongue, and circling the sensitive edges of the head. His cock throbs in your hand as you hold it out of the way to go lower and suck one of his balls into your mouth, massaging it with your tongue before giving the second the same treatment.

His voice is a deep baritone, the words thick with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ good to me.”

Licking back up, you swirl around the tip and sink down again, hollowing your cheeks.

His hand easily covers yours low on his shaft to keep it and himself still, his other palm going to the back of your head. “Choke on it, baby—take it down that pretty throat.”

This time when he fills your mouth and hits the back of your throat, you relax, swallowing around him, taking as much of him into the tight space as you can, and there’s enough of him that won’t fit for your fingers to wrap around—his other hand clutches your hair as he keeps your head from moving, your eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, while his hard cock fills your throat. You’re doing the best you can to breathe through your nose.

He’s panting. “That’s fuckin’ it—so fuckin’ beautiful with my dick down your throat.” His fingers go around your neck to feel it bulge. “You love havin' my cock fillin' you, don’t you? Your pussy, your throat, you're hungry for it and can't get enough 'cause no one can make you feel as good as I do, isn’t that right?” You moan in agreement, his shaft pulsing on the flat of your tongue. “God, you make the prettiest noises for me.”

You swallow around him, and his punched-out groan has your cunt clenching hard on nothing, a layer of slick coating your inner thighs.

“Stop,” he orders, pulling you off of him and causing you to sputter. “I’m not comin’ in your mouth.”

The statement has a sharp spike of arousal erupting low in your stomach because you know this means he’s going to finish inside you, and it has you wanting him with every fiber of your being.

He gets you up on your knees, holding your chin as he smashes his lips to yours, his tongue slipping inside where he sucks on your own. Your heart is hammering in your chest, moaning as the fingers of his free hand pinch and roll your stiff nipple, and you’re trying to convince your lungs that you’ll be okay without oxygen for another minute when his mouth suddenly leaves yours. Your chin is still cradled in his palm, Joel’s breaths coming out hard as he shoves his face against the side of yours and lightly bites the apple of your cheek before his lips are at your ear.

The sides of your faces are touching, his stubble prickling against your skin. “Now what?” he asks. Anticipation has you practically vibrating. “You got to suck my dick, what do you want now? You’re in charge—my fingers? Want me to eat your pussy? Or my cock without me loosenin’ you up so you’ll feel it tomorrow?” He smacks your ass with his other palm, and you gasp. “Tell me.”

Joel is very well-endowed, especially in terms of girth, and he’s aware of this fact; unless you tell him not to, he always gets you off before he fucks you, so it relaxes your muscles and makes it easier to take him. Right now, you need him inside you too much to have the patience for any more foreplay, so be it if you’re a little uncomfortable tomorrow.

You swallow before you answer. “Dick, please.”

“How do you want it?”

“Your choice.”

“You got it, baby.”

He grabs a handful of your asscheek, then gives it a spank and kisses your cheek, letting go of your chin to slide his fingers through the slick lips of your sex, his face coming into your line of sight.

It’s clear in his darkened eyes how much he wants you.

“You get so fuckin’ wet for me,” he says and presses two thick fingers inside you, your mouth falling open when he starts pumping. The tips press into something magical you can never reach, no matter how many times you try. “This needy pussy can’t get enough of my dick,” he continues. “You want it? Want me to stretch you open? Make you feel it tomorrow and come so deep in your sweet little cunt I’m drippin’ from you for days?”

He has you feeling so hot you think you might combust.

“Yes.”

A quick kiss is pressed to your lips. “Hands and knees,” he orders, slipping his fingers out of you.

His way of helping you get into position is manhandling you until your hands and knees sink into the mattress with him behind you—he fucked you hard face down, ass up the night before, and you’re wondering if he’s going to give you an encore.

His fingers dig into your asscheeks as he spreads them and spits on your pussy, feeling the hot saliva start to drip, and hearing him repeat the action on his digits, that he uses to wet his cock. Joel slides himself through your folds and presses to your entrance, your hips pushing back enough to engulf the tip of him—a palm lands on your ass with a loud smack, the sting causing your head to fall forward between your shoulders with a moan, his other hand firm on your waist to stop your movements.

“Don’t be greedy,” he grumbles, slapping your ass again. “I gotta go slow so I don’t hurt you.”

You whine because you want him inside you already.

“You’re real fuckin’ needy today,” he says and slowly begins pushing in. There’s a slight burn as your tight walls stretch around him to accommodate his size, the ache in your core dissipating with every inch he feeds into your pussy. “Jesus Christ,” his tone is strained. “You’re so much tighter when I don’t make you come first—you’re chokin’ me.” Your fingers are clawing at the bedspread, your heart’s pounding, and sweat is starting to bead on your skin. There’s one word repeating over and over in your head: Big.

He takes his time; the seconds that tick by feel like hours, and once he’s fully sheathed inside you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in—the familiar fullness satisfies the overwhelming need you had and has something purring in the back of your mind that this is right; it’s perfect how he fills you. He was right; there’s no one else on the entire planet who could satisfy you like he does.

His large palm slides halfway up your spine. “You’re doin’ great for me, baby,” he rasps. “Takin’ me so well. Now, I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And the fact you know he is has your cunt throbbing incessantly around him.

His hands hold your waist, and he does an experimental thrust, your answering moan encouraging him to start moving—he’s slow at first, rocking his hips and letting you feel every ridge and vein on his thick cock as it moves in and out of you.

He’s pressing into heavenly spots you didn’t know existed before him, loving how deep in your depths he reaches. The waves of arousal he’s coaxing from you is soaking his dick and easing his movements.

“God, I love bein’ inside you,” he says and slaps your ass; you clamp down on him, and he groans. “You feel so damn good—fit me like a fuckin’ glove.”

You fuck yourself back on him as you whine, “It’s yours!”

He grits through his teeth, “Yes. It. Is.” Punctuating each word with a hard thrust that knocks the wind from your lungs. “It’s. Mine. You’re mine.”

His rhythm speeds up, a steady slap of his hips against yours that echoes in the room, Joel grunting with each stroke and your moans coming unbidden. Your ass is jiggling from the onslaught, your head is dizzy with pleasure, and heat is growing at the base of your spine, threatening to explode.

This is how you like it, getting fucked senseless.

You squeak in surprise when gun-calloused fingers grip your upper arms at the bend of your elbows and pull you up, making you arch your back, Joel tugging you back each time he thrusts forward, pounding into you hard enough your eyes roll back in your head, and your mouth opens in a silent cry—his rough sounds are slipping through his bared teeth and obscene squelching is coming from where he’s fucking into you at an unforgiving pace.

You’re quivering around him, your entire body shaking, quaking, as he pummels a spot that’s making stars dance behind your eyelids, the muscles in your belly tightening, winding, building you up higher and higher. Your skin is hot and buzzing like every nerve in your body is lit up, a thin layer of sweat coating the entirety of it.

His breathing is ragged, and he grits out the question, “Are you gonna come for me?” He doesn’t slow down. “I can feel you squeezin’ me—I know you’re close.”

His hands have an iron grip on you. Noise finally leaves your lips in stuttered moans, and you’re losing your mind at how fucking good it feels—you’re not going to last much longer.

“Once you go,” he says, “you’re takin’ me with you, and I’m fillin’ you up.”

The reminder has white-hot pleasure scorching in your abdomen, and you’re coming undone, shouting his name as your climax hits and euphoria takes over every molecule in your body.

A choked sound comes from behind you, and you get pulled back flush to him, Joel’s arm locking over your chest with his hand squeezing one of your tits while the other wraps around your throat, his lips pressing to your ear as he raggedly groans “There we fuckin’ go.” His teeth sink into your earlobe as his hips stutter, and he buries himself one last time as far as he can in your depths, whining as he comes—his cock pulses and twitches hard as he releases deep inside you, spurts and spurts of his come filling your inner walls.

There’s a chance you’ve left Earth with how you feel like you’re floating, your brain completely empty of thoughts—you’re not sure you could think if you even tried, let alone move.

You register being laid down on your side and the warm body curling around your back; an arm is over your middle, and your breast is being held in a large palm, feeling so relaxed you think you might fall asleep.

A minute passes.

Five.

Ten.

There’s a loud snore behind you.

“Joel?” It’s embarrassing how it comes out as a croak.

No response—of course, there’s no response, his left ear is pressed to the mattress, and he can barely hear out of the right. You rub your hand along his arm and lightly tap it.

He goes eerily quiet, and you know he’s awoken, but he’s taking a second to assess where he is. Joel sits up a little. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?”

Your torso slightly twists toward him, looking over your shoulder. His eyes are filled with concern when they meet yours.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure him and pat his forearm. “You fell asleep, and we can’t be late meeting Ellie. Otherwise, she’ll come looking for us, and we don’t need to scar the poor girl with her finding out her dad has a very active sex life.”

He snorts, his lips turning up. “She’s not dumb—she knows why I’m at your place every night.”

“She assumes the reason you come over—it’s one thing to assume and another to know for sure, and the second one, when it happens, will probably make her puke and then look at you with disgust for a while.”

He frowns, and you can tell he’s thinking hard. “I never brought women around Sarah…” he says. “I mean, when she was older, she knew, on the incredibly rare occasions I did, that I was goin’ on dates, but that was all. I never had long-term girlfriends.”

That’s something you’re aware of. He’s told you about some of his previous relationships, including Tess. When he was younger, before the world ended, he only had a few girlfriends that didn’t last long and a lot of one-night stands; Sarah’s mom was a fling in his early twenties who disappeared as soon as their daughter was born—she didn’t want to be a mother at such a young age, and only had the baby because she couldn’t stand the guilt of the alternative.

“Oh, so Ellie knowing me and being aware we’re together is new territory for you. How does that make you feel?”

“Real fuckin’ lucky I found someone she likes and who understands that she’s my top priority—the other women I dated couldn’t stand playin’ second fiddle to Sarah even though I was always upfront that she came first before anyone else, the same thing I told you from the get-go about Ellie.”

“And that makes complete sense to me. I know I’m important to you, but it’s different; she’s your child, who you’re responsible for, so she takes precedence. After all the shit she’s been through, it’s great she found a father who loves and cares about her so much.”

He smiles. “And that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you—you get it and were more than willin’ to be with me in secret to protect her.”

You smirk. “True, it didn’t hurt that the sex is fucking spectacular, too.”

He chuckles, and you find yourself on your back with him half on top of you, happily kissing you.

Your words are muffled against his lips. “I need to ask you something.”

There’s one last kiss, then his pretty face hovers over yours.

“What do you wanna ask that’s more important than me kissin’ you?”

“Something that I need to know after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.”

His mouth downturns, and his eyebrows furrow. “Is somethin’ wrong…?”

“No, no, everything’s great,” you tell him and slide your fingers through the curls above his ears. “Has your feelings on children changed? Like, in terms of having more…?”

From the beginning, he was clear that he didn’t want any more kids, and it stressed him out whenever he accidentally finished inside you; you’d think that would put him off sleeping with you again, but he couldn’t stay away, and told you, when asked what would happen if you got pregnant, that you’d figure it out and you didn’t need to worry about him abandoning you—the last part always made you wonder how he’d be involved in your baby’s life with Ellie unaware you were together, and the only thing you could imagine was out in public, Joel taking on the role of your close friend your child calls their uncle, which is pretty depressing to think about.

He’s got an arm beside your head, holding himself up, and his other palm strokes along your cheek, his eyes softening.

“A lot has changed since I met you—you’ve turned my world on its head, sweetheart.” He smiles. “I know I swore I’d never bring another life into this world after losin’ Sarah, but Ellie came along, and I love gettin’ to be a dad again.” The fond look on his face is proof of that. “I really do. She’s a pain in my ass, but I love her, and now that we’re done hidin’ and can finally have a life with everyone knowin’ we’re together, there won’t be any doubt that it’s my baby if you got pregnant.”

Something about that excites you that he wants it to be clear he’s the father of your kid—for a second, you imagine what a child with him would look like, and it makes your heart squeeze at the thought of seeing tiny versions of his eyes and cheeks; would they inherit his elusive dimple?

“I know I’m too fuckin’ old to be takin’ care of a newborn,” he continues, “but I like the idea of havin’ one with you, and I think you’d love it. You’re so good with Ellie and all those little kids you teach. I can tell you want one of your own, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, you do. You’d be a great mom. When I realized I was gonna talk to Ellie the other day and tell her about us, I thought this was somethin’ I could give you; it’s some kind of future, maybe not what you deserve, but it’s what I can offer. And it’s reassurin’ you’re gonna live a helluva lot longer than I will, so I know that if anythin’ happens to me, my children will still have their mother, along with Ellie, who I think would love bein’ a sister. So, to answer your question, yes, my feelings on havin’ more children has changed, but only with you—you’re the only woman I’d want to have a baby with.”

This revelation has you beyond excited—you’d love to have a child with him.

“It’s crazy that yesterday I didn’t know how to define what our relationship was—I knew I loved you, I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and today, we’re officially a couple and talking about having babies. At this rate, I’ll be moving in with you tomorrow.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks, looking completely serious.

Your eyes widen as you stare. “What? I was joking, Joel.”

“And I’m not jokin’, especially about havin’ you here all the time. I don’t want us livin’ separately if we do the baby thing, and you know I’m almost done remodelin’ the garage out back into an apartment for Ellie.”

Joel was pretty upset the night he came over after Ellie asked about having her own living space. It happened two or three months into seeing each other, and he’d been distraught that she was at an age where she wanted more independence and didn’t want to spend as much time with him now that she had friends—something else he never got to experience with Sarah and it really twisted the knife in his gut. There was no way the town council would give a teenager a house, so Joel agreed to convert the garage into an apartment for her.

“Are we moving too fast?” you ask.

When you say out loud everything that’s happened in the last day and your plans for the near future, it sounds like you’re moving too fast, but it doesn’t feel that way.

His eyebrow rose. “Baby, we could die tomorrow. Life these days is too fuckin’ uncertain to be worryin’ about movin’ too fast, and we should do what makes us happy.”

He’s right, and it isn’t a bad idea…

“I’ll only agree to move in if Ellie says it’s okay.”

Your response has Joel chuckling as he kisses you.

“Wait, I have another question,” your words are said into his lips.

His mouth breaks away from yours as he sighs and presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you more than anythin’, but can I please kiss you without interruptions?”

“If you answer this question, we can make out—with tongue.”

His head lifts, and he looks confused. “It’s not makin’ out if there isn’t tongue.”

“Do you wanna make out or not?”

His expression turns grumpy. “Yes, so ask your damn question.”

“What would you have done if you opened the door in just your towel, and it was Sandra instead of me?”

“I would’ve shut the fuckin’ door—now kiss me. I was promised tongue.”

Snow.

So much fucking snow.

Ellie hated winter in Boston, but Jackson? It’s a new kind of hell with how much of the freezing, white bullshit falls from the sky to blanket everything. On the days when she’s assigned the job of shoveling walkways down the main streets of the town, she wishes the bite on her arm had done her in—a dark thought, yes, but that’s how much she despises doing it.

The only positive thing about getting sick was not having to work; the biggest negative was Joel and how he was worrying so much he wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone. Yeah, it’s sweet, or whatever, that he cares so much, but this guy literally watched her sleep—he sat at the window seat in her room every night to keep an eye on her, and if she woke up, which happened a lot from the coughing, he was there at the side of her bed asking if she needed anything, and touching her forehead to check her temperature.

Thank god, his secret girlfriend came by when she did because Ellie was so close to stabbing him if he asked her how she was feeling one more time; her friends kept her sane the next day when they checked in on her, and luckily, by then she was pretty much over her sickness, and Joel had finally started to chill the fuck out.

That night, she thankfully got to sleep alone in her room, and it wasn’t surprising when she heard the third step down the staircase loudly creak—she’d tried everything, and there was no way to step on it without it making noise—a sign Joel was going across the street.

Oh, Ellie figured out something was going on between Joel and their across-the-street neighbor not too long after she moved in.

What tipped Ellie off was one day she was walking home after work and had almost arrived at their house when she saw the two of them chatting at her and Joel’s front door. Nothing fishy about that, right? Wrong. Joel was smiling as he spoke to the woman, and it wasn’t one of his fake, polite smiles he does when he’s trying to make himself look less scary and somewhat approachable; no, this was a genuine smile, with some teeth showing, and a rare sighting of the dimple in his cheek—it makes her gag to even think this, but she’d call the smile, charming.

Yuck.

Who wants to think about the guy that’s basically their dad trying to charm someone?

Disgusting.

If the smile wasn’t suspicious enough, the moment he spotted Ellie, it suddenly disappeared—why wouldn't Joel want her seeing him being so friendly with the new neighbor? Probably because he was hiding something; she’ll admit it also could’ve been so she didn’t tease him about having a crush, but the thing is, she wouldn’t have, which is really fucking surprising with how much shit she gives him.

See, she’s not stupid; she knows Joel’s made taking care of her his life’s purpose since they left Boston and that he loves her as if she were his own kid; not to get mushy, but she loves the grumpy fucker, too, and she wants him to be happy, like she is—he’s the reason her life is so good now, and it was time that he did something that’d make him happy. So, Ellie isn’t going to be a dick about him putting himself out there because she doesn’t want to discourage him.

Once Ellie was onto them, it was so freaking obvious that they were a thing—anytime they ran into the neighbor, Joel actually talked to her, instead of his usual one to two-word responses, he gave everyone else who wasn’t Ellie or Tommy. Joel always watched her if she was nearby and went over to her house the moment she asked him to fix something or help her—Ellie’s pretty sure a lot of the tasks were bullshit, and it was their excuse to see each other. Then there’s the damning evidence of Joel sneaking out almost every night; there was a night she got to a window in time to see him sticking to the shadows as he made his way across the street, and it confirmed everything.

He was pretty hush about his relationship with Tess—they’ve discussed her in general, and Ellie knows they had some kind of relationship; she’s just not sure if they were, you know, dating or in love. So, with Joel keeping quiet about what he’s got going on with their young neighbor, Ellie assumed he was just a private guy when it came to that stuff, and it was something they didn’t talk about, figuring if things got serious enough, he’d bring it up.

And hey, she’s hinted that she knows by inviting his secret girlfriend to eat and do stuff with them; Ellie’s even attempted to get the older woman to admit they’re together, but she wouldn’t break, no matter how hard the teen tried.

Then Ellie accidentally overslept at her girlfriend’s this morning and didn’t make it home before Joel, and now they’re both aware of the other’s love life. She won’t lie; it made her unbelievably happy that he didn’t give a single fuck she was dating a girl—he had more of a reaction to her getting a tattoo than her telling him she had a girlfriend, and she’s glad he didn’t make a big deal about it, not that she thought for a minute he wouldn’t be cool with her being with a lady since he was chill when she told him she didn’t like boys not too long after they got to Jackson; plus, the guy was really good friends with Bill and Frank, after all—he’s told her he’s glad she never got a chance to meet Bill because apparently, they would’ve caused a lot of trouble together and possibly taken over the world, which sounded pretty fucking great to her.

The snow crunches under her boots as she walks down the road on their way to the mess hall, her girlfriend, Cat, beside her, chatting about their days. Since she recovered from being sick yesterday, she had to go back to work today, and thankfully, she was assigned an easy job—animal feeding duty, which is both easy and fun.

“Shit, it’s Sandra!” Ellie hisses, grabbing Cat’s hand, “Hide!” She tugs the other girl behind a giant snow-covered bush. She peeks around it, seeing the bane of her and Joel’s existence walking up the street from the opposite direction, probably heading to the mess hall for dinner, too. The other woman is pretty far away, but Ellie doesn’t want to risk her seeing them.

“Why do we avoid Sandra again?” her girlfriend asks.

Ellie’s head turns her way; Cat’s wearing a purple beanie and an oversized navy blue coat, her dark eyes meeting Ellie’s. “God, where to start,” she says and takes a deep breath. “So, when we first moved here, Tommy and Maria tried to get Joel to go out with Sandra since they thought she was a great match for him—she’s also from Texas, pretty, widowed, and has no kids. Anyways, they tried to set them up, but Joel didn’t want to go out with her or anyone else. He was super polite when he turned her down. I guess Sandra took that as him playing hard to get, and she hasn’t left him alone since.”

“So, you avoid her, too…?”

“Oh, right—she wants to be my mom.”

“What…?”

“Yeah, every time she talks to me alone, she likes to bring up how I could use a mom, or wouldn’t it be great if I had one to take care of me and my dad—” Ellie makes a face. “—it’s always so fucking weird calling Joel that out loud.” He pretty much is her dad and she won’t correct anyone who refers to him as such, but to her, he’s Joel. “I think when she says that creepy stuff, she’s trying to get me to convince Joel to date her, but we both agree she’s nuts. Like, I overheard Joel talking to Tommy once, and apparently, some months after we got here, she came over to our house and asked if he could fix something at hers, and he went because Joel might be a bit of a grumpy dick, he’s still a good guy, and she kissed him and was all over him—you get the picture—and he got the fuck out of there, and isn’t as polite when he tells her to leave him alone now.”

“He’s made it clear he’s not interested, and she still won’t get the hint…? Does she know there are other single men in town…?”

“She only has eyes for Joel. I don’t think she’s used to men rejecting her, so now it’s her goal to get him. I mean, she’s persistent. If she sees me or him together or separately, she always talks to us; it’s awkward, and I have to tell you it’s disturbing watching someone flirt with Joel so hard—she’s not subtle at all. It’s honestly weird, and Joel is completely over it. I just don’t get why so many women in this town are into his old ass.”

Ellie has witnessed many women shoot their shots with Joel and get turned down, which is another thing that gave him and his girlfriend away—they never openly flirted, but there is a lot of friendly touching, which is out of character for Joel. The first time Ellie saw Joel open a door and guide the other woman inside with a hand on her back, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from yelling, ‘Aha!’

“It makes no sense to me,” she continues. “This dude’s old enough to be my grandpa, he’s only got one good ear, he’s weird looking, and after a few days not showering, his feet smell so fucking bad you’ll want to chop your nose off—I swear the only reason we didn’t run into more infected while traveling is because Joel’s disgusting stench scared them away.”

Cat snorts. “You’ve mentioned how bad he smelled a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t un-smell him, and it fucking haunts me.” She shudders. “Now, back on topic, Sandra creeps Joel and me the fuck out, and I’m positive his secret girlfriend would’ve murdered her by now if she wasn’t a secret.”

“Hopefully, Sandra will back off now that Joel’s relationship is no longer a secret.”

“That’d be so nice, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I know you’ve never said anything, but does it bother you how young his girlfriend is?”

Ellie’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would it bother me?” she asks. “She’s an adult and can do whatever she fucking wants. I mean, I don’t understand why she’d willingly choose to be with such an old, ugly, grumpy man, but that’s her deal, and she’s pretty cool. I’m just glad Joel got with someone I like and get along with.” A horrible thought comes to her. “God, imagine if he had started dating Sandra, and I had to pretend to like her and not be weirded out by her trying to be my mom? Yeah, who gives a fuck that his girlfriend is closer to my age than his, she’s not weird and makes him happy, and that’s all that matters.” Something pops up in her brain, and she smiles. “Oh my god, Cat—” She grabs the other girl’s arm and shakes it in excitement. “—what if they had a kid? I could be a sister!” That’d be amazing. She’s always wanted a sibling. Her hands go still, and her eyebrows pull together; she’s lost feeling in the tip of her nose with how cold it is. “Wait,” she starts, “is Joel too old to have a baby? Like, I mean his stuff—” She gags. “—you know what I’m talking about. Does it go bad with age? He’s really fucking old.” Cat’s trying hard not to laugh, her gloved palm over her mouth, and Ellie shoves a finger at her. “Don’t make fun of me for not knowing! What I learned in school was pretty basic, so I know how babies are made—revolting, by the way—there’s just a lot of shit they didn’t explain in detail, and don’t get me started on the awkward as fuck conversation Joel tried to have with me when I started hanging out with Dina and Jesse.” Jesse was the first boy her age she befriended in Jackson.

“The one where in the middle of him telling you boys will say anything to get into your pants, you shouted that you didn’t like boys?”

“Ugh, yes, and then he asked me if I liked girls, and I wasn’t completely sure, so I answered maybe, and he said—” She lowers her voice to try and mimic his. “‘Well, shit, I don’t know what the sex talk is for my daughter likin’ girls’—” She spoke normally again, “You know what, I’m actually impressed with what he pulled out of his ass.” He ensured she really understood what consent is and walked her through what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like.

“To answer your question, Joel isn’t too old to have a kid.”

Ellie grins. “Wicked.” She looks around the bush to check if the coast is clear. “Looks like she’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

When they get to the mess hall, the mood is… weird.

There’s a lot of whispering and people sneaking looks in the same direction. It only takes her a second to figure out what’s stealing everyone’s attention, and her nose crinkles at the sight.

“Cat?” She’s still staring, the other girl standing beside her.

“Yeah?”

“Am I seeing things, or is Joel really playing tonsil hockey with his not-so-secret girlfriend at our table?”

“Um, I can’t tell if they’re using tongue, but they’re definitely kissing.”

That’s obvious—the man and woman are sitting next to each other on one side of the table with their coats off, their upper bodies turned toward one another, and faces mashed together, Joel’s massive hand holding the side of her head.

“It’s weird feeling both happy for him and wanting to puke simultaneously.”

“I get it. Wanna see something that will make you feel better?”

She glances at her. “What is it?”

Cat nods her head toward a table. “Look.”

Her attention goes to where she indicated, finding Sandra clearly pissed off and glaring daggers at the couple making out, her hand clutching a fork so tight her knuckles are white.

Ellie is delighted and pulls Cat along to join Joel and his girlfriend.

“Please tell me,” she says, as they get to the table and start removing their gloves and jackets, “that you guys are being disgusting right now for the audience and that this won’t be a regular thing.”

Their mouths detach, Joel’s arm around the woman’s back while resting his other hand on the tabletop. There were trays of food for all four of them at each of their seats Joel must’ve gotten, Ellie noticing it was chili and cornbread night. The man looks at her with a close-lipped smile.

“It won’t be a regular thing—” he replies.

“—thank god,” she interrupts and sits down, Cat joining her.

“—in front of you,” he continues.

“That’s fine by me.”

He grabs his small bowl of dessert and slides it over to her.

“Peach cobbler!” she exclaims. “Fuck yeah!”

Not to be sentimental, but Ellie knows that every night they have dinner, and Joel passes her his dessert so she’ll have two, it’s him saying without words that he loves her—that’s just how they are; they suck at speaking their feelings, so they show how much they care for the other with random things like that.

“Thanks, Joel!” She ignores the chili and slice of cornbread and immediately starts digging into one of the cobblers.

“You’re welcome, Ellie—what took you guys so long? We were expectin’ you to be here before us.”

“We had to hide,” she says around a bite—it tastes so fucking good; peach cobbler is her favorite.

Joel's expression turns to one of concern. “Who the hell were you hidin’ from?”

Their girlfriends had started eating.

She swallows, giving him a look. “Who do you think?” She juts her thumb behind her. “Miss Crazypants over there, who—” She turns in her seat to find Sandra still looking pissed. “—might be Miss Murderpants now.”

“Stop starin’ and pointin’,” Joel hisses, and she faces him again.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “The woman annoys the fuck out of us, and you’re telling me not to be rude to her? A bit hypocritical, seeing as you’re clearly rubbing it in her face that you’re seeing someone.”

His jaw clenches. “That’s different.”

Her eyebrows dip together. “What?”

He adjusts in his chair to lean forward a little and starts whispering, “I want her to see us, so she’ll get the hint and leave us the fuck alone—I also want the whole town buzzin’ about me bein’ in a relationship tomorrow.”

“The first part of that, I get; the second bit, you lost me. It’s not like you to want to be the subject of town gossip.”

He straightens and picks up his spoon. “Don’t worry about it, and eat.”

That’s Joel speak for, ‘I’m done discussing this topic.’

“Okay, you fuckin’ weirdo,” she mumbles and takes another bite.

There’s some talking as they eat between all four of them. Joel seems incredibly interested in Cat’s hobby of tattooing people, which Ellie guesses is because she told him she was getting one. He’s probably just ensuring it’ll be safe and that she won’t have to worry about infections or whatever else could go wrong.

Ellie has completely demolished all the food on her tray and is stuffed, taking a big gulp of her water. She sets the cup down.

“So,” she begins, “how serious is this?” She points between the couple across from her. “Is this a fling? Is she moving in? Are you guys getting married? What can I expect?”

Joel swallows and wipes his mouth with a napkin, which he clutches in his fist as he lays it on the table.

“It’s serious,” he says. “We wanted to talk to you about her movin’ in.”

She figured that would be the case with how much time they spend together at night. Ellie’s not against the idea, but she also does not under any circumstance want to know what they do when they’re alone. She has an idea; she’s not dumb. She just prefers not having any solid evidence.

Ellie pushes her tray forward and crosses her arms on the tabletop.

“Here’s the deal: I’ll be fine with her moving in under one condition.”

He looks curious. “What’s that?”

“Whatever you guys do alone in the bedroom happens when I’m not home; I don’t wanna hear shit, I can’t unhear, and I absolutely do not want to see anything I can’t unsee. It’ll only have to be like that until you finish my apartment.”

He seems to be thinking it over. “Deal.”

“You assholes gonna get married?”

“We haven’t discussed that yet.”

His girlfriend says, “I’m okay with marriage.”

Joel’s head whips her way, and he genuinely looks surprised.

“Really?” he asks.

Ellie snorts because the other woman is looking at him like he’s dumb. “Yeah,” she answers. “What about you?”

“I’m okay with it also.”

“Great.” She smiles.

It’s nice to see Joel so happy and to know he’s found someone. She always worried he’d die alone; sure, he’d have her, but he deserved to be loved by someone and to get good things after all of the shit he’s been through in his long fucking life.

She glances over at Cat, who’s scraping her spoon along the inside of her dessert bowl to get whatever of the cobbler is left. She’s staring at it so intently that Ellie thinks she looks adorable, and it makes her smile.

“Oh, are those the ‘googly eyes’?” she hears Joel ask the woman beside him.

“Yep,” his girlfriend answers.

Cat takes her last bite and asks them while chewing, “What are ‘googly eyes’?”

Joel sounds a little too happy, “It’s how Ellie looks at you.”

Ellie quickly turns toward him. “I don’t have ‘googly eyes’!”

She wants to wipe the smug smile off of his stupid face. “Yes, you do.”

“No, you’re lying!”

He puts a hand over his heart. “God’s honest truth, baby girl, you stare at her with ‘googly eyes.’”

Her cheeks feel hot, and she wants the floor to swallow her whole. “This is so embarrassing.” She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore and remembers something.

Joel’s smiling. “It’s cute.” He starts drinking his water.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m cute, whatever,” she says, swatting away his words with her hand. She focuses on him, leaning over her arms on the table. “You know what would be really cute, now that you’ve got a girlfriend, and I think it’s still possible at your age, you’re pretty fucking old, though, but if it is possible, it’d be really cute if you guys had a baby.” She grins and nods her head.

Joel sputters and starts coughing hard. It takes him a moment to speak, and the look on his face is a mixture of confusion and anger.

“The hell do you mean if it’s possible at my age?!” he rumbles. ”I’m fifty-eight, not dead!”

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Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #biwdfyis series

[thatonebirdwrites]

When the news came, Lena was in a meeting with Sam and the L-Corp's board. She'd long ago set all alerts for Supergirl to come through to her phone, but ones where Supergirl was injured had been set to ignore all other settings.

The ring caused Sam to jump, but Lena kept her cool. She glanced down at her phone, and felt her veins turn to ice. A brief message that Supergirl had fallen from the sky.

Shit.

Lena grabbed her phone and bag. "I regret that I must take this call. An emergency has come up."

Sam looked at her, her brow furrowed in worry. "I can handle this, Lena. Go."

With a tight smile to her friend and CFO, Lena hurried from the room. She swapped out her shoes, and took off in a sprint. The alert had given her an intersection, but she needed to know if Alex knew about this yet.

Lena: Alex, I'm incoming.

Alex: wait, what?

Lena: Kara, she's fallen.

Alex: The hell? She's supposed to be eating lunch! Was in a meeting. Where?

Lena forwarded the alert's text, baffled that Alex had no idea.

Alex: How close are you? It's gonna take me fifteen minutes. J'onn unavailable.

Lena: Be there in five.

The doors of the elevator opened. Why drive when she could take the helicopter? When her pilot reached the intersection, Lena stared in horror. Someone had what looked like a missile launcher over their shoulder, and Kara laid in a cracked hole in the street in front of Noonan's. So Alex had been correct, Kara had been getting lunch, as drinks and food was spilled across the curb. People clustered in the doorways of the cafe and storefronts, and Kara's supersuit had a burn mark across its front.

Fuck.

"Hold us steady," Lena ordered the pilot. She grabbed a bag from behind her seat. In case of an attack -- considering she had quarterly assassination attempts all the time -- she had some specific weapons in here. One of them was a shotgun with some unusual shells. She flicked through her supplies and decided on a particularly useful set. She popped in the shells, cocked the gun, and threw open the door. The person started to look up, but Lena wasn't giving them a chance to react. She fired. The shots slammed into the person's back and immediately ice formed. She fired again. This time the person fell to the ground as a block of ice. Cryo shells had their use. She reloaded and gestured to her pilot.

He brought the helicopter closer to the ground. "Watch my back," she said, mostly out of habit, though she doubted the pilot could do anything. "And stay in the air. We'll need a quick exit." "Right, Ms. Luthor." He kept his gaze on the controls, his voice coming through her headset.

She jumped to the ground, her shotgun cocked. As she scanned the area, she realized, to her dismay, that another person stood in the shadows of the storefront across from Noonan's, armed with some sort of long rifle. Why the person hadn't fired yet confused her.

Lena aimed but didn't fire yet. She didn't have confidence that her shot would hit before the other took her out. "Step away from Supergirl."

The person wasn't that much taller than herself. Curly blonde hair leaked out of the black beanie, and blue eyes regarded her from under a black mask, their clothes definitely assassin-like. "Stay out of this, Luthor." A high-pitched voice. Possibly a woman?

"This is my business." Lena stalked closer. "Don't think I won't take you out like your friend there." She nodded at the other person dressed in black with a black mask over their face, their eyes closed. Ice was still encased around their lower body.

Lena wished she'd seen the person earlier. Otherwise she'd have fired on them too. Now they were in a stand-off exactly when Kara needed her the most.

"I don't want to do this," the woman in black said. "You're not on our list."

"Then step away now. Don't think I won't fire."

The woman stared at her for a long moment as if sizing her up. Her voice timbre changed to a hint of coy and frustrated. "Why do you care, Lena Luthor? Doesn't your family hate Kryptonians?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "I'm not them." She needed to distract her somehow. At least until Alex got here or Lena could fire the shot without getting hit in turn. "Now, how about you put down your weapon, I'll put down mine, and we'll talk like civilized people?"

The woman hesitated, her rifle moved just an inch down.

That was when the shot came from above. The bullet hit the woman's shoulder, she staggered backward, and Lena took the shot. Two blasts later, the woman was encased in ice like her friend.

Lena slung the shotgun over her shoulder and raced to Kara's side. "Supergirl!" She dropped next to her and felt for Kara's pulse. It was faint, far too faint. "Dammit." She didn't have time to check for injuries. Kara needed extracted immediately. "Riordan, drop the stretcher," she said into her headset.

The helicopter hovered closer, and a side door slid open. The stretcher shot out, swung, and slowed to a stop above her head. She reached up, snagged its side, and pulled on its rope until she had it next to Kara. It took two tries to lift the Kryptonian -- damn, Kara was heavy -- until she had Kara on and belted in securely. Flicking the switch on the bottom of the stretcher, a set of footrests dropped into place.

After she clamped her shoes onto the footrests, she noticed several people had started to come out of the stores with their phones in their hands, likely recording her rescue.

Whatever. All Lena cared about was Kara. "Go," she ordered her pilot, and held on tightly as the helicopter lifted toward the sky.

TO BE CONTiNUED...

#supercorp #supercorp fic #I wanted to write a scene where Lena does a ridiculously extra rescue of Kara #And then this was born #I'll put this up on AO3 once I have more written #But wanted to see if people liked this first #Lena Luthor #pov lena luthor #kara zor el #kara x lena #alex danvers #Assassins

[honeyedmiller]

Firsts | Javier Peña

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: smut (f & m oral receiving, unprotected piv, fingering, slight size kink?), cursing, teasing, tension, some tooth-rotting tender fluff, no use of y/n. 18+. minors dni.

word count: 4.9k

synopsis: Agent Peña is determined to give you something you've been craving for a long time.

not revised. sorry for any mistakes :')

Javier Peña never let anyone sleep in his bed.

Sure, he's had multiple women in it, but not once had any of them ever stayed longer than a little aftercare from the Agent himself. He used those women to get information; fucked them so good they just couldn't stop sputtering where they've seen this guy or how they know this other man. And, deep down, he used them to fill an empty void in his heart of loneliness—something he was no stranger to, but wanted to avoid altogether.

No woman had ever slept in his bed, until you.

See, if anyone told you months ago that you would've even spared Agent Peña a proper non-work related conversation this time around, you both would call bullshit.

It all started out in the field, a few months ago. Steve kept nagging Peña about his little crush on you, and it drove him crazy that you were the only woman in the office that wouldn't give him the time of day. Of course you talked to him about work related things, puzzling together the missing pieces to finally fucking catch Escobar.

Tensions were at an all-time high in the office, and the last thing on your mind was tossing the insatiable Agent a flirty smile. You were an intense, strong-willed go-getter who was an absolute badass in the field. Even the Colombian military and police liked to work with you, which was good, because it meant they'd cooperate more with the DEA. Flirting, especially with a coworker nonetheless, was completely off limits and your one set-in-stone rule you had for yourself.

You were no stranger to the rumors roaming about that Agent Peña was a good fuck. You were also no stranger to the giggles and nudges your female colleagues gave you when they caught him staring at you. You just chose to ignore them.

It wasn't until one late night in the office that had everyone exhausted and quite literally ready to get back to the States that you gave Peña the time of day.

Steve had told the man something rather interesting that day, which he knew you'd kill him for, but he thought it was worth Javier knowing. When you went over to Steve and Connie's place to have 'girl's night' with his wife, he overheard you say that no man has ever been able to make you orgasm.

Steve immediately thought of Javier when that information sprouted, and of course, being the wingman he was for Peña, he told him. Peña wanted nothing more than to be the man that could give that to you. Luckily for him, he was sort of an expert in that area, which is why all those women he fucked ended up talking.

You never paid any mind to how suave Peña could be, mainly because you genuinely weren’t interested. Your disinterest in the Agent bothered him at first, as you shot down all of his advances and flirting tactics. It just determined him further. It’s not like he kept harassing you or anything, but he tried his best to do little things for you here and there like get you a coffee when you needed it the most or a file that would help you in the spur of the moment.

On this particular night, it was just you and Peña left in the office. The two of you were paired up for a specific assignment because Murphy was unavailable, and the assignment needed to be done quickly.

You were efficient with your work, but having the Agent stare at you like a meal on legs wasn’t helping. You couldn’t deny that he was a good looking man. A man you swore you’d pay no mind to, and up until now, it was working.

“Can I help you Peña?” You ask without looking up from your paperwork. You were jotting something down when he cleared his throat, straightening in his seat.

“I think I should be asking you that, Agent.” He shot back incredulously, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head. He gave you a smug look, and his words halted your writing mid-sentence.

“Excuse me?” You look up at him, quirking an irritated brow. Though, you found yourself faltering to his heavy gaze; hooded puppy dog eyes making your panties dampen a bit. You squeezed your legs together, ignoring the nagging feelings of want and desire.

“Heard that no man’s ever been able to please you.” He tilts his head and eyes you, from your intense gaze down to the way the first couple of buttons of your work top were unbuttoned.

You scoff in disbelief. You know Connie would never say a word, so it had to’ve been Steve fucking Murphy.

Bastard.

“I don’t see how my dilemma in my personal life has anything to do with our work, Peña.”

“I was just simply observing.”

“Well you don’t work for the BAU. Stop trying to profile me.” You snap, rolling your eyes.

He holds his hands up in defense. “You know, cariño, I could help relieve you of your tension. Noticed you’ve been real… irritable, these days.”

You shoot him a nasty glare.

“Fuck you, Peña.”

“If that's what you'd like, baby. And I’d prefer it if you called me Javi.”

“I’m not one of your whores. We don’t need to be on a first name basis.” Your tone was cold as you looked back down to your papers, annoyed at the fact that you were getting turned on by his advances. What you really should've been doing is reporting him to Messina, but it wasn't worth all of the stupid paperwork.

You were cold toward him because you needed to distance yourself. It was your own fucking rule. No flirting with coworkers, even if they're ridiculously hot and tall and tan and broad and—

"Say all you want about not wanting me, but I saw the way your legs clenched and your breathing became more rapid. Why deny yourself a good time, hm?" He tilts his head.

This motherfucker was watching you like clockwork.

You slapped the manila folder that the file was in closed, tucking it into the top drawer of your desk before gathering your things.

"Good night, Peña." You hastily exited the building, fumbling with your car keys to unlock it before getting into your car. You let out a loud sigh, head hitting the back of the headrest as you rubbed your hands over your face in exasperation.

You put the keys in the ignition and left Peña at the office alone with a stupid smirk on his face.

And, that night, you had an even stupider wet dream about the smug-faced Agent.

-

As the week went on, the tension between you and Javier became nearly unbearable. It was stolen glances and soft touches and close proximities that had you stiffening, keeping your guard up to avoid succumbing to the ache in your core. It was the very thing that clawed at you from the inside, begging to be fulfilled.

You had no doubt Javier could be that man, but you were stubborn. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Not yet, at least. The insanely hot wet dream you had about him definitely didn't help your case, though. It made you want him to fuck you right there on his desk.

Luckily, you knew you had self control. What you didn't know is that Javier could feel you literally buzzing with anticipation, likely waiting for him to make the first move because you were too proud to do so.

You were in the kitchenette, pouring yourself a fresh cup of coffee when Javier walked in behind you. You didn’t really pay any mind until you felt the heat of his body behind you, and you turned around. Your back was pressed up against the counter as he towered over you, his dark brown gaze ever so enticing.

He reached up into the cabinet behind your head to retrieve a coffee mug himself, never breaking eye contact with you. Your eyes flickered to his lips for a brief second. To anyone else, it would’ve been the world’s most subtle glance. But to Javier, he took it as a message.

Game on.

He lightly brushed his hand against your waist to scoot past you, pouring the remainder of the fresh coffee into the mug he was holding. His touch sent a jolt of tingles down your spine, and you swallowed harshly as you tried to remember how to walk again to get away from him.

“You look beautiful today, cariño.” He simply said, halting you in your tracks. You slowly turn to him, wide-eyed and stunned. Your throat went dry as your lips formed into a tight smile.

“Thank you.” You meekly said before heading back to your desk. In this moment, you wish a black hole could form underneath the ground you walked on and swallow you whole. The affect that Javier had on you was embarrassing, especially because you were very anti-Javier Peña, aka Mr. Sex-On-Legs.

You thinking about him like this, and the undeniable tension between you both was everything you were against. Flirting with coworkers was dangerous and having sexual relations with them was lethal, especially Agents of yours and Javier’s rank. It could easily affect your work environment and being a woman in the field was already hard enough. You didn’t need shit from your counterparts or higher-ups. You wanted to be taken seriously, and giving in to your desires was going to get you anything but.

On the other hand, the need to have your desires fulfilled clawed at you aimlessly. You wanted to experience an orgasm. One that would have your toes curling and eyes rolling back. A fucking earth-shattering one—one that would ruin any other man for you.

Javier would easily oblige and give that to you, but it was up to you to let him do so.

Oh, fuck rules and fuck morals and fuck workplace gossip.

You wanted, no, needed Javier to show you what it was like. So, you decided to play along. You knew you’d both be stuck in the office late again tonight, so you wanted to have a little fun with it.

The first move was rather bold, but you weren’t going to back down now. Later on in the day, you got up from your desk to hand him a file. In doing so, your nimble fingers softly wrapped around one of his thick biceps as you dropped the file down on his desk. You leaned down, your voice barely a whisper.

“Thanks, Javi.” Was all you said before uncurling your fingers from his arm, sashaying away from him. He stared at the back of your figure quite literally stunned, and you saying his name like that had his dick twitching in his pants.

What the hell had gotten into you? He didn’t know where the sudden flirtatious behavior came from, but he was definitely going to find out.

Steve was catching on to what was going on between you, and it was amusing him to no end. It was nice to have a distraction from all the bullshit the DEA has been dealing with regarding Escobar.

By the time everyone was starting to head home, tension was so thick it could’ve been cut with a knife. Steve even threw in a ‘just bone already!’ to the both of you, and Javier couldn’t even stifle the small smile that had curled onto his plush lips.

It was around nine in the evening, and as promised, it was just you and Peña left. He was sitting at his desk when your hands suddenly slid over his shoulders from behind, sliding down to his chest. You reached over him to grab a file you needed without asking him, just so you’d have an excuse to do that.

By that time, he’d had enough of the teasing. Before you could retract your hands completely, he gripped both of your wrists and stood up, spinning your bodies around so you were pushed against his desk.

"Enough of this cat and mouse game. Do you want me or not?" Javier whispered, trapping your body with his against the cold metal of his desk. It almost looked like he was pained, like this whole past week had been hell for him.

And honestly, unbeknownst to you, it had. He laid awake every single night wishing you'd just give in to him. He wanted to treat you right. Worship your body as it should've been worshipped all along. He didn't want to fuck some random woman for intel anymore if it meant he got to be with you.

You were too stunned to speak, and quite honestly, the arousal pooling in your panties was way too noticeable to ignore at this point. You nodded your head, breath ragged and cheeks flushed.

"Gracias a Dios." He murmured. He cupped your face with both hands, finally sealing the space between you both as he brought his lips to yours. As cliché as it sounded, your whole body reacted to his touch as you felt sparks when his lips moved with yours. You dropped the file in your hand onto his desk behind you before wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.

He gripped your thighs and easily hoisted you up onto his desk, moving between your legs to be as close as he possibly could. You moaned softly when your clit caught onto the seam of your jeans, and you could feel Javier's growing bulge against your jean-clad core.

If it wasn't going to be your first time with him, he would've happily taken you right here on his desk. But, he wasn't a total asshole.

"Come back to my place with me," He sighed against your lips. "I can take better care of you there."

You nodded vigorously in agreement, and you both hastily gathered your things before heading out to Javier's Jeep.

He opened the door for you and you softly thanked him, trying to catch your breath and steady your heart rate from everything that just happened. You hadn't even gotten to the best part of this all and you were already falling apart at the seams. It'd been awhile since you've had any special kind of attention like that in general, so it really wasn't helping your case.

Javier clambered into the driver's seat, starting up his car to head back to his apartment. A naughty idea crossed your mind, and you'd be completely humiliated if Javier rejected your advances.

Fuck it.

You reached your left hand over, rubbing his now completely erect cock through the fabric of his jeans. He twitched slightly, giving you a look with burning desire. His eyes snapped back to the road thinking you were going to stop there, but boy was he wrong.

You began to undo his belt as best as you could given your position, and you swiftly unbuttoned and zipped down his jeans.

"Wh-what are you doing?" His voice was hoarse, eyes going wide.

"Relieving you." Was all you said before tugging his jeans down the right amount so you could take his cock out of his boxers.

He was thick and heavy, the head already bedaubed with pre cum. Your mouth watered at the sight, seeing that he had girth and a good length.

He inhaled sharply when your thumb ran over the swollen flesh of his weeping head. You wasted no time, giving his shaft a few pumps before taking him into your mouth. He hissed in pleasure, the feeling of your mouth so wet and warm around him. The sounds you elicited while pleasuring him were nothing short of erotic, and it was driving him crazy.

"Fuuuck. Yeah, just like that baby." Javier coaxed you on, wrapping his fingers in your hair. His other hand was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were turning a ghost-white color. You kept going, easily licking up his silky flesh before deciding to try and take him all into your mouth.

You eased down slowly until your nose was eventually met with the dark, coarse curls at the base of his cock. Javier accidentally hit a bump in the road at the same time your mouth was completely full of him, so it made you gag around his length.

He nearly came right then and there.

"Fuck, okay, okay," He panted, gently gripping your hair to bring your mouth up and off of his cock. "I don't want to cum yet."

You pouted at him, wanting to taste him as you made him cum. Another time, you suppose. You helped him get his boxers back up over his still painfully erect member, pants following suit.

It was only a couple of more minutes before Javier parked outside of his apartment building, nearly dragging you upstairs and into his place. Once the door was closed, he pushed you up against it, capturing your mouth onto his once again. He moved you away from the door and to the couch, where he sat down so you could straddle him. It was a bit hard with the tight jeans you were wearing, but not unmanageable.

His tongue slipped over yours furiously, teeth clashing together as you both simply seemed like you just couldn't get enough of one another.

His mouth moved from yours down to your neck, leaving hot, sloppy kisses in its wake. He got to one spot on your neck just below your ear that had you shuddering with pleasure, and he chuckled softly at that.

He nipped at that particular spot and licked over it, repeating the action a few times until you found yourself grinding your hips into him. The ache in your core was unbearable, and all you wanted was to just be touched.

"Javi, please." You weren't above begging at this point, because fuck did you want his fingers in you and his tongue on you.

"Please what, princesa?" He rasped, grabbing your ass harshly as he purposefully rutted your hips against his.

"I- fuck- need you to touch me. Please." You whine, biting your lip as you look down at him with a pout. He groaned quietly when you gave him that look of feening innocence.

His lips attached themselves to yours again before he grabbed the back of your thighs, parting from your lips to take you to his bedroom. You kissed his neck while he was walking, giving it one long lick up to his ear before he placed you down on his bed.

He hovered over you, placing one knee in between your legs. He grabbed the hem of your shirt before slowly lifting it up and over your head, eyeing the soft flesh of your breasts that spilled out of your bra from this position. His mouth found itself on aforementioned flesh, lightly nipping and sucking down the valley before moving down to your torso. He eventually got to the hem of your jeans, to which he took his time in taking off.

He carefully undid your belt, then the button and zipper. He shimmied the material off of your legs, staring at your nearly naked body in pure hunger and want. He noticed the dark patch of wetness on your panties, and he teasingly chuckled.

"All this for me, baby? Haven't even touched you yet." He cooed, moving between your thighs. He gave your sopping clothed core a kiss, then proceeded to lick over the wet fabric. You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders.

"Need you, Javi." Your words were nearly incoherent as they squeezed out of your throat. You didn't know how else to make the man just devour you already.

"I know, baby. Need you too." Was all he said before gripping your panties and sliding them down your legs. His gaze met your glistening core, and he hummed at the sight.

He got on his knees at the edge of the bed before wrapping his arms around your thighs, tugging you down so your legs dangled off the edge. He moved both of your legs so your calves rested on his shoulders which flexed underneath the leather jacket he was wearing.

He dragged his lips slowly up the inside of your thighs, kissing your core once, before dragging his lips back down. He repeated that twice before he finally decided to stop being a tease and devour you shamelessly. He lapped up your existing arousal before softly sucking on your clit, moving his tongue down your folds and into you a few times before just focusing on your clit. He took his middle and ring finger and slipped them both into you, the thick stretch of his fingers nearly sending you over the edge.

You couldn't fucking believe it. All these years, no man has ever been remotely close to even making you cum, and then Javier Peña comes along. He nearly had you unraveling with just his tongue and fingers with such ease that it honest to god seemed way too fucking good to be true.

"Baby you taste so goddamn good. Fuck." Javier mewled, pulling his fingers out of you. He reattached his lips to your clit as he gripped your thighs tighter. You were rolling your hips into his face at this point, but he was making movement nearly impossible with the weight of his arms.

He then solely focused on your entrance, swirling his tongue teasingly around you before slipping his tongue inside of you over and over again. You choked on a gasp at the sensation, feeling a nearly foreign tightening sensation in the pit of your core.

"Javi." You whined, the sensation getting stronger and stronger until your body trembled, a lick of flames coursing through you as you cried out. You convulsed around Javier's tongue as you came, tears pricking the corner of your eyes at the heavenly sensation. He lapped up your sweet arousal, moaning against you before pulling away.

Your chest was heaving up and down uncontrollably ears ringing and mind hazy.

Javier looked down at your disheveled state, truly quite honored to be the first man to ever make you orgasm. He leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to your lips, tasting your own arousal as his tongue slipped into your mouth. You gripped both sides of his face as your lungs began to burn, desperate for some air. You separated from him reluctantly, looking up into his eyes.

The sight before him was truly pornographic. Your hair was disheveled, eyes glossed over and parted, swollen lips glazed with your own cum as you breathed rapidly. As his eyes traveled south, one of your bra straps hung off of your shoulders and your manicured hand rested on your abdomen. Your legs were spread just for him, and he wished he could take a photo of you like this. Not to be a creep, but because you belonged in a museum.

Part of him was secretly happily selfish that he was the only one who could see you like this in this moment, though. To look so fucked out and needy because of him. The thought alone nearly made him cum in his pants.

"How do you feel, corazón?" He asked, standing up to finally take the constraints off of his erection. He groaned softly at the release as his cock hit his stomach, still red and weeping and glistening with pre cum.

"Amazing." Was all you could muster up before hooking your legs around him, causing him to topple over you. He laughed at your sudden movements, both hands resting on either side of your head. Your hands found purchase on either side of his face, thumbs softly caressing his cheeks.

No one had ever been so affectionate with him. A warm feeling invaded his stomach, eyes feverishly scanning yours.

"You have a beautiful smile and laugh, Javi. Why don't you do it more?" You ask, brushing a curl off of his forehead. He leaned down and nudged his nose with yours, softly kissing your lips.

"I'll do it more for you, corazón." He whispers, and you pull him down for another kiss. This one was soft and slow, a much different pace than the previous ones. This one was full of tenderness and care, something you both desperately wanted but never seemed to get.

In the midst of the slow kiss, Javier moved one hand down to grab his cock so he could slide it between your folds. You gasped against his lips and he peered down at you with a gentle gaze, searching your eyes for permission. You grabbed the sides of his legs gently, silently letting him know it was okay.

He pushed into you slowly, and you closed your eyes at the sensation. He stretched you in a way that was so heady, having you feel so full when he got to the hilt. You closed your eyes in pure bliss, and Javier leaned down once more to kiss your forehead softly. Your eyes fluttered open again and met his soft gaze.

"Keep your eyes open and on me, cariño. Wanna see you." He says as he juts his hips forward, causing you to suck in a breath through your teeth.

He started to pump in and out of you languidly at first, but then it became rapid hip snaps against yours. The sound of pounding flesh and ragged breathing was all that was heard in the room. Javier made sure to kiss you everywhere he could possibly reach in this position, even moving down to softly suckle on your erect nipples after tossing your bra somewhere in the room amidst all of this.

Pleasure washed over your body and you felt that familiar heat licking your core once again. He paused for a second to bring your calves back up to his shoulders, this new angle hitting even deeper inside of you. It was hitting a spot you didn't even know was possible. You cried out his name as you tried to keep your eyes open, but it was nearly impossible with the way he was thrusting so deliciously into you.

"Javi, fuck, I'm gonna cum again." You cry, clawing at the bedsheets.

"Yeah? Go ahead, princesa, I'm right here. I've got you." He says, keeping his pace steady. He felt his own orgasm slowly building, and he knew it was a matter of time before he found his own release. Before your hazy mind could even process it, your body was shuttering again as you clamped tightly around his cock. Your orgasm washed over you once more, a little stronger than the last time.

You were so spent and fucked out, but Javier kept going. He was so close to his release, and he wanted to make you cum for him one more time.

"One more time, baby. C'mon, I know you got it in you." His teeth are gritted, jaw clenched and face so determined.

"Fuck, Javi, I-I can't." You cry, your breathlessness catching up to you. Your lungs were constricting and it was hard to breathe, but it burned so fucking good.

"Yes you can baby. I know it." He says, snapping his hips against yours at a relentless pace as he moved a hand down to rub swiftly over your already abused and overstimulated clit.

"Fuck!" You cried, clamping down on him once more but this time, a gush came out of you. That was enough to send Javier over the edge.

"Where do you want me?" His voice was so severely strangled that you barely understood him, and understood the fact that you only had a couple of seconds to answer him.

"Inside, please. Need you." You clawed at his back now, feeling his warmth spill into you at your words. His hips stuttered as they slowed to a halt, and both of you spent several minutes trying to catch your breaths.

He pulled out of you slowly, both of you groaning at the loss of contact. He plopped down beside you, sweat adorning both of your bodies as your chests heaved up and down.

"Fuck, Javi. That was..." You started once you controlled the raggedness of your breath.

"I'm glad." He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You both sat in silence as you propped yourself up on your elbow, tracing mindless patterns on his bare chest with your fingertips.

"I should probably head out soon." Your voice is meek once again.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd want to stay." Javier says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You hesitated for a moment, before nodding slightly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And so you and the Agent you swore you despised just days prior to this cuddled up in his bed, not worried about the repercussions that would follow in the morning.

Not the fact that your car was still there at the office and Javier's wasn't, not the fact that you'd be wearing a button-down shirt of his that was way too big on you to work the next day, and definitely not the fact that you two were much friendlier and touchier now more than ever.

It most definitely didn't have anything to do with the fact that you both provided something to each other you haven't had in a long time—

firsts.

-

hehehe hope u enjoyed @cool-iguana ily :')

#pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagine #javier pena one shot #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena fluff #narcos fanfiction #javi pena #javier pena x reader

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[gummilutt]

Stuffed animal enabler and autonomy fix with traits incorporation

Today I have a mod for you all that was inspired by @chocolatecitysim stream. Have you ever put a stuffed animal somewhere in the nursery as decoration? Only to find it lasts no time at all before one of them pluck it down to talk through it to a toddler that is busy, which makes them immediately drop it somewhere on the floor before wandering off. Grrrr! In a previous mod of mine where I enable teddy interactions for older Sims I solved the issue by turning off autonomy. I decided to try something more nuanced, so today I have my new version of a teddy enabler with some global stuffed animal autonomy fixes baked in.

Enabled features on the 6 maxis stuffed animals - Carry and play with enabled for teens, adults and elders - Talk through enabled for kids. Yay more sibling interaction options! Some temporary floating occurs (see video below) but overall, animations work great. - Carry interaction enabled on lil chimera plush bunny, which for some reason did not have it

Global changes to stuffed animal autonomy - Teens, adults and elders may not interact autonomously with stuffed animals in any way, if the object is sitting in a slot. It's decorative, leave it alone! If it's on the floor, knock yourself out. - Children can autonomously take bears from surfaces to play or carry, but not to talk through. This is the default setting, it is controlled in a BCON and can easily be changed if you want it different. It is labelled explaining how to edit, all you have to do is switch between 0 and 1 depending on what you want. - Children may only talk through to toddlers, because they float in the air when doing it to older Sims, whereas with toddlers the animation mostly works (see video below) - If carry and play with is enabled for teen, adult and elders, they will only autonomously do so if they have the childish trait. - Talk through autonomy for teens, adults and elders is limited to sims who are 8 or higher playful personality, or that have the nurturing trait.

These global changes impact all stuffed animals. However I can't globally enable the interactions on CC animals, because the menu is held in each object. So if you want CC stuffed animals to make full use of this, you need to manually edit the TTAB to match the mod. I have included a short video tutorial in the zip, of how to do so. If not enabled, the only change in behavior with CC stuffed animals is that older Sims can not take them from slots in order to talk through, and they will only talk through if 8+ playful or nurturing.

If you do not use traits, do not worry, the mod does not require them to work. The only difference is you won't have any autonomous play with or carry in older Sims, and talk through is limited to 8 or higher playful Sims. Easy inventory check is not required.

Download from simfileshare

Conflicts: My original "BearEnabledTeenAndUpNoAutonomy"-mods. Remove those (one file per stuffed animal, with the name of the object at the start) if you want to use this. Will conflict with other mods that alter TTAB of maxis stuffed animals, or that edit the guardian bhavs of play with, carry and talk through interactions. Introduces a new BHAV to the stuffed animal semi global, and a new bcon. HCDUs will detect all forms of conflicts. Conflicts with parts of simler90's ToyStuffedAnimalFix, specifically the part that removes unavailable Sims as options for the talk through interaction. I recommend you load my mod last, but for more in-depth information on why and how that changes behavior you'll see, please see this reply to conflict report.

Credits: chocolatecitysims for inspiring me to retry my approach to this, picknmix for helping confirm the way to test for being in a slot

Here is the video of what talk through to a toddler looks like for kids. They float briefly at different parts of the picking up, squatting and putting down parts of the animation, but the talking itself they are on the floor. Doesn't bother me, but I wanted to show so you can decide if it's too much for your taste :)

#gummiluttmods #ts2 mods

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

[milkgemini]

Adultery

Pairing: Jake Kiszka X f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: CHEATING (if you don’t like it, don’t read 😛), smut, minors DNI, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, language

.

.

.

.

It’s wrong. 

Those thoughts you’ve been thinking? The made up scenarios you’ve formed in your head? It’s not right. 

There are many layers as to why this case is out of reach. Unfathomable. 

For one, it would be in your best interest to not get fired here. You work for this man. Sleeping with the one you answer to, the person who has the power to terminate you with the snap of his fingers, wouldn’t look good to your boss, huh? 

But let’s cut the shit, and get to the real problem at hand. 

Jake Kiszka is not a single man. 

He has a partner. She is a lovely woman. Whom he’s been involved with for several years. You knew this from the way he spoke of her. Many times you’ve been witness to the rushed FaceTime calls he’s shared with her before stage. 

Oh, and there was that one time you caught yourself with your ear pressed to his dressing room door, listening to the way he spoke to her on the phone. His voice soft and sultry. 

“I miss you” her voice echoed from the other side of the phone. 

“Can you do something for me tonight, babe?” He asked. 

“Anything.” Her voice was desperate. You could hear the way she yearned for him through the phone. 

“Think of me tonight when you slip your fingers below that lace and pleasure yourself. Think of me the entire time. Say my name when you cum.” 

He was taken. Unavailable. Off the market. 

But you didn’t even feel bad. That was the worst part. 

You especially didn’t feel bad that night after eavesdropping on their phone call. You did exactly what he asked of her and thought of him the entire time. Just like most nights. 

But you weren’t crazy. 

There was a reason behind the pining for Jake. Every other time, the subtle flirtatious manner was reciprocated. 

You remember the times where his touch lingered longer than it should have against your skin. 

The times he brought you things like water or a snack, when that was quite literally your job for him. 

And what about that time he specifically instructed you to “remain side stage for the entire show”? 

You weren’t crazy. 

Right?

“30 minutes ‘til stage people. Let’s get a move on.” An annoying voice rang through your radio. 

Do they really have to update us every 10 minutes?

You added some pep to your step, despite the agitation of the constant reminder. 

These places all looked the same behind the scenes. Long boring hallways with a bunch of doors to random places lining the walls. 

The echo of your footsteps reverberated from the concrete floors to the cinder block walls. 

“What’s the rush?” 

Fuck.

The door to his dressing room was cracked. He sat lazily against the couch. His left arm draped over the top of the cushion, his legs crossed. 

That curled smile. Jake had this signature smirk. It was like the Cheshire Cat. Like he knew he would forever get away with the shit he pulled. 

“It- its 25 minutes to show. Shouldn’t you be…” You’ve lost your train of thought at the sight of him rising from the couch, dusting off the imaginary lint from the thigh of his pants. 

“I’m always ready for whatever the night has in store.” He answers your unfinished question, the shit eating grin still plastered across his face. He punctuates his sentence with a pucker of his lips. 

Before you even have time to process, the bathroom door inside the room swings open. 

“Hey babe, what do you think about this dress? Too much?” 

Layla. 

Jake’s long term girlfriend was at the show tonight. Sitting with him in his dressing room before he headed to the stage. Dressing up for him. Doing everything you wished for. 

You stood awkwardly as you watched Jake pull her body into his by the grip of his fingertips on her hips. 

“You look positively radiant tonight.” He reassured her. 

He planted the softest kiss imaginable to her lips - almost as if he intended not to let them meet. 

His eyes quickly shifted to your presence before fixing back on her’s. 

“Will you…. See if you can find Sam for me, love? Got something I want to do before the show.” He tucks her hair behind her ear as if to convince her of the task. 

She nods back at him with those annoying doe eyes. You wonder if she truly is as dull as you assumed. 

“Quickly.” He smacks her ass as she walks away from him. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you begin to walk off. 

“Oh do that again for me will you?” Jake calls from the dressing room. 

You peek your head in once more. 

“Excuse me?” Fake annoyance lacing the tone of your voice. 

“What would Layla think if she heard that?” You bring yourself further into the room. 

“And by the way, thats fucked up sending her on a wild goose chase looking for Sam. He’s never in the same spot for more than-“ 

He cuts you off by slamming the door shut, reaching his arm dangerously close next to your head. 

The lock switches beside you. 

“You’re catching on.” 

That fucking smirk. You can hear it when he talks, even if he’s turned his back to you. 

You study the waves of his hair that fall against the back of his suit. 

“You don’t want me like that.” His back remains to you as he fixes two drinks. 

“What?” You’re nervous. Your voice a high pitched whisper. 

“I see the way you glare at her. You’re jealous. But you don’t want me like that.” He turns back to you offering a glass of amber liquid. Your stomach turns, never being much of a drinker. 

Trying your best not to make a face, you sip at the drink. 

“And how do you know what I want?” A flirtatious edge to your tone. 

He takes a step too close to you. Angling his neck down to meet your face. 

“I know what you want, because you’re just like her. A good girl that wants a good man to treat her right. Shower her with love and reassurance.” 

He brushes the hair behind your ear, just as he did to Layla earlier. 

“But I think there’s something different with you.” He toys with the end of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger. 

You don’t even need to ask, he can read the question mark on your face. 

He huffs a laugh to himself with a tight lipped grin. 

Jake trails his fingertips, snaking them through to the hair at the nape of your neck. 

“I think you’re a slut.” He tugs your hair with force, causing you to expose your throat. 

He brings his mouth closer to the sensitive skin there, not letting his lips meet. 

“See, my Layla, she doesn’t have that darkness behind her eyes that I see with you sometimes.” 

The heat of his breath against you raises goosebumps to your skin. 

“She’s sheltered and shy.” He flattens his tongue before dragging it up your neck, stopping just below your earlobe. 

“But with you…” his voice is at a whisper now. 

“With you, I think I could tell you ‘Open up’ and you’d spread so well for me.” 

He kicks your feet apart, opening the space between your legs. 

With his pointer and middle finger, he rubs the inseam of your leggings that follows your slit. 

He watches your face as he starts at the front towards your clit, following the line back towards your entrance. When he reaches, he adds pressure to the circles he creates, pushing into you against the fabric. 

You try your hardest to seem unphased by his lustful actions. 

This isn’t right. Layla will be back any minute now. You think to yourself. 

As if to read your mind he answers, “Better be quick then.” 

Before you can process a response, his mouth meets yours with force. 

His kiss is a parallel opposite of what you witnessed with Layla earlier. 

His kiss with you is intense. Sloppy. Desperate with need. 

Jake licks into your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours. He’s winning the battle of dominance, and you’re surrendering with ease. 

He walks you backwards until he has you pressed against the closest wall. 

In between gasps of air, he groans softly into your mouth. 

You feel the calloused pads of his fingertips against the soft skin below your bellybutton as he tries to slip his hand beneath your leggings. 

Just as fast as he snaked them in, he pulls his hand away. 

You whimper from the loss of contact. 

He breaks the heated kiss from you, panting to catch his breath. 

“Take them off, now” he orders you. 

Immediately you bend at the waist, taking one leg out at a time. 

He studies the bare half of your body before gripping your face by your cheeks. 

With his free hand he holds your neck to angle you just the way he wants you. 

With clenched teeth he growls to you, “Do you always walk around your job with no underwear on like a fucking whore?” 

His words alone cause you to rub your thighs together, craving any sense of friction from remaining untouched to this point. 

He catches you red handed, and slaps the side of your thigh. His forceful touch leaving a sting that makes you want him even more. 

Jake adds pressure to his thumb against your throat. 

“Open.” He orders you once more. 

You obey, spreading your feet apart, inviting him in. 

He laughs softly to himself, “My girl. Such a good listener”

At last, the tip of his middle finger slides with ease through the center of your wetness. 

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he loves to watch your reaction. Loves to see the approval of his work. 

He teases the fingertip at your entrance. You buck your hips in his direction, silently pleading for more. 

“You want it?” He looks down at you. 

Your face is desperate as you nod to him. 

His jaw clenches once more, “Fucking speak up.” 

“Y-yes yes, Jake. I wan-“ 

Before you can finish your words, he shoves both his pointer and middle finger up inside of you, pumping them in and out at a steady rhythm. 

His lips meet yours again. The two of you moaning into each other's mouths in harmony. 

With each pump his fingers, he rocks his hips into you. 

“…there’s something different with you” You think back on his words. 

With your fingers wrapped around his wrist, you tug his hand from you - forcing his digits from inside of you. 

“I want you to fuck me, Jake.” Your eyes lock with his as you watch them turn a darker shade of brown. 

Without a word, he spins you around, your chest pressed against the cold white wall. He arches your hips for you to grant him better access. 

“Fucking dirty.” He pants into your ear. 

One hand is pressed to the side of your face, pushing you further against the wall, while the other fidgets with his belt. 

You hear the sound of it as it hits the floor, his pants  around his ankles. 

“Lift up.” He taps your side, motioning for you to lift your arms above your head. 

With a swift motion he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor. 

Your back arches in hopes to close the space between you both. 

Jake swipes your hair to one side, over your shoulder, unclasping your bra with one hand. 

He leans in to press a delicate kiss upon your spine, simultaneously wrapping his arm around your hips to meet your clit with his finger. 

You whine at the sensation of the slow but steady circles he presses into you. 

He grips his length, slapping it against your ass. 

“I’m not going to be nice.” His voice a low groan as he teases you with the tip of his cock, sliding through your slick. 

“Please, Jake” your reply is muffled with your cheek pressed against the wall. 

No warning. No mercy. 

He slams his entire length inside of you to the hilt. The moans spilling out of you are closer to a scream. 

He makes his own ponytail in your hair with his fist, tugging with force. 

He grunts in unison with each pump inside of you. The tip of his cock brushing against your sweet spot with each push. 

The faster he pumps into you, the faster the circles against your clit become. With each swipe, he adds more force, pressing his finger harder against your bud. 

“And when you leave this room…” he pants. 

“Not a word. Not a suspicious look. Nothing.” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh smack to your ass. 

Unable to respond from the overstimulation to your clit, and the pressure inside of you, Jake becomes frustrated. He pulls harder on your hair than he has yet. 

“Do you hear me? Answer me.” Not once does he stop fucking into you. 

“YES, Jake. Yes. Just…” your response is nothing but a whine. 

He reaches around to pinch your nipple between his pointer finger and thumb. He twists and pulls as you feel the warmth pool between your hips. That familiar feeling of your climax approach. 

You grab his wrist again, forcing it back between your legs to your clit. 

“So close” you mumble to him, begging him to finish you off. 

Without hesitation he picks up exactly where he left off. Quick swipes against your throbbing clit. 

He pulls himself all the way out of you, slamming himself back deep inside. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Unsure of how much more you can take. 

Your muscles tighten to an uncomfortable extent as you hear three knocks at his dressing room door. 

“Jake?” The door handle wiggles. 

Immediately he wraps his hand around your mouth as he continues to fuck into you. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers into your ear, his pace slows but his thrusts are deep. 

“Are you in there? Why is the door locked?” Layla whines from outside. 

Jake quickens his pace, both his cock inside of you and his fingers toying with your clit. 

“Let go for me.” His whisper is even more quiet than before. 

He feels your walls begin to tremble and constrict around him. The muscles of your abdomen tense as you prepare your release. 

“That’s it. Keep going. Your pussy feels so much better than hers.” He mumbles into your ear, chasing his own high as well. 

“Jake!!” Layla pounds on the door again, “5 minutes ‘til show. What the fuck are you doing?” 

As the sensation of pleasure washes over you, your senses slip. Your eyes clenched shut, and ears ringing… there is no Layla. There is no show. There is no job. 

Just you. And Jake. And the feeling of him inside of you. 

He pulls out from you abruptly, his release following, sliding down the inside of your thigh. 

He picks his pants up from around his ankles, and quickly fastens his belt. 

You’re left remaining pressed to the wall, unable to move or process anything and everything that just transpired in the small dressing room. 

What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of here without facing Layla? 

Your thoughts paralyze you. 

You feel his tight grip on both of your shoulders as he spins you around to plant a quick kiss to your lips. 

And just like that, he slips through a crack in the door, open just enough so she can’t see inside. 

Frozen in silence, you stand naked in the room alone as you listen to their muffled voices through the closed door. 

“I couldn’t find Sam.” Her voice, defeated. 

Jake clears his throat before responding. 

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.” 

Taglist: @gretasimp @writingcold @wowkakashi  @spark-my-nature @gretavanbear

#gretavanfleet #gvf #jake kiszka #gvf smut #jake kiszka gvf #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fic

[eoieopda]

[svt as fuckboi archetypes]

disclaimer: don’t take it seriously. i was having a convo. with my sister about my truly tragic dating history, and now we’re all going to hold hands n process it together.

seungcheol: big “air mattress on the floor” energy. his gaming set-up is expensive and immaculate, but he’ll be goddamned if he spends a dime on — idk — a bed frame, for example. don’t sit on his chair, though, because it’s specifically angled for his lumbar-support needs.

jeonghan: the “i quit” dude at the show who still consistently asks to bum both a cigarette and a light. you’re not getting that lighter back, and he will not, in fact, “get you back” for the uber back to yours or the take-out he weasels out of you on the way. he’ll charm you out of caring about it, too :’(

joshua: it’s giving “anyway, here’s wonderwall”. why did he even bring his guitar to this party? you don’t know, and you’re not gonna ask because the answer will make you want to fuck him less, and you really, really want to fuck him.

junhui: the one that passes out immediately after sex, leaving you trapped in that “….should i…. leave? is staying…. fine?” liminal space. he wakes up in the middle of the night, wakes you up, and informs you that you chose wrong and “should probably head out” because he has to work in the morning.

wonwoo: the one that turns every conversation into a debate. you may have a literal degree in xyz, but he is serving fresh takes™️, so listen up, diva! the dick game is god-tier, though, so you’re just going to mentally replace the sound of his voice with a different muppet’s in every conversation and wait for him to shut up <3

soonyoung: the house guest!!! he’s going to miss every single hint you drop about wanting to sleep alone. he’s going to leave a sweatshirt in your drawer so he can be comfortable next time. he doesn’t do “one-night-stands”; he does residencies. hope you didn’t have other plans this weekend :/ (eta: i wrote a fic based on this head canon — sweatshirt season, posted 10/29/23 — which you can read here!)

woozi: he asks if he can say “i love you” during sex because it gets him hot, and then he later informs you that you can no longer hook up because things are “moving too fast”.

dokyeom: you’ve been hooking up for a few weeks, and now he’s babbling about wanting to go to xyz place with you at some point in the distant future. he says it like he’s deadass about it, then looks at you funny if you ask him to get drinks tomorrow night. good luck, charlie!

mingyu: the stage-five clinger. he’s never had a fuck buddy before, and it shows. he has no idea what this dynamic is supposed to be despite a) suggesting it in the first place, b) numerous conversations about it, and c) repeated affirmations that he isn’t looking for a relationship. but he’s PRETTY, okay??

minghao: halley’s comet has nothing on this mf. he dm’s you once a year, you have the best night of your life, then he is gone girl for the next 364. you and your friends have a bet going in the group chat to see how many consecutive months he’ll leave you on read.

seungkwan: the one that has never — not even once — asked you a personal question. that’s not to say he doesn’t talk; he never stops. you’ve learned everything about him (his home phone number from childhood, the names of all his coworkers + his thoughts about them), against your will. frankly, you’re not sure if he even remembers your name atp because he relies exclusively on a generic pet name.

vernon: he talks a big game about meeting up, missing you, etc., but when the plans are laid, he “fell asleep, i’m so sorry, i’m just now seeing this!! :(” you washed your hair for this? rip.

dino: the foster puppy!!! he’s an emotionally unavailable, certifiable mess when you get him. you clean him up, train him, and the second he gets his shit together, he’s off. he’s found his forever home, and he’s coincidentally getting married on your birthday. sorry, bestie!!

#svt #svt headcanons #ot13 #minors do not interact #jade speaks

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Hi! Can you please write part 3 of bale batman x assistant reader as his wife? And how he handles jealousy after their marriage? Thank you 😊

Hello!!

I actually wrote something about this a little while ago, but because I feel like just linking the post is a bit of an asshole move, I'll add some of my thoughts!

I hope that's okay <3

Here's my previous post :)

~Fi 🐝

(My inspiration for Bruce has been dwindling, I desperately need to watch the movies again)

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

He will always, ALWAYS call you his wife. More than your actual name. He has to keep reminding people that you're unavailable and that you're his and his alone. Bruce perks up immediately whenever your name is mentioned. He's policing all of his employees at this point lmao

maybe someone talks about you to a coworker about how innovative you're thinking for the company is, that you're kind and exactly what this industry needs and Bruce just pops up out of nowhere like "who are you talking about? Hm? Oh, my beautiful, amazing, perfect wife? I couldn't agree more."

He gets so stealthy after being in the batman business that he scares them half to death because he's just there all of a sudden. After hearing some of the complaints the employees make (you're not at work as often anymore after Bruce insisted you focus on some hobbies instead) you're seriously contemplating putting a little bell on him just so you don't have to worry about anyone getting a heart attack.

He always has to be touching you in some kind of way. His go to is a hand on the small of your back or on your thigh when you're sitting down, he loves holding your hand, too. His thumb will brush over the cool metal of your wedding band and it puts his mind at ease.

Every single employee knows not to flirt with you, even as a joke. Not after Jake suddenly disappeared after Bruce caught him sweet talking you... (he may have a received a strongly worded letter from his landlord ((Bruce)) and, what do you know, for some reason, any other living opportunity in Gotham is unavailable right now)

He brings you flowers at least once a week (or until the ones he gifted you before can't hold their own anymore and wilt). They're always fragrant and bright in color, whatever is in season right now. And they stand nicely on your desk in a beautiful crystal vase that catches the light perfectly. He catches himself looking at them more than he he would like to admit.

Or, more specifically, he wants to see if he can catch you admiring them. He's gotten a new appreciation for these small things since you came into his life. They way you cup the delicate blossom and inhale its sweet scent is a picture he will dream of forever.

Bruce makes sure that you're only addressed as Mrs. Wayne (unless it's someone close like Luscius or a very nice coworker of yours) making it clear to everyone, again, that you're his. He gifts you a necklace with his name on it, which you wear proudly, and Bruce can't help but grin when he sees his name glint in the sunlight against your skin.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I'm so sorry for kinda half-assing my Bruce posts lately, but I can barely write anymore 😭

I usually write at night but I'm tired then too so I'm like "Oh, I'll just write during the day." BUT GUESS WHAT I'M ALSO TIRED DURING THE DAY

Fucking iron deficiency istg

I basically sleep all the time and when I do write, it's not a lot bc I'm literally falling sleep halfway through so yeah

#bumblebeesfromvenus #bale!bruce x reader #bale!bruce wayne smut #bale!bruce wayne #bale!bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman x reader #christian bale #bruce wayne x reader #the dark knigth rises #dark knight trilogy #nolanverse

[gloriousgoosegreeting]

Stuck (König x gn!Reader)

Summary: König struggles, reader helps.

Info: sfw, self neglect, friends to lovers, mental health talk, cursing, a little bit of blood, a little bit of violence, first kiss

Length: 3,047 words

I wrote this in a frenzy, first time writing after claiming I despise it for years. English is not my native language so I apologise for any grammatical and other errors I might have missed. Much needed research did not happen for this either.

_________________________________

König did not show up.

again.

Usually, whenever you were off duty, you two met, talked, and grabbed lunch together, on a nearly daily basis. An event that started out as a coincidence, because both of you preferred to eat away from the rest, but quickly became regular enough to warrant being called a routine.

Today was the third day in a row now that your usual schedule got interrupted by him not appearing.

The first day you tried your best not to be hurt. He was usually always on time or notified you if he’d be late or unavailable, he probably just forgot.

The second day you asked around. Maybe he was spontaneously sent on a mission and did not have the time to tell you?

But no, everybody told you he should be here, however no one had actually seen him since the trip to a pub two nights ago.

Surely the hangover should have passed by now.

You chuckled.

Today you started to worry.

There was no way this 6 foot 10 man snuck around the base with nobody ever seeing him, how did he get hold of food and kept up his tight workout regimen when he was only locked up in his room?

Was that where he actually was? It seems like one of the preferable possibilities. .

Surely bringing up food was a good excuse to check up on him. You hoped so. You have only been invited to his room once so far.

You did not want to intrude. Or bother him.

So now you were standing in front of it, two big bowls of steaming instant lasagna in your hands and a hesitant foot raised.

Maybe he was avoiding you specifically.

Maybe literally kicking his door was not the most polite way to approach this.

The bowls were very hot.

You knocked with your foot.

You heard some shuffling behind the door, a lock clicking, and it opened.

König stood in front of you, blocking out any view into his darkened room you might have wanted to steal. His white shirt was crinkled, clearly quickly put on a second ago, sitting right above thick grey sweatpants. He wore his iconic hood but without the black grease paint around his eyes. They looked tired. And you stared into them in a moment of absolute stillness.

The immediate silence forming was deafening. He should have broken it by now, you expected him to, he usually did, he did not like silences like these.This was wrong.

You cleared your throat, forcing a crooked smile on your face. You suddenly understood the intimidating presence he appeared to have on other people.

“Uhm, Hey there, Big Guy, I didn’t see you around the past days, thought you might want some food.”

You raised the lasagna bowls awkwardly, and the eyes that had captured yours unblinkingly until now, snapped towards them.

You knew he liked lasagna, it was actually his favourite, and the first thing he made sure to eat when he got back from missions.

His stomach seemed to agree with you, breaking the silence with an intense growl..

So he was definitely hungry.

You were still staring at his eyes, hoping to get any read of him, what the hell was going on? Was he mad at you? You knew he had problems in social settings but his usually boisterous personality around you easily made up for that.

“Are you okay?”

Nothing. This time the silence felt different though, even more tense than before, he wanted to say something, but the quiet staring continued.

Until finally the nerves in your hands managed to break through the brain fog of the situation to tell you that your hands are in burning pain.

“Fuck”

You started examining your hands, trying to balance the bowls whilst doing so when two large hands relieved you from their possession to put them on a shelf next to the door.

A sigh escaped your lips, when the pain quickly started to subside before you looked up to their owner again.

“Hey, there is no need to eat this if you’re too sick, I can just eat any leftovers later today.”

“No, I am not sick.”

His voice was rough, as if he just woke up.

“I will eat it, thank you.”

Stiff, rehearsed, uncanny. You did not recognise the man who had so quickly become such an important part in your daily life. And still, these words sounded genuine. And that is all that mattered.

Your shoulders sank in relief, before you took another deep breath, eyes shifting nervously between his own.

“I am glad to hear that.”, your smile was genuine now. “Do you want to eat alone? Because otherwise I’d love to keep you company.”

You wanted to show genuine interest in being with him without being too pushy. You knew to give him an out if he truly wanted to be alone, you hoped that message came across.

His eyes had moved to the side before his whole body tensed again.

That was all the answer you needed. Was there something you did to upset him?

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone for now, please tell me if there is anything I can do for you, Bud.”

It would have been nice to keep one of the bowls for yourself, but you guessed after possibly not having eaten for three days he could use any extra portion he could get.

You were already in the middle of turning away before one of his hands moved out and grabbed your wrist. It was surprisingly gentle for such a quick movement. A small tuck, and then the contact was broken again. He had turned around, leaving the door open and alone whilst grabbing the bowls to take with him.

Your heart had skipped a beat and you let out the breath you were holding, a knot in your chest screaming for your attention before stepping into his room.

The air was stiff, uncomfortably warm, there was barely any light coming through the blinds and after you closed the door you stood in near total darkness.

König’s silhouette did not seem bothered by that fact, placing one of the bowls on the table in front of the window whilst keeping one for himself to sit and eat on the bed.

The room was mostly tidy, despite some clothes next to the bed. It did not appear so by choice though and more because there was not enough stuff to actually mess up.

You slowly navigated through the darkness to find his desk.

“Mind if I open the window?” Turning on the lights would feel like an intrusion, like overstepping an invisible boundary. You knew, you would get used to the darkness quickly enough anyways. The choking quality of the air here however certainly had an effect on your appetite.

He shook his head, entirely focusing on the bowl of food in front of him, so you followed up on your plan before sitting down to cast another short glance towards him.

His hood was halfway lifted above his mouth to make space for the lasagne, his shoulders tense and unmoving during the whole process. His hands were trembling.

You started eating as well.

In silence.

The lasagne was still hot, not very helpful in your endeavour of trying to consume it as quickly as possible, because something told you to leave this situation. He did not want you here.

Your chest was tight.

No, he had shown he wanted you here. That was what the tuck meant, right?

Your eyes darted between him and the rest of the room.

Another deep breath, another bite. Some water would be nice.

But you did not break the situation with this request. Should have thought about that earlier.

On his desk was a book, spread around it a handful of pens; the cover was filled with what looked like scribbles and doodles. In low light conditions like this it was impossible to make out any further details but you wanted to make sure to remember to ask about it in the future.

Your attention was drawn back to him when suddenly he stood up, his bowl empty, staring at you for a second too long before casting his eyes away again, his breath visibly shallow. There was tension in his body begging to be freed, but he just stood there, not a word leaving his mouth.

You gulped down your last bite, this time not letting him out of your view. You wanted to say something but your head did not allow any appropriate verbalisation.

But this time, he had mercy on you.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

His speech pattern had not changed from the last time he spoke. A short thought of him being replaced by an alien clone made you stop in your tracks with an involuntary smile before you could process what he just said.

You stood up as well already on the way to the door.

“Sounds good, lemme just grab a hoodie-”

“You can wear one of mine.”

He was in a rush, and did not want to wait for you to get to your room. He himself finally managed to move and rummage through his closet to find -

Wait, did he just offer you his hoodie?

Both of you suddenly froze, realising that this gesture could be read with more meaning than initially intended. You could not deny your heart beat quickening, and then König slowly rose holding two nearly identical black hoodies in his hands. He took a step towards you to hold one of them in your direction with a more than respectful distance between you. He had now completely stopped trying to hold eye contact.

With a short moment of hesitation you took hold of the fabric. It was made of thick and heavy cotton, nothing fancy or particularly soft but something that would warm and last for a while.

And you pulled it over your head.

You were sure he had not worn it yet, the only smell clinging to it being from the standard laundry detergent the base used. It smelled like your own piece of clothing, this one just being three times bigger.

He mirrored your movements, making sure the hood hiding his face was not pulled down as well.

Not giving you a second glance he moved to the door to leave, fully trusting that you would follow him.

And that you did.

It did not take you two long to leave the base.

The afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds, making the outside a lot more bearable after the darkness. You squeezed your eyes against the cool wind hitting your face, barely being able to keep up with König at a normal walking speed.

He noticed, and slowed.

Still quiet, but the tension in his shoulders had already started to subside, his breathing was consciously slower and deeper.

You swallowed, looking up at him, and then the direction you were heading.

Trees started to surround the small path you followed, becoming more and more. Not enough to be called a forest, but enough to hide the view of the base behind them after some turns. The silence was ongoing, but did not feel deafening anymore. You synched with his steps comfortably now that he was walking slower. You let out a deep breath. Relaxing more and more into the situation.

After a while, König spoke.

“Thank you… I-”

He struggled to continue, words being stuck in his throat and at some point you turned your head towards him to see him actively stop trying, his shoulders sank, face straight ahead, and breath going back to the controlled rhythm you noticed before.

You weren’t sure if a response was required from you right now but you did not want to leave the air in front of you empty.

“I just really hope… whatever is going on, that you will feel better soon.” you know you can talk to me right?

“I will.”

A state of fact, there was no doubt in his mind. After a moment he swallowed, continuing.

“I have this sometimes, Keine Ahnung what exactly it is but…”

His hand gestured upwards.

“Brain doesn’t work.” The last words drifted into a weak smile.

“Hmmm”, You hummed. Staring forward, listening to him and the world around you. The leaves were rustling in the wind.

“It’s getting better tho, might be connected to the anxiety, I am not so sure. I had times where I barely left my room…”, he took a deep breath. “Or ate for weeks…”

“Walking helps sometimes. I just have a tendency to forget that it exists when it’s too late. It shakes some of the brain cells free if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” A genuine smile split open your face when you let your shoulder hit his bicep gently.

“Missions help as well, especially when I work alone-”

“Wait, was it the pub? That triggered this?” You interrupted him.

“Probably, yeah.”

He had left early that day, barely finishing his first drink before jumping up abruptly mumbling that he would leave. You were surprised he joined in the first place and weren’t sure if you should have followed him, he did seem unwell, but you were sure he just needed some time alone.

He shrugged “Doesn’t matter anyways.”

“What, why? You can learn to avoid this.”

“Sure, but I don’t want to miss out on more than I need. And the first 15 Minutes were actually really fun.” He laughed slightly at that, not really meaning what he said.

You scoffed but sent another chuckle in his direction.

Both of you continued in silence for a bit enjoying the relaxed atmosphere that had started to build, when he suddenly bowed down for a moment to pick up a rather large stick lying next to the path, threatening you with it in a mocking gesture reminiscent of fencing. He had quickly put enough space between you two that there was no actual danger present if he were to swing it. A genuine but comical cackle left his lips.

“Oh, little sniper, you may have been able to beat my record but you will not beat this.” He pushed the stick forward until it met your chest. You looked down, eyebrows raised, then up into his grinning eyes again.

“You know, I am not even that short!”

His head twitched to the side, he shrugged, expression unchanged, the friendly challenge written on the visible parts of his face. “Do I look like I care?”

A broad smile slowly crept onto your lips, you sank into a fighting stance, ready to defend yourself.

“Oh, but you should, I would not want you to underestimate a body of pure and raw power such as mine.-”

You made full use of the fact that his current pose was more theatrics than a proper fighting stance. With one hand around the tip, you guided the stick away from you whilst pulling in your direction, your body moved to the side, free hand grabbing the middle of the stick to use the extra leverage to turn it away. His loose, one handed grip faltered, now giving you full control over the weapon.“-Or you could get hurt.” You took a step forward, swinging the stick at him in satisfaction.

He, however, ducked down just in time to avoid being hit in the neck. His hand grabbing another stick, this one being crooked but similar in length, to block the next attack coming from below.

His eyes were open wide, completely unbothered by the splintering bark sent flying from the crashing of wood. He leaned forward, adding onto the pressure between your weapons of choice, before suddenly, it vanished.

And you got hit in the chest, falling down on your back losing all of your breath, he jumped on top of you, pinning you down. “Hahahaha, not so fast.”

You coughed, and he froze. His hood tickled your face and thanks to the way it fell you could not see his worried eyes.

“Are you-”

Your forehead made violent contact with the bridge of his nose and you did not miss a beat to change places with his heavy body. A bit gentler now with the victorious smile on your face not lasting long when you saw the image in front of you. His hand was covering his nose and you could hear a curse between his groans. Your eyes widened.

“Shit, did I go too far?”

“No.” His hand moved away and you could see the hood dark from blood.

“Fuck! You sure?”

“Yeah, just next time, please kiss me instead. I don’t think my nose can handle being broken again.” He was forcing his eyes to meet yours now, the tension and all his insecurities behind them clear. You went still, you could hear your blood rushing through your ears. This small physical exchange should not have been able to bring your heartbeat to new levels, but here it was ready to break out of your chest. Did he really just tell you to kiss him?

Instinctively your own eyes wandered to the place where his mouth should be before moving back again.

Suddenly you were hyper aware about the position you both were in. You were straddling his waist feeling his quick breaths, one hand was placed on his shoulder the other on one of his wrists.

Slowly, you lifted one of them, sliding it underneath his hood with a slight tremor. You raised it carefully revealing his broad and defined neck, adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. You made sure to give him enough time to stop you before continuing when you moved up to free his jaw where you rested your hand to cup it. It carried a short stubble and a small scar right next to your thumb. He was watching you nervously throughout the whole process, crooked lips slightly opened as he let out a breath, droplets of blood smeared across them. His hood was still hiding the rest of his face.

“Just be careful.” He whispered as you leaned down to close the distance between you two.

_________________________________________________

Part 2

#könig x reader #könig x you #cod könig #könig #könig x gn!reader #konig x reader #konig x you #sfw #gn!reader #reader insert

[little-noko]

Black Friday week is here!

Kick off the 2023 holiday season with our weekend long sale!

Going through Friday, Nov 24th-Monday Nov 27th, we'll be offering 20% off on all websites, which include

LoadingCrewCraft.com (main website), our Shopify and our Etsy store! (Please note, Etsy does not carry our entire catalogue, and prices will still reflect Etsy original prices. Etsy prices are inflated to cover the high fees on that platform.)

Everything that's available for the sale is already listed on our sites, so take a look when you have the chance!

A note for this year from @alainaprana : Handmade items will be unavailable for immediate purchase.

I've kept alot of people up to date about my on and off health this year but I've not been able to sew enough to keep everything in stock. If you'd like something on reserve or want to at least ask about a specific items availability, please message me. I will let you know if its possible or not to get one in time for Christmas.

SHIPPING INFORMATION : The cut off date this year for ON TIME Christmas orders will be Wed Dec 13th at the latest !!

After that we cannot promise safe delivery, holiday shipping gets crazy slow and expensive. If you're concerned about lost or stolen packages this year feel free to DM me about priority upgrades on small items! Anything book or daki sized and over usually goes priority by default.

Thank you and have a wonderful Holiday!

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#signal boost #black friday sale

[mothdruid]

Homemade Dynamite

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: You and Bradley had a history, not a positive one. After growing up together, your relationship ended in shambles. Being called back to Top Gun is forcing you to face him again.

wc: 10.3k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, angst, this is mainly smangst, lots of crying, best friends javy and jake, bradley and natasha best friend dynamic, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex, vaginal fingering, use of "i love you"

a/n: i've been working on this intermittently for about two months now. i got the idea from Lorde's song Homemade Dynamite. that song just felt tragic yet happy at the same time, so here we are. also i know it seems a little quick to forgive but that's my red flag with emotionally unavailable men, so here we are. ps. i use my own call sign for everything i write now cause it's easier on my brain

Years had passed since you were last here. Top Gun. A hatred had festered inside of you ever since you were a trainee there. Memories plagued you as you drove through the surrounding town. You never thought that you would have been called back here, especially not after getting the cushiony test pilot spot. Even though it had been years everything felt unchanged, the exact same as when you left five years ago. 

That unchanged feeling brought you to the Hard Deck. The Hard Deck was a Top Gun staple, every pilot knowing of the bar. You climbed out of your car and made your way into the bar. A sense of familiarity took over you as you walked in. The Hard Deck was filled to the brim with people, a healthy mix of civilians and naval aviators. A smirk gathered on your lips when you saw a familiar face. 

“I can’t believe it. Howler, is that you?” 

“Hey, Penny.” You gave her a curt nod. 

“Haven’t seen you in a minute.” She flashed you a smile before gesturing at the bar around her. “What can I get you?” 

“Got any CiderBoys?” Penny nodded as she retrieved the bottle from the fridge under the bar. Your gaze searched around the bar, seeing a few recognizable faces. The noise of Penny removing the lid from your cider pulled your attention back to her. “Anyone still floating around here?” 

“You mean, is Rooster still around here?” Your stomach dropped at the mention of his call sign. Bradley Bradshaw. He was once one of your most trusted friends. The two of you grew up together, went to naval academy together, even graduated from Top Gun at the same time. But everything had changed while at Top Gun. The cool tart taste of your cider coated your mouth as you took a swig. 

“That wasn’t what I meant.” You took a few more drinks. 

“I know you, Howler. You’ve spent way too many nights getting too drunk in my bar, for me not to know.” You gave her a look, one she hadn’t seen in a while. It said that you had walls now, walls that weren’t coming down anytime soon. The mom in her gave you a specific look, one that was laced with concern. “I’ve seen Hangman and that’s really been it. He is actually just over there.” Penny nodded off in a direction.

Truth be told you had never completely liked Hangman, him being the reason for your embarrassing call sign. But if Hangman was all you could get right now, you weren’t gonna complain. You quickly asked for one more cider before heading off in his direction. A pleasant feeling washed over you as you saw more familiar faces the closer you got to him. It was a classic scene you walked over to, Hangman and Coyote playing darts. The both of them were in civilian clothes, just a t-shirt and jeans. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The Texan called out as Javy threw a dart. You held your arms out, a cider bottle in the both of them. “What are you doing back here? Last I heard you were out in Maryland.” You took a drink then flashed a smile. You turned to see Javy who was shooting you a big grin. 

“I was! After coming back stateside I went to do jet testing.” A surprised yet proud look covered Jake’s face. Javy came over and gave you a small cheers before the both of you took a drink. Coyote threw his arm around you and pulled you in for a hug, one you happily obliged. 

“Testing? How did you get that lined up?” You looked up at him while being tucked under his arm still. Javy had always been a good friend of yours, ever since the academy. Coyote and Fanboy had always been there for you, and on occasion Hangman. You shrugged slightly as you walked over to the table that had their beers and items on. You set your spare cider and light sweatshirt down on the table. 

“Not quite sure, I guess I’m just lucky.” A thud from a dart hitting the board is what you were greeted with when you turned around. Coyote gave you a goofy look and Hangman a chuckle as he placed a toothpick between his teeth. “What?”

“Sure, Howler.” Heat bubbled up to your cheeks immediately at the mocking of your call sign. Jake’s lips curved into a shit-eating grin as he watched you. Jake would never forget that night, the night he found out there was something more going on between you and Rooster. That was also the night he found out you were loud in bed, ‘howling’ all night as Bradley fucked you. 

Coyote snickered while you brushed off your slight irritation, rolling your eyes. “You realize this is why some people don’t like you?” Jake walked towards you, cockiness oozing from him. 

“Doesn’t matter, I got you and Coyote here with me. That’s better than anyone else.” Hangman grabbed his bottled beer, cheering it to the both of you before taking a long drink. You and Coyote exchanged glances for a moment. 

“What a sight for sore eyes.” A new but familiar voice spoke up. The three of you turned to see the old cohort. Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback were staring at the three of you. Mickey flashed you a smile as he walked towards you, gesturing for a big hug. Even though sour memories were plaguing your mind, seeing everyone again was worth it in the long run. 

“How ya been?” Fanboy asked while in the embrace. 

“I’ve been well! You?” You gave a nod to Natasha as she walked past the two of you. 

“Good, it’s been good.” Payback came up behind Fanboy, holding his fist out. You gave him a fist bump as the three of you started talking. Phoenix was bantering with Jake and Javy while you told Mickey and Reuben about your time up in Maryland. 

“Who are you?” Hangman’s voice was loud enough to pull everyone’s attention. All of you turned around to see a man sitting near you all, munching away at a cup of peanuts. His large wired frames looked oddly familiar. You stood there for a moment racking your brain as he started to talk. 

“I’m Bob.” Not a sound came from any of you. “I’m a weapon systems of-”

“A WSO, right?” You asked briefly. Bob nodded as he cleaned broken peanut shells off his lap. “I think you’re on the thing I got called back for.” Bob flashed a half smile as he ate a few more peanuts. Phoenix tilted her head as she stared at Bob. 

“Bob Floyd? My new WSO?” Bob smiled again. 

“Call sign?” Hangman questioned. 

“Bob.” Hangman knitted his eyebrows together in a questioning manner. 

“That’s it?” Bob nodded with an innocent look on his face. 

“Badass on board.” It slipped out of you without a thought. Bob sent a full smile in your direction as some of the others laughed. You pushed your elbow out, knocking against Mickey who quickly stopped laughing. 

“Looks more like a baby on board.” Hangman quipped as he threw a dart at the board. Phoenix rolled her eyes at Hangman’s reply. 

“Always got something to say, huh?” Natasha tended to have a short fuse when it came to Jake. It was an understandable short fuse since Hangman was an ass to her all through training. Hangman winked at her before throwing another dart. You moved back to your table, watching everyone as you cracked your next cider open. You flicked your gaze to the doorway, watching as the doors opened. Your light mood immediately dropped. 

Bradley Bradshaw.

The glass of your beer bottle touched your lips as you started downing the cider. Hangman and Fanboy’s eyes watched you both with concern, seeing you chug your cider. They exchanged a look between the two of them before Rooster came into view of them. Hangman flipped the toothpick in his mouth, pulling it out to speak up. 

“Look who decided to join us.” The rest of the gang looked up to see the tall brunette. A loud thunk came from your now empty bottle as you set it on the table. Phoenix and Payback greeted Rooster gleefully as he approached the group. A devoid sensation settled over you, waiting for the world to slow down around you. Slow motion never came though, just a panicked feeling. Your nails subconsciously dug into your palms, creating crescent shapes. 

Rooster smiled as he talked with Phoenix and Payback for a moment. He looked around to see who all was there. A curiosity prodded inside of him when he saw Hangman moving swiftly to a table. Anything that distracted Hangman from shooting an insult had to be interesting. Rooster followed the direction Hangman was walking in, his gaze landing on you. His lips pressed firmly together as he watched your still being. 

An annoyed feeling pooled in him as he watched Hangman get to the table. The relationship you and Jake had always seemed to put him on edge. His eyes followed Hangman’s hand, grabbing your hand as he spoke in a hushed tone. Bradley bit at the inside of his lip as he pushed his feelings deep down inside of himself. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” You looked up to see Jake’s concerned look. His hand covered yours, providing you a small sense of comfort. Bradley’s gaze became noticeable, your eyes meeting from across the short way. A conflicted look sat on his face, hazel eyes boring into your own. You pulled your hand away from Jake’s, not wanting Bradley to get the wrong idea. 

“No, I’m gonna head off though. I gotta unpack some stuff anyways.” Hangman nodded before gesturing towards the door. He gave you a soft pat on the back as you headed out. Your gaze stayed straight as you walked past Bradley, his gaze landing on you for a moment. Jake watched Bradley’s gaze follow you, Bradley turning around to watch you leave. 

“A picture might last.” Natasha elbowed Bradley, trying to catch his attention. Bradley’s lips tilted as he brushed her arm away. Natasha and Bradley’s eyes met, Natasha giving a concerned look to him. “Bradley, you know you shouldn’t.” 

“I don’t even know if she’d let me.” Bradley said while scratching at the back of his head. 

“You never know, but I wouldn’t push it.” Natasha watched as Bradley’s gaze drifted again. The both of them watching the door close behind you. Bradley felt his heart drop at her words. The damage to the relationship had already been done, and possibly could never be mended. Bradley patted Natasha’s back for a moment before heading towards the door. “Roo-” Nastasha felt a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from getting Bradley’s attention. She turned to be greeted by a slightly annoyed Jake. 

The fresh air outside had never felt so refreshing. The temperature had started to drop, which helped your emotions calm down. The devoid feeling started to escape you as you made your way to your car. Your breath felt a little shaky once you approached your car. You paused for a moment, trying to recollect your thoughts and emotions. The gravel of the parking lot crunched behind you, signaling someone was near you. You rolled your eyes before turning around only to be surprised. 

“Hey.” Bradley’s face looked forlorn with his husky voice. Your heartbeat picked up, adrenaline pumping through your system. Anxiety started to set in as the two of you stared at each other. Your hand drifted into your pocket, grabbing your keys out of it. 

“Hey.” The single word was shaky as it left your lips. A small smile tugged at one side of Bradley's lips. You leaned back against your car, looking up at him. Bradley looked down at you with a look of fondness, thinking about all the good times you used to spend together. 

The orange hue of the sunset casted over Bradley’s body while you stared at him. Fond memories flooded your brain for a moment. The one time the two of you snuck out and walked on the beach, talking about your plans after Top Gun. Quickly your brain switched gears, flipping to the memory of him leaving you alone and sobbing in the break room. 

“I heard you were out in Maryland.” Bradley caught on the change in your stare, making him step next to you. He made sure to put a small amount of space between the two of you before leaning against your car. 

“I heard you were in Europe.” Bradley nodded at your words. You kept your gaze low, staring at the gravel near your feet. 

“I was.” An awkward silence was starting to settle. Bradley looked over at you, seeing your low gaze. He awkwardly nodded to himself. “What are you doing back?”

“I got called back. Apparently they needed the best of the best.” Bradley snickered, thinking back about how skilled of an aviator you are. “You were called back too, weren’t you?” 

The question didn’t take him by surprise, but he wasn’t expecting you to ask. You brought your gaze up and looked at him. His hazel eyes were filled with that warmth you had missed. You tried keeping your face as blank as possible, but couldn’t help when you bit your lip. Bradley’s expression dropped a little, making your own drop. Bradley gave you a small nod, “They need the best of the best.”

A small smile appeared on your face when you looked away from him. Bradley smiled when he heard a small chuckle come from you. “This is gonna suck.” Bradley nodded again. “Don’t make it suck anymore than it already will.” Bradley gave you a questioning look. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” A small anger had started to boil in you, his facial expression adding more fuel to the fire. 

“That was four, almost five years ago.” Bradley pushed off your car and turned to face you. Irritation settled on both of your facial features. His nostrils flared for a moment as the both of you stared at each other. You crossed your arms across your chest while staring at him. 

“Bradley.” 

“I know. I fucked up.” His words were harsh, not to you but to himself. Your anxiety had changed and turned into annoyance. “What more do you want me to say? How do you want me to fix-”

“Not everything can be fixed, Bradley. You haven’t tried to fix anything for almost five years, why try now.” Your words were bitter. That was the main question floating in your mind. Five years. Five years of silence. What was so special now? 

Bradley sat in silence, not knowing what to say. A pain twinged in his chest as he watched you become a little more heated. “Now I have to go. Go inside, have a nice cold beer, play some darts, and just enjoy it.” The click of your car unlocking ended your sentence. Bradley watched silently with an irritated look as he watched you get in your car. You backed out of your parking spot, watching as Bradley stood there to watch you leave. 

The car ride home was painful, tears pricking at your eyes every now and then. The silence in your car was painfully loud as tears slowly started to stream down your face. A loud slam of your car door felt like the only appropriate thing once you got to your house. You dragged your hands over your face, this was gonna be a long few weeks. 

-

Five weeks. Three for the mission and two to find a new assignment. It seemed like a reasonable enough time frame. It wasn't too long or too short. But it was too much time around Bradley. Even though you two didn't fly in the same jet, he still managed to get under your skin. 

“Go get ready. I’ll see you all in the sky.” The sound of everyone’s chairs filled the hanger after Maverick’s dismissal. Jake caught your gaze, flipping the toothpick between his teeth. 

“Rooster and Howler, hang back for a moment.” Your eyes flicked up to meet Mavericks, shifting in your seat under his stare. Bradley adjusted in his own seat, correcting his posture a little bit. The shuffling of your teammates was the only noise between the three of you. After everyone left the hanger the both of you stood up, hands tucked behind your back. A stoic look dawned on both of your faces.

Maverick smiled, seeing two kids he practically helped raise standing in front of him. It hadn’t all been easy flights and sunshine though. He wasn’t present for either of your Top Gun training, but he had heard about what happened. Maverick raised his hand and dismissed your formal stances. “It’s good to see the both of you.” 

A curt nod was all you could give. Rooster gave a small smile with his own nod. Maverick motioned for the both of you to come forward, closer to him as he talked. “Now I know you two are both professionals,” you and Bradley stood almost shoulder to shoulder as he spoke, “but I have to give a warning.” Your gaze wanted to look at Bradley, needing to know if he was wearing a similar expression to yours. Your gaze stayed forward though, watching Mav’s expression. 

“What warning?” Bradley’s voice was laced with a hint of annoyance. You didn’t blame him, you would probably have a similar tone.

“You both know what I mean. Whatever is going on with the both of you.” Maverick’s eyes flicked between the both of you, a hidden concern plaguing him. “You have to set it aside.” Your teeth gnawed at the inside of your cheek after he spoke. You and Bradley nodded, neither of you wanting to verbally agree. Maverick nodded at the two of you again. “Good, now go get ready.” 

The walk back to the locker rooms was silent, only the sounds of your boots on the floor. You slipped into the women's locker room. Callie and Natasha greeted you in the locker room, both of them ready to go. 

“What was that about?” Callie asked. You knew that Natasha wouldn’t want to speak about it. Nat was good friends with Bradley, but she tried not to push and pry at the relationship you two shared. Natasha had been there when the initial discovery of the relationship was made. 

“Nothing, Mav just making sure we are good.” The both of them nodded. You quickly grabbed your items and finished suiting up. The three of you knocked helmets before you left the locker room, a small ritual the three of you always did. 

Most of the others were down the hallway, heading out to the tarmac. Bradley leaned against the wall, helmet hanging from his hand. He turned his head to see the three of you coming out of the room. Callie and Natasha gave him small waves as they passed him. Natasha briefly looked back, shooting you a concerned look. A small wave was what you gave her to fully dismiss her. You stopped only a few steps in front of Bradley. The both of you waited until you heard the door close finally.

“Hmm?” You made a small questioning noise at Bradley. Bradley’s eyes were locked on you, even though you were looking straight ahead. 

“You good?” The question made your eyebrows knit together. You turned to look at him, his expression was still bordering stoic. 

“Yeah, I’m good. You?” Bradley shrugged and raised his eyebrows briefly with his shrug. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” After pushing up off the wall he stood next to you, his helmet close to your own. An annoyed smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. Bradley had always been like this, acting as if what happened never did. Bradley knocked his bright red helmet with your pearl blue helmet. “See you up there.” 

-

It had to have been the universe. Why else would you and Bradley end up in the sky together? The two of you had barely been in the sky for five minutes before he spoke over the radio. “You good?” 

You looked out your cockpit at him, squinting your eyes at him. Why the fuck does he keep saying that? It was like he was teasing you, knowing that you haven’t been the same since you two split. 

“It’s not like you care.” It was Bradley’s turn to squint at you. 

“And who told you that?” An irritation started to boil in your stomach. He had always been like this, acting oblivious to the pain he caused you. 

“Didn’t need to be told, you showed me that. Or did you forget that?” There was a harshness in your voice that Bradley didn’t like. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.” You looked at your radar, looking to see if Maverick had popped up. It was still clear which made you think he was below or behind you two.

“Look, I know that what I did was shit.” Bradley started to plead with you in a sense. “I’m sorry.” 

“Rooster, I’ve heard it before. I don’t want to hear it-” 

“You’ve never heard it. Always shoot me down first.” The boiling irritation turned into shock. Bradley had never spoken to you like that, or at least never with that tone. You looked back at him, nostrils flaring. 

Maverick came in over the radio, “Cut it out the two of you.” 

“The fuck did you say?” Bradley shot a wave out his window, knowing damn well he was pissing  you off. Bradley shot up a peace sign before diving down. You dove down behind him, the two of you falling into a rolling scissor maneuver. 

Back in the ready room everyone listened to you, Bradley, and Maverick over the coms. Bob was listening intently, not sure why the two of you tended to argue so much. Bob had a slight idea but wanted to confirm the exact reason. Bob elbowed Natasha softly, gaining her full attention. “Can I ask a question?” Natasha nodded while hearing you call Rooster a cock over the coms. “Why are they like that?” 

“Oh.. They have a bit of a history.” Natasha gave him an awkward smile. Natasha hated it. She loved the both of you dearly, but god did she hate how you two acted. She tried her best not to take sides. Natasha had been very vocal to the both of you when your previous relationship had been found out. 

“Is that what you call it?” Bob and Natasha looked over to be greeted by Javy and Jake. Jake’s lips were curled into his devilish smirk. 

“Yeah, it is.” Natasha said. Bob watched as Jake walked closer to them. Jake’s eyes were locked with Natasha’s, making her protectiveness of Rooster come out. “You don’t need to air it out, Bagman.”

Jake tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicked from Natasha’s to Bob’s. Bob averted his eyes, not wanting to fully meet Hangman’s intense gaze. “There you go Phoenix, being a good wingman for no reason. We all know what he did was wrong.” Jake kept his gaze on Bob, even though his words were directed to Natasha. 

“Bradley isn’t a bad person.” 

“Nobody said he was.” Coyote replied. Coyote and Hangman had both been there on that fateful night. The night that Bradley had left you broken and alone. Jake had held you close to him while Javy comforted you. Your sobs were something that they could never fully expunge from their brains. But while they were comforting you Phoenix was with Bradley, listening to his drunken ramblings. The ramblings consisted of him regretting ever ending the relationship to how he was a terrible person who didn’t deserve you. 

“What exactly happened?” Bob piped up, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Sorry, it’s just everyone seems to know. I feel a little out of the loop.” A loud shout from Bradley came over the coms. 

“Rooster and Howler were childhood friends, both military kids. Came to the academy and everything together.” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together in a questioning way as he listened to Javy. 

“Why then are they like this?” Bob gestured to the coms, Maverick calling out and telling you two to head back to ground. 

“They started fucking, giving Howler her call sign, then Rooster broke it off abruptly.” Bob’s eyes widened when he heard the bit about your call sign, making his mind wander slightly. A part of him thanked himself for having a generic call sign. 

“And she’s been bitter about it since.” Phoenix spoke up. 

“But Bradley left her alone, ghosting her afterwards. So, I’d say her bitterness might be a bit warranted.” Jake chimed in. Bob nodded, knowing a bit more about you and Bradley now. Fanboy then spoke up.

“Can’t you guys just stop bringing it up?” Everyone looked at him. A pensive expression was what Mickey wore, wanting to get his point across. “We were all affected by what happened. Howler was hurt and Rooster was never the same. So just stop.” Payback nodded at Fanboy’s words. Hangman let out a chuckle as he backed off of Phoenix and Bob. 

-

“What the fuck Bradley!” You grabbed his inflation device, shoving him back. An angry but flabbergasted look was on his face after you shoved him. Everything in you wanted to throw your helmet at him. The others rushed out of the building, running to separate the two of you. 

“What did I do wrong this time?” Bradley yelled at you, frustration settling on his features. His chest heaved as he looked at you, walking towards you. The two of you came face to face, only a few inches separating your face. Bradley’s eyes scanned your face, eventually landing on your lips. It took you by surprise the way he was looking at you. Your eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, making you question your anger for a minute.

Maverick ran over, pushing the two of you apart as everyone finally arrived. Hangman and Coyote pulled you back, their words went in one ear and out the other though. Bradley was pushed back by Phoenix and Fanboy, his eyes not leaving you. A part of Bradley wondered what would have happened if nobody had shown up. 

It was a flurry of words thrown about but none of it mattered. Your brain tuned it all out, trying to find some form of calm. Hangman and Coyote started to usher you towards the hanger, taking you into the ready room. Your breath was heavy when they got you in the ready room. Hangman came around to face you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Hey.” 

You tried to focus on his face, not paying attention to whatever Coyote was doing. “He…” 

“No, Howler.” Jake brought both his hands to your face, centering your face with his. “Focus on me.” Your eyes locked with Jake’s, focusing on the green irises staring back at you. You nodded to Hangman, showing him that you finally were focused on him. As you stared at Jake tears started to prick at your eyes, your anger turning into sadness. Hot tears started to stream down your face. A sob racked through you as you started to cry. Jake pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you left a wet spot on his green jumpsuit. 

Jake shot a look over to Javy, a knowing look. Jake stroked your hair, trying to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. “I hate him..” 

“I know, it’ll be okay.” Jake’s words were soft and comforting. 

“...But I still love him.” 

-

“Roo..Bradley..” Your voice was barely a whisper, his lips traveling along your neck. His hips were slotted against your own, a small rocking rhythm being made. Bradley’s breath was hot on your skin, hands traveling up your sides to your breasts. He pulled his head back from your neck, looking down at you. 

“So fucking pretty for me.” 

You had never shot out of bed so fast. The clips from your dream kept repeating, making you rub your eyes aggressively. You sat there staring into your lap for a moment, wondering what the fuck that dream was. That’s when you remembered what happened last night. Your suspicions were confirmed when you looked over the edge of your bed, a sleeping Jake Seresin on your floor. 

Tequila never mixed well in your system. 

After you climbed out of bed, avoiding waking Jake up, you stopped at the bathroom then went to the living room. Javy was already awake, phone propped up on his chest while he scrolled. A small hand raise was all you gave him, receiving a similar one back from him. 

“Jake asleep?” You nodded your head as you picked out a Keurig pod, placing it in the Keurig and waiting for the water to heat. Javy stared at you with a curious gaze, one eyebrow cocked. “You good?” No, you weren’t good. If he remembered anything from last night, he knew you were far from good. A shrug was all you offered him with a pathetic smile. “You don’t have to hide around me. Plus, Jake ain’t here right now.” 

“I know, Jav. It’s just,” a stupid smile spread on your lips before you spoke again, “I had a dream about him.” Javy sat up on the couch while he gave you that look you hated. It was that stupid knowing look, the one he liked to give you back in the day. “Go on, say it.” Javy threw his hands up in a defensive manner. 

“Hey, it could have been the tequila shots Jake had us taking.” Javy chuckled when he saw you give him that “yeah, bullshit” look. The sound of your Keurig pushing out your coffee filled the silence, your gaze drifting away from his. “You said you still love him.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. You hated that Rooster still had this effect on you somehow. 

The emotional damage had never fully subsided. How could it have? The two of you had grown up together. This was never supposed to be the outcome. Hell, fucking was never even apart of the plan. But you couldn’t help it, your emotions getting the better of you on one fateful day. But it wasn’t just you, he had reciprocated it. Kissing you back just as passionately as you kissed him. But the more confusing parts were when the two of you would stay up late, laying in bed while talking for hours. Or the late night beach walks so no one would find out, even though everyone already knew. It didn’t last though, falling apart in an instant. 

“I know I did.” Javy threw the blanket off his lap, standing up and moving to the bar of your kitchen island. He gestured towards the Keurig, you picking up his silent asking for a cup of coffee. You just gave him yours that finished, popping in another pod after. 

“You gotta face him, eventually.” You fetched the creamer from your fridge, offering it up to Javy. “I’m not trying to be pushy or anything, it’s just that..” 

“He acts like we are just supposed to move past it.” You wrapped your hand around the back of your neck, sighing as your coffee finished. “As if he didn’t emotionally wreck me.” Javy poured a small amount of creamer in his coffee, grabbing a stir stick from the basket of goodies on your island. He pointed it at you intensely with the small wooden stick.

“Does he know that?” A slightly annoyed look pulled over your face. 

“Really?” You snatched the creamer from in front of him. Javy took a drink from his cup, hiding a snicker. “Javy, you know damn well th-”

“Men aren’t always that smart.” You squinted at him, bringing your own cup up to your lips. You hated when Javy was right. You appreciated it but god did it annoy you. At least it was better than Jake being right.

“Except you, right?” A big smile spread across his face. 

“Except me.”

-

The two of you hadn’t spoken since the incident. Maverick doing you both the favor of separating two from flying together, seeming as the two of you had been hazards the last time. The entire atmosphere of the group had changed too, almost like a divide had formed. You didn’t really mind, counting down each day until you could leave anyways. 

You stared out at the water, toes digging deeper into the sand. As much as Jake insisted he should come with you to the beach, you told him no. You knew he just wanted to make sure you were okay, distract you from your own thoughts. But you needed your own time. Time alone to sort out your thoughts. The sun had already started lowering, an orange hue casting over your skin and the sand around you. 

This was one of the few things you actually missed about Top Gun. The beach was unmatched, no other collection of sediments brought you this type of comfort. The sound of water softly beating at the sand, wetting it over and over. 

Did Bradley know? Did he know how he hurt you? Broke your heart? Damaged your ability to love? But yet still had you wrapped around his finger?

Your conversation with Javy kept replying in your head, along with the memory of that terrible night years ago. The memory was so clear yet fuzzy, something you had tried not to think about for years. The forlorn look on Bradley's face compared to your distraught one. The tears ran down your cheeks as he told you 'We can't do this anymore.' As if you had agreed to end things prior. He didn't even try to comfort you, no wiping away tears or anything. Just a 'sorry' and he was gone. 

You pull your knees close to your chest, tucking your face into them. Tears hadn't started to form, but you knew it'd be only a matter of time. It was such a hard concept for you to understand. How could he do that? Fuck his childhood best friend then disappear? None of it made any sense. You looked back out at the water, a deeper orange hue covering everything now. You went to lay back on the sand, but collided with something. Well, more like someone. You turned and looked up, a familiar face looking down at you. 

"Hey." It had been days since you last heard him speak. His voice was soft and almost hesitant. You wondered how long he had been there. 

"Hey." You turned back to stare at the sunset. You couldn't help wanting him to leave, but a small part of you wanted him to stay. Which is what he did. You could barely feel the sand shift behind you before you saw his legs extend out around your body. You turned to see Bradley had taken a seat behind you.

“Hmm?” Bradley hums. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Sitting down?” Bradley gave you a similar questioning look. 

“Wh-why are you sitting behind me?” As much as you hated it, a part of you missed this closeness. You missed these small things your friendship used to contain. It was a friendship you were never able to replicate. 

Bradley had just always provided a different level of comfort. Him buying your favorite candy without you asking, even the few comforting fucks you two shared. But maybe those gestures were what started to scare Bradley away. It was true that emotions were never something he could manage well. Even as a long time friend he had a hard time discussing them with you. He was much better at showing emotions through action, not talking about them. 

“It just.. it felt natural. I can move.” Bradley’s legs started to retract from around you. Without a second thought you brought one hand out, touching the tanned skin of his knee and thigh. The two of you stared at each other for a moment. You missed those hazel eyes, full of so much untold truth. 

“Stay.” Bradley nodded his head, settling back down behind you.

There was still a space between the two of you. Silence settled as the two of you watched the last slivers of the sun. Bradley remembered the last time you were at the beach. Glimpses of your bare skin barely visible underneath the water. The warmth of your body against his in the cold water. It hadn’t been the first time he had skinny dipped, but it was the most memorable. 

There was a small nervousness in you. It felt almost as if years of irritation had melted away. Bradley thawing out your heart, reversing the frozen state he had left it in. You decided to test the waters of his comfortability, and a bit of your own. You leaned back slightly. Bradley welcomed you, letting you lay back against his chest. Your heart fluttered when he wrapped his arms around you, supporting your weight against him. Your legs stretched out into a more comfortable position. Once the sky started to shift from orange to black you both started to speak. 

“I uh.. We should talk.” You looked up at Bradley, still leaning back into his chest. Bradley looked down at you, the mustache on his upper lip quivering in the slightest. He nodded, confirming that he also wanted to talk. 

“Yeah, we probably should.” Bradley broke his stare, looking out towards the darkened water. You could see the small details of him chewing the inside of his lower lip. The small tug from the inside being barely visible on the outside of his lip. There was another silence between the two of you before you spoke up. 

“What should we.. where should we begin?” As much as you wanted to attack him, the small angelic Javy on your shoulder told you else wise. Bradley shrugged, neither of you sure where to start the conversation. 

“How was Maryland?” It was such a generic question, and you knew it was just to avoid the true topic. 

“Maryland was nice. Lots of history there and that was about it.” Bradley smiled when he heard the history bit. “How was Europe?” 

“It was nice.” The smile was still on his lips, but he had turned to look at you. “Nice to kind of get out of here, the US I mean. Just experiencing somewhere else.” You knew exactly what he meant. Right after you graduated from Top Gun you went to Japan, running away from all your emotions at the time. You were there for three years. Three years of shelving your anger and sadness towards the man you were currently cuddled up to on the beach. 

“Italy, right?” Bradley nodded at your question. 

“Wish you could have seen it.” Another silence. You sat up and looked at him.

“Bradley.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you? Do you really know what happened?” Bradley’s eyebrows knitted together a little bit. “Bradley, you broke me.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest, finally admitting to him what happened. Bradley’s lips tightened together, his gaze shying away from yours. “You really have no idea, do you?” You stood up, turning to stare down at him. 

Bradley sat there with his hands in his lap. He was staring at your feet, still not wanting to meet your gaze. You stared at him for a moment longer, your eyes starting to water as you looked at him. As much negative emotion you had towards him, you couldn’t help the warmth and love you still felt for him. That was when he looked up at you. Eyes watering just like yours, lips parted as he ran his tongue over his lower lip. 

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t like any previous apologies he had half assed to you. This was a vulnerable apology, just the two of you. The first time he didn’t mention fixing the relationship. The last time you had seen Bradley this vulnerable was after the last time you had sex. You had categorized that night as making love, not just fucking. It was the first time you had told Bradley you loved him, even though he couldn’t say it back. 

You lowered to your knees, neither of you breaking eye contact. Bradley’s knees bent, bringing his legs a bit closer to himself. You were kneeled in between his legs, one of your hands going out to stroke his cheek. 

“I was scared,” Bradley had finally started to say, “I was scared to lose you.” Your eyebrows knitted together, confused by his words. He had lost you though. “I didn’t want to lose you like I lost my dad.” Tears had started to fall down his cheeks. You swiped one of them away as he looked away from your gaze. “I didn’t want to lose you abruptly. I watched what that did to my mom and I was.. I didn’t want to experience that again. So, I thought if I broke off our arrangement I’d feel better. But I didn’t.” 

“Bradley.” His name was barely a whisper on his lips. 

“I love you.” The three little words that you had been waiting years to hear from him. The two of you had said it as friends prior, but this was the first time it meant a little more than that. Wet streaks started to form on your own cheeks, tears rolling down them. 

One of your hands snaked around his neck, the other cupping his cheek. You pressed your lips to his, conveying more than what words could. Bradley’s hands moved to your jawline, one cupping your cheek while the other cradled your jawline. It wasn’t anything sexual, only emotion. Emotions that neither of you could fully express with words. When you pulled back Bradley tried capturing your lips again, you placed a hand on his chest to stop him. You placed your forehead against his, a hand on the back of his neck and the other still on his chest. 

“I’m sorry.” Bradley whispered. You smiled softly at his words. 

“Don’t be.” You pulled back and looked at him again. His hazel eyes looked different now, studying your every feature. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

The next twenty minutes were a blur, moving a bit too fast for either of you to fully register. You and Bradley drove back to your house, him tailing you in his old Bronco. The two of you quickly made your way into your house, Bradley kissing at your neck as you tried to unlock your door. After your nerves allowed you to unlock the door the both of you were tumbling into the foyer. Bradley’s hands were on your hips as he kicked the door shut, pulling your ass back against his hips. 

“Bradley.” 

“What?” His mustache tickled your skin as he mouthed your neck. “Been thinking about this for years.” 

“You could have had it the whole time.” You quipped to him. You were testing the waters, seeing how far you could push him. His hands tightened on your hips, flipping you around and backing you into the wall. 

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” Bradley pressed his thigh in between your legs, rocking his hips with yours. His hands guided your hips while resting his forehead on yours. His hot breath mingled with yours, making everything seem a few degrees warmer. His mouth smashed into yours, a messy kiss ensuing. His lips were wet on yours, tongues battling for dominance inside of your mouth. Bradley’s hands snaked around to your ass, grabbing and pulling you somehow closer. 

“Bradley.” His lips trailed down your jawline, connecting with your shoulder. He rested his forehead on your neck, taking deep inhales of your scent while rutting into your hips. His cock was already hard in his shorts, digging into your hip as the two of you rutted. Everything Bradley did was rushed and needy, as if it would be the last time he would have you like this. He pulled back to look at you.

“You look so beautiful like this.” A heat boiled into your cheeks, a part of you somehow forgetting how Bradley used to praise you in bed. The way he used to praise you through your orgasm, telling you how tight you were squeezing him. Your core clenched around nothing at his words, rutting your hips into his. Even though it had been years, you felt that familiar squeeze on your ass that Bradley used to get you to jump.

Bradley caught you when you jumped, pressing your back against the wall and adjusting your legs to wrap around his waist. The way his hard on was pressing against your still clothed core made you wish you were bare underneath him. Bradley groaned as he kept rutting into you, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. His mustache tickled the skin lightly as he mouthed from your jaw to shoulder. 

One hand moved from cradling your ass to your shoulder, pulling the collar of the old t-shirt you wore down and to the side. His tongue traced the same exposed section of your collar bone. Your fingers threaded through his hair while your other arm snaked up around the back of his neck. You hadn't even noticed that Bradley started to move the both of you. 

Both hands were planted in your ass as he walked over to the couch. The plush couch hit your back as Bradley laid you down. His hands quickly grabbed at the hem of your shirt, pushing it to feel at the newly exposed skin. The skin that was so familiar yet distant to him. The familiar ghosting of his hands over your midsection, sliding up to cup your breasts over your thin bralette. 

"Fuck, I missed you so much." Bradley's heavy breaths we're hard on your skin, making goosebumps blossom all over you. His hips were still rutting against yours, practically pinning you to the couch. 

"You have no idea Bradley. All the nights I thought about, fucking myself to what we used to have." Bradley stilled, panic quickly flooding your system. But then he kissed you. It was different from the make out session prior. It was more akin to what you shared on the beach. 

"I missed you, not just fucking you." Bradley said when he pulled back. The look in his eyes was sincere and full of emotion. "You've always been more," a trail of kisses started down your neck, "than just a fuck to me." His hands pulled your shirt up, helping remove it and your bralette so you could receive more attention. 

"Bradley," you cupped his face and pulled it to face yours, "I know. Even though you never said it, I always knew deep down." Bradley leaned forward and kissed you, that spark of passion reappearing. 

"Good, cause I'm about to show you again and again and again." Bradley's lips trailed down your neck, one arm propping himself above you while the other ghosted down to your chest. He kneaded your breast, thumb rubbing and flicking your nipple. "Gonna show you til you beg me to stop." 

"Don't know if that'll happen." Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. A small groan left his throat, a smirk pulling at his lips. "We've got a lot of catching up to do." 

You smashed Bradley’s lips to yours, passion flowing between the two of you. The hand on your breast continued to knead the mound. The hand that was propping him up, moved closer to your head, fingers grabbing onto your hair and tugging you back away from him. The tickling trail of his mustache leads down your jaw and neck. He left a few nips on the way down, stopping to suck on the sensitive spot along your collarbone. 

The soft tickling sensation continued down your skin, his lips wrapping around your left nipple. His tongue swirled around the hardening bud, flicking it every now and then. Soft moans fell from your lips, urging Bradley on. He wanted them louder, needed to hear how much you missed him. His hand left your hair, coming down to rub your cunt over your shorts. His other hand ghosted down your side, grabbing your hips as you started to roll them into his hand. 

“Sound so fucking good for me.” Bradley groaned as he pulled back, watching your body react to his every touch. Your hands moved out to pull at his own shirt. 

“Off. Now.” Bradley smirked, his hands leaving your body to tug his shirt off. It was as if he hadn’t changed in years, still toned and tanned. An acute nostalgia washed over you, yearning to become familiar with his body once more. The feeling was quickly replaced with excitement as you reminded yourself of what you were doing. 

Bradley let out a groan when your fingers graced his skin. You sat up to meet him, hands roaming all over his chest. A smile stayed on Bradley as he watched you admire his body. Your eyes flicked up to connect with his hazel ones. One of his hands cupped your face, thumb rubbing your cheek lightly. With your eyes locked, you leaned forward and licked at one of his nipples. Bradley jolted a little bit, not used to the sensation. Groans started to fall from his lips, hand shifting from your cheek to the base of your neck. You wrapped your lips around his nipple, tonguing the bud just as he did to yours. 

The air filled with soft groans and moans from the both of you. The hand at the base of your neck grabbed your hair, pulling you off his chest. Bradley kissed you once more, hot and passionate open mouth kisses. He guided you back down, laying you on the couch once more. Your fingers threaded through the soft brown locks, tugging as his kisses continued. A moan was ripped from you suddenly, Bradley’s hand now pressing against your core again. 

He pulled back from you, staring at your almost breathless form. You felt the waistband of your shorts loosen, looking down to see Bradley had flicked open the button. He pressed his forehead to yours, “This okay?” 

“More than okay.” You placed a kiss on his cheek. Bradley slipped his hand underneath your panties, fingers diving between your folds. Bradley listened to your moans as he rubbed circles on your clit. You let your legs fall further apart, the fabric of your shorts and panties keeping his fingers close on you. Bradley mouthed at your neck, moans filling the air as you let him have his way with you. 

Bradley was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, fingers still building that sweet mountain of pleasure inside of you. An endless mantra of his name fell from your lips, fueling him further and further. The wetness coating his fingers was driving him mad. “I gotta taste you. You’ve always tasted so good.” A heat crept up your cheeks when you heard his words. A moan and nod was all you gave him, signaling you wanted him to taste you too. 

You barely had time to register Bradley’s hand leaving your panties, tugging your shorts and panties down quickly. Your legs fell open, waiting for him to take his place between them. His hand gripped the inside of your thighs as he settled. He dragged his lips along the inside of your right thigh, the prickle of his mustache tickling your thighs. He breathed out a hot breath on your cunt. He snaked an arm around your thigh, fingers spreading your folds as he started to lick and suck on your clit. 

“Oh fuck, Bradley!” Bradley’s locks were soft in your fingers, tugging lightly as he started to shake his head back and forth. His tongue flicked on your clit, sending small shocks of pleasure through your body. A tightness had started to form in your lower abdomen from Bradley’s actions. The hand gripping the inside of your thigh disappeared, reappearing when his fingers prodded at your entrance. 

One long finger slipped inside of you, finding that soft spongy spot quickly. It was as if Bradley had never forgotten. The map he had of your body years ago, still fresh and untattered in his mind. Another finger was added inside of you, both fingers fucking into you. The combination of his fingers and his mouth was starting to become overwhelming. 

“Mmm, there you go baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Bradley groaned, looking down to watch his fingers push in and out of you. 

“Bradley, if you don-” His lips were back on you, tongue assaulting your clit. With a few more flicks of his tongue and thrusts of his fingers you let go. Bradley didn’t let up as your moans turned into whines. Your body had started to shake the longer you rode out your orgasm. All of your muscles were tense, your legs starting to tighten around Bradley. 

“Fuck, you taste so good.” Bradley finally let up, moving up your body as you laid there in your post-orgasmic glow. “So pretty when you come for me.” Bradley kissed you again, the taste of you flooding your senses. His hands crept up your sides, rubbing and kneading the flesh. 

“I need you.” You whispered, putting your forehead to his once more. “Need to feel you in me.” 

Bradley let out a groan at your request. One of his hands moved to the button of his shorts, undoing them quickly. Your hands pushed at the waistband of his shorts and underwear, him helping you pull them off. Once both articles were removed you wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking lightly. 

A small shudder ran through Bradley, the distant yet familiar feeling of your hand wrapped around his cock. He would never admit that he dreamed of it multiple times over the past few years, dreaming more of his cock being deep inside of you. His head lolled for a moment, basking in the feeling of your hand. 

“Fuck, I need to be in you.” Bradley nuzzled into the crook of your neck once more, lips and mustache hastily working over the exposed skin. He guided his hips closer to the apex of your legs, your hand still stroking him. When he got close enough you lined him up, his cock resting at your entrance. 

He guided your legs around his waist before pressing into you. He pulled back just into time to watch your face contorted in pleasure. Your mouth was agape, a strangled moan coming out of it as he bottomed out inside of you. The stretch was intoxicating, something that you had truly missed. Bradley kissed your jaw and cheek, waiting for the approval to move. 

When Bradley noticed the smallest hint of a nod he pulled his hips back a little bit. His rhythm started with slow deep thrusts, moans and groans coming from the both of you. Bradley kept nuzzled against your collarbone and neck. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, one hand was laced into his hair. You weren’t tugging or pulling this time, just cradling the back of his head and neck as he fucked into you. 

Words were lost between the two of you. Rambling sentences fell from Bradley as broken ones fell from you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bradley whispered as he mouthed your neck. “You feel so fucking good. Always felt so good wrapped around my cock. So warm and inviting, makes it so hard to leave. God, you’re just amazing. Everything I could ask for. I love you.” 

You weren’t sure if he said it on purpose or accident, but you didn’t think twice about saying it back. “I love you too, always have.” Bradley’s thrusts became more powerful, the speed casually increasing. His cock kept hitting that sensitive spot inside of you, sending waves of pleasure through your system. 

Bradley’s arms snaked underneath you, one hand cradling your head while the other settled on the center of your back. It was similar to a cocoon, a cocoon of just Bradley. Bradley wasn’t sure what possessed him to need you that close to him, but he needed you. Wanted you to flood his senses more than the current situation. He wanted you to consume him, take away all of the bad that had ever happened between the two of you. Throw it out the window and start anew, which he felt was currently happening. 

You tightened around his cock, moaning against his chest. Bradley groaned as he could feel you getting closer and closer to your orgasm. It had been years but he remembered all of the telltale signs. He let your head fall back a little, still cradling it as he pressed his forehead to your temple. 

“Let go baby, let go all over my cock.” His words were slurred with pleasure but still had the same effect. The familiar tightness in your abdomen that had been mounting snapped. Your hands were reaching and clawing, trying to touch anything that was Bradley. 

He let out his own string of groans from you tightening around him. With only a few more thrusts Bradley was coming inside of you. His name fell from your lips when you felt him fill you. Bradley kissed your jawline, his hips barely pumping in and out of you know. The two of you laid on the couch like that for a moment, Bradley on top of you with his softening cock still inside of you. He rested his head on your chest, the two of you laying in bliss. It was Bradley who broke the silence. 

After a bit longer of laying there you tapped his shoulder, signaling for him to get up. The both of you went to the bathroom, cleaning up and using the bathroom. Bradley went to head back to the living room, but you grabbed his wrist. 

“Let’s finish this in the bedroom.” Bradley gave a gentle smile before nodding towards the living room. 

“Can I grab my underwear?” 

“Of course, can you grab my t-shirt too?”

Bradley greeted you in the bedroom, tossing your shirt to you. He watched quietly with a smile as he watched you put it on, your lower half already beneath the covers. Bradley climbed into the bed, sitting next to you under the covers. You looked over at him, a light smile on your face. Bradley tilted his head, giving you a soft but embarrassed look. 

“What?” You asked. 

“I just, if you would have asked me a few days ago about this.” He made a gesture between the two of you. “I wouldn’t have imagined this. I’m sorry.”

“Bradley, you don-” 

“Yes, I do.” That injured look from the beach had returned to his features. “I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.” You reached out for his hand, thumb rubbing the back of his hands. 

“I know you won’t, but you can’t be constantly apologizing for it.” Bradley shook his head, trying to avoid your gaze now. He felt tears prick at his eyes, lips pressed tightly together at your gesture. 

“I told Nat that night. I got really really drunk and told Nat everything.” Your heart hurt, hearing Bradley slowly start to open up about everything was painful. Everything you heard on the beach you could have assumed. Growing up you knew he had some type of trauma from losing his father so young. 

“I told Jake and Javy.” It was now or never to get everything out and on the table, being the type of vulnerable you should have been years ago. Even though you two were partially best friends growing up, Bradley was always keeping you at some type of arm's length. 

“I could have guessed that one. They seem to be your two glorified guard dogs now.” Bradley chuckled at his own comment, earning an eye roll from you. 

“They were the only ones that cared,” you noticed Bradley bite the inside of his lip, “or at least seemed to care.” Bradley nodded, put his hand over the one you were holding his hand with. “Bradley, I know you cared. It was just hard for you to show it and everything.” Bradley nodded again while fighting back tears. 

“You deserved better. You deserved so much better than what I gave you.” Bradley looked at you, tears starting to create trails down your cheeks. “I should have been protecting you, but I ended up hurting you. And yeah, I had shit going on mentally but that doesn’t mean I had any right to treat you like that.” 

“Bradley-” You reached out to run a thumb over his cheek, whipping away the tears.

“No, it’s no excuse.” 

“Bradley, will you let me talk!” You raised your voice slightly. Bradley bit the inside of his lips, holding back his words. “Yeah, you did suck, but you want to try to be better?” 

“Obviously.”

“Then there. You’ve admitted to me that you fucked up. Do I completely forgive you? No, but am I willing to give you another chance? Yes.” Bradley looked at you, a hopefully but still hurt look on his face. 

“Why?” A slightly confused look was on his face. 

“Because I love you. I’ve been saying that.” You brought a hand up to his cheek, cupping it while you kissed him. Bradley let his tears fall as the two of you kissed, a gentle and emotional kiss. The both of you pressed your foreheads together, resting and taking each other in. 

“I know, I love you too.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster smut #rooster angst #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x f!reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #top gun fic #top gun smut #top gun angst #top gun x reader #top gun fanfic

[luvrsux]

“Obsession”

word count: 3.8k

summary: you started off as a bartender at some rundown club until a mafia group infiltrated your job unexpectedly but the leader himself grows quite keen to you

cw//tw: nsfw!! shooting, mentions of murder/killing, creampie, oral, praising, obsession

disclaimer: im in no way romantizating mafia/mafia gang organizations. this is for entertainment purposes only

On a rather lustful, midnight weekend, you were working as a waitress at a night men’s club, minding your own business serving customers while they gawked at the skimpy dancers on steel poles. The club was a rather expensive one, where people of riches and fortune could express it by merely breathing. Despite the town, your job paid you a terrible rate. You’ve grown to hate your job. Sure, security helped and protected the slim dancers on the poles with precision but it, unfortunately, didn’t apply for you. Your body would get catcalled and often groped unwontedly. You lost track of the number of bruises and nosebleeds you gave the disgusting men that lounged in your workplace.

You then heard a blood-curdling scream in front of the dimly lit building. The sheer amount of terror on the feminine shriek made your heart drop miles into the Earth’s core, watching a half-naked woman running out of the building flailing her arms before a bullet spiked straight there her skull.

Whatever beverage stood on your black tray immediately crashed into the carpeted floor upon watching the horrid scene. People pushed past you to escape the chance of ending up in the poor woman’s shoes. Your total shell-shocked state was the very reason you crashed onto the ground by the taller, broad bodies colliding with you. You winced in pain when your body landed in a not-so-comfortable position causing your ankle to sprain.

Before you knew it, the building attracted more corpses when the culprit watched the population pour out of the building. The person sure was trigger-happy. Tears swelled your eyes but you still managed to trace the figure of the man now holding a pistol.

“That’s enough, Yasopp” A voice, that was oddly soothing. Your heart pumped out of your chest once you eyed the man now approaching you. He had two other men sprout behind him like a plantation.

“What do we have here?”

He crouched to your level, analyzing your figure. You held your now unavailable foot, completely defenseless. Even if you tried to run, the man now named Yasopp would shoot you down with his eyes closed. You gulped.

“You’re cute” You saw a grin appear on his lips, as well as bright crimson hair. He had an index finger and thumb pull your chin up to his face. Pure terror overcame you.

“I know you hate this shitty job, love. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you an entirely new world”

Now here you are

It was a dark, midnight rainy night on Friday. The building you were being driven to was laying in only the most expensive city in the country. There were blinding lights all around, nearly suffocating your vision. The window tints only helped so much.

What made this specific Friday night so different was you were approaching the head of the Red-Haired Mafia group. This was a weekly thing, every night you’d be escorted in a rather ominous sleek, black limo quietly to his grand mansion for a quick “meeting”.

You wore a tight slim dress that provocatively opened at your chest. It barely reached the middle of your thighs, the hem that is. Your neck glistened with the jewels the boss kindly gifted you. The giant fur coat covering your shoulders was also a generous token from the redhead, making it especially sacred considering he delivered it to you not only in person but on your birthday. Your sugar-coated gifts were usually left at your door to avoid being detained by the federal authorities, so the coat was something you’d cherished.

You’ve grown attached to the boss and everyone knew you were his weekly fling. As you admired the bright lights springing past your tinted window, a slim glass of champagne in hand, you traced back to the very first time you met. Your first impression was pure terror, but as time passed when you realized this was now your life, you’ve gotten accustomed to it.

Shanks, the boss you were fucking every weekend and in an oddly intimate relationship with, did turn your life upside down. It gave you whiplash with how fast he bought you a new house, jewels, and prizes for simply existing in a way he appreciated. You wouldn’t praise the life you were currently living, but you definitely didn’t complain. If it weren’t for Shanks, you’d still be living in that run-down, rugged apartment and that hell of a job for as long as you can remember.

You knew Shanks would kill anyone who dared to wrong you, it’s happened before. Your “favorite” was when you were at a club with the man himself. He had an arm rest around the top of the cushioned seat, underneath being you sitting there pretty as ever. Your seating was in a secluded, VIP area where absolutely no one was allowed into. Of course, you and Shanks recklessly made love in the room several times before and everyone would know.

A random extra wanted to converse with Shanks himself, putting the passionate rough lovemaking on hold for now. To this day, you wondered how a guy can be so dumb as to blatantly hit on you in front of the man himself. Not wanting to get his hands bloody and off of you, he had one of his crew members suffocate the air out of his body in a blink of an eye.

“Get rid of the body, the lady doesn’t like it” Shanks immediately ordered once the body let out a croak. His mates nodded immediately, thus having the body leave your field of vision faster than a snap of the fingers. Shanks had his remaining hand cup the side of your face to turn to him.

“You only belong to me, and I’ll gladly get rid of anyone who decides to intervene, princess,” He said with a cold smile. His demeanor did something wrong to you, but it felt so terribly right. You appreciated the way Shanks’ heart had a rope tied around your own. You knew Shanks wasn’t lying, and he kept his word ever since, even before then.

Now, usually, Shanks would greet you in the limo inside to “prepare” you for what’s to come, not only simply sharing a few drinks. Upon getting into the seats and seeing his absence, you realized how much you longed for his presence.

Shanks - 12:34 PM

Sorry for not being there, princess. I have a few things to do first xx

Was the text Shanks left you a few moments before entering the fancy vehicle. You were growing antsy about meeting him as pure usual. He’s given you the best nights of your life for as long as you can remember being in his palms. Each week you’d only have your hopes set on Friday.

You finally arrived at your destined destination. You heard your chauffeur speak on his phone, alerting your “partner” about your sudden presence. You waited patiently for someone to open your door for you to waltz out elegantly. You’ve grown used to the prissy, princess treatment. You have been letting Shanks fuck your brain out for roughly a year and some change now.

“She’s here, boss” Is all you heard before the door swung open for you to flood out. Your heels make a firecracker sound upon impact once you stood up from your seat.

“You’re a doll, Roux” You cooed, receiving a pleased smile from the bigger guy that once escorted you to the grand building before you.

You approached the front steps, passing by the grand fountain in front that spurted water in several directions—a rather perfect centerpiece for the mansion. You eyed the security guard up front.

“Where is he?” You asked.

“On his way, ma’am”

“Always keeping me waiting…”

You grumbled, stepping foot on the steps. Your stiletto heels hadn’t stopped making that fire-cracking pop sound with every preppy step. You finally gazed upon a toned, broad body appearing in front. His draped trench coat draped over his body while he wore a loose white button-up and black slacks to match. He had a pleased grin at your mere presence. The redhead snaked his hand to grab yours, placing his lips on the surface of your hand. You felt his stubble tickle your skin, making you giggle.

“I missed you, princess” He cooed, pulling you close to his body.

Shanks wrapped a prideful arm around your shoulders, the fuzziness of your expensive coat tickling his veiny, toned arm. You smiled happily.

“You say that every time, dear”

“How could I not?” You felt Shanks breathe and caress your neck through the fluff. A chill slithered down your spine.

“You always make me feel good~”

You felt his eager lips collide with your own. He proudly smudged your glossed lips when the two lips synced together passionately. Shanks didn’t care if he was in the middle of the massive foyer, he thrived nothing more than publicly proving to everyone you belonged to him—and him only.

Your arms latched around his neck, only making his hands grope the fats of your ass through your slick, black dress. Your lips parted ever so slightly, giving the eager crimson-haired man to slither his tongue to dance with your own. At this point, you two were heavily breathing in each other's mouths. You clearly longed for his touch, and it didn’t help that Shanks reciprocated that same feeling. You felt his lips detach from yours, leaving a slight feeling of disappointment lingering in your body.

“Let me take you to my office, doll” He smiled. You felt arms bring your body upward to latch around his torso. The sudden movement made a giggle escape your lips.

Shanks slammed your rear on his pricy, wooden desk that was scattered with files and papers of his targets—but who was paying attention to any of that? You two were going at it in each other's mouths, not parting to breathe for a single minute. Shanks's scarred hand tore off the fur that coated your body with ease, tossing it wherever in his office room.

You released a small moan once you felt his hands travel mindlessly around your body. His hands tugged down the hem of the dress that covered your chest. Your breasts poured out like a tsunami to Shanks's entertainment. A hungry hand latched onto it with force, letting yet another moan travel out your mouth.

“Fuck, princess…” Shanks breathed in your mouth from pure pleasure. His arm, without a single hesitation, cleaned everything laying on his desk to create space for your body all for his pleasure.

His thirsty lips traveled to your open neck, painting the entire canvas with bruised marks made by his mouth and teeth. Each mark made a whimper escape your now smudged lips. Your hand stroked through his crimson locks with each passing second he was on your neck.

“Lay down, baby” His voice was muffled by the marks he was mercilessly making on your body, recharging the ones that were beginning to fade from previous “meetings”.

Your back made contact with the now bare desk, fully aware of the consequences that’ll occur if you didn’t oblige. Shanks moved his hands to your lace to peel them off with complete ease. To no one’s surprise, your slit was already wet and ready for Shanks's body. He chuckled, always enjoying the view of your throbbing cunt before he completely tore through it.

Shanks didn’t even bother taking your dress off from the sheer anticipation coursing through his sadistic veins. He just crinkled it upward to make a better opening. Your head was thrown back when Shanks grabbed your thighs to lay on his broad shoulders.

All you felt was a moist tongue graze along your lips and sensitive bud with one swipe and the slight sensation of stubble. Your long moan made Shanks chuckle, sending vibrations in your body.

Shanks went back into devouring your cunt while knowing exactly where your sensitive spots lay. His tongue made sure to explore each and every crevice like it was the last meal of his lifetime. The room was filled with your messy moans and the sounds of slush slurping by Shanks’ hungry mouth.

Shanks flicked his tongue over your bud, sending a mountain peak of pleasure through your core. You shrieked, suddenly feeling that tight knot begin to snap.

“Sh- aah aah~! Im about to cum, Shanks~!” You cried. Shanks only chuckled at your, what he can only describe as pathetic, reaction, sending those vibrations through your body once more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck~!” You cursed, spurting out your secretions all on Shanks’ stubbled mouth. Shanks pulled away with a grin and a complete log in his pants while you watched him wipe the moisture off his face with an arm, all through completely distorted and blurred eyes. Your session was far from over though.

“Your turn?” You breathed heavily from your massive orgasm. Shanks still had that, as you like to describe it, sexy grin while he unbuckled his pants that were on the verge of bursting from his member.

“You know me so well~” He cooed, watching your sluggish body peel off the desk. You bit your lower lip and brought your body down to your shaken knees, your body still not fully recovered from your previous orgasm.

You saw Shanks’ member spring into your face. The intimidating size always caught you off guard each time he recoiled it onto you. You eyed the small number of sticky secretions spewing out of the hole from his arousal. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, making Shanks sharply hiss by your mere touch. You could tell he was longing for you ever since he saw you leave his place in your last appointment.

You placed a gentle kiss on the tip of it, making Shanks lightly jolt. He knew you were teasing him and he didn’t like it. Shanks’ excitement was getting way too much for him, and you were only making it worse.

“Open your pretty mouth, (F/N)” He ordered. You didn’t think he’d catch onto your sly antics so quickly. You obeyed submissively, extending your mouth agape in front of his throbbing, hot member.

You felt a hand rest on the back of your head, and it was the exact thing to push your mouth forcefully onto him whole. You let out a small yelp, followed by several sloppy gags by his girth and length. Shanks let out a long groan.

“Thaaaats it, doll~”

You began to bob your head back and forth along his size, gagging each and every time. Your hands gripped his pants, trying not to lose your breath in the middle of the session you impatiently longed for.

As soon as you looked up at Shanks with those “dumb” eyes, like he would call it, he felt like he lost all control. He used the hand that simply rested in your locks of hair to mercilessly skull fuck the air out of you.

Tears streaked down your face, completely smudging and ruining your makeup, but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved the way you’d look after he’d shove his cock far, far down your throat with his own hands. His groans and grunts became more consistent now that he was showing you zero remorse for your mouth and lungs. You tried every fiber in your body to fight through it.

“Yeah, take all of- mmmph~..! All of it in your mouth, princess” He breathed out. You didn’t stop looking up at him with teary, blackened eyes when he shoved every inch into your wet mouth faster than you can comprehend.

Shanks felt his long-awaited climax reach up to his core. He released a loving grunt when he slid your slobbering mouth off his member, a string of saliva connecting your plump lips with his dewed cock. He chuckled, completely in love with your distressed state and how quickly he ruined your caked face. You had saliva trickling down your chin and your chest expanded rapidly while you were catching your own breath.

"Your mouth is pretty with my cum and all, but I wanna dump it somewhere else, doll~"

In a blink of an eye, Shanks threw you back on that dark oak, glossed desk. Your bare breasts and stomach made direct contact coldly, making you shiver and flinch. His calloused hands grabbed the fats of your hips as handles. Your dress was still scrunched up to reveal your lower half—perfectly demonstrating the vast amounts of eagerness Shanks had for you when he laid his eyes on you at the doorway.

You felt the rose tip of his member caress your drenched opening, causing a whimper to leave your slobbering lips. Shanks hissed when the sensation of his hot member made contact with your cunt. Nothing, absolutely nothing, restrained him from him nosediving himself inside of your velvety walls forcefully. Shanks pushed a shriek out of your lips.

“Scream as loud as you want, princess~” Shanks cooed shakily, massaging your bruised thighs caused by the crimson-haired man completely breaking your mind with his cock. Shanks’ thrived on showing you off. Whether it be leaving marks, having you wear the jewels and gifts he gave you, or fucking your brain out in rather populated areas so people can hear your submissive moans and his hungry groans.

Shanks bucked his hips back and forth at a slow pace. He exhaled, feeling entirely pleased now that he finally got to feel your insides from a long, gruel week of waiting. You were all Shanks could think about, besides his rather gruesome occupancy, every week. He’d find himself teasing his wood through his pants at the mere thought of you and always contemplated invading your home just to release his urges. From the sheer obsession, Shanks had for you, an undercover bodyguard would look after you whenever he wasn’t there with you.

Shanks’ speed increased faster than you anticipated. After every stroke, you were rewarded with a sexy grunt or groan by the boss himself. You, on the other hand, were a moaning mess. You felt your own cervix being obliterated by Shanks’ merciless thrusts by the second.

“Oh, doll, you wrap around me so well” He groaned. His heavily scarred hand grabbed a handful of your now entangled hair. He yanked your head up to stare at the entire, fancy, well-kept room and the shut door.

That same door released a knock that was slightly suffocated by the sinful noises coming from both of you. There was no possible way the person behind the door couldn’t hear what was occurring in that office room, not with how loud you were moaning and how loud Shanks was pounding your body.

“Boss? We need the case file of our mission” A voice said from behind the door. You heard Shanks grumble.

He didn’t stop going crazy on your body while he searched the floor that carried scattered files of his targets he wanted dead. They all had one thing in common, but that didn’t matter right now since you both were only focused on climaxing.

“Im-.. fuck~.. Im busy!” Shanks yelled. Not a word was said after that, aside from your messy moans.

Your voice began to crescendo when that knot that was tightly built in your womb was beginning to snap. Your body was quivering before Shanks and he watched with a devious smile.

“Gonna cum, baby~?” He asked, knowing good and well what the answer was.

“Yes, sir… Mmmmph, Im gonna cum~!” You yelped.

Shanks admired your love juices spurting on his pelvis, knowing that he, yet again, made you climax hard and made your brain run blank. It was practically a talent to him.

“Good girl~” He praised, massaging your lower half while he let you ride out your hard orgasm. Shanks didn’t stop, though. You were bound to lose your ability to walk when he was finished with you but that wasn’t newborn at all.

Luckily, Shanks’ own climax was tailing behind yours. How you knew that the crimson man was about to dump his load was when his grunts would become breathless and he’d lightly chuckle from the amount of euphoria you gave him. He’d release one last loud groan, while it being slightly wobbly, and filled your hole past the brim with his seed.

“Fuck, baby~!” He shouted after his last pounding thrust, letting you feel the warm liquid flood your insides. You finally got an opportunity to catch your breath into your shriveled lungs and now worn-out throat.

You felt Shanks pull his huge girth out of your entrance, causing the waterfall of cum to pour out like a waterfall. You let out a long, soft moan when you felt all of the stuffing trickle down from your cunt to your leg.

“Let me get you cleaned up, princess” He smiled. While you were too busy trying to gather your consciousness together, Shanks buckled his pants and wiped off any remaining secretions lingering.

You rolled on your back to lift yourself up once your brain rebooted after being broken silly. Your hand lifted the fold that was scrunched down to cover your breasts and you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna do my business. You think you’ll be alright being here while Im off?” Shanks himself tried to catch his breath while he picked up the scattered papers on the floor. He threw them beside you on the desk, them now at your reach.

“Of course. Don’t get yourself killed” You giggled. Your statement made Shanks chuckle.

You watched him barricade you with his arms by resting them on either side of the desk you were lovingly displayed on. Your hand was placed under his chin and then trailed to remove a red strand that lingered over his eyes.

“You worry too much, doll” He cooed.

You hummed and had your hand grab the files of soon-to-be deceased victims. Your eyes analyzed the pictures and your expression dropped. Shanks watched, entirely pleased like he wanted you to see what was in that cream-colored folder.

That one thing that they all had in common was that they all wronged you one way or another. Thanks to Shanks’ trusted undercover agent, he was able to pinpoint each and every person, entirely for your pleasure.

“Shanks…” You muttered. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to be flattered or astonished by the files presented before you. You saw the boss pull away and search in his desk drawer.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet (F/N)” He cooed, pulling out something you couldn’t quite make out yet. You expected a new necklace or diamond earrings, but not a glistening gold ring of the iconic gem that was now shining before you.

“I want to marry you. So that now you’ll officially be mine”

His words turned your mind upside down. What was a weekend fling soon turned into an intimate bond that was now formally being promoted to newlyweds. You hadn’t felt this content and safe with someone for as long as you could remember, and it was rather obvious that Shanks had an undying infatuation with you since the incident at the men’s club. Your words immediately birthed the word Shanks anticipated.

“Of course, boss~”

all licensing and ownership belong to eiichiro oda

#op x reader #fanfic #x reader #one piece #shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #red haired pirates #mafia au #mafia #op x you