ryuzakemo128

[ryuzakemo128]

Dinner for two | cw: fluff, age gap (reader mid 20s, John late 30s), john price x shy!reader.

“Dinner? Together? Where?”

John Price, who made it his mission to spend as much time as possible with shy!reader outside of work. So the past month (that’s actually was been three because John’s been away), every Friday or Saturday, John takes you out on a date. Or you, him. Which ever one is the most comfortable.

Now spending money on you wasn’t something John had a problem with, but he’d needed an excuse to see you in your best form— your home.

“I can cook, but I’m still doing some renovations, I’m not sure if it’ll be done before Saturday” he sighed, lying through his teeth. There were no renovations being done, he just wanted to be at your place. He’d known just from the way kept your desk, full of little trinkets, do-hickies, pastel highlighters, a pretty lavender calendar adored with stickers, that damned large and in charge yellow Stanley cup with a few fluffy key chains— your house would be a sight to see.

And no, not in a teasing way.

In an adorable, loving, you’re the cutest thing imaginable kind of way.

“I-well- m-my place is closer to the base, so we can have it at my mine.” You rushed out but immediately regretted it. Face palming internally. Why the hell would you suggest that?

“Perfect,” he hummed in satisfaction, good girl, “It’ll be like a potluck.”

A potluck, right. A potluck. That did those words even mean when John he gave you the sweetest, breathtaking kiss on the cheek. He saw the way your mind kinda went to the cloud once he pulled away.

“I’ll see you later, be good.” With that, he left your office, your eyes stuck on his broad shoulders.

“Yeah.” You could’ve rolled in a sea of flowers, your heart was leaping, cheeks heated up, you prayed he didn’t notice.

You were whipped like a nice, homemade buttercream and John would dip his pinky in it, had you wrapped around him so easily. You hadn’t even processed that John, a man that was not family or a friend, was coming over.

Alright, who did it? Whose fucking grand idea was it to invite John over?

Well yours, but you needed to place blame on someone else. Your heart was in your ass, you’d gone through at least a dozen websites trying to find the perfect meal to cook. Pinterest board full of hairstyles youd try, how many outfits had you laid out on your bedroom floor just for night?

You needed something that said, ‘welcome to my mtv crib, small one bedroom addition’ and ‘oh my god John, youre hot, make out with me’ but also ‘I’m not inviting you do the nasty’ and ‘oh my god dont take this the wrong way, because I want to just not right now.’

It must’ve been a night for settling, you’d wanted to make pasta but the idea of getting pasta sauce terrified you during this at home date while with the off white, off the shoulder blouse you wore. Steak and Potatoes and a side of green beans never hurt. Another thing you settled for? Your hair. Booking an appointment was out of the question, you did it yourself. Front in flat twists and the back out and curly. Did the curls come out right over night?

It was acceptable.

You’d started dinner early, 5 hours early to be exact, first the home made mashed potatoes, then a break to make a pound cake with a lemon glaze, then the greens beans while putting together the small charcuterie as an appetizer, then finally the steak— medium rare. You’d leave it in the oven to keep warm.

Were you ready 30 minutes before John got to your flat? You were shaking, continuously peeking out the window and then going back to rearrange your couches yellow throw pillows, then back to the window. Then to your bedroom mirror to fix your blouse, the gold necklaces around your neck, large dandelion earrings, and dark blue mom jeans, light make up— you were pretty.

And John would call you that, hand you the bottle of wine, you let him inside, say one of those sly pickup lines you’d read in the romance books you hid under your bed, and he’d fall for you, fall in even more with your etiquette skills, maybe have a dance, stare into each others eyes. You’d make out and fire works would go off like in the movies— you flopped down on your bed giggling.

Ugh, didn’t that sound just perfec— ding dong.

The door bell. You gasped, cursing up a storm while you refixed your hair and quickly making it to your front door. You flattened your jeans again, fixed your charm bracelet, and opened the door. There he was, the man of the hour, John Price. He looked the exact opposite of how he did at work, comfortable, in a green button up with his sleeves rolled to his elbows showing off his hairy arms, dark jeans, boots, a watch on his wrist, beard freshly trimmed— simple. But he looked so good. Delectable.

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out— okay, [+], now’s the time to say something. You blinked a couple times.

“You look hot.”

Not that! Reader, what the fuck?

The ends of John lips curve up, a hardy chuckles coming from his belly, “Thank you baby,” baby? “You look hot too. Or beautiful, I should say.”

Baby? Beautiful? Your heart was going to come out of your chest. Even better than him calling you just pretty. What was pretty anyway when John called you beautiful and baby—

John rocked on his bottom heels, peering down at you, “[+], you there?” Your eyes snapped open from the daze you were in, slapping your forehead.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I-It was too much.”

And John’s smile gets wider, “No doll, it’s fine. Just-“ John can’t really find the words for it, trying not to laugh anymore than he’s already done, he nods past you as you clutch onto the door waiting for him to finish his sentence. Reader, Are you gonna let him in or what?

“Oooooh! Right! Come in, come in!” You stepped aside, letting him in the door way that has your mother’s anointed cross over it. Praying to God you didn’t make even more of a fool of yourself tonight.

John takes in the space, which is the definition of cozy. Nice throws and pillows on your couch (that you’d rearranged three times for tonight) candles lit around the dim apartment to boost atmosphere, a few stuffed animals laying around. Your little make shift dining room was professionally set with flowers, napkins, silverware, a few vases of roses and candles. Cute pictures of you, your friends and family on a collage wall above the couch that was against the living room wall— pictures John wants to be apart of— and jazz playing from the radio— specifically I Miss You So by Nat King Cole.

You lock the door behind you, take another deep breath, and swivel around on your heals, “Would you like to sit on the couch? O-or we can sit at the table?”

John smiled, lifting his hands and you giggles a nervous one, “Shit right, the wine and the bread. We can have it with the charcuterie.” You take both items in your hands moving towards the kitchen.

His blue eyes dance as he follows you to the kitchen, past the dining area, “A charcuterie board? You shouldn’t have!”

Shouldn’t have as in you shouldn’t have? Or should’ve have as in, ‘eat, pray, love!’? You snuck a glance and there he was, leaning against your fridge as you set the bread down on the counter, ends of his eyes crinkling. Damn, you could’ve moaned right then and there.

“It’s no problem, I thought you’d want to eat something with the bread.” You let out a nervous laugh, cutting into the roll that John’s made and placing a few pieces on the board “It’s perfect! You made this John?”

“Course I have! Told you it a potluck didn’t I?”

“No, no, just a little shocked is all. You like baking and cooking then?”

“Well, cooking I can hold my own. Baking, I think I’m just good at making bread since my mum taught me. I couldn’t go a meal without it so she made me make my own.”

You hum, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Your eyes met John and you immediately looked down, placing the bread you hadn’t cut into a spare bread bag. Caught you. You could feel your cheeks heat up, almost burning off from how hot they felt. John was watching you as you made your way around the kitchen, you needed to regroup.

“Uh- l-let’s sit in the living room and eat!” You dodged John, gently placing the board on the coffee table.

You sit on the couch, princess style, re-adjusting your blouse and smoothing out your pants, big brown eyes following him as he took a seat next to you. There’s a few moments of silence, you trying to find something to say and avoiding Johns leisure  gaze. His eyes are smiling and he thinks you look incredibly adorable while your mind works overtime.

“There somethin you wanna talk about?” You squeaked out, fidgeting with your manicured yellow nails. John sighs, his larger hand finding one of yours and slowly intertwining them together with a gentle squeeze. It’s okay, it says.

“You can relax, you know? It’s just me.” He gives you a small smile.

Yeah, that’s the problem. John Price who was perfection walking, despite his age, a fucking heart throb. You knew for a fact he must’ve been fucking trouble when he was younger and he’s definitely a much larger one now. You couldn’t keep up. Shit, mean, when could you ever? This was your first time having a man that was a love interest, over your house. But to get a snog, you needed to calm down. Let things happen because nothing you’d planned out before was happening.

“I’ll t-try.”

The night was filled with laughter, from the way Price groaned, he enjoyed his meal while you could only eat about half of it. You were still nervous but John had loosened you up, telling you old stories about his life and you telling a few of your own, talking about your hobbies, learning about John’s massive interest in watching cute cat videos— another extremely green flag. The wine helped even more, you were a bit of a light weight so you nursed the one. John followed your pace, letting you get comfortable with him slowly itching closer and closer into your space.

It was 10:00pm now, a few candles burnt out, two saucers of crumbs on the coffee table, ‘caught up in the rapture’ by anita baker playing, and you were talking John’s head off. Not because your were drunk, because you were truly comfortable. Comfortable with your legs over Johns lap while you babbled on about country living whilst John rubbed your hand in his with his thumb. You were gorgeous, the light from the candle flickered to you, showing off your pretty brown eyes.

“Oh god no, I don’t think I could do the whole farm thing. But I’d like to go, with you. If I could.” You think, gently placing your empty glass on the table.

“Your already planning our next date? Haven’t even asked you yet?” Price teases.

“Not our next date,” you pause, “…Maybe the one after.” You grin, both of you giggling. Faces seemingly closer than before, your eyes widen, cheeks flushed, you mumble a, ‘sorry.’ And John’s lost looking at you, ‘what’s there to be sorry for?’

And then it happens, what we’ve allll been waiting for.

John’s pink lips on yours, gentle, beard pricking your own skin. You can taste the vanilla from the pound cake on his lips. He pulls you closer, large hand up and down your back, adding goosebumps down your skin. And you’re trying your best to follow what he’s doing because he’s fuckin good kisser. You can tell. Your hand meets his chest, you want to mold your lips with his. You can hear them, the fireworks going off, or was that your heart?

He pulls away, slowly, putting your foreheads together and humming. Your lashes flutter open, meeting Prices soft eyes.

“Nice, right?”

Your voices is so soft, like you’ve just woken from a dream— “Perfect.”

But it’s not. This is real. And you and John both love that.

a/n: Another, thank you for 2k post!!! Thank you babies🥺🥺💓💓!! And thank you for the love on the last shy!reader post! I have so much fun writing for it. Lmk what you think!! You know how bad it is when the writer is giggling and kicking their feet?

last post masterlist more shy!reader

[ryuzakemo128]

Ratatouille would have been a better and potentially much more interesting story if Remy had partnered with Collette instead of Linguini. Two underdogs with talent and passion forced to maintain a dangerous ruse. Fiercely independent Collette giving up temporary control of her body to a creature who, despite the insanity of a rat wanting to cook professionally, she can relate to on a personal level and who she does want to teach. The inner conflict of wondering if Remy’s growing talents are eclipsing her own, if the praise their food is earning belongs more to him than to her. Her guilt over feeling resentment and jealousy towards this little guy who wouldn’t have a hope of realizing his talents if not for her trust and protection. Both of them unraveling the mystery of that sweet but bumbling kitchen boy with the obvious crush on Collette being Gusteau’s secret son, and working together to thwart the new evil owner’s plans to stop Linguini from claiming his birthright. The message of the movie not being this weird, almost smug “some people are born with talent, some people aren’t, and that’s how being a ~great artist~ works”, but something more like, “if you have a dream, you deserve to pursue it, and be supported and encouraged in your pursuit of it, even if other people tell you that, because of some intrinsic aspect of yourself or the circumstances you were born in (like being a human woman in the restaurant industry, or being a literal rat), you have no place pursuing this dream. Also, raw talent can only get you so far, and skill and passion existing in the right balance is key.” I’ve been thinking about this for seventeen years. I’m breaking my silence

[ryuzakemo128]

[ryuzakemo128]

Revolutionary Girl Utena - 少女革命ウテナ

[ryuzakemo128]

Revolutionary Girl Utena (1997)

[ryuzakemo128]

Patreon request

(first one is a redraw of that one episode, of course)

[ryuzakemo128]

For the Prince You Aren’t

[ryuzakemo128]

[ryuzakemo128]

AU: They despise each other, but can't stop fucking. They get more aggressive during sex: screaming, bitting, marking each other. It's a game for them: who lasts longer, who makes the most damage while trying not to get caught.

"Why were you pinching my hips during dinner?"

"Wanted to see you squirming"

She repeats "stay away from me", he answers "as if I wanted", but at the slightest sight of jealousy, innocent remark or simply by getting too close to each other – things will be flying, the clothes torn, furniture broken.

"I'll put my best Dornish wine on the line to bet that you've been fantasizing about the moment when my fingers will be inside you the entire evening".

"You're not the one to criticize me. Your plate stayed full the whole dinner - you've been devouring me with your eyes all evening".

"I hate you" she whispers, while embracing him around the neck, so secretively, as if confessing love. His sweaty forehead presses against hers: "Mutual, sister."

[ryuzakemo128]

Thinking about Johnny, who gets shot by Makarov (with more umpf and less shock value), and the team informs his significant other back home in Scotland. But really, he survived, and, per request of Johnny, they kept you in the dark until he was guaranteed more recovery. He didn't want you to see him struggle to even lift his hand. And he was terrified that survival was a fallacy, and the curtain would somehow fall.

You would insist on helping him, and he was resistant. Recovery wasn't glamorous. He didn't even want the team around him, but they were leeches. He still regrets how he treated Gaz one day when the poor man was just trying to help him shave after he complained of his unkempt beard bothering him.

He was overstimulated a lot nowadays.

He hates keeping you in the dark. He wants to be smothered by your whole being until he suffocates. He also fears your reaction when he finds himself on your shared doorstep one day. He survived the bullet, but he would never survive you hating him.

He recovers enough after a year to go home. His mohawk is gone, John MacTavish is legally dead , so Makarov thinks he succeeded.

He steps on the familiar porch, hands shaking from anxiety rather than the bullet frying his brain.

The poor man is rendered uselsss as soon as you open the door. His tongue goes dry, heart is doing some weird palpitations. More embarrassingly, he thinks he might shit himself.

You don't smack him. You don't lunge for a hug. You just stare, hand clenching around the door frame. And Johnny grows nervous. Maybe you moved on, maybe you hate him now, maybe you don't want-

He's stopped by the weak sob that escapes you. He looks up to see you look sick, like you’re two seconds away-

His arms are around you just as your legs start to turn into jelly. Muscles are evidentally less defined than they used to be, and he's still weak in a lot of ways. But he feels your warmth and wants to bury himself in it.

As soon as his arms are around you, you finally nuzzle yourself into him.

He's home.

I have more thoughts for this if anyone is interested...

[ryuzakemo128]

Gaz absolutely adores you when you're mean to someone on his behalf. and you're diabolical about it too because when he tells you that he doesn't like someone at work, he knows you'll come to visit him all dressed up under the guise of bringing him lunch, knowing damn well all the guys are going to be swarming to you like flies. and when that one guy Gaz doesn't like introduces himself, you purposefully snub him in front of everyone and go straight to your husband, squealing "honeeeyyy! there you are!" when you hug him and press kisses all over his face, Gaz gives that man the most evil smile.

even better when Gaz lied to you because that man is Soap.

[ryuzakemo128]

[ryuzakemo128]

Falling First and Falling Harder | Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader (callsign "Jazzy") x John “Soap” MacTavish

Summary: Simon and Johnny have been together for years. When you come along and catch their eyes, it’s not as simple or secure as you’d like—especially in a situation that’s very new and unfamiliar to you. Johnny makes it so easy, but Simon makes you feel like an outsider. And maybe he has every right to. You can’t read him, the only thing he seems to give you is indifference. He’s never mean or antagonistic, but he’s not entirely welcoming either. Maybe you’re causing more problems than you’re worth. But maybe you don’t have the whole story. 

You’ve signed your name so many times it’s starting to look weird. Document after document, file after file, signature after signature—eventually it ends and it becomes official.

You’re part of Bravo Team.

When you’re finally able to drop your pen, Captain Price holds his hand out for a handshake, not unlike the one you accepted two days ago in Captain Diaz’s office. Your nerves haven’t settled since then, and neither has the stress of knowing you’re going to be around Soap and Ghost a whole lot more often.

Price walks you out of his office with a heads up that your first official day would be the next one with training and a new mission briefing. For now, you’re free to do whatever you’d like. You get a break.

When he opens the door, Soap almost falls through it. He stands up straight with wide eyes when he’s caught. “Ah wasn’t listening.”

You smirk and Captain Price tilts his head with an unimpressed look on his face. “Say hello to your new teammate, Soap.”

He smiles wide. “Hello, new teammate. Gaz and Ah were thinkin’ drinks tonight tae celebrate.”

You shrug and ignore the burst of excitement you feel at the chance to see him and Simon off base. “I’m free.”

“Cap?” He asks.

“If you’re buying,” Price answers.

“Ah’ll consider it.”

“Then I’ll consider it.”

Soap grabs your arm and pulls you out of the doorway and into the hall with him. “See ye tonight, sir. Seven sharp!”

Price slams the door in response. “Think he’ll show up?”

“Always does. Cannae turn down a chance for a Scotch.”

“What about you?” You ask as you walk. “What’s your poison?”

“Also Scotch, of course. Simon likes bourbon, Gaz likes beer.”

“I’m a cocktail girl myself.”

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his mouth lifts.

“Yep, I like the sweet stuff.”

“Fittin’.”

You think I’m sweet? is what you want to say, but that feels like crossing a line. So you just leave it.

“Simon and Ah will take ye, just meet us out front ‘round 6:30.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I have my car.”

“Don’t think so, lass. We’ll be escortin’ ye.”

“Wouldn’t that be a pain? You’ll have to come back here to drop me off and then leave again to go home.”

“Would rather ye get home safe than Simon ‘n I get home quick. Just meet us out front.”

You sigh as you turn the corner and see your door up ahead. “Fine. Where do you live anyway?”

“Got a house in Whitecross not far from the city centre. Moved in about a month after we got married.”

“And when was that?”

“Almost three years ago.”

“Almost?”

He smiles. “Anniversary’s in a month.”

“Any plans?”

“Well if we’re not deployed we’ll probably just have dinner. We don’t get too fancy, just happy to both be still alive and together.”

You smile but your eyes find the floor, not wanting him to see how much you want to mean something to someone—like what they mean to each other.

“What about you?” He asks while you both stop at your door. “Ye got anyone special?”

You shake your head. “No, not for a while. Too focused on the job. Not enough time to meet someone in this line of work anyway.”

“Could always meet a comrade,” he shrugs. “Ah did… Well he was more my superior officer, Ah guess. Still my superior officer.”

You chuckle. “Trying to sleep your way to the top, MacTavish?”

“Caught me,” he smiles. “I’ll see you tonight, 6:30 out front.”

“I’ll be there,” you nod as he starts backing away.

“Welcome to Bravo Team, Jazzy girl,” he beams.

Your heart flutters and you giggle as he waves and rounds a corner. Your cheeks are already sore by the time you unlock your door and press your back against it inside.

Just a teeny tiny crush.

You sigh and decide you need a breather before you go out with everyone. A few laps around the track should do the trick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It did not do the trick.

You’re out front in your civvies with your hair a mess because you couldn’t decide if they’d like it up or down more and your phone is shaking in your hands because of your nerves. All afternoon you’ve been thinking about tonight and being in the car with Ghost and Soap and wondering if you’ll get to sit beside one of them at the bar and if you should limit yourself to just a couple drinks in case you get too comfortable and make it obvious that you have a crush.

You’re in the military for fuck’s sake, you’re not some lovesick high schooler. You continue to remind yourself of that and you start to get a grip on yourself, but then a car pulls up in front of you.

“Evenin’, lass!” Soap calls from the passenger seat. “Your chariot has arrived.”

You smile and quickly walk over, frowning when Soap gets out of the car. “What are you doing?”

“Sittin’ in the back,” he says, pushing the passenger door open wide for you.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, bonnie. The pretty ones sit up front, right Simon?”

You notice then that Ghost isn’t wearing his usual skull mask, but rather a black balaclava with a skull design where it covers his mouth, leaving the bridge of his nose, his eyes and his eyebrows visible—all covered in eye black. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of him, and you’re almost too stunned to move.

For someone so scary, his eyes look so soft.

But then he rolls them and looks over his shoulder at Soap opening the back door. “Just get in the car, MacTavish.”

You follow his order, even though it wasn’t meant for you. “Lieutenant,” you greet.

“Sergeant,” he replies, eyes on the road as he pulls away from the base’s entrance.

“So, we gettin’ pished tonight or wha’?” Soap asks, leaning forward to rest an elbow on each of your and Simon’s seats.

“No one’s gettin’ pissed tonigh’,” Ghost says roughly.

“C’mon, we’re celebratin’” Soap grabs his shoulder and shakes gently. “Our Jazzy girl’s made it tae the big leagues.”

“Glad to have you aboard, Jazzy,” Ghost says.

You smile politely. “Thank you.”

“Yer just worried she’ll have ye demoted or some shit. Gunnin’ for yer job with a shot like tha’.”

“I’m not gunning for anyone’s job,” you chuckle.

Soap hushes you. “Quiet, Jazz, he’s hot when he gets all riled up.”

You tut. “Keep it in your pants, Soap.”

He laughs, which makes you laugh. You even catch a glimpse of Ghost’s cheek lifting a bit. That sends your heart racing.

You’re in for a long night.

[ryuzakemo128]

Falling First and Falling Harder | Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader (callsign "Jazzy") x John “Soap” MacTavish

Summary: Simon and Johnny have been together for years. When you come along and catch their eyes, it’s not as simple or secure as you’d like—especially in a situation that’s very new and unfamiliar to you. Johnny makes it so easy, but Simon makes you feel like an outsider. And maybe he has every right to. You can’t read him, the only thing he seems to give you is indifference. He’s never mean or antagonistic, but he’s not entirely welcoming either. Maybe you’re causing more problems than you’re worth. But maybe you don’t have the whole story. 

You start seeing them around base a lot more often in the weeks following your concussion. You don’t know if it’s because you’re seeking them out (or vice versa) or if it’s just a coincidence, but it’s nice. You’re still new to the 141, so you don’t have a ton of friends. Your One-One Team comrades are great, but they’re all much older. And there aren’t a ton of women on the task force. There are some, but most of them live off base and others are more removed from your specific line of work. Like the doctor.

Soap made good on his promise to check in on you while you recovered, even after that first night. He joined you for more walks around base and continued the conversation you started up the first time he accompanied you. Nothing too personal, just a bit about his life back home in Scotland, how he worked his way to the 141, and some crazy demolitions stories. You, of course, met him halfway and shared about yourself as well.

He’s so easy to get along with, and you find yourself getting excited at the prospect of running into him. Ghost is around sometimes, too. Always quiet, always brooding. You ran into them on your way to the armoury once and Soap insisted on tagging along to catch up with you, forcing Ghost to just follow behind the two of you without a word. You didn’t know if you were supposed to engage him, but Soap wasn’t. So you just focused on him.

There was one day in the mess hall when you joined your team late after a quick check in at medical, and they of course finished eating and left before you did. You didn’t plan on staying much longer, but Soap found you and dragged Ghost over to sit at your table. You were elated and then immediately concerned by the strong pang of excitement in your chest. You’ve never felt those for your friends back home. It felt like more than that, and that would open up a big can of worms.

So you might have a little crush on him. A little one. One that you can and will (because you have to) get over. The man’s in a very obvious relationship, and if they’re living together off base that means they’re married. Plus, his husband could kill you with one look.

Just a teeny tiny inconsequential crush, you tell yourself. It’s nothing, but maybe try to find some distance.

Yeah, distance is good. Distance will settle the fluttery feeling you get when you see Soap, and the slightly uncomfortable but also intrigued jitters you get when you see Ghost. He may be scary, but he’s a big man with a deep voice and a commanding presence. And Soap is so incredibly sweet and handsome and he smells good and—

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

“You good, kid?”

You sit back up and turn to face Charlie on your right, as if nothing happened. “Yep, perfect.”

Your team is in a briefing room and your captain will be there any second. There’s a new assignment on the horizon. This is perfect. It’s the distance you need to clear your head and get over your feelings. Your very small and easily reversible feelings.

“Alright everyone,” Captain Diaz greets as he enters the room. “We’ve got a hostage situation in Russia. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before and I don’t expect it to run long, but our target is Konni Group and they’ve got one of ours.”

He slaps a headshot onto the conference table you’re all sitting around and you and your team lean in to get a look.

“I’m sure you all know Nikolai, or have at least heard of him. He’s being held in a Russian ghost town and former gulag. Now, our team is known for our hostage rescues, but we’ve never dealt with Konni, so this is gonna be an inter-team effort.”

With perfect timing, there’s a knock on the door. Captain Diaz stands to open it and he reveals Captain John Price. Your heart just about drops to your ass.

“Speak of the devil,” Diaz says, stepping aside. “One-One, please welcome Bravo Team. We’ll be working with them on this opp and leveraging their extensive experience with Konni Group.”

You watch as Captain Price and Sergeant Garrick file into the room, feeling those flutters when Soap follows them.

“Aye, Jazzy!” He exclaims, rushing right over to you and pulling up a chair on your left. Ghost isn’t far behind, but he stands near the front of the room where Price and Diaz are. You greet Soap politely and with a quiet laugh as he pats your arm a few times, but both Captains have started getting into the briefing so you both fall silent to pay attention.

It’s like any other briefing, and you learn that you’ll be taking overwatch. You nod, and then turn pale when Price says Ghost will also be taking overwatch from another position. You sneak a peak at him and he’s already looking at you through his mask. You give him a pinched smile, hoping you don’t look like you’re in pain, and then tune back in.

When the meeting is over and everyone starts leaving, Soap hangs back to chat. That means Ghost stays as well. “Ye ready to get yer hands dirty, lass?”

You nod. “Think I am.”

“Think ye can handle it?”

You laugh sarcastically and roll your eyes. “I can handle it.”

“Aye? An’ Ah guess we’ll be seein’ yer famous snipin’ skills after all, eh Ghost? Nervous?”

“Shakin’ in my boots,” he says. You’re worried he’s annoyed, but when you make eye contact he gives you a nod. “See you at 0500, Jazzy.”

Soap stands. “Try not tae run into any more soldiers before then, eh?”

You laugh. “I’ll do my best. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost walks out of the room and Soap waves his fingers at you as he follows. You continue staring at the door after they’re gone. Those damn flutters. You put your hand on your stomach and take a deep breath. So much for distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s kind of funny seeing Soap in his gear. Ghost, it seems, is always ready to go to some degree, but Soap looks pretty civilian around base. The vest and headpiece and weapons don’t equate with the softhearted man you’ve become friends with. He’s still smiling and relatively cheery as everyone boards the transport, but he has an edge today.

“Bonnie,” he greets you as you approach. “Sorry tae tell ye this but Ah think someone came tae school wi the same outfit.”

He nods toward the inside of the transport and you follow his gaze to see Ghost wearing the same all-white suit and helmet. You smile and shrug. “Well, on Wednesdays we wear white. No one told you?”

“No, an’ Ah’ll be havin’ a word with the missus about tha’.”

You laugh and follow him inside, joining your team as they strap in. You find a spot beside Charlie and bump your fist against his. “You look flashy.”

You roll your eyes. “I blame the snow.”

“Jazzy,” Diaz calls as the door starts closing, Ghost coming up behind him. “You and Ghost are jumping five miles out.”

“Copy,” you nod.

“You jump before?” Ghost asks.

“Several times, sir.”

“Good.”

“Remember you’re splitting up to cover both sides of the warehouse. Jazz, you’ll end up being a bit further away.”

“Not a problem, Cap.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he turns to address the entire group. “One-One! Bravo! Gear on and weapons in hand. Sit your asses down and get strapped in. We’re off the ground in two minutes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jazzy, Ghost, this is you.”

You unbuckle your belt and stand. Your drag bag hangs by your hip holding your rifle. You bid farewell to your teammates as you walk to the back of the transport behind your fellow sniper. He stops at Soap to softly tap the sitting man’s helmet, and receives a tap of his own on his stomach. Your chest constricts watching the way Soap looks at him, and you avert your eyes before you’re caught.

“Stay safe out there, Jazzy girl,” Soap tells you as you pass. He holds up his fist and you bump it with your own.

“See you on the other side.”

With the door wide open Ghost steps aside and looks at you over his shoulder. “After you, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

You grab onto the straps of your chute to make sure it’s there and then take off, diving into the open air and spreading yourself like a starfish as you fall. You never get over the exhilaration no matter how many times you do this. Even though you’re essentially going into battle every time you make the jump, it’s your favourite thing in the world.

You land gracefully, as always, in thick Russian snow and start pulling out your rifle to assemble as you wait for Ghost. He lands nearby and you meet him halfway, watching as he also works on his weapon.

“Stay hot,” he tells you. “Recon suggests Konnis don’t stray this far west of the building but there’s a first for everything. We split up in two miles.”

“Copy.”

“Keep up, Jazzy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk is silent, save for updates from the air. Diaz and Price give orders and you listen intently to ensure you’re caught up with what they’re planning. When you and Ghost split, you have about a mile to get to your station. That leaves you about two miles out compared to Ghost’s mile and a half. You assumed the superior officer would take the harder shots, but he’s facing the busiest side of the building.

You know you’re good. You’re not worried.

You make it to your little nook within the trees and snowy ground and set yourself up stealthily, getting on your stomach, setting your rifle up, and checking your sights. You’ve got a great view of several exits and where the 141 is meant to enter. You can also see guards keeping watch outside.

“One-One-eight to One-One-two,” you say into your radio.

“Go for two,” Diaz answers.

“I’m in position and ready to go. Clear view of west and south sides, checking windows but lights are out and I don’t see movement.”

“Copy, 0-7 how’s it looking?”

“Half a mile out,” Ghost answers.

“Copy, we’re descending in 10 minutes.”

While you wait, your eyes never stray. You’re scoping out the place, figuring out where people can come and go and where they can try to hide. You have a few places flagged by the time Ghost is in position and both teams are making their approach. You’ve also timed the guards’ movements and know when the men on different sides of the building are furthest apart, and therefore can be taken out without alerting each other.

“One-One-two to 0-7,” you call.

“Go for 0-7.”

“I’ve got four guards patrolling the west and south sides of the building, all heavily armed. Each pair walks from the halfway point of their side and away from each other to the corners. They make it back to that halfway point every two minutes. Pairs are about 70 or 80 years away from each other at that time and would be too far away to notice any hits if we’re quick enough.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. “I see the same on the north and east sides. 0-6, how copy?”

“At the treeline,” Price says. “Free to engage.”

“Got about 90 seconds before they’re where we need them to be.”

“Two quick hits east and west sides first, then follow up north and south,” you suggest.

“On me, Jazzy.”

“Copy, sir.”

You count down in your head, your breath calm and completely silent while your body stays absolutely still. You watch the guards on the west side of the building take their last few steps toward each other, your finger hovering on the trigger waiting for them to meet. When they do, you exhale.

“Drop ‘em.”

One two… three four.

Two quick shots into the guards on the west, and two more into the ones on the south. “Clear.”

“Clear,” Ghost echoes.

You watch your teammates breach the treeline to the west and quietly approach the building with their weapons raised. You don’t see them for long since they’re in Ghost’s sights, but you do see a Konni exit on the south side. You keep him in your sights, knowing he’s about to notice the two dead guards. You’ll drop him, but the door he came through is still slowly closing and you don’t want to risk anyone inside hearing your shot. 

He’s staring down at a device in his hand so it’s buying you some time, but he happens to look up sooner than you hoped. You target his forehead so the kill will at least be silent if the shot isn’t. He catches sight of the dead men and opens his mouth to exclaim when you shoot, getting him between the eyes and watching him fall just milliseconds after the door shuts.

You wait for more to rush outside, but they don’t.

“You fire on someone, Jazz?” Diaz asks. They must still be outside.

“Konni came out and saw the bodies.”

“Anyone rushing out after him?”

“Nope, quiet one to the head. Left them all inside for you to play with.”

“Heading in,” Price says.

You listen closely to the conversations and orders on your radio while also paying close attention to your sides of the building. You try the windows again but still see nothing inside, despite hearing the yells and gunshots going on. You’re about to pass over a small south-facing window on the far west side of the building when you notice something. There’s a bit of light, a flash of a hand, and then the side of a face. A very familiar-looking face.

“One-One-two to all teams, I’ve got movement in the interior southwest corner on the second floor of the building. Lights are out but I can make out Nikolai.”

“Copy that,” Price says. “0-6 and 7-1 heading over.”

“Be advised, Konni are believed to be in the room but I can’t get a clear shot.”

“Hard copy.”

You wait for what feels like forever, making sure to check out the rest of the building but routinely coming back to check that room.

“0-6 and 7-1 approaching the southwest corner of the second floor,” Price says.

“Copy,” you respond. “Room is in my sights.”

Light fills the room when the door is slammed open and you see Price and Soap enter with guns blazing. They take down three Konni in relative darkness before Price exits seemingly to keep watch while Soap approaches Nikolai.

“7-1 to all teams,” Soap says. “Hostage secured and unharmed, will need backup to retreat.”

“Copy that,” Diaz answers.

You watch Soap fuss over Nikolai. It looks like he’s strapped down to a chair. The darkness of the room is really starting to irritate you, but you continue keeping watch knowing that just because Nikolai is in the 141’s hands again doesn’t mean this is over.

And you know for sure it isn’t when you see movement behind Soap. He’s not reacting and Price hasn’t entered the room again. You can’t make out a face, you just see a small blob of light skin in the shadows behind Soap. You don’t have time to make guesses, you just take aim and note that Soap is facing the window.

“Soap, watch your eyes.”

Without waiting for a reaction, you shoot, and the blob behind Soap disappears. He whips around and you see him staring down at something as Price appears in the doorway. They share a quick look before Soap turns back to Nikolai and Price joins him. You see your friend grab his radio.

“How the bloody hell’d ye see that in here, Jazzy?”

You smile. “You’re welcome.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the mission went smoothly. Your teams suffered a few scrapes and minor injuries but no one was lost and Nikolai is back home. You were one of the last to make it back to the transport during exfil just because of how far you were from the action, but you arrived to a rowdy audience.

Soap sang your praises and Charlie patted your back so hard you almost threw up. Even Ghost gave you a small tap on the shoulder. Really, you were just doing your job. But you can’t deny it felt good.

Debriefing back at base was a nightmare. Everyone was just falling asleep. By the time it was over, you didn’t know how you would make it back to your room without passing out in the hallway. Of course Soap noticed and he insisted he and Ghost walk with you.

He spent the whole time making sure you knew just how talented you are, retelling the story over and over again. 

In the dark, Ghost. Can ye believe it?

‘Watch yer eyes’ and BAM!

Guy’s finger was still on the trigger even after the shot.

You just played along and let him make you out to be a badass. When you got to your room, though, his face turned serious. He told you he was grateful, that he’d probably be dead if you hadn’t been watching over him. It did nothing to help those stupid flutters in your stomach, and neither did the sweet hug he gave you as thanks.

And when he stepped away, Ghost stepped up. “Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘im,” he’d said. And that did you in, too.

Distance, you reminded yourself once they left. Mission’s over, now keep your distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to incessant knocking on your door. Groaning, you roll out of bed and rush over to pull it open. It’s Charlie, looking apologetic.

“Sorry, kid. Diaz wants you in his office ASAP.”

Your heart drops a bit, worried that something is wrong. You nod and thank him for coming to get you and then make quick work of getting dressed and looking presentable. You leave your room and hustle your way to your captain’s office. Why does it have to be on the complete opposite end of the base?

You knock firmly when you arrive and Diaz calls out to come in. When you push the door open, you’re surprised to see Captain Price sitting in front of Diaz’s desk. You push down your confusion and look at your captain.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Come sit, Jazzy,” he gestures to the other chair on Price’s right. You follow his order and take a seat, looking back and forth between them before Diaz speaks. “You’ve been an invaluable asset to One-One Team, Sergeant. Not just yesterday, but since you joined. This task force is made up of the best of the best from around the world, but even the best of the best have their own highest performers.

“The One-One has been a great starting point for you, but your skills are meant for greater things. Bigger missions. Higher stakes. You give it your all every single time, and that makes you one of the best of the best of the best. So, as much as it pains me to say this, you don’t belong on One-One.”

You frown. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve heard about you before, kid,” Price says. “News travels fast. As soon as you joined you made a name for yourself. Highly-skilled negotiator, interrogation abilities beyond your years, a shot that rivals the seasoned old farts around here. Not to mention, you gave Ghost a run for his money on overwatch yesterday.”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

“And I want you to keep doing it, but you’ll be doing it for me now.”

Your eyes widen. “For you?”

He smiles and holds out his hand. “Welcome to Bravo Team, Jazzy.”

[ryuzakemo128]

[ryuzakemo128]

Fucking wild to be teaching about Rosa Parks at the same time as a trans woman in Florida does an act of civil disobedience to use a women's restroom in the state capitol

[ryuzakemo128]

Older, Bolder

Pairing: GILF!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel can’t get it up.

Warnings: 18+. This fic is for LIMP DICK LOVERS ONLY. If y’all can’t rock with Joel’s flaccid cock, click AWAY 😫 Unprotected p-in-v / intercrural sex. Oral (m!receiving). Age gap unspecified but just know he’s AARP-eligible.

Word count: 3.0k

This wasn’t a problem he’d planned on having.

At twenty-five, he could’ve put you through the mattress four times over in one night and barely broken a sweat. At thirty-five, he could’ve bent you like a pretzel and fucked you eight ways to Wednesday twice a week.

Today, at the age he was, Joel Miller couldn’t stand from the sofa without feeling like bones were about to snap.

He wrote grocery lists and had to stop halfway to flex his hand. He pulled up his pants and damn near always felt a strain in his back. He kept a heating pad as a sidekick at work, and sometimes his baby brother teased him for it, then Joel would wag one liver-spotted finger Tommy’s way and say, ‘You’ll be like this, too, just wait.’ The Golden Years had a habit of sneaking up on people. Nobody warned him that one day he’d be waking up feeling fine and the next not able to wiggle his toes without a herculean effort. In short, old age sucked.

The only one who didn’t seem to mind as much was you.

And how could you? Joel always thought of it with some amusement. You hadn’t been alive long enough to know a single wrinkle, much less as many as he had, and your knees never cracked when you kneeled. He’d noticed that when you greeted him first thing that morning.

Mouth wide and eyes wider, you made for the perfect sight to his sleepy gaze when he lifted the comforter at 6 AM. Your tongue withdrew from the tip of his leaky cock.

“Your shift starts at seven, right?” you whispered.

Shit, he’d quit his whole job for one blowjob from you.

Joel nodded instead. He took a fistful of your hair and nodded again—keep lickin’ the tip just like you had it, honey, that’s it. His lids lowered. They nearly shut. Fifteen more seconds of this wet friction from your mouth and he’d be erect in no time. He knew he would.

These days, while his ‘morning wood’ was never quite what it used to be, and on some occasions like these he woke up completely limp, he was almost always able to coax his cock into it. Just took a little extra time and spit.

It wasn’t until your lips had slid up and down his soft shaft at least two dozen times and nothing stirred that Joel started to worry. He peeled the old coverlet back.

From where you lay between his legs, chin poised over his lap, you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you were smiling. You’d just taken his flushed, bulbous head between your lips, and your tongue laved over the slit. Joel almost tore a hole in his throat at how good that felt—his groan was loud. The soft suckling noises of your mouth were slight in comparison, but they were purposeful and timed exactly right. His balls twitched.

He should’ve been rock-hard by now.

“‘M’sorry, sweetheart,” Joel grunted, watching you swallow down the soft flesh of him over and over again. “Damn thing just don’t wanna…cooperate this mornin’.”

“I don’t mind.”

You’d pulled off just long enough to say it. Then you were back to bobbing your head, eyes locked on his as you did

He didn’t deserve you.

That much was clear from the way you were sucking him dutifully—fucking cheerfully—like his flaccid dick was a three-star Michelin meal and you hadn’t eaten all day.

It was beyond the pale in the best way possible, and Joel felt guiltier and guiltier with every brush of your lips and tongue that followed. You shouldn’t have had to do this.

“Let me eat you out,” he said then. Abruptly. “Flip over.”

And he slid back on the bed, hearing the delicate, wet pop of his still-soft cock out of your mouth. You frowned.

“What the hell, Joel? I was just having fun,” you huffed.

You were what?

Was that not the most humiliating thing you’d ever seen?

“I can’t even keep a semi,” Joel retorted, almost as low. “Ain’t no use wastin’ our time on me ‘fore I gotta leave.”

Then he started to reach for your hips, about to turn you around and have his breakfast in bed, when your hand swatted him off. The other anchored itself on his thigh, and as you sat up, Joel could tell there was something more adamant in that. You regarded him with a scowl.

“If I wanted to make this about me, I would’ve grabbed my vibrator and gone to town already. This is for you.”

Before he could protest, you inched up some more.

You straddled the broad, muscly legs that had once been bracketing your head, and you placed a palm on his chest. You made him lean back against the headboard.

“Honey—” Joel started.

“Zip it, Miller.”

Well, goddamn. For a woman a fraction of his age and size, you commanded him well. He didn’t move a muscle.

He couldn’t deny that it turned him on, too. To think that you wanted him badly enough that you’d suck the sexual equivalent of a wet noodle and then get on top of him for more. Joel had to grit his teeth and steel himself when your hips shifted. You were bare under one of his t-shirts.

And your eyes were alight with rapt intrigue. Like he was something worth salivating over, and not some decrepit old man whose dick wouldn’t work. The smile you wore before had only grown bigger, and your thighs were squeezing his hips. Your heat was sliding up and—

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

The breath was knocked out of his chest. That was how stunned he was to feel the seam of your cunt align with his length, which rested lazily across his lower stomach. You braced one hand on the headboard behind him, flattened the other palm to his chest, and again, lowered yourself, rubbed yourself, so that the underside of his shaft cut you down the middle. It parted your folds.

Your wetness was spreading down the length of him. Soft as it was, Joel was thankful he was a shower, not a grower, and he hadn’t lost too much of his size by not being hard. You were pressing yourself gently against him now, bracing your knees on the bed on either side of his body, and your gaze was gradually trailing to his face.

Your motions, much to his surprise, were slow. Sensual.

You weren’t in a hurry at all to get his dick hard. You simply followed what felt good: a little gyration of your hips, a press of your heat, gentle thrusts with your knees planted firmly on the bed. You were riding him, except you didn’t have him inside you at all. The expressions that crossed your face could’ve fooled Joel, though.

Brows knit together in a mixture of pleasure and purpose, you peered down at him and let out the smallest whimper. The sound was more like a breath, trapped somewhere in your chest and begging to be let out with each rut of your lower half. It was as if the action was getting you off—not fucking him, but humping him.

“That’s it, daddy…That’s—oh, fuck that feels nice.”

The speed of your motions increased the slightest amount, coating his cock from root to tip, and for a minute, Joel thought he might’ve stopped breathing.

He had stopped, briefly, just to suck in a breath and hold it, and, fuck, he didn’t want to let it out, because what if this was all a dream? What if he was seeing things, and you weren’t really grinding on his cock at all but laughing your ass off and leaving his bed? Heaving a sigh or rolling your eyes at the sight of him still not getting hard at this.

Joel looked down to double-check his traitorous dick.

The second he caught a glimpse of your sex and his sliding against one another, though, he let out a groan.

This had to be a fucking joke.

Go, go, go, go, GO! GROW!!

“You can do it, bud, just…” Joel trailed off, realizing that he was talking to his penis out loud. “Sorry. I’m…sorry.”

And truly, he was. He’d never felt more remorseful or dumb. On top of that, you probably thought he was nuts.

You only giggled in response.

You leaned back, dropped your chin, and directed your attention to Joel’s woefully soft and squishy member.

A fingertip prodded at it gently; he twitched.

“C’mon, you got this!” you cheered him on.

It was lighthearted. Easy. Kind of insane.

Here you both were, egging on his peri-geriatric penis to form an erection, when Joel should’ve been balls deep in you. Should’ve been giving you exactly what you needed, how you needed it, with little to no interference to your pleasure. And now here you were. Talking to it instead.

“I love you,” Joel blurted out.

He’d only said this a handful of times to date—your relationship was still relatively new—but at present, he couldn’t help it. You were making him laugh when just minutes ago he’d felt as humiliated as he’d ever been.

You leaned down to kiss him, and you said it back to him.

“I love you,” Joel murmured again, against your lips.

“I—” You shifted over his lap, so that your lower halves were re-aligned and he could feel you. “I love you, Joel.”

The sound of those words, paired with the soft, warm friction of your bodies moving in tandem, had pleasure pooling through his gut. Driving up his spine. Stirring something dark and familiar in his mind—arousal.

A second after that, something stiffened in his lap.

Just a little bit. ‘Stiff’ was the key word there, not hard—Joel tried not to grow too excited while it seemed that his dick was filling with blood and the flesh was gradually getting firmer than it had been before. Still, he grinned.

He was back to kissing you, and you’d felt it too.

Your fingers wriggled on his chest. You started rocking back and forth, a bit more quickly now, and hummed.

You pulled away to catch your breath.

“Does that…help?” you murmured.

“What?”

“My…when I rub— here?”

You were trying so hard to help. You must’ve had no clue it’d been two utterances of ‘I love you’ from your lips that had stoked the fire within him. The friction helped, no doubt, but it was you and what you felt that made it happen—got him harder. Joel’s grin stretched bigger.

“Sweetheart, it’s—”

“‘Cause we can switch it up a little. I bet variety helps.” Suddenly, you were leaning back and lifting your hips. You gripped the base of him, now almost upright between your body and his, and started stroking him.

That felt good.

That felt really good.

But anything from you was bound to feel like that.

Joel’s smile wavered momentarily as another jolt of pleasure coursed through him. He couldn’t control the reflex; his hips bucked up from the mattress, and in your hold, the head of his cock bumped right against your clit.

You whimpered.

Your slit was all but dripping with heat. Ready for him.

“Goddamn,” Joel grit out, eyes fixed on that spot.

“Jerk your cock against me, daddy.”

His gaze shot up.

“Yeah, baby?”

The man scarcely knew what it was that he was doing in the moment, or how this might please you—all he wanted was to follow what you’d told him to do.

He nodded dumbly. Grabbed the base of his partly-erect dick and guided the tip to your clit again. He rubbed it.

Your head dropped back on a strangled-sounding moan. Joel rubbed harder—faster, to match the rhythm of your hips—and his own lips parted, betraying a look of awe.

You were writhing above him, reveling in the sensation.

Joel blinked, and he completely forgot his predicament. He dismissed from his mind that slight, inconsequential matter of not being able to get himself hard, and he flipped you. Your body fell prone on the bed beneath him.

And, focused on his pleasure as you were, you might’ve protested. Joel was quick to cut it off when he rolled you onto your side and wedged a leg between your knees.

“Open for me,” he murmured beside your ear.

You whined, ‘Jo-el,’ weakly, but obliged.

“Daddy, it’s supposed to be for y—”

Your last words splintered off. Joel was pushing his dick between your thighs—drenched as both the insides of your legs and his length happened to be, it was easy—and he slid it back and forth. He sawed his half-hard cock like he was fucking you from the inside out, and your answering moan was enough to show him that you liked it. Your head tilted back, against his shoulder, and Joel increased the speed of his thrusts. He smirked.

“This is for me, baby,” he assured you quietly.

Then, he notched his tip at your entrance.

“And this…is for you,” he finished.

Just as your moan morphed into a whine once again, he was pushing in—no more than an inch, but in—and his own breath caught. Joel groaned at the warmth and the wetness, the sheer stricture of your cunt that seized his length like a fist. Your walls pulsed at the feeling. You leaked around that one intruding inch and reached behind you to grip Joel’s neck. You cursed softly.

“Shit, daddy. He’s— he’s in me.” Half-disbelief.

“That’s right. Ain’t that where he belongs?”

You didn’t have to answer that. You simply lifted one leg higher and let him rut in deeper. You fisted the hair at the nape of his neck, and you tilted your hips to him. You soaked him in warmth. Though he didn’t have a full view of your expression from behind, Joel could see that your jaw was hanging slack and your lids were heavy—the eyes rolled back at a third stab of his hips. He fucked in.

Joel still wasn’t fully hard. That was just another part of being old, and he was done pretending like he wasn’t the age he was. You didn’t mind the age he was. If the noises bubbling up in your throat, the wet squelch of your cunt every time he drove home, and the grip on his neck, the gentle, ‘Oh, daddy, like that’ wasn’t proof enough of how much you liked it, the tremors in your legs certainly were.

They were slight. Joel knew what they signified, though.

With three inches wedged inside you, he leaned down.

“Is my sweet girl ready to cum?” he pressed gently.

You bit your bottom lip once before whimpering:

“I— I wanna get you hard first, daddy. Please.”

It was like you needed it. That urge to put him first was unyielding, even in a condition like this, and Joel wanted nothing more than to sate the desire. He also wanted to give you the orgasm you deserved, so he ground himself into your ass. He withdrew to the tip, kissed the warm, sensitive spot behind your ear, then plunged back in.

You convulsed around him.

“That’s it,” Joel went on. His mouth was so close to your skin you were no doubt feeling the grit of his stubble with every word he spoke. He hoped you didn’t mind it.

“That’s a good girl. Daddy’s nearly there. Let the sweet feelin’ in, and I promise I’ll be right behind ya, honey.”

“You— you’ll be hard? You’ll get to finish, too?”

“Givin’ ya ropes an’ ropes of the stuff, sweet pea. Enough to flood your tummy with it. Just…gimme one…good…”

“Oh!”

You let out a cry when he drove in deep.

He wasn’t even sure how he did it; his cock just throbbed and pulsed and pushed through your heat like this was right where he needed to be. He pressed in to the hilt, felt his tip kiss somewhere close your cervix, and that was when it happened again. You clawed at his neck.

You raked your nails down harder and shrieked.

“Oh, fuck, Joel, fuck, fuck, fuck—I love you!”

And that was enough for him, too.

In all the decades of life Joel Miller had lived, he couldn’t recall a single time he wasn’t fully hard and able to cum. But here he was. As soon as you finished, he filled you up like it was nothing. It had to have been the intonation of those words, or else your fingers threading through his hair, pulling tight, and gushing your release all over his cock that helped him get there. Every last sign that you were his, that you loved him, pushed him over the edge.

He was mumbling the same into your skin with each hot, pulsing jet of his seed. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and nearly whimpered. He couldn’t help it.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Like a broken refrain, he kept grunting, thrusting, and pushing his cum as deep into your cunt as your body would allow it, and when he was spent, he kept going.

“I love you, Joel.”

You whispered it again. You hardly could’ve expected the effect it would have as soon as the words left your lips.

Joel wasn’t exactly prepared for it, either.

As tired as he was, as old as he was, he hadn’t thought it was even possible. But for the second time that morning, he found himself proven wrong. He let out a soft groan.

And, buried eight inches deep, drenched to the hilt in his own pleasure and yours, Joel felt it—he was finally hard.

His cock was swollen to full capacity, while his balls had just emptied themselves dry. Your bodies were drained.

Faintly, he caught wind of a laugh.

It rumbled through your ribcage and made its way to his. Joel dropped his head to your shoulder, grinning, because of course he got a boner right then.

“Down to run it back after work, old man?”

Joel chuckled. He glanced at the clock.

Leave in five minutes or you’ll be late.

He shrugged and pulled you closer.

“I think I’d better just call in sick.”

now imagine a follow-up crackfic where joel buys those gas station boner pills for funsies and gets hard as SHIT for fourteen hours and fucks you through every minute of it

((apparently any erection that lasts over four hours warrants a trip to the ER but let’s just pretend))