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theonewiththefanfics · 1 month ago

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An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

“You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

“It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

“It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

“Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

“You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

“It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

“It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

“Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

“Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

“Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

“I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

“Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

“Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

“Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

“Such as?”

“I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

“Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

“My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

“Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

“So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

“And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

“Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

“We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

“Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

“Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

“Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

“Him.”

And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

“Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked. “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

“Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

“That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

“Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

“Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

“It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

“So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

“I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

“Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

“When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

“Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

“Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

“For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

“Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

“That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

“Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

“ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

“No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

“The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

“So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

“And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

“You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

“To get your sugar up.”

But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

“Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

“No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

“The possible future?”

“Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

“I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

“Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

“No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

“I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

“Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

“You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

“Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

“Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

“You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

“Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

“Time with you isn’t a waste.”

Oh.

Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

“Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

“Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

“I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

“Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

“Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

“Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

“My hot doctor, you mean.”

The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

“I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ll try though.” He promised.

“Okay.”

And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

His hoodie.

A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

“She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

“I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

“In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

To that she raised a brow.

“Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

“You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

“Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

“No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

“But what about -,”

“No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

“Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

“Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

“I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

“I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

“Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

“You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

“I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

“If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

“You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

“You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

“Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

“Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

“More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

“That feel good?”

“So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

“Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

“Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.

Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

“Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

“No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

“Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

“There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

“And then?”

God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

“And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

“Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

“And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

“You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

“Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

And what a mouth it was.

Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

“ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

“Whatever for?”

“Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

“No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

“And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

“And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

“You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

“But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

“Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

“You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

“Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

“Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

“Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

“I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

“And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

“I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

“My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

“Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

“You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

“You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

“Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.

“That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“And the night’s still young.”

They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

“You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

“Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

“You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

“I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

“Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

“How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

“I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

“You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

“I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

“Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

“Let me take you out on a date.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

“Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

“I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

“And throw out your back, old man?”

“Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

“How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

“Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

“It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you. I’ll be home by 9.

It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

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wheelscomedyandmore · 6 months ago

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You Might Not Ever Guess

Captain Kangaroo passed away on January 23, 2004 as age 76 , which is odd, because he always looked to be 76. (DOB: 6/27/27 ) His death reminded me of the following story.

Some people have been a bit offended that the actor, Lee Marvin, is buried in a grave alongside 3 and 4 star generals at Arlington National Cemetery . His marker gives his name, rank (PVT) and service (USMC). Nothing else. Here's a guy who was only a famous movie star who served his time, why the heck does he rate burial with these guys? Well, following is the amazing answer:

I always liked Lee Marvin, but didn't know the extent of his Corps experiences.

In a time when many Hollywood stars served their country in the armed forces often in rear echelon posts where they were carefully protected, only to be trotted out to perform for the cameras in war bond promotions.

Lee Marvin was a genuine hero. He won the Navy Cross at Iwo Jima. There is only one higher Naval award... the Medal Of Honor

If that is a surprising comment on the true character of the man, he credits his sergeant with an even greater show of bravery.

Dialog from "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson": His guest was Lee Marvin Johnny said, "Lee, I'll bet a lot of people are unaware that you were a Marine in the initial landing at Iwo Jima ..and that during the course of that action you earned the Navy Cross and were severely wounded."

"Yeah, yeah... I got shot square in the bottom and they gave me the Cross for securing a hot spot about halfway up Suribachi. Bad thing about getting shot up on a mountain is guys getting' shot hauling you down. But Johnny, at Iwo I served under the bravest man I ever knew... We both got the cross the same day, but what he did for his Cross made mine look cheap in comparison. That dumb guy actually stood up on Red beach and directed his troops to move forward and get the hell off the beach. Bullets flying by, with mortar rounds landing everywhere and he stood there as the main target of gunfire so that he could get his men to safety. He did this on more than one occasion because his men's safety was more important than his own life.

That Sergeant and I have been lifelong friends. When they brought me off Suribachi we passed the Sergeant and he lit a smoke and passed it to me, lying on my belly on the litter and said, where'd they get you Lee?' Well Bob.. if you make it home before me, tell Mom to sell the outhouse!"

Johnny, I'm not lying, Sergeant Keeshan was the bravest man I ever knew.

The Sergeant's name is Bob Keeshan. You and the world know him as Captain Kangaroo."

On another note, there was this wimpy little man (who just passed away) on PBS, gentle and quiet. Mr. Rogers is another of those you would least suspect of being anything but what he now portrays to our youth.

But Mr. Rogers was a U.S. Navy Seal, combat-proven in Vietnam with over twenty-five confirmed kills to his name. He wore a long-sleeved sweater on TV, to cover the many tattoos on his forearm and biceps. He was a master in small arms and hand-to-hand combat, able to disarm or kill in a heartbeat.

After the war Mr. Rogers became an ordained Presbyterian minister and therefore a pacifist. Vowing to never harm another human and also dedicating the rest of his life to trying to help lead children on the right path in life. He hid away the tattoos and his past life and won our hearts with his quiet wit and charm.

America's real heroes don't flaunt what they did; they quietly go about their day-to-day lives, doing what they do best. They earned our respect and the freedoms that we all enjoy.

Look around and see if you can find one of those heroes in your midst.

Often, they are the ones you'd least suspect, but would most like to have on your side if anything ever happened.

Take the time to thank anyone that has fought for our freedom. With encouragement they could be the next Captain Kangaroo or Mr. Rogers.

Send this on will you please? Nothing will happen to you if you don't, but it will tell what a "real" HERO is made of.

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cherienymphe · 1 year ago

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His Father's Son

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary:��After the untimely death of his father, Rafe takes it upon himself to become the man of the house.

warnings: NON-CON, STEPCEST, AGE GAP, mentions of major character death, depression, alcoholism, stepmom!reader, underage drinking, canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

⭑

The overwhelming feeling of being watched turned out to be true.

You flinched at the sight of the figure standing next to your bed, eerily still and eerily familiar in the darkness. Reason took over, and your heart started to slow just as quickly as it had started to race. You struggled to move, legs twisted within the sheets as you reached over to turn on the lamp. Sleep was still clinging to you, desperate to pull you back in, but you pushed it away with one look at Rafe’s face.

“It’s 8 o’clock,” was all he said in that tone you had never cared for.

Once his words actually registered though, you swallowed down the mild irritation that had threatened to bubble up. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you blinked, staring at him with parted lips before hurrying to search for your phone. When it bounced out of your unsteady hands and onto the floor, you cursed.

Sliding out of bed, you unfortunately confirmed that it was indeed 8 o’clock.

Now 8:03.

“Shit,” you breathed, pressing your hand to your forehead. “Um…”

You swiped your tongue between your lips, noting how dry they felt.

“Tell Wheezie-.”

“I already took Wheezie to school.”

The teenager’s words surprised you, and your hand fell, staring at him in a mixture of shock and shame. At those words, you finally registered the look on his face, and you found yourself thinking that his tone earlier made a lot more sense. You opened and closed your mouth, fighting to figure out how to respond. Unfortunately, you didn’t come up with anything clever.

“…oh.”

You watched the blond cross his arms over his chest, head tilted with the barest of frowns between his brows.

“I’m sorry,” you finally added, letting out a sigh. “I overslept and my alarm didn’t go off and…”

You found yourself trailing off, hating the sound of your excuses.

You got the feeling that Rafe hated the sound of them too by the even stare he fixed you with. You imagined that he hadn’t planned on dropping Wheezie off to her first day of school this year, and while it was something you both knew he should expect to do sometimes, it was also something he should’ve been asked to do. You couldn’t even remember going to bed the previous night, and you were sure the two bottles of wine you’d consumed had something to do with it.

“Should I anticipate dropping her off tomorrow too?”

There was an edge in his voice that you didn’t like but couldn’t necessarily be angry at.

“No,” you told him, tone sheepish. “I’ll get up on time.”

Rafe didn’t respond, but he also didn’t leave right away. He simply stood there, drinking you in with a frown. There was a look that passed through his eyes that made you think he probably wanted to say something, but if that were true, he swiftly changed his mind. You watched him silently leave, and you resisted the urge to sigh, closing your eyes instead.

When you married Ward Cameron two years ago, it wasn’t for the most honorable of reasons you’d admit. However, the same could also be said for him. After all, what would a forty-year-old man possibly want with a twenty-seven-year-old woman? Probably something equally as superficial as the same reasons a twenty-seven-year-old woman would want to marry a forty-year-old man. With that being said though, you hadn’t actually expected to fall for him. In hindsight, how could you not?

He had never been bad looking, and he was far kinder than you ever expected. Sure, the money and security of a comfortable life were what pulled you in, but after saying yes, you realized that he wasn’t the typical cold and rich husband you expected him to be. Seeing him do his best with his children only made it harder to pretend like it was some loveless marriage of mutual benefit.

You loved him.

…and then he died.

With one boating accident, you were suddenly the single mother of three teenagers. It wasn’t something you were prepared for, and while one was technically an adult, that still left two who weren’t and couldn’t possibly fend for themselves. On top of it all, you still found it hard to get out of bed most days, a problem that wasn’t so bad during the summer.

…but the new term was here, and you couldn’t put your responsibilities off any longer.

Reminding yourself that you’d quite literally drank yourself to sleep the previous night and therefore overslept, you noted that you were off to a bad start. The thought made your eyes burn, the full realization of your new reality hitting you. After Ward died, Rafe was basically the one to take care of everything while you spent most days in bed, but months had passed and summer was over and now your time had come to be a parent.

Resisting the urge to cry, you stumbled to the bathroom, hoping you didn’t look as bad as you felt.

“Did you hear me?”

His voice pulled you out of your own head and you slowly turned to look at him.

“What?”

Rafe stared at you for what felt like a long time, and it was then that you realized he’d probably been speaking to you for some time. You swallowed at the realization, noting that you’d spaced out again, and when Rafe heaved a sigh, you actually felt like the scolded child.

“Sarah’s staying over at a friend’s house tonight,” he told you.

You could feel his gaze on you when you nodded, and deep in the back of your mind you knew that you should’ve asked some follow up questions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You’d always trusted Sarah and her judgement—Rafe being the one you and Ward always worried about—and considering the circumstances, you wouldn’t question her on this. In your current state of mind, you were positive she could ask you to smoke a blunt and you’d give her the okay.

You were pulled from your thoughts again by the sound of your name.

You were unsurprised to meet Rafe’s gaze.

You couldn’t place the look on his face, but he seemed like he was deep in thought. Rafe’s behavior and demeanor had taken a 180 after Ward’s death you had to admit. Granted, you supposed that was to be expected, but for some reason it surprised you. Maybe it was because the change was so drastic or maybe because Rafe seemed so set in his ways that it was hard for you to remember that he was only nineteen and still had so much capacity to mature into someone entirely other than what you knew him to be.

Your thoughts on the matter didn’t really matter, you supposed. All that mattered was that he’d stepped up where you’d so clearly dropped the ball, and maybe that was why you found it so hard to snap out of it and be the responsible parent, now. There were days when your grief paralyzed you, and you didn’t feel that nagging obligation to get out of bed because you knew Rafe would handle it.

The blond didn’t say anything, but his thoughts were plain as day as he reached along the counter and slid your drink from in front of you.

“Rafe-.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” was all he drawled, and you found yourself frowning.

“Who’s the parent in this scenario?”

“Apparently me,” he fired back, making your jaw tick. “I’m the one running the business and taking Wheezie to school and making sure there’s actually something to eat in the house.”

You blinked at that, recalling that you couldn’t remember the last time you went grocery shopping. Shame filled you once again, and your gaze lowered, eyes tracing the patterns of the granite. The silence that descended between you was thick, and just when you were about to apologize, Rafe spoke.

“Look, I get that you loved him or whatever, but… So did we…,” your eyes met his at that. “…and Wheezie and Sarah still have to go to school, and I still have to talk to people and deal with contracts and bullshit I didn’t think I would for at least another ten years.”

You realized that Rafe was right, and it made you feel worse because you didn’t think Ward would have married you if he didn’t think you were capable of looking after his children should something happen to him. Yet here you were…letting him down…

Rafe moved from his spot on the other side of the counter, and you only let him when he gently took your arm and forced you to stand. It was a far cry from your dynamic only five months ago. In your defense, you never clicked with Rafe. It wasn’t for lack of trying on your end, but Rafe was so troubled and had so many pent-up emotions and awful drug habits that it only proved to be a breeding ground for disaster.

You could think of too many instances in which you tried to be a parent to him only to be met with the same snarky and cruel demeanor he gave to everyone. He never quite took to you as his new parental figure, and you’d quickly learned that Ward was the only authority he’d respect and listen to. You tended to try and stay out of his way as a result, but Rafe was the one to catch you when you collapsed after getting the news that day.

Overnight, he’d gone from treating you like the ugly stepmother and instead like some injured foal he needed to look out for.

“That’s not healthy,” Mrs. Thornton said to you a few days later.

You watched her set her tea down, lips twisted into disapproval as she marinated on your words.

“You are the parent,” she sternly told you. “It’s your duty to pick up right where Ward left off, and instead you are letting some teenager run things.”

You knew that she was right, but you didn’t exactly relish hearing it.

You had never cared for the older woman, her upbringing influencing the majority of her opinions and stern exterior. However, after the boating accident, you desperately needed another actual adult to talk to. You were out of your element, and everyone knew it, and the first time you sat with her after your husband’s death felt humiliating. Now, however, you practically relied on her to keep your head on straight.

“…but I don’t know how to parent two teenagers all by myself, let alone handle the family business that I was never all that privy to.”

She made a noise at your admission, and it only served to humiliate you further. You had long suspected that she didn’t approve of Ward marrying a significantly younger woman, and by telling her that you weren’t included at all in the important decisions, you only validated her suspicions that you were only ever for show.

You forced yourself to ignore it.

“Their relationship was rocky, yes, but… No one knew Ward like Rafe,” you quietly admitted. “…and Rafe is the only one Ward talked to about all of this. Rafe knows how to make the decisions Ward would want.”

“He’s nineteen,” she scoffed. “Barely older than my own son.”

At your unsure expression, she leaned in closer, brows drawn together and lips pursed.

“You are his parent,” she repeated. “…and the longer you refuse to act like it and let him handle the business and the household and his siblings, he will forget it and start to challenge you in your own home.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. Thornton that it didn’t exactly feel like your home anymore. At least not without Ward. While it relieved you that Sarah and Wheezie still treated you as they did before his death, you still couldn’t help but worry that without him around they would soon refuse to take you seriously as a parent. Part of you wouldn’t even blame them.

You’d only been in their life for three years, six months of which you were just their father’s silly twenty something girlfriend. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that they never expected him to actually marry you. Rafe had made that pretty clear when Ward had broken the news with you at his side.

It was a week later when you found yourself knocking on the door of Ward’s study. You supposed that it belonged to Rafe, now, and that correction made your heart clench. Even seeing him in the same spot where Ward often sat made you falter, and it took you a moment to remember why you’d disturbed him. Mrs. Thornton’s words were front and center in your mind.

“We need to have a serious talk about the business.”

At your words, Rafe only tilted his head, and you noted how out of place he looked in Ward’s space. Rafe was so young and everything about him betrayed his mindset and inexperience and impulsive tendencies. He didn’t belong, at all, but who were you to deny him his birthright?

“What about it?” he finally wondered, and you were hyperaware that he was watching your every move as you walked about the room.

“I think that I should be more involved with it,” you told him, continuing at his frown. “Rafe, you’re only nineteen, and like you’d said. You weren’t prepared to be fully involved in this for at least another decade.”

You watched him toss some papers aside at that, and the look he fixed you with made you swallow. It was reminiscent of the Rafe you were used to. You didn’t miss the way he dragged his blue gaze over you, sizing you up, and you definitely didn’t like it.

“You don’t know anything about it.”

The acknowledgement that Ward had never included you in these matters stung, but you only sighed.

“No…but…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe stood, and you had an inkling of what he was going to say by the look on his face.

“Do you even want to be involved in my dad’s business?” he asked you, leaning against the desk with his hands pressed into the wood. “Or are you just listening to Topper’s mom again?”

The blond chuckled at your silence, and it lacked humor.

“My dad left it to me,” he finally said, holding your gaze. “…and I know you think you should be involved because…well…you’re the parent, now…”

You didn’t like the way he rolled his eyes at that, and you blinked when Rafe straightened, nearing you.

“…but you don’t get it.”

Rafe looked between your eyes.

“I disappointed him too much while he was here, and this… This is my chance to make him proud,” he admitted, and your shoulders drooped.

“Rafe…”

“…and not just with his business,” he continued. “He’s gone…so now I have to step up and be the man of the house.”

Despite the fact that you could see where Rafe was coming from, you didn’t necessarily agree. He was too young to be putting so much pressure on himself to follow Ward’s footsteps and make up for his absence. That was your job, and you heaved a sigh, looking down. You’d just started to shake your head when he spoke again.

“Besides…you’re still knocking back…what? Twelve bottles a week?”

You reared back at that, lifting your gaze as he’d already started turning away from you.

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” he assured you, leaning against the desk and intently watching you. “I’m just stating a fact.”

Your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden.

“My dad’s death hit you really hard, and I get it. Mrs. Thornton is telling you that you’re the parent—the adult—and so you need to put me in my place and step into your role.”

You looked away, avoiding his eye.

“…but you can barely function most days, and I treated you like shit on more than one occasion, so…” you reluctantly met his gaze again. “It’s only fair that you let me look after you, now.”

You wanted to tell him that that wasn’t his job, and that more importantly, it should be the other way around. However, he was right. In your condition, you’d screw everything up and drive the whole family into debt. It wouldn’t be like this forever, you knew that, and so you reluctantly agreed that you needed time to get yourself together before you fucked it all up.

You woke up in tears, chest tight as you struggled to breathe.

It wasn’t the first time you dreamed about Ward, but instead of a good dream it was only a memory of that day Shoupe had knocked on your door. You’d felt trapped and panicked as you watched on, telling yourself not to answer it. Somehow, if you didn’t answer it then it wouldn’t be true. He wouldn’t be dead but just…still on his boat…enjoying a long vacation.

The events played out just like they did that day. You’d been able to feel the dread deep in your gut at the look on Shoupe’s face, and you kept screaming at yourself to kick him out of your house, that he had nothing good to tell you. You watched the way your face fell and the way your hands shook, and Rafe had only walked into the room for two seconds before hurrying to grab you when your knees buckled. He’d held you, fighting to calm you down as you wailed…

Much like he was doing now.

“Hey, hey,” you heard him harshly whisper, arms tight around you as he kept you from bucking around on the bed. “Y/N…”

Your nails dug into his arm as you tried to catch your breath, but your choked sobs were coming out too fast to give you any kind of reprieve. You could feel Rafe’s chest at your back as he moved closer, and one of his arms snaked around your neck as he held you in place.

“Is she okay?”

It was only then that you realized the hallway light was on and bleeding into the otherwise dark room. Wheezie sounded worried—scared—and you cursed yourself for doing that to her. You were supposed to be their support, comforting them and providing a safe space during this awful time in their lives, and instead it was the other way around.

You both heard and felt Rafe sigh.

“Yeah, she’ll…she’ll be fine. Wheezie, you should go back to bed,” he told her. “Now.”

You could only assume she listened to him, and Rafe only let you go when your breathing started to slow. You weren’t crying as hard when he laid you back down, and his absence was only felt for a few minutes before the bed dipped again. You felt him put a pill in your hand, and you frowned at it as he pulled you into a sitting position.

“Take this,” he told you, pushing your hand towards your mouth.

“What…?”

“It’ll help you sleep,” was all he said, forcing you to pop it into your mouth, a glass of water being pressed to your lips almost immediately.

In your distress, some slipped past your lips, and Rafe beat you to it in brushing his thumb across your chin. Slowly blinking, you laid back down, and you heard Rafe set the glass of water aside. You naturally thought that he’d leave, but you were surprised to feel his hand on the side of your face, smoothing it over your face and hair.

You really didn’t like that he was taking on a role that should’ve been yours, and after some time, you quietly mumbled an apology.

“I loved him,” you whispered in the darkness, and you felt Rafe freeze. “I know you guys think that I didn’t. I know what you and your friends have probably said about me behind my back.”

You tiredly scoffed, more tears escaping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“…but I loved your father very much, and I wasn’t prepared to do this alone.”

Rafe didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move either, and you pressed your hand to your face, feeling the pill taking effect.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out. “He was supposed to be here, Rafe, I’m not supposed to do this alone.”

You could feel your chest tightening again, and Rafe shushed you. You could feel your body becoming lighter, and you welcomed it, face relaxing and breathing slowing. Rafe was still next to you, his body so close to yours that you could feel the heat coming off of it. You didn’t have the strength to push his hand away as his fingers grazed your cheek, and after some time you felt him pull the cover over you.

You didn’t feel him move or leave, but you became less concerned about that the more your fatigue grew.

You stared at Wheezie’s hopeful face, chewing on your lip as you contemplated her request.

“Have I met Natalie’s parents before?” you wondered, and you realized your mistake in asking that when her face dimmed.

“I don’t think so, but…dad did.”

You slowly nodded at that, whispering a small ‘right’ before looking away. It was a Friday evening, and in order to make up for your less than stellar behavior, you’d planned to cook and have dinner as a family—something that hadn’t been done in months. However, Sarah’s plans with her boyfriend put a damper on that, and now Wheezie was asking to stay over at a friend’s.

It didn’t seem fair to make Wheezie stay while Sarah didn’t. Granted, Sarah hadn’t exactly asked you, but still. The plan was to have dinner as a family anyway, and without Sarah, that wish was already ruined. The way you saw it, you might as well let Wheezie go, but you didn’t know Natalie’s parents, and so you felt unsure.

Rafe came into the kitchen then, and with one look between you, he deduced that a serious discussion was being had.

“What’s wrong?” he asked no one in particular.

“I’m asking mom if I can sleep over at Natalie’s tonight.”

“…and I’ve never met Natalie’s parents so…”

You watched Rafe chuckle at that, lips curving into a smirk as he moved to taste the vodka sauce on the stove.

“They’re almost as uptight as Topper’s mom, so Wheezie will be in good hands if that’s what you’re worried about,” he told you, tone light.

While that reassured you, you still felt a little down about your plans for the evening being ruined. You got the feeling that it was noticeable, and you flinched a bit when you felt Rafe’s hands briefly come down on your shoulders before brushing past you.

“You can do your family dinner thing another night,” he suggested, shrugging at you. “Sarah won’t be here anyway.”

Wheezie gave you a pouty lip, and you thought it over. If she said that Ward had met them before, and Rafe confirmed that they were indeed trustworthy, then you didn’t see why not. Even still, you unintentionally found yourself looking to Rafe, and when he gave you the barest of nods, you smiled at the thirteen-year-old.

“Okay,” you breathed, and she jumped up with her phone in hand.

“Natalie’s mom is picking me up,” she threw over her shoulder, hurriedly heading for the stairs.

You were happy to see her coping better with things, so you tried to focus on that instead of the fact that you’d be eating alone. Turning back to the stove, you turned the dial down to a simmer, half expecting Rafe to be gone when you turned around. He wasn’t, and you didn’t miss the way he eyed you as he leaned his arms on the counter.

“Let me guess, you have plans too? It’s Friday, and that usually means you’ll be out somewhere with Topper and Kelce.”

The crooked smile on his face was mocking as he peered up at you from beneath his lashes.

“It’s family dinner night.”

You only rolled your eyes at that, turning away from him.

“You’re nineteen, Rafe. I don’t expect you to turn down plans with your friends just to stay home and sit across from your stepmom,” you sighed. “You can go, it’s fine.”

“You and I both know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” he said, something you silently agreed on. “I want to stay.”

When you looked at him again, you were surprised to find him standing much closer, now. You hadn’t even heard him move nor realize just how close his voice was. You couldn’t place the look on the blonde’s face as he stared at you, and you watched him reach up to grab a plate.

“Why?” you chuckled.

Despite how nice he was being now, you both knew that it was only the case because of Ward’s death. Rafe had never cared for you, and if the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t hesitate to get as far away from this house as possible. You felt like Rafe’s thoughts were probably mirroring your own, something passing through his gaze that looked a lot like confusion.

“…because you loved him. Probably more than me,” he shrugged.

You frowned because you didn’t agree with that, at all, and you told him so.

“I think there are very few people who can love someone as much as a son loves his father.”

You threw Rafe a small smile, reaching out to rest your hand on his arm.

“…and you did love him, Rafe. Sure, you guys fought worse than teenage sisters at times,” you breathed, frantically blinking at the memories. “…but that’s just because he wanted the best for you, and you had your own problems that didn’t stop you from disappointing him.”

You tilted your head at him when he looked away.

“You idolized him, and all you wanted was to make him proud. It made things very complicated, but please don’t ever say I loved him more than you did.”

When Rafe looked at you again, there was a deep frown on his face, and for some reason, you felt very small beneath his stare.

“…but you did,” he said with a small shrug, gesturing around. “I mean, look at you.”

You blinked.

“You have to be medicated just to get some sleep, and you still don’t remember staring at the wall for days after he died.”

You felt a chill pass through you at his words, hating how much you’d let them down, but also because there was something about the way Rafe stepped towards you and held your gaze that you didn’t think you liked. It made an unsure feeling twist deep in your gut for some reason.

“So, no. I don’t want to go anywhere with Kelce and Top, not when my dad’s wife is one bad day away from a psychotic break,” he whispered. “He would want me to take care of you.”

His words were reminiscent of the same ones he’d spoken to you in Ward’s study that day, but unlike that day, today they made you feel uneasy, and you didn’t know why. You dropped your hand, taking a step back from him just as Wheezie’s voice reached your ears.

“Natalie’s mom is outside, I’ll text you when I get there,” she called as she ran through the house.

Your voice cracked when you told her to have fun, but you didn’t think she heard, the door slamming shut mid-sentence. Forcing yourself to turn away from Rafe, you grabbed a plate with shaky hands, Mrs. Thornton’s words echoing in your mind that Rafe’s new role in the household wasn’t healthy.

“I swear I’m not doing it to be a bitch, okay?” Sarah’s voice reached your ears. “It’s just really hard to be around her without thinking about dad.”

You swallowed at her words, taking a step back on the stairs,

“Especially when it’s obvious just how hard she’s taking it,” she said. “I mean, she’s a little better, sure, but those sleeping pills you give her aren’t doing a thing. She’s not tired, Rafe, she’s depressed.”

“Well, you’re making her feel like shit,” you heard him reply, a tone in his voice that you hadn’t heard in quite some time. “This is the fourth dinner you skipped out on for your Pogue boyfriend.”

The younger girl didn’t respond right away.

“I’m sorry,” you heard her eventually say. “When did you start caring about her anyway? Weren’t you the one who called her some gold-digger, saying she was coming for your spot in the will?”

That didn’t shock you nor hurt you, long imagining that Rafe had said far worse. You heard him heave a sigh, and it sounded angry.

“Dad’s gone, Sarah, and that means we should stay together as a family,” he sneered. “…and I’m doing what I can to make that happen.”

You heard a slight scuffle, and you hurriedly made your way down the stairs and towards the kitchen. It had been some time since you heard Rafe and Sarah fight, something you definitely didn’t miss, but considering the topic of this discussion, it didn’t surprise you that it was a little more emotionally charged than normal.

When you rounded the corner, Rafe had a tight grip on Sarah’s arm, the younger girl trying to leave with her purse in hand. The expression on his face was unnerving, a deep frown between his brows with his lip curled over his teeth a she got in her face.

“Things are going to be different, now.”

“Rafe.”

Sarah’s eyes were wide and terrified when she looked at you, relaxing a bit at your presence, and you were relieved when Rafe let her go. Sarah only briefly acknowledged you on her way out, desperate to get away from Rafe, and you watched the way he glared after her.

“Rafe, it’s fine,” you told him. “She’s allowed to hang out with her friends for whatever reasons she wants, especially now.”

“Are you going to use that excuse forever? Just because dad died it doesn’t mean that she can do whatever she wants,” he snapped, gesturing towards the door.

“She’s grieving!”

“She’s using it as an excuse to be a shitty daughter, and you’re just letting her.”

You reared back at both his words and his tone, and for the first time in months, you felt something like anger bubble up in your chest.

“It’s not your place to tell me how to raise her. She’s not your daughter,” you spat.

The small laugh that he let out lacked humor, and by the look on his face, you knew that there was something on the tip of his tongue that you would hate.

“Yeah, well, she’s barely yours.”

You could tell that he wanted to take it back almost as soon as he said it, and you pressed your lips together just as he touched his forehead.

“Fuck, that’s not…”

His words trailed off, and you crossed your arms over your chest. You were only thirteen years older than Sarah and knew her for all of three years, so it wasn’t like you didn’t feel the same at times, but it still hurt to hear. It’s like Rafe was voicing your worst fears that she would come to lack respect for you and your presence in her life as a mom.

You didn’t know how to do this…and everyone knew it.

“I just feel like…you’re treating her like dad did, letting her get away with everything, and I hate it,” he slowly said.

Rafe’s feelings about Sarah had never been a secret, and neither had Ward’s. You wouldn’t ever deny the fact that Ward favored her, and it was unfortunately noticeable, something that was always visibly distressing for Rafe. With Ward gone—and with Rafe feeling like he now needed to be the man of the house—this made for a very complex situation.

You couldn’t tell what was rightful concern and what was just Rafe wanting to put Sarah in her place, something he’d never been subtle about.

“I wasn’t expecting to be left raising teenagers by myself before I was even thirty, Rafe,” you finally replied. “I’m trying…”

“I know you are,” he hurried to say, quickly approaching you and reaching for you. “That’s why I’m trying to help.”

You backed away from him before he could touch you, and you didn’t miss the way his expression clouded over at that. Looking away, you swiped your tongue between your lips, choosing your next words carefully. You could feel his heated gaze burning a hole into your face.

“I get that you’re trying to help, and believe me when I say I’m so appreciative of it, Rafe, but… It is not your place,” you carefully said, looking at him again.

You watched him roll his eyes towards the ceiling, nodding to himself. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and when his gaze fell back to you, you immediately knew that you didn’t like it. Rafe’s nostrils flared, and you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that your words had bothered him, no matter how carefully you chose them.

“What you mean is you’re the parent, I’m not, and I need to stay in a child’s place.”

You sighed at that.

“Not necessarily, I just-.”

“…because if that were true, who would’ve driven Wheezie to school on the mornings when you couldn’t even get out of bed?”

You didn’t appreciate him throwing that in your face, and by the look in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t done.

“You want me to stay in my place, but I’m the one who made the funeral arrangements and answered the important questions and kept this house together when the woman our dad married was too grief stricken to even stand on her own two feet.”

You bit your tongue, warily eyeing him as he moved to stand directly before you.

“Dad died, and I stepped up. Not you…me,” he firmly told you. “…and now that you’re sort of kind of getting your shit together, you just want to pretend like I should have no say in any of this.”

You didn’t like how close Rafe was, but when you went to take a step back, his hand shot out to dig into your arm, preventing you from doing so. You winced at the tight grip, and you swore you saw his face soften some at the sight. His grip certainly did, and you almost wished that it didn’t because the gentle way he held your arm and the gentle way he looked between your eyes made you deeply uncomfortable.

“Someone has to be the man of the house, now…and it falls to me,” he whispered.

You didn’t even have a proper response for that, feeling wholly unnerved as you stared at one another, and you took a deep breath.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you quietly said.

You were relieved when he listened, almost convinced that he wouldn’t, and you touched your arm with a step back. You studied his face, searching for what? You didn’t know, but again…Mrs. Thornton’s words would not leave your mind, and you hated the way your lips trembled.

“Do not touch me like that again.”

Your tone was even, but you were sure your eyes betrayed you because Rafe merely raised an eyebrow at you.

“Or what? You’ll send me to my room?”

Your heart sank at his mocking words and the subtle challenge in them, and despite how much nicer Rafe’s next words were, they didn’t make you any less uneasy.

“I’m just trying to do right by my dad and look after everything he left behind.”

His words seemed innocent enough, but for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder just what that entailed exactly and what role he expected to play in this family. You didn’t want your mind to linger on something that couldn’t be true, and so you left him without another word.

The feel of a hand shaking your shoulder is what pulled you from sleep, and it took you a long time to peel your eyes open. Doing so felt difficult for some reason, and when you exhaled—smelling the wine on your breath—you realized why. Rafe’s face was the one that met you, and you immediately squeezed your eyes shut.

“Y/N,” he gently said. “It’s late.”

As he said this, you realized that you were on the couch, and it didn’t take you long to surmise that you’d fallen asleep there. You didn’t want to move, but you also didn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the couch, knowing you’d regret it the moment you stood up in the morning. Just when you were about to mumble to Rafe to leave you be, you heard him sigh before feeling his arms slide underneath you.

In an effort to keep from falling, you quickly held onto him.

“Rafe,” you mumbled, disapproving.

“Wheezie has friends coming over in the morning,” you were barely able to make out. “I don’t think their moms would appreciate stumbling upon you asleep and hungover on the couch.”

He chuckled to himself as he climbed the stairs.

“They already don’t like you…”

You merely hummed at that, and you were relieved when you felt yourself being deposited onto the bed. Rafe was saying something else to you, but none of it registered as you sought out sleep once again. Your intentions were interrupted though when you felt a hand on your face, and even in your inebriated state, you knew it didn’t feel right. Forcing your eyes open, you struggled to push Rafe’s hand away.

“I just want to make sure you don’t throw up in your sleep,” he mumbled when your eyes blearily met his. “Is that okay?”

You drunkenly blinked at him, lips trembling.

“Why don’t you call me ‘mom’?”

Your question was whispered, voice shaky, and as much as you wanted him out of your bedroom, you also wanted him to answer the question. The house was quiet, both Wheezie and Sarah asleep, and the only light was that of the light in the hall. You didn’t take your eyes off of Rafe as you waited for him to answer no matter how much you wanted to.

In the low lighting, you could see the way his dirty blond hair hung onto his forehead, the light glinting off of his blue eyes.

“I never have,” was his response.

“Well, maybe you should,” you forced out. “I don’t want you saying my name anymore.”

You didn’t miss the way his nostrils flared at that.

“Why not?”

“…because I don’t like it,” you confessed, tears kissing your eyes. “Not anymore.”

His face fell a bit at the way your voice cracked, and when he reached for you again, you hurriedly sat up.

The silence was loud as you just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between you. You felt like you wanted to crawl out of your own skin whenever he so much as looked at you, now, thoughts running wild with what you prayed to be untrue. His stony expression told you that they weren’t, that he’d been found out, and in your drunken state, you couldn’t stop your tears from spilling over.

When he reached for you again, it startled you right off of the bed.

The night stand shook as you fell against it, and you cried out in pain just as Rafe cursed. You didn’t want his help, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t need it as he hurried to reach you. The feel of his hands on you burned and not in a good way, causing you to flinch away from his touch. That didn’t deter him though, and his grip was tight as he kept you in place, his other hand reaching for your head.

“Did you hit your head? Are you-?”

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, shoving at his chest, and Rafe grew quiet.

The only sound for a while was your soft sobs, and Rafe’s refusal to leave you alone kept him kneeling before you. When you tried to stand up, he ignored your protests, reaching out and helping you. You swayed, and Rafe kept you close much to your chagrin. You wanted him gone as soon as possible, so you were quick to sit back down, but Rafe didn’t let your waist or your hand go.

Swooping down, he captured your lips in a kiss.

You wanted to gag.

His hand was almost painfully twisted around yours, making you wince, and every attempt to scoot back was only met with the resistance of his hand on your waist. Your stomach churned as he moved his mouth against yours, wanting to be sick at the feel of him kissing you on the same bed where Ward used to sleep. When his fingers dipped beneath your shirt, you bit him.

Hard.

You took the moment to remove yourself as he cried out, hurrying towards the bathroom and locking yourself inside. That awful sick feeling wasn’t as hollow as you thought, your knees hitting the floor almost as soon as you made it inside, head bent in the toilet. You couldn’t stop crying as you emptied your stomach, throat scratchy from the alcohol that was coming back up.

When you were able to catch your breath, you were shaking. You could still feel Rafe’s lips on yours, and on top of everything else you were forced to deal with in the months following your husband’s death, this was the last thing you’d ever anticipated.

You’d slept on the bathroom floor that night, refusing to leave and face Rafe. If Sarah and Wheezie noticed the tension between the two of you, they didn’t comment on it or at the very least, not to you. The knowledge that Rafe wanted to take Ward’s place in every facet of the household made you sick, and while neither of you mentioned that night, it also felt clear between the two of you that it wouldn’t be ignored forever.

You wanted him out of the house.

…but that wasn’t your place, was it? Rafe had more of a right to all of this way more than you did, and you couldn’t be the one to leave. Rafe may have been nineteen and an adult in the eyes of the law, but no matter how much of a 180 he’d done, you couldn’t trust him to properly raise Wheezie and Sarah. Especially now that you knew his 180 had less to do with just wanting to be a better person or more about taking on the role Ward had played in every way.

You shuddered at the thought, and oddly enough, this tempted you to drink yourself into a stupor more than Ward’s death ever did.

You and Rafe were ten years apart, so seeing him like a son had always been hard at times, but it didn’t stop you from treating him like one in the years that you’d been with his father. You’d liked to think that the sentiment was returned, and maybe at one time it had been, and maybe after Ward’s death things just…changed.

Was this your fault?

Had you dropped the ball so hard that he couldn’t even bring himself to see you as a parental figure anymore? Did he stop trying to respect you as one or…? Or did it have to do with how much he’d had to take care of you? You didn’t treat him any different, talk to him any different, so maybe you hadn’t done anything to change his perception of you.

Even if you had…what could you possibly have done to make him see you as a potential partner?

As if your nights weren’t bad enough—haunted by memories of Ward and that day you’d been told he was dead—you were now also kept awake by the knowledge that your stepson very much wanted to fill the void left by his father. And maybe if Rafe were anyone else, you could’ve talked about this, tried to sort through this, but Rafe was Rafe, and you reminded yourself that the Rafe you were accustomed to had only disappeared less than six months ago.

…and you’d seen hints of him just peeking from below the surface.

You resisted the urge to drink these days, positive that one sip would have you spiraling. You didn’t know how to cope with this new development, but you knew it couldn’t be that way. It didn’t go unnoticed that the night Rafe kissed you, you’d been drunk out of your mind, completely vulnerable to him. You also couldn’t bring yourself to take anymore sleeping pills, recalling Sarah’s words that day as she’d told Rafe that you were depressed…not tired.

She was right.

…and so despite the difficulty, you forced yourself to try and sleep without medication night after night. It was hard for several reasons, the most pressing of which being the unnerving presence of the nineteen-year-old just down the hall. It made it hard to find sleep most nights, and on the nights in which you did, you still do so with only maybe four hours to your name.

It was noticeable.

“I can stay and help, you know. It’s just John B., and he’ll understand why I’m late,” Sarah offered.

You could see by the look on her face that she was worried about you, and despite your attempt, you knew that your reassuring smile didn’t convince her.

“Sarah, it’s a Saturday night,” you told her. “I’m not going to make you stay and help me clean the kitchen, especially when you helped me cook and stayed for dinner.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but decided against it.

“Yeah, I’m glad I did.”

Her tone told you that she was feeling bad about the other dinners she’d skipped out on, and you were proven right.

“I’m sorry about not staying for all the others and…basically avoiding you,” she quietly apologized. “It’s just that Ward cared about you a lot, and when I’m around you, it’s easy to see why…and it just makes me think about him.”

You only exhaled at that, letting out a small chuckle as you washed the dishes.

“You don’t have to apologize, Sarah. I get it,” you whispered, pausing. “I miss him too.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole, but Rafe was kind of right in confronting me over my behavior.”

The mention of Rafe had your hairs standing on end, and you swallowed down a sigh, still unsure what you were going to do about the blond.

“There were better ways for him to get his point across…”

Sarah only found that funny, softly laughing to herself.

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t be Rafe if he didn’t be rude about it, so,” she trailed off, pushing away from the counter. “I’ll be back before 1.”

You hummed at that, letting her know that was okay, and it was only ten minutes later that you were alone. Wheezie went to a sleepover just after dinner, and Rafe hadn’t been home all day. Before where that would have concerned you, now you could only be relieved to get some reprieve from the oldest Cameron. God knows that you needed the space to think.

Going over every scenario in your mind, the best one seemed to be to hope that it would just go away. You didn’t want to find yourself in some sort of legal battle if you even attempted to kick Rafe out and basically bar him from his own home. Legality of it all aside, it just wasn’t morally right. This was where he grew up, his safe space, and you couldn’t even pretend to feel comfortable at the thought.

The other option just wasn’t even an option. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just pack up and abandon Wheezie and Sarah. Never mind the fact that you’d been in their lives for three years now, but now more than ever they needed stability. Their father only just died, and what kind of person would you be if you decided you just didn’t want to be responsible for them anymore? Allowing Rafe to run you off wasn’t an option.

Besides, there was a tiny and terrifying voice in the back of your head anyway that said he wouldn’t even let you.

It was an hour later that you found yourself in bed after cleaning the kitchen and taking a bath. You needed the soak, needed to do whatever you could to relax you. It wasn’t even ten o’clock, but considering how hard sleep was for you to find lately, you figured there was no harm in letting your head hit the pillow early.

Maybe you could trick your body into going to sleep at a decent time.

The minutes dragged on and were made to feel like hours, but the silence of the house and the fact that you were alone did more wonders than you thought. You could feel your eyelids becoming heavy, and what little sounds you could make out from outside slowly started to fade. The last thing you recalled was your body feeling heavier…

…and then you were standing in front of Shoupe, and he was telling you that Ward was dead, and you couldn’t even stand on your feet anymore.

You sat up with a gasp, struggling to breathe, and by the way your vision blurred, you knew that you’d been crying in your sleep. There was a voice in your ear shushing you, and despite the fact that you knew who the hands on your arms belonged to, your mind was too preoccupied with painful memories to fully register it.

Rafe pulled you against him, holding you to him as you sobbed, thinking to yourself that it had been a few weeks since you’d had a really bad reaction. You shook in his hold, head bowed as you wailed, and you were momentarily grateful that the house was empty. The blond rocked you, forcing you to press your face into the crook of his neck, and it was only then that you registered the smell of alcohol.

Before you could gather yourself to ask Rafe where he’d been, his hands were clumsily grasping at your face.

You sharply inhaled when he kissed you…again. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, and you were so distraught that it took you too long to realize what was happening. The kiss was hungry, Rafe tasting the inside of your mouth and kissing you in a way that might’ve taken your breath away under different circumstances.

As it were, you could only register that you were being kissed by your deceased husband’s son again. It made your stomach twist uncomfortably, and your efforts to reach up and pull his hands away from your face were futile. You made a noise of protest, attempting to lean away, but he ignored it. Even when you bit at him like before, he ignored it.

With horror, you realized that Rafe wasn’t stopping it.

Panic began to set in, and when you shoved at his chest, he quickly reached to close his hand around your wrist. At the same time, he leaned into you more, forcing you back, and you didn’t put your hand down in time to prevent that. With him now on top of you, your heart was threatening to leap from your chest.

“Rafe,” you gasped when he pulled away. “Rafe, stop!”

Your voice came out panicked and shrill, but instead of listening to you, the sounds were only joined by that of your shorts ripping.

“He would want me to look after you,” he drunkenly murmured, making your stomach drop.

You both fought for the right to your shirt, you trying to keep it on and Rafe trying to take it off. You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack, telling yourself that this wasn’t happening. In the worst way possible, you discovered that Rafe was much stronger than he looked, feeling like you got the wind knocked out of you when he roughly shoved you down after your attempt to sit up.

You could hear yourself crying, and you knew that Rafe could too.

With a hand tightly snaking around your throat, his other fumbled to get his own pants off. Focused on trying to breathe, you reached up to pull at his hand. You could hear a ringing in your ears, and your chest felt tighter than it did when you first woke up from your nightmare. His lower half was pinning you down, and the blood you could feel yourself drawing on his hand and arm didn’t slow him down.

He was shushing you when you felt his skin against yours, and one of your hands twisted into his shirt as he started to push himself into you. The feel had your feet stretching, and you let out a choked sound despite the pressure on your throat. He was torturously slow in stretching you out around him, and with every further push of his hips, you clawed at his shirt some more.

He only let your neck go when his hips were firmly pressed against yours.

As you coughed and wheezed, he reached behind his head to pull the fabric off, tossing it somewhere without a car. The moment his chest was bare, he reached for you again despite your difficulty to breathe, and his lips covered yours in another kiss. You didn’t even have time to register the kiss because he was thrusting into you with abandon. His hips were wildly snapping against yours, and you gasped into his mouth.

Rafe searched for your hands, threading his fingers through your own and pinning it against the bed next to your head. His other hand was digging into your hips, kipping them in place as he fucked you. You struggled to catch your breath, sharply inhaling and gasping with every thrust. The stretch was unfamiliar, and your mind spun with the fact that you hadn’t experienced this in months and also who it was with.

When Rafe pulled his lips away from yours, you let out a sob, and he gently shushed you, curving his hips into yours.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured in the darkness. “It’s okay.”

You had so much you wanted to scream and shout at the blond, but you couldn’t even find the words. With every feeling of his cock sliding against your walls, your eyes rolled. His head fell next to yours, his heavy breathing in your ear as he pinned you down with his entire body. You weren’t able to move, only forced to lie beneath him and feel what he was doing to you.

He grunted in your ear with a particularly hard thrust, and you let out a yelp.

Just then, you heard the door open downstairs, and hearing it too, Rafe stopped. He was quick to cover your mouth with a hand, and he was completely still as you heard who you surmised was Sarah coming up the stairs. Your heart was so heavy in your chest, and it was all you could hear in your ears.

When she made it to the hallway, she stopped.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” she called.

At that, Rafe pressed down harder on both your mouth and you, and after a few moments, you heard the younger girl sigh. When the sound of her room door shutting reached your ears, Rafe kept his hand on your mouth, but he felt compelled to keep fucking you.

He was slow in doing so, now, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

He slowly dragged his cock in and out of you, pulling his hips back until just the tip remained—sometimes pulling out completely—before pushing back in and making your chest arch up into his. He quietly told you that it was okay, softly groaning as you unintentionally squeezed him. Rafe’s lips brushed against your neck and jaw, and now that the two of you were no longer alone, the room was deathly quiet.

So quiet that you could hear the sound of his cock plunging into you.

It was a sound that embarrassed you, a sound that made you want to cry. Rafe’s arms trembled as he fought to keep himself from just relaxing on top of you completely, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him that if he uncovered your mouth, you wouldn’t even scream. You would be too ashamed to let anyone know what Rafe Cameron was doing to you.

With his lips at your neck, you could feel them move as he talked.

“My dad’s gone…”

The mention of Ward in this moment made more tears spill over, and when he slowly removed his hand, you let out a shaky breath as you silently cried. Lifting his head, Rafe’s gaze found yours, his hips still slowly pushing against yours.

“…and I know that it’s killing you, but…”

He swallowed, looking between your eyes.

“…but you have me, now,” you let out a soft cry at that. “You do, and I’m…I’m going to take care of you.”

His hand reached up to touch your face, the tips of his fingers grazing your wet cheek. You shook your head, feeling like you were going to be sick, and Rafe only shushed you. His lips followed yours as you attempted to turn your head away, and you could taste your tears in the kiss.

“I’ve got the business…I’ve got the family ring…” his lips moved against yours as he spoke into the kiss. “…and I’ve got you.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #obx #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine

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tinytownn · 2 months ago

Text

road rage – pt. i

joel miller x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

content: enemies(?? for like two pages) to lovers??, age gap, minor car crash??, subtle flirting, a lotttt of joel using sweetheart, joel trying not to be a creep lol, temptationnn, no use of y/n, pretty slow first chapter ngl

a/n: hello!! this is my first post on this account and on tumblr in general. i'm still getting used to everything, but i've just recently gotten back into writing after a few years so i'm just excited to be doing this again!! i am planning to make this a short series with maybe 3-5 parts?? this first chapter is pretty slow with just a little flirting, but things will definitely pick up as the story progresses. (also i pictured in game joel in this fic but obv it doesn't matter)

pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv pt. v

—

The cool air blowing through the vents did little to keep you awake, so you reached down to turn up the music. The seat gently vibrated in sync with the bass, almost lulling you to sleep instead of keeping you alert.

You shook your head. Only twenty more minutes.

Trees blurred in your peripheral vision, and the oncoming headlights cut through the thick night fog, almost blinding you. Silently cursing, you squinted as the combination of bright lights and loud music gave you a headache. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but as the people-pleaser you were, you had agreed to cover a shift for a friend. Which normally wouldn’t be too bad if it weren’t the worst shift possible– 3 PM to 11 PM.

Spending the entire day under the harsh fluorescent lights of the office had been miserable, but at least you avoided rush-hour traffic. Now, the highway was deserted, the pavement stretching endlessly ahead, and you took full advantage. The speedometer ticked upward—eighty, ninety—until it settled on a bold 100 mph. You straightened your back, gripping the wheel tighter.

This was the only good part of your night.

You, the open road, and the music moving in sync. Your foot pressed the gas pedal to the beat, the car swaying slightly as you danced along to the rhythm. For a brief moment, freedom rushed through your veins.

Then, your joy was cut short.

Blinding LED headlights filled your rearview mirror.

Despite your already reckless speed, the approaching truck was closing the distance fast, its lights growing brighter by the second. With a frustrated sigh, you flipped the switch on your mirror to dim the glare, but the relief was minimal. You pressed the gas just enough to hold a steady 90 mph, hoping the driver would back off.

They didn’t.

The truck inched closer, practically kissing your bumper. Your patience thinned.

"Where do you have to be right now?" you yelled, throwing your hands in the air before slamming them back onto the wheel.

You refused to speed up any further. You were already pushing legal limits, and there was an entirely open lane to your right. Why isn’t he just going around me? A quick glance in the mirror confirmed your suspicions—a middle-aged man, his expression unreadable.

"Go around me if you're that impatient, grandpa!"

But he didn’t. He just stayed there.

Your jaw tightened as the truck loomed behind you, headlights flooding the interior of your car. And then—just when you thought his lights couldn’t get any more obnoxious—they flickered.

Your irritation flared. Is he seriously flashing his brights at me?

Normally, you avoided road rage. You knew better than to test angry strangers in metal death machines. But today had been a day.

Burning coffee spilled on your chest that morning. The dreadful realization that you had to work this godforsaken shift. The mind-numbing hours spent under soul-sucking office lights. And now, this asshole riding your bumper.

Your nerves snapped.

On the third flicker of his brights, your foot slammed on the brake.

The jolt wasn’t enough to stop the car entirely, just a warning. A signal.

But the truck didn’t back off.

Instead, his brights stayed on—permanently.

Your car felt like the inside of a lightbulb, and the overwhelming glare made it hard to see the road. Your speed dropped slightly as you struggled to focus.

You have got to be kidding me…

This time, your foot hesitated over the brake. You weren’t sure how close he really was. The last thing you needed was an accident.

But fate had other plans.

A deafening horn blast rattled through the night.

The sudden noise startled you, and before you could stop yourself, your foot slammed down—

—on the brake.

Everything happened in an instant.

Your forehead hit the steering wheel, only to be snapped backward by the force of the deploying airbag. The nylon burned against your skin, suffocating and blinding you. Your tires screamed against the pavement as the car spun out of control. Your body strained against the seatbelt as you felt the car dip into the median. A sharp pain shot through your neck as your head slammed against the headrest.

"Fuck..." you groaned.

It was a minor crash, all things considered. But your car? Completely totaled.

The front bumper was crushed into the median railing. The back was crumpled—rammed in by the truck.

The truck.

Adrenaline masked the pain as you forced yourself to move. The car was a mess—your tote bag had spilled across the seats, its contents scattered. You fumbled with your seatbelt, fingers shaking, until—

Click.

You were free.

You sprang into action, anger seizing complete control. The car door slammed behind you as you stomped toward the man’s driver-side door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed us!”

You didn’t care that his door was closed—he was going to hear you.

To your surprise, the man opened the door, unbuckling his seatbelt as if nothing had happened. His truck sat parked on the shoulder, barely touched. A few scratches on the front bumper. No airbags deployed.

Meanwhile, your car was wrecked.

The stark contrast sent a fresh wave of rage through you. Your fist slammed against the hood of his truck—not even a dent.

“You could have just moved over.”

His voice was calm. Unbothered.

The indifference made you freeze.

Eyes wide, you finally looked at him—really looked at him. He was older—dark hair streaked with gray, hands calloused and worn. His lips pressed into a firm line, tired eyes set deep beneath a hardened expression. He had an air of intimidation about him, the kind that came with experience rather than effort. And despite everything—despite the wreck, the rage still simmering in your chest—he was handsome. If you weren’t so pissed off, the way his unwavering gaze dragged over you might’ve made you falter—hell, maybe even blush.

You scoffed at his southern drawl, unimpressed. His voice carried the charm of a gentleman, but his actions were anything but.

“I was there first. You should have moved over.”

He huffed a laugh. “It’s called the fast lane, sweetheart. And I was the faster one.”

You clenched your jaw. “I was going twenty over. Is that not fast enough for you, old man?”

His expression hardened. His eyes dragged over you, then flicked to your totaled car.

“What, you just get your license a month ago? A little speed too much for ya?”

“I’ve been driving for over ten years, and I’ve never met anyone as obnoxious as you.”

“Double that and get back to me, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your eye twitch. The condescension, the complete lack of remorse—it was infuriating. The minutes ticked by, the night stretching darker as the two of you bickered on the side of the empty highway.

Finally, you yanked your phone from your back pocket, the glow illuminating your face as you scrolled to contacts. Turning the screen to him, you snapped, “Put your number in here. I’m getting my insurance card.”

With a grunt, the man took the phone, holding it at an absurd distance from his face. He extended a middle finger, jabbing the screen at a snail’s pace.

You crossed your arms. “Christ, you’re old…”

With the last of your patience slipping away, you turned to your car, lips pressing into a thin line as you took in the damage—worse than you remembered. You yanked open the glove box, rummaging through the mess before pulling out a small booklet of insurance papers.

The crash, the argument, the adrenaline—it had all faded, leaving behind a dull ache stretching from your neck to the back of your head. Each step back to the truck felt heavier than the last.

Joel handed your phone back without a word. He sat in the driver’s seat now, feet propped on the step bar, door wide open. Peering past him, you took in the state of his truck—well-worn, maybe just as old as him. The glove box hung open, spilling out crumpled papers, loose receipts, and junk strewn across the seats. Dirt encrusted the floors, stains lined the fabric, and the entire cab smelled faintly of sweat and sawdust. A typical work truck.

Glancing at your phone screen, you found his name entered stiffly, all caps, on the first line only.

JOEL MILLER.

A small grin tugged at your lips as you fixed the spacing before saving the contact. You sent him a message—just your name—and watched as his phone lit up in confirmation.

Joel cleared his throat. “D’ya got anybody to get you home?”

Your eyes met his. The frustration still simmered, but his question forced you to acknowledge what you’d been avoiding.

His gaze flicked to your wrecked car. “That thing ain’t gettin’ you nowhere, and it’s not safe for a girl like you to be out here this late.”

You huffed. “A girl like me?”

You knew what he meant. You had already run through the worst-case scenarios in your head—alone, stranded, barely past midnight. Every woman’s worst nightmare.

But you weren’t about to let him have the satisfaction of thinking he was doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” Joel said, a playful tone lacing his words, “ones that like to start problems.”

You glanced past him into the truck once again—exactly the kind of scene you were warned to avoid. Cluttered, worn, the kind of place that set off alarms in the back of your mind. But your options were limited—this or the highway.

When you looked back at his face, the sharp edge of his anger had dulled. He no longer looked like the man who had run you off the road, but someone weighed down by exhaustion, just trying to get home—same as you. The toll of a long workweek clung to you both.

He exhaled sharply. “You got a ride or not?”

Your hesitation must’ve been obvious because he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Look,” he muttered, flipping the screen toward you.

A blonde girl beamed back, clutching a trophy and soccer ball.

Joel’s expression softened, a quiet, tired smile pulling at his lips.

“I got a daughter,” he said, voice quieter now. “I wouldn’t want her out here like this.”

Something in your chest eased. This was the first time you had seen him smile all night.

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Yeah- uh no, I don’t have a ride.”

Joel motioned toward your car. “I’ll clear a spot. Grab your stuff.”

With a grateful nod, you turned back to the wreck. You reached inside, sifting through the mess until you found the essentials—wallet, keys, and headphones. Tossing them into your bag, you made your way back to the truck.

Joel stood by the open passenger door, waiting.

You climbed in with a small nod of thanks. The cool air inside was a relief from the heavy night air. The seat hugged your body, and you wasted no time clicking the seatbelt into place—already well aware of Joel’s driving.

The truck dipped under his weight as he dropped into the driver’s seat, door slamming shut behind him.

“Where am I headed, kiddo?”

The engine rumbled to life, country music blasting through the speakers. Joel grimaced, quickly turning the volume down.

“Uh—just outside downtown, by the school- the highschool. Not the college. Just take exit fourteen and it’s pretty much straight until the river.”

Joel gave a short nod, seemingly satisfied with your poor, over-explained directions.

Silence settled between you, the earlier hostility replaced by something quieter. The shift was jarring. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the realization that this wreck wasn’t about reckless driving—it was about two overworked, pissed-off people taking their frustrations out on the wrong things.

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who let emotions get the best of him—he couldn’t afford to be. Not as a father. Most days, life’s inconveniences were just that. As long as Sarah was happy, everything else was just noise.

But today had pushed him too far.

Three months of work—scrapped in a single meeting. No discussion. No warning. The new plans were a mess, the compromises were nonexistent, and the client was an insufferable pain in the ass. Joel had spent the entire day fighting for compromises that never came, his patience thinning with every rejection. Agreeing on the original plans had been difficult enough, and now this high-paying client was proving to be more trouble than he was worth.

The rest of Joel’s day was spent reviewing these so-called new plans, searching for compromises that might salvage at least some of the work already completed. But every suggestion he made was quickly rejected. The client wanted things done his way—no exceptions.

By the end of the day, frustration had Joel gripping the arms of his chair, clinging to the hope that at least one compromise might be accepted. But it wasn’t until eight o’clock—long past the time he should have been home—that the final rejection came. Even then, he persevered, spending the next few hours adjusting measurements and sketching out a rough plan to present the following morning. He just wanted this project to be over.

By the time he eventually left the office, his patience was gone.

The open road was supposed to be his escape. Just him, his truck, and the empty highway.

Then you got in his way.

He could’ve merged. Could’ve passed you and been done with it.

But the sight of your car in his lane, unaware, unbothered—it was the final straw.

He’d done this a hundred times before.

A little bumper-to-bumper game.

A little misplaced frustration.

He never meant for it to go this far.

But here you were, in his passenger seat. And your crumpled car was proof of just how wrong the night had gone.

And now, he had to get you home.

The low rumble of the engine and the faint hum of country music filled the quiet space between you. Joel drove at a far more reasonable pace now, nothing like the reckless tailgating from earlier. The road stretched ahead, lined by dense forest on either side, the scenery offering a welcome distraction as you gazed out the window.

"I'm sorry about your car."

The sudden break in silence made you jolt slightly in your seat. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first.

Sure, he was giving you a ride home, but that didn’t erase the mess he’d made of your night—or your car. You still had to deal with insurance, miss work, and somehow navigate the nightmare that was the current car market. The frustration bubbled up again, only to be met with the nagging reminder that your own childish stunt had played a part in this too.

The thought sent heat creeping up your neck. You huffed, crossing your arms. "Deserved. Partially– I think you gave me fucking whiplash."

His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of compassion breaking through his stoic exterior.

As his gaze fell on the lock screen of his beloved daughter, guilt settled deep in his chest. If she had come home telling him a man had run her off the road—wrecking her car in the process—he knew the rage he would feel. He had been raised to be a gentleman, to respect women, and fatherhood had only reinforced those values. Your original outburst had been justified; after all, he had watched you crawl from the wreckage of your car, shaken but alive. Yet, his pride had held firm.

Now, faced with your unexpected kindness despite his wrongdoing, the weight of his indifference bore down even harder.

“My bones aren’t as brittle as yours, old man.” A smile spread across your face, the relief of a genuine conversation lifting the tension that had been weighing on you all day. “I think I’ll live.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Speaking of,” you added, a playful gleam in your eyes, “what’s an old guy like you doing out so late?”

Your attempt at making small talk and a joke fell flat as Joel’s expression soured. The events of his shift replayed in his mind, only adding to the pit of worry in his stomach.

“Work,” he said simply.

“Me too,” you sighed. “It never gets better, does it?”

“Don’t think so.”

The conversation ended there, the soft melody of a country song filling the car as you bobbed your head to the beat. The thought of the day behind you brought a wave of exhaustion to both of you, the prospect of how you were going to get home creeping back into your mind.

You could take the bus?

Maybe call up a coworker or a friend?

Neither option was particularly appealing. With a sigh, you turned your attention back to the man next to you. In the short half hour you’d known him, your initial thoughts had changed drastically from his less-than-ideal first impression.

While the memory of your wrecked car still lingered, so did the reminder of your own fault in this situation. It was something best left to the insurance companies to handle, the previous anger dissipated. The coming weeks of ridesharing and public transportation wouldn’t be ideal, but at least you had a ride home tonight.

Your eyes lingered on the graying man next to you. His eyes were fixed on the road, glancing occasionally at his speedometer. The tension in his jaw had faded, his face more relaxed, weighed down by the exhaustion that was evident in both of you. His hair was messy, and you briefly recalled him running a hand through it when he first exited the truck—probably a nervous habit that had turned into a kind of permanent bedhead.

Despite his somewhat rough exterior—soiled, calloused hands, mud-streaked clothes, weathered skin adorned with scars and sun-kissed freckles from years of hard labor—staring at him for too long made a warmth spread to your cheeks.

The attempt to distract yourself from your car had worked a little too well.

You quickly pulled your gaze away from his face—hopefully before he noticed—and turned your attention elsewhere. His short-sleeve, button-up work shirt clung to his arms, biceps flexing as they stretched the fabric. His hands, strong and capable, gripped the wheel with ease, barely needing to look at it as his focus remained ahead. You watched as he took the exit, smoothly navigating the almost circular turn, his gaze not shifting from the road. Without turning his head, he effortlessly merged, the awareness of his surroundings second nature—an instinct gained over decades behind the wheel.

“Fairview or Jackson?” Joel’s voice cut through your thoughts.

Heat crept up your face as you whipped your head to the side, eyes landing on the familiar split in the road. “Fairview—for another eight miles.”

You knew exhaustion was setting in from the way your mind raced. Your unblinking stare drifted back to Joel, taking in details that anger had blurred before. Maybe it was the proximity, the sleep deprivation, the whirlwind of emotions—or all of the above—that sent warmth trailing lower. You shifted uncomfortably, legs brushing against each other.

Anything to distract yourself.

“What do you do for work?” you blurted, wincing at how dumb you sounded.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure you’re not concussed, kid? Might need to take you to the hospital.”

You groaned, slouching into the seat. “Just trying to make conversation…”

His amusement lingered as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Been in construction pretty much my whole life. Started right after high school. Had other plans, but…” He exhaled through his nose. “Had Sarah young, so I did what I had to. Hard work, but I’d do anything to provide for my girl.”

Your gaze flicked to his hands, catching the glint of a passing streetlamp. No ring. No tan line.

You shook your head. Why did that even matter?

This man had run you off the road. He was just driving you home, and after tonight, you’d never see him again. No reason to get caught up in things that didn’t concern you.

“What about you?” Joel asked. “What do you do for work?”

You blinked, surprised he’d bothered to ask. His eyes left the road for the first time that night, meeting yours expectantly.

“I work at a bank,” you scoffed. “Exciting, I know. Not a teller, just… office stuff. Behind-the-scenes.”

Joel smirked. “Can’t relate. I’m shit at math.”

The warmth in his voice sent your brain short-circuiting for a moment. His smile—subtle but real—stood out in the dim glow of the dashboard. The soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the creased lines on his forehead—despite the exhaustion in his face, he looked…warm.

You cleared your throat. “I am too.” You laughed. “I’m honestly shocked I haven’t tanked the place yet. Not that I’ll have much time to—I’ll probably get fired soon.”

Joel chuckled. “Talking like that, I can see why.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually good at my job.”

“You sure?” His eyes flicked to you, amused.

You nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I just don’t see my boss being too happy about me missing a few days until I can find a ride to work.”

Something shifted in Joel’s expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes glazing over as he turned his attention back to the road.

He was thinking.

Then, simply—

“I can take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “Unless you really wanna get fired..”

The initial temptation almost had you saying yes before your brain could fully process the offer. It was a kind gesture, but the thought of inconveniencing him—forcing him to carpool you to work every day—made you pause.

Then your eyes met his.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve recognized this for what it was—just a man doing the right thing, easing whatever moral strain the accident had put on him. But his stare held you captive, and for a moment, logic blurred.

Normally, you’d be panicking. Snapping at whoever was behind the wheel to keep their eyes on the road. But with Joel, you didn’t. Confidence radiated from him—not in a cocky or arrogant way, but the kind that came from experience, from years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

There was something in his gaze—something that mirrored what you felt deep in your stomach. A flicker of hesitation, a reluctance to let the night end. A reason to keep seeing each other.

He wanted to see you again too.

No. That was delusional.

The combination of exhaustion and your embarrassing need to get laid had clearly fried your brain. You were sitting here, crushing on a man at least twenty years your senior—someone’s father for god’s sake.

But you did need a ride to work.

You exhaled, glancing up at the moon before muttering, “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to be a burden. I know it’s hard for someone your age to remember so many things.” The quip slipped out before you could stop yourself, a flimsy attempt to break the tension—at least, the tension you felt.

Joel turned slightly, failing to hide his grin. “Not more than I’ve been.” Then, after a beat, “Unless you keep it up with the jokes. Might find yourself in the same place as your car.” He paused. “Sweetheart.”

Your heart stuttered.

The nickname had driven you crazy earlier in the night—condescending, demeaning. But now?

Now it had you looking away, pressing your legs together in a weak attempt to ignore the heat spreading through you.

And Joel paused.

Why did he pause?

He’d said it so easily before, like it meant nothing. But now, there was something different in the way it left his mouth—like he almost caught it before it slipped out.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. “The jokes come free with the ‘totaling my car’ deal.”

“Lucky me.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

You hesitated for a second, then narrowed your eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Joel raised a brow. “What?”

“I don’t need a pity ride.”

His lips parted slightly before he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Whatever ran through his mind, he wasn’t letting it slip.

He smirked, settling instead for, “Maybe I just wanna see if you’re always this annoying.”

Your breath caught. The way his voice dipped—the way his eyes flicked to your face, searching for the smallest twitch of a smile—it made something coil tight in your stomach.

You didn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips.

“Or,” Joel continued, smirking, “maybe I’m not so convinced you don’t got that concussion.”

“Oh, hush.” You rolled your eyes, giving his arm a playful shove.

The teasing had shifted, the edge of frustration softening into something lighter. You didn’t know where this boldness was coming from—flirting with a stranger like this—but he wasn’t stopping you. If anything…was he returning it?

You bit your lip, gaze flicking anywhere but him. Then, before you could think better of it— “I get run off the road by a handsome stranger and you expect me to play it cool?”

Joel cleared his throat—definitely caught off guard.

“That right?”

His voice—low, steady, unreadable—sent a ripple of uncertainty through you. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of how small the space between you felt. Had you misread the moment?

The air thickened. His gaze held steady, the weight of it pressing into you, testing you.

You swallowed. Nodded.

A beat passed. Then another.

And finally, a smirk. “Guess you’ve made up your mind then.”

Joel let the words settle before tilting his head, eyes still locked on you. “This handsome stranger gets to drive you to work ‘til you get a new car.” He threw your words back at you, mocking—but not unkind. You exhaled a laugh, the tension giving way to something else entirely.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, so now you’re deciding for me?”

He shook his head slightly. “Never said that.” He paused. “You just don't sound too opposed to the idea. Choice is all yours, honey.”

His voice had deepened just slightly at the last word, slow and deliberate.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

“And if I say no?” You challenged.

Joel chuckled lowly, sending a shiver up your spine. “You said it yourself—you’d be out of a job. And my company.”

You scoffed. “Can’t tell which one I’d be more grateful to miss out on.”

He smirked. “Better for me, sweetheart. You’re too much of a distraction anyway.”

Your breath hitched.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, the tension thick in the space between you. His gaze flicked to you again, raking you up and down in a way that made your skin prickle with heat.

The truck jolted as he slowed, bringing the conversation to a halt. The school’s looming brick silhouette glowing under the buzzing street lamps, moths greedily swarming the light. The road, littered with potholes, sent a rough shudder through the truck as the tires fought for traction.

“Take this right,” you murmured. Joel turned down the music, his focus shifting, and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“It’s the third one on the left.”

He pulled into your driveway, cutting the headlights as the truck settled into park. The night air was thick and quiet, the world outside still.

Neither of you moved.

The truck rolled back slightly, settling into the incline, and for the first time all night, there was no tension, no urgency—just the unspoken weight of exhaustion pressing into the silence between you.

And still, neither of you seemed in a rush to break it.

You barely noticed the way Joel shifted in his seat, full of anticipation. His hands flexed around the wheel, the tension in his knuckles mirroring the unspoken energy hanging between you. Your mind raced through the events of the night, trying to make sense of how this even began—how a collision turned into something so unexpectedly charged.

Not that you were complaining.

You had at least a week of one-on-one time with Joel and that realization sent your heart stuttering against your ribs. This ride had already escalated in ways you hadn’t predicted, and now your thoughts wandered, imagining the possibilities of the next.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe you weren’t.

Shaking yourself from the haze, you reached for the door handle. “I should get going.” The lump in your throat made it harder to get the words out, especially with the way Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, steady and unreadable.

You clutched your bag to your side, gripping it like an anchor, grounding yourself in the reality that—somehow—your subtle advances had gone far more successfully than you expected.

The overhead light flooded the car as the door clicked open, the night air brushing against your skin. Your fingers curled around the handle, your balance slightly off-kilter from the nerves running through your veins.

You barely had time to register the movement before warmth encased your wrist.

Joel’s hand.

Firm. Steady. Completely engulfing yours.

Your breath hitched.

“Already forgot about our deal?”

His voice was smooth, tinged with amusement.

Before you could process it, he gave a gentle tug, pulling you back into the seat just enough that your face was level with his again. You kept the door ajar, caught between the instinct to flee and the undeniable pull of his presence.

His eyes searched yours, taking in any flicker of hesitation, any nervous shift of your body. His fingers, still wrapped around your arm, traced the goosebumps rising beneath his touch.

He smirked at his effect on you.

But the amusement didn’t erase the conflict in his mind.

You had just met, and the circumstances weren’t exactly the most flattering on his part. He had hit your car. He–an older man–had insisted on driving you. And now, here you were—breathless, your full attention on him, hanging onto his every word.

It was dangerous.

Tempting.

And guilt-inducing.

He didn’t let go.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening as he weighed the situation. Maybe this was just harmless flirting on your end. Maybe his immediate attraction to you had made him think otherwise. Maybe it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a late-night illusion spun by exhaustion and circumstance.

Still, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Not yet.

His voice came quieter this time, deliberate. “What time do you have work tomorrow?”

“Joel—”

“It’s not up for discussion, sweetheart.” His grip didn’t tighten, but the firmness in his voice left no room for argument. “What time?”

You sighed, knowing there was no use fighting him on this. “Eight.”

Joel clicked his tongue, considering. “I’ll be here at seven-thirty.”

You blinked. “Joel, don’t you have work too?” A bubbling anxiety began to brew endless questions in your mind. “How are you gonna-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just be outside.”

You gave him one last look, searching for any hesitation, any sign that this was some kind of moral obligation rather than something he actually wanted to do. But his gaze was unwavering, he seemed absolute.

Finally, you relented with a soft sigh. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. His lips parted slightly as if he had something else to say—but instead, he just gave a slow nod.

“I’ll be here.”

The truck creaked as you lifted yourself from the seat, your shoes landing against the driveway with a soft thud. You adjusted your bag against your chest, the cool night air nipping at your skin.

Joel watched you, his hands still gripping the wheel, his knuckles still tight, as if holding himself back from saying more.

You hesitated, slowing your steps as you departed.

Say something. Anything. Don’t make this weird.

Before you could, his window rolled down. His tired, gruff voice cut through the silence.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

You whipped around, startled by the sudden shift in demeanor. He had spent the whole night teasing you—flustering you—but now, the words were softer. Almost… affectionate.

Your lips curled into a grin. “Don’t hit any more cars, old man!”

His chuckle followed you as you disappeared inside.

—

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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gguk-n · 4 months ago

Note

heyy could you maybe pls write a charles x reader fanfic where she is a doctor and they met bc he has a broken dick 😭😭

OMG!! This ask is haunting me bc if a hospital finds out you are with your patient, too many issues🤣🤣. Also, it's unethical, power imbalance😳😳 ig. Anyways, I tried not to think too literally.

Unethical

Charles Leclerc was a Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari. Charles Leclerc was Monegasque. Charles Leclerc had recently broken up. Charles Leclerc was stressed. Charles Leclerc couldn't get an erection.

Charles was extremely embarrassed with what he was dealing with. He broke up with his girlfriend because of having erectile problems. He couldn't believe he was having to deal with it in his twenties. He wasn't sure what was the cause; he was supposedly fit, he ate well, he had fun when he wanted. But right now, he wasn't sure why he wasn't able to stay hard. This was a conversation he had with his older brother, who laughed at him first and then told him to see a doctor. Charles knew he had to see a doctor but he didn't want to.

After much pressure from his brother and mother, who Lorenzo informed as soon as he had found out. So, now Charles was sat at the clinic waiting his turn, surrounded by many men in their later years waiting their turn. Charles looked around and made contact with a few men who would tisk as they made eye contact with him. Charles wanted the ground to swallow him.

"Mr Leclerc, you're next" the receptionist called out. Charles stood up and followed her to the room. "Have a seat, the doctor will be here soon" she said, robotically and left Charles in the room.

When Charles thought he would see a doctor for his dick, he thought it would be some man in his fifties but a man nonetheless but right now, stood in front of him one of the prettiest girls he's seen in a while. She was gorgeous and Charles may have wanted the ground to swallow him then, but now he wanted it for real.

"Hello, I'm Dr Y/L/N. You must be Charles Leclerc?" she greeted. Charles quietly nodded. "If it's okay, can I call you Charles?" she asked and he nodded. "Could you confirm your age?" she asked again. "27" he replied. Charles was rubbing his hands up and down as the pretty doctor smile at him. "So, Charles, I see you're here because you aren't able to hold an erection?" she asked. Charles wanted to run away, but he held his head down. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about Charles. I'm here to help you. If you could answer some questions for me. I'll try to help you the best I can" she reassured.

After a while, and answering multiple questions Charles felt at ease. He wasn't sure why he was this scared. "From what you've told me Charles, I think it's probably stress induced. So, I'll refer you to a psychologist and they should be able to help you. If it doesn't improve, please do come back" she instructed Charles. Charles nodded along as she wrote down some stuff and handed him a paper. "Thank you" Charles said taking the paper. She just smiled, "Bye Charles" she said preparing to leave.

"Dr Y/L/N" Charles called out as she opened the door. She turned around to look at him, "When's your...um...shift end?" he asked rubbing his neck. It had taken a lot for Charles to ask her but her face was apologetic; "I'm sorry Charles. But that won't be possible" she spoke slowly. "Why? Are you taken?" he rambled. "Charles I can't date my patient" she stated and walked out. Charles walked out with shoulders slumped.

Charles got treated. He didn't have any issues with his dick. But he wasn't able to see Dr Y/L/N after that until he was back home and visiting his mother salon. That's when he saw her, sat on one of the chairs getting her hair done. "I have a son. He's great, drives for Ferrari" his mother boasted. "Maybe you two could go out some time" she suggested. She just laughed, "I'm sure he'll fancy a model." "No" Charles interrupted suddenly. She looked at him shocked. "I'm not you patient anymore" was the first thing he said after a while. "I know" she muttered. "Will you go out with me? You won't regret it" he said biting his lower lip. "Okay" she nodded. His mother was smiling at them, shaking her head.

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absurdthirst · 5 days ago

Text

The Last Part of Him {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.2k

Warnings: Flirting/Courting, Joel's a little confused, Flirting through food, dates, feelings of inadequacy, oral sex (male and female receiving) premature ejaculation, shame, fleeing the scene of the crime, public blowjobs, mentions of infertility, sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, Joel being sexy when he's confident, relationship issues, miscommunication, five year flash forward, mentions of illness, canon events, pregnancy.

Comments: When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel sighs as he looks around the house, full of mismatched furniture and remnants from long dead owners who perished during the outbreak. Joel feels a little awkward touching anything, the space doesn't feel like his, but since he and Ellie returned from Colorado, he is desperate to settle down. He doesn't know how to. It's been twenty years of fighting to stay alive and all of a sudden he doesn't need to fight for his meal, it's provided. He doesn't need to try to stay warm, he has a fireplace and space heaters. He doesn't have to just survive. It's hard to shake old habits so the residents of Jackson are skittish when he's around, dark eyes full of the battles he fought over the years and that makes them nervous, scared that he's going to snap. Ellie has settled in like a duck to water, meeting the other teenagers despite her initial apprehension, and Joel is happy to see that. It confirms that he made the right choice to save her. Picking up the coffee cup, Joel falls back into the chair at the kitchen table. He doesn't have to survive anymore...he can live. He stares at the cup until there's a knock on the door. His heart pounds and the instinct to grab his gun is there but he slowly makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing there. "Uh, can I help you?" He asks, taken back by the pretty young thing on his doorstep holding a basket of what looks like muffins.

You shift nervously, smiling at the handsome newcomer to Jackson. Not exactly new since he and the girl were here for a few days several months ago, but they are back to stay. You’ve met the girl, Ellie, and she’s nice, if not a little abrasive. Joel, though, you’ve only seen him in passing and you wanted to introduce yourself to Tommy’s older brother. Your name comes out of your mouth, almost hesitantly and you could kick yourself for nearly stuttering because of an attractive set of brown eyes and silver threaded hair. “Wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to Jackson.” You offer, holding up the basket. “Hope you like blackberries?” You ask. “I’ve got a greenhouse in my backyard. Blackberries are abundant this year so far.” You’re rambling so you clamp your mouth shut. “Made them myself.”

Joel hates that his immediate reaction is suspicion but what can he do? He raises his eyebrows, watching you shift from one foot to the other, biting your lower lip like he’s gonna shove the muffins on the floor. “I, uh, thanks.” He says, brow still furrowed but he musters a smile for you. “You didn’t have to do that.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, “they, uh, they look good. Thanks.” He adds again, not sure how to act when faced with genuine kindness.

“We’ve grown our wheat fresh.” You offer, knowing that some have voiced concern about eating flour when they first arrived. “No old stores. Not that they would have survived twenty years anyway.” You hate how stupid you sound, especially because he’s more attractive up close than he had been walking the streets, an unapproachable scowl on his face. “So you know, it’s safe to eat.”

You’re nervous and he has no idea why except maybe his reputation has preceded him in Jackson. He knows that the people are wary of him and don’t know who exactly he is. “Thanks. I, uh, I don’t remember the last time I ate a muffin.”

God, he’s sexy. You swallow down a slight giggle, wondering if you are just horny because of lack of selection. “Well I promise you’ll love my muffins.” You don’t even think about how it will sound until it’s out of your mouth and Joel’s brow twitches slightly. “So, uh, welcome to Jackson, neighbor.” You offer, even if you don’t live nearby. Because you’re single, you live in an apartment.

Joel nods, still cautious and confused as you offer him a little wave and he frowns when his thought is “how cute.” He doesn’t think of anything as cute, not since Sarah would cuddle her teddy bear when she fell asleep. He sighs, shutting the door when you bounce off the porch and he looks down at the muffin, picking one up to take a big bite out and groans, “fuck, those are good.” He mutters to himself as he strides into the kitchen just as Ellie comes through the front door, shrugging off her jacket, and she strides into the kitchen to see Joel with a muffin in his hand. “Muffins?” She guesses even though she only saw them in books. Baked goods were really a common commodity in the QZ. Joel nods, “neighbor brought them over.” He explains after he swallows and Ellie eagerly grabs one, “fuck yeah.” She declares, taking a big bite and she groans at the taste. Joel looks at the muffin in his hand, thinking about the pretty woman who made them for him. She won’t be back…she will realize he’s not someone you want as your neighbor.

You don’t hear anything back from him, although it’s to be expected. You didn’t exactly tell him where to find you. You had hoped that he would ask around, maybe using the basket as an excuse to track you down. Still, you see Ellie around town for the next few days and spot Joel once or twice, but he’s always talking to Tommy and Maria, obviously discussing something serious. You don’t see him at dinner in the dining hall though. Making you decide that the perfect excuse to visit again would be dropping off the casserole you had made. Calling yourself an idiot as you once again wait on the porch for someone to answer the door.

Joel adjusts the reading glasses that were gifted to him by Tommy as a joke for being officially an old man but he has found himself reluctantly reaching for them for reading things. He makes his way to the front door, wondering if Ellie forgot her keys and he is surprised when he sees you standing there. “Uh, hi.” He says your name, stomach twisting at the sight of you.

You can’t help but grin, a silly little happy grin because he remembered your name. “Hi.” He doesn’t open the door wider, doesn’t offer to let you come inside. Still guarded and there’s confusion in his eyes. Making you wonder when the last time he had someone just be nice to him. “I never see you in the dining hall.” You announce. “Maybe you don’t like crowds? Or people?” You chuckle slightly but he just looks at you, his eyes heavy on you and you shift. “Anyway, I, uh, I made this casserole.” You love a good, hearty casserole. It’s comforting and warming, reminding you of better times. “For you.” You add. “The casserole is for you. And Ellie.”

Joel looks down at the dish in your hand, eyebrows raising slightly, “I, uh, I still have your other basket.” He remembers, scratching his jaw, “do you - Ellie is out and I ain’t really lookin’ forward to eatin’ alone. You wanna come in and have some of this?” He asks, not wanting to be alone despite that being selfish.

“Y-yeah.” You nod, heart pounding at the unsure look on his face. As if he was expecting you to say no. “I’d like that. I don’t like eating alone either.” You shrug slightly. “Unless I’m pissed at the world and don’t want to talk.” You admit with a roll of your eyes. “Because for some reason, people can’t just sit with you and not talk.”

Joel snorts, nodding his head, “Ellie never shuts up.” He confesses, making you chuckle as you follow him into the house after he turns and makes his way into the house he’s still trying to be comfortable enough in to call home. “You want a beer?” He asks, thankful Tommy brought them over today and he’s had them cooling since they arrived.

“Sure.” You set the casserole down on the counter when he guides you into the kitchen. It’s nice, the old appliances are still sitting on the counters although they look like they haven’t been used. Except for the coffee maker. It still holds a cup of coffee in the carafe from where he had made some this morning. “What was the old saying? ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere.’ Well, it’s past five now, so I think we are good and I’m not going on a recon tomorrow.”

He frowns, trying to figure out where the plates are. He hasn’t memorized the kitchen set up just yet so he opens a few cabinets before he finds them. He sets them down on the table and quickly locates the silverware. “It smells really good.” He compliments you, wanting you to know he appreciates this, even if he can’t really express it.

“Thanks.” You watch him stumble around his own kitchen, now looking for cups and you tilt your head before you move to arrange the plates in front of the chairs. “You know, you should really reorganize the kitchen how you want it.” You suggest. “It’s your house now. Not like the old owners are going to be upset.”

Joel pauses at your words, surprised you observed him like you did. He feels a little exposed and he finds the cups. After setting them down, he opens the fridge to pull out two beers. “I haven’t been here long.” He reveals even though you know that, “I don’t remember the last time I had a kitchen like this.”

“You’ll get used to it faster than you believe possible.” You promise as you move to shift the casserole to the table in the middle. “It’s honestly nice, trying to rebuild a little bit of the past. Maybe improve it.”

He shifts to sit down, watching you as you take the seat opposite him, and he remembers he’s wearing the glasses. He reaches up to take them off, folding them, and he reaches for the serving spoon at the same time as you. When your fingers brush his, his heart flutters in his chest. “You first.” He insists, handing you the spoon.

It’s almost a shame that he took off his glasses. It gave him an almost scholarly appearance, although without him, he’s just hot. He even has manners, which makes you smile as you dip out a portion and turn the spoon around towards him. “Thank you.” You murmur.

He serves himself and lifts his full cup after pouring the beers out. “Thanks for dinner.” He murmurs, taking a sip of the beer that’s the equivalent to Michelob Ultra. Basically water but in these times beggars can’t be choosers. He sets his beer down and picks up the spoon, taking his first bite, and he groans at the taste of your cooking.

You hope that’s a good groan and not one that means he hates it. You take a bite yourself and feel like it’s good. It has to be, because Joel digs in a little faster. Not hunched over his food like some do, but the scrape of the spoon is quicker than yours. Smiling, you reach for your beer and take a sip.

He’s not used to eating slowly. He’s used to eating to survive and he is still in that habit. Shoving food in until he sees your eyes and he slows down. He swallows his bite, knowing he should say something. “It’s really good.” He gestures his spoon towards the food.

“I’m glad you like it.” He sounds gruff, but you think that’s just the way he talks. You don’t take offense to it. “Because there’s enough for leftovers.” You crack a grin and look around. “And I don’t see any evidence of sneaking one of the dogs home.” You joke. The dogs are trained to sniff out infected, treated well, but definitely not allowed to be kept as pets.

He chuckles for a moment, setting his spoon down, “the dogs would definitely love your cooking. Ellie, uh, she really liked the muffins. Kid ain’t had one because of the outbreak and the QZ didn’t exactly have a Panera.” He jokes quietly.

“I couldn’t imagine they did.” You like the fact that he can make a joke. The little half smile that curves his lips makes you want to see a full one. “Although coffee would be the most important thing to me.” You admit. “Nothing better than a cup of hot coffee, especially first thing in the morning.”

He nods, “absolutely. One thing I missed all those days on the road…cup of coffee. Could do without food. Could do without…well, without sex.” He says honestly, “but coffee? Especially Ellie tellin’ me these stupid puns all day.” He gently rolls his eyes but his gesture is full of affection.

There’s obviously a fatherly love for the girl, you can tell by the way his voice changes, softens. It makes you smile, even if your entire body had lit up when the word ‘sex’ had dripped off his tongue. “Coffee and sex makes for the best morning though.” You chuckle. “You can survive anything then. Even puns.”

He snorts, “true. Folgers and an orgasm ain’t a bad way to start the day.” He chuckles, “not in that order.” He adds after a beat and he continues eating, spoon scraping the plate. “Where did you learn to cook?” He asks, curious if you taught yourself or a family member taught you.

“The group I was in before Jackson recon found me.” You smile. “There was an old woman who served as our cook. No matter how low we were on supplies, she could make it feel like a feast.” You shrug. “She taught me, and so I volunteer in the kitchens sometimes.”

Joel nods, “you got skills, sweetheart.” He smiles and looks down at his plate as you smile at him. “What happened to your group?” He asks, curious because everyone has a story, everyone has a tragedy.

“Dead.” Your group had been unfortunately softer than needed in this harsh world and hadn’t put down someone infected right away. “About a hundred miles from here.”

He taps his spoon against the plate, “shit. I’m so-sorry.” He murmurs, knowing that he has seen some shit go down in groups. “Well, I’m glad you ain’t one of them.” He murmurs until he catches himself, “otherwise I would be eatin’ stale crackers and jerky.”

You chuckle softly. “Thanks.” You shrug. “And you came out here from Boston to find Tommy?” Everyone has heard the story, you just think that it’s amazing. The show of loyalty makes your heart flutter.

Joel nods, “yeah. He, uh, didn’t exactly tell me he had found fuckin’ apocalyptic paradise and got married with a kid on the way, I thought he was in the middle of nowhere.” He confesses, “but I brought Ellie along with me and yeah, she’s a good kid.”

“You thought he was in trouble and came to the rescue.” It makes him even more admirable in your opinion and it’s amazing you aren’t just simpering in a puddle at his feet. “I know that the town has been buzzing. You used to build? Before all of the end of the world shit?” Fuck, in his prime, on a construction site? Joel Miller would have been fucking eye candy to you.

Joel nods, feeling like that career was a lifetime ago. He’s developed other skill sets, ones he never imagined having to learn back when he was building houses for a living. “Yeah. Me and Tommy had our own business.” He reveals, “was damn good at it.” He boasts and smiles softly at some of the jobs he did. “I can help out around town.” He offers, knowing he’s already offered that to Maria. He wants to earn his place here.

“That’s impressive.” You have a competency kink and you know it, so that just makes him even more attractive. “I know we will be grateful. Everyone pitches in, but people who had knowledge before all of this, they are important.”

“Not quite as useful as a doctor but I’ll do my best.” He offers you a small chuckle until he finishes his dinner. “I can’t really cook for shit other than rabbits and uh, things I catch like fish so that was really good.” He compliments you, “thank you.” He murmurs, wanting you to know he appreciates it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He’s a little more friendly now, but you don’t want to push him, knowing that he’s not one for a lot of chit chat. “Let me help clean up and I’ll let you enjoy your evening.” You offer. “I doubt you’re going to the movie tonight?”

He wants to say more but he’s not capable. Ellie did all the talking when they were traveling. He sighs, shaking his head, “not really my scene.” He confesses, “no one wants me around.” He admits what he’s been thinking since he arrived in Jackson. “Here, lemme clean up.” He orders, taking the plate from your hand.

You don’t think that is true, but you just hum. “I’ll cover the casserole and put it in the fridge for you.” You stand and reach for the pan at the same time that Joel does and you laugh. “I can help.”

You seem to be unable to resist and he knows when to relent. He nods, “I appreciate that.” He says softly as he carries the plates over to the sink to rinse them off. It’s still crazy to have running water like this. He’s still trying to adapt to living like he did twenty years ago.

There’s a soft silence between you as you work. It’s not heavy, or expectant. It’s actually kind of nice. Once the food is stored away and the dishes are resting in the drying rack, there’s nothing keeping you here. “Well, I better go.” You murmur, not sure of what to say, or how to indicate that you would stay if he asked you too. He probably doesn’t anyway, finding you annoying and wanting to be rid of you. “I’ll take my basket back though.”

He wants to ask you to stay because he’s alone and he doesn’t want to get too used to being alone. He doesn’t say that though, he nods, “of course.” He walks over to where he stored it, handing it back to you, and he scratches the back of his head, “thanks…for, you know, the casserole and the muffins.”

“You’re welcome.” You flash a smile and then turn around to walk down the porch steps, already planning the next thing you’ll drop by with.

Over the course of next two weeks, you bring him a blackberry pie, another casserole and a beautiful teal plaid shirt you had traded a gallon of blackberries to Seth for. The crotchety older man didn’t know why you wanted a shirt he didn’t like, but you knew that it would look amazing on Joel. Still, since that first dinner with him, nothing had gone past awkward conversations at his door and you wondered if he just wasn’t interested in you.

Joel adjusts the shirt he’s wearing - the one that you got him - as he stands outside your door. The small box suddenly feels heavy and he feels dumb and as soon as he knocks, he wants to stride off. Before he can step away, you open your door and his chest suddenly feels tight. “Hey.” You greet him with a smile and he nods, “hi.” He shuffles from one foot to the other, “I, uh, brought you something.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen and they drop down to the box in his hand. “Uh, come in.” You open the door wider, surprised and pleased that he had figured out where you live. “Sorry about the mess.” You apologize, gesturing to the messy sofa with a throw tossed aside from where you were reading with a cup of coffee.

He snorts, “don’t even worry about it.” He shakes his head, “Ellie makes a mess.” He chuckles, stepping into your place. “I, uh, wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” He murmurs, “so, uh, I made you this.” He holds out the box.

Your heart pounds in your chest when you take the box from him. “Wow.” You murmur softly. “I don’t know what to say.” You don’t even know what it is, but you are touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.” You look back at him. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

He nods, a little nervous, and his stomach twists at the thought of you not liking the gift he’s spent hours making for you. He hasn’t had the luxury of a hobby, not for years…not really since before Sarah was born. So it’s been strange to spend time working on something without there being a financial gain or to keep alive. He watches you make your way into the kitchen, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You set the box down carefully and pull a mug off the open shelves that make up the top of your kitchen. “I have some fresh milk if you want?” You offer as you pour him a cup.

He shakes his head, “black is good. I ain’t drank it any other way since I started drinkin’ it.” He confesses, taking a seat at your kitchen table after you gesture for him to sit.

“Same.” You admit. “When I was younger, fuck, I thought coffee was nasty. But now?” You roll your eyes as you bring the box over to the table with your own cup. “Now, I’ll open this.” You promise, sitting down and trying not to let the thrill of being given a gift outweigh practicality. You smile at him before taking off the small lid and gasping at the sight of a small wooden figure.

He’s nervous. Fuck, he hates to admit that but he likes you. Even if he’s too old to think about a relationship and you should be avoiding him like everyone else. “It’s, uh, it’s not anything that special.” He rushes out before you take the figure out of the box.

“Not special?” You huff, shaking your head as you run your finger over the small bird. “It’s beautiful.” You murmur. “It must have taken a lot of time.” Which makes it more special. He has taken the time to make something. “I love it.”

His heart flutters at the smile you give him, “you said your mom used to call you little bird so, uh, I thought I’d whittle one. I ain’t that good. I haven’t done anything like that for years.” He confesses, “it’s not my best work.” He self deprecates, not wanting you to say you like it if you don’t.

You practically melt when you hear it’s not something random, he had made it for you. “No, it’s beautiful.” You insist. The imperfections make it that much more special to you. “I-“ you blink back tears. “I think it might be the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

He blushes a little, ducking his head, and he clears his throat. "I'm glad you like it." He murmurs, "it's - I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me." He reveals, tapping his fingers on his mug as he watches you admire the woodwork.

“It was nothing.” You hum, still admiring the little figure. Part of you wonders if he is giving you something out of guilt or perhaps he’s realized you are interested in him.

You're quiet as you touch the figure and Joel doesn't find it awkward. He isn't a stranger to silence. He tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, "why?" He asks softly and you turn to look at him. "Why what?" You frown and Joel clears his throat, "why - why have you done so much for me?"

You’re a little embarrassed when he asks, but you clear your throat. “I wanted to make you feel welcomed.” It’s true, but not completely true and from the doubtful way Joel eyes you, you know it doesn’t believe that. At least he’s not looking at you suspiciously. “I did. And I -“ you hesitate. “I wanted to see if you were as handsome up close as I thought you were.” You admit. “You are, by the way. Very handsome.”

He is surprised by your comment, cheeks flushing a little more and he turns his head to look at your sink. He almost chokes on his breath when it hits him that you are saying he’s handsome. You. “I, um, thanks.” He mutters awkwardly and you seem to shrink back a little, “you’re- you’re great too.” He says and your smile falls, your brow furrowing without your awareness and Joel immediately realizes his mistake. “And gorgeous. Really like - I think you’re beautiful. Inside and out.” He rushes out, wanting to make this right.

“It’s okay.” You are a little disappointed, but not surprised. He’s not interested. You had heard rumors that he had been with a woman until he had lost her on his way to Jackson. You will just swallow down your little crush and go about your life. “You don’t need to make me feel better.” You promise. “I’m a big girl.”

His brow furrows at your words, confused because he just paid you a compliment and you think he’s making it up. He reaches out to cup your cheek, turning your head towards him. “You have any idea how often I think about you? About your smile, your laugh, the way your nose does that little bunching thing when you’re confused? I think about you all the time but I don’t deserve you. I’ve done bad things. My hands are bloody and I don’t deserve a happy ending. I cannot taint you with my fuckin’ sins. I cannot add that to the guilt that drowns me every damn day.” He explains, hoping you understand.

“Everyone has blood on their hands.” You feel like you’re about to whimper, he’s so close to you, touching you. Like you would beg him to kiss you. “We’ve had to be different than before, that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve whatever happiness we can find now.”

Joel doesn't hesitate. He surges forward to press his lips to yours. Spurred on by your kind words, he tilts your head so he can kiss you like he's been imagining far too many times.

His lips are surprisingly soft, tender as he kisses you. It’s not nearly as rough as you imagined, but you can feel the repressed need underneath. Making you sigh as you curl into him, sinking deeper into the feeling as your head spins.

Having you kiss him back has his stomach twisting and he wants to deepen the kiss but it’s not time. You’re not some quick fuck to release stress and tension. He wants you - this - to be different. He nudges his nose against yours before he pulls back, caressing your cheek until his hand drops back to the table while he waits for see your reaction.

You whine slightly, a little protest, but you don’t try to pull him back in. “That was….” Your smile is soft. “Very good.” You hum, eyes fluttering after opening. “Um….yeah.” You are a little befuddled, but it’s not in a bad way. Like the promise of something sweeter has already been made.

He likes seeing you flustered, he realizes, and he wants to kiss you again, but for now, he settles for a small smile. “You- you wanna go to the movie night with me tomorrow?” He asks, knowing this is a huge step because he avoids the town events but he wants to treat you well.

Your eyes widen in surprise but you immediately nod as if you’re afraid he might take back the offer. “Yes. Yes.” You huff out in a rushed little laugh, feeling like a teenager being asked out by a boy you have a crush on. “I would like that.”

Joel nods, trying not to act like a teenage boy who just got the girl he likes to go on a movie date with him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” He promises, reaching for your hand, and he picks it up to kiss the back of it.

“I’ll see you then.” You promise with a small wink. “I’ll make some cookies for us to eat at the movie.”

He nods, nervous of being out beside you but he wants to make a life here and that means remembering how the world worked before it went to shit. “I’ll leave you to your evenin’.” He says after a moment, “I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ some peace.” He squeezes your hand and shifts to stand up from his seat.

“Okay.” You know that he needs to take things slow and it’s honestly a good idea since it’s not like either one of you can move away. Jackson is home and you’ll have to be in proximity to each other. “But only because I will see you tomorrow.” You tease as you walk him to the door.

His heart flutters at your words, smiling softly as he turns to look at you while he’s leaning against your door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, hovering for a moment until he pulls away. Looking at you one last time before he disappears down the hall.

****

Joel reaches up to adjust his collar, stomach twisting with nerves like he’s a damn teenager going on his first date. In a way, it kinda is. He hasn’t dated since Sarah’s mom and he was a teenager back then. He waits for you to answer and when you do, his breath hitches at the sight of you standing there.

“Hi.” You smile softly as you take him in. He looks fresh from a shower and even his beard looks thinner, like he’s trimmed it. “You look great.” You compliment honestly. “I don’t know if I’m dressed up enough to be on your arm.” Everyone dresses practically, but you had picked the jeans that make your ass look the best and the prettiest top you have. Feeling like a teenager as you ripped through your small wardrobe.

He swallows harshly as he drags his dark eyes down your figure, “you look great too. Actually, you look- too damn good to hear out an asshole like me.” He chuckles humorlessly and you shake your head, reaching for his hand. That grounds him and his eyes meet yours. He licks his lips, staring at you for a moment. “Sorry. I ain’t - I’m out of practice. You ready to go?” He asks, not wanting to ruin this.

“Yeah.” You grab the container with the cookies that you had placed near the door. “I’ve heard that there’s gonna be a dance coming up.” You offer as you both step out of your apartment. “They want to do more of them. Promote community.”

His hand hovers over the small of your back as you make your way downstairs and out of your apartment. He glances around once you’re outside, still a little anxious being in a place that isn’t constantly under attack. He wants to ask if you want to go to the dance but that’s a bit too much for him unless he can hide in the shadows.

You don’t take offense when he doesn’t answer. You just walk by his side, smiling and calling out to people that you know as you make your way to the movie. It’s enough that he’s just here with you.

He walks alongside you, feeling a little anxious, but he’s determined to be there beside you. He wants to try, he wants to try for you. There’s a lot of people gathering for the movie and Joel tenses but you sense his unease, taking his hand to guide him to some chairs in the back row. You know he’d feel better there and he appreciates it, trying to ignore how everyone looks at him with a mixture of surprise and distrust.

Everyone is curious, craning their necks and looking at the both of you. They have asked about Joel to Tommy and Maria, but his brother and sister-in-law have kept their answers vague, respecting his privacy. Now you know that people will ask about you, since Joel tends to keep to himself. Instead of ignoring them, you nod and smile politely, knowing that Joel is probably glowering slightly. He’s just got a face that is always gonna look a little annoyed.

He hates how people stare but you squeeze his hand and he focuses on you instead as you guide him to your seats. When you’re seated, you set your purse down, opening it to hand him a flask and he frowns at it, “figured you could use it.” You wink and his heart flutters. You thought of everything. “Thanks.” He murmurs, his eyes on yours and he takes a swig to quell his anxiety.

You nod, reassuring him softly and soon the lights are dimming for the movie to begin, the projector in front of you coming to life. “Hope it’s not a boring movie.” You whisper to him with a slight giggle. “If it is, we might have to ditch.” You really just want him to know that if he wants to leave, you’ll be okay with that. Although he’s relaxing beside you. Reaching over, you take his free hand, keeping your eyes on the screen.

Your hand in his has him relaxing slightly and he nods, squeezing your hand back, the flask in his other hand, and he sighs, leaning in towards you, “thanks, sweetheart.” He murmurs before leaning back in his seat to watch a movie he hasn’t seen since Sarah was a little kid. He’s taken back to the memory of her sitting next to him in the movie theater, popcorn in hand, and her eyes wide in amazement at the movie.

You feel him tense beside you, looking over to see shadows in his eyes and you wonder if there’s something in his past that’s triggered by the movie. Everyone here has a past, something that they have struggled with since the end of the world. Even the ones that were born after the outbreak. It might be easier for them though, since this world is all they’ve ever known. “Do we need to leave?” You ask quietly, leaning in to smell the scent of soap mixed with wood and man. He smells wonderful and you could curl up into him.

He turns to look at you, surprised by your consideration, and he shakes his head. “No. No. I’m good.” He promises with a whisper, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders, wanting to feel you close to him as you ground him in the moment.

You hum softly, leaning into him and your arm rests on his thigh. It feels natural and you love how protected and safe you feel. You can’t even explain it, but Joel has never once made you nervous besides the attraction and the fear of making a fool of yourself. He’s a violent man, he’s done violent things, but he wouldn’t hurt you unless he was forced to. You know that.

Joel relaxes as he breathes in the clean scent of your soap and shampoo. You are warm and he allows himself this time to be absorbed into the movie. He doesn’t remember the last time he allowed the tension to leave his body. He’s always been on since the outbreak started. He absentmindedly rubs your arm and when the movie ends, he blinks, brought back to reality.

“That was pretty cute.” You decide, having never seen the movie before and you watch as others start to gather their trash and belongings. You don’t feel the need to move right now, unless Joel wants to sneak out before everyone else.

He nods, turning to look at you, “I went to see that at the movies with my daughter, Sarah.” He confesses, a soft smile on his lips. “She, uh, she was shot on Outbreak Day.” He reveals, flexing his fingers at the memory of her dying in his arms.

“Oh Joel.” Your heart shatters for him, watching the way his eyes reflect the devastation he must have felt that day and carried with him for the past twenty years. “I am so sorry.” You murmur softly, touching his arm and not trying to give him any platitudes beyond the simple touch.

He nods, jaw tightening as the memories hit him, but your touch seems to pull him out before he gets too buried under the past. He glances around at the nearly disappeared crowd, “you wanna go back to yours or we can go for a walk?” He offers, not wanting to let go of you just yet.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You agree with a smile. “I normally go and check on the horses every evening.” You know he rides, when he left months ago, he had actually stolen a horse. Or rather, Tommy had said he had given him a horse. “Is that okay?”

He nods, standing up, and his joints ache, but he takes your hand as you make your way out of the barn. The night is chilly and he adjusts his jacket, “you cold?” He asks and you shake your head, “no, I'm good.” You promise and you take a slow walk to the stables.

It’s not too far, and the familiar scent of hay and horses calms you. “It’s so beautiful out here.” You smile softly as you both walk towards the stables. “And the town is growing, rumor has it, it’s gonna grow even faster now that you are here.”

Joel snorts, “yeah. Maria has all kinds of plans for this place. Between me and Tommy, it’s gonna be a construction zone.” He confesses, squeezing your hand as the moon rises in the sky.

“That’s good.” You smile, although it’s a little bittersweet. “We need people in Jackson. Otherwise all we are doing is just prolonging death.” You wish the world was different, but it’s not.

Joel chuckles, "true. Gotta have more kids." He hums, turning to look at you, "but I'll leave that to the younger men. Ain't no one needing me to be a daddy at my age." He declares, "there's enough men to make Jackson thrive in the future."

You could make a dirty joke, but you just shrug. “It’s not in the cards for me either, so I don’t worry about it.” Joel looks over at you with a frown, clearly confused but unsure of what to say. “Never been pregnant.” You admit. “Never even had a scare, not like there are fertility doctors nowadays, but I think that it’s not my fate.”

Joel frowns because he thinks you’d make a good mom but he won’t pour salt in a wound. “I kinda wish I’d gotten the snip before the world went to shit but I was in my mid 30s, wasn’t sure if I’d be a dad again, and I had Sarah. She was my life but I kinda wanted to have another kid back then. Now? I got Ellie.” He says without elaborating.

“She’s a good kid.” You assure him. She can be blunt and assertive, but that’s not a bad thing. Reaching the stables, you open the doors with a grin. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” You coo. “The horses are kinda like my kids.” You tell him. “They are like temperamental toddlers sometimes.”

He snorts, walking over to the horses. He slides his palm along his nose, smiling when the horse snorts. “They kinda are like toddlers.” He agrees, “and you do a good job of looking after them.” He adds, watching you as you stroke the horse.

“They are probably the most vital assets we have, besides the dogs.” You admit. “I know they are animals, but they are also a part of our community, our future.” You look over at Joel. “Just like you and Ellie are.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to you. “You are the future.” He murmurs, his hand coming up to slide along your arm until he is taking your hand in his. He tugs you close and cups your cheek with his free hand. “You are always on my mind.” He admits softly, caressing your cheek.

“It was the muffins, wasn’t it?” You tease, your own hands pulling him closer, enjoying the broadness of him as you wrap your arms around him. He chuckles again, the best sound in the world to you right now. “So are you going to kiss me Joel?” You demand. “I know I’m a little rusty, but I know a date usually ends with kissing.”

His eyes meet yours, dark and intense. He’s nervous and he feels stupid for being so nervous when he’s a grown man. He leans his head towards yours, gently brushing his lips against your softer ones. His calloused hand caressing your cheek while he kisses you.

You sigh softly, eyes fluttering closed while the horse in the stall next to you shifts, annoyed that she’s not being petted anymore. Not that you realize that. You can’t think of anything but Joel kissing you.

You’re so soft and sweet, leaning into him and your hand caresses your chest. He knows you can feel his heart pounding and he should be more confident but the last woman he kissed was Tess…even his kisses to her were few and far between. He kisses you softly, not wanting you to see the dark side of him just yet.

You can tell that he’s holding back, and you don’t mind it. This is getting to know each other and you won’t push him for more than he wants to give. Finally Shimmer butts her head against your shoulder to get your attention, breaking up the kiss and making you giggle. “Jealous, pretty girl?” You coo, turning towards her to pet her nose. “You should be.”

Joel watches you, a soft smile on his face as he watches you interact with the horse. Your words make his stomach flutter, and he sighs, “I should be gettin’ you home.” He glances out the stable opening to the sky.

You would like to be with him a little longer, but you just nod. “That sounds good.” You hum softly. “I’m sure you are busy tomorrow. Are you working on the gates?” You ask, aware that the council had voted on improving defense systems for the town.

He nods, "yeah. Gonna be heading out on patrol." He confirms, "gotta be up at eight." He doesn't want to leave you but he needs to let you get some sleep. He knows you could wake up in the morning and realize that the town is scared of him and ultimately reject him. He is preparing for that to happen. You are too good for him. He takes your hand again, guiding you away from the stables and back to your apartment building.

You don’t talk as you walk, but again, the silence isn’t stifling. It’s really rather nice. Just two people, enjoying the night together. When you are at your door, you open it and turn to him. “I had a nice night.” You promise. “I would invite you in, but I don’t think you’re ready for that and I don’t want to wonder if you don’t want me.” You admit, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His hands find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you. He pulls back after a moment, "you don't have to wonder. I want you. I just - I don't want to ruin you." He confesses his fear, "I don't want you to end up hating me."

You can’t help but laugh at his comment. “I’m not going to hate you.” You promise, reaching up and caressing his whisker rough cheek. “I’ve been chasing you, remember?” You have been throwing yourself at him to get his attention. “If you want to come inside, I want you in my bed tonight. If you want to wait, I’ll just touch myself and think about you in my bed.”

His cock twitches in his pants at the thought of you touching yourself. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He groans when your body presses into his, and he loves it. "Let me come inside and I want to bury my face in your pussy. I don't- I don't deserve to fuck you yet. Lemme taste you." He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours.

You huff, not agreeing with his assessment of him not deserving, but your nod is accompanied by grabbing his hand and stepping back through the door to tug him with you. You smirk when he kicks the door closed and throws the lock before you launch yourself at him. Kissing him again with more passion than before.

He groans, unable to stop himself as he lets you guide him through your apartment. Now that you’ve given him permission, his hands slide along your form, squeezing your ass. He loves how your fingers grip his shirt and he slides his tongue into your mouth.

There’s no hesitation right now. Just the jittery anticipation that makes your stomach feel like you’ve swallowed butterflies and your core flutters wildly. His taste is perfect, warm and rich, his tongue skillfully making you melt as your hands let go of his shirt to push his jacket off his string shoulders.

He walks you backwards, trying to navigate your apartment to find your bedroom while his jacket drops to the floor. He groans into your mouth, pulling back when you stumble into your bedroom and your jacket has joined his. He pushes on your chest to push you backwards into your bed and his hands find your boots, working on pulling them off your feet.

“Eager. I like that.” You aren’t passive, leaning up to pull your shirt over your head to reveal the practical bra you are wearing underneath. There’s little luxury for sexy items, especially now. “Fuck you are so sexy.” You moan, loving the darkening look in his eyes.

He wants to scoff in disbelief that a pretty thing like you would find him sexy but instead, he decides to prove it to you. He unbuttons your pants and pulls them down your legs, his cock already pressing against his zipper as he watches you lift up to unclip your bra. “You’re goddamn sexy.” He rasps, tossing your pants aside so he can slide his hands up the length of your legs until his fingers are hooked in your panties. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes on yours until they flick down to your core.

“You can do anything you want to me, handsome.” Your pussy aches for him to touch you, taste you. It’s been a long goddamn time since you’ve had a lover and you are eager to see how the two of you are together.

He drags his panties down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and his hands slide back along your thighs until he’s pushing them apart to expose your folds. Soft curls surround your sex and Joel groans when your heady scent hits his nose. He leans in, slowly pressing kisses to your thighs as he shifts closer until his tongue is sliding through your folds.

You moan so loud that you embarrass yourself. The feeling that races through you is enough to make your thighs squeeze around his head, but his strong hands grip your thighs and pull them apart. “Jesus, fuck.” You whimper, eyes fixed on his head between your legs. “That- God, I haven’t felt this in so long.”

He chuckles, sliding into the ease of making a woman feel good. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to take his time and savor a woman but right now, he isn’t in a rush. His tongue flicks over your clit, loving the way you tangle your fingers in his hair while he pushes his tongue deep.

You don’t know his sexual past, but his previous lovers have been lucky as fuck if they experienced half of the talent in his tongue. “Fuck Joel,” you pant breathlessly. “That feels so good. You must have majored in pussy eating in college.”

He chuckles into your folds, amused by how easily wrecked you are. He slides his tongue up to flick over your clit and he sucks on it, shaking his head and your cry makes his cock twitch in his pants.

He’s so fucking gorgeous, making you cry out as he tears you apart with his mouth. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’re eating my pussy. You know how long I’ve imagined you? Since the first day I saw you. I knew I wanted to get to know you. So fucking pleased when you were single.”

Your words unravel him and he grinds into the edge of your bed. Groaning your name but it’s indistinguishable in your folds as he greedily absorbs your dirty confession. His hands squeeze your thighs, keeping them pushed apart.

He is going to have his way. That is obvious from the way he handles you. He’s not rough, but he’s focused, determined. You had heard from Tommy that he had saved Ellie’s life from a group of men when he had been seriously injured. He hadn’t been trying to dissuade you from your pursuit of Joel, but he had wanted you to know that there are some things about Joel that could be seen as a caution sign. You see it as his willingness to do what needs to be done. Now he’s using that same focus on you, “Fuck!” You squeal when he pulls your clit into his mouth, hips trying to buck up, but he holds you in place. “I’m gonna cum!”

He needs to hear it, feel it. When your cry echoes in your tiny bedroom, your fingers tugging on his silver streaked hair, and your thighs squeezing his head, he groans. While you cum, he grinds into the mattress, his cock twitching in his pants as he cums in them like a fucking teenager.

You are completely unaware, riding out the best orgasm you’ve had in years and he hadn’t even fingered you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel.” You whimper. “Fuck me.” You beg. “You’ve earned it, fuck yeah, you deserve to fuck me.”

His cheeks immediately redden when he comes back to his senses and your words hit him like ice cold water. "I- I didn't - shit." He hisses, stomach twisting with embarrassment as he shifts to stand up, the front of his pants wet.

You frown, confused by his upset tone. Eyes fluttering open and you blink to focus on him. Then you see the dark spot. “Oh.” You bite your lip, knowing he won’t appreciate a smirk, but it’s kind of sexy that he was so turned on that he shot his load.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes, shuffling back from your bed and he stumbles through your apartment trying to find his coat. "Joel?" You frown, shifting off the bed, "Joel?" You make your way through your apartment just as the front door slams, "Joel!" You shout but he's gone. He's thankful there's no one out as he makes his way home, his jacket not concealing his pants, and he hates how he disappointed you. You'll probably tell your friends, laugh about it, and he will go back to the shadows where he belongs.

You get up and wrap a robe around your body, opening the door to see if Joel is outside. He’s nowhere nearby and you consider getting dressed and going to his house, but you know he would just ignore you. You’ll give him tonight but he won’t just run out without a better damn reason than premature ejaculation again.

****

Joel groans when he wakes up, he hardly slept from the embarrassment of cumming in his pants because you sounded so fucking good when you came on his tongue. He rubs his face and knows he has to get ready for patrol. That also means seeing you in the stables. He groans as his joints ache when he shifts from his bed, and soon he’s stepping into the stables to collect a horse. You’re there, helping another patroller saddle up, and he feels the blush creep onto his cheeks as he waits for you to see the other patroller off.

You’re surprised when you see Joel come slinking into the stables and you half expected him to try to race out of there with his horse. You don’t say anything, just get your rider out. Surprised to see him standing by the horse he had been assigned last time. “Good morning.” You are alone in the stalls and you step closer to him. “If I touch you, are you gonna run away again?” You ask.

He ducks his head, swallowing harshly. “I - shit. I’m sorry. I, uh, fuck. I don’t know why- it’s that- it’s been a while and I’m on the way to sixty and I fucking came in my pants without you even touching me. I was embarrassed.” He knows there’s no point but doing anything but tell you the truth.

You snort softly, not wanting him to think that you are mocking him. “Fuck, it’s a compliment.” You huff, shrugging slightly. “You were that turned on by eating my pussy? By just touching me? In my mind, that just means I was doing something right, even if it has been a long time since someone touched you.” You bite your lip, biting back the urge to offer to touch him right now. He probably wouldn’t accept a blow job in a stall in a horse barn.

Joel glances around, glad that no one is here to hear your conversation and his cock twitches at your words. He's relieved you aren't laughing at him. "I've - I haven't done that since - well, I don't think I ever have. Sweetheart...I ain't - can I try again? Later?" He asks, wanting to show you what he can do.

You lift a brow, this time your lips curving up. “I think I would be crazy to turn that down.” You step a little closer to him, “you know that you are early for your patrol, right?” You murmur. “Plenty of time to go to the back stall and work out a little tension before you go out?” You reach for his hand. “Might help you focus?”

He tilts his head, squeezing your hand, “you sure?” He asks, his voice lowering at the idea of touching you again. You nod, guiding him to the back stall, and it’s like a switch has been flicked on as he drags you close. He cups your cheek, tilting your head to his as he presses his lips to yours.

You let him kiss you, feeling your body light up in pleasure but before he can get farther than cupping your ass, you are pushing him back. Joel frowns in confusion but you press your lips to his reassuringly and drop down to your knees in front of him to smirk up at him as you reach for his belt buckle.

“Darlin’ you don’t have to-” You cut him off by shaking your head and telling him to shush. You pull down the zipper and smile at him, his cock hardening under your naughty gaze as you reach into his pants to pull his cock free.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, twitching in your hand as you squeeze him and start to pump him. “Fuck, baby, you’ve got a gorgeous cock.” Your mouth waters as you greedily take in the sight of him as he sways on his feet slightly, leaning back against the wall of the stall as he looks down at you. “Thick, long. Goddamn I can’t wait to see how you feel inside me.” You clench around nothing. “But right now, I want to see how you taste.” You lean and take the head of his cock into your mouth.

He groans as he watches you wrap your lips around his cock. Your mouth is hot and wet and he is already throbbing in your mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He rasps, caressing your cheek as you start to bob your head to work his cock into your mouth.

You know that someone could come into the stables, but that just makes it a little more exciting for you. Your pussy soaked as you take him deeper, listening to him groan and feeling his stomach lurch under the palm of your hand laying against it. Your lips stretch around him and he hits the back of your throat easily with more to take.

He can’t believe you’re on your knees for him right now. You look so fucking gorgeous and your jaw seems to loosen so you can take him deeper. “Fuck. So goddamn good.” He pants, glad that he doesn’t seem to be shooting his load too soon as you take him in your mouth over and over. His hand grips the metal rack on the wall as the other caresses your cheek.

Your hand moves to his hip, around to his ass as you look up at him. Watching his jaw clench. He looks wrecked, in the best possible way as you suck his cock. Pressing him, encouraging him to rock his hips forward. You can take everything he gives you and you want him to enjoy this.

He pants, watching you as his chest heaves. It's barely past 7am and here you are on your knees for him. He knows he will be thinking about you all damn day now. "Fuck baby. Feel so fuckin' good. Look at you, takin' my cock like that." He growls, tongue loosened by your mouth. He unconsciously rocks his hips like you want and his eyes widen when you choke. You hum around him, barely shaking your head when he shifts to pull away, and your fingers dig into the meat of his ass to keep him down your throat. A move that makes his stomach twist and his cock twitch violently. "Fuck, gonna make me cum if you keep it up." He warns you with a wrecked growl.

You chuckle around him, the sound vibrating up his cock. That’s why you are doing this, to make him cum. Your eyes are watering, but you keep swallowing around him as you bob your head. Wanting to taste his load and swallow him down. Joel chokes out your name and you feel him tense. Knowing that he is so close to cumming. You hum again, eyes fixed on his face so you can watch him. Wanting to see how gorgeous he looks when he falls apart on purpose.

He knows this is so fucking wrong but he can’t help it. He chokes as his cock pulses inside your mouth, a gasp your only warning that he’s cumming. You taste the salty seed as he clings to the metal rack, barely able to stand as you rock his world with your mouth.

The thick spurt of cum coats the back of your throat and fills your mouth. Making you moan as you start to swallow. Trying and failing to swallow every drop as some slides down your jaw. His head tilts back and his growl of pleasure is probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Only stopping when his cock stops twitching and you pull off of him with a soft pop, panting as you lick at the side of your mouth.

He is certain he’s stopped breathing. “Fuck me.” He mutters and you giggle, looking up at him. “I really wanna fuck you but I gotta go on patrol and I need some time to recover. Lemme see you tonight.” He pleads, “need to see you.”

You push to your feet and reach down to tuck him back into his jeans. “Come over when you get back from patrol.” You order softly. “Johnny will be here tonight to put the horses away.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, not sure about how he feels about kissing you with his cum on your tongue. “Be safe, handsome.”

He cups your cheek, uncaring of the taste of his cum on your lips, and he brings your mouth to his so he can kiss you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, wanting to devastate you with his kiss until he steps back, “see ya later, baby.”

“See you later.” You wink and step back as the stable doors open. “Let’s get you saddled up.” You call out a little louder and step out of the stall to give him an extra minute to compose himself. “Tommy. Are you going out this morning?” You greet his brother with a smile.

Joel’s eyes widen at his brother’s name and he runs his hand through his hair, tugging on his shirt before he leaves the stall and finds you talking to his brother. Tommy frowns when he sees how flustered his brother is and his frown shifts into a smirk, “mornin’.” He greets Joel who grunts back. Soon enough, the two men are riding out for patrol, Joel looking over his shoulder at you for a second.

Tommy catches the glance and smirks to himself, shifting in his saddles as he looks ahead. “Good morning?” He asks innocently enough. “You look a little….light on your feet.”

Joel grips the reins a little tighter, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He murmurs and Tommy snorts, “you looked like a man who got his world rocked in a stable stall.” Tommy says bluntly and Joel ducks his head, “she, uh, we - it’s just started.” He confesses softly.

“Bullshit.” Tommy shakes his head, wondering how his older brother could be so obtuse about things for a man who can normally figure anyone out. “She’s been chasing after you for weeks.” He looks around after they clear the gate and starts the loop around the town. Today is to find any weakness that needs to be shored up. “Everyone in town knew that she was courting you.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head, “she has just been nice.” He tries to justify how nice you’ve been and Tommy snorts, “more than nice. She’s been wanting to jump your bones.” Joel bites his lip, “I’m too fucking old for her. Or anyone.”

“She doesn’t think so.” He points out with a grin. “Been rootin’ about for information on you. Trying to be real casual about it, but she has it bad for my older brother.” Honestly, Tommy’s glad for it. Since Tess, he’s been all alone and whether or not he admits it, Joel needs someone to take care of. It’s a part of who he is.

Joel’s heart thumps at that revelation and he almost wants to ride back to town and find you. “She will realize who I am soon enough.” He grunts and Tommy rolls his eyes, “whatever you say.”

Joel huffs and falls quiet again. Tommy doesn’t push it, instead he starts talking about the plans they want to implement for defense and Joel gives some suggestions on fortifications.

****

Joel arrives back at the stables with Tommy and you’re waiting, eyes lighting up when you see Joel and his stomach twists at how eager you are to see him. The memory of your lips wrapped around his cock hits him and he twitches in his pants. Tommy quickly dismounts, thanking you for helping, and he slaps Joel on the shoulder once his boots hit the ground. “See ya later, man.” He raises his eyebrows at Joel when you’re not looking and Joel huffs when his brother leaves you alone. “You need help?” He offers, not wanting to leave just yet.

“If you want.” They weren’t gone as long as you expected them to be, the horses are not tired. “I’m just going to take the saddles off and brush them down quickly before putting on their blankets and feeding them.” You explain. “Did your patrol go alright? You weren’t out long.”

Joel nods, “it was fine. We found some places that need reinforcement but it was quiet out there.” He admits, “always makes me fucking nervous when it’s quiet.” He confesses, “I always think somethings gonna happen. Like this place is gonna go to shit and I’ll end up back out there.” He jerks his chin as he works on removing the saddle of his horse.

“I worry about that too.” You admit, working on taking the saddle from Tommy’s horse. You know he had wanted to get back to Maria as quickly as possible since she was due any second now. The baby was overdue actually, and everyone was keeping an eye on her. “Raiders worry me the most, honestly. The clickers are bad, but humans are worse.

Joel nods, “we gotta keep this place safe and not get complacent. The day will come where shit hits the fan and we need to be prepared.” He says firmly, working efficiently to get the horse ready after riding. “You still want me to come over later?” He asks, not wanting to assume.

“If you want to.” You don’t want to push him, and you know that he might need to pause or even take a step back. “What do you want to do?” The blanket is secured and you guide Betsy back to her stall before filling her food bucket with oats. “I’m going to let you decide.”

He waits until you are done, striding over to you, and he grips your chin to lift your eyes to his. "I want to come over to your place, strip you down, kiss and bite every inch of your skin, and then I want to fuck you until you soak me and you can't remember anything but my name."

You could melt into a puddle on the floor right now from the possessive look in his eyes and the rough words. They paint the most delicious picture in your mind. “Do you want to eat dinner before or after you fuck me?” You ask breathlessly.

“After.” He says, knowing he won’t be able to wait and watch you eat dinner before he has you. “You’ll need it after I fuck you.” He promises, “go home. I’ll see you at yours in a few hours. I want you naked when I arrive.” He orders, leaning in to softly kiss your lips. Now that you’ve unlocked his desires, he’s going to give you exactly what you want. He pulls back before you can deepen the kiss, a whimper leaning your lips, and he winks, turning to stride out the stables.

Your knees are weak, the man is positively deadly when he decides to become self-assured in his abilities. He doesn’t give you an exact time and you know he did that on purpose. Wanting you to anticipate his arrival. You finish up with the horses and hurry back to your apartment, immediately stripping down to climb into a bath and scrub every inch of your skin. You want everything to go well tonight and you think that it will, given his cocky attitude and that sexy wink.

Joel tries to concentrate for the rest of the day, showering after his patrol, and he groans when he thinks of you on your knees, the way you looked at him. His cock hardens again and he can't help but start to pump his cock. The image of you burned into his retinas and he swears he will remember that until the day he dies. Groaning, he rests his forehead against the cool tile until he grunts your name, hot seed hitting the ceramic minutes later.

****

He adjusts his jacket as he makes his way over to your place. He didn't tell you a time and he hopes you understood why. His cock already hard and adjusted in his jeans as he enters your apartment building. You left the front door unlocked so he opens it, shrugging off his jacket and boots. Letting you know he's arrived and taking his time until he slowly makes his way to your bedroom.

In the bedroom, you are already soaked, naked and spread out on the bed. You had repositioned several times, trying to find the sexiest pose, but ended up on your back. The door is halfway closed so you perk up when it slowly opens. Wondering if Joel will be nude too, or if he will still be dressed.

Joel's cock twitches violently in his pants when he finds you spread out on your bed waiting for him. He stands in the doorway and your eyes meet his. "Good girl." He murmurs, walking over to the foot of the bed, still dressed minus his jacket and boots. Feet bare on the scratched wood floor of your apartment and the bulge in his pants very noticeable.

“Fuck, Imma need you to say like a thousand more times tonight.” You admit, pressing your thighs together before deliberately spreading your legs slightly. His eyes are dark and you would be afraid if it was anger instead of desire in their depths. Your eyes slide down to the front of his jeans and you smirk slightly, proud that you affect him as much as he does you.

"Spread your legs." He orders, voice rough with desire, and you obey. He groans at the sight of your dripping wet folds, curls framing your pretty pussy. He reaches down to squeeze himself through his pants, "beautiful." He murmurs, unable to believe you are letting him touch you. His hand finds your ankle after he kneels on the edge of your bed, caressing the soft skin and sliding along your leg. You whine when his hand brushes over your sex and continues along your stomach until he's squeezing your breast.

You moan softly, pushing your chest up into his hand. Your eyes are fixed on him, waiting to see what he will do. Your chest is already heaving, cunt clenching around nothing as he takes his time. Joel doesn’t just rush into sex he squeezes your breast again and then takes your nipple between his fingers and rolls it just hard enough to make you gasp out his name.

He's already obsessed, loving watching you react to his touch, and he groans when you whimper. "Look at you. So fuckin' needy." He murmurs, switching to pluck your other nipple with his fingers while he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can take the peaked tip of the breast he abandoned into his mouth.

“Oh god.” You hadn’t expected Joel Miller to be a fucking tease. His mouth is almost playful, tongue flicking over your nipple. He chuckles but you don’t do more than run your fingers through his silver streaked hair.

He groans when you tug on his hair, his cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants and he squeezes your tit before he abandons it to slide his hand lower. His fingers brush your soaked folds and he cannot believe you are this wet for him. He groans as he slides his fingers until he finds your clit, rubbing circles while he bites and sucks on your nipple.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pushing your hips down. “Touch me. Fuck, let me- let me touch you.” You beg, needing to see him, touch him. “I want you so much.” You don’t care how pathetic you sound, all you care about is him fucking you.

"So fuckin' desperate." He mocks you softly but his heart is pounding at that fact. He swallows harshly and leans in to kiss your neck before he pulls his hands from your body. You whine but sit up on your elbows to watch him as he starts to unbutton his shirt. He wants to feel every inch of you against him. Shirt shoved from his shoulders and tossed across your room, his hands find his belt, ripping it open and finally he pulls the zipper of his pants down to free his throbbing cock. You moan and he smirks as he shuffles off your bed to shove his pants down. Kicking them off as he kneels on your bed once again. "How do you want me?" He asks, wanting you to decide while his fingers slide up your leg and push into your leaking cunt.

“Fuck.” He’s not lean with the rawness of youth, he’s broad, seasoned. Filled out with years and experience. The scar on his side is the one that you had heard he got between stays in Jackson, when he was taking Ellie on her ill-fated trip. Moaning when he curls his fingers up, you clench down around him. “However I can have you.” You choke out. “I can’t get pregnant.” It’s a reminder of his ability to fill you, to not pull out unless he wants to. “But sometime tonight I want to be bent over and you fucking me from behind.”

Joel groans at your words, ravenous for all of you tonight. He wishes he could fuck you like he was thirty but he's not. He pulls his fingers from your pussy, shifting to kneel between your thighs, and he wraps his wet fingers around his cock. You whine and he shuffles closer, slapping your clit with the head of his cock. "You want me, baby girl?" He asks, voice rough with desire for you.

“Yes.” You whimper, body tightening at his tone, the needy edge to his rough words. He can mock you for being eager, but he is just as bad. You spread your legs wider, hooking them on his hips and reaching down to caress his thigh as he shuffles closer. “I want you, Joel.”

That's all he needs to hear. He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing into you slowly because he's thick and you are so goddamn tight. He groans as your searing hot walls envelop him as he pushes deeper into your pussy. "Fuck." He pants shifting onto his elbows as he hovers over you.

“Oh my god.” You moan, reaching up to caress his shoulders and your hips roll slightly, meeting the angle of his own. “Fuck, you’re so big, so fucking big inside me.” He stretches you, fills up every space inside you until there is nothing that isn’t taken up by him. Lurching up, you press your lips to his, curling your hand around the back of his neck to drag him closer as your tongue slides into his mouth. Taking charge of the kiss for a moment as he groans and twitches inside you.

He lets you take control of the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a sloppy way that displays the pent up desire that's been building for far too long. "Fuck." He pants when he pulls back, kissing your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, setting a slow and deep pace.

This isn’t making love, there’s not an emotional connection between the two of you, not yet. This is more physical, deeply satisfying as he scratches an itch that you’ve been desperate to satiate for a long time. Sure you probably could have fucked anyone single in Jackson, but this is the man you wanted. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?” You ask breathlessly, laughing at the prospect.

He chuckles breathlessly at the prospect and he wants to wreck you. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. His cock pushes deep and he adjusts his knees to push into you from a different angle. “You’re too fuckin’ good for me.”

You moan softly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Didn’t think that when I was sucking you off this morning.” You tease softly, your hand caressing his back as he moves. “Fuck, I thought about how you looked, how you tasted, all fucking day.”

He rocks into you, shifting his weight to one arm so he can slide his hand along your form, his hand cupping your breast. “Yeah? You liked having my cock in your mouth, baby?” He rasps into your neck, pressing kisses there until he nips at your pulse.

You whine softly. “Yes.” You pant out. “Loved it. You look so goddamn good, did you like it?” Every man likes a blow job, but you want to know if he focused while he was outside the wall, if it helped him.

He nods, “loved it. Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you on your knees for me. Lookin’ at me like that.” He confesses, “I kept thinkin’ about you. I haven’t stopped. Not since I met ya.” He reveals and leans in to slide his tongue into your mouth.

You groan into his mouth, kissing him back and loving that you’ve managed to get under his skin. Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts and you feel like he’s hitting a little deeper every time. “Fuck.”

He needs you to come apart for him, to prove to you that he doesn’t just cum in his pants like a teenager. He shifts, grabbing your calf to lift it onto his shoulder, “that’s it, baby.” He pants when you cry out his name at the new angle.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” He feels like he’s in your guts from this angle. Deep and his hips snap forward a little harder every time a squeal slips past your lips. “Oh fuck.” You moan again, eyes rolling back and your blunt nails dig into the meat of his shoulder blades as you hang on.

He loves how your nails dig into his back and he pants, “need you cum for me, baby.” He demands, his hand squeezing your thigh as he continues to fuck you hard, needing to feel the way you clamp down on his cock.

His pace is hard, harder than someone half his age. He’s sure of his thrusts, grunting and groaning when you tighten around him. “Joel.” You pant softly. “I need - fuck!” You are so close to cumming. So close to that perfect orgasm that will completely rip you apart, “I-“ your head tilts back and your breath catches right before your entire body tightens, crying out when he pushes deep again and pushes you her the edge.

You stiffen beneath him then shake like you’re experiencing an earthquake. Your eyes squeezed shut as almost inhuman noises escapes your lips. You squeeze his cock hard enough to cut off circulation and soak him but he fucking loves it. “Goddamn baby.” He murmurs, “good girl. Good fucking girl.”

He could call you a good girl for the rest of your life and you will die a happy woman. Body shaking as you ride out the pleasure until you just go boneless under him. “Fuck.” You whimper, kissing along his jaw. “Fuck, you’re amazing, baby. I’ve never cum that hard before.”

His stomach twists with contentment, and his back aches from fucking you so hard. He rolls over, bringing you with him, and you quickly shuffle to kneel, his cock slipping from your pussy. You whine and reach down, gripping him to push him back into your fluttering cunt. “Ride me, girl. Show me what ya got.” He orders, his hands smacking your ass.

He might even look better underneath you. His hands are gripping your hips, encouraging you to move. “Fuck, you feel even bigger.” You praise breathlessly as you start to bounce on his cock. “Joel,” your hands brace on his chest and you swivel your hips slowly.

He watches you with rapture, his hands leaving your ass to slide up your body. His hands find your tits, squeezing them as you ride his cock. “That’s it. Fuck. You look so fucking gorgeous like this.” He rasps, unable to believe such a beautiful woman wants him right now. You’re riding his cock, moaning his name. It makes him dizzy with pleasure.

Bending down, you kiss him, hips still rolling and your walls cinching down around his cock every time you move. You can feel how hard he is, how deep he goes. If you press hard enough on your stomach, you can probably feel him throbbing inside you. “You’re so fucking perfect Miller.” You praise. “Better than my wildest dreams.”

He can’t believe you’re saying this. You are too good for him and yet here you are, praising him, acting like he’s the best man in Jackson, hell, this fucked up world. “You’re so damn good. Fuck, so fucking beautiful.” He praises you, sliding his hands along your spine until he’s squeezing your ass again, helping you rock your hips.

You want to cum again. Addicted to the way his cock presses inside you. You kiss along his neck and his lips again. “I’m going to cum again.” You whimper against his lips. “Fuck, baby. I’m addicted to your cock.”

He pants, loving how your voice has taken on this high pitched gasp with each rock of your hips. “Good girl. Cum for me. Wanna feel it again. Wanna feel you cum for me. Soak my cock. Be my good girl.” He orders, thrusting up into you after planting his feet.

You toss your head back, crying out when he takes over. Panting and squealing every time he rocks his hips up, fingers digging into your waist and holding you in place while he fucks you. “Gonna- gonna cum!” You cry out before your body locks up again. “Joooooooooooellllllllll.” Your scream is so loud, your voice cracks halfway through your wail of pleasure.

He wants the entire fucking town to hear you scream his name. He loves it. He fucking adores it. “Yes. Yes. Fuck!” He growls, rocking his hips up into your pussy, pushing as deep as he can with you squeezing him like a vice. Soaking him. Fuck, he loves it. “That’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Can I - fuck. Can I - inside?” He wants to make sure it’s okay before he fills you up .

“Yesss.” You moan, not even hesitating. “Fill me up, want to feel you drip out of me.” You might have a little bit of a cum kink but you’ve never been so eager to have a make cum inside you. Before you would have them pull out just in case, but you don’t want Joel to pull out. “Oh fuck, cum for me baby.” You beg.

He doesn’t remember the last time he came inside a woman. Probably pre outbreak. Too terrified to knock them up but you’ve promised him it’s safe. He grunts, wrapping his arms around you as he thrusts up into you, faster and sloppier than before. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants, moaning your name as he thrusts up into you, stiffening beneath you as his cock twitches.

The heat fills you, eyes closed as you moan. You press your face into his neck as he pumps you full of his sticky, hot, seed. It feels so good and you are practically limp by the time he finishes. Apparently Joel Miller has a lot of cum. “That was so good.” You mumble breathlessly, kissing his racing pulse again and again as you calm down. “Oh God, I can’t believe we just did that.” You giggle, completely relaxed and euphoric.

He smiles, probably the only real smile he's expressed since arriving in Jackson. He slides his hand along your spine, letting himself relax into your bed, and he's reminded that he's alive. He isn't fighting to survive right now. He wants to live for the first time since he can remember. "We can do it again." He promises, "you just gotta give me a while. I ain't young."

“You’re gonna wear me out.” You tease, lifting your head and grinning at him before you lean in and press your lips to his softly. “This was perfect.” You murmur. “You want something to drink? Or just lay here for a few minutes?”

Joel closes his eyes, “just lay here for a bit. Been imaginin’ this far too many times to move right now. Just want to savour you. Lemme feel you, baby.” He says, cock softening inside you but he’s in no rush to move.

You hum softly, melting against him. You know Joel can take your weight, he’s strong, so you don’t move off of him. Laying your head back down and your fingers stroking the freckled skin on his shoulder. “Bet you used to work shirtless before Outbreak.” You muse softly. “Building houses and breaking hearts of the women you put a show on for.”

He smirks, loving how you even think about that. “I was thirty-six. Didn’t need to work out when I had my job. I was happy to be shirtless. Now? I’ll keep it on.” He confesses his insecurity. “Had some horny housewives but me and Tommy wanted our business to succeed. A quick fuck and an angry husband wasn’t worth it.”

“Shit.” You huff and turn your head to kiss his chest gently. “You are still sexy, Joel.” You promise. “I’m not the only one that thought you were attractive when you showed up. I’m just the one who decided to try to jump in your bed.”

Joel smiles, kissing your hair, "I'm glad you didn't give up on me. I don't - I don't think I deserve anything good after all the shit I've done. I'm not a good man but you - you seem to see something in me and I ain't gonna take that for granted so whenever you want me in your bed, in your life...I am here."

You chuckle softly. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that, Miller.” You warn playfully. “You won’t remember what your bed feels like if I have you in my bed whenever I want.”

****

Joel sighs as you sit at his kitchen table, your half eaten food in front of you as you tap your fingers. Things were going great. Better than great. You saw each other every day. Attended town events together. Everyone knew you were seeing each other but you are currently sitting at his table with a pissed off expression on your face. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, needing to hear you say it.

“It’s not gonna change anything.” You admit, poking at your food and not meeting his eyes. Things have been good, but it seems like you’ve been in some kind of holding pattern. Maria had come to you today and asked about vacating your apartment. You spent a lot of time at Joel’s, enough that the council noticed and if you weren’t sleeping in your bed, they could give it to one of the numerous refugees that continue to come into Jackson.

Joel sighs, knowing that arguing won't make it any better but he needs you to understand his reasoning. "I can't - it's, uh, I haven't lived with a woman like that - like an actual relationship - for over twenty years. I don't want to ruin what we have because I leave the toilet seat up or I breathe the wrong way. What we have can quickly go to shit and I...I don't wanna lose you." He admits softly, tracing the lines in the wooden table so he doesn't look at you. He had Tess, but you want more, you want a connection. Something that he had resisted with Tess, giving her all of him. Something that he doesn’t think he could do with you.

“Maria asked me if there was any way I could let another family have my apartment.” You kind of feel like she’s pressing the issue to make Joel make a decision. “But I’m just going to tell her that’s not possible.” You stand up and pick up your plate to clean up.

Joel sighs, standing up to stand behind you. His arms caging you in against the sink and he leans in to softly kiss the nape of your neck. "I want you in my bed every night, I want to wake up holding you. Knowing you're mine. I hate you leavin'." He confesses, "I want you here...just promise me you'll talk to me if you aren't happy. I can't lose you too."

“I don’t want to push you.” You promise, feeling guilty for being upset at him. You twist around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’m happiest when I’m with you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I just-“ you swallow. “We don’t know when the fuck our last day will be and I’d rather spend the rest of them loving you than anything else.”

Joel rubs circles on your hips, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “I know baby, I know. I- I want you here. I do. Will you- can you move in with me?” He asks, needing you to be by his side.

“Are you sure?” You ask seriously. “I can tell Maria to fuck off.” You bite your lip. “I swear this is her telling you to get your ass in gear. Either build faster or make a move with me. I’m not entirely sure which.”

Joel cups your cheek, “I’m sure. I want you here.” He promises, “let’s go get your things today.” He knows you’ll leave the furniture in the apartment so you need your clothes and personal items.

You nod, his hand still cupping your cheek. “If you get annoyed with me, you let me know.” You murmur. “I can spend extra time in the stables.”

He chuckles, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “As long as you come home to ride me.” He smirks, his hand sliding down your form until he’s squeezing your breast. “Now, that I can do.” You promise breathlessly and Joel smirks, “better get started then.” He takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom…soon to become your bedroom too.

****

“Dina’s probably a better patrol partner.” You tease Joel, winking over at the younger girl. “She’s awake.” You know Joel would have liked to go on patrol with Ellie, but he had told them to let her sleep and told Dina to come with you and him. Dina snorts and shrugs. “That’s a positive.” She agrees. You clear your throat as you guide your horse along. “Before we go up to the mines, let’s swing through the company buildings.” You suggest. “There’s some Vaseline in one of the shops. Need some for the horses.”

Joel adjusts his grip on the reins, nodding in agreement. It’s early, the air heavy with a storm, and Joel exhales in a cloud of air that appears in the frigid weather. “Let’s go now. We might need to head back. Storms comin’ in.” Joel observes the heavy clouds gathering.

It’s been four years since you moved in with Joel and Ellie. Four years of falling deeper in love with him and creating a beautiful family out of those that remain. Joel’s nephew is precious and you love spending time with him, easing the ache of not having a child of your own. It’s quiet evenings reading while Joel whittles at the desk in the bedroom. Soft, slow love making when both of you are sore or just need a softer touch of reassurance. It’s been healing for both of you and you trust Joel explicitly, that’s why keeping whatever illness has been nagging you from him has you so uneasy. He would worry, incessantly so, and you don’t want him to do that when it’s probably just a lingering bout of flu that had gone through Jackson a few weeks ago. “Then let’s make this quick.”

Joel watches you as you ride a little ahead with Dina. He’s worried about you. You’ve been trying to hide it but he’s heard you throwing you in the early hours, the exhaustion that seems to seep into your bones when you think no one is looking. He’s worried about you and he decides that later, he will take you to the doctor. He glances around the town, making sure there’s no threats until he nods at you and Dina. “Don’t be long.” He orders, deciding to stay outside to keep watch.

“Call out.” You remind the younger girl, your gun in your hand as you make your way to the pharmacy. You know the will be occupied by the items left behind, the little store hasn’t been ravaged completely, which is why you wanted to stop. It’s a stupid idea, completely stupid, but you need to know. Making your way inside, you stop inside the door, listening for the sounds of infected. Just because the little mine town had been cleared doesn’t mean some might not have wandered in. After a moment you relax, looking around with your flashlight as Dina rushes towards some hair bands than are still hanging up. “We don’t need to be long.” You remind her.

Joel glances around, keeping watch, and he’s reminded of patrols he took with Ellie not long after returning to Jackson. The memories of teaching her to play guitar, helping her work on her aim, even helping her decorate her room. He’s happy you’re in the house, a buffer to help him communicate with a moody teenager who now hates his guts. He never got to that stage with Sarah. She didn’t get to experience the “I hate my dad” stage. Swallowing harshly, he decides to talk to you about how he can reconnect with Ellie.

You stare at the boxes for a moment, wondering what the hell you are doing before you grab several of them. “Fuck it.” You hiss, ripping one open right there in the middle of the store. “Gotta know. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s negative?”

Joel looks up as Dina comes back outside, her backpack full of stuff, and he says your name. Dina looks back at the store. “She said she had to pee.” Dina shrugs and Joel nods, still worried about you but he tries to not hover too much.

You shove them in your pocket, knowing that it will take longer for them to give you an answer than Joel will let you stay here without coming to check on you. You grab the Vaseline and the antibiotic creams that you had actually come for and head back outside. “Sorry.” You chuckle. “Coffee.”

Joel watches you as you get back on your horse and he frowns, noticing the way you frown. You look nauseous. Snow starts to fall and Joel frowns, looking up at the sky. “Let’s head out. We haven’t got a lot of time.”

“Okay.” You are nervous, even though you know that the test will come back negative. Even if you show all the signs for the first time ever, you can’t possibly be pregnant. “It’s getting colder.”

Joel leads the way, worried about you and Dina, and his radio crackles, telling everyone to come back to Jackson or take shelter. “Let’s go.” Joel orders over his shoulder, guiding you and Dina through the town until you come across the empty factory. “Let’s get in here until the storm passes.” He orders, pointing at the doors.

You lead the horses inside and shiver slightly. “Jesus. It’s really starting to come down out there.” You whisper, getting worried about what will happen. “Maybe we should go back to one of the smaller buildings.” You could find a stove and build a fire because it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.

Joel nods, “lemme go check. Stay here.” He orders, pulling his gun from his holster and he nods at Dina who stays on her horse in case something happens. Joel makes his way through the factory to the outside and that’s when he hears the infected. His heart pounds at the sound just as he sees a girl under a clicker. He doesn’t think as he pulls the trigger and he grabs the girl. “Are you bit?” He demands, dragging her through the yard until he’s storming into the factory. “We gotta go!” He shouts, the girl running behind him.

You don’t know what the fuck is happening, one second everything is quiet and the next there is a gunshot and Joel is running back into the building with a strange girl. “Joel?” The sound of infected gets louder and your blood chills, the test in your hand shoved back into your pocket. “Joel!”

“We gotta go!” He orders, heart pounding at the thought of you and Dina being in danger. “You okay, kid?” He asks the young girl who nods and Joel grabs her hand and pushes her up onto the horse. Within moments, the doors burst open and Joel shouts for you to ride.

“Shit!” There’s a fucking horde on your heels, the horses racing as fast as they can, but you aren’t gaining much ground between you and the group of infected that what to tear you apart. “We have to hurry!” You shout, looking over your shoulder at the wave of danger that is creeping closer.

Joel stops for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, and he sees the smoke coming from Jackson. “We gotta go back.” He shouts, ice forming on his facial hair. “There’s no time.” The girl declares, “there’s a lodge. My friends are there.” Joel nods, “are they armed?” He asks and she nods. “Good. We will head there, get prepared, and head to Jackson to help.” He orders, riding up the mountain in the blizzard in the direction the girl points.

You don’t like this. Don’t trust it, although you don’t have much of a choice. Why were these people up on the mountain in the lodge? You don’t have time to question it, the temperature is well below zero and you’re in danger of hypothermia and frostbite if you stay out here.

You soon find the lodge and Dina is shaking uncontrollably as you enter the property. The wind chill is gone once the door is shut and Joel shrugs off his coat and rushes over to you. “Are you okay?” He asks, rubbing your arms after your coat is off.

“J-just c-cold.” You promise, teeth chattering and you barely listen as the girl starts introducing herself. “We- we have to get home.” You tell Joel, not paying her any attention. “The town…” through the window you can see the fires burning and you can’t imagine what is happening down there.

Joel squeezes your shoulders, turning to look at the town. He grips the walkie talkie in his hand. “Jackson. Come in. Jackson.” He growls into the radio and that’s when one of the women grabs Dina and a man grabs you. He immediately reaches for his gun but guns are pressed to your foreheads.

“Joel.” You freeze, breathing shallow. “Shut up!” The man who is holding you hisses, shaking you slightly and you see Joel flinch as he thinks about attacking him. “We don’t have anything.” You promise him. “Just take whatever you want.”

Joel places his gun on the floor, raising his hands, and his heart is pounding. The girl he rescued asks him what they look like and Joel’s eyes flick from you to Dina and back to the girl. “Military.” He says, brow furrowing, “fireflies.”

The medic puts Dina to sleep and approaches you with a needle. “No.” You struggle against the man’s grip, the barrel of the gun pressing into your temple. “You can’t give me that, you can’t give me that!” You shout, terrified that whatever they might give you could hurt the baby. The girl, Abby, snorts. “Scared of needles?” She huffs. “Nooooo!” You squirm away from the needle again. “I’m pregnant!”

Joel feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His eyes widen and they meet yours, seeing the fear in your eyes. There’s nothing he can do. They outnumber him and he doesn’t have his gun. “Leave her alone!” He shouts, his voice desperate as he sees you struggle and he knows you’re telling the truth.

“You’re lying.” Abby spits, but you shake your head. “My jacket pocket.” You stammer. “I took the tests this morning. Please- we didn’t do anything to you. Let us go.”

Abby reaches into your pocket, taking out the tests and Joel feels sick. His eyes flick around the room, desperate to find a way out of this situation. To keep you and Dina safe. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend this is all a nightmare. Abby eyes the tests and the medic of the group looks over her shoulder. “Two lines. She’s pregnant.” Joel’s nostrils flare and tears sting in his eyes when your terrified eyes meet his. “It’s okay, baby.” He tries to reassure you, “it’s okay.”

It’s not hard to figure out who’s baby you are carrying and there’s a grim smile of satisfaction on the girl’s face as she looks from you to him. “He’s a little old to be a daddy.” She chuckles dryly, waving the test around. “But he’s handsome, so good for you.”

Joel’s hands shake a little but he steels himself, jaw clenched as he watches Abby pick up a shotgun. For a moment, he’s worried she’s going to spin around and shoot you but within a blink of an eye, he’s screaming as he lays on the floor. His knee is blown out, and he chokes at the agony that washes over him.

“Joel!” You twist out of the man’s grip and rush over to Joel. “Fuck.” You hiss, seeing how bad the injury is although he’s clamped his lips together to keep from making too much noise. “It’s okay, baby.” Your fingers tremble as you rip at your belt to take it off and use it as a tourniquet. “It’s okay.”

Joel knows he’s going to be killed. The look on the girl’s face. He knows and the worst part is he’s not scared of death but he’s terrified of leaving you alone. Of leaving you pregnant with his child. He wants to fight but that would only get you and Dina killed alongside him. “I love you.” He murmurs, reaching up with a shaking hand to caress your cheek. “Okay. That’s enough.” Abby declares and the man grabs you again, dragging you away, and you start to sob. “Please. Please just let us go. We haven’t done anything.” You beg but Abby chuckles as she kneels down next to your lover. “You haven’t.” She says as she looks at you, “but your boyfriend here has.” She begins her speech about her father and how she was taught to fight with morals. Joel doesn’t listen, his eyes fixed on you as you cry for him.

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already.” Joel snaps, tired of hearing her bitch about how unfair it was that he killed her father. He doesn’t want you to watch, but this bitch apparently wants you to suffer. You choke out a sob when Abby picks up the golf club and comes towards him. “Please, don’t.” You beg softly.

Joel knows she’s going to beat him to death and he hates that this will be your last memory of him. “Close your eyes.” He orders, “close your eyes!” He shouts when you continue to stare and within seconds you squeeze your eyes shut. Abby smirks as she swings the club, hitting him in the head, and he tries to smother his scream but the pain is too intense. The club comes down over and over again on his body until he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His mind is cloudy with pain but he prays you’ve kept your eyes shut.

You don’t keep your eyes closed. Weeping as you watch Joel absorb hit after hit, the golf club snapping in two and Abby switching to punching Joel in the face. The man still has you tight in his grip, and you resent it, unable to help him. “Please.” You whimper through the tears. “He- he’s not that man anymore.” You try to reason with her. “He’s a good man. He saved people, he has saved so many lives. He saved your life.”

Joel can hear you pleading for him, for her to stop, but it sounds like he’s underwater. His body is numb, and he can feel himself drifting, losing the life in his body. When he hears a scream, his heart stops. Ellie. She’s here.

“Stop!” Ellie is wrestled to the ground and you struggle when you see her, trying to break loose again, but he cocks the hammer back on his gun. “I don’t want to kill you.” He hisses quietly, making you sob. “Please stop.” You beg Abby again. “You- you made your point.”

Abby’s chest heaves and the one holding the gun says, “end it. End it now.” Ellie is screaming at Joel to get up. He hears her begging and he wants to stand, wants to fight now that ve knows you’re carrying his child but all he can do is twitch his fingers. Abby picks up the broken club, walking towards Joel. “No. No. No. Nooooo.” You wail and Ellie screams just as Abby stabs the stick into his neck.

Your visions blurs, narrowing until everything goes dark and you crumple in the arms of the guy who had been holding you. “Gonna kill her too.” Abby smirks as she walks towards where he is crouched over you, putting you down on the floor. “No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what we signed up for.”

“She’s pregnant.” One of the women protests and Ellie is shaking, “I’m going to fucking kill you.” She promises with a yell and Abby doesn’t care. “Fine. She lives.” Abby decides as the group gathers their things, leaving the lodge.

You don’t come up until Jesse is kneeling down beside you, checking you. Gasping as you open your eyes and the first thing you see is Joel and Ellie. The young girl laying on top of him, sobbing hysterically and you know that he’s gone. You can’t stand, your entire body aching with sorrow, but you crawl over to them, covering her and him with your own body as you cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ellie.” You know they have been estranged, you’ve lived through the tense silence and the battle of wills. Now, there is no hope for reconciliation.

Ellie is numb as Jesse gets her and Dina up on a horse. He wraps Joel’s body up to take it back to Jackson and tears stream endlessly down your cheeks. No one says a word as you ride back to Jackson. How the tables have turned…Joel is now cargo.

****

Your eyes are red rimmed and burning, but not from the fires that still burn in Jackson. The orange glow flickers through the windows and gives an unnatural light to the darkness. The silence in the room is filled with sorrow, you’re the only one here that isn’t stretched out on a table, covered with a sheet. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, looking down into the bucket to grab the rag and squeeze the excess water. You had insisted that you be the one to do this. Ellie can’t. She’s in the hospital, the parting gift of a kick to the stomach from the group that had killed Joel had punctured a lung. Sedated, and quite frankly, not up to doing this task. You reach for his hand and wipe some of the blood off it gently, as if you are afraid to hurt him. “I didn’t know I could get pregnant.” You promise him. “I didn’t lie, baby, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Tommy walks into the makeshift morgue, finding you with Joel. Where you've been since returning to Jackson. "Sweetheart, you need to sleep." He says softly, "you need to eat something. Not just for you, but for the baby. You know he'd be reprimandin' you for not takin' care of yourself."

Your lips stretch slightly as you look up at him for a moment. Reaching up to touch his hand as it rests on your shoulder. Tommy is a good man, one that you have spent a lot of time with over the past four years since moving in with Joel. “He knew.” You tell him, aware that Jesse has told Tommy and Maria about your condition when you got back to Jackson. “I told him- before he-“ you pause, blinking back new tears. “Hopefully he didn’t hate me for it.”

Tommy shakes his head, “he never would’ve hated you. He loved you. Never thought I’d see him be in love again but you made him so happy. If anything, if I know my brother, he hated leavin’ you pregnant without him.” Tommy sighs, “but you have us. Me and Maria and - and Ellie. She had to be sedated again but she will wake up soon.”

Your chin wobbles slightly. “He’s with Sarah now.” You murmur, standing as you put the rag down on the table beside Joel’s body. “I’ll give you a minute with him.” You know that Tommy’s bond with Joel ran deep and he will miss his older brother. You stop for a moment. “I hate them.” You tell him quietly. “I want them all to die. Every single one of them. As painfully as possible.”

Tommy nods, knowing how you feel, and he wants that too but he has to think about everyone in Jackson and not just his feelings and desire for revenge. “Go get something to eat.” He reminds you, squeezing your hand, and you nod, making your way out of the room with tears in your eyes.

****

You aren’t dumb, you know Ellie is leaving tonight. Dina just left and you stroke your growing stomach as you reach for the box that you have kept. There’s an air of discontent in town, a grumbling under the normally positive sounds of rebuilding. Even though the council had voted, more people than you imagined had spoken to you about their sorrow for Joel’s passing. You knew that it had been a long shot, but you had hoped that they would feel your need for vengeance. Walking out to the garage, you tap on the door quietly. “Ellie, it’s me. Open the door.”

Ellie's eyes widen but she knows that she can't hide from you. She sighs, opening the door to the garage, "you can't stop me and I don't need a lecture." She spits out before you can say a word but she watches your eyes trail over the guns and ammo spread out over the floor.

You whistle, taking it all in before you look at her again. Her jaw is set, stubborn. So much more like Joel than she would probably ever admit. “You’re missing something.” You tell her, making her immediately frown and look around. “What? What am I missing?” She demands, making you smile as you hold out the box in your hand. “This.” You tell her. “You kill that bitch with this.”

Ellie opens the box, eyes widening at the sight of Joel's gun. She swallows, lifting her gaze to yours, and she nods. "I'm gonna kill her. For us." She promises, her hand softly landing on your bump. "Dina is coming with me." She confesses and you smile, having seen what neither of them have realized yet a long time ago. "Good. You will come back...you gotta meet your sibling." You say, placing your hand over hers. She nods, "I'll be back. Gotta see if the baby looks like you or if they are unlucky, Joel." She teases, offering you a soft smile.

“I’m going to stay here.” You promise her. “This house will always be your home. You will always have space here.” You haven’t been able to get rid of anything of Joel’s, even his woodworking projects look like he will walk in at any moment and pick them back up. It’s been three months since that horrible day and you still dream about it. You don’t know if you will ever not; but you’ve taken care of yourself. For Joel and the baby. Because he wouldn’t want you to just curl up and waste away. Even Gail had offered her services to you, none of usual bitter sarcasm in her words. “Always.”

Ellie smiles at you and sets the gun down on her desk before she wraps her arms around you, gentle to be mindful of your bump. "He really loved you, ya know?" She murmurs, "so do I. You're like the mom I never had." She confesses, "I'll be back. I am gonna kill that bitch and those assholes and I'll be back." She promises softly.

You hug her and press a kiss to the top of her head. “He loved you too.” Ellie had finally told you why her and Joel had been estranged at the end. You had understood both positions and why they had been at odds. “With every fiber of his being.” You pull back and look at her. “He would be proud of you.”

Ellie nods and steps back when you say, "be safe, El." You order and she snorts, "always am." You playfully roll your eyes and rub your bump. "I'll see you when you return." You promise and Ellie nods, watching you go. She's leaving at three and you'll be asleep by then but she will come back and tell you she got revenge for all of you.

****

“Oh, you are hungry, aren’t you?“ You coo, looking down at the baby that is greedily gulping down milk at your breast. “That’s it, baby boy, you eat.” Your son, named after your lover, was born just a month ago. Healthy and perfect, you wish that Joel was here to see him. “You want to see your daddy?”

You carry the baby over to the only photo you have of Joel. A Polaroid he took with Ellie, and you pick the frame up to show your son. “There’s your daddy. He’s watching over you, you know? From heaven. He never thought he’d end up there but I just know he is. He was a good man who did bad things because he had. He’s up there now, watching over us.” You murmur and the baby coos after pulling away from your nipple, eyes unfocused as you hold the frame towards his face. “I’ll see him again one day. When I’m older and you can survive in this world without me. You’ll be a fighter, just like your daddy. Another Joel Miller for the world to see.” You coo and the baby closes his eyes as he falls asleep in your arms. You set the frame down and cradle him, cooing softly, unaware that Joel is watching you, Sarah standing beside him, while they oversee the ones they left behind.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us

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taeslarityy · 10 months ago

Text

dirty laundry ༄ dave york one shot (18+)

-> pairing: dark dave york x female reader

-> word count: 2.8k

-> summary: it’s a hot august week at the york’s lake house, which also happens to be the week you and your husband got married one year ago. your father in law — dave york — finds you changing in the laundry room and decides to give you a celebration of his own.

-> warnings/tags: father-in-law dave york, infidelity, dubcon, NON-CON, age gap (reader is 21, dave is nearing 50), SMUT 18+, heavy degradation(whore, slut, bitch), humiliation, dumbification, unprotected piv, sir kink, rough face-fucking, forced creampie, talk of pregnancy, reader is under the impression that she endures forced impregnation, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, semi naive reader, dave is not a cutesy nice man in this.. he honestly has no concern for readers feelings or pleasure. so please, if themes like dubious consent + non-con + blatant cheating are not ur forte, protect ur peace and scroll away!!

-> a/n: okay okay hiiiii. when i decided to participate in @hellishjoel ‘s #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i had a few ideas in mind. one happened to be this! but i felt more comfortable writing for joel and was confident in what i had planned. basically, this is opposite of that. no fluff or happy ending.. or even happy anything. so i wanted to share! thanks again kylee for letting me participate <3 and thank you to my beloved dearest @sweetpascal for aiding me yet again, i love u 🤍

let me know your thoughts!

DARK CONTENT BELOW: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

A huge part of growth, means acknowledging your mistakes.

When you failed your first semester of college, you knew it was from lack of trying and partying six days a week. So, you studied more and partied four days a week instead. When you slammed your brand new Mercedes into a flag pole, you knew it was from scrolling on Instagram which caused you to push accelerate rather than stop. So, you never went on your phone while driving again.

When you fell in love your sophomore year and decided to get married at twenty, you knew it was because you needed the well-off grad school bachelor, Daniel York. So, inadvertently, you settled. Now, a year later, you're sobbing in his family’s lake house bathroom because he somehow forgot that tonight was the eve of your wedding anniversary.

You feel like a complete and utter idiot. And for once in your life, you just might be. Staring at your reflection, you examine your appearance. You look effortlessly amazing today, after spending the day out on the boat. Hair, body and face all faintly sun-kissed. Your skin freshly shaved, legs and arms lathered in your favorite oil.

This was your final attempt to see if Daniel would stare at you with the same look of admiration he had so long ago. Your first attempt to ask him about starting your own family. Tonight was the night, and you were determined.

Briefly peeking out of the guest bathroom and down the hall, you decide you can rush into the laundry room only a few doors down. Everyone should seemly be downstairs, finishing up a game of Monopoly. You had the pleasure of winning two games in a row, pissing of the frightfully competitive York family. That’s when you decided to call it a night and head up to get ready for bed — bidding everyone a goodbye as you kissed your husband atop his head.

Wrapping your robe securely around your waist, you make your way towards the closed door and enter just as the dryer sings the most obnoxious 45 second tune that confirms the load is finished. Rich people shit, you mutter to yourself. Grabbing your bikini and sundress to hang up first, then laying out a sheer white silk sleeping dress with baby blue lace trim.

Looking back at the closed door, you conclude you should be fine to just throw it on before laying yourself out on your shared bed. Ready for your husband to see you so open and willing to be used by him. As your robe falls to your feet, a slight creek fills the silent space.

Whipping your head back and grabbing the nearest towel to cover yourself, you're met with an alluring glare from your husbands own dad. Your father-in-law, Dave York.

"Dave wha- what are you doing?" You question with a panic laced tone. Completely thrown off by the way he's leaning against the now locked door, hands in his wrinkle-free perfectly fitted black work slacks. His lack of response is louder than the faint trickle from the utility sink your bare-ass is pressed against.

Dave saunters over to you, his pristinely polished shoes clinking heavily with every step despite the minimal weight he's using. It's a commanding presence, shows how he doesn't have to storm over to establish authority. His handsome body towers over you and the faint hairs on your spine rapidly rise at the feeling of his warmth nearing your own naked body. Aside from the small washcloth that covers your crotch and arm across your heavy tits.

His veiny calloused wedding ring-wearing hand reaches next to you, finding the lace on your nightgown satisfyingly soft.

"Look at this, angel. Did you plan on wearing it for my inconsiderate son?" He remarks, looking into your wide eyes as his fingers continue to twist and feel at a piece of clothing that is filling you with an overbearing amount of embarrassment.

"I d- you weren't supposed to see that." The nervous confession brings a crooked grin to Dave's face.

"It's real pretty, just like you. Sexy even.... but I wouldn't waste my time putting something like this on for Daniel." Shaking his head at your frazzled state and utilizing that dismissive tone he does so well.

"W-why?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at your innocent unknowing voice, Dave reaches a hand to slowly move your arm that's covering your plush chest. "Because, he left 10 minutes ago. Waved bye to me as I pulled into the driveway."

Now you're really fucking confused. Your husband never goes off without texting you to let you know, and why would he leave you alone at his parents home? Especially on the night prior to your anniversary.

"I don't understand. Did he tell you where he was going?" You probe at him, not processing the way his rough fingertips are skimming over your navel, up across your chest. Suddenly, you yelp as he pinches your pebbled nipple and grips under your adjacent perky breast. Your hand quickly grabs at his wrist, but he slaps it away — holding it at your waist.

"You really have nothing going on in that head of yours, huh? Just floating around being the perfect little wife for my son, is that right? Too stupid and blind to see that your husband cheats on you every living moment and only married you because you're nothing more than a sweet voice who’s gentle on the eyes." His painful out-of-pocket words paired with the twisting of your nipples has heavy tears brimming at your lashes. "Kind of him to make sure you're gentle on his old mans eyes too.... we always did share a type."

"Fuck you," you spit at him. You've never dared be rude to Dave, or anyone for that matter. But his condescending temper, sudden violations to your privacy paired with the already upsetting feelings you've been enduring today was a breaking point. As you rip your hand from his grasp prepared to rush out of the room, he grabs your throat in a vice grip. Landing a brutal smack on your cheek that causes your head to turn from the impact, just for him to use that same hand to yank your hair back to a straight position. Body now pressed against your own — you feel the washcloth protecting your femininity drop at your bare feet in terror.

"Hmm. Never heard you cuss before, sweetheart. Thought I taught my son to train his wife better than that."

A heavy tear streams down your now red swollen cheek, as you take in the hurtful message your father in law is clarifying. You're nothing but a piece of fuck meat, a trophy wife. But clearly not honored enough for your husband to use you. Humiliatingly, the way Dave's clothed body is up against your own, has your exposed cunt throbbing and leaking down your legs for him. You were good enough for Dave York, and that was an honor within itself.

"'M sorry," you murmur at the feel of his covered thigh spreading your leg and nudging into your soaked pussy.

Dave chuckles at your nearly cock drunk state, "haven't even touched you and your leaking on my dress pants. No wonder he keeps you around, you're just a perfect little slut willing to please."

"Y- yeaah," you sigh lightly humping his thigh, even though Dave didn't even ask a question. Something within you just wanted him to understand your body was his to use, despite both your sacred dedications to other partners. People so close to you. His son, your husband. Your mother-in-law, his wife.

He swiftly moves his thigh from between your legs, pinching your cheeks so they're puckered willing you to look at him with those glossed over doe-eyes he fucking leaks over. "Use that head and address me properly."

Your head swarms for a second, worried of his reaction to an incorrect title. Testing the waters, you whine, "yes, sir." The words muffled by the tight hold he has on your face.

With a sinister grin on his face, Dave pushes you down on the solid tile — hand still threaded through your hair to ensure your head movement is in his control.

"Look at that, your brain does work. Let's see about that mouth."

Yanking the zipper down, he pulls his semi-hard cock out and slaps it on your cheek, precum smearing slightly. As you eye his cock, you come to the realization that he's slightly bigger than his son at half mast, and you're gonna have to calm yourself to handle a monster like that.

"Are you gonna show me how good you take a cock down your throat? With those dick-sucking porn worthy lips?" Dave peers down at you. He has started to jerk himself to full length, his thumbs barely touching around his width.

"Yes, sir. I am."

The way your eyelids flutter up at him, so docile and unaware of just how vicious Dave intends to be on your needy body. It unlocks that fundamental primal male urge that he normally suppresses during sex.

"Open your mouth, bitch." As your tongue lolls out of your mouth obediently, a dribble of spit going down your chin to your neck to your tits gleams in the soft light. Dave grins as he stuffs two fingers in your mouth, touching at your sensitive uvula. You instantly attempt suppressing your rare gag reflex, body unprepared for his actions. "Nice job, knew you were meant to have your mouth filled."

Dave rips his fingers from you and smears the thick string of saliva across your face — slapping you across the face, rather gentle than before. As he grabs his cock and lines it up with your mouth, you inhale deeply. Seemly more aware of how Dave likes to be. Callous, straight-forward and dominant.

Before you can suck him into your mouth, Dave spits right on his cock — some of it landing on your moisturized lips — just to slam himself down your throat. Your eyes spring open looking up at him, polished hands gripping at his slack-covered thighs. You feel your left over slick on his right pant leg. The taste of his long day is heavy on your tongue as his balls nuzzle at your chin. You're overwhelmed with his scent. The hair at the base of his cock tickles your nose, stud piercing almost getting caught.

"Riiiight there, that's fucking it. What a real fucking whore."

Dave lets his head fall backwards, eyes on the ceiling as he feels you sputter around him, your spit dripping heavily down his balls and onto the tile between his legs. He's unsure on how long he looks upwards, until he feels the digging of your fingertips into him. When he looks down, your eyes are bulging — about to roll into the back of your skull. So he pulls off of you.

Your belligerent cough is almost too loud for comfort, so Dave jerks his cock and plops his full balls into your mouth. And like the eager girl you are, you suck them into your mouth. Licking at the seam between them, letting them bounce off of your tongue. You lick downwards, tonguing at his delicate perineum. That small but dirty act makes him groan loudly. Loud enough for someone on the second floor to hear.

Realizing he's getting too comfortable, he goes back to filling your mouth. Alternating between shallow fucking of the throat and just letting it bulge inside. His big hands wrapping around your neck to jerk himself through the thin hump of protruding skin.

When he hears the shrewd screech of his name from the mouth of his wife downstairs, he pulls out swiftly and yanks you up, hoisting your leg onto the counter. Prodding his cock head at your now unbelievably soaked entrance.

Your mind is hazy and disorientated concerning what's about to happen. You feel like you've barely had any time to process the fact that your father in law is treating you like a common street whore. So, when he pushes into you, a wailing shriek escapes you.

Dave slaps his heavy hand around your mouth from behind, pushing in balls deep but not before releasing a moan of his own.

"Better shut that mouth before I stuff something in there... good god. How is that cunt so damn tight? You're snug around me, guess you're not a slut after all. Tight pussy but loose throat, just how I like it."

Dave proceeds with his relentless thrusts into your aching cunt. You don't remember the last time you were filled so thoroughly. It makes you forget how fucked up this situation truthfully is.

As Dave's cock is slamming into your cervix over and over, you feel your lower stomach tightening. He feels it too. Dave has been holding in his orgasm since you first fell to your knees and gave him those fuck toy eyes. So before you can cum all over him, he grabs you by the neck from the front and puts your ear right by his mouth so he can relay his special message.

"My son told me you've been begging him for a baby... how sweet. You just wanna be a mama, huh? Or maybe, you think having one will fix your relationship. Just reminds me how stupid you are. If a kid could save a marriage, my wife and I would've been happy ever since she pushed that little shit out. But, I'm gonna make it even better for you, sweetheart...."

Dave pushes to the hilt as you cum around him, whimpering behind his hand. Eager to hear his words, simultaneously terrified.

"Gonna cum inside and get you pregnant myself."

You scream into his hand, trying to push him away from you, trying to get yourself away from his spearing cock. All your effort does is push him in deeper, your body going lax at how stuffed you are.

"Don't fight me, angel. Just take it..." You feel his warm cum spilling into you, your body quivering. "Good... so good. I already feel your body sucking up my cum.. eager for it. Eager to be round with your father in law's baby. What will it call me? Grand-dad?" He snickers into your ear as he releases your body. You just lay there, half your limp limbs hanging off the counter.

Dave watches his thick white liquid drip out of you, and down your inner thighs. He pats your ass and tucks himself back into his slacks.

"Don't worry too much. Daniel looks just like me, he'll never find out his kid is actually his half-sibling. That is unless you tell him. You want him to find out you were on your knees being a slut for his, daddy?" Dave questions you. You don't speak a word. Just staring at the piped detailing on the cupboard that holds all the scented detergents.

"Just go, please. So I can clean myself up." Those few begging words take the reminanets of your little energy.

Dave grabs your now wrinkly nightgown and robe, pulling you off the counter so you're forced to stand in front of him. Body spent, his finger prints have left slight indents on various parts of you that you're positive will bruise in the days to come. You realize now, there's no way your husband can see you uncovered for weeks.

"You're gonna put this slutty outfit on and walk your ass into his room, with my cum dripping down your legs. He's been waiting for you, sweetheart."

Your jaw drops at his demand. Disgusted yet your cunt clenches at the filth of it all.

"I thought you said he left?"

Dave just smiles at you like you're a mindless child. You almost fall to the floor in despair at the discovery of what a lying sick bastard Dave has revealed himself to be. You don't know what to do. You've caught yourself up in this twisted game and as of now, there's no way out.

So, you throw the soft lace over your head and run your fingers through your hair attempting to fix your appearance. As you unlock the door, Dave places a gentle hand on your waist and kisses the top of your head. You hear him inhale your scent before he pushes you out of the door and watches you meander to his son's room, a slight limp in your legs.

You look at him, distain on your face as you open the door to find your husband scrolling on his phone. With an arrogant look spread across his face — "Where have you been?"

Dave hears the click of the door lock setting in place. As he walks towards the stairwell, he can't help but laugh at the memory of his vasectomy he received many years ago.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

#hotdilfsummerchallenge #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x you #dave york smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york fanfic #dave york x f!reader #equalizer 2 #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lostintransist · 4 months ago

Text

Secrets are for Grownups | Part 7

Part 1 can be found here. AO3

The knock at the door tensed all your muscles. Your fingers are interlaced and buried between your thighs to keep them from shaking.

The bus had left with your boys twenty minutes ago.

John had sat you in the middle seat below the wall of pictures. Larsen’s smiling face gave you comfort, knowing he would have your back had he lived. John sat to your right and Nyla had claimed the space to your left, flanking you, for everyone’s safety. Nyla patted a hand at your elbow before rising from the couch.

When she opens the door Johnny and Simon greet her with a kiss on the cheek and a nod respectfully to you. John stood and offered them a hug, the love they shared fierce even in the short gesture. They sit where directed. Johnny and Simon are thigh to thigh. Simon’s arm stretches along the breadth of Johnny’s shoulders, thumb stroking the side of his neck. Johnny reciprocated by settling a hand on Simon’s thigh. The prominent black band on his hand draws your gaze.

Only the hum of your really old refrigerator breaks the silence as they stare at you and you at them.

John looks from you to his men and back. With a sigh, he edges to the front of the couch and begins as if he were leading a mission briefing.

“The goal here is to come to an understanding regarding the boys. I have spoken with you all at length about this. The boys know about their fathers,” he nodded to the men before turning his gaze, “and you are willing to allow Simon and John time with them correct?”

The question is directed to you. Nodding, you swallow hard. He turned back to the men on the other couch.

“You would like to meet and develop a relationship with the boys, is that also correct?”

Johnny must tighten his hand on Simon’s thigh because Simon settles his free hand on top of his husband’s.

“We would like an opportunity to meet our boys,” Simon replied evenly.

Rage prickled at the back of your neck. Jace and Mac were not their boys, they were yours. Yours and Larsen’s. Squeezing your fingers tighter and staring at your lap allowed you a moment to breathe past the bile rising up your throat.

“What are you expecting this to look like?” John asks.

Unsure if he who he questioned you look up. Finding his eyes on the men sitting on the opposite couch you turn to look at them as well.

“We aren’t sure yet,” Johnny starts, gaze connecting with yours. “We would like to become a stable and consistent part of their lives. They are our sons.”

“Will you tell us about them?” Simon glances at you before looking down at his hand on Johnny’s. His band is the same dark metal as Johnny’s.

Your breath shudders in and out as everyone looks at you. John sinks back into the couch, eyes watchful. You look to him for something, guidance maybe. At his nod, you turn back to the men and start from the beginning. Nyla settles a hand on your back, soothing in the way it moves back and forth.

“Jace Riley was born first at a healthy seven pounds two ounces. Noah MacTavish followed within five minutes and came in at a decent six pounds five ounces. My late husband, Larsen, helped me pick their first names since I knew what their middle names would be when some genetic testing confirmed different fathers. " You rush on, expecting judgment. Everyone had an opinion on pregnancy. “My midwives were concerned about the vastly different gestational ages and referred me to a specialist. They also sent off the genetics to test for lots of things including for general origin of ancestry. When the information arrived it confirmed that the older baby, Jace, had mostly English DNA, and the smaller one, Noah, had English and Scottish DNA. I delayed submitting their birth certificates for as long as I could to confirm that their personalities and features lined up with what I expected.”

Johnny is fighting back tears, face turned and mouth scrunching and relaxing. Simon coughs into his hand before squeezing Johnny.

Running your tongue across the back of your teeth you allow them a moment.

“If it works for you I would like to invite you over sometime this week to meet them. It will be a low-pressure situation for them and for us. I won’t be making them call you anything but your names until they decide what to call you.” You pull your hands free of your thighs, letting the blood flow back into them. “They like legos if you want to bring a small set to build with them. "

Both men nod in agreement, you assume to both the scheduling and the toys. When they have collected themselves Johnny inches forward on the couch, elbows on his knees.

“Johnny,” Simon growls, as if warning him.

“No Simon. We deserve answers and I don’t want to ask when the boys are here,” he snapped at his husband—pinning you with his ice-fire blue eyes. “Why didn’t tell us when you found out? You still had John’s number. We deserved to be involved, to have a choice.”

“You made your choice, both of you. Anything that happened after you found exaltation is none of your business.” You can’t help but snarl at them, fingernails biting into your palm as you curl and uncurl your fingers.

Unable to remain seated you stand and take to pacing the space between the wall and the window.

John spoke up now.

“Can any of you tell me how this happened? How did I miss all of this going down?”

Despite the years and pain between, you, Simon, and Johnny share a moment of understanding as you all glance at one another.

You reply, feet slowing your frantic pacing.

“It started after your ex-wife asked for a divorce. The night Gaz invited everyone to the bar and you elected to stay back and drink alone in your office.”

John pinked and readjusted in his seat as Nyla raised a brow at him.

“It’s alright dear, we all need a nip from time to time,” she offers him a kind smile.

“Johnny had flirted since I arrived but it really changed that night,” you twist your fingers as you pace.

“She slept with both of us until she had a ‘family emergency’ and was never heard from again,” Johnny glances up at your family photos as he drops his snide comment.

The glare you level on him would melt glass.

“It was a family emergency. I needed my family, emergently. I was in over my head and I was scared.”

“You knew what you were doing, you were grown.”

Simon’s hard words caught you in the neck as you paced. His folly found him in saying it when you were close enough to reach him. Not even God and all the angels would have been able to still your hand. It connected with a resounding crack.

“How old was I?” You shout at him even as John leaps from his seat and hauls you away before Simon can recover enough to return fire.

“You’re only a year younger than me!” Johnny is pushing to his feet now.

A quiet but firm ‘John’ from his mother pauses his standing. Sinking back into the cushion he glares at you.

John has you around the ribs, not wincing as your nails bite into his arm.

“I am five years younger than you. Do you know how old that made me when you both cornered me and dragged me into bed? Twenty-four! My brain hadn’t even finished developing yet.”

You want to, need to, move. John holds you tighter.

“We didn’t drag you to bed, we would never force someone,” Johnny’s glare hardened.

The eye twitch is uncontrollable.

“What about a situation where I was alone in a foreign country with no support system except a boss who was too busy dealing with the single worst divorce I’ve ever seen to actually check in on me? Hmm? He barely ate and certainly didn’t notice two men both older and in positions of power over me pushing their interest. What part of me had any impression other than force John MacTavish? You tell me that! How could I say no? Did you ever once make it clear to me that I had a choice?”

Simon and Johnny both open their mouths to defend themselves. Before they can utter a word you continue, vitriol flying off your tongue like spittle.

“No! You know what you did? You poured your hatred for yourselves down my throat. Choked me with it because you couldn’t admit that you were in love with the other. Do you know what I did in return? I stole the best thing you could ever create and fled the fucking country.” John tightened his grip on you when he felt you shift. “You know nothing of what I suffered under or because of you. You don’t get to sit on my couch and tell me you did nothing wrong. I would have let it go on until my visa ended but no. Both of you had to fuck up and call out for the other while balls deep inside of me. That’s when I ran.”

Wrenching yourself from John’s arms you stalked into the kitchen. Bracing your elbows on the counter you focus on breathing. Them being in your house dredged up a lot of emotions and thoughts you had assumed were gone. If only you could soothe them as easily as you do the boys.

Steps reached your ears.

“John, I just need a second okay?” Your voice cracks on the last word.

“Ah me dearie, I left the boys to chat.”

Whirling you find Nyla looking you over with compassionate eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t have slept with them both at the same time, but I didn’t feel like I had any way to say no,” you crush your arms to your chest, the pain helping keep you present. “I thought I could enjoy the time until I had to go home.”

“I am no here to judge you. My own dear husband had to fight off three other suitors I was sleeping with before I would agree to marry him,” she gave you a wink as you processed that bit of information.

Four men? Mama MacTavish was sleeping with four men at once? Damn. Guess you know where Johnny got his charisma from.

Her face took on a serious cast.

“They will never understand.”

Your eyebrows pulling together is all the response you can manage. Nyla knows what it means though. The pain ratcheting through you is the only thing keeping you from breaking down.

“The boys.” She runs her hands down her front as if smoothing an apron she left in Scotland. “Simon might understand a bit better once he thinks about it, but Johnny won’t. They have never had to balance the scales of safety of their bodies or safety of their souls anywhere that didn’t involve gunfire.”

A distant look comes over her face as Nyla’s memories play across her eyes. A deep breath and the closing of her eyes pull her back to the present.

“We know the constant battle we face as women. Embedded in our bones by our mothers, the need to comply, to capitulate.” She focuses on you now, eyes boring into yours. “I am proud of you for running, child.”

The tears slid down your cheeks without your permission. When you are gathered up in her arms you wonder if the decision to call her might have been a good one for you, and not just the boys, after all.

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

@love-kha1 @sweetlike-sugarplum @vmaxis @splaterparty0-0 @momowhoo @talia-the-gemini @redkarmakai @aethelwyneleigh27 @asexualbuthorny @sleep101 @callsignbumblebee @lucienofthelakes @sirbonesly

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #price x reader #soap mactavish #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #lostinstransit writing

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gremlin-girly · 4 months ago

Text

Pot

Part of the Green collection & winner of this WIP poll

Ask and ye shall recieve! Buckle up buttercups, this is my first fic of 2025.

Banner by me, made in Canva w/ Ari's pic sourced on Pinterest (very basic ik). Dividers by @/kodaswrld here

MDNI/Reblog Banners by @/saradika-graphics

Pairing: Ari Levinson x f!reader

WARNING: This fic not only contains smut but also consumption/use of marujuana. If that's not your bread and butter (or if you are a minor) please do not read. I am also not super knowledgeable on the subject... this is just my brain + google <3

Tags/warnings: SMUT, consumption/use of marujuana, p in v (wrap 👏 it 👏 up 👏), corruption kink, Innocence kink (if you squint) slight age gap (reader in their 20s Ari his 30s), praise (good girl), petnames (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby girl, baby, honey), reverse cow girl, sofa sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, soft!dom Ari, cum play, creampie, multiple orgasm

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI!

Summary: You go to your friend's dealer and get the deal of a lifetime.

Word count: ~3.9k

A/N: Now that we're through all those warnings; I can now formerly introduce to you the Green Collection. My first idea was actually for Jake and from there it spiralled but the majority voted Ari instead ☺️ I don't know if I should put it to a vote again or just surprise you with whose next? this has been in my brain all week and I'm on holiday Sunday (woohoo)

Oh and if you haven't seen, I've got a taglist going - just drop me a dm if you're interested! - x

Navigation | Green Collection | Ari Masterlist | Next

No names.

At least, no surnames.

That was apparently a rule of thumb when dealing with dealers. Not like you were stood outside his house (very awkwardly) or anything. Your friend gave you a thumbs up from the safety of his car.

That was the other rule of thumb; never go alone.

You grimaced at him and wiped your sweaty palms against the rough of your jeans, beginning to slowly regret ever mentioning that you wanted to try pot. Said friend in the car said they knew a guy who knew a guy who could help you out, so long as you went with them to get their pick up.

Not much could be said about Ari, other than he was a dealer. You'd asked but you'd been met with a shrug and a "he's a dealer. I get my stuff and bolt."

With your lips pursed into a thin line, you gaze up at the house. It looks inconspicuous next to the others. It's big and homey-looking with a well-kept lawn and a nice (but not expensive) car in the drive. You wonder if dealing is all he does, or maybe this is a friend's house, or perhaps it is his house but dealing is just the side gig. When the door opens you're still expecting a twenty-something year old with red rimmed eyes and a beanie opening the door, or a super scary guy decked out in tattoos. Joke's on you for making assumptions like that.

Ari is tall and muscular, taking up a good ninety-percent of the doorway with his broad shoulders. Long, brown hair fell in waves around his neck and, much like the lawn, his matching beard was thick but well-maintained and the loose light blue cotton shirt he wore complimented his eyes beautifully. You supposed he could look scary if he was angry and frowning, however, with his amused grin as he looked down at you he just looked like an over-sized teddy bear. But maybe that was the point.

"Can I help you?" He asks casually, his eyes scanning you.

"Um, I'm looking for Ari?" You can feel yourself shrink a little under his gaze, he was intimidating regardless of being teddy-bear like or not.

"That'd be me." He confirms. His blue eyes meet yours, challenging you to ask him what you're so nervous to ask.

"C-can I come in?" You stammer out quietly.

"Why?" He presses, making you squirm on the spot.

"Ah, I, erm..." you begin to panic. You can't say drugs - you'd sound stupid and what if he was secretly a cop?

Ari snorts and you look up at him with saucers for eyes. He's grinning, no laughing, at you. Your cheeks begin to burn as you pout at your feet. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Very much so." He moves out of your way, letting you step through the door. "Come on in."

"Not what you were expecting?" He asks, leading you through to the kitchen where the curtains are drawn and there's multiple small bags with what looks like dried herbs inside them.

"N-no." You answer honestly. Your eyes fix onto a drawing on the fridge; a colourful child's drawing where the "people" are mostly vague shapes before looking back at the table quickly.

"At least you're honest." Ari chuckles. "This is your first pick up, I can tell. It's alright, I won't bite."

You wring your hands and wipe them onto your jeans. "Sorry."

Ari snorts again has collects two of the bigger bags and hands them over to you, watching as your carefully hide them into your purse. "Don't apologise. Do you even smoke? Or is Gabriel making you run errands for him?"

You look sheepishly at him; from what Gabriel had said, you weren't expecting this much conversation.

"I haven't tried it before and want to. Gabriel said he'd bring me when he came next."

Ari nods pulling an impressed expression, almost surprised by your naïve honesty. He picks up a small rectangular pack from the table

"Want me to show you how to roll?" He wiggles a pack between his fingers and looks at you expecting an answer.

"Um..." You shift on your feet, feeling a little out of your depth. It would be helpful to know but why would he be offering? Gabriel said it should be in and out and you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket. Then again, Ari seemed nice and you couldn't deny that there was something enticing about the way he seemed to be interested in you. "Sure."

"Right answer." He winks at you and you can feel heat rush to your cheeks. "Hold out your hands."

He pulls out a paper from the pack. It's thin and almost transparent and he places it gently between your fingers so that you hold it in a v-shape, his fingers brushing against yours. He picks up an additional bag sprinkling the herby substance down the centre of the v and your nose crinkles at the smell. It's strong, too much like BO for your liking.

"Awe," Ari coos playfully at you. "It's alright, you'll get used to it."

You puff your pink cheeks in a half-pout. There's something oddly alluring to the fact he likes to try and catch you off guard, teasing and toying with you, and it annoys you that it's working for you.

With his fingers over yours he moves the edges of the paper up and down, before rolling it on itself leaving one edge sticking upwards. He moves the paper towards your lips with a curious look.

"Stick your tongue out." He murmurs and you obey without hesitation. Ari's eyebrows shoot upwards and he smirks. "Good girl."

Heat and shame wash over you as he glides the paper over your tongue and smooths the final edge flat. He inspects your handiwork before handing the blunt to you upright.

"Not bad. Consider this one on the house," He says and before you can take it he moves it out of your reach. "On one condition."

You blink at him. "Um. Okay."

"Next time Gabriel wants his pot, I want you to pick up for him again." Ari's lips tug upwards at the corners, flashing you a flirtatious smirk that makes you feel giddy.

"Sure thing." You nod clearing your throat as he walks you back to the front door. "I-It was nice to meet you."

Ari's eyes sparkle down at you as he opens the door, leaning in the doorway again as you exit. "You too. See you round, sweetheart."

You give him a nervous smile goodbye as you skitter back to Gabriel's car, feeling Ari's eyes follow you the entire way down the drive.

You see Ari again about two weeks later, when picking up Gabriel's next order as promised. The kitchen looks the same as you'd left it, the only addition a blunt that's gently billowing smoke left in an ash tray.

"Been practising?" Ari asks, taking a seat at the table.

"I - yeah!" You get a little too excited and clear your throat adding a quieter "Yeah."

Ari seems happy to see you so enthusiastic and drags the chair next to him out from under the table, patting the wooden seat. "Take a seat and show me."

You're aware of how close you are to Ari when your knee brushes against his and you fight to stay calm. He hands you the papers and watches closely as you pepper in the weed between the paper folded in your small hands; so careful not to spill a single stem. Then you roll tentatively, like he'd shown you before, peeking up at him as your tongue drags along one edge of the paper. The chair creaks as Ari's hand tightens it's grip and you hear his breathing stop for just a second. For a moment, you think you've done it wrong as you seal the blunt over but Ari breaks out into a grin, releasing the back of your chair and letting his hands slap against his thighs.

"You've learnt quickly sweetheart." He sighs, picking up his discarded blunt and taking a quick drag.

"Can I keep this one too?" You ask curiously, admiring you're work as Ari begins to sort through the stems on the table in front of him. His blunt hangs out of the corner of his mouth and his eye brows raise in your direction. The term smoking hot was never more accurate.

"What are you gonna give me for it?"

It's a loaded question and you both know it. Heat grows between your legs and you shift in your seat next to him.

"What... do you want?"

"Ah. Ah. I asked first." He tuts, winking at you. You shift your legs again.

"W-well." You clear your throat, feeling hot all over. "I don't think I'm smoking my joints right - I'm not getting the feelings that Gabi describes."

You peek up at him, feeling stupidly bashful and naïve for even thinking of asking him this, but the rush of being around him is too addictive. Ari's eyes don't leave yours, patiently waiting for you to continue.

"So I was wondering if you'd show me how?" You ask with soft pleading eyes, adding a hasty; "Please?"

"You wanna rent me?" Ari chuckles, looking over at you as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. "Whore me out?"

You fight a blush even though you don't find the idea unappealing. "N-not what I meant."

"Tell you what, since you asked so nicely," he sighs, running a large hand through his hair. "I'll take you up on that if-"

He pauses, setting his wrist down on the table with the blunt still smoking between his fingers, turning to face you fully. "You kiss me."

Now your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips parting slightly as if you can't believe your ears or your luck.

"O-Okay." You wet your lips nervously, leaning closer to his face. Your eyes drop to his lips for a brief moment before you push forward, colliding your lips against his. Beard scruff brushes your cheeks and your lips tingle and soon enough there's a large, warm palm on your neck that eases you closer against his body. You relax enough to open your lips wider, letting Ari run his tongue over your lips before he slips into your mouth. He tastes like smoke and temptation and you hum happily into his mouth, letting your lips move against his.

Your hands find perch on the thigh closest to you as you lean into the kiss, the tough muscle beneath your palms flexing under the material of his jeans. Ari's palm cups your cheek, his thumb brushing the faint curve tenderly as he kisses you, sending your brain and pussy feral. By the time you remember to breathe again, you're already light headed.

"It's yours." Ari's voice is thick and he takes another drag. He blows out the smoke long and slow, his blue eyes peeking at you and how you're watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to do something more to you. "I'll show you how to smoke next time and make sure you have the high of a lifetime."

"Thanks." You puff, leaning back and removing your hands from his leg.

"No more waiting on Gabriel either - I'll give you my number." With the blunt hanging from his lips Ari holds out a palm for your phone which you willingly give, you stomach swooping with excitement. "I'll text you when I'm free."

You can't contain the small smile that graces your swollen lips. This whole game of coy cat-and-mouse had you ready to jump his bones from the moment you met and the longer it continued the more you were struggling to keep cool.

You were so glad Gabriel had such a hot dealer to introduce you to.

The next time you see Ari is the following week.

You didn't want to seem too desperate texting him too soon but you couldn't stop thinking about your brief, but seemingly eons long, make out session. Luckily, Ari texted you first after three days inviting you over whenever you wanted for your smoking lesson, but due to work commitments, you had to postpone until the Friday.

Knowing you probably wouldn't just be smoking, you opted to wear some light make up and your lucky thong; paired only with a tank top and a short skirt. If the last two visits were anything to go by, you weren't sure how long your outfit would stay on.

The Uber to Ari's was silent, your head already spinning and you gripped the handles of your back pack filled to the brim with snacks. You hadn't wanted to come empty handed when he was still technically doing you a favour.

Even if he was going to fuck your brains out regardless.

You were less awkward now as you stood outside Ari's door and far more nervous. The cool air kissed your legs and your pussy fluttered with each passing thought of Ari's wandering lips and hands and if he'd tease you in more ways than one tonight or purposefully make you wait - or beg - for him to ruin you.

When Ari finally opens the door, he almost does a double take. His eyes are glued to the hem of your skirt, showing off the tops of your thighs. You can't complain, your eyes are glued to his body too; his tight white t-shirt that wraps around each muscle and his grey sweatpants that have a definite outline of his cock.

You swallow your drool and clear your throat. Ari blinks back to life and grins at you.

"You look good," he says stepping aside to let you through. You edge past him and peek up to smile coyly.

"Thanks."

"I've set up on the sofa. You want anything to drink?" Ari asks, closing the door and locking it behind him, following you through to the living room. "You can drop your stuff wherever."

"Um, no. I'm good, thanks." You drop your bag at your feet. You're back to standing awkwardly again, playing with the hem of your skirt, trying to think of how to start.

Ari walks past you to his sofa and throws himself back into a relaxed position, his eyes never leaving yours; his long legs spread open wide. As he'd said, there's a lighter, some papers, an ashtray and a small bag of pre-ground pot lined up next to him.

Ready for you.

"Alright then, let's get started." He says voice low, patting one of his thighs. "C'mere pretty girl. Show me what you've learned."

You inch towards him, letting his hands find your hips and guide you backwards onto his lap. His hands are warm as they run over your skirt, nudging your legs to straddle over his knees, spreading you open to the living room before you. You gasp quietly, shifting against his large, hard cock against your ass as Ari pulls you backwards, pressing your back into his firm chest. Your heart beats so fast it's almost non-existent; you'd wanted to be ruined and it looked like Ari had been on the same wavelength too. You can feel your pussy gush with need as you try to keep your breathing steady when the small baggy and papers are waved in front of your face.

"Roll us a joint, baby." Ari purrs, his breath fanning against your neck, making you shiver. Blushing, you take the weed and papers, balancing them precariously in your lap as you make up the joint and letting Ari's hands run up and down the expanse of your thighs with ghost-like touches.

"You're so good at that now." He praises, his chin digs a little into your shoulder as he watches you roll the joint. "Such a fast learner."

"Mm." You hum, jumping when his fingers dip under your hem and trace patterns against your inner thigh. Your clit throbs as Ari chuckles, his fingers inching higher but stopping before they're right where you want them to be. "Had a good teacher."

"Stop rolling." Ari commands gently, and you turn to look at him ready to stick your tongue out.

"Ah-ah." Ari shakes his head with a smirk. "I'm not gonna seal it with that. Not when I have you sitting in my lap like this."

Before you can ask what he means, his fingers dip under the material of your thong and run the length of your already-silky folds making you stiffen and bite down onto your lips to keep a pornographic moan from spilling out. Your walls pulse as Ari's nimble fingers work at your clit gathering more of your arousal before removing them entirely, leaving you to whimper pathetically at the loss.

He runs his wet fingers along the bare edge of the joint before cleaning them up with swift licks of his tongue.

"That's the good stuff," he rumbles. "Seal it over."

You do as he says, your brain clouding with lust as his other hand squeezes your thigh like a brand.

"Put it in my mouth, honey." Ari parts his lips for you to gently place the joint between his lips. The lighter flickers to life with one firm stroke from Ari's thumb and he raises it to the end of the joint, taking two quick inhales until the embers glow before tossing the lighter aside again.

You watch closely as he takes a long drag, moving the joint between his fingers as he swallows the smoke and then blows out two smoke rings. You squint at the sting of the smoke but can still make out Ari's smirk.

"Tastes fuckin' good." He teases, making your cheeks go more red. "Go on, take a hit."

He holds the blunt to your lips and you tentatively take a drag, coughing a little as you try to mimic him swallowing the smoke. Ari snorts at your attempt and kisses your nose, making your heart flutter incessantly.

"Good but you can do better." He holds the blunt steady for you. "I want you to take some long drags while I fuck your sweet little pussy okay? Long drags - and hold that smoke for five seconds each time."

You gasp at his words and nod firmly, taking the blunt end between your lips as Ari reaches under you to pull his cock free of his sweats. You can feel the a delicious squeeze around nothing as Ari runs the tip of his cock over the flimsy material of your thong before yanking it to the side. His cock is as big as you'd seen through his sweats, but there's a scalding heat to it as he taps the head against your clit, making you almost whine out your exhale of smoke one two seconds too early.

"Now, to me." He leans over your shoulder, lips parted and you immediately let him him take a drag of the joint. He shifts you in his lap, sighing out his smoke as he slides his cock into you, impaling you onto him. His hands hold your hips in place as he leans back into the pliant leather, groaning loudly as your walls clench around him to accommodate to his size.

"Shit, baby girl," he huffs. "You're fuckin' perfect."

You puff out what little smoke you managed to breathe in, moaning loudly instead as Ari bounces you on his cock. You're leaning back enough to be able to see exactly what he's doing; ramming his cock so far into your pussy his balls smack against you. Your toes curl and your thighs start to strain under the pressure of being stretched wide over his legs.

You try to take more drags but you're interrupted by your own moans and the mess Ari is making of your pussy already. Your walls milk his hard cock and you could swear for a second you saw stars as a familiar tightening in your abdomen signals a fast-approaching orgasm.

"Ari," you pant squeak his name as your pussy clamps around him, the wet sounds becoming louder and louder. "I think- hng - I think I'm gonna cum."

"I know sweetheart, I can feel that tight pussy squeezing me." Ari's fingers press into your hips as his pace continues, a loud groan erupting from his throat. "Take another drag for me first."

You suck on the joint hanging loosely between your fingers, taking a long gulp of smoke.

"Look at me." Ari growls out, a hand sneaking further around your waist and lower. As your eyes lock with his, his fingers find your clit, sending sparks across every nerve in your body. A smug grin crosses Ari's face as your eyes flutter and a moan rumbles in your chest before giving you another command, "Blow."

You breathe out the smoke into his face as he breathes it in, your eyes drooping to half-lidded pleasure.

"You look so beautiful doing that." He snatches the joint away from your loose hands and presses it into the ashtray, despite there being plenty left. He catches your curious look and smiles. "I need to focus on you, honey and I don't need you dropping your hard work."

Ari's fingers find your clit again, drawing tight circles as he fucks up into your tight hole. Your pussy spasms and you moan, your arms reaching for something - anything - to keep you steady as he fucks into you harder. The slapping sounds that echo around the room are drowned by your curses and groans as your second orgasm draws closer.

"You're doing so good for me, sweetheart." Ari murmurs into your ear. "Just knew I'd like you. 'M gonna enjoy having you around to fuck and fill-" Ari's words are cut off by a short grunt, followed closely by quick gasps for air as he cums inside your shuddering pussy. You follow suit, heaving for breaths as you gush over his cock again.

"Stay right there," He urges softly, pulling you against his chest. Slipping his softening cock from you and placing kisses against your neck, he murmurs "I'm not quite done with you yet."

One had runs fingers along your slit, jumping between teasing your oversensitive nerves to pushing his cum back into your leaking hole. With his other, he hands you the lighter before picking up the blunt again and holding it to you to light for him. Your hands shake as you reach over to light it, your poor legs convulsing over his as he strums your messy cunt without a care in the world.

"That's my good girl." Ari presses feather-light kisses against your shoulder and you whimper, trying to focus on lighting the lighter. You flick at the metal furiously and on your fourth attempt, a flame flickers to life and Ari lights his joint in the flame before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away from your face. He looks like a dragon hoarding his treasure; smoke billowing from him as you turn in his lap and bundle closer, dripping all over him.

Ari watches you with a warm grin plastered to his face, his eyes are glassy, red rimmed and a little puffy as he offers you a drag. It's a small drag, no coughing or sputtering this time, but the weed seems to be taking effect because your body sways and you can't stop smiling up at him. Ari only laughs and urges you to lie further on top of him, running a large warm hand up and down the length of your back.

"You should wear skirts more often, sweetheart." He rumbles, taking another drag, his softening cock twitches against your bare pussy and you sigh with delight. "Although, this one might be ruined by the time I'm finished with you."

End

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x reader #ari x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson x f!reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson smut #green collection #chris evans characters

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merakiui · 1 year ago

Text

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

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